by Douglas, Michelle; Gordon, Lucy; Pembroke, Sophie; Hardy, Kate
She traced fingers along the V-neck of her dress, drawing the solicitor’s eyes there, and she could’ve sworn that beside her Rick was trying not to laugh. She didn’t dare glance at him for fear that a fit of giggles might overtake her.
She tossed her hair back and assumed the most superior posture she could. ‘Of course, I couldn’t possibly consider that while I have loose ends like this one hanging over my head.’ She sighed and made to rise. ‘Perhaps you’ll be so kind as to call me once you’ve found the relevant documentation and then we can take it from there.’
‘Oh, please sit, Nell. Let’s not be too hasty.’ Clint Garside rushed around the desk and urged Nell back into her seat. ‘Let me just have a quick look to see if they’re near at hand after all.’
‘Why, of course.’ She beamed at him. ‘I can’t tell you how much I appreciate all the trouble you’re taking.’
Rick snorted. Clint glanced at him sharply and Nell reached out to touch the solicitor’s arm and recapture his attention before elbowing Rick in the ribs. ‘The file?’ she reminded him gently.
‘Oh, yes.’ He was all smarmy smiles again. He patted her hand before trotting over to a filing cabinet on the other side of the room. Ugh! Behind his back, she wiped her hand down her skirt. The man had a touch like a dead fish.
‘Bingo!’ Clint turned with another wide, wet smile and held a file aloft. And for no reason at all her heart started to hammer. Was this the moment Rick would discover the identity of his sibling?
‘So...’ Clint sat across from her at his desk again, the file closed in front of him ‘...about Whittaker House...’
Beside her, she could feel Rick bunch up with tension. ‘Yes, it’s such a responsibility owning a house like that, but...’ She gave a delicate little cough and glanced sideways to indicate Rick. ‘Perhaps we can take care of this matter first and then...talk in private?’
His eyes gleamed. ‘Why yes, of course.’
He opened the file and glanced at what she supposed must be John’s instructions. ‘There’s nothing too difficult here. The late Mr Cox left a letter for Mr Rick Bradford should Mr Bradford ever come to collect it. The letter will need to be signed for, of course.’
‘Of course,’ she echoed.
‘But, before that can happen, Mr Bradford has to provide a password.’
The air left her in a rush. Her entire body slumped like a deflated balloon before she had the foresight to shake herself upright again. She turned to Rick, trying to swallow her panic. A password?
‘You will only get one chance, Mr Bradford.’
Acid burned her throat. ‘Oh, Rick...’
He merely grinned at her, those dark eyes dancing. ‘Don’t sweat it, Princess.’ He turned to the solicitor. ‘The password will be Marigold.’
‘That’s correct.’
Marigold? He was a genius!
‘All you now need to do is sign here.’ Clint handed Rick a pen without looking at him and indicated where he should sign. His lack of courtesy grated on her. Hadn’t the people around here heard that Rick’s name had been cleared?
Ah, but there’s no smoke without fire. Her lip curled at the narrow-minded pettiness of it all.
Rick read the short statement, signed and took the letter from Clint’s outstretched hand. He clasped her shoulder briefly. ‘Thanks, Nell.’
And then he left. She wondered if she’d ever see him again.
* * *
Seven and three-quarter minutes later Nell made her escape from Clint Garside. With what she hoped was a breezy wave to Lynne, she shot outside to drag a breath of air into lungs that had cramped.
‘Hey, Princess.’
She spun around to find Rick leaning against the wall just outside the door. One leg slightly raised, knee bent so his foot rested on the wall behind too. The epitome of casual indolence and she had to swallow to contain the leap of joy her heart gave at seeing him.
Slowly, she eased a breath of air out of lungs that had cramped up in an entirely different way. Rick wore a pair of dark denim jeans and a white business shirt, top button undone—no tie—and with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He looked like a model for a jeans commercial.
