His Heir, Her Secret. Janice Maynard
like a woman who can’t be punctual.”
Cate helped the old woman into the car. Izzy was wrapped from head to toe in a brown wool coat and a heavy woven scarf in brown and beige. “That’s a stereotype, Miss Izzy. I’m sure there are as many men as women who have trouble being on time.”
Isobel snorted and changed the subject. “I thought ye’d wear a dress,” she complained.
Cate extracted the car from the tight parking space and adjusted the defroster. “It’s going to be close to twenty degrees tonight. These are my best dress pants.” She’d worn them back when she was on her way to becoming a doctor...in the days before her world fell apart.
“Pants, schmantz. Brody and Duncan are hot-blooded men. I’m sure they would have enjoyed seeing a glimpse of leg. Yours are spectacular, bonnie young Cate. When you’re my age, you’ll wish ye’d appreciated what ye had when you had it.”
There was no arguing with the antiquated, sexually regressive logic of a woman in her nineties.
Cate sighed. Unfortunately, the road up the mountain was easily traversed and not long at all. When they pulled up in front of the Stewart mansion—Cate would be hard-pressed to describe it as anything else—they had time to spare. Izzy’s home was spectacular. Weathered mountain stone, rough-hewn lumber, copper guttering, giant multipaned windows that brought the outdoors inside... This magnificent architectural gem had once graced the cover of Southern Living.
Cate touched the petite woman’s arm. “Are you going to be okay?”
Izzy sniffed. “Outliving your friends and contemporaries is bollocks, Cate.”
“Miss Izzy!” Her friend’s lack of respect for social convention still caught her off guard at times.
“Don’t be prissy. What’s the point of getting old if ye can’t say what ye please?”
“So back to my original question. Are you going to be okay?”
Izzy gazed through the windshield, her cheeks damp. “He built that house as a thank-you to me. Did you know that?”
“No, ma’am, I didn’t. A thank-you for what?”
“Giving up Scotland. My family. My home. Coming here to America with him. Silly fool.” She stopped. Her throat worked. “I’d have given all that and more for one more day with the auld codger.”
Cate felt her own throat tighten, and not only because of Izzy’s emotional return to the house where she had spent a decades-long marriage. Izzy had pledged herself and her heart to a man who was her soul mate. Cate had never even come close. And now she had made the most wretched mistake of her life.
She turned off the engine and gripped the steering wheel. Brody was inside that house. What was she going to say to him?
Izzy moved restively. “Might as well get it over with,” she muttered. “I’ll not cry, mind you. Too many tears shed already. Besides, I don’t want the lads to think they’ve done wrong by me. Let’s go, Cate, my girl.”
The two women scuttled up the flagstone walkway, buffeted by an icy wind. Moments later the double, burnished-oak front doors swung open wide. The massive chandelier in the foyer spilled light into the darkness. The diminutive Scotswoman was caught up in the enthusiastic hugs of her two über-masculine grandsons.
Brody’s thick, wavy chestnut hair shone with strands of reddish-gold mixed in. Duncan’s was a darker brown and straighter. He had the rich brown eyes to match. Though the brothers were alike in many ways, Izzy had once upon a time explained to Cate that Brody favored his Irish-born mother while Duncan was a younger version of his Grandda.
Now that Cate had finally met Duncan, she agreed. It was astonishing to see how much Brody’s younger brother resembled Geoffrey Stewart. She wondered if it was painful for Izzy to look at Duncan and see the memory of her young husband in the flesh.
Cate hung back, still not sure why she had come. Izzy seemed to be handling things with grace and bravery. It was Cate whose stomach quivered with nerves.
Izzy drew Cate forward. “Cate, my dear, meet Duncan.”
Duncan Stewart lifted her hand and kissed the back of it. “Charmed, Miss Everett.”
Brody snorted. “Knock it off, Duncan.”
Duncan held up his hands, visibly protesting his innocence. “What? What did I do?”
“Go check on the caterer, would you?”
Moments later Duncan bore his grandmother deeper into the house, leaving Cate alone with Brody.
The man who had avoided eyeing her until now, gave her a crooked grin. “Surprise, lass. I’m back.”
* * *
Brody wasn’t an idiot. He knew when a woman was glad to see him and when she wasn’t. Cate Everett looked like someone who had swallowed bad milk. His pride took a hit, but he maintained his smile with effort. “It was nice of you to come with Granny. I know she’s been dreading this moment.”
Cate took off her coat slowly and handed it to him. “Then why force the issue?”
He shrugged, turning to hang up Cate’s wrap. “There are decisions to be made. My ninety-two-year-old grandmother has been sleeping in a closet-sized room with the barest of essentials. Grandda is gone. This house is still here. We can’t pretend anymore.”
Cate’s jaw tightened. “Are you always so sure you know what’s best for everyone?”
He cocked his head, studying her from a distance, even though he thought about grabbing her up and kissing her soundly. The last time the two of them had seen each other, they had been naked and breathless in Cate’s bed.
“Have I upset ye in some way, Cate? I had to leave. You knew that.”
A month after his grandfather’s funeral, Brody had returned to Candlewick to spend time with his grandmother and to assess the state of the family business. Stewart Properties was a thriving company with a stellar reputation in the United States.
Unfortunately, Geoffrey Stewart was gone now. Brody’s own father had no desire to return to the States permanently. So something had to be done about Granny Isobel.
Brody had spent four weeks in North Carolina, two of them wildly in lust with the beautiful and brilliant Cate Everett. By day he had been a dutiful grandson. At night he had found himself drawn time and again to the woman who had a reputation around the small town for being kind but standoffish. With Brody, she had been anything but...
To be honest, the depth of his physical infatuation had made him the tiniest bit uncomfortable. He understood the mechanics of sexual attraction. He’d even had his share of serious relationships. But when his grandmother introduced him to her friend and neighbor, Cate Everett, Brody had felt like a tongue-tied adolescent.
Cate was a mix of femme fatale and spinster schoolteacher. Her pale blond hair was like sunshine on a winter afternoon, though she kept it tucked up in a tight knot on the back of her head most days, the kind of knot that looked headache-producing from the get-go.
But when she let it down...hot damn. Even now Brody’s fingers itched to touch the fall of silk that had spilled across his chest and still featured in his fantasies.
She was tall, five-ten at least. Brody knew the curves and valleys of her alluring shape, but Cate kept her body mostly hidden beneath loose cardigans and below-the-knee jumpers. He had no clue why a woman as intensely feminine as she was would make a concerted effort to hide in plain sight.
After a long, awkward silence, she cast him a sideways glance, her small smile rueful. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long day. It’s nice to see you again, Brody.”
He wrinkled his nose. “Nice?”
“I didn’t want to give you any ideas.”
“About