Conflict of Interest (The McClouds of Mississippi)

by Gina Wilkins

  Leaving her sobbing in the den, her face buried against her stuffed owl, Adrienne and Gideon retreated to the kitchen for a hasty conference.

  “We’ll let her stay home,” Gideon decided, looking shaken by the flare-up. “Everyone needs an occasional mental health day.”

  Adrienne tended to agree with him, mostly out of fear of what they might encounter if they insisted Isabelle go to school. And yet, “What if she refuses to go again tomorrow?”

  “A four-year-old dropout.” Gideon squeezed the back of his neck with one hand. “Maybe we can get her a job serving Happy Meals.”

  “This isn’t funny, Gideon.”

  “No,” he admitted. “But we might as well lighten up about it. Mom or Nathan will be home soon, and they’ll probably know a heck of a lot better than we do how to handle this. I agreed to baby-sit for a few days, but I never promised to handle emotional crises.”

  Adrienne bit her lip, hoping they were doing the right thing by giving in to the child’s tantrum. Adrienne knew her father would never have tolerated such behavior. But she also remembered how she had so often longed for him to listen to her problems and offer sympathy rather than lectures.

  “You had better call the school and tell them Isabelle won’t be there today,” she advised him. “They’ll worry if you don’t.”

  He didn’t look enthusiastic about making the call. “Miss Thelma will probably remind me of my total incompetence as a baby-sitter and ask me again what my mother was thinking leaving a helpless child in my care.”

  “Maybe you should ask her what’s going on at her school that’s making Isabelle almost hysterical at the prospect of going back,” Adrienne suggested in return. “She’s perfectly happy here, but there’s something at school that’s upsetting her badly.”

  Gideon nodded. “Maybe I will ask her that.”

  “I’ll go sit with Isabelle while you make the call.”

  “See if you can get her to stop crying, will you? I can’t handle much more of that.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  It took bribery to stop the flood. Adrienne wasn’t proud of herself, but she was desperate. “Please tell me what you want, Isabelle.”

  The child sniffled. “I don’t want to go to school.”

  “I’ve already told you, you don’t have to go today.”

  Her lips quivered. “I want Nate and Caitlin to come home.”

  Homesickness. Just as Adrienne had suspected. It wasn’t the full explanation, of course, but it was part of the problem. “Your brother will be home soon. Maybe you can talk to him on the phone later, okay?”

  “Okay.” Isabelle rested her cheek on Hedwig’s fuzzy head, looking so miserable that Adrienne’s heart twisted.

  This was more than a tantrum, she decided abruptly. More than a childish power play. This child was hurting badly.

  Her original thought had been to suggest they make no effort to entertain Isabelle. Hours of boredom might make preschool look pretty good, no matter what difficulties she had encountered there.

  Now Adrienne’s thinking had changed. If she could get Isabelle to relax, maybe she would admit in an unguarded moment what had upset her so badly. “What would you like to do today? Surely there’s something you can think of that might be fun.”

  Isabelle sniffed again and shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “There’s a new Disney film, isn’t there? Have you seen it yet?”

  A flicker of interest crossed the child’s damp face. “No, not yet.”

  “Would you like to see it this afternoon?”

  She swiped the back of one hand across her cheek. “Okay.”

  Adrienne pulled a tissue out of her pocket and handed it over. “Wipe your face and blow your nose and I’ll talk to Gideon about our plans, all right? You want to go play with your toys or something for a little while?”

  Isabelle hesitated. “Gideon won’t make me go to school?”

  “No, not today. But maybe we can talk about school again later?”

  “I hate school. I don’t ever want to go back.” Isabelle stomped her little foot for emphasis, then ran out of the room.

  Rubbing her aching temples, Adrienne wondered what could possibly have happened to turn a happy, sweet-natured, enthusiastic little student into a sullen, rebellious wannabe dropout.

  And then she wondered if she and Gideon were up to the challenge of changing her back.

