Restless in Carolina (14 page)

“Coming down with a cold?”

Will he be offended if I speak the truth? Oh, why not? “No, colognes and perfumes irritate my sinuses, especially when they’re strong, like what you’re wearin’.”

His eyebrows rise. “I apologize. I’ll keep that in mind if we meet again.”

He will? The only thing I want him to impress me with is his environmental stance. Of course, going by his “if we meet again,” I may never know just how “green” J.C. is.

He reaches for the door handle. “Thank you for driving me around.”

When he steps to the sidewalk, I have the feeling Dirk Developers is about to slip away. I lean across the seat. “So we’ll hear from you soon?”

He peers back inside. “I’ll be in touch.”

When? And what is he doing between now and his return to Atlanta? “You said you’re stayin’ through tomorrow.”

“I have a meeting in Asheville before I fly out, so I’ll be leaving Pickwick early.”

The good news is I won’t have to reschedule the hotel’s plant service to avoid further assassination of my image. The bad news is I have no idea how Asheville fits into his plans.

I tip my head to the side. “I assume your meeting has something to do with my family’s property?”

“All part of the evaluation process.”

What other parts are there? And why didn’t I get myself to the meeting with Piper and him? Much as I’d like my involvement to be over, there’s too much riding on it for me to take the easy way out. Thus when I return to the estate to swap out Axel’s Jeep for my truck, I’ll have to get the lowdown from Piper.

“Enjoy the remainder of your stay.”

He reaches through the window. “Good-bye, Bridget.”

I hate that I hesitate before slipping my hand into his. And there’s the reason for the hesitation—skin on skin, even if it is only in the vicinity of palms and fingers. This thing that I don’t want to be attraction bothers me more than I can say. It’s too much like what I felt for Easton before he and I started dating. I haven’t felt it with Boone or any of the others who have come sniffing around. And in spite of my intentions to reset my life, it feels like betrayal.

“Good-bye.” I start to pull my hand free, but J.C. keeps hold of it.

And smiles. “You ought to let your skin breathe more.”

“Excuse me?”

“Freckles are a good look for you.”

I wore makeup for the benefit of the image created for him, but I didn’t expect him to notice. Maybe I’m not the only one feeling these flutterings. Though the possibility makes my pulse jump, I question whether I’m ready for something like this. Best not to encourage it.

I pull my hand free. “I don’t believe I asked for your opinion on my freckles.”

Something like confusion crosses his face, but then he chuckles and straightens from the Jeep.

Accelerating away from the hotel, I look in the rearview mirror and catch J.C.’s back as he enters the hotel. “Of all men, why him, Lord?” I slant my gaze heavenward. “Just so You know, I wasn’t talkin’ to You.”
Oh yes, you were
. “No, I was … takin’ Your name in vain. So don’t be thinking You’ve found one of Your lost lambs. I’m
not one
of them.”
Baa-aaa
.

“Not much to tell.” Piper grimaces. “I expanded on the information you gave him in Atlanta and answered a few questions. Unfortunately, he’s hard to read, so I can’t say where he stands on the property.” She sighs. “What he needs is competition.”

I sit forward in the patio chair. “There are plenty of others interested in the property.”

“They’re not real competition.”

Because of
my
standards. And J.C. knows all about them. “I shouldn’t have come on so strongly about the importance of an environmentally friendly development.”

“Probably not.” Piper frowns. “You said Dirk is meeting with someone before leaving Asheville.”

“Yes, but that’s all I know.” I look past her to Uncle Obe’s garden. Its summer beauty is fading, but the deep oranges and golds of autumn are coming into their own. “I did consider setting Maggie on him, what with her undercover work experience.”

Piper groans. “Don’t remind me.”

I’m surprised by the laughter that exits my mouth. “It all worked out, didn’t it? Maggie got her DNA sample, found out who fathered Devyn, and she and Reece are together again. I call that a successful covert operation.”

“She went about it wrong, and you know it.” Piper sits on the opposite side of the wrought-iron table, her flippy red hair tucked behind her ears, blue eyes reproving.

