Conflict of Interest (The McClouds of Mississippi) (13 page)

Gideon assisted her out of the truck, then turned to swing Isabelle out. “So I’ll meet the two of you at the ice-cream parlor, right?”

Balancing on the crutches he had insisted she use for the outing, Adrienne nodded. “We’ll see you then.”

Isabelle tugged at Gideon’s shirt. “I’m sorry you have to work and can’t see the movie with us, Gideon.”

“Maybe some other time,” he replied, patting her head. “You have fun with Miss Corley, okay?”

“Okay. I’ll take good care of her,” she added, looking meaningfully toward the crutches.

Gideon chuckled. “You do that.”

Standing on the walkway that led to the ticket window, Adrienne watched as he climbed back into his truck with an easy, masculine grace that made her mouth go dry. She was still watching when he drove out of the parking lot.

“Miss Corley? Aren’t we going in?”

Roused by Isabelle’s prodding, Adrienne turned toward the ticket window. “Of course we’re going in. We’ll have a lovely time.”

But something told her she would spend the next couple hours thinking of Gideon rather than the animated feature on the movie screen.

As Gideon had wanted for the past week, he returned to a completely empty house. He noticed the silence as soon as he walked in, which was odd, since Adrienne and Isabelle really didn’t make that much noise.

Moving straight to his office, he settled in front of his computer and set a timer he kept on his desk for occasions when he dove into his work and worried about time slipping away from him. It wouldn’t be entirely uncharacteristic for him to concentrate so fiercely on his writing that five or six hours would slip away before he knew it.

That would not have been the case today.

Just as having someone in his house had interfered with his concentration a few days earlier, now the emptiness seemed to press in on him. It kept drawing him out of his story, making him look at the clock to see if it was time to leave for the mall.

It seemed he always had an excuse not to write these days. He was beginning to wonder if there was more going on here. Was the book so flawed that subconsciously he was
trying
to sabotage it? He didn’t know how far Adrienne had gotten last night; Isabelle had kept them so busy today they hadn’t had a chance to discuss work.

Pounding his fist against his knee, he gave a low growl of frustration. What the hell was wrong with this book? Everything had been going smoothly, right on schedule, for the first three hundred pages, and then he’d seemed to crash facefirst into some sort of creative brick wall. He’d written some sixty pages since, but he still wasn’t completely satisfied with them. He hated to think he’d have to struggle this hard with the final hundred pages, and, at this rate, heaven only knew when he would get the damned thing finished.

Maybe once Adrienne assured him there was nothing wrong with the story to the point he’d printed out so far, he would be able to proceed more confidently.

He forced himself to wait until the last minute to leave for town. Adrienne and Isabelle were probably enjoying their time together, and he didn’t want to appear too eager to be reunited with them. He saved his file—he’d written all of three pages and they weren’t very good—and headed for the door, moving a bit too quickly for a man who was reluctant to have his treasured privacy invaded again.

The ice cream parlor was fairly crowded for a Thursday afternoon, but Gideon quickly spotted Adrienne and Isabelle. They sat at a tiny round table flanked by four prissy little chairs, and both of them were smiling.

At Officer Dylan Smith.

“What is it with you, Smith?” he demanded in exasperation, planting his fists on his hips as he loomed beside the table. “Every time I turn around these days, I find you there.”

Obviously off-duty, dressed in jeans and a gray-checked cotton shirt worn unbuttoned over a gray T-shirt, Dylan lounged in one of the little chairs with the ease of a man who felt entirely assured of his welcome. His gray eyes gleamed with his usual mocking humor when he looked up at Gideon. “You’re just lucky, I guess. Or I am, to keep running into these two lovely ladies.”

Isabelle giggled. “Officer Smith likes ice cream as much as I do, Gideon. His favorite flavor is butter pecan and I told him I don’t like it, but he said that’s okay, it’s still his favorite.”

She was talking again, at least. Too bad it was about Dylan.

Adrienne motioned him toward the empty chair. “Join us, Gideon. Would you like some ice cream?”

“No.” After a momentary hesitation, he dropped into the chair. What else could he do, just stand there watching the three of them eat ice cream and admire each other? Crossing his arms over his chest, he glared at Dylan, all too aware that the four of them were a subject of interest for quite a few of the other patrons.

