Читать книгу True Love, Inc. - Jackie Braun - Страница 11

Thursday dawned clear and bright, the perfect weather for a drive. The roads were dry, the sun a warm, glowing orb climbing higher in the eastern sky. Even so, Maddie’s footsteps were hesitant as she walked to the parking lot behind the souvenir shop. Her slow pace had nothing to do with the stiffness in her leg and hip. In addition to her trepidation about seeing Cameron Foley again, she hated to drive.

Biting her lip, she slid onto the front seat of her car and fastened the safety belt even before inserting the key into the ignition. Since the accident fifteen months earlier, she’d gotten past the paralyzing fear of being in an automobile, but not the passionate dislike of operating one.

Driving five miles under the posted speed limit, she pulled onto Highway 22 and headed north toward the tiny, artsy town of Suttons Bay. To her right, sunlight danced on the calm waters of the west arm of Grand Traverse Bay. To her left, vacation homes dotted the hillside. The farther she drove, however, the more rural the landscape became. She smiled as row after row of cherry trees replaced man-made structures on the rolling countryside. The trees were heavy with fruit now, their boughs seeming to bend under the weight of sweet cherries that already looked ripe and inviting. This was cherry country, and despite the constant development pressure farmers felt to sell off the prime land their orchards occupied, the local people were proud of their crop. Eighty percent of the nation’s cherries were grown here and in a handful of other Michigan counties.

Recalling the statistic, Maddie wasn’t surprised when five miles outside of Suttons Bay, she spotted the big red sign that read Foley Cherry Farm.

“Of course.”

She might have guessed Cameron’s occupation. His tanned face and forearms, as well as the well-worn denim that had hugged his powerful build, had all hinted at time spent outdoors.

Gravel crunched under her tires when she turned the car onto Mockingbird Lane, nothing but a plume of dust visible through her rearview mirror. It had been a dry spring, and summer wasn’t promising to be any wetter. Cherry trees lined either side of the road as far as she could see, lush with fruit and postcard perfect. Finally, a large farmhouse came into view. It was set back from the road on the crest of a hill, its lowest level partially built into the slope. A big bay window jutted from the stone facade, above it two cedar-shingled gables gazed cheerfully out over the orchards.

It was a beautiful home, a serene setting, but Maddie’s pulse throbbed in her temples as she parked the car and gathered her briefcase. What kind of mood would Cameron Foley be in today?

Shrugging off her nerves, she walked to the front door. It was yanked open before she could knock. A girl of about six stood in front of her. She wore denim overall shorts and a pink shirt. Her dark hair was pulled into a pair of adorably crooked pigtails. There were matching bandages on her knees and a smudge of something that looked like flour on one of her chubby cheeks.

She eyed Maddie speculatively before asking, “Who are you?” The words whistled out from the darling gap between her two front teeth.

Maddie leaned forward at the waist. When she was nearly eye level with the girl, she replied, “I’m Maddie Daniels. And who might you be?”

“I’m Caroline Foley. I live here.”

“You’re lucky. It’s a nice house.”

The girl shrugged, then her pixie face scrunched comically. “Are you the know-it-all I heard Daddy telling Mrs. Haversham about?”

The insult, delivered so earnestly in the child’s squeaky voice, caused Maddie to chuckle. “Yes, that would be me.”

So, Cameron Foley had a daughter, a delightful little imp of a girl who apparently had inherited her father’s gift for being blunt. The envy she felt was instantaneous and accompanied by a painful mental chorus of “if onlys.”

“Oh, Miss Daniels!” a woman called, rushing into the foyer behind Caroline. She was about sixty and as plump as a Thanksgiving turkey. “I’m Mrs. Haversham, Cam’s housekeeper. He told me to expect you.”

Maddie shook off her melancholy and sent Caroline a wink as she straightened. “So I hear. And call me Maddie, please.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Maddie.” Mrs. Haversham wiped a pair of thick hands on the apron she wore and glanced over her shoulder when a timer chimed.

