Читать книгу The Mummy Proposal - Cathy Thacker Gillen - Страница 9

Brooke hadn’t meant to blurt that out. But now that she had, she found she needed to unburden herself to someone who knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of such betrayal. Carefully, she set the book and the invitation on the chair she had been sitting on. “My husband didn’t just die of a heart attack.” That scenario would have been so much simpler to deal with. “He was in another woman’s bed at the time.”

Nate responded with an oath that perfectly summed up Brooke’s feelings on the matter. Appreciating his empathy, she swallowed around the tight knot of emotion in her throat. She threaded both hands through her hair and continued with as much grace as she could muster. “The university didn’t want a scandal. And there would have been one had word about what really happened gotten out, since Iris Lomax was Seamus’s graduate assistant.” Brooke exhaled deeply. “So the head of the English department, Professor Rylander, told everyone—including me—that he and Seamus had been out jogging when Seamus had the coronary.” Her son still thought that was what had happened ….

Nate gave her a look that said, Not cool. He reached over to squeeze her hand. “How did you find out that wasn’t the case?”

In the worst possible way. Brooke lifted her gaze to his. “The nurse in the E.R. had no idea there was a mistress involved. She thought what the paramedics on the scene had initially been led to believe—that Seamus had been having sex with me at the time of his coronary. She had questions about Seamus’s medical history, including a very mild heart attack the previous year that I knew nothing about.” Brooke added with self-effacing honesty, “I have to say the way I reacted was not one of my finer moments.” She was still embarrassed about how she had completely lost it.

Nate kept listening, his eyes kind.

Needing him to understand, as well as needing to unburden herself, Brooke confessed, “I had come to terms with the fact that my husband flirted with women the way some people breathe. I just thought it ended there.” Her former naivete still hurt and embarrassed her. “Finding out it hadn’t, and that Seamus had been taking some performance-enhancing drugs to keep up with all his extramarital activity—despite the known risks to someone who had already suffered a mild heart attack—was pretty devastating.” She had been angry at her husband for his recklessness and his infidelity, and furious with herself for being such a fool.

“Does Cole know any of this?” Nate asked softly.

Relief softened the set of Brooke’s shoulders, worked its way down her spine. “Heavens, no,” she muttered emotionally. “He still thinks his oh-so-charming father walked on water.” Despite the fact that Seamus had barely known Cole existed, except on the few occasions when the Irish poet had trotted him out, to show him off and enhance Seamus’s own ego. “Which is why I don’t want to take Cole to the book party.”

Nate’s eyes narrowed. “You’re afraid someone will say something,” he guessed.

“Although many faculty members remain in the dark about the circumstances surrounding Seamus’s death, I have since come to realize some knew about his philandering.” She took a deep breath. “Some of them thought I knew and was turning a blind eye, to keep the marriage intact. Others actively covered for him when he was out carousing, and helped him keep his infidelity from me.”

“So if any of them were to look at you sympathetically …” Nate guessed where this was going.

Brooke nodded. “Or just react in a way that would stir questions in Cole’s mind, it could be a problem. I worked very hard during the years of our marriage to protect Cole from anything unpleasant. Right now, he’s secure in his father’s love and the memories he has of our times together as family. He doesn’t realize that anything was amiss.” She crossed her arms self-consciously. “And I don’t want to do anything that would take away from that. Because there were parts of our lives together that were very good.” Times when Seamus had really poured on the Irish charm. “And that’s all I want to dwell on. So going back to the English department, where Seamus and I first met …”

Once again Nate looked shocked. “You were his student, too?” he asked in surprise.

“I took one of his classes when I was a senior,” Brooke admitted, with no small amount of cynicism. Looking back, she could see how gullible, how ripe for the picking she had been. But at the time, their age difference and Seamus’s history as a tortured artist, and a known womanizer with a penchant for getting involved with female students, hadn’t mattered. With effort, Brooke found her voice. “He was twenty years older than me, and when the writing was going well—as it was at the time—he was very sweet and kind and funny and loving.” That was all she had seen. All she had needed to see.

“He made you happy.”

Not ashamed to admit it, Brooke nodded. “When he asked me to marry him and give him a child, I was thrilled. I’d finally have a family again, and so would he.” Maybe she’d been blind, but her first years as a devoted wife and mother had been one of the happiest times of her life. “We had Cole right away. Seamus wrote a few new poems and continued teaching. And I became consumed with building a part-time business on the side, and being a mom.”

“And later?”

“We still had good times. But Seamus was under a lot of pressure. In academia, what they say about publish or perish is very true. The powers that be were on him to produce another book of poetry the university could promote.” She swallowed uncomfortably. “Seamus didn’t think it was that simple. He wanted to wait to be inspired, but that wasn’t an option if he wanted to keep his standing in the department. So eventually he did what was expected.” Brooke tried not to dwell on the fact that Seamus’s mistress had no doubt supplied the muse for the latest collection of love poetry, just as Brooke had allegedly inspired his earlier work.

