by Abby Gaines
“We’ll set an extra place for lunch,” his mother said, “and I promise Tyler will be solely responsible for the baby while you eat.”
Tyler scowled at his mom’s treachery, but she just laughed over her shoulder as she led Bethany to the conservatory.
Tyler carried Ben, still in the front-pack. With a jerk of his head, he requested Jake to hold on to the pack so he could release Ben from his confinement. It took half a minute of wrestling the little wriggler, but at last he got the baby out. Tyler was holding Ben from behind as Jake tugged the front-pack away. His cousin started to laugh.
“What’s so funny?” So what if Tyler wasn’t a natural when it came to holding a baby?
Max took one look at Ben and guffawed. Tyler turned the little boy around so he could share the joke.
Ben had an oval sticker plastered to his navy blue romper. One of those stickers they hand out at conferences.
Hello, my name is Ben.
Tyler slammed Bethany with his glare.
“I wanted to avoid any confusion,” she said snootily as she accepted the chair Susan proffered.
Before Tyler could wreak revenge, Bethany was sitting down, eating the smoked-salmon dish with a knife and fork and with a leisurely bliss that suggested she wasn’t even thinking about the baby.
Tyler, on the other hand, held Ben in one hand and a fork in the other, and struggled constantly to ensure the two didn’t meet. Ben’s wandering hands—this kid had a great future as a horny teenager—made it almost impossible for Tyler’s fork to connect with his meal.
Max couldn’t stop chuckling every time he caught sight of that name sticker, Jake was flirting with Bethany, and Susan was going all out to ensure Bethany’s comfort. The only person who had any evident sympathy for Tyler was Olivia, who winced every time she looked at him, but nonetheless steered a wide berth around Ben.
Bethany’s instinct was to shovel her food in as fast as she could, before Tyler handed Ben back. But the atmosphere in Susan Warrington’s house was so genteel, her hostess so gracious, that she couldn’t bring herself to abandon good manners. She found herself delicately forking food, laying her knife aside, transferring salmon to her mouth with a sense of relaxation that felt otherworldly.
“Give us the scoop, Bethany,” Max said. “Is Tyler the world’s worst dad?”
Max wasn’t as handsome as Tyler, but he had a commanding presence and a hard charm that probably attracted a lot of women.
Even though Bethany knew Tyler would win a Least Likely Father contest hands down, she replied with a noncommittal “He’s adjusting.”
She caught the flash of surprise in Tyler’s eyes before Ben stuffed four fingers up his temporary dad’s nose, and the surprise turned into a yelp of pain.
“He’s certainly the best-looking daddy a boy could have,” his mother said fondly. When Max groaned, she patted her older son’s hand across the table, “So would you be, dear, it’s just you don’t have a baby.”
Max sent her an impatient look. “Neither does Tyler. This is just his latest fad.”
“Hey,” Tyler protested. “This kid’s mother left him with me.”
“The Warrington Foundation strikes again,” Max said dryly. “Leaving us to make millions of dollars, while you change diapers.”
By “us,” he meant Warrington Construction, Bethany presumed. Max’s joke fell flat. Tyler got a resentful look in his eye, but he obviously wasn’t about to admit he’d never changed a diaper, which limited the responses he could make to his brother’s comment.
Just when the silence threatened to get awkward, he recovered his equanimity and said with a self-righteousness that made Bethany giggle, “It’s sad how you rate the ability to make money so much higher than the ability to look after an abandoned child.”
“Now, boys, you know I don’t like to hear you arguing about business.” Susan smiled at Bethany. “The foundation is my baby.”
“Oh,” Bethany said politely.
“Ten years ago, it didn’t exist. My husband and I used to get a lot of personal letters asking for money, so I decided to set up a charity to help people.”
“It was a hobby, like her knitting,” Max said, which Bethany read as an older-brotherly attempt to put Tyler in his place.
