“I can sleep on the plane. I’m a good plane sleeper. Wheels up, I’m out.”
“But you have to get to the airport. And it’s an hour away.”
He sighed. “Okay.” He held out his uninjured hand. “Help me up. I’m injured, in pain.”
“You said your hand didn’t hurt.” But she took his hand.
“Sometimes I lie,” he said as she pulled him to his feet. He placed his hands on her shoulders. “And sometimes I don’t.”
And in that moment, he took charge of her world. When he took her in his arms, they snapped together like a magnetic fastener on a purse and his mouth on hers was like the temptation of the last bit of ice cream in the freezer. She’d never had any self-control where that was concerned either. Best not to allow ice cream in the house.
I’ll just have this last bit of chocolate mint chip tonight and then it will be gone. I can start fresh tomorrow, without the temptation. Might as well have it. After all, I’ve already ruined my diet today with the pizza.
But his mouth was not ice cream—it was so much better. This was not the kiss of a fraternity boy who thought he knew everything. This was a man’s kiss, with a warm tongue and lips that knew how to take their time around a mouth. And—dear Lord—he slid his hand up her side and cupped her cheek. Finally, he urged her to her toes until their pelvises met. There was nothing coy about the way he pressed his erection against her. He was in charge and bent on making her remember this moment. Light spread through her—not just the hot searing heat of the sun, but the silvery soft glow of moonlight.
And that was a dangerous combination, one that could claim a heart, a body, and a life.
She did not need Brantley Kincaid warming her with his light, could not tolerate it. Yet, it was he who broke the kiss.
“Lucy Mead, that was sweet,” he said. “I’m going to pine for you while I’m gone.” And he left, leaving her one big bundle of confusion.
* * *
That confusion lasted until the next morning when she opened her door to go to church. On the porch sat a bag of dog food and a cardboard box with a dog bed, three leashes, and a plethora of dog toys—and Eller in a dog carrier.
The note on top said, “Lucy, I asked Eller who she wanted to stay with while I was gone and she picked you! Seriously, my dad’s allergic and there is the matter of the demon cat at Big Mama’s. It would eat her in one bite. I’ll call you. You might even answer.”
Every bit of confusion and softness she had felt mutated into anger. As she hauled Eller and all the Eller paraphernalia into the house, even the sympathy she’d had for him over his injury evaporated.
The dog carrier caught the front of her new blouse and the sound of ripping silk gave way to the ringing of her phone.
She turned off the phone without checking the caller ID. Then she ripped her already ruined blouse off her body, wadded it into a ball, and threw it at as hard as she could. She wanted it to break something or at least land with a thud. But it unfurled four inches from her hand and floated softly to the floor like a soap bubble.
Having found no satisfaction in blouse throwing, she screamed like a cave woman who had been denied her gathering rights. It felt pretty good, so she did it again.
Chapter Seven
Even after staying in seclusion with her phone off all day Sunday, Lucy’s anger was still with her Monday morning.
She stormed into Annelle Mead Design and Interiors at 8:25 A.M.—fifty-five minutes later than she liked to be and twenty-five minutes later than she was supposed to be. She had an armload of dog supplies and Eller’s leash wound around her legs.
Aunt Annelle looked up with amused surprise. “I don’t know whether to be more shocked that you’re late or that you’ve got a dog in tow.”
Lucy dropped the dog food at her feet and removed the leash from Eller’s collar; the dog began to zip around the shop like a hummingbird at ground level.
“One surprise is all that’s necessary,” she said grimly. “One led to the other.”
“I can’t wait to hear this,” Annelle said.
Lucy carried the bag that contained Eller’s food and water dishes, toys, and bed to her office. “I can sum it up in two words: Brantley Kincaid. But I will tell you this. I have a new appreciation for Lanie and Missy, having to haul all that kid stuff around all the time. Is this okay?” She gestured to Eller, who seemed to know Annelle was in charge and was sucking up to her. “I can lock her in my office.”
