by Caro LaFever
Now he had his son.
Now, dammit, he might have Jenny.
“Good night.” She marched past his desk, on a mission. To escape his presence apparently. “I’ll see you both tomorrow.”
The library door whispered shut.
“Da?”
“Yeah, Rob?” He tried to be okay with her leaving. But he wasn’t. His body hurt for hers. He tried to be okay with what was going on in his brain, but he wasn’t. He was angry. Sad. Mostly scared.
“I’m glad you’re home for good.” His son beamed at him. “I’m really glad.”
The anger, the sad, the fear still churned inside.
Yet along with it, came a pure joy.
Chapter 12
“I’ll not have this noise, Jenny.” Cam lurked in his usual corner in the window bay, glaring at the crew of landscapers roaming his garden. “I won’t.”
“Do you want your party?” She kept her fingers on the keys, waiting for him to get beyond his snit and start dictating again.
“Yes.” He swung his glowering glare back at her. “But not the noise.”
“You can’t have one without the other.” She gave him the same bland gaze she’d given her grandfather whenever he huffed and puffed about some decision she’d taken that disrupted his peace. “It’s only for ten more days.”
The day after she’d agreed to take on the party, she went to work. Her old contacts in London had provided a helpful list of vendors in Edinburgh. A few dozen calls and quite a sprinkle of money had produced signed contracts with a landscaping crew, a cleaning service, and a top-notch catering firm.
She’d made herself a deal. Organizing this party for Cam and his son would be her way of giving them something in return for the ring. Once the party went well, she’d take the ring and disappear.
“Ten fucking more days.” He pawed through his hair, leaving its dusky strands in familiar disarray. “I’m going to get behind and my agent won’t like that at all.”
“You told me this story was ahead of schedule.”
“Not ten days ahead.” His mouth tightened, drawing her unwilling attention.
During the last few days, she’d focused all her energy on the party, instead of thinking about her impulsive grab for Cam and his kissing.
A grab she’d regretted.
She’d given up being impulsive long ago. It had been the right thing to do then. And now, now when she’d come back to earth from her wild jump into Cam Steward, she’d realized it was the right thing to do at this time, too.
No more kissing.
He’d also kept away from her.
Much to her relief. Much to her despair.
Jen had run her mind over and over his sudden withdrawal that night before the fire. What had he meant when he’d said she was too much? She’d never been too much. She’d always been too little.
What had he meant?
The whine of a vacuum cleaner sifted under the firmly closed library door, pulling her out of her thoughts. The noise was accompanied by a loud clatter as another suit of armor was pulled down for a thorough scrub.
“How the hell am I supposed to think?” he roared.
Sighing, she eased back in her chair. “Perhaps you should take a break from the writing until this is done.”
Her reasonable suggestion was met with…
“Baw!” He swept around, all animal antagonism, and paced to the other window bay.
She hid a smile by turning back to the computer.
“Where was I?” he muttered.
A sturdy knock echoed from the door.
“Jenny.” His growl rolled through her, a heated threat. “If ye don’t do something about this, I swear—”
“Come in,” she called in a calm voice.
The manager of the cleaning crew, a happy-go-lucky young man with a perpetual smile on his face, poked his head in. “Sorry to disturb you. Need to know if you want to dispose of some of the furniture that’s falling apart or if we should store it in one of the empty rooms.”
“I don’t want to keep any of the damn furniture!” The male roar thundered through the room and the perpetual smile fell off the manager’s mouth.
She jerked around and stared at Cam. “You don’t like any of your furniture?”
“No, hell no.” He stuck his hands in his black jean pockets and gave her another glower. “I had nothing to do with any of it. Why should I like it?”
“Then who—”
“My dead wife. Who’s been gone for years.”
The sudden dullness in his voice was such a contrast to his normally vibrant tone, it shocked her. This man seemed to soar through his life, focusing on the fun, never on the worrisome aspects of living. She’d known vaguely about a dead wife, but she hadn’t understood the pain this death had left behind. “I’m sorry—”
“Naw.” His big shoulders shrugged and swung away to stare out of the window. “It’s nothing I want to talk about.”
“Well.” The manager’s face was filled with discomfort, yet he professionally plodded forward with the subject. “I still need to know what you want to do about the furniture.”
Making a decision, she stood. “Robbie does like some of it, and it’s his house as well as yours.”
Cam grunted, though he didn’t disagree.
His response gave her courage. Jen walked to him, not daring to touch, but pushing herself to come near. “I think we need to go through the house with your son and decide what you want to keep and what you don’t.”
The manager had apparently had enough. “Let me know what you plan on doing.” The door closed behind him.
“You’re trying to distract me.” He turned to her, his two-toned eyes narrowing.
“Yes. Exactly.” She braved a grin and got a tiny one in return. “Come on. You can’t write. Let’s turn this house into a place you want to live in.”
“I don’t know if that will ever happen.” He looked down, cutting their connection. Yet the wistfulness in his voice tugged at her heart.
“This is Robbie’s home.” She wanted to touch him so badly. She kept to herself, however, knowing it was smart. “So you should try and make it the best for both of you.”