“She was trying to protect Devyn.” I defend my favorite cousin. Not that Piper hasn’t grown on me, but a twelve-year absence from one’s life does strain a relationship, especially if those in question don’t much care for each other in the first place.

“Still,” Piper says, “if she had—”

The kitchen screen door creaks, and Axel starts down the ramp he built to give Uncle Obe easier access to his garden. Good man. Piper had better deserve him.

“Am I interrupting?” His blue eyes, which have no business being so blue, smile.

“Not at all.” I sit back. “We’re just tryin’ to figure out J. C. Dirk’s game plan.”

He brushes his mouth across Piper’s, and I remember what it felt like to be loved that way. Is it possible to be loved that way again? Although I don’t summon remembrance of J.C. holding my hand through the Jeep window, his smile, or his comment about my freckles, it rises all the same. And I feel warmer than the weather warrants.

“My guess,” Axel says, “is that Dirk plans to make the most amount of money on the least amount invested.”

Grateful for words that put me back on track, I hold up a finger. “But in an environmentally conscious way.”

“That does seem to be where the money is nowadays.”

True. And I wish it were more about the environment than making a buck off those who want to make a difference for future generations. (Honestly—organic jeans that cost five times what I pay for 501s!) Still, I’ll take what I can get, even if it is J.C. with an eye on profit. And an unsettling ability to affect me.

I scoot my chair back. “I’m having supper with my folks, and I’ve been instructed to dress up.”

Piper and Axel walk me through the house to the front door, where I pause. “Let me know how your interviews go tomorrow.”

Piper nods. “You said you liked the woman who offered Uncle Obe a seat at the coffee shop?”

I shrug. “She seemed nice. But as I said, her personality is mousy.” I raise a hand. “See you.”

I hurry down the steps to where Axel parked my truck alongside the Jeep. “Hello, Ford,” I croon as I turn the key in the ignition. I back out, shift into drive, and glance at Axel and Piper on the top step, his arm around her.

Feeling a pinch of jealousy, I loosen its grip by calling out the window, “Set a date!”

A
s sure as flies on butter, I’ve been had. I know it the moment the hostess halts at what should be a party-of-three table. And to further prove it, Tall-Dark-and-Handsome smiles from Daddy to Mama as he rises to greet us, then turns an even brighter smile on me. Yep, had. From my prettily pulled back hair to Maggie’s girlie dress, Bridget Buchanan is all trussed up with no place to go. To make matters worse, our fourth wheel is wearing cologne.

I shoot a frown at the increasingly hefty Bartholomew Pickwick, who ought to know better than to set me up. I love my daddy, but I don’t always like him. Mostly because
he
didn’t like Easton … didn’t believe Easton was good enough for me … refused to accept Easton even after the ring was on my finger. I touch it through my blouse. Though Daddy may be on the hunt for a husband worthy of
his
daughter, he’s wasting his ammo.

As he continues feigning ignorance of my angst that began with our entrance into the restaurant when patrons set to whispering (she’s wearing a dress
again
!), he thrusts a hand at the other man. “Glad you could join us, Caleb.”

“I appreciate the invitation, sir.” Their hands part and the man reaches to my mother. “You must be the lovely Belinda.”

Mama gives an uncertain nod that speaks of her own surprise at his presence. “Why yes, I am.” Perking up a little (she looks better than she did yesterday, though still tired), she drapes her hand in his.

And here comes the theatrical kiss to the back of her hand that makes her blush.

“And this is your daughter, Bridget.”

I put my hand firmly in his and initiate the shake to let him know I don’t go for hand kisses. That’s when I catch another breath of cologne. It’s not of the choke-me variety, but still … why can’t men smell like men? “Bridget Buchanan.”

I expect him to check my ring finger, but he doesn’t. Of course, seeing as Daddy is behind this, my “suitor” is probably aware of my widow’s status. Dark eyes peering into mine, he says, “As pretty as I’ve heard tell.”