Adrienne looked at him in exasperation. “Loosen up, will you?” she admonished him quietly. “We’ve been having a very nice visit.”

“Until I came along to ruin it, you mean?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“The movie was good, Gideon,” Isabelle told him, her face beaming behind several smudges of chocolate ice cream. “You should have seen it.”

Studying her smile, he decided the outing had done wonders for her. Adrienne’s idea had obviously been a good one. Maybe now she would forget whatever toddler grievance had upset her yesterday, and she would be content to return to school tomorrow. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“Dylan was just telling us about the big St. Patrick’s Day festival this weekend,” Adrienne said brightly. “It sounds like a lot of fun.”

He shrugged. “I’ve never been.”

“Never?” She looked surprised. “Dylan made it sound as if the whole town turns out for this.”

“I’ve always thought it was ridiculous that a bunch of non-Irish folks from southern Mississippi get together every year to wear green and act like morons.”

“Gideon’s never been known as a fun sort of guy,” Dylan remarked with a smirk that went straight to Gideon’s temper.

“Gideon is too fun,” Isabelle protested. “He, um, he writes good stories.”

Isabelle had never read his stories, of course. She didn’t even know what they were about. Though he hadn’t done a thing all week to entertain her, she was defending him, anyway, seizing on the first evidence that popped into her mind that he possessed a sense of fun.

Her defiant little gesture touched him, and because it did, he didn’t know what to say except, “Thanks, kiddo.”

“I stand corrected,” Dylan murmured with a smile for Isabelle.

As much as he disliked Dylan for the history between them, Gideon was confident that the other man would take no more chances of upsetting the child.

A neighbor of his mother’s, Lucille Mayo, entered the ice cream parlor with two grandchildren in tow. Looking both surprised and avidly curious, she paused by their table.

“Hello, Gideon. And Officer Smith. Nice to see you both.” She left unspoken her surprise at seeing them together. Few longtime residents of this town were unaware of the old acrimony between Dylan and the McCloud siblings.

Dylan responded first. “’Afternoon, Mrs. Mayo. You’re looking well.”

The guy had a real talent for instantly transforming into the smooth-talking charmer, Gideon mused. He had so many faces that it was impossible to know which one was real. These days Dylan was the consummate peace officer—polite, hardworking and by all accounts completely above reproach. But Gideon remembered the angry rebel Dylan had once been. The teenager with a flash-point temper and ready fists.

Gideon clearly recalled the feel of those fists against his own face. Just as he knew how it felt to bruise his knuckles against Dylan’s rock-hard jaw.

Lucille turned to him then. “I haven’t seen you in a while, Gideon. Are you still writing?”

It was invariably one of the first things people asked him. Because he had quickly grown tired of hearing it, he was often tempted to answer facetiously, something along the line of, “No, I became too successful, so I quit.”

Instead, he answered as he always did, with a simple, “Yes.”

“How many books have you written now?”

“I’m working on my fifth,” he replied somewhat woodenly, dreading the next question. Maybe she wouldn’t ask it….

But she did. “Where
do
you get all your ideas?”

Another frequently asked question that seemed to have no sensible reply. Did people think there was a retail store that specialized in story ideas? He pictured a sign printed with the words “This Week’s Special: Science Fiction Premises.”

He tried to keep his thoughts hidden when he replied, “That’s just what I do, Lucille.”

“You know I teach ninth-grade English. I wish you would agree to speak to my classes sometime. I know my students would be fascinated by the book-publishing process.”

“I doubt they would be fascinated by any talk I would give. As I’ve told you before, I’m not much of a speaker.” And he would rather jab sharp sticks under his fingernails than face a roomful of ninth-graders, he added silently.

She must have anticipated his response, because she looked more resigned than disappointed. She glanced at Adrienne. “I heard your agent is visiting you. Is this…?”

Gideon nodded, wishing the woman would take her increasingly restless grandchildren and move on. For Adrienne and Isabelle’s sake, he tried to sound reasonably polite when he said, “Adrienne Corley, this is my mother’s friend, Lucille Mayo. And, Lucille, you know my sister, Isabelle.”

