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She knew in her heart that idea was wrong. A man deserved to know he had fathered a child. Besides, wouldn’t Miss Izzy let the cat out of the bag eventually? Cate’s elderly friend was far from stupid or naive. She knew her grandson and her neighbor had spent a great deal of time together back in the autumn.
Even if Isobel hadn’t guessed before now about Cate and Brody’s sexual intimacy, once Cate’s belly began to swell visibly, Isobel would do the math and realize that she was going to have another Stewart in the works.
Tension wrapped Cate’s skull in a headache. She was an intelligent, educated woman. Surely there was a way forward.
Tell him, her gut insisted. Tell him. Postponing the truth would only make things more difficult. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to say the words. What would he say? How would he respond? She felt fragile and helpless, and she hated both emotions.
The baby was only now becoming real to Cate herself. How much more unbelievable would conception seem to Brody? Because Cate’s sex life had been nonexistent since moving to Candlewick, she hadn’t been taking birth control pills when she met the handsome Scotsman. Brody had been happy to produce a seemingly never-ending supply of condoms.
But there had been that one time in the middle of the night, that poignant, dreamlike coupling, a series of moments as natural as breathing. They had found each other with hushed sighs and ragged groans in the mystical hours when the world slept. She had spread her legs for him, and he had claimed her as his. For all she knew, Brody might not even remember. He’d made love to her many times. Perhaps they all ran together for a man.
Cate remembered each one in vivid detail.
This was not the time to dwell on the past. Nor was it the moment to wallow in grief. She didn’t know Brody Stewart well enough to let him break her heart. Love didn’t happen so quickly.
She almost believed it.
While she paced, Brody leaned back in his chair, waiting. Judge and jury. He expected Cate to choose his side, to align herself with the grandsons and not Isobel.
If Cate had believed it was the right thing to do, she might have capitulated. Instead, her heart told her she had to fight for the old woman’s happiness...and her own. At last, she stopped. She stood at his knees, her arms wrapped around her waist. “Go home, Brody, you and Duncan both. Give her a chance to settle back into the house. Now that she’s been up there again, I think she’ll quit living over the store.”
“And then?”
She shrugged. “Then nothing. You live your life in Scotland. She lives hers here in Candlewick. I’ll call you when the time comes.”
“When she dies.”
“If you want to be blunt about it, yes.”
He straightened slowly, unfolding his tall, lanky frame and flexing his wrists until they popped. Despite his self-professed temporary vow of celibacy, he put his hands on her shoulders and massaged them.
Cate couldn’t decide if he was attempting to comfort her, or if he was trying to avoid shaking her until her teeth rattled.
Maybe he subconsciously wanted to touch her. She didn’t know.
Brody rested his forehead against hers. “You’re trying to make me lose my temper, Catie lass, but it won’t work. I came here to take care of my grandmother’s affairs, and that’s what I’m going to do.”
“Your way.”
“It’s the only way, or at least the only way that makes sense.”
His breath was warm on her face. The masculine scent of his skin filled her lungs when she inhaled sharply, imprinting on every cell of her body. Brody was not a man one could easily forget. She leaned into him, blaming her weakness on the late hour and her bone-deep distress. “I won’t help you manipulate her, Brody. I won’t.”
His chest rose and fell in a sigh so deep it made her sad. “I suppose I can understand that. At least promise me you won’t be deliberately obstructive. Duncan and I love Granny. We’ll take care of her, Cate.”
She nodded, her eyes damp. Was it hormones making her weepy or the knowledge that something miraculous had happened? She and Brody had created a baby. People did that every day in every way. But sheer numbers didn’t make the awe she felt any less.
With her breasts brushing the hard planes of Brody’s chest and her barely-there pregnant tummy nestled against him, she felt an incredible surge of hope mixed with despair. What she wanted from him was the stuff of fairy tales. The gallant suitor. The happy ending.
She made herself step away. “I need to go back to bed,” she said. “Please leave.”
Brody cupped her cheeks in his big, calloused hands. Years of handling rope and sails had toughened his body. Even without Isobel’s estate, Brody’s fleet of boats had made him a wealthy man. Isobel had bragged about it often enough. The eventual inheritance would secure his fortune.
