Читать книгу Yesterday's Scandal - Gina Wilkins - Страница 10

IT DIDN’T TAKE LONG for Mac to learn a few things about the woman he’d pulled from Snake Creek. Even though he didn’t mingle much with the townspeople, every busybody he encountered in Honoria during the next few days—and there seemed to be many of them—was anxious to tell him all about her. He found some of the information interesting, but two comments, in particular, caught his attention.

Sharon Henderson was an interior decorator and a good friend of the McBride family.

The motel where he was staying was not so coincidentally located within full view of the McBride Law Firm. From the window of his room, Mac could see the firm’s parking lot. He’d heard that the founder, Caleb McBride, a lifelong resident of Honoria now in his early sixties, had very recently left for a month-long Caribbean cruise with his wife, Bobbie. Their older son, Trevor, was running the law office single-handedly until Caleb’s return.

Mac had watched a steady stream of clients and visitors entering and exiting the office building during the last five days he’d spent in Honoria. Some he could already identify, such as Trevor’s striking, red-haired wife and two young children, and Trevor’s younger brother, Trent, whom Mac had met a month ago in that same parking lot.

Late Monday afternoon, Sharon Henderson arrived at the firm.

Watching from his window, Mac recognized her immediately, though he wasn’t sure how. The attractive, well-dressed woman who slid out of a nondescript sedan bore little resemblance to the wet, shivering waif he’d encountered Friday night. Her hair fell in a gleaming brown sweep to just above her shoulders and she carried herself with poised self-confidence. As she disappeared inside the law office, he told himself he could be mistaken. There was no way he could know for sure the visitor was Sharon. Even if he’d gotten a closer look at her that night, he was too far away to see her clearly now.

Drinking coffee from the coffeemaker provided in the room, he was still sitting in the uncomfortable chair watching the other building when the woman emerged again. Though he’d spent the past hour trying to convince himself he couldn’t possibly have identified her, the sense of recognition hit him again the moment she walked out into the parking lot. He didn’t know how he knew, but he was convinced Sharon Henderson had just dropped in on Trevor McBride.

Interesting. He’d heard she was a friend and her visit proved there was a professional relationship, as well. He wondered just how much she knew about the McBride family history…and if she shared the rest of the town’s passion for idle gossip.

Maybe it was time for him to pay a call on her. He’d been thinking about doing that, anyway, for professional reasons. Now that he knew her connection to the McBrides, he had more personal motives for wanting to get better acquainted with Sharon Henderson.

“C’MON, SHARON, why can’t I go? All the other guys will be there.”

Sharon grimaced as her fifteen-year-old brother’s voice edged perilously close to a whine. She tightened her grip on the telephone receiver, trying to get a firmer hold on her patience at the same time. “Brad, you are not going to an unchaperoned party. I know Mike Riordan’s parents are out of town this week, and I don’t at all approve of them allowing him to have a party at their house while they’re away. As far as I’m concerned, that’s just asking for trouble.”

“But Mike’s brother Joe is going to be there to keep an eye on things. He’s a college man.”

Sharon wasn’t impressed. “He just finished his first year of college. That makes him barely nineteen years old. I’m sorry, but that isn’t my idea of a suitable chaperon for a houseful of teenagers. The answer is no. We can go out to eat or to a movie, if you like. Or you can invite a couple of your friends over to eat pizza and play video games.”

“All my friends are going to the party. No one’s going to want to miss it to hang out with me.”

Refusing to be swayed by his plaintive tone, Sharon responded firmly. “I doubt that everyone will be at the party. I’m sure I won’t be the only adult who’ll think this is a bad idea.”

“Just let me go for a little while, okay? If it gets too wild, I’ll call you to come get me.”

“You aren’t going to a party that isn’t adequately supervised, and there’s no use discussing it any further.”

“Fine. Great. Ruin my life.”

She sighed. “I’m not trying to ruin your life. I’m trying to be a responsible guardian.”

“Mom would let me go if she was here.”

The operative word, Sharon thought wearily, was responsible—something their dear, ditzy mother had never been. “Well, Mom’s not here. While she’s away, I’m in charge. You’re just going to have to accept that.”

Sullen silence was his only response.

“Be thinking about what you want for dinner tonight, okay?” she suggested, her tone conciliatory. “We can go to that new Mexican place you like so much. You’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you?”

“Might as well sit at home and watch TV,” he muttered.

“If that’s your choice,” she agreed evenly. “I have to get back to work now. I’ll see you this afternoon.”

He hung up without responding.