  Gideon had no interest in attending the Disney movie. Claiming that he needed to work, he offered to drive them to the mall where the matinee was playing. When the film ended, Adrienne and Isabelle could go into the mall’s ice-cream shop for a treat, and he would pick them up there, he suggested.

  Adrienne thought it sounded like a good plan, with one addition. She asked him to give her an extra half hour or so after the movie, to give her a chance to buy a couple of new tops. She was really getting tired of the few outfits she’d brought with her, she added ruefully. Though he warned her not to put too much strain on her injured ankle, Gideon approved the agenda.

  Adrienne was initially concerned that Isabelle would be disappointed her brother wasn’t joining them for the movie, but she seemed satisfied with the prospect of a girls-only outing. With typical childhood resilience, her mood had transformed from sullen and tearful to sunny and cheerful, but Adrienne sensed that one reminder of school could trigger another crisis.

  Because she didn’t want to take that risk, she carefully avoided mentioning anything sensitive. Cowardly, perhaps, but all in all, it seemed much safer.

  Pulling up in front of the cinema entrance outside the mall, Gideon shook his head at the sight of the stream of mothers and toddlers going in. “You’re sure you want to do this?” he asked Adrienne.

  She glanced at Isabelle, who sat between them on the truck seat, looking excited for the first time since she’d come home from school yesterday. “I’m sure.”

  “You’ll be okay on that ankle?”

  “I’ll be fine.” Wrinkling her nose, Adrienne looked down at her bound ankle. She couldn’t get her loafer on over the swelling, so she wore a black sock over her bare toes beneath the brace, and her regular shoe on her left foot. She thought it looked ridiculous, but she supposed it would suffice for a Disney matinee.

  Gideon assisted her out of the truck, then turned to swing Isabelle out. “So I’ll meet the two of you at the ice-cream parlor, right?”

  Balancing on the crutches he had insisted she use for the outing, Adrienne nodded. “We’ll see you then.”

  Isabelle tugged at Gideon’s shirt. “I’m sorry you have to work and can’t see the movie with us, Gideon.”

  “Maybe some other time,” he replied, patting her head. “You have fun with Miss Corley, okay?”

  “Okay. I’ll take good care of her,” she added, looking meaningfully toward the crutches.

  Gideon chuckled. “You do that.”

  Standing on the walkway that led to the ticket window, Adrienne watched as he climbed back into his truck with an easy, masculine grace that made her mouth go dry. She was still watching when he drove out of the parking lot.

  “Miss Corley? Aren’t we going in?”

  Roused by Isabelle’s prodding, Adrienne turned toward the ticket window. “Of course we’re going in. We’ll have a lovely time.”

  But something told her she would spend the next couple hours thinking of Gideon rather than the animated feature on the movie screen.

  As Gideon had wanted for the past week, he returned to a completely empty house. He noticed the silence as soon as he walked in, which was odd, since Adrienne and Isabelle really didn’t make that much noise.

  Moving straight to his office, he settled in front of his computer and set a timer he kept on his desk for occasions when he dove into his work and worried about time slipping away from him. It wouldn’t be entirely uncharacteristic for him to concentrate so fiercely on his writing that five or six hours would slip away before he knew it.

  Th
at would not have been the case today.

  Just as having someone in his house had interfered with his concentration a few days earlier, now the emptiness seemed to press in on him. It kept drawing him out of his story, making him look at the clock to see if it was time to leave for the mall.

  It seemed he always had an excuse not to write these days. He was beginning to wonder if there was more going on here. Was the book so flawed that subconsciously he was trying to sabotage it? He didn’t know how far Adrienne had gotten last night; Isabelle had kept them so busy today they hadn’t had a chance to discuss work.

  Pounding his fist against his knee, he gave a low growl of frustration. What the hell was wrong with this book? Everything had been going smoothly, right on schedule, for the first three hundred pages, and then he’d seemed to crash facefirst into some sort of creative brick wall. He’d written some sixty pages since, but he still wasn’t completely satisfied with them. He hated to think he’d have to struggle this hard with the final hundred pages, and, at this rate, heaven only knew when he would get the damned thing finished.