“In those days we were giving away small amounts to hundreds of people,” Susan said. “After my husband died, Tyler moved out of Warrington Construction and took over the charity. He created the Warrington Foundation.” She reached over and ruffled Tyler’s hair before he could duck. “It was perfect for you, darling—all that schmoozing you’re so good at.”
Tyler’s smile was tight.
Jake, who had an easy, relaxed manner that Bethany imagined would encourage women to lower their guard way too fast, spoke up. “Auntie Sue didn’t explain, Bethany, how Tyler transformed the whole concept of a family charity. The Warrington Foundation has one of the best returns on funds given away, by any measure—it’s a business in its own right.”
“Do you have any involvement in the foundation?” Bethany asked Max.
He shook his head. “I’m the chairman of Warrington Construction. Jake’s the vice president for major projects. The foundation fits around Tyler’s social commitments.” He raised his glass to his brother in a toast.
“Which reminds me,” Susan said, “I’m hosting the Save the Children afternoon tea next Tuesday. Do you think you could come along, Tyler? The old ladies give so much more money when you do the asking.”
“Mom, I have work to do,” Tyler said. Bethany read exasperation beneath his casual tone. “And you know those women give me their daughters’ phone numbers, then complain to you if I don’t call them.”
“It’s for a good cause,” Susan said reproachfully, but Tyler shook his head.
“I might have some time on Tuesday,” Max said. He sounded disinterested, but Bethany saw the alertness in his eyes, which were the same blue as Tyler’s.
His mother shook her head. “It’s okay, darling, I’ll manage.”
Max’s jaw firmed, almost imperceptibly. How strange that he should be annoyed he wasn’t needed for a charity afternoon tea.
“But I do need someone to look after Mitzy when I’m away next weekend,” Susan said.
Horror was uniform across the three men’s faces.
“Forget it,” Max said flatly.
Jake muttered something about a date who was allergic to dogs.
“Ugh, this baby stinks,” Tyler said.
“COULDN’T YOU HAVE SAVED this until Bethany’s back on duty?” Tyler asked Ben as, one-handed, he spread the changing mat on his mom’s guest bed.
The baby smiled and made a razzing sound.Tyler pulled the tabs on the diaper and a choking smell filled his nostrils. “Go easy on me, kid,” he muttered.
Half a box of wipes and three diapers later, he had the baby clean and changed. He was exhausted.
When he got back to the lunch table, the appetizer had been cleared away, though Tyler hadn’t finished his, and Max was carving the roasted goose.
“Can I put the baby down somewhere?” Tyler asked Bethany.
“There’s a blanket in his bag. You can lie him on the floor with a rattle to play with, if you want to ignore him for a few minutes.”
Once Ben was installed on the floor, Tyler wolfed down his goose in case he didn’t get to finish it. But Ben dozed off on his blanket, and Tyler ended up with plenty of time to observe Bethany with his family. For someone who made no effort to be nice when he was around, she was sweet-natured, even cute. Neither Tyler nor Jake had ever been attracted to sweet women, so that sour feeling Tyler was experiencing had to be surprise at the amount of attention his cousin was paying his babysitter.
IT WAS FOUR O’CLOCK by the time lunch broke up. Susan escorted her guests out to the antebellum home’s pillared front porch.
She cooed at Ben, kissed Bethany on the cheek and caught Tyler in a tight squeeze. “Anytime you have an errand and you need to leave Ben som
ewhere, bring him to me,” she told Bethany.“Thank you,” Bethany said. Tyler’s mom’s willingness to get involved with Ben was a welcome contrast to her son’s reluctance.
At the same time, Tyler said, “I pay Bethany to look after him.”
His mother swatted him.
“Mom, who’s that guy loitering outside your gate?” Max asked.
Susan stepped forward, as if moving a few inches might make all the difference in her ability to see what was happening a hundred yards away. “I’m not sure.”
Olivia said something inarticulate and started down the steps.
Tyler shaded his eyes against the late-afternoon sun. “It’s the wacko frog guy.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
OLIVIA STUMBLED on the bottom step.