His big frame actually shuddered, his arousal impossible to miss. “If it was going to be anybody, it would be you, Cate. But I’ve never been much for home and hearth.”
“Thank you for being honest,” she whispered.
Pressing his lips to hers, he kissed her long and deep. It was a goodbye kiss, bittersweet, painfully bereft of hope. The kind of kiss lovers exchanged on the dock when moviegoers knew the hero was never coming back.
Cate twined her arms around Brody’s neck and clung. If this was all she would ever have of him, she needed a memory to sustain her. She could be a single mother. Lots of women did it every day. She wouldn’t be any man’s obligation.
There was a moment when the tide almost turned. Brody was hard and ready. His hands roved restlessly over her back and settled on her bottom, dragging her close. His hunger made him weak and Cate strong. But she had always been the kind of girl to play by the rules.
Only twice in her life had she broken them, and both times she had paid a high price.
Drawing on a dwindling store of resolve, she released him and eluded his questing hands. “Go,” she said. “Go, Brody.”
And he did.
Four
Brody spent the following week working himself into a state of physical exhaustion so pervasive and so deep he fell into bed each night and was instantly unconscious. Six months of neglect had left Isobel’s spectacular house with a host of issues and problems to be addressed.
He and Duncan made massive lists and checked them off with painstaking slowness. Damaged roofing shingles from a winter storm. Rotting wood beneath a soffit. Gutters clogged with leaves.
Some of the backlog of general repairs dated back to his grandfather’s illness. The old man had suffered a stroke five months before he died. Virtually nothing had been done to the house, inside or outside, for almost a year.
Isobel was a wealthy woman. Brody and Duncan could easily have hired a crew to come in and do everything. But the two grandsons were silently paying penance for not coming sooner and staying longer.
The very depth of their guilt made Brody realize that returning to Scotland without their grandmother was going to be unacceptable.
No matter what Cate said, Candlewick was not Isobel’s home anymore. Without her beloved American-born husband, she would be far better off to cross the ocean with her two devoted grandsons and settle in amongst the people of her youth.
On the eighth day, Brody and Duncan abandoned the house so a professional cleaning service could descend upon the mountaintop retreat and restore the estate to its previous glory.
While that refreshing and refurbishing was underway, the two men helped Isobel pack up her personal items downtown, everything she had taken with her when she moved into the apartment over her offices.
While Duncan carried a stack of boxes down to the car, Brody sat beside his grandmother and took her hands in his. “You know this is only temporary, Granny...a few nights for you to say goodbye to the house. I contacted a Realtor this morning about preparing the listing.”
Isobel Stewart pursed her lips and straightened her spine. Her dark eyes snapped and sparked with displeasure. “I love you dearly, Brody, but you’re a stubborn ass, exactly like your father and your grandfather before you. I am neither weak nor senile nor in any kind of physical decline. I’m old. I get it. But my age doesn’t give you the right to usurp my decision-making.”
Brody ground his teeth. “Duncan and I have lives we’ve put on hold. We did it gladly, because you’re very important to us.”
Her fierce expression softened. “I appreciate your concern. I truly do, my lad. But you’re making a mistake, and you’re being unfair. I’m moving back into my beautiful home—thanks to you boys—but I’m not returning to Scotland. My dear Geoffrey is buried in Candlewick. Everything we built together is here in the mountains. I can’t leave him behind. I won’t.”
“It’s dangerous for you to live alone,” Brody said, incredulous to realize that he was losing the battle. Isobel would have been far safer to stay here in town where people could keep an eye on her. Now he and Duncan had convinced her to do the very thing they wanted to avoid.
“Life is a dangerous business,” the old woman said, her expression placid. “I make my own choices. You can go home with no regrets.”
Brody knelt at her side, putting his gaze level with hers. “Please, Granny. For me. Come to Scotland.”
She shook her head slowly. “No. I’ve been away from Scotland too long. Candlewick is my home. Your grandfather and I, together, built something important here...a legacy. We spent so many happy days and months and years creating a host of memories that are all I have left of him. But I might consider a wee compromise if another party is agreeable.”
He couldn’t imagine any scenario that would make the situation palatable. “Oh?”
