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“He’s right about that,” their server said ruefully. “Take it from someone who’s eaten way too many of them.”
Adrienne thought of the lemon pound cake she’d eaten in lieu of dinner the night before. “I’d better stick with my original order,” she said with a touch of regret.
Their waitress nodded and moved away.
“Are you always so disciplined?” Gideon asked.
“Not always. But I try.”
He grunted and sipped his coffee, apparently considering the subject of breakfast food closed. Adrienne noticed that they were receiving quite a bit of attention from other diners, both covertly and openly. Gideon was obviously a frequent customer here, but there seemed to be a lot of speculative interest in her. The only greetings Gideon had exchanged with the other diners were a few cordial nods. She wondered if the others kept their distance because of her presence or if Gideon generally discouraged small talk.
For some reason, she suspected it was primarily the latter.
The waitress returned in an amazingly short time with their food. “Is this one of your writer friends, Gideon?” she asked casually as she served them.
“My agent,” he replied, reaching for the salt shaker. “Adrienne Corley, meet Carla Booker.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Booker.”
The older woman chuckled. “You just call me Carla, hon. Everyone does. Are you from up north?”
“New York.”
“Well, isn’t that something?”
“I think Joe Huebner is trying to get your attention over there,” Gideon said. “Probably wants to start on his second pot of coffee.”
Carla grinned. “You’re probably right. Nice to meet you, Miz Corley. Y’all give a holler if you need anything else.”
The platter in front of Gideon was completely filled with a huge omelet oozing with cheese, ham, onions, peppers and mushrooms, a side order of buttered grits and two fat, fluffy-looking biscuits with a bowl of cream gravy. She watched as he dumped salsa on the omelet. “Are you always this undisciplined?”
“When I eat breakfast at home, I usually have cereal or a bagel. But when I eat here, I have what I want.”
Had to be a guy thing, she thought with a slight sigh. She was probably gaining weight just looking at his breakfast. Gideon, on the other hand, was shoveling it in with almost sensual pleasure, and there wasn’t a superfluous ounce anywhere on his extremely fine body.
She speared a chunk of cantaloupe from a bowl of mixed melons and strawberries. “Are you ready to discuss business?”
“Not while I’m eating.” He scooped a bite of grits into his mouth.
Gideon McCloud was definitely a difficult client, even among the group of often demanding, sometimes neurotic and frequently temperamental writers she dealt with on a daily basis. The others were usually eager to hear exciting offers, to grab every chance to advance their careers and increase their recognition. Gideon seemed to want to write in complete anonymity.
Though he had turned down a few early offers he didn’t consider rewarding enough, he didn’t seem to be motivated solely by money, since he’d also shown little interest in several very lucrative propositions. He had approved the release of very little biographical material, had not provided photographs for publicity purposes—even though he certainly had the right look—and had expressed absolutely no enthusiasm for book tours or interviews or even a promotional Web site.
Because she sensed that he was on the verge of a breakthrough with his writing, his lack of cooperation frustrated Adrienne. Her father was becoming impatient with her inability to get Gideon to commit to the newest offers, and he had been hinting that he might have to take this client in hand himself.
But she sensed that she would get nowhere by pushing Gideon before he was ready. She concentrated on her breakfast and directed the conversation away from his work. “We seem to be attracting attention. I suppose your acquaintances are wondering who I am.”
He glanced around briefly—causing several heads to turn abruptly away—and then returned to his food. “They all know who you are by now. Carla’s told them you’re my agent from New York. Now they’re wondering why you’re here. She’ll be back in a bit to try to find out for them.”
“Word travels fast here.”
“You have no idea.”
She watched the other diners with discreet curiosity during the remainder of the meal, intrigued by the contrasts between big-city and small-town dynamics. Here, everyone seemed to know everyone else, and even those who appeared to be strangers tended to exchange “good mornings,” even to strike up conversations as they stood in line to pay at the old-fashioned cash register.
