The Return of Adams Cade

by BJ James

  “You said you were tired,” Eden protested. “And surely you will want to speak with your brothers.”

  “If I’m tired, you’re the most restful thing that’s happened to me in a long while. I spoke to my brothers from the airport shortly after landing. If there’s any change in Gus’ condition, Lincoln and Jackson and Jefferson all know I’m here. None of them would hesitate to call. And I’m sure your efficient staff would see to it the call was put through to me.

  “So as it stands now, all bases are covered. In the meantime, Eden, my sweet, I’m holding you to your promise.”

  “My promise?” Eden had made no promises she remembered.

  “‘Then as meets your pleasure, tonight and any other time, you may have whatever you wish,”’ he quoted word for word.

  “Oh.” Eden blushed at the implication of the words.

  “Yes, ‘oh.’ And my pleasure tonight would be a quiet dinner in the cottage, in your company.” His low laughter teased, almost as in the past. “Give it up, sweetheart. I have you cornered. You’re caught on your own hook. You promised, and something tells me you’re a woman who keeps promises.”

  “This is blackmail,” Eden accused. Demurring, even as she knew that when he was like this—so much like the boy and the young man she’d known and loved—she could deny him nothing.

  “Perhaps it is, but you won’t refuse.”

  Eden saw then that the old confidence was there. With it, the added confidence of a survivor. The confidence of brilliance that could analyze a problem, then create a solution that would bring him to the forefront of the business world. Confidence that had faltered only in the land of Belle Terre and Belle Reve, where his father lay grievously ill.

  Confidence that lived and would continue to live within the walls and grounds of River Walk. Eden was adamant.

  “No,” she admitted after a thoughtful pause, “I won’t refuse. I will have dinner with you in the cottage.”

  But not like this. She would not go to the man she had loved all her life grubby from a day’s work. “Why don’t we both freshen up? Merrie, the young woman you met earlier, will show you to the cottage and take your order for dinner.”

  “I would prefer that you choose. My tastes haven’t changed so much.”

  “All right, I’ll see to that first, then come to the cottage in forty-five minutes or so. That should give you time to settle in, have a drink and relax a bit before dinner.”

  “You will come to the cottage?” he asked in a tone she couldn’t fathom. “Your word on it, Eden?”

  “My most solemn word, Adams.”

  “Then I’ll wait here for Merrie.” Satisfied at last, releasing her, he stepped away and, with a gallant bow, settled in a chair by the window.

  He was still sitting there lost in his thoughts when Eden passed by on her return from the kitchen. Pausing, her hand on a curved stair rail, she watched through the open library door and remembered. “Adams, in my home,” she murmured, then she smiled as she climbed the stairs to her third-floor apartment.

  “Have you wondered what simple soul gave such a beautiful body of water the unimaginative name of Broad River?” Eden leaned against a column as the last of day faded from river and sky. The dinner she’d shared with Adams was long finished, Cullen’s carefully supervised choice of wines nearly gone.

  “It is magnificent,” Adams agreed. “Evenings like this are among the things I miss most.”

  “The quiet time. Watching the play of color over the water. First the blues, which deepen to turquoise, then navy. Next comes the fire, wild and glittering. Then gradually the darkness seeps in, and reds become burgundy and maroon. Then simply black.” Eden spoke as if with her voice she might break the peaceful spell that had fallen over the evening.

  “All the better to reflect the silver path of the moon.” The equally subdued, masculine voice drifted out of the darkness.

  Adams sat in the recesses of the lanai, hidden within gathering dusk. But with the creak of the swing and the pad of his footsteps, Eden knew he’d come to join her at the railing. Once upon a time he’d smelled of sunlight, sea air and soap. Now, when he was near, she thought of boardrooms, shuffling papers and expensive cologne. But that could change.

  “You could come back, Adams.” He was near, so near she could touch him if she dared. “You could come home again. If not to the plantation, then to Belle Terre.”