“No!” Annelle bent over and scratched behind Eller’s ears. “Lock this perfect baby up? Never! She might bring us some business.”
“Let us hope she doesn’t do her business on the floor.” Lucy reached for her messages.
A client canceling an appointment. The fabric for Angie Callahan’s drapes was on backorder. Nothing but good news. Oh, and the last one put the icing on the cake.
“Do you know why Caroline Brantley wants me to come over as soon as possible?” Lucy asked Annelle.
“Not specifically. I know her bridge club is coming today at eleven and she wants to talk to you before then—the earlier the better.”
“Then I guess I’d better feed that dog and go. She’s probably going to fire me from the Brantley Building project. Or tell me she’s hired someone else who I’ll have to answer to.”
“Darling, I’m sure that is not true. Run on.” Annelle bent to pet Eller again. “I’ll take care of feeding this precious girl.”
* * *
Miss Caroline opened the door and ushered Lucy into the living room.
“It was so good of you to come over, Lucy. Please sit.” She gestured to the velvet sofa in front of the fireplace, which was ablaze.
Miss Caroline sat beside her. “I know it’s a little warm for a fire, but I can’t resist if there is the least bit of snap in the air.”
“It’s lovely,” Lucy said and let her eyes wander to the mantle. “A mantle that wonderful deserves to have a fire as often as possible.” She paused, reluctant to show off, but if Miss Caroline was going to fire her, she ought to know what she was losing. “American Victorian Renaissance Revival. Black walnut. I would put it original to the house.”
Miss Caroline smiled. “I knew there was a reason I wanted you for the Brantley Building.” So maybe she wasn’t going to fire her. “But no, it isn’t original. It should have been. Originally there was a marble monstrosity that was a hundred years too early. I couldn’t take the naked nymphs.”
“Good call,” Lucy said.
“Would you like coffee?”
She would have loved coffee but not as much as she wanted to get this chitchat over with and find out why she was here.
“None for me, but you go ahead.”
“It’s just as well,” Miss Caroline said. “We can leave Evelyn to her cheese straws and crab salad. She’s a much bigger snob about bridge club food than I am.”
Lucy laughed. “I don’t think anyone could rightfully accuse either one of you of being a snob. Discerning, yes; snob, never.”
“I like how you think.” Miss Caroline let her eyes wander to the huge oil portrait over the fireplace of the rosy-cheeked blond toddler. He was clutching a ball and the blue smocked bubble suit he wore was classic, just like this house and everything in it. “He was a beautiful baby, wasn’t he?”
“Yes,” Lucy agreed. And he’s a beautiful man. And a beautiful kisser. Wait. No. Stop. He is the man who left his dog on your porch without asking you!
“Brantley is the reason I called you over.” Miss Caroline smiled like she was giving away the keys to the kingdom.
What now? “I have spoken with Brantley,” Lucy said hesitatingly. “He told me we would be working together on the Brantley Building.”
“Oh, yes!” This woman was in hog heaven. “I so hoped he would do it. I think you two will do a wonderful job.”
“We will do our best,” Lucy said. At least she would. Who knew about golden boy?
“When Brantley returns, the mayor is g
oing to call a press conference to announce our plans. There will be someone there from the State Historic Commission. I’d like you to be there.”
“Of course.” For this she had to come to the house?
“But that’s not what I needed to talk to you about.”
Lucy inclined her head toward the older woman. How much longer was she going to have to wait?
“Brantley is moving into my carriage house. I know you are familiar with it from when Tolly lived there.”
“Oh, yes. I was there many times.”
“Brantley is in San Francisco—” She paused. “Did you know he was in San Francisco?”
“Yes, ma’am.” And his dog is with me.
“The carriage house needs a coat of paint and—well, just a little care. Is there any way possible that you could put it together for me? By Friday?”
Hell and double hell! Friday? And for Brantley? She might throw up.
“Yes, ma’am. I will make it my priority.” Because, really, what else could she say?
