Caught in the Act (The Davenports)

by Law, Kim

  But she didn’t want to say all that. “I’ve been better,” she finally conceded.

  “I know it’s a shock to learn. I wanted to tell you before.”

  “You did?” Then why hadn’t she? That had bothered her, too. JP had found out, and still, her mother had kept it from her.

  “It’s just,” her mother hedged, “there was no need to worry you. Nothing changes. We’re still the same people we were.”

  Which was part of the problem. Cat was now confused as to who her parents were. Certainly not the people she’d always believed them to be.

  “It doesn’t make a lot of sense to me, Mom. None of it. And then, you wrote a check to that girl? A big check.”

  “I had to. I did it for her son.”

  The girl in question had been a seventeen-year-old volunteer at her dad’s campaign headquarters. And Cat kept finding herself questioning the validity of her mother’s explanation. Had it really been for the child?

  Or to keep the underage girl quiet?

  “Everything I’ve done is for the good of the family,” her mother said. “I’ve always had nothing but the best of intentions. You know that. You know I’ll do whatever it takes to maintain our high integrity.”

  Like hiding her own pregnant teenage daughter. “It’s just a lot to take in,” Cat said.

  “I know. But surely you can understand. We all do what we have to do.”

  The passive-aggressive barb was directed at her. Cat had allowed herself to go “abroad” for the school year; she’d told no one she was pregnant—including the rest of her family—then she’d given her baby to another woman.

  She’d had to.

  If she hadn’t, her father’s political career could have been cut short. She’d loved her father, and it would have destroyed him in more ways than one.

  Only . . . she’d lived with regrets since, and she wasn’t so sure her mother had ever regretted anything. At least she’d never said as much to Cat.

  Cat braked at a stoplight, seeing the museum several blocks ahead, and thought about that morning’s call from her brother. It pained her that she was questioning her mother’s words at this point, but she found she couldn’t help it. “You didn’t actually sleep with Governor Chandler, right?” she asked.

  “What? Of course not.” Her mom came across as highly affronted. “How could you even think that?”

  “I don’t think it. Not really. I just . . .” She just didn’t know what to think anymore.

  “Well, of course I didn’t,” her mother soothed. “You know better than that. Douglas and I are merely friends. Exactly as he is with you and your brother. Now tell me about this house you’re renting up there.” Her mother easily changed gears. “Is it safe? I’d prefer you were at the family compound.”

  “I’m perfectly fine where I am, Mom. You can barely see my rental from the road.” She’d reserved the house months ago when she’d first decided to spend the summer there. She wanted to be a normal person for a few weeks. Not “a Davenport.” So the beach house had become a must. “Plus,” she added, “I’m not JP. No one cares what I do.”

  “Well, that doesn’t keep me from worrying.”

  “I know.” She wheeled one-handed to a stop in front of the historic building. “And thank you for worrying. But I need to go now. I just pulled up at the museum.”

  “Okay, but be careful at that house. Anything could happen out there.”

  “Anything could happen anywhere, Mom. I’ll talk to you later.”

  She grabbed the boxes off her passenger seat and stepped from the car, pushing aside the remaining unease about her mother. Things happened. People made mistakes. She was as aware of that as anyone.

  So okay, her parents had made mistakes, too. She supposed they were allowed. She just never would have imagined it.

  She glanced down at herself before going in the museum. White cotton eyelet skirt, coral polka-dot sleeveless top, and cute wedge sandals to match. She looked fun and hip, yet professional. Perfect. Time to make an impression.

  The front door of the building creaked slightly as she pushed it open, and soft music hit her ears. Dark, glossy wood surrounded her on the floors and four feet up the walls, before heading up along the staircase to the second floor. She glanced around and found a woman, probably thirty years her senior, smiling softly at her from behind a reception desk.

  “Welcome to the Dyersport Museum and Historical Center,” the lady said, her voice cheery and polite, and sounding like it was just barely able to contain a secret she wanted desperately to share. Her hair was pulled back into a sedate bun at the base of her neck, and she wore a long dress that looked like something out of another century.

  It was the same costume that had been used twenty years ago. Cat had volunteered there one day a week before she’d stopped coming up with her cousins for the summers.

  “Thank you,” Cat greeted her. She gave a polite nod. “I’m Catherine Davenport Carlton. My family has a collection on exhibit here. I thought I’d stop by and see it.”

  “Of course. I know who you are, Ms. Carlton. Welcome.” The woman waved a hand, motioning her closer. “It’s a pleasure to have you here. I’d heard you were in town.”

  Cat nodded. She’d assumed word had gotten around. She held up the boxes in her hands. “I brought doughnuts.”

  “Ah. From Lily’s Bakery.” The woman patted her stomach, which was not flat by any means. “I started there this morning myself.” Her eyes glowed as she took in the boxes, as if someone had plopped a cake piled high with frosting down right in front of her and told her it was all for her. She gave Cat a wink. “But that was over an hour ago.”

  Cat laughed. She already liked this woman.

  “My name is Louisa. Let’s put those in the break room, then we’ll find Janet. She’s the owner. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to show you around.”

