Conflict of Interest (The McClouds of Mississippi) (11 page)

“Yes. It wasn’t as if Mom gave me any other choice.”

“I’m just surprised that even Mom’s tactics got you to agree to this. What did she use? Guilt? Pleas? Threats?”

“A combination of inducements, actually,” Gideon answered dryly.

“So, how’s it going? Have you learned how to do a French braid yet? Sing a lullaby?”

“I’ve been getting by,” he said, feeling just a touch defensive. And then—because he knew she would find out eventually—he felt compelled to add, “I’ve had a little help. My agent is staying here for a few days. She and Isabelle have sort of bonded.”

He glanced toward the kitchen doorway, picturing Adrienne in the other room with Isabelle snuggled in her arms. As he had stood there looking at them, he’d been aware of mixed emotions—one of them an inappropriate touch of envy. He wouldn’t have minded having Adrienne’s arms around him.

It wasn’t the first time he’d acknowledged his attraction to her, but he was just starting to realize how strong that attraction had grown. Which didn’t mean there were any more-dangerous emotions involved, of course. Sure, he wanted to hit the sheets with her, but he was still fully prepared for her to leave in a day or two and go back to being an efficiently professional voice on the other end of the telephone line.

Not that he was ready for her to leave just yet, but only because he still needed her help with Isabelle, he assured himself.

“What’s your agent doing there?”

“She came to discuss some publishing offers and to map out some career plans with me.” Not that they had actually accomplished either of those things, he added to himself.

All things considered, she had been remarkably patient with him. Not only had he avoided talking business with her since she’d arrived, but he’d closed himself in his office for hours at a time, manipulated her into helping out with his little sister, which had indirectly resulted in her being injured, and he’d even dumped secretarial duties onto her. And still she was doing everything she could to assist him with Isabelle and his writing.

Was it any wonder he suspected he might miss her—a little—when she returned to New York?

“
You
could always come give me a hand,” he suggested to his sister.

“No way. I don’t do kids, remember? If the rest of you want to clutter things up with the result of Dad’s thoughtlessness, that’s your choice, but I have a life.”

Deborah sounded cold and cynical—as Gideon himself had been accused of being on many occasions—but he knew that with Deborah, it was all facade. She’d erected it so successfully that it probably fooled most people—but Gideon knew her better. His own resistance to forming emotional bonds was based on selfish convenience—or so he’d always told himself. Deborah’s was founded on fear.

“I’ll tell Mom to call you next time she checks in.”

“Okay, thanks. Good luck with everything there.”

“I’ll give your best to Isabelle.”

“Yeah.” Her voice was almost brittle now. “You do that.”

Hanging up the phone, Gideon turned back to his dinner preparations. He understood Deborah’s bitterness, of course—far too well—but he was beginning to think she was missing out by not giving herself a chance to get to know Isabelle better. As resistant as he’d been, himself, to letting another sibling into his life at this late stage, he’d grown fond of his little sister. He just hoped this newest problem wouldn’t prove to be a total catastrophe.

Adrienne was relieved that Isabelle seemed to perk up a bit during the excellent dinner Gideon had prepared for them. Though Isabelle only picked at the food at first, she seemed to quickly decide that she liked it. She ate enough to satisfy Adrienne and Gideon, then finished the meal with a small brownie and another half glass of milk.

“That was really good, Gideon,” she said when she’d finished.

Her brother set his tea glass on the table. “Glad you liked it.”

“You’re a better cook than Nate. He mostly opens cans or orders out. Mrs. T.’s a good cook, though.”

“Mrs. T. is Nathan’s housekeeper, Fayrene Tuckerman,” Gideon said for Adrienne’s benefit.

She could tell he was amused by Isabelle’s comparison of his cooking to his brother’s. “Does your brother’s new wife cook?” she asked Isabelle.

The child frowned. “I don’t know. Mrs. T. cooks for all of us.”

Once again Gideon elucidated. “Caitlin is Nathan’s law partner. They’re both fine lawyers, but domestic chores aren’t high on their priority lists.”