She saw quite a few wide hips encased in stretch fabrics, teased hair in questionable shades of blond, beer bellies sagging over drooping blue jeans, farm equipment caps and camouflage—stereotypes she had expected to find in rural Mississippi. But the rumble of laughter and low drawls of conversation, mingled with the smell of coffee and food, proved to be pleasantly relaxing. Adrienne found herself enjoying the simple meal quite a bit, even without much conversation from her taciturn companion.
Carla stopped by the table with a coffee carafe. “Y’all doing okay?”
Adrienne held out her mug. “Fine, thank you. The food is very good.”
“Well, thank you. Are you here on business with Gideon, Miz Corley?”
“Yes, I am.”
The woman nodded her tightly teased gray head. “I thought you must be. Bet you got some movie or TV offers for him, hmm? I said when I read that last book of his that it would sure make a good movie. I think you need to hire Mel Gibson and Julia Roberts to be in it. Don’t get any of those flash-in-the-pan teenyboppers who show off their belly buttons more than their talent. That would just ruin everything.”
Adrienne couldn’t help being amused, though Gideon was scowling. “Even if one of Gideon’s books is optioned for film, he and I would have little input into casting, Carla. But I would certainly pass your suggestions along.”
“Maybe he could be in one of those cameo spots, like other writers have done. I’ve always told him he’s got the looks for Hollywood, even if he could use some work in the personality department.” She laughed heartily at her own wit as she patted Gideon’s shoulder with a familiarity that Adrienne would bet few others dared to display.
“I’ve told you before I have no secret desire to see myself onscreen, Carla.”
Ignoring Gideon’s grumble, Carla continued to Adrienne, “Maybe Hollywood will put a little more romance in his stories. I told Gideon all those thrills and chills in his last book were fine, but it wouldn’t hurt him to put in a little more sizzle.”
“You do have other customers, Carla. Go tell them all you’ve learned and conjectured about my business.” Gideon’s words were gruff, but Adrienne thought she heard the faintest undertone of affection.
Perhaps Carla heard it, as well. She didn’t seem to take offense, but merely laughed again. Before she moved on, she said, “You have a pleasant visit in Honesty, Miz Corley. Have Gideon show you some of the sights around here before you go back to the big city.”
“Are there any sights around here?” Adrienne couldn’t resist asking when the waitress moved on.
“I suppose that’s in the eye of the beholder.” He glanced at her empty plate. “Are you finished?”
“Yes.” His own plate was also empty, she noted. Amazing.
Attention focused on them again as they made their way across the diner toward the cash register. Because she didn’t want a public scene, and suspected Gideon did not share that qualm, she didn’t argue with him when he pulled out his wallet and gave her a look that dared her to object.
Once again she noted that the greetings he exchanged with those around him could hardly be described as warm or encouraging. Didn’t he have friends around here?
As they stepped out of the diner, they almost collided with a uniformed police officer who was just entering. He smiled apologetically at Adrienne, and she was struck by how attractive he was in a rough, sexy sort of way. Talk about film-star material…
And then he spotted Gideon. His face hardened, and his smile vanished. Gideon stiffened beside her, and she could almost feel the temperature drop by several degrees.
“You always seem to be standing in my way, McCloud,” the officer drawled, a rather dangerous edge to his deep voice.
“You could always leave town and avoid any risk of running into me,” Gideon replied evenly.
Adrienne lifted an eyebrow in response to the blatant antagonism between these two men who seemed to be very close to the same age. “Perhaps we should all step to our right and clear a path,” she said when neither appeared willing to move.
The officer gave her a nod and moved out of the way, sweeping his hand in a polite gesture obviously intended for her. “Ladies first.”
Placing a warning hand on Gideon’s arm—after all, it was her job to look out for him, in a manner of speaking—she smiled and practically towed Gideon outside with her. “Thank you, officer,” she said over her shoulder.
“My pleasure, ma’am.”
Gideon made a sound that might have been a growl, followed by a muttered, “Jerk.”
“Always a delight to see you, too, McCloud,” the other man called after them.
Adrienne felt a ripple of anger run through Gideon’s arm before she dropped her hand. “Old friend?” she asked dryly.
Gideon merely gave her a look and stalked toward her rental car.