He made a sound of disgust deep in his throat. “I suppose we’ll have to hie ourselves up to Edinburgh and do some shopping.”
“If you had an internet connection here, we could do it online.” Crossing her arms in front of her, she gave him a mock scowl. “Which begs the question as to why you don’t have one.”
“Hmm.” His tawny brows drew together in a familiar frown. “Tre always took care of that kind of thing.”
“Tre?”
“My, um, friend.”
“Friend.” Why did he appear as if she were putting the screws to him? “And something more?”
“A bit.” He flashed her a real scowl, then went back to glaring through the window.
She didn’t make it a practice of grilling anyone, yet her curiosity about this man and his life was too great to deny. “A bit of what?”
“He used to be my transcriber, okay?” His disgruntled words flew around the library as he prowled over to the African masks. “He used to help me tell my stories.”
“You tell your own stories.” She stayed where she was, but she couldn’t let that comment pass.
His paw waved her observation away. “Anyway, he was my photographer when I traveled.”
“I see.” She did. He’d lost a lot coming back here for his son. And the losses still hurt. “He was your friend, your typist, the photographer for all your reporter stories. Plus, he handled all the details you didn’t want to.”
“Correct.” He shrugged, his body communicating that it wasn’t a big deal what he’d lost.
“Why don’t you ask him his advice on setting up broadband here? I’m sure he’d have some ideas.”
“I didn’t want to pester him.” His shoulders rolled, as if trying to sweep away her suggestion. “He’s busy with his adventure
s.”
Adventures he missed. It was clear in the tight set of his jaw. “He’s your friend. Why wouldn’t he want to help you?”
He swung around, his predator eyes piercing her with annoyance. “Because I’m stuck here. For good. I didn’t want him to get pulled into my mess.”
“Cam.” She puffed out a disbelieving breath of air. “This isn’t outer Mongolia. You aren’t stuck anywhere.”
“That’s not—”
“If this Tre is your friend, then he should be glad to help.”
A look of puzzled confusion crossed his face. “Ye think?”
“Yes. I think.” She bustled to the desk and shifted through his mound of papers. “Here’s your mobile.”
“At least I have one of those, eh?”
Jen smiled at the tease. “At least. Now, call him.”
Pacing to her side, he glared at the phone sitting in her hand. “Internet, here in the hinterlands.”
She risked a touch and grabbed one of his hands, slapping the mobile into his palm. “Call him.”
One big finger plunked a time or two on the screen and then he lifted the phone to his ear.
“Do you want me to leave?”
“Why?” His eyes widened in feigned surprise. “You’re the one that’s forcing me to do this. If ye leave, I might cut the call.”
Chuckling at another clear tease, she leaned on the desk and waited.
“Tre.”
A deep voice drifted from the phone, unintelligible to her.
“I’ve got a wee lass here who insists I get internet installed.”
The deep voice spoke again, and Cam’s mouth twitched. “Yes, yes, we can talk about that later, but what I want to know is if it’s possible out here.”
Talk about what? Jen’s mind wandered through the possibilities, and a blush threatened. Were they talking about her? Was this Tre teasing his friend about her?
“Ye don’t say.” He humphed. “Why didn’t ye tell me that six months ago?”
The answer didn’t appear to please him. “Don’t be a dobber.”
The deep voice went on for quite some time. Cam’s eyes closed, as if he were hearing words from hell, and finally, he blasted his own voice out. “Stop, then, Tre. You’re giving me a headache.”
The other man’s voice started talking again, but before he could finish a sentence, the mobile phone got thrust into Jen’s hands. “Ye and Tre deal with all this gobbledygook. I’m taking a walk on the moor so my head doesn’t explode.”
Before she could stop him with an objection or a yank of an arm, he stalked out of the library, slamming the door behind him.
Jen placed the phone to her ear with a hesitant slide. “Hello?”
“Typical.” The man at the other end of the line didn’t appear to be fazed. “As soon as I go into any kind of detail, Cameron loses it.”
“Um.”
“Ye must be the wee lass.”
“I guess.”
“What’s your name?” The voice matched Cam’s in its rich burr, yet there was an underlying seriousness that rarely inched into his friend’s tone.
“Jennet. Jen.”
“Jen.” A splash of voices burbled in the background before a door closed. “You’re his new transcriber, I bet.”
“Yes.” A pang ran through her, because she heard in his voice the resignation of being replaced. “But he misses you.”
A short, surprised laugh was her response. “Don’t tell me he told ye that. The intrepid, impervious Cam Steward?”
“He didn’t have to.”
This time, his response was a short, sharp pause. “Fascinating,” he said. “I can’t wait to meet ye.”
The blush threatened once more, and she made a sudden decision to make herself scarce during the party. She didn’t want to be drawn into any more of Cam’s life. She’d meddled enough as it was. And being scarce would be fairly easy to do. Someone would have to manage the proceedings. That someone would be her. “You had some instructions for me, I take it.”
“Changing the subject. This gets more and more interesting.”
“Instructions?”
Tre obediently gave her what she needed. A contact number, a personal friend, a company that would be glad to put anything together for the famous writer, Cameron Steward.