Sharon rubbed her forehead as she hung up the phone. It was Tuesday afternoon, a slow day in her home-decor shop, and for once she was grateful for the lull. Her full-time assistant was at a doctor’s appointment, and Sharon was alone. Between her confrontations with her rebellious kid brother and the almost incessant calls from acquaintances still wanting to talk about the incident Friday night, she was ready for some time to herself.

With her back to the door of the shop, she slid the phone into its place beneath the counter, then turned to the paperwork she’d been looking over when Brad called. Her elbow bumped a thick wallpaper-sample book, which crashed to the floor at her feet. Muttering a mild curse, she knelt to pick it up, tucking it into the crook of one arm. What else could go wrong today?

She gasped when a man’s hand suddenly appeared in front of her, offering to assist her to her feet. She hadn’t heard anyone enter the shop, so it caught her completely off guard to realize she wasn’t alone. She looked up and swallowed hard when her gaze was captured and held by a pair of eyes as dark and unrevealing as polished onyx.

Sharon had never considered herself a fanciful person, but the image that came immediately to mind was that of a sleek, dangerous black cat. This intriguing man was as out of place in her little shop as he was…well, in this small, sleepy town.

No wonder everyone in Honoria had been speculating about him.

Almost involuntarily, she placed her hand in his. There was an instant shock of familiarity when his fingers closed around hers, bringing back memories of how safe she had felt when he’d pulled her out of Snake Creek.

He helped her to her feet. Her voice was a bit breathless when she said, “Thank you, Mr. Cordero.”

His left eyebrow rose half an inch. His voice was a deep growl that befitted the exotic animal she had envisioned when she saw him—the same voice that had echoed in the back of her mind since the accident Friday night. “I wasn’t sure you would remember me.”

Her smile felt wry. “I’m not likely to forget our meeting anytime soon.”

His answering smile was just a slight shift at the corners of his mouth—and only added to his attractiveness, in Sharon’s opinion. She hadn’t gotten a really good look at him in the shadowy darkness Friday night, but now she could understand why so many women in town had been whispering about him. It wasn’t often they saw a man like this.

“Six feet of sex,” Leslie Anne Cantrell, the town flirt, had called him, eliciting delighted giggles from the women who’d overheard. Sharon could honestly say now that Leslie Anne hadn’t been exaggerating. Any normal woman would appreciate Mac Cordero’s thick black hair, gleaming dark eyes, taut brown skin and sleekly muscular build.

He wasn’t a man any woman was likely to forget, she mused, no matter how they met.

Realizing abruptly that she was standing there gazing up at him, her fingers still clasped in his, she pulled her hand away and stuck it in the pocket of the navy linen blazer she wore with a muted plaid shirt and khaki slacks. Though the expression in his eyes was impossible to read, she had the unnerving sensation that he could see directly into her mind as he searched her face. “You’ve suffered no ill effects from your ordeal?”

“No, I’m fine. A few colorful bruises and sore muscles, but no real injuries, thank goodness.”

“You were fortunate.”

She nodded. “Yes, I know.”

“Any word about the van that ran you off the road?”

“No. Wade—the police chief—said it seems to have disappeared. But if it’s still in the area, he’ll find it.”

“You seem confident about that.”

She couldn’t help smiling. “Wade takes his job very seriously. When someone breaks the law, he doesn’t rest until he catches them.”

“Then I hope he catches them soon.” For the first time since he’d helped her to her feet, he looked away from her face long enough to glance around her shop, Intriguing Interiors. The store was filled with rows of wallpapers and borders, shelves of order books, swatches of designer fabrics, and displays of decorator and gift items. “Nice place.”

“Thank you. I bought it almost two years ago.”

What might have been amusement glimmered for a moment in his eyes. “I know.”

She studied him curiously. “You do?”

His mouth quirked again into that sexy semi-smile, making her pulse race in a manner that both distracted and annoyed her. She made an effort to focus on their conversation rather than the effect he had on her—something she would think about and rationalize later, she promised herself.

“Ever since I helped you out of that water, everyone in this town has wanted to talk to me about the accident—and you,” he said ruefully.

She waved a hand toward the door. “That’s my town. The rumor capital of the world. So what did they tell you about me?”

“That you’re a very talented decorator. Which is one of the reasons I stopped by.”

He had surprised her again. “You need a decorator?”

“Yes. I’ve purchased an old Victorian house at the end of Deer Run Lane—”

“The Garrett place,” she acknowledged with a nod. “People have been talking about you, too.”

The slight twist of his mouth this time might have been a smile or maybe a grimace, but either way, it was as sexy as all get-out. Feeling uncomfortably schoolgirlish, Sharon almost sighed.

