Charlotte Douglas - Spring In The Valley

“Come to my place for dinner tonight, and I’ll explain everything.” Well, almost everything. “Lillian, by the way, has finally arrived and is an excellent cook, so you’ll be well fed.”

“Who’s Lillian?”

“Eight o’clock?” he persisted.

She folded her arms across her chest, drawing his attention to the sweet curves that even the severe cut of her uniform couldn’t hide, and leaned her head to one side, as if considering.

“If I accept your invitation, will you leave me alone?”

Her request shocked him. “I’m not a stalker.”

“Then how did you know where I was?”

He jerked his thumb behind him to the building across the street. “I stopped by the police station, hoping to run into you. The dispatcher told me I’d find you here.”

“If I have dinner with you, will you leave me alone?” she repeated.

“Brynn, I just want to show my thanks—”

She cocked one eyebrow in clear disbelief.

“Okay,” he admitted. As a police officer, she probably had a built-in B.S. detector, so he settled on honesty. “I’d also like to have you as a friend. I don’t know anyone in town, and since I’m going to be here awhile…”

Honesty apparently was the best policy. Her expression softened and the fire in her eyes cooled. “I suppose one dinner wouldn’t hurt.”

He relied on his courtroom face to keep his elation from showing. “Dress casually and warm. It’s cold on the river at night.”

“Eight o’clock tonight,” she said with a nod and walked away.

And didn’t look back.

BRYNN PULLED a pair of wool slacks from her closet, held them against her in front of the mirror, then tossed them in exasperation on the growing pile on her bed. Casual dress, Rand had said, but somehow her usual jeans and sweatshirt didn’t seem appropriate for dinner at River Walk.

Why had she accepted his invitation in the first place, she wondered with self-disgust.

Curiosity, her image in the mirror answered. You’re dying to know why your initial assumptions were off base. Rand Benedict is neither married nor divorced, and Jared isn’t his son. You want to know the real scoop.

“Why should I care?” Brynn dragged a long denim skirt from the closet.

He’s a mystery. And if there’s one thing you can’t resist, it’s a mystery.

“Okay.” She was talking to the mirror again, a sure sign she was losing her mind. “I can’t stand a mystery, but I can definitely resist him. He’s still a Yankee lawyer.”

A delectably handsome Yankee lawyer with a smile that makes your knees wobble. And he’s deliciously tall. You’re five-eight and he towers over you—

“Oh, shut up,” she snapped at her reflection.

She yanked a white turtleneck, an embroidered denim vest and black Italian boots from the closet, added them to the long denim skirt, and dressed hurriedly. Her selection would have to do. She was just going for dinner, for Pete’s sake, not an audience with the queen.

Because her friends and family would pester her to death for details and jump to all the wrong conclusions, she hadn’t told anyone she’d accepted Rand’s invitation. Except Todd Leland, the dispatcher. And she’d fibbed to him a little, saying she was just going out to River Walk to check on Jared. Between her off-duty gun and her skills at hand-to-hand fighting, she wasn’t concerned about her safety, but having her whereabouts known was always a wise precaution, in case of emergencies.

Half an hour later, she turned her SUV off Valley Road onto the long drive that curved through banks of deep glossy green rhododendron. At the final bend of the road, River Walk shone through the darkness in all its glory. Built in the late sixties as a summer getaway for an Atlanta millionaire, the magnificent log mansion stood three stories high on a bluff above the river. Walls of glass extended to the peaks and gables of the undulating roofline, and welcoming light streamed through the panes onto the surrounding decks, a series of tiers that descended to the river, with the final level extending over the rushing waters below.

Vacant for decades, the expensive property had been an occasional seasonal rental until placed on the market last year. And Rand Benedict had been the lucky buyer. The man had to have more money than God to afford such a place, just one more area where she and the attorney had absolutely nothing in common.

Then why was she here, she asked herself for the one hundredth time.

Pure, unadulterated nosiness, the fatal kind that dooms curious felines.

Parking on the wide flagstone landing beside the front steps, she hoped the answers she found tonight would quell her runaway curiosity. Just thinking about Rand stirred too many unfamiliar feelings she didn’t want to deal with, emotions she’d previously been able to sublimate in the cool objectivity that her job required—

Until she’d met Rand Benedict, who’d rattled her calm detachment as no one else had done before. And she couldn’t figure why. She was used to handsome men. She’d been surrounded her entire life by alpha males, police officers and farmers, big strapping men who lived with gusto and commanded respect, yet none had left her breathless, sped her pulse or quickened her interest as this Yankee stranger had.

Inhaling a deep breath of the chilly night air to steady herself, she gathered the Officer Friendly teddy bear, her purse and a heavy wool shawl from the passenger seat, stepped from the car and climbed the stairs toward the front entry.

The massive carved wooden door swung open before she reached it, and Rand stood in a pool of light with Jared in his arms. How did the man manage to look more attractive every time she saw him? Tonight he could have passed for a cover model for GQ in tight designer jeans, a bulky beige fisherman’s sweater and tooled leather boots. And beneath that handsome facade, she suspected, were rock-hard strength and a brilliant mind.