  Adams only shook his head. He didn’t want to speak of the past or even the future. He didn’t want to think of anything but Eden. Trailing the tip of a finger up the back of her arm, letting the flowing georgette of her long, full sleeve add its own caress to his, he moved a step closer. “Thank you for this—the welcome, the cottage, dinner and the wine. And especially for the company.” He laughed softly. “Even the floor show.”

  “We aim to please.” Eden chuckled huskily in response. Even while she fought to quell a shiver as his touch sent a fever shimmering over her skin in the blazing wake of his body heat. She knew his touch was not hot, yet it burned into her, deliciously seducing her. Mindlessly, hardly aware that she spoke, she murmured, “Mother Nature gets credit for the floor show.”

  “She’s quite a beautiful lady. And so are you.”

  Looking away from the river, she found Adams looming over her. A tall, dark form with the touch of heated velvet and a voice as smooth. “I’m not really beautiful, Adams. Perhaps it’s a trick of the light, the rosy glow. Or a mood or the wine. I’m only Eden, and once just Robbie, one of the guys.”

  “You are beautiful. It isn’t a trick, a glow, the moon, or the wine. And, sweetheart—” his drawl was unconsciously seductive “—it’s been a long time since you were one of the guys.”

  At her look of surprise, Adams’ first instinct was to fold her in his arms, to show her in ways words never could that she was beautiful. So beautiful the memory of her moonlit image had been strength and solace for a lonely man in the worst days of prison.

  He’d dreamed of touching her then. He wanted to touch her now as a lover, as he had only once before. But that was a lifetime ago. Too much had happened. The Adams Cade she’d made love with on a sandy beach was not the man with her now.

  He’d lived too long among the hardened and the ruthless. To survive he acquired their brutal ways and habits, the ways and habits of power. He lived his life as best he could, with honor and in truth. But deep inside he’d grown hard and bold, taking what he wanted, keeping it for only as long as he wanted.

  He’d known beautiful women. But never in love. Never in tenderness. And no matter how he searched, none had been Eden.

  Now she was here, only a forbidden touch away. The same sweet Eden, unsullied beneath the worldly elegance. But in the harshness that marked his life, he was wrong for her.

  Perhaps they could be friends, as she asked. But never lovers, as he wished.

  “It’s late,” he declared firmly, the rush of his breath warming her cheek. “This has been a long day for both of us.”

  Catching the scarf draped like a shawl about her shoulders, he drew her close. Touching his lips to her forehead, he savored the feel and fragrance of her. But knowing this was all he could have of her, all that he dared, he put her from him.

  Stroking her cheek with the back of his hand, he whispered, “You’re tired. I’ve asked too much of you this day.”

  “No—”

  A finger brushing her lips silenced her protest. “Come,” he insisted, taking her hand. “I’ll walk you home.”

  She didn’t protest again. Not even when he kissed the sensitive flesh of her wrist, thanking her most gallantly for a lovely evening and for the pleasure of her company. Nor when he left her in the shadow of the sprawling back porch of River Walk.

  Eden watched until the darkness washed over him and hid him from sight. She watched and waited, but he didn’t turn, he didn’t look back. And he didn’t hear as she whispered. “Good night, Adams Cade.”

  Then, in a voice husky with tears,
as Cullen stepped from the shadows, she whispered, “Good night, Adams, my love.”

  Two

  “Mrs. Claibourne.”

  Eden looked up from the basket of flowers she was gathering while they were still glittering with dew. Shading her eyes against the early-morning sun, she realized that it was Merrie rushing toward her. As the girl came closer, Eden saw her face was flushed, her eyes bright, and the lovely mass of dark curls tumbled in fey disorder down her back.

  Certain something was dreadfully wrong, Eden slipped off the supple leather gloves she used for gardening. Tucking gloves and shears into a pocket, she waited for the outburst.

  Standing in the rising heat of the unseasonably warm spring morning, she watched Merrie weaving though the garden and wondered what problem had thrown this most vivacious member of her staff into a dither. Visions of termites swarming over the lower porches or mice in the pantry filled her thoughts, even as she knew that termites and mice would never cause this agitation in one so new to the foibles of ancient Southern homes.