‘Everything okay?’
She should be the one asking that. She swallowed and nodded and tried not to swoon in relief that he’d waited. ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d still be here.’
‘Why not?’
That intent dark gaze watched her as if...as if she were worth watching, she realised. As if he liked not just what he saw, but...her. As if he liked her.
No doubt it was all just a trick of the light. And if it wasn’t it’d just be smoke and mirrors. Rick had a reputation where women were concerned. Flirting would be as natural as breathing to him.
‘I thought you might like to be alone to read John’s letter.’
He glanced away and she took a step closer. ‘What did it say?’
One of those broad shoulders lifted. ‘I haven’t opened it yet.’
She stared at those shoulders and bit her lip. A hum started up in her blood. She stretched out her toes to prevent them from curling.
‘The street didn’t seem like the right place. I’d prefer more privacy than that.’
Did he want to go home? Or maybe he wanted privacy, but didn’t want to be totally alone? ‘You could come back to Whittaker House with me if you like.’
One corner of his mouth hitched up. It made her blood chug. ‘You’re dying of curiosity, aren’t you?’
‘Absolutely,’ she agreed. ‘But there are cupcakes at my place. There’s a Salted Caramel with my name on it.’
‘Is there one for me?’
She gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes. ‘Of course there is. I would never be so cruel as to eat one in front of company without offering them around first. You can have the Cherry Cheesecake and the Bubblegum if you like.’
‘Sold!’ He pushed away from the wall and fell into step beside her. ‘Did you drive?’
She shook her head. ‘It’s only a five-minute walk—did you?’
‘Nah, it’s only about two minutes from Tash’s.’
They walked along in silence. She was aware of the heat and magnetism he gave off, of the grace with which his tall body moved and the confidence in his strides—shortened to match hers at the moment. With each step she took, her awareness of him grew.
‘You were magnificent back there, you know?’
‘Me? You were the one who guessed the password!’
‘You had that slimy solicitor eating out of the palm of your hand.’
She snorted. ‘That was nothing more than him being overtaken by his own greed.’
‘You played him to perfection. I went into that meeting determined to stamp my mark on it, but...’
She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and dared to meet his gaze. ‘But?’
‘You were an absolute delight to watch and I didn’t want to interrupt you. I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed myself so much.’
Her cheeks warmed. ‘I was pretty good, wasn’t I?’ she said because she didn’t want him to see how much his words touched her.
He threw his head back and laughed. ‘Did you crush him like a bug when I left?’
‘I was tempted to, but no.’
He eased back to survey her. ‘Why not?’
She kept her gaze straight ahead. ‘It doesn’t do to make enemies.’ She had enough of those as it was. ‘He thinks I’m exploring my options and that he’s number one on my go-to list. Besides, I didn’t want to burn our bridges where he was concerned until after you’d read your letter.’ Who knew when they might have to consult with him again?
He didn’t say anything so she forced herself to smile up at him. ‘I’ll save squashing him for another day.’
> Her heart started to thump. Hard. She had to tread carefully—very carefully. She was in danger of turning this man into her Sir Galahad. Just as she’d done as a ten-year-old...and throughout her early teens—the fantasy boy who’d ride up on his white charger and rescue her.
She scowled and picked up her pace. Well, she was no damsel. And Rick Bradford wasn’t a Sir Galahad in anybody’s language.
CHAPTER FOUR
NELL BUSTLED ABOUT the kitchen, putting the coffee on to percolate, arranging some of those sugary confections with their over-the-top frosting and decorations onto a plate and setting it on the table.
While Rick was aware of Nell’s activity, all he could focus on was the letter he’d placed on the table. Sun poured in through the windows over the sink and a warm breeze wafted through the wide open back door and the kitchen gleamed in spotless—if somewhat crowded—cleanliness. And yet none of it could hold his attention.
