His Heir, Her Secret. Janice Maynard
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