Jared, arms tight around Rand’s neck, hid his face against Rand’s shoulder.

“Welcome to River Walk,” Rand said.

Brynn stepped inside, and the magnificent architecture drew her attention from her host.

“Wow.” Brynn winced inwardly at her automatic naive response to the house’s interior. If Rand didn’t already consider her a typical hayseed, she’d just given him cause.

The wide foyer with its soaring timber-framed ceiling was brightly lit by an immense chandelier of deer antlers. Brynn hadn’t seen a rustic building so impressive since her dad had taken her to the Old Faithful Inn in Yellowstone National Park when she was seven.

“You remember Jared,” Rand said. “This is Brynn, tiger. She helped us when you were sick.”

“Hey, Jared. I brought you a present.” She held the teddy bear toward the boy.

One wide hazel eye filled with skepticism peeked out at her. She wiggled the toy to animate it and said in a high squeaky voice, “Hi, Jared. I’m Officer Friendly.”

Jared raised his head and gazed at the bear. “Who?”

“I protect you from all the bad guys,” Brynn explained in the same funny tone. “Will you play with me?”

“That voice alone must strike fear in the hearts of evildoers,” Rand said with a bone-melting grin.

“Evildoers?” Brynn asked in her normal voice, no mean feat considering the effect Rand’s smile was having on her pulse rate.

“Legal term,” Rand answered with a straight face. “We lawyers use it all the time.”

Jared stretched out a hand, and Brynn gave him the bear. He clutched it fiercely against his chest and buried his face in the toy’s plush fur.

“Hi, Ossifer Fwienly,” he murmured, mutilating the name in typical toddlerese.

“What do you say to Brynn?” Rand prompted gently.

Jared shot her a quick glance before hiding his face in the toy again. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sweetie.” Brynn was happy he appeared much healthier than the last time she’d seen him. “You feeling okay now?”

Without looking at her, he nodded, his withdrawal almost painful to observe. Brynn had encountered shy children before, but Jared’s quiet attitude went beyond simple timidness. She sensed an underlying sadness and wondered where the two-year-old’s parents were.

Footsteps sounded from the rear of the hall, and a short, plump woman with gray hair in a pixie cut and rosy-pink cheeks hurried toward them, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Sorry, Rand,” the woman said in a lilting voice with the faintest trace of Irish brogue. “I was headed for the door, but the oven timer went off, and I didn’t want the salmon overcooked.”

Rand smiled at the older woman with obvious affection. “No problem. Lillian O’Mara, meet Brynn Sawyer.”

“Hi,” Brynn said. “Whatever you’re cooking smells good.”

“It’s nice to meet a friend of Rand’s,” Lillian said with a welcoming twinkle in her green eyes. “I’ve known him and Patrick since they were both no bigger than this little one.” Lillian held out her arms to Jared. “Come to Lillian, darlin’. It’s past your bedtime.”

Jared released his stranglehold on Rand and went willingly to Lillian, but hid his face again as soon as he’d transferred to her arms.

“I’ll tuck him in and sing him to sleep. By then, dinner will be ready.” Crooning softly to the child, Lillian climbed the spectacular log staircase and disappeared into the upper reaches of the huge house.

“How about a drink?” Rand gestured toward his right, motioning Brynn into a living room with the same soaring timber-framed ceiling as the foyer. Walls of glass revealed the abundance of exterior lighting that showcased the surrounding decks and landscape. A fireplace of mountain stone, large enough to roast an ox, blazed with a cheery fire.

“Nice place,” Brynn said, and struggled to suppress another cringe. So far she was two-for-two on the road to striking out in the game of scintillating conversation. “Plenty of room for the three of you.”

“Lillian lives in the guest house,” Rand explained. “About that drink?”

“Fine.”

He crossed the room and opened a set of doors built into the wall next to the fireplace to hide a fully stocked bar. “What would you like?”

Nothing to further addle her already befuddled senses. “Do you have a Diet Coke?”

“Sure.” He placed ice in a tumbler and poured her Diet Coke, then fixed himself a scotch on the rocks. When he handed her the glass, their fingers brushed briefly, sending a buzz of pleasant warmth up her arm. He lifted his drink. “To friendship.”

“To truth,” Brynn countered and took a sip.

He stared intently for an instant, as if trying to assess her thoughts, and gestured to a sectional sofa covered in butter-soft beige leather. Brynn took a seat.

Rand settled across from her in the sofa’s right angle. “You don’t trust me, do you?”

She shrugged. “Trust has to be earned. I don’t know you well enough to know if you deserve to be trusted.”

“Ouch. Are you always so blunt?” Although his words were accusing, he hadn’t lost his killer smile.

“Bluntness saves time.” She sipped her drink and glanced around the massive room. Marion had said the house needed work, but what Brynn had seen looked fine. Mostly lots of window glass, aged timbers and minimal furnishings. “I don’t like beating around the bush.”

“An admirable attitude for you, but not very productive for a man who earns his living by running up billable hours.” Rand reclined with one arm extended on the back of the sofa and swirled the ice in his glass with his other hand.