  “There’s more!” Merrie stopped, barely avoiding Eden.

  “Whoa!” Eden exclaimed as she steadied the girl. “Calm down and tell me what in heaven’s name has you so excited. There’s more, you say? More of what?”

  “More of them,” Merrie managed between heaving gasps.

  “‘Them’?” Eden lifted a questioning brow as she found the oblique answer even more puzzling. “What? Who?”

  “The other presidents.”

  Eden was totally baffled now. “What presidents? Where?”

  “The Cades.” Merrie caught a long breath, then spoke more calmly in faultless English just acquiring a touch of the Southern lilt. “In the library. The inn is full of them. The more they come, the more dangerous they are. Except for the first.”

  “Adams’ brothers,” Eden interpreted rather than asked, not really certain having the three younger, brawling Cades on the premises was less disconcerting than termites on the porch or mice in the pantry. Disconcerting or not, it would be interesting, she thought as she continued her interpretation. “And, as with Adams, dangerous meaning handsome—or better.”

  “Mr. Adams’ brothers,” Merrie confirmed. “But totally different and totally handsome.”

  “And these presidents are in the library?” Eden chuckled in spite of knowing she really shouldn’t encourage such unbridled exuberance in her staff. Still, she doubted Merrie’s initial reaction would last. Not even a bevy of dangerously handsome men could supersede her greatest love.

  “Since that was where you asked me to take Mr. Adams when he arrived, I was sure it would serve for the rest of the family.”

  “Of course it does,” Eden agreed. “You did well. But next time, try to announce them with a little more composure.”

  “I’m sorry.” Merrie was instantly contrite. “It’s just that no one warned me that the men of Southern North America were so…so…” Shrugging away her loss of words, she settled simply for redundancy. “Dangerous.”

  Eden wondered if she should explain that the Cades were a breed apart, and certainly not men against whom others could be measured. But, deciding some things were better learned than told, she kept silent, waiting for Merrie to complete her report.

  “They asked to see Mr. Adams,” the girl continued as expected. “Since you gave strict orders that he was to have no unannounced visitors unless you screened them, I thought the library was best. Mrs. Claibourne, I hope it was all right that I asked Cullen to see if they wanted coffee and muffins.”

  “That’s perfect, Merrie. What you did was exactly right.”

  “Should I get Mr. Adams now? Or take the gentlemen down to the river cottage?”

  “No,” Eden said thoughtfully. “I think not just yet.” Given Merrie’s description, she didn’t doubt that it was Adams’ brothers who waited in the library. She couldn’t think of a soul who would be brave enough, or foolhardy enough, to misrepresent themselves as Cades. Even so, she would see for herself and judge the mood of this visit before Adams was disturbed.

  “These flowers are for the suite in the west wing,” she told Merrie with her usual calm. “The Rhetts are scheduled to arrive just after lunch. In case I’m delayed with the Cades, would you see to arranging them and getting them to the suite?” Anticipating the answer, Eden offered the dew-laden flowers.

  “Of course.” Merrie took the basket. “My mother often asked me to do the flowers when she entertained.”

  “I know. Do your best, Merrie. That’s all I ask.”

  “I will, Mrs. Claibourne.”

  “I know,” Eden said again. She’d spoken truthfully. She did know Merrie would do an excellent job. All the staff at the inn put their best effort into any task they were assigned. Eden had striven to assure their working conditions were pleasant and rewarding. In turn the staff was phenomenally efficient. So efficient that Eden was confident that even in her absence, the inn would continue as usual.

  Grateful for her good fortune and anticipating a meeting with old friends, she hurried to the house. Even as the back hall door closed behind her, Eden heard their voices. Deep, masculine voices. Familiar voices she had known all her life.

  The library door was ajar and her step was quiet, but not one of the stunning and uniquely different young men was unaware of her entrance. In an instant each was on his feet, vying to be first to hug her, first to kiss her. And in Jackson’s case, she feared, first to threaten the strength of her ribs.