“His furniture is scheduled to arrive this afternoon. He doesn’t have a great deal—a lovely Eastlake bed, a leather chair and ottoman, a few odd tables, an antique draftsman’s table. Brantley still likes to draw by hand sometimes. Of course, there is that monster television that will have to be worked around.”
“What did you have in mind?” Lucy asked. And wouldn’t it be better to wait and let him choose what he wants?
As if she had read Lucy’s mind, Miss Caroline said, “I know it seems odd that I want this done while he’s gone without consulting him, but if we wait on him he will sleep in the first place he puts the bed. He won’t do anything. I want him to be comfortable. I want his surroundings to be pleasing.”
“I see,” Lucy said and she did. Miss Caroline wanted him to stay. Good luck with that. Didn’t she know he was a runner?
“You can take some pieces from this house. Goodness knows there is too much here. And we can buy whatever is necessary. But I want to put this in your control. If I choose it will be to my liking. I want Brantley to like it.”
“I’m not sure—” she began.
“You’ve known my grandson for a long time. And you know how young people like to live. For instance, I cannot abide a television in the living room.” She gestured to the room around her. “But I imagine Brantley would like to be able to use his computer, watch television, and be comfortable all in one room.”
Lucy nodded.
Miss Caroline rose. “Then why don’t you come back and take a look at his furniture this afternoon? And you can go from there.” She reached into her pocket, brought out a key, and handed it to Lucy. “Take this so you can come and go as you please.”
“Just call me when it arrives and I’ll come over,” Lucy said as she got to her feet.
“Splendid! I trust you implicitly.”
As they made their way to the door, an apricot cat scuttled from beneath a chair and rubbed up against Miss Caroline’s ankle. She could have weighed no more than five pounds but she wasn’t skinny. Her frame was small and her meow was so quiet it was almost a squeak.
Monster cat?
Aghast, Lucy said, “Is that your cat?”
“Well, yes. Princess.”
“Your only cat? You don’t have another one?”
Miss Caroline shook her head. “She’s a timid little thing but Evelyn and I love her.”
Monster cat, indeed.
Chapter Eight
Pam, who worked part time at the shop, met Lucy at the door when she returned.
“Annelle called and said for me to bring these fabric samples to Sophie Anne McGowan’s house as soon as you get back. Sophie Anne didn’t like any of the ones Annelle took over.”
“Better you than me,” Lucy said. Sophie Anne was one of those clients who always had a project going and could not be pleased.
Lucy was feeling that right now. No. Not true. Throttling Brantley Kincaid would please her; it would please her to no end. Eller trotted up and wagged her puff ball of a tail.
“I am going to kill him,” Lucy said to the dog. “What I ought to do is take you over there and dump you on Miss Caroline. You’d like it there. Go get in your bed or I will.”
Eller did not go get in her bed.
“You’re just like him. You do what you want. Are you a runner?” The dog jumped onto the rose colored watered silk chaise lounge and lay down. Lucy started to shoo her off but changed her mind. “Yeah, you just stay there and shed all over it. I’ll put that in his bedroom. Miss Caroline gave me free reign.”
That gave her an idea. She pulled paint chips and fabric samples, took them to the counter, and began to put together palettes. Lilac and lemon for the living room. Peach and cream for the bathroom. Shades of pink for his bedroom. The window treatments would be floral. That was given.
She sat back on the stool and sighed. She wouldn’t do it of course. Even if she didn’t care about her professional integrity, Aunt Annelle would stop her if Miss Caroline didn’t. She shoved the sherbet colors aside and began to pull neutrals. She needed to call the painters and have them meet her there in the morning. Custom drapes were out of the question given her time frame. She’d measure the windows when she went over to look at his furniture later. There was a place she could order decent premade window treatments, but she needed to do that soon—today if possible. Also, it would be helpful to know when he was coming back. “About a week,” he said, which meant nothing, or worse—that he didn’t know and didn’t care. That was the way of a runner. Was this how working on the Brantley Building with him was going to go?