Unlike Gideon, Adrienne mused. She had already figured out that he did all his own housework. He was much too independent to rely on anyone for his needs—not even a housekeeper.

She wondered for a moment if a couple of busy lawyers had time to be good guardians for Isabelle, but she remembered that Gideon had said the three of them adored each other. Isabelle certainly seemed attached to her oldest brother and his new wife.

It was silly of Adrienne to suddenly feel a bit proprietary toward the child. Protective. Of all the adults involved in Isabelle’s life, she had the
least
right to question any arrangements for Isabelle’s care.

Encouraged by the little girl’s improving mood, Adrienne asked what was planned for preschool the next day. Keeping her eyes on her brownie, Isabelle replied quietly, “I’m not going to school tomorrow.”

Glancing at Gideon, Adrienne raised her eyebrows. “You’re not?”

“No. I don’t want to.”

Apparently, she had stumbled onto a clue to Isabelle’s odd behavior. “Did something happen at school today?”

Isabelle shrugged.

Adrienne tried again. “Did your teacher say something to upset you? Or one of your classmates?”

Isabelle’s lower lip poked out. “I don’t want to talk about school.”

Adrienne backed off. She didn’t know how to push any harder without further upsetting Isabelle. Maybe Gideon could get more out of her.

But Gideon had no more luck than Adrienne had. Just questioning Isabelle about school set off pouts and, eventually, tears. The first teardrop caused Gideon to retreat, leaving Adrienne to soothe the child, dry her eyes and take her off to bathe her, tuck her into bed and read her a soothingly silly bedtime story.

Only when she was sure Isabelle was asleep did Adrienne rejoin Gideon in the den, where she found him pacing and running his hands through his already disordered hair.

“You need to get off that foot,” he said curtly when she entered. “You’re limping badly. Are you in pain?”

“It’s not too bad,” she said, then sank gratefully onto the couch. Her leg was throbbing all the way to her hip, though she had no intention of saying so. Gideon had enough to worry about.

He resumed his pacing. “What do you suppose happened at school today?”

“Probably she got into a squabble with another child. That’s fairly common in preschool, I think. It will blow over.”

“And in the meantime? Do I make her go to school tomorrow even if she’s kicking and screaming in protest?”

Adrienne spread her hands. “I don’t know. I don’t suppose it would hurt her to miss a day of preschool, but that wouldn’t solve her problems, either.”

“I’m not sure I can make her go if she cries and pleads.”

Adrienne nodded in empathy. “I’m not sure I could, either. Maybe we should just play it by ear. Maybe by morning she’ll have forgotten all about it.”

“I hope you’re right.” He paused a moment, then asked, “How about some tea?”

“Yes, thank you. And make a cup for yourself. We could both use something warm and soothing.”

He hesitated a moment, then nodded and left the room without saying anything else.

Adrienne sat looking after him, her lower lip caught between her teeth. Every once in a while an expression crossed Gideon’s face that made her wonder just what was going on in his mind. Was she completely misguided or was he attracted to her—at least superficially? And if he was, how did she feel about that?

It was true that her feelings about him had undergone several changes in the past three days. Initially expecting to find a grumpy, eccentric middle-aged man, she had discovered instead that he was a grumpy, eccentric—and drop-dead gorgeous—young man, filled with contradictions.

At first he had seemed cold and unfriendly, as he could be when he wanted to be, but his connection to his family was strong. Yet he wouldn’t even open the last letter his father had written to him. He seemed indifferent about advancing his career, but he worked very hard at his craft. She had watched him write earlier, and she had realized that he invested everything in his words. It wasn’t that he especially enjoyed the process; more, it was something as vital to him as breathing.

He fascinated her. And, yes, she was attracted to him. Extremely attracted, actually. Every time their eyes met, her breath lodged in her throat. And every time he touched her, even by accident, her knees went weak.

So what was she going to do about it? Ignore her feelings? Deny them? She certainly couldn’t act on them, not and maintain a professional relationship with her client.

He returned bearing two steaming mugs. “I took your advice. Made a cup for myself.”

She smiled and accepted her cup from him. She was rather surprised when he sat on the couch beside her rather than returning to the chair in which he’d sat earlier.

