Conflict of Interest (The McClouds of Mississippi)

by Gina Wilkins

  “Go talk to her,” she urged, concentrating once more on the problem at hand. “Tell her she is wanted here. You don’t have to go into details if you think that should be left to Nathan, but at least make her feel like she belongs.”

  Looking as though he would rather endure a root canal, he shoved a hand through his hair. “Go with me.”

  “Wouldn’t you rather talk to her in private? This is family business, after all.”

  “It’s not as if there are any secrets left,” he said impatiently. “Come talk to her with me. She’s attached to you, and I don’t always make myself clear.”

  If her presence would make this difficult conversation easier for him, she supposed it wouldn’t hurt for her to sit quietly in the background.

  Isabelle was curled on the couch when they entered the den, but she wasn’t watching television. She held a book instead. Green Eggs and Ham, by Dr. Seuss, Adrienne noted. She had already learned that it was Isabelle’s favorite book. Adrienne fully identified with turning to a favorite book for comfort during times of stress. She had been doing so for most of her life.

  She took the chair farthest from the couch, settling silently into it while Gideon perched awkwardly next to Isabelle. “About what those jerk kids said to you—”

  “You mean Danny and Bryson?” she asked.

  “Yeah. Danny and Bryson.” He practically spat the names.

  “What about them?”

  “They’re full of beans.”

  His blunt assessment made Isabelle smile a little. “That sounds funny.”

  “It means they were wrong. Nathan and Caitlin and Nanna and I aren’t sorry you’re here in Honesty with us. You’re a McCloud, and we take care of our own.”

  Adrienne swallowed a sigh. What made this man who possessed such an amazing mastery of words on paper come across so stilted and awkward in face-to-face conversations? He sounded as though he were quoting a family-loyalty speech from one of those old TV Westerns.

  Isabelle gazed up at her brother with a puzzled look puckering her little face. “Was my daddy really a bad man?”

  Adrienne held her breath while Gideon mentally debated his answer.

  “No,” he said. “Your father wasn’t a bad man. He made some mistakes, and he made a few people mad, but he wasn’t bad. And I know he was crazy about you.”

  Adrienne smiled at him to show her approval of his choice of words. He gave her a brusque nod, then turned his attention back to Isabelle.

  “How did he make people mad?”

  There was another pause before he answered again. “You’ll hear more details about that later. Let’s just say there were some hard feelings when he and my mother broke up. But Mom doesn’t blame you for anything, Isabelle.”

  “Nanna doesn’t wish I wasn’t here?”

  “Nanna is very happy you’re here,” he replied firmly. “She thinks of you as her first grandchild.”

  Isabelle thought about that for a moment, then looked at Adrienne, as if seeking a second opinion.

  “If Gideon says it, you know you can believe it,” Adrienne assured her. “Gideon doesn’t tell polite fibs.”

  Even a four-year-old had to concede that. Isabelle nodded solemnly. “Gideon isn’t very polite.”

  Adrienne tried not to laugh, but she couldn’t help it. Gideon looked so befuddled, as if he weren’t quite sure whether he’d just been complimented or insulted.

  Isabelle looked up at him through her long eyelashes. “I like you, anyway,” she said, just in case she had hurt his feelings.

  His expression became even odder then, and Adrienne thought he might have been touched by Isabelle’s innocent sincerity. “Er, thanks,” he said, typically brusque. “Now, what about school today? Are you going to let a couple of jerks keep you away, or are you going to let them see that the McClouds don’t care what anyone says about them?”

  Isabelle hugged her book more tightly. “You think I should go?”

  “Yeah, I think you should go. If you don’t, Danny and that other creep are going to think you believe all that bull—er, garbage they said to you. And you don’t, right? You believed what I told you instead.”

  Isabelle nodded. “But I’d be late if I went today, wouldn’t I?”

  He glanced at his watch. “Only a few minutes late. I’ll go in with you and tell Miss Thelma that it’s my fault we’re late. She’ll believe that, trust me.”