His grandmother stood and smoothed the skirt of her black shirtwaist dress that might have been designed anytime in the last six decades. Jet buttons marched all the way up to her chin. “I could ask Cate to move in with me. I’d offer her a modest stipend to be my companion. Keeping a bookstore afloat in the current economic climate is challenging. I’m sure the extra money would help. The girl works herself to death.”
Brody bristled inwardly. “I would think Cate’s family might help out if she’s struggling financially or otherwise. Why does she need you?” Isobel was his grandmother, not Cate’s.
“You’re being churlish. Tell him, Duncan.”
Brody’s younger brother shut the door to the stairwell and leaned against it, grimacing. “I missed some of that. I love you, Granny. But I have to agree with Brody on this one. We don’t want to leave you here in Candlewick all alone, and we can’t stay much longer.”
Isobel held out her hands. “My idea isn’t entirely selfish. Cate has no family of her own. I don’t like to divulge her secrets, but you’ve left me little choice. Her parents are both deceased. They had Cate late in life...an accident.”
Brody frowned. “What do you know about them?”
“They were academics. Valued education above all else. I get the impression they were not warm, nurturing people.”
“How did she end up in Candlewick?” Brody asked.
“I suggest you ask Cate herself if you want to know. She’s a private woman. But I trust her implicitly.”
Duncan nodded. “You make a convincing argument. I like Cate. It’s not altogether a terrible idea.”
Brody glared at his brother. “I thought you were on my side, traitor.”
Duncan wrapped his grandmother in his arms from behind and rested his chin on top of her gray-haired head. “It’s not a war, Brody. I love you both, so don’t make me choose. I don’t know what the hell is the right thing to do anymore.”
Isobel patted his hands and smirked at Brody. “Then I suppose one of you needs to call that very nice caterer and see if he can whip us up another of his wonderful meals this evening. We’ll invite Cate to even out the numbers, and after we’ve plied her with wine and good food, I’ll ask her to consider my proposition.”
* * *
Cate drove up the mountain alone this time. Apparently, Miss Izzy’s two grandsons had convinced her to leave her nest above the store.
While Cate applauded acknowledging grief and moving on, it was hard to imagine tiny Isobel sleeping all alone in a six-thousand-square-foot house. Even the thought of it squeezed Cate’s heart.
She hadn’t wanted to come tonight. The prospect of seeing Brody again turned her bones weak with dread. So many emotions. Guilt. Longing. Wishing for a miracle.
An hour ago she had almost canceled. Suddenly, overnight it seemed, none of her clothes fit. The waistbands of every pair of jeans she owned refused to button. Even her shirts and bras strained to confine her burgeoning breasts. Of course, she wasn’t going to head up the mountain in anything but her Sunday best. So she found a loose, long-sleeved knit dress in a modern geometric print of blue and navy hiding in the back of her closet and put it on.
Only the most discerning glance would notice the swell of her pregnant belly. After sliding her feet into low heels and grabbing up a sweater in case the house was drafty, she turned her attention to her hair.
Her instinct was to leave it up in its usual knot on the back of her head. But something told her Brody would see the hairstyle as an in-your-face challenge. They had argued about it often enough. Cate liked her hair to be neat and under control. Brody said it was a sin to hide sunshine from the world.
Despite the current situation, when she remembered their flirtation—barely disguised as squabbles—she had to smile. Feeling Brody’s hands in her hair had seduced her as surely as his kisses. He touched her gently but surely, clearly knowing that any token protest on her part was doomed to failure.
When the two of them had lain naked in bed together, Brody played with her hair endlessly. Even now, when she brushed the long, thick mass, she felt a frisson of sensation, of memory, snake down her spine. Most days her hair felt like a burden. When she was with Brody, he made her believe it was a sexy, feminine crowning glory.
Hell’s bells. This was not the time to be thinking about Brody. She put a hand to her stomach, flattened her fingers and tried to feel something, anything. Shouldn’t she be able to detect the baby moving by now? Were all mothers-to-be this nervous and unsure?
She wanted desperately to have someone else to talk to about her pregnancy. By her deliberate choices, she had no friends in Candlewick close enough to be considered confidantes. Five years ago she had been too wounded and wary to cultivate deep relationships with other women her age. Once she was back on her feet emotionally, she had already gained a reputation as a loner.