Don’t let the dress fool you, mister. Your tune would change if you saw me in work jeans and dreads, fertilizer beneath my nails
. “Thank you.” I pull my hand free. “I don’t believe I caught your last name.”

“Merriman. Caleb Merriman the second.”

Why does that sound familiar?

“Oh!” My mother’s blond head bobs. “I remember your daddy. Why, the last time I saw … him …” Her gaze slides to her husband.

“Bygones be bygones.” He grunts, then urges her into a chair.

Well, well. I start to lower beside my mother, but Daddy says, “That’s where I’m sittin’. You take the seat beside Caleb so you two can get to know each other.”

As sure as flies on butter …

Sitting between Caleb and him, it’s awhile before I realize I’m holding my breath, and only then because Mama says, “Are you all right, dear? You’ve gone as red as a tomato.” She reaches across Daddy and touches my forehead.

I let out my breath. “It’s just a little warm in here.”

“But you’re—”

“She said she’s fine.” Daddy opens Mama’s menu and places it in front of her. “Now let’s see what fits your meal plan, Belinda.”

If
I was fine, I’m not anymore. I don’t like that he monitors her fat and calorie intake, especially while ignoring his own. Yes, she’s added extra pounds to her slight frame in the last five years, but she looks good, so why shouldn’t she have what she likes from time to time?

“I think pasta, don’t you, Mama?” I peruse the menu. “Somethin’ with a nice thick cream sauce.”

“Oh no,” Daddy says. “What she wants is a low-fat marinara sauce.”

I shake my head. “The house specialty is peppercorn chicken alfredo. Can’t go wrong with alfredo, right, Mama?”

She stares at me across the table, as if for fear a glance her husband’s way will find her swimming in red sauce, then presses her shoulders back. “You know how much I like cream sauces.” She closes the menu, sandwiching Daddy’s hand in it.

“But Belinda—”

“Oh, Daddy, if you want the marinara sauce, you go right ahead.”

His frown lands on me with the weight of a slap. However, when Caleb sits forward to gain a better view of the unfolding scene, Daddy swallows whatever he meant to say. I’m liking my “suitor” better by the minute.

My daddy unsandwiches his hand and runs it through his silver hair that evidences he was once a very red redhead. “The alfredo sounds good to me too.” He considers his wife. “We can split a plate.”

I cup a hand between Daddy’s ear and my mouth. “Split? Surely, you don’t want Mr. Merriman to think you’re cheap?”

I feel his startle. Though scandal is a trench coat he wears as well as other Pickwicks, he does like to maintain the long-lost appearance of wealth. “Actually,” he says, “I’ve an appetite tonight. We’d best have two of that alfredo dish.”

Shortly the server slips away, taking our meal orders with her as well as an order for a bottle of wine chosen by Caleb Merriman—some fancy something or other I’d gladly exchange for a beer if my father wouldn’t be beside himself. I like the taste of beer, but only the taste, which is why I drink nonalcoholic.

Caleb turns to me. “Chicken primavera? I took you for a vegetarian.”

What gives him the right to take me for anything?

“She was,” Mama says, “but that was a while back. Missed your meat, didn’t you, dear?”

Like I want to share my personal life with Daddy’s replacement for Easton.

“And biscuits and pie crusts—all made with animal fat. Oh, and gravy. I make the
best
.” Mama points at Caleb. “Let me tell you, tofu will never be to gravy what sausage is. I tried, for Bridget’s sake, but substitutin’ that wet-sponge stuff for sausage is plain wrong. That’s not how the good Lord intended gravy to taste.”

Though tempted to shut down this conversation, I determine to be civil. “As you may know, Mr. Merriman—”

“Caleb.” His eyes smile—nice brown eyes, framed by long lashes.

“As you may know, it’s hard to be a vegetarian in the South, especially when one’s mama is as incredible a cook as mine. But I do stay away from red meat—well, mostly. And where free-range is available, that’s what I buy.” At a premium.

“Regardless, this girl is fit.” Daddy gives me a rap on the back that
makes me feel like a prize bull. “Not a sick bone in her body. Comes from good stock.”