She sighed and went on. “He had just submitted Love Notes from the Soul to his previous publisher, The Poet’s Press, and was waiting to hear back about whether or not they were going to buy it, when he died. Eventually, they decided they wanted to publish it posthumously, since it was his last work.” Even though it wasn’t his best work. Far from it, actually.

Nate studied her, as if sensing there was more. “So what are you going to do?” he asked finally.

Brooke put away her lingering feelings of anger and resentment. “I’m not sure. The university has notified all the newspapers in the state that the book is coming out, and they’re trying to get it reviewed. Since Seamus isn’t here, they’d like me to speak with the press and help promote it.”

“But you don’t want to,” Nate noted, perceptively.

She picked up the invitation and advance copy of her late husband’s book and held them at her side. “Every instinct I have tells me it would be a mistake, especially since my feelings on the matter are so complicated. So I’m going to sidestep that minefield and let the university handle it. In the meantime—” she put her personal angst aside and got back to the business at hand “—I’d like to show you what I’ve done with the guesthouse.”

“THIS IS ABSOLUTELY AMAZING,” Nate murmured several minutes later, after he had completed the tour of the caretaker’s cottage. The mismatched furniture had been covered with soft blue denim slipcovers, and colorful braid rugs adorned the newly polished wide-plank pine floors. Art was on the walls. Blue-and-white paisley draperies dressed up the plantation shutters on the windows. The old appliances in the kitchen sparkled, and a round table for four had been brought in and set with dishes that were as pretty and useful as everything else in the home.

Nate cast another glance at the cotton quilts on the beds, the fresh towels, rugs and shower curtain in the lone bathroom. It was like a guesthouse out of a magazine, with all the comforts one could possibly desire. “How did you make it so livable so fast?”

“Well, as you can see, I had everything moved onto the lawn, then had the cleaning service do a thorough scrubbing of the space. I put half the furniture back, keeping the pieces that were in the best shape and leaving the others outside. Which brings me to my next question.” She walked out to the yard and gestured at the odds and ends. “Do you want to put these things into storage or give them to an auction house for resale, along with everything you won’t be using?”

“Auction everything.” The money from the sale would go a long way toward funding the makeover.

Brooke made a note on her clipboard. “You said you wanted to get away from the black-and-white color scheme.”

“Right.” Nate sauntered back into the cottage and gestured toward the inviting decor. “I want the main house to look as comfortable as this.” Like the cozy, welcoming homes all his married friends had. A place where he could come home and put his feet up.

Brooke tapped the pen against her chin. “That’s a pretty big undertaking. We’re talking about furnishings for ten thousand square feet of space. And we’ll have to come up with a new color scheme.”

Nate felt his eyes begin to glaze over. That always happened when the discussion turned to decorating. “Whatever you decide is fine with me.”

She looked at him, clearly unconvinced.

He lifted both palms in surrender. “I’m not kidding—I like your taste. You understand a lot about boys and what they need. Speaking of which …” He took a deep breath and plunged on. “I’m planning to take Landry to get a haircut this evening after camp. And then to buy the clothes he needs. Any chance you and Cole might want to join us?”

Brooke hesitated.

Nate knew he was pushing it, dragging her further into this situation. But he had no choice. Edging closer still, he threw himself on her mercy. “I know nothing about any of this. And Landry can tell. You, on the other hand, are Supermom.”

She raked her teeth across her lower lip. “I don’t know about that.”

“I do,” he said. “I could use your help. Please don’t make me beg….”

As their eyes locked, Nate sensed a wall going up between them. “I meant what I said yesterday. You’re going to have to learn to do this on your own eventually,” Brooke stated, sizing him up with golden-brown eyes.

“Eventually being the key word,” he agreed.

After another moment, she finally relented, as he had hoped she would.

It was Landry Nate had trouble convincing.

“No way!” the teen said when he and Cole got home from camp, and they were told the plan. “I’m not getting a haircut, and I don’t want or need any new clothes.”

“Why do I have to go?” Cole chimed in.

“Because you need a haircut and a new pair of shoes,” Brooke told him firmly.

Cole apparently knew that tone, Nate noted. Both boys sighed in resignation and tromped back out toward the driveway, muttering under their breaths the entire way.

“Nicely done,” Nate said, falling into step beside Brooke.

Her expression as resigned as her son’s, she murmured back, “Don’t congratulate either of us until we complete our tasks.”

Nate wasn’t sure what she meant. He found out twenty minutes later, when they entered the unisex hair salon. Brooke went over with Cole to talk to the stylist taking walk-in appointments, and then sat down to read a magazine.

Landry glared at Nate, cutting off any attempt on his part to do the same. “If I have to do this, I’m doing it my way,” he growled as another available stylist walked toward them.

Figuring anything would be an improvement if it got the hair out of the boy’s eyes, Nate nodded and gave him free rein. “I’ve got a call to make. I’ll be right outside.”

He stepped out into the mall. When he came back twenty minutes later, Cole was finished. His hair was cut in traditional adolescent-boy layers. He looked preppy and well-groomed. Brooke seemed pleased.

Landry was finished, too.

“You don’t like it, do you?” he challenged, after Nate had paid the cashier.