Glancing in the mirror, she noted her flushed cheeks and wild-eyed expression. If she didn’t get ahold of her pinballing, hormone-driven mental state, both Brody and Duncan, and Miss Izzy were going to know something was wrong.
Twenty minutes later she parked in front of Isobel’s house, noting with interest, even in the fading light, the way the grounds had been spruced up already. Duncan met her at the door and welcomed her. Was that a deliberate snub on Brody’s part? A signal that he’d been very serious about not picking up where they left off?
Perhaps she was being too sensitive. As it turned out, Brody and his grandmother were in the midst of a fiercely competitive game of chess. Duncan and Cate found them in the formal living room, seated on either side of a red-and black-lacquered gaming table.
Geoffrey and Isobel had traveled the world during the course of their marriage. Their home was filled with priceless artwork of all kinds.
Brody looked up when Cate entered the room. He lost his focus momentarily, and Isobel smirked. “Checkmate,” she crowed.
“Nice job, Granny,” he said absently. He stood and took Cate’s hand, lifting it to his lips. “You look stunning, Cate. In fact, if a Scotsman can be forgiven for hyperbole, you glow.”
“Thank you,” she said, her throat dry. She stepped away and broke his light hold. She couldn’t bear to be so close to him with her emotions in turmoil.
The two Stewart brothers were clad in hand-tailored suits and crisp white dress shirts. Duncan’s tie was blue. Brody’s red. Either man could have graced the cover of GQ, but it was Brody whose intense stare made Cate’s knees quiver. In more formal clothing, he carried an air of command that was the tiniest bit intimidating.
The other three seemed to be waiting on something. Cate lifted a shoulder. “So what’s the occasion? Another birthday? Miss Izzy was very mysterious when she called earlier.”
Duncan grinned. If Cate’s heart hadn’t been otherwise inclined, the younger Stewart brother might have won her over. “We have a proposition for you.”
Cate shot Brody a startled glance. “Kinky,” she muttered, low enough that Miss Izzy couldn’t hear. The old woman’s wits were razor-sharp, but her hearing was going.
Brody glared at her. “Behave, Cate. This is serious.”
How dare he chastise her? “I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Stewart. Please. I’m all ears. What is this mysterious proposition?”
Isobel elbowed her way between her two strapping grandsons and linked her arm with Cate’s. “We’ll talk about it together over dinner, my dear. Our caterer is amazing, but he’s somewhat temperamental. We don’t want to keep him waiting.”
Forty-five minutes later, with both the soup and salad courses behind them, Cate still hadn’t heard anything of substance that warranted this fancy occasion. The food she had eaten rested heavy in her stomach, though it was undoubtedly haute cuisine.
Nerves made her jumpy and tense.
Unfortunately, the Stewart family decided it was a good time to talk about the ubiquitous Scottish dish haggis. Isobel shook her head. “I ate it as a lass, but I’d not be so eager to try it now.”
Duncan’s grin was mischievous. “What about you, Cate? Would you be game to try our native delicacy?”
Please, God, let them be joking. Surely the American caterer wasn’t going that route. She gulped inwardly. “I’ve heard of it, of course. But to be honest, I’m not entirely sure what it is.”
Brody stared at her. “I don’t think Cate would be a fan.”
“How would you know what I like?” she snapped.
He lifted one supercilious eyebrow. “A sheep’s heart, lungs and liver? Chopped up and mixed with onion and oatmeal and all manner of other ingredients...then boiled in the sheep’s stomach? Really, Cate? We may not know each other all that well, but you surprise me.”
Bile rose in her throat. Her belly heaved in distress. “Oh. Well, no. I suppose not. Sounds revolting.”
Duncan took pity on her and changed the subject. The shift gave her a few minutes to breathe and get herself under control. Brody, damn his sorry black-hearted hide, smirked as if he had bested her somehow. Not a chance. Not a damned chance in the world.
While they waited on the main course, Isobel finally grimaced. “Well, lass, here it is. The boys want me to sell out and go back to Scotland. I’ve let them know unequivocally that I’m not going to do that.”
“Oh?” Cate felt as if she were treading a minefield. Neither Duncan nor Brody seemed in any way lighthearted or even at ease about this conversation. Was this some kind of trap for Cate? Did Miss Izzy need Cate to cast a deciding vote?