“I hope I haven’t come at a bad time. Mr. Foley did tell me noon.”

“Not at all. That will be my apple pie. Cam is in the orchard. He said to send you out when you got here.” She turned to Caroline, surreptitiously wiping the flour from the little girl’s cheek with a grandmotherly pat. “Dearie, why don’t you show Maddie the way?”

Maddie followed Caroline around the side of the house, across the lawn and into the orchard, falling farther behind with each tentative step she took. Walking on a sidewalk often proved a trial, but walking on an uneven dirt path littered with nature’s debris had Maddie wishing she’d brought the cane she’d relegated to the back of her closet. She hated the thing and the way it advertised her disability, but using it would have been far less humiliating than what happened to her next. She stumbled, her foot twisting on an exposed root, and her world tilted. Windmilling her arms like something out of a Saturday morning cartoon did nothing to restore her precarious balance, but it did send her briefcase flying. To her utter mortification, Maddie landed with a jarring thud on her backside in the middle of Cameron Foley’s orchard.

“Caroline!” she called. The little girl had danced several yards ahead, propelled by the boundless energy of youth, but she bulleted back now, eyes huge at the sight of an adult sprawled on the ground.

“Gosh, are you hurt?”

“No.” Unless she counted her pride, Maddie thought wryly. “But I think I’ll just rest for a moment. Could you, um, go find your father and ask him to meet me here?”

Maddie watched Caroline shoot down a row of trees, envying the girl’s surefootedness. When she was alone, she put dignity aside and crawled on all fours to the briefcase and the smattering of papers that had tumbled out of its exterior pockets. She gathered them up, stuffed them back in and was preparing to use the case as leverage to help her stand when an incredulous deep voice stopped her cold.

“What the heck happened to you?”

Cameron Foley could hardly believe his eyes. Maddie Daniels was kneeling in the dirt. The woman had fallen, just as his daughter had claimed when she’d come tearing down one of the rows of tart cherries he’d been walking along with a worker. Cam almost smiled at the picture the woman presented. Dust covered her navy slacks and a wave of dark hair dangled in front of her eyes. He never would have taken the cool, competent Miss Daniels for such a klutz.

“She fell, Daddy. I told you,” Caroline chirped, clearly perplexed by her father’s short memory.

“I see that, honey. Now, why don’t you run back to the house and tell Mrs. Haversham to put on a fresh pot of coffee. We’ll be along shortly.”

When his daughter was out of hearing range, he said, “I hope you’re not going to sue me. I’d hate to have to turn my farm into a condo development to pay out a personal injury settlement to some clumsy female.”

“Your concern is truly enough to make me weep,” Maddie replied, her tone as dry as the dusty patch of earth beneath her knees. Cam gave her points for dignity. Her stiff upper lip appeared unaffected, which probably was more than could be said for her dust-covered derriere.

“Yeah, well, why don’t we head back to the house? Less chance for you to get hurt sitting in my kitchen. I hope.”

It was a cheap shot, but he wasn’t feeling particularly cordial at the moment. He didn’t have time for this today. He didn’t have time for her any day. How he wished he’d never let pride push him into this foolish bargain.

He glanced around the orchard and suppressed the urge to sigh. It was not quite July, but a warm spring had caused the cherries to ripen early. The sweets were almost two weeks ahead of schedule, and the tarts were right behind them. If some of the trees weren’t shaken soon the fruit would spoil. He’d lost some of his help to better-paying jobs, three of his best workers in the past month alone. The good economy made it hard to keep employees, especially when the same economy didn’t do much for the price that cherries brought at market.

“We’ll have to make this quick. Daylight is dollars to a farmer, Miss Daniels.” He snatched up the briefcase and started off for the house.

“Mr. Foley.”

She brought him up short when she called his name in that formal, Southern-sounding way of hers.