“I have it.”
“Aye, I think ye do.” His tone went straight from serious back to humor. “I guess I’ll see it for myself in a few short days.”
She ignored his innuendo, because whatever he was thinking, he’d soon see there was nothing. By the time Tre and all the guests departed from the party, she’d have left, too.
Left a lonely little boy and his surly, sexy father.
Tre would not like her then.
Neither would Cam Steward or his son.
Chapter 13
“I’m going to get a computer too?” Robbie danced a childish jig, circling the freshly installed desk in his bedroom. His father had elected to buy a standing desk, one he could pace back and forth in front of. His son had wanted an old-fashioned roll one, instead.
“But Da,” he’d exclaimed as the three of them had huddled around Jen’s laptop, picking furniture. “I need all sorts of places to put stuff.”
His father hadn’t been able to mount an argument to that. Much of Robbie’s collections had been safely transferred to a row of new cupboards lining one wall of the room, yet there was still the need for a cubbyhole here and there.
“Da?” He stopped mid-lurch, throwing a guarded glance at his father. “I am, aren’t I?”
“Yes.” Cam stood by the open window, leaning out into the fresh spring air. The ugly, dark curtains had been replaced with sets of shiny blue blinds matching the new quilt filled with sailboats on the boy’s bed. “Ye and I both are getting computers.”
“Welcome to the twenty-first century.” Jen’s tone was wry.
“Now, don’t be rubbing it in.” He turned and wagged a finger her way. “Tre does enough of that on his own.”
“Once we get the computers and the new TV, we’ll be ready for the party.” The boy jumped to the center of his bed, his face alight with glee. “I can’t wait.”
Jen had been yanked by both man and boy through the entire mansion as the furniture deliveries had arrived. Should the new sofas be in front of the fireplaces, or near the restored piano? Should the new billiards table be put in the great hall, or the drawing room? And a man couldn’t be in charge of organizing the new kitchen.
She’d let Mrs. Rivers take over there.
“We need a theme.” Cam leaned out farther, as if trying to see past the side of the house to the now-impressive garden leading down to his loch.
“A theme?” Jen said.
“What’s a theme?” Robbie pounced.
His father turned and sat on the window ledge, confident he wouldn’t shift too far out and fall to the ground below. Jen made a mental note to check into installing guardrails. She could easily imagine the boy imitating his father, with disastrous results.
“Our party needs a storyline,” the storyteller mused. “Something to pull all of it together.”
“We could be kelpies.”
His father chuckled at his son’s suggestion. “Naw. I’m not going to be asking Jenny to wear a horse’s head.”
The child giggled as he jumped off the bed and skipped over to stand by the window, too.
“I’m thinking May Day.” Cam’s expression lit with imagination. “Bonfire on Friday night and a wee dance around the pole on Saturday. The dates fit.”
“That sounds more like a child’s theme than an adult’s,” she said.
“We’re all children at heart, aren’t we?” He wouldn’t be dissuaded, she could see it in the set of his jaw and the flame in his eyes. “I know my friends and they’ll like it.”
“Can I have some friends come too?” Robbie piped in.
His father looked down, a flash of remorse crossing his face. “I’ve not been good i
n finding ye some friends, have I?”
“No. Ye haven’t.” The blunt accusation wasn’t delivered with anger, just as a fact. “I bet ye can find me some now, though.”
The belief in his father shone through the accusation, and the taut tension in Cam’s broad shoulders eased. “You’d bet right. I’ll go to the village and invite everyone there.”
“Now wait.” She held up a hand, annoyance slipping through her joy at how far these two had come with each other. “I didn’t plan for more than twelve guests.”
“Plans can change, can’t they?” The irritating man gave her a wink and a winning smile. A smile she’d bet he used from infancy to get his way. “And we’ll not be having them sleep here. Only feeding them.”
“I have only five days before the party starts.” She dropped her hands in resignation, because she could tell by his manner he wasn’t going to change his mind. “How many more?”
“No idea.” He eased off the windowsill and brushed his hand across his son’s hair. Turning around, he closed the window. “Now, Rob. You’ll not be opening these without me or Jenny here. Do ye understand?”
“Sure.” The boy gave him a jaunty grin.
“Naw. I can see the plans in your eyes.” He kneeled in front of Robbie. “I’ll have your word on that, son. A man’s word.”
The boy studied his father’s hand sticking out in front of him. His expression went solemn as he snuck his own into the larger one. “Okay. I give ye my word.”
“Good.” Straightening, Cam shot her a knowing glance. “I could see it all over your face, Jenny.”
“What?”
“Ye were worrying yourself about the window. But I’ve got Rob’s word, and we’ll do something more permanent after the party.”
We’ll do something.
We’ll.
A profound grief flooded inside, and the familiar clutch rose in her throat. During the last few days, she’d put aside her mission and just enjoyed. Enjoyed seeing the happiness in Robbie’s eyes. Enjoyed laughing with Cam as they moved a sofa closer to a fireplace. Enjoyed being part of a family and a home.
Last night, though, Cousin Edward had called again. The reminder had yanked her away from her happiness and reminded her.