  “Sounds perfect, Louisa. Thank you so much.”

  As Cat trailed behind the other woman, she took in everything her gaze could seek out. From the outside, the museum looked smaller than it really was. Inside there were hallways and rooms stretched out in every direction. She peeked into the rooms as they passed, running her gaze over centuries worth of treasures she couldn’t wait to explore. She wasn’t a history fanatic, but when it came to the country’s story, she found most everything about it intriguing.

  Louisa led her to a small break room in the back of the building, and then grinning, took out a glazed doughnut for herself. She held it on a napkin, and Cat could tell she was fighting the urge to dig in.

  “Please,” Cat encouraged. “Go ahead. That batch just came out of the fryer.”

  “I know,” Louisa whimpered. “I can tell from the smell.”

  Before Cat could say anything else, Louisa chomped into the sugary treat and let out an unladylike moan. Cat couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of pure bliss on the woman’s face.

  In fact, it looked so sinful that she found herself plucking out a doughnut as well. She normally stuck to a sensible diet since extra carbs threatened to do their best to make her wider, but heck, she was on vacation. Wasn’t the old saying that calories didn’t count when on vacation?

  That was the story she was going with.

  She bit into the pastry and her eyes went wide, locking on to the older woman’s. Louisa laughed gleefully. The doughnut was pure sin. Her hips were most definitely going to have issues after spending an entire month here.

  Both women collapsed into laughter as they shoved their mouths full of the delicious treat. “Had I known what those would taste like,” Cat began when she had her mouth empty once again, “I might not have bought them. I can’t imagine how I’ll exist without one every day.”

  “Tell me about it.” Louisa took one last, longing look at the open box before closing the lid and shaking her head. She patted her r
ounded figure. “Good thing there’s plenty of room in this dress. I can tell you, it’s already about three-quarters full of Lily’s doughnuts, as it is. Just wait until you try the Boston cream–filled ones.”

  Cat groaned at the thought. She might have to add running to her morning yoga routine simply to continue fitting into the clothes she’d brought with her. And nothing got her running unless something with big claws was chasing her.

  But then, maybe if she ran with a certain hot body and cute butt . . .

  Nah. She’d do better to watch from the deck . . . then welcome him back with a shower.

  And suddenly her body temperature shot up again. Dang, she really had to stop thinking about that man.

  But it’s been four years! her body protested.

  Yeah, and she wasn’t the type for a hot, torrid affair.

  Unfortunately.

  She was, instead, a sensible, responsible mother.

  A Davenport.

  They rinsed the glaze from their fingers, and Louisa led the way out of the small room.

  “Janet McMillan is our owner,” Louisa began, speaking with her hands as well as her mouth. “She was with our group of students earlier, welcoming them for the summer program, but they should be in with our resident historian now. He’s a doctor of history at the college here in town but always takes time to teach a weekly class with the students during the summer. Not much for chitchat,” Louisa muttered under her breath, “but sure is a looker.”

  She fanned her face as if having a heat stroke before resuming her monologue about the different programs offered for the children. They continued through the maze of hallways, Louisa’s hands swishing back and forth with her words. When she got to the back wall, she turned right, but sounds from the room on their left caught Cat’s attention.

  She glanced in to find a man with his back to her, short dark hair haphazardly spiked in a way that didn’t look intentional, addressing a roomful of enthralled five- or six-year-olds. Cat stopped, stunned. She’d never seen kids of that age sit so quietly. Certainly not her own kids. And especially not for a history lesson.

  Glancing at the teacher, she watched as he interacted with the children. He addressed each personally when they raised their small hands, taking the time to make sure they felt special, and making a game out of everything he was teaching them.

  He was good.

  A sweet little girl with dark curls and big brown eyes raised her hand and gave a shy smile when he looked her way. Instead of simply asking what her question was, the teacher—she had to assume this was the doctor of history that Louisa had mentioned—squatted to address the little girl.

  As his jeans molded to his crouched form, Cat made a strangled noise in the back of her throat. That ass!

  She would recognize that rear anywhere. Hadn’t she been watching it for days?

  She turned to go, bumping into Louisa—who’d somehow suddenly gone quiet and was standing right next to her. Her eyes were focused on the exact thing Cat had been watching. Cat blushed when the older woman gave her a knowing smile. Apparently age didn’t keep a woman from enjoying a man’s backside when such a fine specimen presented itself.

  Cat couldn’t help it. She turned back to the view.

  “What can I do for you, Amy?” the man asked the little girl, his smooth, deep voice sending a round of shivers through Cat’s body. She wanted to get to know this man.

  For the next three weeks.

  The girl pointed directly at Cat. “There’s a woman here,” she said in a loud whisper.

  Ah, crud.

  Cat whirled around again, intent on leaving, but Louisa remained in her way. Instead of stepping back, Louisa gave a polite, almost demure smile and nodded toward the room behind Cat.

  “Mrs. Catherine Carlton.” Louisa’s voice took on the same I’ve-got-a-secret tone it had welcomed Cat into the building with. “Please let me introduce you to Dr. Hollister.”