  “C’mon, Isabelle, I’ll help you get ready,” Adrienne offered, rising to her feet. “You have friends at school that you like, don’t you? Kelsey and Jessica and Justin?”

  She remembered those names from earlier conversations. Gideon, who probably hadn’t remembered any of them, looked a bit impressed when Isabelle nodded. “Those are my best friends. And Tiffany.”

  “Good. Then you play with your friends who like you because of who you are and ignore the ones who choose to be mean just to make other people feel bad. There will always be people who are nice and people who aren’t. The trick is to be one of the nice ones and stay away from the mean ones as much as possible.”

  Isabelle dimpled up at Adrienne as she took her hand. “You’re one of the nice ones,” she said sweetly.

  Swallowing a lump in her throat, Adrienne smiled. “So are you, sweetie.”

  She glanced at Gideon, who was watching them with an expression she couldn’t read. “We’ll be right back,” she told him.

  He nodded. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

  Something in his voice made her look at him again, but there was no clue to his feelings on his face. Feeling him watching her, she led Isabelle out of the room.

  Gideon seemed to have had his fill of other people that morning. He headed for his office the minute he returned from taking Isabelle to school, and Adrienne sensed he didn’t plan to come out again until it was time to return for her.

  She moved quickly to detain him before he could close the door between them. “How did it go? Did Isabelle seem okay about staying?”

  Though he looked impatient, he paused long enough to answer. “She was fine. One of her friends came running up to welcome her back and that seemed to please her.”

  He took another step toward his office, and she moved in front of him to ask one more question. “Did you speak to Miss Thelma about what happened?”

  “Briefly.”

  “How did that go?”

  “She said she would keep an out eye for any kids who seem to be giving Isabelle a hard time. Miss Thelma said she had been concerned when Nathan first admitted Isabelle that there would be problems because of the old scandals, but she thought that had been resolved when my mother publicly acknowledged Isabelle. Thelma seems genuinely fond of Isabelle, and I think she’ll watch out for her.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “It was a civil meeting. I managed not to lose my temper, even though I still think she’s a stuffy old biddy.”

  Adrienne smiled. “Then, I’m very proud of you.”

  He hesitated a moment longer, his gaze on her mouth. She felt her smile fading.

  Moving suddenly and without warning, he reached out, snagged the back of her neck and planted a firm kiss on her lips. “Thanks for your help this morning,” he said when he released her. “Now I have to get back to work.”

  Before she could respond, he disappeared into his office, leaving her staring rather stupidly after him. After a moment she made an effort to close her mouth and pull herself together.

  Perhaps she had better concentrate on her work for a while, she decided. She was getting a bit too involved with this particular client; she needed to focus on her others for a few hours. She needed to be reminded that her life was in New York, not here, and that she would be returning there very soon.

  Setting up her computer in his kitchen, she spread the contents of her briefcase on the table, turned on her freshly charged cell phone and settled in for a productive work session. And then she simply sat and stared at her computer screen, paying no at
tention to the words there.

  Her mind was filled with an image of Gideon sitting on the couch beside Isabelle, gruffly assuring the child that the McClouds “take care of their own.” That touching image—along with the lingering feel of his lips pressed against her—was enough to keep her distracted from work for most of the morning.

  Chapter Ten

  Isabelle returned from school smiling. Her friends had rallied around her, making her feel welcome among them again, and she’d had a good day, which she shared in detail with Adrienne. Gideon had returned to his office, and Adrienne had set Isabelle at the kitchen table with a glass of juice and some sliced fruit for an after-school snack.

  “And then,” Isabelle babbled with hardly a pause for breath, “Miss Montgomery said Danny had to sit in the time-out corner because he wouldn’t be good during story time. He kept punching Benjamin’s arm and then he laughed when Benjamin said it hurt.”

  “Danny sounds like a brat,” Adrienne commented, wondering what kind of parents allowed their child to behave that way.