Isobel nodded, although Cate hadn’t really said anything. “I offered a compromise. One the boys believe has merit.”
“And that is?”
Izzy smiled gently. “I’d like you to consider moving in here with me as my paid companion. I wouldn’t take you away from the bookstore, of course. Your wonderful shop is part of the charm of Candlewick. But my grandsons would feel better knowing that someone was officially looking after me.”
“I already do that anyway.” Cate frowned. “I care about you, Miss Izzy. And I’m happy to consider moving up here on the mountain with you, but I won’t take any money. That’s unacceptable.”
Brody, the man whose flashing smile was the first thing she had noticed about him months ago, seemed to do nothing but frown at her now. His black scowl pinned her to her chair. “Try not to be difficult, Cate. Granny isn’t a charity case. She can afford to pay for in-home help.”
Cate was generally even-tempered, but Brody’s condescending attitude nicked her on the raw. “Isobel is my friend,” she said. “It seems to me this is an issue she and I can negotiate on our own. Or perhaps you and Duncan think I’ll make the house too crowded.”
“Oh, no,” Izzy said. “The boys are leaving.”
“Leaving?” Cate’s tongue felt thick in her mouth. Her stomach clenched. “When?”
Duncan picked up the conversational ball, since his brother was sitting silent and stone-faced with his arms crossed over his chest. “Our tickets are open-ended, but probably in a couple of days. Granny has made up her mind. Since we won’t be dealing with real estate issues, we’ll head on home and probably make another visit later...in the summer, no doubt.”
Cate’s skin was clammy and cold, though she felt feverish and overheated from the inside out. Brody was leaving. Dear Lord. What was she going to do? She had to tell him. Or did she?
Perspiration dotted her upper lip. Black spots danced in front of her eyes. “Excuse me,” she said. “I’ll be back in a moment.” She stood up, deathly ill, desperate to make it to the restroom before she broke down in tears.
Humiliation and rage and sheer distress tore her in a dozen directions. Is this what hyperventilation felt like? Nausea rolled through her belly. Not once in her shocking pregnancy had she experienced more than mild discomfort. Now, at the worst possible moment, puking her guts out was a very real possibility.
As she lurched to her feet, her chair wobbled and almost overturned. She grabbed for something, anything. With one hand she gripped the wooden edge of the seat back. With the other, she reached blindly for the table.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t feel well.”
She took a step toward the hallway. Her legs buckled. She heard a trio of shouts. Then her world went black.
Five
Brody leaped to his feet in horror, but he was too late to catch Cate. She crumpled like a graceful swan. Unfortunately, she was close enough to the sideboard to clip her head as she went down. A gash marred her high, pale forehead. “Bloody hell.” He crouched beside her, his heart racing in panic. “Get some ice, Duncan.”
Isobel sat awkwardly on the floor at Cate’s hip. The old woman suffered from advanced arthritis in every joint, but she took one of Cate’s hands and patted it over and over again. Her eyes glistened with tears. “Cate. Cate, dear. Open your eyes.”
Cate was milk-pale and completely limp and unresponsive. Brody tasted real fear. “Damn it, Duncan! Where’s the ice?”
Duncan appeared on the run, out of breath and agitated. “What’s wrong with her?” The zip-top plastic bag of ice he carried was wrapped in a thin cotton dish towel.
“Hell if I know. I can’t leave her on the floor, though. Hold the ice to her head while I move her.” Carefully, Brody scooped Cate up in his arms. She was slender, but tall, so he grunted as he lifted her dead weight. Her gorgeous, sunlit hair cascaded over his arm. The scent of her shampoo and the feel of her feminine body in his arms excoriated him.
Ever since his visit to Cate’s bookstore four nights ago, he had second-guessed himself a million times. His decision not to continue their physical relationship seemed like the mature, reasonable choice. It wasn’t fair to Cate to pick up where they left off, and what he had told her was true. He needed time with his grandmother. More important, he wasn’t a man who had any intention of settling down to family life.
Cate was not a one-night-stand kind of woman.
But God knew, he had vastly underestimated how hard it was going to be to stay away from her now that they were, at least for the moment, living in the same town. He strode down the hallway with only one destination in mind. Entering his bedroom, he motioned for Duncan to throw back the covers.