“Anyway,” he continued, “I’m completely renovating the place. I need a decorator. I’d like to keep the decor appropriate to the period of the architecture—Victorian, but not overdone. I’ll want to start consultations soon so there will be plenty of time to order wallpaper, light fixtures and any other decorating items I’ll need. Are you interested in the job?”

Though she loved the idea of decorating a restored historic home, Sharon felt compelled to be honest. “I’m not really a trained decorator, Mr. Cordero.”

“Call me Mac. I understand you’ve decorated quite a few homes and offices around town. Trent McBride, who’s doing the cabinetwork for my renovation project, recommended you. He said you’re redecorating his father and brother’s law offices.”

She wondered if she could ever be comfortable using his first name. She found herself rather intimidated by this man, for some reason. It was hard to imagine having a casual relationship with him.

“I do some interior decorating as a sideline for my shop,” she admitted. “It’s always been an interest of mine, and I’ve taken a few decorating classes. I started out helping friends, and then other people began to request my services. But if you want a more experienced, better-known professional decorator, you’ll have to bring someone in from Atlanta.”

He shook his head. “I prefer to patronize local businesses.”

She knew he had hired local carpenters, plumbers, electricians and other subcontractors for the renovation project. She knew, as well, that he hadn’t demanded a lengthy list of credentials from everyone he’d hired. Trent McBride, for example, had only just gone into business as a cabinetmaker.

“I would certainly be interested in discussing this with you,” she said, intrigued by the challenge of such a project, even as she hoped she was up to it.

He leaned a forearm against the sales counter. The casual pose brought him a bit closer to her, just enough to make her self-conscious again. His smile was slightly deeper this time, giving her a glimpse of white teeth. The job he offered was looking better and better, she thought, letting herself drift for just a moment in sheer feminine appreciation.

“Maybe we could talk about it over dinner tonight?” he suggested. “The restaurant on West Charles isn’t bad.”

She was on the verge of accepting—just to discuss the project, of course—when she remembered her brother. There were times when she’d left him home by himself for a couple of hours, but she didn’t think it was a good idea tonight. She wouldn’t put it past him to sneak out and go to the party anyway—and she wasn’t going to give him that opportunity. The boy throwing the party was a notorious troublemaker, and Brad was too easily led into mischief. There had already been one occasion when he’d been escorted home by Officer Dodson; she didn’t intend for it to happen again tonight.

“I’m afraid I can’t tonight,” she said.

If Mac was disappointed, he didn’t show it. “When would be a good time for you to meet?”

“I can spare a couple of hours tomorrow afternoon, if you’re free then.”

He straightened away from the counter. “I’ll be out at the site tomorrow meeting with subcontractors. If you want to join me there, we can do a walk-through. It will give you a chance to look the place over, too.”

Definitely intrigued—and more comfortable with the thought of discussing the job at the site rather than over dinner—she nodded. “What time?”

“Two o’clock?”

“I’ll be there.”

He was already moving toward the door. “Until tomorrow then.”

“Mr. Cordero—”

“Mac,” he reminded her over his shoulder.

“I want to thank you again for helping me Friday night.”

He gave her a sudden, full smile that nearly melted the soles of her shoes. He didn’t smile often, apparently, but when he did—wow. “Not necessary. See you tomorrow, Sharon.”

She hadn’t given him permission to use her first name, but it would be churlish to remind him of that now. She wasn’t usually one to insist on formality—but with this man, a little distance might not be such a bad idea.

He was just reaching for the doorknob when the door opened and a plump blonde bustled in, nearly crashing into Mac. “Oh, sorry,” she said, catching herself just in time.

His smile fading into a more somber expression, he nodded politely. “No problem.” And then he let himself out, leaving the two women staring bemusedly after him.

“Who,” Tressie Bearden demanded, “was that?”

Dragging her gaze away from the glass door, through which she could see him walking purposefully away, Sharon cleared her throat and turned to her employee. “That was Mac Cordero.”

Tressie’s eyes widened. “Cordero-the-hero? Oh, man, he’s even better-looking than I’ve heard.”

Sharon frowned. “I wish you wouldn’t call him that. It’s such a silly nickname.”

“Hey, you were the damsel in distress he rescued,” Tressie replied with an impish grin. “I would think you’d consider the nickname appropriate.”

Though she was tempted to argue again that Mac had only assisted her, Sharon resisted the impulse. “How did your doctor’s appointment go? Everything check out okay?”

Glancing again toward the door, Tressie answered absently. “She said I’m a healthy, red-blooded woman in my prime. So I guess it must have been Mac Cordero’s gorgeous dark eyes and delectable bod that made my heart rate go crazy, hmm?”