  It would have been overwhelming if the anticipated jousting hadn’t been a common occurrence since she’d known them. They were the Cades, not just a breed apart from other men, but among themselves. Yet, in their differences, once they had been a close family. Eden hoped they could be again.

  “Lincoln,” she said in greeting as the tallest, and second oldest, took command, virtually lifting her off her feet.

  Before his kiss was finished, she was snatched away by Jackson, the fiery one. Whose exuberant bear hug, as expected, literally took her breath away.

  “Hey, brother, don’t break her in half or you’ll have our older brother to contend with,” Jefferson said as he gently extricated her from Jackson’s brawny arms.

  Jefferson, the quietest of the four, clasped her shoulders, looking her up and down as if inspecting her for injuries. Then he laughed, muttered something about being indestructible and beautiful, and drew her in his arms. “How are you, Robbie?” he murmured against her cheek. Then, in a breath, “How is he?”

  Putting her from him, but not letting go of her hand, he asked in an oddly desperate tone, “How is Adams?”

  “He was tired when he arrived, and deeply concerned about Gus. But one of the staff informed me he had an early breakfast. Though not so early that I would think he didn’t sleep well. I’m hoping that means he’s rested.” Going with Jefferson to the sofa, she took the seat he offered.

  For all that he lacked in compassion, Gus Cade had never stinted on social instructions for his sons. They might have been prone to mischief and each had scattered the wildest of oats, but few in conventional and proper Belle Terre could match Jefferson, Jackson or Lincoln for gallantry. And only one could best them, Eden recalled. Only the first of them. Only Adams.

  Taking the coffee Lincoln poured from a silver server and cream from the pitcher Jackson offered, she sipped dutifully before continuing her report. “Adams is staying in the river cottage. I thought it would be more suitable for your reunion.”

  Eden knew that in direct defiance of Gus Cade’s decree, the brothers had seen each other sporadically over the years. But never in Belle Terre. Never so close to home and Gus.

  None of them wanted to hurt Gus, but nor were they willing to abandon their brother as the father had. Secrecy and distance had been the answer. Yet when Adams came to River Walk, Eden hadn’t doubted that Lincoln, Jackson and Jefferson would come, as well.

  Looking from one startlingly attractive, startlingly different brother to the next
, Eden wondered why life had become so busy that they saw each other so little. Even so, she knew she mustn’t keep them. None would think of rushing her, but she realized that beneath the decorum they were eager to be with Adams.

  “When I went to the garden this morning, the grounds-keeper said he had seen Adams down by the river-cottage dock. I assume he’s still there.”

  “He’s here,” Adams’ voice drifted to them from the open doorway. “Dropping off some fish for dinner.”

  Clasping her cup tightly to keep from dropping it, Eden looked to the door. Before his brothers surrounded him, she saw the perfectly barbered hair was disheveled, the perfectly tailored suit had been exchanged for a cotton shirt and denims, the perfectly shined shoes for sneakers. Best of all, in the smile he flashed at her, she saw the ghost of the young man she’d loved.

  Lincoln was first to speak as they clasped hands to forearms as they had as boys. “I’ve waited for this, for the day you would come home.”

  “Not home, Linc, but close enough, I suppose.” Though his pleasure in being with his brothers was heartfelt, the hurt in Adams’ eyes was not so skillfully hidden. “But wherever, whenever, it’s good to see you. All of you.”

  “Adams.” Jackson clasped the other arm. Each man’s brawny forearm was aligned, with their hands circling the muscles barely below the elbow of the other. A salute began as a secret ritual of boys survived to become the affectionate gesture of men.

  Watching discreetly, Eden wondered how many times she had seen these proud, vigorous men display their affection. That the brothers loved one another and their father deeply was forever evident. Only Gus, who had driven his sons without mercy, judged without compassion, had never offered an iota of affection.

  Only Jefferson, the youngest, had ever seemed to matter to the caustic old man. Being Gus’ favorite might have made Jefferson’s life easier in some ways. But, as few could understand, Eden knew that in the ways that mattered most it made his life far more difficult.