‘Wasn't Mr Wade enough?’ the middle-aged woman twittered, habitually fingering the pearls about her throat, the smoky jewels given a pink tinge from the deep rose-coloured blouse she wore tucked neatly into the waistband of her black cotton skirt. ‘How exciting to have a visitor come all that way just to see you!'
Brenna doubted very much that she would find the occurrence exciting even if Nathan had come here specifically to see her. At least, not in the way Mrs Marlow meant!
‘There's no trouble at home, is there, dear?’ the other woman frowned. ‘Only I couldn't help noticing Mr Wade seemed a little—disturbed, when he was here this morning.'
‘No trouble, Mrs Marlow,’ Brenna said firmly, having no intention of satisfying this woman's curiosity either. ‘So I've had no other visitors?’ she persisted, knowing the other woman would keep her chatting here all day while she waited for her answer.
‘No, dear,’ the landlady smiled. ‘But I have your mail here,’ she picked up the dozen or so letters from the hall table behind her and handed them to Brenna.
Brenna could hardly conceal her disappointment at the other woman's negative answer, and absently made her parting as she slowly went back up the stairs, idly flicking through the letters in her hand. Her heart skipped a beat as she reached an envelope written in her sister's handwriting, only to be closely followed by renewed disappointment when she saw the date of the Canadian postmark; Lesli had written the letter long before her departure from the Wade ranch.
Nevertheless, she ripped open the envelope, hoping to find some hint of her sister's emotional state. The letter was as newsy as always, telling of a new bull Grant had acquired, how hot she was finding it this summer with the added weight of the baby to carry around, how she and Mindy, the Wade housekeeper, had prepared the nursery before Lesli became too big to help. As usual there was no mention of Nathan, as there hadn't been from the moment Brenna had made it clear she had no interest in knowing of Nathan's movements. The last year of complete silence about him had been very hard to bear, but she hadn't dared let herself think about him, let alone of the latest woman he was dating. She had no doubt that Lesli would break the silence if Nathan should announce his intention of getting married! She never had.
And now Nathan was here, upstairs in her flat. God, how it had pained her to turn and face him earlier today. But she had done it! She was proud of herself, of the way she had handled the meeting she had known would be inevitable on the birth of Lesli and Grant's baby. It had shook her that it had come two months earlier than she had expected, that was all.
She could do this, she could get through seeing Nathan, being with him again. She had better!
‘Anything?’ Nathan put his hand over the mouthpiece of the telephone as Brenna let herself in, obviously in the middle of a call.
She shook her head, frowning. ‘If that's Grant I want to talk to him before you ring off,’ she told him firmly.
‘I—–’ Nathan flashed her an irritated look as he was obviously questioned as to his attentiveness down the line. ‘Yes. Yes, I'm still here,’ he bit out tersely. ‘Of course I'll pass your message on,’ he assured the caller smoothly before putting down the receiver.
‘I told you—–'
‘It wasn't Grant,’ he drawled softly, challengingly.
Brenna's eyes narrowed. ‘Who?’ she demanded abruptly, slightly irked that he should have taken a call obviously meant for her.
‘Your friend Carolyn. Apparently you packed one of Nick's favourite T-shirts in with your things today.'
Colour flared in her cheeks at his contemptuous expression. ‘I was using it to sleep in,’ she defended hotly. ‘I forgot to leave it behind.'
Dark brows rose sceptically. ‘As I recall, you never used to bother with nightclothes,’ Nathan drawled.
Her mouth tightened as she recalled the time he had walked into her bedroom to invite her for an early morning swim, laughingly pulling back the bedclothes as she snuggled down in their depths as a refusal. For long timeless minutes he had stood looking down at her, and she had seen the beauty he found in her body reflected in his eyes before he snarled something about going on his own and slammed out of the room. After that she had always made sure her bedroom door was locked, not being prepared to change her sleeping habits on the off chance that he might invade her room again.
‘I still don't,’ she snapped. ‘But that could have proved a little awkward if Nick and I had met on the way to the bathroom!'
‘And you think the man's T-shirt was preferable?’ Nathan rasped angrily.
‘Carolyn doesn't wear nightclothes either!'
‘No, I can believe that,’ he dismissed impatiently. ‘I find it very difficult to believe she wrote a children's book!’ he added scathingly.
‘And just what do you really know about her?’ Brenna challenged. ‘Do you have any idea why she behaves the way that she does? What made her come on to you even in front of Nick?'
He sighed wearily, dropping down into an armchair, his left ankle resting on his right knee as he relaxed back against the brown material. ‘I'm sure you're going to tell me,’ he drawled uninterestedly.
‘God, you're so damned smug, sitting there behind your Wade name and your Wade wealth—–'
‘I thought we were talking about Carolyn Frank,’ he cut in flintily, his whole body tensed now.
‘We are,’ she confirmed tersely. ‘Carolyn lived in foster-homes from the time she was six days old until she reached sixteen and got a job—that's also how she became so adept at weaving children's stories, by telling them to all her little “brothers and sisters”,’ she bit out. ‘Even her name isn't her own, not really,’ she gave a pained frown. ‘There was a note pinned on her saying her mother's name was Carolyn and her father's name was Frank, and as they were both only fifteen they couldn't care for her properly. The young mother also begged for the baby not to be adopted, promised she would come back for her one day.'
‘But she never did,’ Nathan rasped flatly.
‘No,’ she said abruptly.
‘And ever since Carolyn has done everything she can to make people like her, as a salve to her mother's desertion,’ he guessed huskily. ‘I had no idea.'
‘How could you?’ Brenna couldn't forgive his contempt and condescension so easily, she had been at the receiving end of it herself for too long to do that. ‘You just looked at her and saw a flirtatious butterfly, you didn't stop to ask why she's like that—–'
‘For God's sake, Brenna,’ he snapped abruptly, ‘I only met the woman for a matter of minutes!'
‘Long enough to have passed judgment on her, obviously!'
‘I've said I was sorry,’ he sighed. ‘What more can I do?'
‘Stop standing up as judge and jury on me and the people I call friends,’ she said in exasperation.
‘You were my sister for nine years, Brenna, and I thought I was going to marry you for three months; I can't shut off my protectiveness towards you just because you order it!’ His voice rose angrily.
‘I never asked for it in the first place,’ she dismissed contemptuously.
‘That's like saying you didn't ask the sun to set,’ he sneered. ‘It was just as inevitable.'
‘I don't see why, you virtually ignored me until I was sixteen!'
‘I'm not going to even bother to answer that accusation, I think it speaks for itself,’ he drawled mockingly.
‘Isn't that just typical!’