The words still sounded a bit strange to him, since he’d only introduced Isabelle as his sister a couple of times, but, oddly enough, they were beginning to feel more natural.

“Yes, of course. It’s good to see you again, Isabelle. And it’s very nice to meet you, Ms. Corley. You’re, um, staying with Gideon this week?”

Gideon felt his eyebrows draw downward into a frown. Lucille had been known to indulge in gossip, and he did not want Adrienne to be the subject of idle speculation. It wasn’t that gossip bothered him personally, since he never cared what anyone else said or thought about him, but he saw no reason for his agent to be embarrassed just because she had tried to help him out for a few days.

He should have known Adrienne was quite capable of looking out for herself. The smile she directed toward the older woman was friendly, direct and self-assured. “Yes, I am. Gideon and Isabelle have been gracious enough to let me stay with them while I recuperate from a fall I took earlier this week. I’m going to try to get out of their way as soon as I can get around more easily.”

She motioned ruefully toward the crutches propped beside her chair as she spoke, which also drew attention to her bandaged ankle. The message was clear: she considered herself an imposition on him, rather than an invited guest. From her tone, he was merely tolerating her presence and not particularly enjoying it. By mentioning Isabelle, she reminded Lucille that she and Gideon weren’t quite alone in his house.

It certainly didn’t sound as though they were engaging in a heated fling during her time here.

Her suspicions allayed, Lucille returned the smile. “You poor thing. To come here for a business trip and then to be detained by an injury. It must be very inconvenient for you, being a busy New York agent and all.”

“I’m afraid I am falling a bit behind,” Adrienne agreed, managing to look politely anxious to be on her way back to New York. “But I am grateful to Gideon for giving me a hand, even when he’s so very busy with his own work.”

Once again Lucille looked at Gideon in surprise, and he knew it was because of his reputation for being reclusive and inhospitable. Now he would have to painstakingly rebuild that reputation. He wouldn’t want the locals to think of him as a soft touch.

“Grandma, we want some ice cream,” Lucille’s grandson finally piped up, eyeing Isabelle’s nearly empty dish with envy. “Please?”

“All right, Justin, I’m coming. Have you heard from your mother, Gideon?”

“She called this morning.”

“How’s her poor sister?

“She’s improving. She may be released from the hospital tomorrow, though she’ll still need someone to take care of her for a while.”

“You tell Lenore to call me if she needs anything, you hear?”

“I will. And, uh, thank you,” he added belatedly.

“She certainly left with a lot to think about, didn’t she?” Dylan’s smile was sharp-edged again when he glanced at Gideon. “The two of us sitting here together with your agent, eating ice cream—she must be asking herself what on earth is going on.”

“I’m asking myself the same question,” Gideon grumbled.

Dylan turned to Adrienne. “If you do end up staying a couple more days, you really shouldn’t miss the festival. You’ll learn a lot about the town. If Gideon won’t take you, since parties aren’t his thing, I would be happy to escort you.”

Gideon could hardly believe his ears. Was this joker actually asking Adrienne out—right here in front of him? “I’ll take her if she wants to go,” he snapped.

Adrienne looked at him with raised eyebrows. Because he’d had about all of this conversation he could stand, he nodded toward the empty ice cream dishes. “Are you two finished? We’d better be going.”

Dylan glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to go, too. I go on duty in a couple of hours.”

“Really? I thought you worked the day shift,” Adrienne said.

“Honesty has a very small police force,” Dylan replied with a crooked smile. “We trade shifts fairly regularly.”

“In other words, he works whenever his uncle the police chief tells him to,” Gideon murmured.

For the first time a glint of irritation appeared in Dylan’s eyes, but he managed to hold on to the smile for Adrienne. “There is that,” he agreed congenially. “Those of us who have to work for a living have to answer to the boss. Not everyone can be a trust-fund baby.”

Gideon had to swallow a growl, which he did only for Isabelle’s sake, as the child was looking questioningly from him to Dylan and back.

Adrienne sighed lightly and shook her head. “It was nice while it lasted,” she said, obviously referring to the very brief truce between Gideon and Dylan.