Chapter Three
Fifteen minutes after they returned to Gideon’s house—just after 9:30 a.m.—Adrienne found herself alone in his kitchen. After telling her he needed to work on a scene while it was still fresh in his mind, he’d closed himself in his office again. He’d looked relieved when she’d assured him she had brought quite a bit of reading with her, since she couldn’t even take a vacation without having her work nearby, and he’d promised to be out to talk business with her as soon as he finished the scene.
She had decided she’d better not hold her breath until he reemerged. Settling at the kitchen table with her laptop computer, her cell phone and a stack of manuscripts, she concentrated on her work as diligently as she assumed Gideon was concentrating on his.
It was rather nice, actually, to work uninterrupted for a change. Vacation time or not, she might actually get quite a lot accomplished on this trip—if only she could convince Gideon to cooperate.
Gideon was aware of Adrienne’s presence in his house. She didn’t make any noise, even though he found himself listening for her on several occasions, but he knew she was there, anyway. The awareness didn’t stop him from working—or even from losing himself in his writing—but each time he surfaced, he thought of Adrienne.
Not such terribly intrusive thoughts to have, he acknowledged, picturing her brown eyes and glossy auburn hair. And then his imagination drifted a bit lower, lingering on her sleek, slender curves. Willowy, he decided. That was the word he would have chosen to describe her.
Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing having a willowy woman in the next room while he worked. As soon as he finished this scene, he would go talk to her….
It was just after eleven when the kitchen telephone rang, drawing Adrienne out of her work. She glanced up as it rang again. Surely Gideon would answer.
The phone rang again. Shaking her head at his refusal to buy an answering machine if he had no intention of picking up the phone, she pushed herself out of her chair and stalked toward the extension. Someone had to answer. This could be an emergency. “McCloud residence,” she said.
After a momentary pause, a woman spoke. “This is Lenore McCloud, Gideon’s mother. May I ask to whom I’m speaking?”
“I’m Adrienne Corley, Mrs. McCloud. Gideon’s agent from New York.”
“I see. Was my son expecting your visit? He didn’t mention it to me.”
“I’m afraid I popped in unexpectedly,” Adrienne explained. “I had some important business to discuss with him and I, um, had a bit of difficulty reaching him to arrange a meeting.”
His mother’s laugh was wry. “That I believe. Reaching Gideon is an impossible task at times. I wasn’t sure he would answer this call, even though he surely knew I would be checking in with him.”
“I’ll go tell him you’re on the line. He’s in his office.”
“Oh, dear. I hope he doesn’t snap at you.”
“You needn’t worry about my feelings being hurt if he does.” Adrienne thought ruefully of her father. “I’m quite used to that sort of thing.”
“Well…good luck.”
Adrienne thought she might like Gideon’s mother, but then she’d already decided the woman must have the forbearance of a saint to put up with Gideon and to accept her ex-husband’s child so graciously. “Thank you.”
Laying the receiver on the kitchen counter, she walked to Gideon’s office and knocked firmly on the door, knowing a tentative tap would probably never catch his attention. She didn’t wait for an invitation to enter, but opened the door and stuck her head inside. “Gideon, your mother is on the phone.”
He didn’t take his eyes from his computer screen. “Tell her I’ll call her later.”
“No, you won’t, you’ll forget. You really should talk to her now while she’s on the line.”
It was the same rational tone she used with her father when he was acting unreasonably. Sometimes the strategy worked, and sometimes it just ticked him off.
Gideon seemed on the verge of the latter as he glared at her. And then he shook his head, pushed a hand through his hair and muttered, “Sorry. I get surly when my flow of thought is interrupted.”
“No problem. I’m often the same way. Are you taking the call in here?”
He nodded and reached for the phone.
“I’ll hang up the extension in the kitchen,” she said, and let herself out of his office, closing the door behind her.
He wasn’t an entirely hopeless case, she decided as she slipped the receiver quietly into its cradle and returned to her own work. He just needed someone to take him in hand and remind him about the manners his mother had no doubt tried to instill in him. Not that she had any interest in taking on such a project herself, of course.
“She sounds nice.”