What now? He blew out an exasperated breath before turning around, but the pithy comment he planned died on his lips when he realized she had not moved. She was still on the ground, one leg pulled beneath her as if she had tried to stand. The other one, however, was bent at a rather awkward angle out to the side.

“I’m afraid I can’t get up on my own.” The words were issued in a stilted whisper and her gaze slid away as she said them. A blush the color of ripe tart cherries darkened her fair cheeks.

Still not looking directly at him, she extended the scarred hand and Cam’s memory stirred. That day in her office her movements had seemed stiff and hesitant, painful even. Clearly, whatever accident had left her hand so marred had done far more serious damage to her leg. And he’d left her sitting in the dirt. He closed his eyes briefly, ashamed that his rude behavior had forced her to all but beg for his help.

Cam clasped the hand Maddie held out and, as gently as possible, helped her to her feet, apologizing profusely as he did so.

“You know, I’m not usually such a jerk.”

She was gracious enough to let him off the hook easily. “It’s all right, really.” She reached for the briefcase he still held.

“I’ll carry it for you. Is your leg...how did...?” He let the questions trail away on a hastily expelled breath. “Sorry. It’s really none of my business.”

She answered him, anyway, unintentionally creating more questions with her vague explanation. “I was in an accident. Sometimes it’s hard to get up.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Relax, Mr. Foley. I won’t be suing you, if that’s what’s got you worried.”

Cam winced. “I was only joking when I said that.”

“Really? And here I was already picking out colors for my condominium.” She brushed the dust from her clothes, and, inclining her head in the direction of the house, she said, “Shall we?”

Cam walked slowly this time, moderating his usually brisk stride to match her more halting one. It seemed to take forever to reach the house on their silent, slow walk back, giving him plenty of time to feel like a proper heel. They entered through a screened-in back porch, and the homey scents of apples and cinnamon greeted them.

“Mmm. It smells wonderful in here,” Maddie said.

“Mrs. Haversham promised Caroline apple pie for dessert. In the three years she’s worked for me, she’s never broken a promise to my daughter. I make sure her paycheck reflects my appreciation.” He motioned toward the table. “Why don’t we have a seat in here?”

Gratefully, he noticed his housekeeper and daughter were nowhere to be found, and hopefully they would stay that way for the duration of his interview with Maddie. As it was, Mrs. H. was already too eager for him to start dating again, and who knew what embarrassing things Caroline would blurt out. She was six, after all. That made her old enough to express her thoughts clearly and too young to censor the more inappropriate ones.

“I see the coffee is ready. Would you care for a cup?”

“Please. I take it black. Before we get started, is there someplace I could freshen up?”

“Just down that hallway on the left.” Despite her composed demeanor, Cam could almost feel her discomfort.

While he waited for her to return, he poured them both a steaming mug of coffee, lacing his own with a spoonful of sugar. When she reentered the kitchen, the last physical traces of her ordeal in the orchard had been wiped away.

“I’ll try to take up as little of your time as possible,” she said, slowly lowering herself onto the chair across from him. “I’ll need a photograph, just for my records, really. I brought my Polaroid.”

She pulled it from the interior of her briefcase, and before he had a chance to protest, she snapped his picture. While she waited for the image to develop, she surprised him by slipping a pair of glasses onto the slim bridge of her nose. They should have made her look even more professional, but Cam had long considered glasses scholarly and...sexy. He chased the thought away with a gulp of coffee, scalding his tongue in the process. Maddie glanced up in question when he hissed out a breath.

“Ready when you are,” he managed to say.

“Why don’t we start with the basics? Age?”

“Thirty-six. I’ll be thirty-seven in March.”

She wrote his response on a yellow legal pad. Other notes had already been jotted down in her no-nonsense script. He couldn’t quite make out the words, which were upside-down from his vantage point, but he thought he caught something about “well built and attractive.” He felt his face heat.

“Height?”

“Just a hair over six feet.” For some reason, he straightened in his chair as he said it.

“Weight?”