The envelope sat on the table and the black capitals seemed to sneer at him. He deliberately turned to Nell. ‘When did you move back in here, Princess?’
‘Friday.’
His head snapped back. ‘Friday? As in five days ago?’
‘That’s right.’ She poured out two mugs of steaming coffee. She wore another frock. This one was white with cherries printed all over it and she had a red patent leather belt cinched at her waist.
She’d moved in on Friday, met all of her weekend orders, had dealt with the suit and had found the time to help him out too? And she hadn’t complained. Not once. She hadn’t made him feel as if he were in the way or as if she had more important things to do.
Why?
Because of a silly incident fifteen years ago and a sense of responsibility to a dead man? He dropped into a chair, his chest heavy.
She sat too. She glanced at the letter, but she didn’t ask about it. Instead, she selected a cupcake and cut it into quarters, sliced one quarter in half and with the crumb delicately held between thumb and forefinger she brought it to her mouth. Her lips closed about it and she let out a breath, her eyes half closing.
He swallowed. If the taste and texture of salted caramel did that to her, he wondered what she’d look like if she licked whipped cream from his—
He shot back in his chair, hot and hard. Hell! Where had that come from? Gritting his teeth, he tried to shake his mind free from the scent of sugar. He gulped coffee instead and scalded his tongue.
‘Ignoring it won’t make it go away.’ She broke off another crumb. He averted his gaze as she lifted it towards her mouth. She was silent for a moment. ‘You really aren’t sure yet if you do want a brother or a sister, are you?’
He’d already told her that. ‘You don’t get it?’ Why he’d expected her to understand he couldn’t begin to explain. They might’ve grown up in the same neighbourhood, but they came from completely different worlds.
‘I think I do. You’re afraid this unknown sibling will reject you.’
Her candour sliced into the heart of him. He held himself tight so he couldn’t flinch.
‘I’d be afraid of that too.’
The simple admission eased some of the previous sting. ‘Who in their right mind would reject you, Princess?’
‘I know. It’s inconceivable, isn’t it?’ She lifted her nose in the air and gave an elegant shrug, but it was so over the top he found himself biting back a grin.
He let a part of the grin free and reached for a cake.
‘You’re afraid your history—having been to jail and whatnot—will mean they won’t want anything to do with you.’
He bit into the cupcake, barely tasting it.
‘And yet you’re also afraid your sibling could be on the same path you were, that he or she may need help.’
It took all of his strength to swallow without choking. Acid churned in his stomach.
‘There’s no easy answer to any of that, is there?’
He couldn’t bear to look at her. He wasn’t sure he could stand the sympathy he suspected he would find in her face. He pushed his chair back and sat side on to the table.
‘You do know you don’t have to address those concerns yet, though, don’t you?’
Very slowly, he turned back to her. Her face wasn’t full of sympathy, but rather no-nonsense practicality.
‘You can find out who this sibling is and then make the decision about whether to approach them or not.’
She had a point. In fact she made a very good point. He straightened. If all was well and good in his sibling’s life, he could walk away without a pang.
Liar.
If all weren’t well, maybe he’d find a way to help them anonymously.
Or maybe he’d introduce himself. Maybe he’d give family another shot and—
He clenched his eyes and closed his mind to that possibility. It was too soon to think about it, too soon to get caught up in the fairy tale Nell harboured—that this would end well for everyone. This was the real world and, more often than not, in the real world things didn’t work out.
That didn’t change the fact that on this point she was right—he didn’t need to make every decision at this current moment in time. He went to reach for the envelope when she said, ‘It’s also occurred to me...’
She bit her lip. It made her look incredibly young. He pulled his hand back. ‘What?’
She grimaced. ‘What if John left a letter for your sibling with sleazy solicitor Garside—to be opened at some future date?’
He stiffened.
‘What if at some time in the future this sibling turns up on your doorstep? Wouldn’t it be better to...’ She trailed off as if she didn’t know how to finish that sentence despite all of her surface polish.
