He followed her down the narrow hallway without speaking and stood in silence as she lit the pile of kindling and wood chips beneath carefully stacked logs. Cate had a handyman who stopped by whenever she asked him—this time of year usually to clean out the grate and restock her woodpile. The fireplace and chimney had been cleaned and inspected regularly, so she had no qualms about using it. Another hearth upstairs in her tiny living room provided warmth and cheer for her apartment.
She wiped her hands on a cloth and indicated one of the tapestry wingback chairs in navy and gold. They were ancient and faded, but the twin antiques had come with the store. She loved them. “Have a seat, Brody. And tell me what’s so important it couldn’t wait until morning.” She would let him speak his piece, and then she would find the courage to tell him the secret she had been hiding from everyone, including him.
Brody sat, but his posture indicated unease. She had purposely not turned on the lamps. Firelight was flattering. It also lent a sense of peace and calm to a situation that was anything but. In the flickering glow, Brody’s profile was shadowed. Occasionally, when the flames danced particularly high, a flash of light caught the gold in his hair.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and stared at her, his expression impossible to read. “I owe you an apology,” he said gruffly.
Her heart thudded. “For what?”
“For what I’m about to say.”
Her stomach cringed. “I don’t understand.”
“Four months ago you and I had something pretty damned wonderful. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to take you upstairs right now and make love to you for three days straight.”
The utter, bald conviction in his words made her light-headed with yearning, but nothing he had said so far erased the certainty of impending doom. “I sense a but coming.” She kept the words light. It took everything she had. Already her heart was freezing, preparing to shatter.
“But I can’t fool around with you and still tend to Granny Isobel at the same time. I have a responsibility to discharge.”
“How very noble,” she mocked, her throat tight with painful tears she couldn’t, wouldn’t, shed.
His jaw tightened. “I never meant to return. My father was in contact with Granny from the moment I left until last week. Every time he spoke with her she told him things were fine. We assumed she had put the business and the house on the market immediately and would come back to Scotland as soon as the transactions were complete.”
“Forgive me for stating the obvious, but I don’t think any of you know her very well. It would take a stick of dynamite to blast her out of this town. If she wants to stay, she’ll stay.”
“Ach, Cate. I ken that very well...now. Do you think you could talk to her? As a favor to me?”
“I could, but I won’t. It’s not my place. She’s my friend. My job is to support her.”
“Surely you can see it’s time for her to go.”
“With you and Duncan...”
“Aye.”
“Why couldn’t one of you stay here?” Cate was fighting for her future. Isobel’s happiness was important, but more was at stake.
Brody shook his head almost violently. “It doesn’t make sense. Granny has lived a full and wonderful life. Seasons change, and now her time in Candlewick is done.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re an arrogant, blind, foolish ass of a Scotsman?”
“Don’t hold back, Cate.”
She leaped to her feet. “Don’t worry. I won’t.” The words she needed to say trembled on her lips. I’m pregnant, Brody. With your baby. She had intended—any day now—to send a registered letter to Scotland. Terse. To the point. Morally correct. Absolving him of any responsibility.
It had seemed like a sound plan until Brody showed up in the flesh. Seeing him again was shocking. She hadn’t expected to feel so giddy with delight. Nor so bleakly sure that this man was neither the answer to her problems nor the knight on the white horse.
She was still trying to come to terms with the news of her pregnancy. Her periods had never been regular, so she had been twelve weeks along before she went to the doctor and confirmed that her fatigue and queasiness were far more than a temporary condition.
The idea of having a baby had come completely out of the blue, but was not entirely unwelcome. She had always loved children. She was warming quickly to the notion of being a mother. She would do her best to be the kind of warm, nurturing parent she herself had never known. Her mother and father had gone through the motions, but their behavior had been motivated by duty, not gut-deep devotion.
Other worries intruded. What if Brody tried to take their child away from her...insisted the baby live in Scotland? Was that why she had struggled so over composing the letter? The Stewart-clan pride ran deep, centuries in the making. The mere thought of losing custody made her maternal instincts, hitherto unknown, scratch their way to the surface. She would fight Brody, if need be. She would fight all of them. This baby was hers.
Brody wouldn’t be sticking around long this time, perhaps far less than the four weeks he devoted to his grandmother when he visited so soon after the funeral. Clearly, he didn’t have any residual feelings for Cate. At least no more than the lust a man feels for a woman he’s bedded. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be making such a point of not resurrecting their affair.
If she could wait him out, avoid him, stay clear of the family drama, Brody would leave again and Cate would never have to tell him the truth.
She knew in her heart that idea was wrong. A man deserved to know he had fathered a child. Besides, wouldn’t Miss Izzy let the cat out of the bag eventually? Cate’s elderly friend was far from stupid or naive. She knew her grandson and her neighbor had spent a great deal of time together back in the autumn.
Even if Isobel hadn’t guessed before now about Cate and Brody’s sexual intimacy, once Cate’s belly began to swell visibly, Isobel would do the math and realize that she was going to have another Stewart in the works.
Tension wrapped Cate’s skull in a headache. She was an intelligent, educated woman. Surely there was a way forward.
Tell him, her gut insisted. Tell him. Postponing the truth would only make things more difficult. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to say the words. What would he say? How would he respond? She felt fragile and helpless, and she hated both emotions.
The baby was only now becoming real to Cate herself. How much more unbelievable would conception seem to Brody? Because Cate’s sex life had been nonexistent since moving to Candlewick, she hadn’t been taking birth control pills when she met the handsome Scotsman. Brody had been happy to produce a seemingly never-ending supply of condoms.
But there had been that one time in the middle of the night, that poignant, dreamlike coupling, a series of moments as natural as breathing. They had found each other with hushed sighs and ragged groans in the mystical hours when the world slept. She had spread her legs for him, and he had claimed her as his. For all she knew, Brody might not even remember. He’d made love to her many times. Perhaps they all ran together for a man.
Cate remembered each one in vivid detail.
This was not the time to dwell on the past. Nor was it the moment to wallow in grief. She didn’t know Brody Stewart well enough to let him break her heart. Love didn’t happen so quickly.
She almost believed it.
While she paced, Brody leaned back in his chair, waiting. Judge and jury. He expected Cate to choose his side, to align herself with the grandsons and not Isobel.
If Cate had believed it was the right thing to do, she might have capitulated. Instead, her heart told her she had to fight for the old woman’s