  Isabelle nodded. “I wouldn’t want to go to his old birthday party, anyway. He’s too mean.”

  “Let’s just forget about Danny. Tell me more about the good things that happened at school today. The people who were nice to you.”

  Isabelle complied happily enough. “Tiffany got her hair in braids. There were a bunch of them, with little bows at the end. It was pretty. And Justin got a new watch. It has Spiderman on it, and it tells the time in numbers because Justin doesn’t know how to tell time on the other kind of clock yet. I don’t, either, but Nate said he’s going to teach me. And we’re going to get a dog when Nate and Caitlin get back from their honeymoon. Caitlin and me want a little white dog.”

  Though she wasn’t sure how the conversation had suddenly switched from school to dogs, she followed along encouragingly. “I like dogs, myself. I used to have a silver poodle named Susie who was my very best friend when I was growing up.”

  She had spent many lonely hours with that little dog after her mother died, finding the unconditional love that her father had been incapable of offering.

  “Caitlin thinks we need to get a, um, something that starts with a b. Like beecher?”

  Adrienne thought a moment, then suggested. “A bichon, maybe?”

  “That’s it, I think.”

  “A bichon frise. They’re cute little white dogs, very similar to poodles.”

  “I want to name my dog Fluffy.”

  “That’s a lovely name.”

  “But Nate says we need a big, black dog with big teeth and we should call him Killer or Spike.”

  “Um…”

  Isabelle giggled. “Nate likes to make jokes. He’s silly sometimes.”

  Remembering that Gideon had said he and his older brother were quite different, Adrienne remarked, “Nathan sounds very nice.”

  “He’s the best big brother in the world,” Isabelle agreed fervently. And then looked suddenly stricken. “But Gideon’s nice, too,” she added a bit loudly, as if he might overhear.

  Amused, Adrienne agreed, “Yes, he is—in his own way.”

  “Do you like Gideon, Miss Corley?”

  Her eyebrows rose in reaction to the child’s tone. Isabelle wasn’t indulging in a bit of toddler matchmaking, was she? “Yes, I like Gideon. He’s my client— I work with him to sell his books. I think he’s a very talented writer.”

  “Are you going to marry him, like Caitlin married Nate? They work together. Caitlin’s my sister now, and you would be my sister, too, if you marry Gideon. I have another sister, too. Her name is Deborah, but I don’t see her very much.”

  All amusement gone now, Adrienne cleared her throat. “Gideon and I are friends and business associates, Isabelle. We aren’t going to be married.”

  A flicker of disappointment crossed the child’s face. “I wish you could be my sister.”

  “Couldn’t I just be your friend instead? Everyone could use more good friends.”

  Isabelle nodded in resignation. “Okay, Miss Corley. I’ll be your friend.”

  “You can start by calling me Adrienne.”

  Pleased, Isabelle nodded. “Okay, Adrienne. I think I’ll go play now. Gideon said I could take my toys outside and sit on the swing.”

  “Put on a jacket, okay? That wind is a bit chilly.”

  “Okay.” Climbing out of the chair, Isabelle dashed from the room, leaving Adrienne to tidy the remains of the snack and spread out her work again.

  She could see Isabelle through the big window over the sink. The little girl had settled into the free-standing lawn swing in Gideon’s backyard with a doll, her stuffed owl and a couple of books. As she had promised, she had donned a lightweight denim jacket with her T-shirt and jeans. Her little white sneakers pumped the air to keep the swing moving as she read with animated expression to her stuffed friends.

  Adrienne found herself spending more time watching Isabelle than concentrating on her work. The child made such a pretty picture, her golden curls glittering in the afternoon sun, her cheeks pinkened by the brisk March breeze.

  She would be proud to have this child for a little sister, she thought.

  Or a daughter.

  That thought took her aback. Whoa, Adrienne. Who wound your biological clock?