His hand clenched to a fist. ‘You’re saying forewarned is forearmed?’
They stared at each other for a moment. Eventually she shook her head. ‘I don’t know what I’m saying.’
Her chin lifted. ‘Yes, I do. I’m saying read the darn letter, Rick, and then maybe you’ll enjoy your cupcake.’
It surprised a laugh out of him. The Princess had changed from the shy little kid and the awkward teenager. He wanted to ask her about the transformation, only he suspected she’d chide him for changing the subject and avoiding the obvious.
And she’d probably be right.
He tore open the letter. He tried not to think too hard about what he was doing. It didn’t stop the skin of his scalp tightening over until it became one big prickling itch.
The envelope contained a single sheet of folded paper. His hand trembled—just for a fraction of a second—and that sign of weakness make him want to smash something. He glanced at Nell to see if she’d noticed, but she was intent on reducing her cupcake to a pile of crumbs. He let out a breath and unfolded the sheet of paper.
He stared and stared.
And then he let loose with the rudest word he knew.
Nell jumped. Her chin shot up. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Sorry,’ he growled. Not that he felt the least bit remorseful.
She moistened her bottom lip and he was suddenly and ravenously hungry. For a moment it seemed that if he could lose himself in her for an hour he’d find the answer to ease the burn in his soul.
As if she’d read that thought in his eyes, she drew back, but pink stained her cheeks and her breathing had grown shallower. If he wanted, he could seduce her. Right here, right now.
If he wanted...
A harsh laugh broke from him. Oh, he wanted all right, but there was always a price to pay for seducing a woman. The price for this woman would be too high.
He leapt out of his chair and wheeled away, his hands clenched to fists.
‘Please don’t punch a wall. I already have enough holes to mend.’
Her words couldn’t drag even a ghost of a smile from him.
‘I take it, then, that you recognise the name John has given you?’
Name? Ha! He wheeled back and thrust the letter at her. With a wary glance up at him she took it. She stared at him for two beats more, looked as if she wanted to say something, and then with the tiniest of shrugs turned her gaze to the letter.
She frowned. She turned it over and then back. She held it up to the light. The frown deepened to a scowl. She slammed it down to the table. ‘But this doesn’t make sense!’
‘It’s obviously some kind of code.’
‘A code?’
She swore then too and it surprised him so much his head rocked back.
‘Of all the mean-spirited pieces of spite!’ She leapt up, hands clenched and eyes narrowed, as she paced up and down beside the table. ‘Not only does he spend your entire childhood ignoring you—’ she flung an arm out ‘—but now he plagues you with nonsense and taunts you with a carrot he keeps whisking out of reach.’
She ended on an incoherent growl of frustration. Rick eased back to lean against the wall. The Princess wasn’t just cross—she was hopping mad. In fact, she was a great big ball of boiling rage.
She stabbed a finger in his direction. ‘If I could get hold of him now I’d make his ears burn, let me tell you.’ She slammed a hand to the table. ‘Well, we’ll just crack that code! And to hell with him!’
She glanced at Rick, stilled and then rolled her shoulders. ‘What?’
‘Who are you really angry with, Princess?’
The colour leached from her face. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ She took her seat and crossed her legs, polished and smooth once more.
He sat too. Even though he knew he should leave.
She pushed the sheet of paper back across to him. ‘All of these letters and numbers—they have to mean something.’
Did he really want to bother with any of this? He raked both hands through his hair and fought the exhaustion that washed over him. If he walked away now, what would be the worst-case scenario?
The answer came to him too swiftly. He reached for a cupcake, needing the sweetness to counter the bitterness that rose up through him. The worst-case scenario would be at some point in the future to come face to face with a younger version of himself—a kid he could’ve helped. A kid he’d chosen to reject in the same way John had rejected him. How could he justify walking away to that kid when he’d had the chance to discover the truth?