Janice Maynard - His Heir, Her Secret

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?