Cam sipped his coffee, blowing on it beforehand this time, and thought about what the scale had said just that morning. “Um, one-eighty.”

She glanced up. One eyebrow lifted over the top rim of her glasses, leaving that little mole hidden.

“Give or take a few,” he amended. “Caroline has been on a pizza kick lately and it’s easier to cave in than to argue with her.” When Maddie just kept staring at him, he added, “She’s six, but she’s good.”

One-eighty, give or take a few pounds, Maddie mused, and probably all muscle. As interesting as she found it that a man would hedge about his weight, she was more intrigued by the way this man looked. A faded Cherry Republic T-shirt stretched over his broad shoulders, and she recalled that softly molded denim had hugged a pair of well-formed thighs when he’d walked.

She cleared her throat, perplexed by the inappropriate direction her thoughts kept taking. Her voice was an embarrassing squeak when she asked her next pitifully obvious question.

“Occupation?”

“I’m a cherry farmer, Miss Daniels.” He grinned, a flash of white teeth in an otherwise bronze face, and nodded toward the window and the start of the orchard visible through it. “Foleys have farmed this land for three generations. My dad met my mother here. She was a migrant worker, one of the thousands of Mexicans who came to Michigan each summer to harvest the cherries before modern technology made hand-picking obsolete.”

Maddie studied his features. His hair was a light, sun-kissed brown, but the warm hue of his skin and the coffee-colored eyes that peered at her from below a slash of dark brows hinted at his heritage.

She broke off her gaze and pretended to jot down more notes.

“Do you smoke?”

“No, filthy habit.”

She stifled a relieved sigh. She couldn’t agree more. Of course, she told herself that the relief she felt was merely because finding Cameron Foley a match would be that much easier if he didn’t have a pack-a-day habit. The vast majority of her clients were nonsmokers.

“Do you drink?”

“I like a cold beer after a hard day.”

That fit, she thought, working up the mental image. She could picture him hoisting a long-necked brown bottle in the evenings, sitting on the steps of that inviting front porch, maybe listening to Ernie Harwell call a Tigers game on the radio.

Then he threw her a curve.

“And I like wine. I sometimes have a glass with dinner. I’m not particularly a connoisseur,” he admitted with a shrug. “But I’m partial to anything French and expensive.”

“French and expensive,” she repeated. This new data did not compute.

“Sure. No one knows grapes like the French. But, I have to say, the local vineyards are coming along. In fact, a few of the Leelanau wines are passably good. Have you tried any?”

“No, I’m afraid I don’t get out much,” she said as she wrote down social drinker.

Cam frowned. “You don’t get out much? That seems kind of odd for the president of a dating service.”

“My business is relatively young, so I spend most of my days, including weekends, at the office. It doesn’t leave a lot of time for anything else.”

The explanation seemed perfectly logical. Cam knew all about the demands of being the boss, meeting a payroll while trying to turn a profit, but for some reason he didn’t buy it. A woman with her looks would attract plenty of male attention. So why would she choose to spend Saturday nights alone?

Maddie settled the glasses more firmly on the bridge of her nose and said, “Let’s move on to your health. Is there anything, ah, contagious that I should know about? Anything you’re being treated for?”

The tone was polite enough to make him smile, especially since she was essentially asking him if he had a social disease. Again, he caught the slight hint of the South in her speech.

“You’re not from around here, are you? Originally, I mean?”

“No.”

“Your accent, I’m guessing South Carolina.”

“Georgia, actually. I grew up just outside Atlanta. My parents and brothers still live there.”

“Really? Kind of chilly up here for a Southern belle, especially come January. That’s one of the reasons my parents moved to Florida when they retired five years ago. What made you decide to relocate to northern Michigan?”

Before she could respond, he grinned and added, “I’m guessing it was a man, and I’m guessing it was a while ago. You’ve lost a lot of your honeyed drawl, Miss Daniels.”

Maddie didn’t like the way he’d taken over the interview or the way he had begun to probe into her personal life. He was good at it, too. She had moved north to be with a man—the man who, as of nine months ago, had become her ex-husband.