Half his attention still focused on the words on his computer screen, Gideon frowned. “Yes, she’s nice. And, no, nothing interesting is going on here. She’s here to discuss business with me—which we’re going to do as soon as I finish this scene I’ve been struggling with for days.”
“Yes, I know you want to get back to work,” his mother said with long-suffering resignation. “I simply wanted to check on things there. Did Isabelle sleep well? Did you have any trouble getting her to school this morning?”
“As far as I know, she slept just fine. And she was only a few minutes late to school, which hardly justified the attitude I got from the old biddy who runs the place. It’s preschool, for crying out loud. What’s the kid going to miss if she’s a few minutes late? Advanced coloring class?”
“Miss Thelma can be a bit…unbending,” Lenore acknowledged. “But she means well, Gideon. She’s an excellent administrator, and you can certainly understand that having her students there on time makes her schedule run more smoothly. Please try to be patient with her until I return, for Isabelle’s sake.”
“When are you coming home?” he asked without making any guarantees about his patience. “How’s Aunt Wanda?”
“Not good, I’m afraid. She went into shock before she was found, and you know her heart is bad. She’s in intensive care now.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, and the words were sincere. Though he wasn’t close to his maternal aunt, he knew his mother must be frantic with worry about her only sister. And, though he rarely expressed his feelings, he cared very deeply about his mother. “Do you need me to come there to help you with anything?” he offered a bit awkwardly.
“No, darling, but thank you for offering.” Lenore sounded genuinely touched. “I know you’re busy with your book, and to be honest, the best thing you can do to help me now is to take care of Isabelle. I would hate to have to call Nathan and Caitlin home early from their honeymoon, unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
“She’s no trouble at all,” Gideon said, especially with Adrienne here to help out, he silently added. He wondered how much longer he could delay his agent’s return to New York. After all, wasn’t it part of her job to make sure he finished his books in a timely manner?
“I’ll call again tomorrow,” Lenore said. “And answer the telephone, will you? It could be an emergency at Isabelle’s school, you know.”
He grimaced. “I’ll try to listen for it,” he promised without enthusiasm.
He was definitely going to have to buy an answering machine.
He couldn’t have said how much time passed before his work was interrupted again, by yet another knock on the office door. Scowling, he looked around. “What now?”
Adrienne opened the door. “Sorry to interrupt again, but didn’t you say Isabelle gets out of school at two?”
“Yeah. Why?” He glanced at his watch. It was already one-thirty. “Damn. I’m finally close to finishing this scene.”
“Why don’t I go get her? The booster seat is still in my car, and I remember the way.”
Tempted, he glanced from her to the screen again. “You’re sure it wouldn’t be too much trouble?”
“Not at all. Of course, you’d better call the school first and see if it’s okay. I’m a stranger to the staff. We can’t expect them to turn Isabelle over to me without authorization.”
He reached for the phone. Five minutes and a few terse exchanges later, they had their approval. “You’ll have to show your driver’s license and this note,” he said, scrawling something on a sheet of unlined paper. “But you’re authorized.”
She plucked the signed note from his fingers. “I’m on my way. It’s a good thing I brought an umbrella with me.”
Only then did he become aware of the steady drumming rain against the office windows. “How long has it been raining?”
“Almost an hour. According to the radio in your kitchen, we’re in for some downpours this afternoon and early evening.”
“You’ll be okay picking up Isabelle?”
“I’ll be fine. Finish your scene. You and I really need to talk business today. I have to get back to New York tomorrow.”
He nodded. “We’ll talk as soon as you get back.”
She really was being very helpful with Isabelle, he thought after she left, as he stretched a few kinks out of his shoulders. As eager as he was to get back to his normal routines, he rather wished Adrienne could stay as long as Isabelle did. He was sure that was the only reason he was so reluctant to see her return to New York.
Listening to the steady fall of rain outside the office windows, he frowned, wondering if he should have insisted on going after Isabelle himself. He hoped Adrienne wouldn’t have any problems picking her up. And then he reminded himself that Adrienne had a stake in his finishing this book—after all, she didn’t get paid until he did.
He put his hands to the keyboard again and let himself be drawn back into the world that existed solely in his mind.