  Maybe once Adrienne assured him there was nothing wrong with the story to the point he’d printed out so far, he would be able to proceed more confidently.

  He forced himself to wait until the last minute to leave for town. Adrienne and Isabelle were probably enjoying their time together, and he didn’t want to appear too eager to be reunited with them. He saved his file—he’d written all of three pages and they weren’t very good—and headed for the door, moving a bit too quickly for a man who was reluctant to have his treasured privacy invaded again.

  The ice cream parlor was fairly crowded for a Thursday afternoon, but Gideon quickly spotted Adrienne and Isabelle. They sat at a tiny round table flanked by four prissy little chairs, and both of them were smiling.

  At Officer Dylan Smith.

  “What is it with you, Smith?” he demanded in exasperation, planting his fists on his hips as he loomed beside the table. “Every time I turn around these days, I find you there.”

  Obviously off-duty, dressed in jeans and a gray-checked cotton shirt worn unbuttoned over a gray T-shirt, Dylan lounged in one of the little chairs with the ease of a man who felt entirely assured of his welcome. His gray eyes gleamed with his usual mocking humor when he looked up at Gideon. “You’re just lucky, I guess. Or I am, to keep running into these two lovely ladies.”

  Isabelle giggled. “Officer Smith likes ice cream as much as I do, Gideon. His favorite flavor is butter pecan and I told him I don’t like it, but he said that’s okay, it’s still his favorite.”

  She was talking again, at least. Too bad it was about Dylan.

  Adrienne motioned him toward the empty chair. “Join us, Gideon. Would you like some ice cream?”

  “No.” After a momentary hesitation, he dropped into the chair. What else could he do, just stand there watching the three of them eat ice cream and admire each other? Crossing his arms over his chest, he glared at Dylan, all too aware that the four of them were a subject of interest for quite a few of the other patrons.

  Adrienne looked at him in exasperation. “Loosen up, will you?” she admonished him quietly. “We’ve been having a very nice visit.”

  “Until I came along to ruin it, you mean?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “The movie was good, Gideon,” Isabelle told him, her face beaming behind several smudges of chocolate ice cream. “You should have seen it.”

  Studying her smile, he decided the outing had done wonders for her. Adrienne’s idea had obviously been a good one. Maybe now she would forget whatever toddler grievance had upset her yesterday, and she would be content to return to school tomorrow. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

  “Dylan was just telling us about the big St. Patrick’s Day festival this weekend,” Adrienne said brightly. “It sounds like a lot of fun.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve never been.”

  “Never?” She looked surprised. “Dylan made it sound as if the whole town turns out for this.”

  “I’ve always thought it was ridiculous that a bunch of non-Irish folks from southern Mississippi get together every year to wear green and act like morons.”

  “Gideon’s never been known as a fun sort of guy,” Dylan remarked with a smirk that went straight to Gideon’s temper.

  “Gideon is too fun,” Isabelle protested. “He, um, he writes good stories.”

  Isabelle had never read his stories, of course. She didn’t even know what they were about. Though he hadn’t done a thing all week to entertain her, she was defending him, anyway, seizing on the first evidence that popped into her mind that he possessed a sense of fun.

  Her defiant little gesture touched him, and because it did, he didn’t know what to say except, “Thanks, kiddo.”

  “I stand corrected,” Dylan murmured with a smile for Isabelle.

  As much as he disliked Dylan for the history between them, Gideon was confident that the other man would take no more chances of upsetting the child.

  A neighbor of his mother’s, Lucille Mayo, entered the ice cream parlor with two grandchildren in tow. Looking both surprised and avidly curious, she paused by their table.

  “Hello, Gideon. And Officer Smith. Nice to see you both.” She left unspoken her surprise at seeing them together. Few longtime residents of this town were unaware of the old acrimony between Dylan and the McCloud siblings.

  Dylan responded first. “’Afternoon, Mrs. Mayo. You’re looking well.”