But Brooke’s son did. “You look like a punk rocker,” Cole observed admiringly.

Which, Nate figured, Landry had done to tick him off.

Aware that Landry was waiting for him to lose his cool, Nate glanced at the new cut. The hair on top of Landry’s head was short, spiky and stood straight up. The rest was thinned and layered, and fell almost to his shoulders. “Looks trendy,” Nate said, and left it at that.

The teen scowled. “You can’t like it,” he insisted.

Which meant, Nate thought, Landry didn’t like it.

Nate shrugged. “Your hair, your choice.”

The boy’s eyes narrowed. All rebellious teenager again, he pointed out, “You didn’t say that when you were making me get my hair cut.”

“My bad,” Nate admitted, realizing too late he shouldn’t have forced the issue.

Landry continued to glare at him. Finally, realizing Nate was sincere in his reversal, he scowled and said nothing more.

Brooke glanced at Nate as the boys walked on ahead.

The empathy in her eyes made him feel better. Although he still didn’t know what he was doing in terms of being the dad Landry seemed to want and need.

The two teens paused in front of a popular clothing store known for its appeal to teenagers.

As they stood there, Nate noticed the longing on Landry’s face. It had obviously been months since anyone had bought clothes for him, and Jessalyn would probably not have known to come here. “This okay with you?” Nate asked.

Landry’s expression transformed. He looked at the cargo-shorts and T-shirt-clad model in the window with exaggerated disdain. “Sure,” he drawled sarcastically, “why not? If you’re going to torture me, why not torture me all the way?”

“Enthusiasm,” Nate murmured, resisting the urge to clap an affectionate hand on the lad’s shoulder. “Just what I want to see.” Stuffing fingers in his pockets, he followed Landry inside. Brooke and Cole sauntered in after them. The boys headed straight for the racks of T-shirts.

An hour later, they walked out with enough clothing to see Landry through the rest of the summer.

Next stop was the shoe store, where Landry and Cole both got new athletic shoes and sandals.

Hamburgers, shakes and fries followed. It was nine o’clock before they returned to Nate’s place.

“We’re sleeping in the caretaker’s cottage tonight,” Brooke told Cole, when he got out of Nate’s Jaguar.

“Then I want to sleep there, too,” Landry said.

Brooke looked at a loss.

Nate figured it was one battle best not fought that evening. Tabling his own disappointment, he said, “If it’s okay with you, it’s okay with me.” His primary concern was that Landry be safe.

Brooke hesitated. It was clear she felt like a traitor to what Nate was trying to do, but also knew the dynamics of the situation. She turned and put a hand on each teen’s shoulder. “Then let’s go, guys.”

FOR THE NEXT HOUR, Nate roamed the mansion, trying to envision how it would appear when Brooke was finished with the makeover.

The more he looked around, the more it seemed he had given her an impossible task.

The rooms were all too large. There were too many of them. Even without the contemporary black and white furnishings, it was too big and cold and sterile.

No wonder Cole and Landry had eagerly gone off with Brooke to the now-cozy caretaker’s cottage.

Given the choice, Nate would have preferred the smaller abode, too.

And no wonder Landry preferred being with Brooke over him. Spending time with her probably reminded him of home.

Ironically, Cole didn’t seem to mind spending time with him, Nate thought as he changed clothes and went down to the pool for a swim. In fact, Brooke’s son seemed eager to get acquainted with him. It was only his son-to-be, Nate thought as he swam lap after lap, who couldn’t have cared less if they developed a rapport.

And that could spell trouble in the future, he realized, as he climbed from the pool, his workout ended.

Just then the cottage door opened and Brooke crossed the lawn. Nate ran a towel over his face and hair, then draped it around his waist.

Brooke had changed out of her business clothes into a figure-hugging T-shirt, running shorts and flip-flops. She’d swept her hair into a silky knot on the back of her head. She looked pretty and at ease in that mom-next-door way.

“Landry and Cole asleep?” he asked.

“Yes.” Her expression went from genial to concerned.

“You don’t have to say it.” Nate grabbed the water bottle he’d brought out with him, and drank deeply. Aware they’d known each other only a few days, but were already talking with the candor of two people who had known each other for years, he sighed. “I know I blew it tonight.”

Brooke’s eyes softened. “That’s not what I came over here to say.”

Maybe not in those exact words … Disappointed in how he was handling the situation, Nate made no effort to hide his mounting frustration. He wasn’t just a CEO, capable of starting a company from scratch and building it into a resounding success, he also had a background in sales. Years of experience honing the winning pitch had schooled him on how to gain the confidence of those who barely knew him. Yet despite all that he was failing mightily with the one person who needed to believe in him most. Failing Landry in the same way Nate himself had been let down in his youth. “Then … what did you want to say?” he asked impatiently.

Brooke perched on the edge of a round, wrought-iron patio table, gripping the edge. “You’re pushing him too hard.”

As Nate moved closer, the shimmering blue from the swimming pool illuminated the otherwise dark night with a soothing glow. There was enough light for him to see the self-conscious color creeping into her fair cheeks. “All that stuff had to get done today.”