  Hoping the faint ticking would stop if she ignored it, she focused fiercely on the computer again. A rather whiny and petulant e-mail from one of her authors was on-screen and she had to figure out a way to answer it patiently, effectively and reassuringly.

  Who needed kids? She already spent most of her life holding hands and averting emotional crises.

  When Gideon hadn’t emerged from his office by dinnertime, Adrienne took matters into her own hands and prepared a meal without consulting him. She assumed he had gotten so involved with his work that time had slipped away from him.

  She hoped he had gotten more accomplished that day than she had.

  Preparing a simple meal of baked pork chops with rice and vegetables, she moved around the kitchen with only an occasional twinge of pain from her ankle. The prescribed anti-inflammatories and exercises seemed to be doing the job. The swelling had gone down significantly, and though it still ached almost constantly, she didn’t allow herself to dwell on the discomfort.

  When the meal was ready, she set the table, sent Isabelle to wash her hands and then approached Gideon’s office. She tapped firmly on the door. “Gideon?”

  “What?”

  Though his tone wasn’t particularly encouraging, she opened the door, anyway. “I’ve prepared dinner. Everything’s on the table.”

  He didn’t look around from the computer. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  She knew better, of course. If she closed this door now, he would forget all about her again. “You haven’t eaten since breakfast. You really should take a break. Besides, Isabelle will be disappointed if you don’t join us for dinner.”

  He exhaled gustily and spun his chair away from the computer. “Fine. I’ll come to dinner. Give me a few minutes to wash up.”

  She didn’t take offense at his curtness. She didn’t like to be interrupted when she was trying to concentrate on something, either.

  If Gideon seemed unusually quiet during dinner, Isabelle made up for it with her chattering. She was as animated that evening as she had been subdued the day before, making Adrienne marvel at the mercurial resilience of childhood. She repeated nearly everything she had said to Adrienne earlier, including Danny’s stint in the time-out corner, and then spent another ten minutes describing the antics of a couple of squirrels she had watched in the backyard. That somehow led her back to the subject of the dog she had been promised.

  “Adrienne had a poodle named Susie,” she informed Gideon. “Did you ever have a dog, Gideon?”

  He shook his head. “Nathan had a couple of dogs when we were kids, but I never considered them mine.”

  “Why not?”

  “Too much trouble. They
always have to be fed or watered or walked or cleaned up after. I always had other things I wanted to do.”

  Isabelle considered that a moment, then said firmly, “I don’t care. I want a dog. I’ll take care of it all by myself.”

  Adrienne and Gideon exchanged a knowing look.

  Oblivious to their skepticism, Isabelle kept talking, listing all the things she would do with her dog. Teach him to fetch and roll over and catch a Frisbee and jump through a hoop—those were only a few of her plans for the future Fluffy.

  When they had finished eating, Isabelle dashed off to play while Adrienne began to clear away the dishes. Gideon gathered a handful of utensils to stuff into the dishwasher.

  “I can clean up in here,” she assured him. “There isn’t much to do.”

  “You cooked. The meal was delicious, by the way. Least I can do is clean up. You need to get off that ankle.”

  “It’s not too bad right now. I can tell it’s getting better.”

  “It won’t keep getting better if you overexert yourself. Go put your feet up. I’ll finish in here.”

  Because he effectively blocked her access to the sink and dishwasher, she gave in. Rather than leave the room, she settled at the table to watch him. “You’ve put in long hours today. Did you get much written?”

  “Some.”

  His curt reply told her it hadn’t been a satisfying session for him. “Have you thought any more about the changes I suggested?”

  “No. I told you, your suggestion didn’t fit with my vision of the book. It’s a story of one man’s single-minded and all-consuming quest for revenge and justice—in that order. Alanya has to die.”

  “Or Jackson has to think she’s dead.”

  She watched his shoulders stiffen before he glared at her over his shoulder. “You’re determined that I’m going to write a passionate ending to this book, aren’t you?”