Turning her tone to one of frosted efficiency, she said, “That’s not really important. The point of this interview is for me to gather enough information to put together a basic personality sketch of you. I know your time is valuable, so, if you don’t mind, I’ll ask the questions. Health?” she repeated.

His lips thinned into a serious line, and he answered rather pointedly, “My health is excellent. I’ve been out of circulation too long to have caught anything deadly.”

She bobbled the coffee she’d been about to sip, although she managed not to spill any of it on her blouse. “What kind of woman would you say you prefer?”

It was his turn to be uncomfortable. He straightened in his seat and twirled the spoon in the sugar bowl. “I don’t know. I’m not very particular.”

Hogwash, Maddie thought. Cameron Foley would be very particular. Any man who would drive into Traverse City during the height of tourist season to protest a dating service’s mass mailing clearly had an opinion on more than mere marketing practices.

“I can’t do my job if you’re not candid. We had a deal, Mr. Foley.”

“Cameron,” he corrected her, sounding slightly irritated. “My friends call me Cam. Since you’re digging into my personal life, I’m thinking you should at least call me by my given name.”

“Very well.” She took a deep breath and settled on the more formal moniker. “Cameron.” The word seemed to linger on her tongue like peppermint candy.

“Does this mean I can call you Madison?” She thought he might be teasing her. A light danced in his dark eyes, but his lips remained unbowed.

“Maddie, please. Only my mother calls me Madison. And my father, when I’ve tried his patience.”

“I’ll bet that’s often,” he muttered.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing. Isn’t Madison an odd name for a girl?” His gaze skimmed down her torso, lingered an uncomfortable moment. “Woman,” he corrected himself.

She felt herself blush. “My father is an American history buff. He’s big on presidents. I have two brothers, Lincoln and Carter.”

“A Republican and a Democrat. At least your father is bipartisan.”

She couldn’t quite stifle the unladylike snort of laughter that would have earned her mother’s censure. “My father’s a dyed-in-the-wool Democrat. That’s why he named my mother’s cat Nixon. Cats are too brazen and calculating to be named after Democrats, he claims.”

“Clearly this was before the Clinton administration,” Cam muttered.

She cleared her throat. “While I find your political views fascinating, I think we should get back to your preferences in women. Do you prefer blondes?”

Some men did, Cam thought, but not him. He’d never found a blonde to be half as sexy as a brunette. Perhaps that was part of his heritage poking through. He glanced at Maddie’s dark cascade of loose curls. The sunlight filtering through the window exposed its burnished highlights. Angela’s hair had been like that, dark and yet full of secrets that could be teased out by the sun. He’d loved to touch her hair, to bury his fingers in it. The memory made him ache.

“Blondes,” he blurted out. Trying to sound less defensive he added, “Yeah, I prefer blondes.”

“Tall, petite, slim, um...well-proportioned?”

He noted her discomfort, and the devil made him say, “I like tall women. And I like them to have a little meat on their bones. A little more meat in some places than others, if you know what I mean.”

She scribbled something on the notepad and, without looking up, she asked, “Any other physical attributes you find appealing, Mr., um, Cameron?”

“Legs. Long legs with thin ankles. Oh, and small feet. Nothing over size seven.”

He thought she might have rolled her eyes, but she kept her head slightly bent as she continued, “Do you have an age range that you would prefer?”

He didn’t really care about age. Angie had been a year older than he. But he stroked his chin, as if considering. “Hmm, how old are you?”

Maddie appeared startled. “Me?”

“Yeah, you.”

She tucked a lush wave of hair behind her ear. It was one of the few utterly female things he’d seen her do, and he found it intriguing. Almost as intriguing as the way that little mole dipped and lifted with her every expression.

“Twenty-eight.” She tucked more hair behind her other ear and moistened her lips before adding, “Last month.”

She looked younger than that right now, despite the eyewear and the formal air she put on.