  Cat froze. She felt her expression go flat as she stared at Louisa. She had to be joking. But then, how would the other woman know the name Hollister would mean anything to her? Cat swallowed.

  The entire back of her body tingled as if someone had run a roller of sharp tacks over it. It couldn’t possibly be him. Not after all this time. In this same town?

  He wasn’t even from here.

  With dread settling low in her stomach, she slowly turned. Her gaze caught at his waist first. He was trim, and from the tight gray T-shirt tucked into his jeans, she could see that he was all muscle. She forced her eyes higher as saliva disappeared from her mouth. It couldn’t be Brody.

  Her breath stopped when her eyes hit the dark-stubbled jaw. She did not want to look any farther.

  Because, no. She did not want to be standing there lusting after Brody Hollister.

  Three more inches and a long rush of air escaped her. Those eyes. She could never forget the eyes of the man she’d given her virginity to. Even if they had aged almost twenty years.

  Vibrant green irises stared back at her from behind trendy black frames as if not at all surprised to see her. But then, he lived there. He probably wasn’t surprised to see her. In fact, he’d probably been aware that she’d been in town for days.

  Living right next door to him.

  Hot anger suddenly shot through her. The man could have at least walked the thirty feet to her door and said hello.

  She pressed her lips together as she seared him with her gaze.

  “Brody,” she finally said, her voice tight. “It’s been a while.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  WELL THAT ANSWERED one question, Brody thought. The woman had had no clue whom she’d been staring at for the last five mornings. The shock in her eyes was not faked. Nor was the undisguised lack of excitement at finding him standing in front of her.

  All of this left the question of exactly why she’d been watching him if she hadn’t known who he was. It also suggested that she didn’t know who his brother was, after all.

  It was almost too hard to believe.

  The daughter of his biological father’s nemesis showed up next door, gawked at him through binoculars every morning, and she had no ulterior motive?

  He didn’t buy it. She had to be faking.

  He took in her glass-blue eyes and the pink tint high on her cheeks. She was a darned good actress if she hadn’t known.

  “I . . . uh . . .” Louisa’s stumbling words caught his attention. She was looking back and forth between them, confusion marring her face. “I guess you two know each other?” she finally asked.

  Brody’s gaze met Cat’s. They nodded simultaneously.

  “We know each other,” he said. “Though it’s been a long time.”

  Cat nodded again, the anger he’d seen flash across her face softening back into surprise. “Long time,” she muttered.

  And then her gaze skittered away.

  Her lack of eye contact intrigued him, and he took the moment to study her appearance. Her makeup was just right: applied with a light hand but enough to come across as professional. Her hair, with its wide band perfectly matching her top and shoes, didn’t have a single flyaway strand.

  And her stance screamed that she was important—only not so much as to not fit in with the locals. She wore her Davenport air, and from everything he’d seen over the last two decades, she should be standing there with a high level of confidence.

  However, she was still focusing on anything other than him.

  And then he got it. She hadn’t been spying on him for the last five days. She’d been ogling.

  Him.

  This brought a broad grin to his face. It had been nineteen years since he’d seen her. And yeah, he knew that people checked him out. He took care of himself. According to gossip at the college, he was a “hottie.” But to have Cat think so. After all this time. The very idea
sent a rush of hot pleasure through his body.

  And he could see it on her face when she peeked up at him once more. Her chin tilted stubbornly in the air. Catherine Davenport had just figured out that the guy she had the hots for was the very boy who’d once fumbled his way into her panties.

  And she lived right next door to him.

  The summer suddenly looked a whole lot brighter.

  “Mr. Hollister,” a high-pitched voice said at his side. A small hand yanked on his belt loop, and in the next instant, multiple hands yanked on multiple belt loops, with additional “Mr. Hollisters” thrown in.

  Brody looked down. He was surrounded by every kid who’d been sitting perfectly quiet only two minutes earlier. Not that he couldn’t handle them when they weren’t sitting quietly, they’d just caught him off guard. It would be only a matter of getting everyone calmed back down, and things would be fine.

  He pried Amy’s tiny hand off his jeans while ignoring Cat still standing in the doorway. “What can I do for you, Amy?”

  “Can the woman stay?” the girl asked.

  “Yeah!” Fourteen other kids shouted the word in unison and began bouncing up and down, almost as one entity. “Let the woman stay,” they chanted. “Let the woman stay.”

  A soft chime sounded overhead, and Louisa mumbled something about the front door. She was gone before Brody could ask for help.

  Amy tugged on his belt loop again. “Mr. Hollister.”

  “Yes, Amy?” Once again, he pried small fingers from the denim.

  “I need to pee.”

  Oh geez.

  Brody looked around, panicked, feeling suddenly out of control. He did not want to ask Cat for help. There was a certainty in him that if he let her in, even a millimeter, she would quickly become more than a pretty neighbor to secretly fixate on.

  He shoved the thought from his mind. She may be next door, and he may still want her—no matter how they’d ended—but it didn’t mean he had to act on it. Even if one glance at her in close proximity had him thinking that he wanted to peel that innocent-looking white skirt from her body and see what she looked like in a teeny-tiny pair of bikinis.