Since Sharon had been experiencing similar symptoms during the past twenty minutes or so, she couldn’t argue with Tressie’s conclusion. Apparently, they were both healthy, red-blooded women. Now that they’d settled that, it was time to put adolescent foolishness aside and get back to work. “About those wall sconces you ordered…”

Tressie waved a hand impatiently. “We can talk sconces later. What was Mac Cordero doing here? What did he say? What did you say? Did you find out anything interesting about him?”

Tressie was an active participant in local gossip circles and her membership in the Honoria Community League gave her an inside track to the most juicy tidbits. Her gift of gab and easy way with people made her an asset to the shop, but Sharon sometimes found her co-worker’s chatter exasperating. If she told Tressie that Mac had offered her the decorating job, the news would be all over town within the hour, and Sharon hadn’t even given him an answer yet. She settled for half the truth. “He said he wanted to make sure I’d recovered from the incident Friday night.”

“Really? That was nice of him.”

“Yes, it was.”

Tressie’s expression turned speculative. “Do you know if he’s married or anything?”

“No, I don’t know. The subject didn’t come up.” For some reason, Sharon would have bet he was unattached. Educated guess—or wishful thinking? she wondered with a slight wince.

Looking disgusted, Tressie shook her head. “I’d have made sure it came up. Why didn’t you ask him?”

“Because it’s none of my business.” Sharon could only hope the hint got through as she moved across the shop to straighten a display of clearance items. “So why don’t you call and check on those sconces? They should have arrived two days ago.”

Tressie hesitated a moment, reluctant to drop the subject, but then she nodded and moved toward the telephone. As much as she loved to gossip, she was efficient and hardworking, and Sharon was still grateful that Tressie had come to work for her.

Feeling a little guilty for not telling Tressie about the decorating offer, Sharon went back to work, herself, her thoughts divided between details of her business, worry about her brother and anticipation of her next meeting with Mac Cordero.

THE MAN in the gutted-out kitchen with Mac was young—no more than twenty-six—golden-blond, blue-eyed with glasses and a little on the thin side. Picturing his own solid build, black hair, dark eyes and brown skin, Mac was well aware that he and Trent McBride could not have looked more different. No one could have guessed from looking at them that they shared a blood relationship—and no one but Mac knew about that relationship. Even he didn’t know exactly how close the connection was.

“So you want a state-of-the-art modern kitchen concealed behind solidly built, period-appropriate woodwork,” Trent summed up with a comprehensive glance around the large, shadowy room. The electricity wasn’t turned on yet, so the only light came through the filthy windows and from the two battery-powered lanterns Mac had brought with him.

The house had been empty for years, and the deterioration was pervasive—so much that there were some who openly doubted the renovation was worth the time and expense. With his experience, Mac knew better. He’d taken on more daunting projects, and the results had been both satisfying and profitable. There were plenty of people who were willing to pay for history and quality. Of course, Mac’s previous jobs had been in areas with a bigger money base and more historical interest—Atlanta, Savannah, Charleston, Birmingham. It might take a bit longer to find a buyer here. But he wasn’t too worried about it. He’d come to Honoria for reasons that were far more personal than professional.

Even if it cost him every dime he’d managed to accumulate in the past few years, he would consider it money well spent if he finally got some answers to the questions that had haunted him all his life.

Because Trent was still waiting for a response, Mac nodded. “I want every modern convenience, but I don’t want it to look like a restaurant kitchen. We’ll use appliance garages and custom cabinetry to camouflage the equipment.”

Trent seemed to approve. Mac could tell the younger man was picturing the end result as he looked around the cavernous room with its big windows and massive stone fireplace at one end. “It’s going to be expensive.”

Mac shrugged. “Quality costs. Of course, I’ll be keeping a close eye on expenses, making sure I’m paying fair prices and spending no more than necessary.”

Trent didn’t seem concerned about the prospect of close supervision. “I’ll work up a detailed cost analysis for you,” he offered. “If anything unexpected comes up, we’ll discuss then how to handle it.”

“That’s the way I prefer to do business. I’m not crazy about surprises.”

Trent smiled a little at that. “I could have guessed that from the few meetings we’ve had.”

Mac wondered how Trent felt about surprises. He could give him a whopper of one right now, if he wanted. But he would wait until the time was right—until he had his answers—before he decided how, or whether, to break his news to the McBrides.

A woman’s voice came from somewhere in the front of the house. “Mr. Cordero?”

Mac swiveled toward the sound, then wondered why his pulse had suddenly quickened in response to Sharon Henderson’s voice. A decorator, he reminded himself. That was all she was to him. All he intended for her to be. And this was his chance to find out just how friendly she was with the McBride family.