Emerging from her colorfully decorated classroom with a stream of other students, Isabelle greeted Adrienne with a bright smile. “Hi, Miss Corley. Did you come for me?”
Adrienne returned the smile, pleased that the child seemed happy to see her. “Yes. Your brother is busy writing, so I volunteered.”
Thelma Fitzpatrick, the gruff-voiced, squarely built owner of Miss Thelma’s Preschool and Daycare, hovered nearby with a frown on her irritable-grandmother face. “This is highly unorthodox,” she grumbled. “We are not accustomed to releasing our students to complete strangers.”
Since Adrienne had already provided Gideon’s letter of authorization and her driver’s license, she didn’t know what else it would take to reassure the woman. “I respect your concern for your students, Mrs. Fitzpatrick. I know the McClouds must have the utmost confidence that Isabelle is safe here.”
The woman folded her hands in front of her and eyed Adrienne with lingering suspicion. “I suppose we’ve done all we can, considering that her guardian is off on his honeymoon and her appointed caretaker had to leave town. Though I can’t imagine anyone leaving a small child with Gideon McCloud,” she added in a murmured aside.
Immediately defensive on Gideon’s behalf—after all, he was her client—she smiled coolly. “Actually, I think she’s in very good hands with her brother.”
“Humph.” The other woman was notably unimpressed. “You obviously don’t know him very well.”
“Gideon’s taking good care of me, Miss Thelma,” Isabelle said earnestly, proving she had been playing close attention to the conversation. “He made me spaghetti for dinner last night.”
“Yes, well…” Miss Thelma cleared her throat. “Go with Ms. Corley, Isabelle. I’ll see you in the morning. And don’t forget to bring a stuffed animal for our jungle party.”
“I won’t forget.” Demonstrating that she wasn’t particularly intimidated by the stern-looking woman, Isabelle gave her a big hug before skipping out of the school at Adrienne’s side.
Sheltering the little girl beneath her umbrella, Adrienne ushered her to the car and secured her into the booster seat in the back. Isabelle started babbling about her day the minute Adrienne slid behind the steering wheel. Trying to concentrate on the child’s chatter and negotiate the wet roads at the same time, Adrienne murmured what she hoped were appropriate responses. Isabelle must have been satisfied, since she continued with barely a pause for breath.
Cute kid, Adrienne thought with a faint smile, but the child did love to talk.
A traffic light glowed red ahead of her as she approached the last intersection before leaving the city limits. It changed to green several seconds before she reached it, so she didn’t slow down. The nose of the rental car had just entered the intersection when a blur of red passed in front of her, so close she could almost feel the heat of its exhaust.
She slammed on the brakes, missing a collision by a heartbeat. The lightweight rental car slid on the wet pavement, squealing into a spin that she fought with her heart pounding in her throat. The spin ended with a crunch of metal when the back of the car made jarring contact with a lamppost. Her hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel, Adrienne sat for a moment in frozen silence, trying to remember how to breathe again. And then a wail from the back seat got her moving.
She whipped around in her seat. “Isabelle, are you all right?”
Still strapped securely in her safety seat, the little girl was uninjured, though she was obviously frightened. Going limp with relief, Adrienne swallowed hard before saying, “It’s okay, sweetheart. The car’s a little crumpled, but you and I are fine. You don’t hurt anywhere, do you?”
Drawing in a tremulous breath, Isabelle shook her head. “I’m not hurt.”
“Good.” Because the child still appeared to be in need of comfort, Adrienne reached for the door handle. “Hold on just a minute. I’ll come around to you.”
The rain had dwindled to barely more than a mist. Adrienne didn’t bother with an umbrella, figuring that after what they had just been through, a little moisture certainly wouldn’t hurt either of them. No other vehicles were immediately visible when she stepped out of the driver’s door, though she could hear a car engine approaching on the intersecting street. She hoped whoever it was would call for assistance while she comforted Isabelle. She had carelessly left her own cell phone sitting on Gideon’s kitchen table.
Opening the rear passenger door, she reached inside to unbuckle Isabelle, who had stopped sniffling, but still looked shaken. The child wrapped her arms around Adrienne’s neck and buried her face in her throat. “I was scared.”