Tyler brushed past her. “I’ll get rid of him.”“No.” Olivia caught his arm. “Let me do it.”
Tyler’s brows drew together. “He’s already harassed you once.”
“I—I feel sorry for him.” Silas Grant was looking up the driveway, right at her. She gave him a merry wave, so as not to alarm Susan. He didn’t wave back. “He’s harmless, I’ll be fine,” she assured Tyler.
Tyler looked confused, and she knew why. Like him, she didn’t generally do anything that wasn’t in her own immediate interest—the two of them worked so well together because they understood each other. She wasn’t about to admit to him that Silas did interest her. After he’d left her office the other day, she’d read his funding application right through, and been quite intrigued.
Olivia hopped into her sporty little Mazda RX-7, wondering if she had time to apply a fresh coat of her Chanel Crimsonite lipstick before she reached the gates. She didn’t take the chance because she was worried that, if she didn’t keep an eye on him, Silas might barge into Susan’s property.
But it was Olivia he was looking at. Her stomach tightened. A quick run of her tongue over her lips confirmed her lipstick had indeed been wiped away by that delicious lunch. But she’d had her hair styled yesterday, and she was wearing one of her nicest outfits, a soft pink dress with a matching belt and a large gold buckle that showed off her still-trim waist.
Silas, on the other hand, looked every bit as disreputable as he had the last time. That overcoat hadn’t got any cleaner, and she was certain those were the same pants and shirt. Just maybe, she thought, he’d washed his hair—it looked springier, shinier. But if he had, he’d forgotten to comb it.
She pulled over to the curb, got out of her car, beeped the remote lock.
“Hello, Olivia.” His deep, well-modulated voice sparked a sense of inevitability and excitement that set her heart thudding. Too silly at her age. And at his—she’d learned he was sixty years old, five years older than she was.
“You shouldn’t be here.” She tried to sound cross but didn’t quite pull it off. The men she’d met recently had all been so underwhelming, even the handsome—and definitely interested—cardiologist Gigi had introduced her to at Friday’s soiree. In contrast, a powerful undercurrent of excitement pulled her toward Silas. “As I said on your answering machine, I did ask, but Mr. Warrington won’t see you.”
As if to reinforce her words, Tyler’s BMW M6 swept out of the gates behind her, and turned in the opposite direction.
“How did you know I was here?” she asked Silas.
He frowned and said slowly, “I didn’t. I came looking for Tyler Warrington.”
Of course he had. Embarrassment heated Olivia’s cheeks.
Silas gave her a measuring look. “But since he’s gone and you’re still here, I suppose I could talk to you instead.”
You’d never guess from his slow talk that this man had one of the state’s finest scientific minds. The excitement in the air must all be on Olivia’s side. She told herself the cardiologist’s overt appreciation was looking more appealing every second.
Silas looked around, took a hesitant step in the direction of Susan’s house.
“Not here,” Olivia said. “There’s a café around the corner.”
She glanced at her car, and regretfully dismissed the idea of driving to the café, no matter that walking would do a distressing amount of damage to the hand-lathed leather sole of her Italian pumps. If Silas got in the Mazda, not only would his coat likely permanently stain her custom white leather trim, but if someone saw him…
In her fanciful imaginings about him, she’d decided he was a trust-fund kid from impeccable stock, who’d dropped out back in the seventies—but you couldn’t explain all that in the half second it would take for anyone Olivia knew to look at Silas and decide she’d lost her mind.
“Let’s walk,” she said. He was probably too tall to fit comfortably in her car anyway. This way, if she saw someone she knew, she could put enough distance between them to make their proximity look accidental.
AT THE PEPPERMILL CAFÉ, Olivia led the way to a table tucked right in the back. She ordered a double espresso; Silas asked for a filter coffee.