He leaned back into the cushions with a soft sigh. “This baby-sitting gig is wearing me out. I don’t know how Nathan adjusted to it so easily.”

“What’s Nathan like? Is he like you?”

“Hardly. Nathan’s the life of the party, whereas I’m the classic wet blanket sitting in a corner and scowling. Nathan’s an almost compulsive caretaker, always the responsible, concerned older brother, the dutiful son. Even to the father who didn’t deserve his loyalty.”

“Except for the party thing, you don’t sound all that different to me. Haven’t you spent the past week taking care of your sister as a favor to your mother?”

That made him frown. “I’m not really like Nathan at all. You simply found me under highly unusual circumstances.”

Rather than argue with him, she sipped her tea.

“So when do you have to go back to New York?” Gideon asked after a minute. “Are you missing any important meetings or appointments?”

“Actually, this is the first week of a two-week vacation. I’m not missing anything.”

He set his barely touched mug on the table and turned to face her. “You came here to talk business with me on your vacation?”

She shrugged. “It was the only time I had available.”

“Lousy vacation.”

She laughed softly at that and set her mug beside his. “It hasn’t been so bad.”

“Are you kidding? You’ve spent the past few days helping me with my sister and my mail, hurting your ankle—and now dealing with Isabelle’s emotional breakdown.”

She smoothed a hand over her black slacks. “It really hasn’t been that bad. I’ve enjoyed being with Isabelle and, well…”

“Have you enjoyed being with
me?
”

Something in his voice made her look at him suspiciously. Was that a glint of teasing in his eyes? It seemed unlike Gideon, but then, what did she know? She’d met him for the first time only forty-eight hours ago.

“Being with you has been…interesting.”

“I’m not sure how to take that.”

She laced her fingers in her lap. “Let’s just say I’m glad I finally had a chance to meet my client—and my favorite writer. I adore your books.”

For the first time, she saw Gideon look almost flustered. “Yeah?”

She couldn’t help but smile. “Does that really surprise you so much? I’ve told you before that I like your books, when we’ve spoken over the phone.”

“Well, yeah…but you never said it quite like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like a reader, rather than my agent.”

She laughed softly. “I
am
a reader. I couldn’t do my job well if I didn’t love books.”

“No, I suppose not.”

“With a little more push in the public relations area, you’d really take off. I think you’re well on your way to becoming the next Dean Koontz or Michael Crichton.”

“I’m not trying to become the next anybody. I just write what I want.”

“I know. But there’s more to an author’s life than just writing, you know. There are interviews and book signings, your picture on book jackets—”

“What’s wrong with just writing a damned good book?”

“Nothing. In fact, that’s the most important thing you can do to advance your career. But—”

“But nothing. I’m not good with people, you know that. Put me on TV or at one of those boring book signings, and I’d probably torpedo my own career by alienating the readers I already have.”

“You would be fine,” she assured him. “You just need some prepping. I’d like to sign you up with a good public relations firm.”

“I’d rather have my toenails rotated.”

Shaking her head, she said, “We’ll talk about it tomorrow. That will give you time to think about my suggestions.”

“Won’t make me like them any more,” he muttered.

She shook her head. “I think you’re the only client I have who doesn’t want to get rich and famous.”

“I don’t mind the rich part,” he admitted with a wry smile. “It’s the fame I have trouble with.”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to come to terms with it—especially if it means you can keep doing what you enjoy.”

“Mmm.” He propped an elbow on the back of the couch and studied her. “So what would you be doing with your vacation time if you weren’t here baby-sitting Isabelle and me?”

Had he inched a bit closer or was it her imagination? There was nothing apparent in his expression except a mild interest in her answer. Since she couldn’t think of a way to scoot away without calling attention to her action, she gripped her fingers more tightly in her lap and concentrated on the question. “I didn’t have any specific plans. It’s the first time I’ve taken off in quite a while, so I thought I would just relax, do some reading and shopping, maybe watch a few of the movies I’ve missed lately. And I had tentatively planned to spend a couple of days in Boston next week visiting an old friend.”

His expression didn’t change. “Old boyfriend?”