  The guy had a real talent for instantly transforming into the smooth-talking charmer, Gideon mused. He had so many faces that it was impossible to know which one was real. These days Dylan was the consummate peace officer—polite, hardworking and by all accounts completely above reproach. But Gideon remembered the angry rebel Dylan had once been. The teenager with a flash-point temper and ready fists.

  Gideon clearly recalled the feel of those fists against his own face. Just as he knew how it felt to bruise his knuckles against Dylan’s rock-hard jaw.

  Lucille turned to him then. “I haven’t seen you in a while, Gideon. Are you still writing?”

  It was invariably one of the first things people asked him. Because he had quickly grown tired of hearing it, he was often tempted to answer facetiously, something along the line of, “No, I became too successful, so I quit.”

  Instead, he answered as he always did, with a simple, “Yes.”

  “How many books have you written now?”

  “I’m working on my fifth,” he replied somewhat woodenly, dreading the next question. Maybe she wouldn’t ask it….

  But she did. “Where do you get all your ideas?”

  Another frequently asked question that seemed to have no sensible reply. Did people think there was a retail store that specialized in story ideas? He pictured a sign printed with the words “This Week’s Special: Science Fiction Premises.”

  He tried to keep his thoughts hidden when he replied, “That’s just what I do, Lucille.”

  “You know I teach ninth-grade English. I wish you would agree to speak to my classes sometime. I know my students would be fascinated by the book-publishing process.”

  “I doubt they would be fascinated by any talk I would give. As I’ve told you before, I’m not much of a speaker.” And he would rather jab sharp sticks under his fingernails than face a roomful of ninth-graders, he added silently.

  She must have anticipated his response, because she looked more resigned than disappointed. She glanced at Adrienne. “I heard your agent is visiting you. Is this…?”

  Gideon nodded, wishing the woman would take her increasingly restless grandchildren and move on. For Adrienne and Isabelle’s sake, he tried to sound reasonably polite when he said, “Adrienne Corley, this is my mother’s friend, Lucille Mayo. And, Lucille, you know my sister, Isabelle.”

  The words still sounded a bit strange to him, since he’d only introduced Isabelle as his sister a couple of times, but, oddly e
nough, they were beginning to feel more natural.

  “Yes, of course. It’s good to see you again, Isabelle. And it’s very nice to meet you, Ms. Corley. You’re, um, staying with Gideon this week?”

  Gideon felt his eyebrows draw downward into a frown. Lucille had been known to indulge in gossip, and he did not want Adrienne to be the subject of idle speculation. It wasn’t that gossip bothered him personally, since he never cared what anyone else said or thought about him, but he saw no reason for his agent to be embarrassed just because she had tried to help him out for a few days.

  He should have known Adrienne was quite capable of looking out for herself. The smile she directed toward the older woman was friendly, direct and self-assured. “Yes, I am. Gideon and Isabelle have been gracious enough to let me stay with them while I recuperate from a fall I took earlier this week. I’m going to try to get out of their way as soon as I can get around more easily.”

  She motioned ruefully toward the crutches propped beside her chair as she spoke, which also drew attention to her bandaged ankle. The message was clear: she considered herself an imposition on him, rather than an invited guest. From her tone, he was merely tolerating her presence and not particularly enjoying it. By mentioning Isabelle, she reminded Lucille that she and Gideon weren’t quite alone in his house.

  It certainly didn’t sound as though they were engaging in a heated fling during her time here.

  Her suspicions allayed, Lucille returned the smile. “You poor thing. To come here for a business trip and then to be detained by an injury. It must be very inconvenient for you, being a busy New York agent and all.”

  “I’m afraid I am falling a bit behind,” Adrienne agreed, managing to look politely anxious to be on her way back to New York. “But I am grateful to Gideon for giving me a hand, even when he’s so very busy with his own work.”

  Once again Lucille looked at Gideon in surprise, and he knew it was because of his reputation for being reclusive and inhospitable. Now he would have to painstakingly rebuild that reputation. He wouldn’t want the locals to think of him as a soft touch.