At first, they waited for their drinks in silence. When the scrutiny of those gray eyes set beneath bushy eyebrows became too unnerving, Olivia spoke.“Mr. Grant, or should I say—” she paused delicately “—Professor Grant, I understand you’re very passionate about those frogs. But you need to realize everyone who applies to the foundation is passionate about something.” She thought about Bethany and her research—a lovely girl, but far too serious.
Silas didn’t acknowledge her use of his title. He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a pair of spectacles, which he slid onto his nose. When he leaned forward, Olivia had the uncomfortable sensation those glasses were magnifying the lines around her eyes and mouth. She smoothed the edges of her lips with her index finger.
“What are you passionate about?” he asked, his voice betraying no more than academic curiosity.
“Er, excuse me?”
“There must be something that keeps you awake at night.”
Good grief! The thing that had kept her awake at night over the weekend had been the memory of Silas’s voice. Olivia glanced around, but no one at the nearby tables appeared to have heard that leading question.
“Something you want to fight for,” he prompted.
She drew a blank.
Their coffees arrived. Olivia added half a sachet of sugar to hers. Silas topped up his cup liberally with cream. Then he launched into a meandering monologue about the red-spotted tree frog. If he was right, the amphibian’s situation was certainly dire. But by the time he’d finished, Olivia cared no more about the frog than when he’d started.
She wished she did. Wished something in her life fired her up to the extent that nothing else mattered. Imagine being willing to be seen in public dressed like a bum. Imagine not minding that people thought you were crazy.
Olivia wanted to feel passionate about something more than shoes and dresses and custom white leather trim.
But it was hard to care so deeply for anything—or anyone—when no one had ever loved you like that.
“There’s nothing.” She flung the words at him to put an end to her own thoughts.
“Humph.” Silas’s eyes bored into hers, disbelieving.
Something prickled in the air between them, and Olivia felt as if she’d just had one of those facial treatments that use electrical pulses to tighten the skin. She rubbed her cheeks with her palms. She shouldn’t let this mad scientist provoke her into dissatisfaction with her life. Whatever instinct had prompted her interest in him, she no longer wanted to pursue it. No matter how many letters Silas Grant got to put after his name.
She brought the conversation back to the reason they were here. “Silas—” she liked his name, it was strong and honest “—the foundation’s rejection wasn’t personal.”
He smiled, a sudden movement of the mouth that lit his eyes, then vanished before she could add it to her impressions of him.
“Not for Warrington, no,” he agreed. “But sometimes, things matter for reasons that are intensely personal
, don’t you find?”
For the umpteenth time in her life, Olivia felt as if she’d been measured on some depthometer and been found lamentably shallow.
“I can’t say I do,” she said haughtily, seeking refuge in the knowledge that she was a scion of Atlanta society, who over the years had given her time to numerous worthy causes. Not a gala ball, not a charity fund-raiser, had taken in place in this city without some involvement on her part.
Silas assessed her. “You’re an interesting woman.” He nodded, as if to reinforce his assessment, picked up his cup and drained the contents. “Guess I’d better go.” He stood, stuck out a hand.
Having already ascertained it was every bit as clean as it had been the first time they’d met, Olivia didn’t hesitate to shake it. His fingers were as strong as the rest of him looked, and his hand dwarfed hers.
“I’d appreciate if you can do what you can for me with Warrington.” Briefly, he tightened his clasp.
“I already told you,” she said, frustrated, all tendency to simper evaporating. “There’s nothing more I can do.”
“Goodbye, Olivia,” he said.
She told herself she was relieved when he and his coat flapped out of there. Leaving her to pay the check.
THAT NIGHT, Ben woke at 2:00 a.m. wanting his bottle. As Bethany bent over the crib to pick him up, Tyler stopped inside the nursery doorway.
“Nice panties,” he said with the air of a connoisseur.Bethany scooped Ben up with one hand, and with the other she tugged down the back of the butt-skimming Medical College of Georgia T-shirt she slept in, covering up her skimpy pink-and-white lace panties.