“Ah, well, you’d be a little old for me, then. I think I’d prefer a woman in her early twenties at this point in my life,” Cam replied.

She definitely rolled her eyes at that, although she tried to hide it by pushing up her glasses. But her tone remained professional and impassive when she continued with, “Do you have a problem with a woman who was married and is either divorced or widowed now?”

“No divorcées.”

Maddie stopped writing and hugged the yellow pad of paper to her chest. The pose struck him as oddly defensive.

“Why’s that?”

“I took those same vows, and I made them work. Even when Angela got sick. Even when it got really ugly. ’Til death do us part.’ I’m not interested in someone who can’t keep their end of the bargain.”

Her expression remained clouded, but she nodded. “I can understand that.”

“Good, because I won’t compromise on this point.”

It was just icing on the cake if his stand on principle made it that much harder for her to fix him up. He wondered if that was why she seemed to take it so personally.

“Very well. What about...children? What if the woman either never married or is widowed and has children?”

He slouched back in his chair and folded his arms, the memories swarming him like flies at a barbecue. When he finally spoke, the words seemed to scrape against his throat, leaving it raw and aching.

“I like kids. Angie and I planned to have a big family, perhaps because each of us came from such small families. I’m an only child and Angie has one sister. Caroline was just starting to crawl when Ang first got sick.” He swallowed thickly, but the bitterness and something even more acidic remained. He doubted he would ever forget the terrible panic he’d experienced the day he first heard a doctor say the word cancer.

“So, you don’t mind children,” Maddie prodded, her tone gentle and magnolia-kissed.

“No. I like kids. One of my biggest regrets is that we weren’t able to have more before...I guess I would just prefer someone who got married first.”

“Is that another one of the points on which you won’t compromise?”

“Yes.”

She made a final note before sliding the pen behind her ear. Most of the ballpoint was lost immediately in the wavy mass of mahogany. Again, he found himself thinking that there was something out of place about that hair on Maddie Daniels. In every other way she was a polished, buttoned-down professional. Practical and conservative, almost to the point of being prim. She was a woman who wore classic styles that would look as tidy and unobtrusive in ten years as they did today. Yet the hair curled around her face, a little unruly, a tad spirited and free. He wondered if that was intentional or a piece of her subconscious poking through.

“So, just to recap, you’re looking for a tall, well-endowed blonde with great legs and small feet who is in her early twenties, never divorced and possibly the mother of children. Does that sound about right?”

It didn’t sound right at all, but Cam nodded, anyway. What did it matter? Maddie Daniels could ask all the questions she wanted. She could take all the information she wanted and feed it into some computer database filled with other singles. But she would never be able to find him a perfect match, another true love.

“Give me a couple of weeks to sort through everything. Then I’ll give you a call.” She stuffed the notepad and pen back into her briefcase and pulled off the glasses before rising.

“I’ll look forward to it.”

“Yes,” she said dryly. “I’m sure you will.”

Later that evening, while Maddie nibbled on a turkey sandwich in her quiet apartment, she spread out her notes on the small coffee table in front of the couch and went over Cameron’s responses one more time. So much of what he’d said had come as no surprise. Yet Maddie couldn’t say why it bothered her so much that his ideal woman seemed to be the antithesis of her: blond, younger, voluptuous, never divorced. She rubbed her aching knee and hip. He wanted a woman with great legs, and he liked children, so it followed that he would want a woman who could have them. The doctors had been clear on that point—Maddie would never become pregnant again.

Well, what did it matter that she wasn’t his type? She had no cause to feel slighted, no right to feel sorry for herself that her future yawned long and lonely. Maddie’s job was to find matches for her clients, and she was good at it. Very good.

The Polaroid snapshot she’d taken of Cameron was paper-clipped to the outside of a file folder marked with his name. She ran a fingertip over the strong, stubborn line of his jaw.

“I’m going to find someone to make you happy, Cameron Foley,” she vowed.