“Aw, Lucy. You worry too much. We’ll be done on time. When am I going to be done restoring that woodwork so you can bring the painters in? Well, let’s see. Hmmm. About a week? Give or take.”
What had she gotten herself into? She put her face in her hands.
The front door chimed and Mr. Reed from the jewelry store—impeccably dressed, every snowy hair in place—stepped inside. He was the kind of man who wore seersucker suits in the summer and bow ties and French cuffs year round. His wife had been in many times but Lucy could never remember seeing him in the shop before.
She got to her feet. “Good morning, Mr. Reed. What can I help you with today?”
He smiled broadly, like he always did. “Well good morning there, young lady. I’ve got a little something for you.” He set a small bag with handles on the counter. She peeped inside to see an oblong wrapped package. She almost asked who it was from, but she knew; she knew only too well.
“Thank you,” she said. “You didn’t have to bring it over.”
“Oh, but I did. Brantley was very specific.” He chuckled. “He would only talk to me. Called all the way from San Francisco. Tickled me. Used to be, there were a lot of people who would only talk to me. Now, they want my son. Or the ones your age want my granddaughter. But you would know Louisa. From the Junior League and all.”
“I do.” And if it had been Louisa who had delivered this, Lucy would have sent it right back with her. Brantley knew what he was doing when he sent Mr. Reed. “Thank you for bringing it over.”
It was only when Mr. Reed smiled wider and nodded to the bag that Lucy realized he was waiting for her to open it. There was nothing to do but remove the silver ribbon and white paper. She absolutely was not accepting jewelry from Brantley. From the shape of the box it could be a bracelet, necklace, or watch—all inappropriate.
But it was none of that. It was a silver dessert fork, Francis I by Reed and Barton. The handle of that fork had a whole jungle of fruit and flowers on it—more than enough to decorate a parade float.
“That wasn’t what he really wanted,” Mr. Reed said.
“No?” Maybe he favored his forks decorated with corn on the cob and link sausages.
Mr. Reed laughed a big booming laugh. “I tried to put him onto a nice bracelet or maybe some pearls, but he said he had to have a fork.”
I just need one fork. One. Litt
le. Fork. One. Oh, he was hilarious.
“But you said it wasn’t what he wanted.”
“Well, not exactly what he wanted. He was sure enough he wanted to get you a silver fork like the special set at the club. I had to tell him it was Tiffany and that he couldn’t get it here. I told him he could order it online, but he wouldn’t have that, said to give him something close. That family has always been good about buying local. I return the favor by carrying all my insurance, business and personal, with Kincaid Agency. We all take care of each other. It’s what makes this town special, don’t you think?”
“I do.” Lucy picked up the fork and held it like a weapon. Perhaps she would stab Brantley with it when he got back in about a week. She wondered if there was flatware decorated with poisonous plants straight out of the Duchess of Northumberland’s garden.
“I told him if you have your heart set on Chrysanthemum by Tiffany, this really is not the same.”
“Excuse me? My heart set on Chrysanthemum? I don’t understand.”
He beamed at her. “We’ll take good care of you, Lucy. We take good care of all our brides, but I will see to you personally,” he leaned in and said companionably.
“Bride?” she said with some alarm. “Mr. Reed, I am not a bride. Not even close.”
“Oh, sure, Lucy.” Mr. Reed winked at her. “I get it. Can’t let things like this get out until the right time. I understand. I admit that I thought a fork was a peculiar gift for a man to send his sweetheart, but then I thought, of course, he wouldn’t be needing a ring. They have so many family pieces, some quite old.” He glanced at her hand to make sure that hadn’t already happened. “Alden brought in all of Caroline’s jewelry to be cleaned and reappraised not long before he died. She has some lovely things. You will be very happy. And if it needs sizing, you come see me.”
Hell and double hell! Triple hell!
“Mr. Reed, I will not be getting a ring of Miss Caroline’s or otherwise. Brantley and I are not—”
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