Chapter Two
“Fine.” Jane raised her hands in defeat. “If Adam doesn’t mind, then call him what you want.” She glanced at him. “I’m giving you fair warning, when Billie decides she likes someone, his life ceases to be his own.”
Adam looked down at the young girl standing next to him. He shouldn’t indulge her on general principle; she was her mother’s daughter. But he couldn’t find it in himself to turn away from her engaging grin.
“All right!” Billie said, holding up her free hand. “Gimme five.”
He hit her palm with his own, then walked up the stairs onto the porch. “The phone is this way.”
“Wow! A swing! I’ve never seen one like that.
” Billie dashed across the porch to the old-fashioned swing hanging from the rafters.
The worn chains groaned in protest when she threw herself on the seat.
One forceful push against the wooden floor set the seat in motion.
“This is totally cool. Mom, can we get one?”
“Maybe in a few months.”
“Come try it.”
“I’ve been on a swing before.” Jane stared at the ground, looking at neither Billie nor Adam.
He understood her reluctance. The anger threatened again, slicing and hacking at his wall of self-control.
That swing. That damn swing. He should have taken it down years ago.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Jane glance at him.
The quick darting look, the worry darkening her eyes and drawing the color from her skin, pleased him. If she hadn’t—
But she had. And he’d stopped caring a long time ago.
“This way,” he said, holding open the front door. Jane walked past him. A subtle fragrance licked against him. Elegant, yet welcoming, it left the taste of longing on his tongue. He wasn’t as immune as he’d like to be, but he would never let on.
Billie slid off the swing and followed. “Can I come over and use it?”
“Sure. Anytime.”
“Great.” She stepped into the foyer and whistled. “This is some place. Wow! Stairs! Can I slide down the banister?”
She darted across the hall. Jane moved after her. By the time she reached Billie, the girl had one foot on the first stair.
“No you don’t,” she said, holding her firmly by the arm. “No playing on banisters, no softballs in the house. You know the rules.” She plucked the ball from her daughter’s hand and tossed him an apologetic smile. “We grow them wild out West.”
“I think I can handle it.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “How about lemonade and chocolate cake?”
Billie shrugged out of her mother’s grasp and walked sedately to his side. “I’m always hungry.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” He motioned to the study. “The phone’s in there. On the desk. We’ll be in the kitchen. You still remember where that is, don’t you?”
“Yes.” She glanced at her daughter. “Don’t get into trouble.”
“Who me?” Billie looked up at him. “She’s always doing that. Telling me to stay out of trouble.”
Jane moved into his office. The last rays of sun filtered through the lace curtains on the windows beside the front door and caught the thick braid hanging down her back.
The tail, tied in a peach-colored ribbon, ended several inches below her shoulder blades.
He knew from experience that her hair, when loosed and brushed smooth, would tumble clear to her waist. Satin, he remembered.
Living satin, all warm and sweet smelling. It could drive a man out of his mind.
The hand still in his pocket clenched tighter. The iron control he prided himself on kept him from groaning aloud or following her to touch the thick braid to see if it was as he remembered.
“So how long have you lived in this house?” Billie asked.
“What?” He forced himself to turn away from Jane and glance down at her daughter. “Oh, all my life.” He led the way through the foyer and down a long wide hallway toward the kitchen.
“We’ve moved a lot. Mom says the first year I was born, we lived in a house, but I don’t remember that.
It’s always been apartments. I like having other kids to play with, but I really need a yard.
The landlord used to get mad when I practiced pitching in the hallway.
It rains a lot in San Francisco. Does it rain here?
Is it always this hot? Hey, you’ve got some old pictures here. Do you know people this old?”
She stopped in front of a display of antique photographs hanging over a narrow writing desk. Adam retraced his steps until he stood behind her. “They’re of my family. We’ve lived in Orchard since the early 1800s.”
“Who’s he?” She pointed at a small grainy photo of a man in uniform.
“My great-great—I can never remember exactly how many greats—grandfather. He was a major during the war.”
“The war?”
He touched the frame, then took her hand and led her down the rest of the hall and into the kitchen. “The War of Northern Aggression.”
“I never heard of it.” She paused in the middle of the room. “This is big. You’ve got two stoves. Is one broken?”
“No. My parents used to do a lot of entertaining. Why don’t you sit here.” He pulled out a stool next to the long center island, then lifted her up.
“Where are your parents now?”
He took a glass from the cupboard beside the double sink and set it in front of her. “They died.”
“I’m sorry.” Billie removed her cap and brushed her bangs flat. “Does it make you sad?”
“It was a long time ago.”
“I had a friend at school. His mom died and he cried a lot. I told him he could share mine, but it didn’t help. At least he still has his dad.”
“I was a little older than your friend when I lost my parents,” he said as he uncovered the cake and reached for a knife. “Nineteen. And I have a brother and sister.”
“Older or younger?”
“Both younger.”
“I wanted a brother, but Mom said it wasn’t a good time.” She turned on the stool and grinned when it spun. “Do you have kids?”
“No.”
“A wife?”
He sliced off a generous piece of chocolate cake and slid it onto a plate. “No. Eat your cake.”
She wrinkled her nose. “That’s a grown-up way to say stop asking questions, huh?”
“Yes.” He winked.
She giggled and dug in. “Mmm. This is great.” A crumb fell off her fork and onto her chest. She tried to brush it away and succeeded in smearing a dark streak down her T-shirt.
He poured them each a drink, then pulled up another stool and watched her eat. There were flashes of Jane in her. The shape of her eyes, the gift of humor. But the rest of her personality had to come from her father. Jane had been sweet as a child, but never outgoing.
What had happened? he wondered. Billie hadn’t mentioned anything about her father, although he knew it usually took two to produce a baby. It seemed odd that there wasn’t a man around to take care of this little girl.
“Did you stop and visit with your grandparents on the way out?” he asked.
“Uh-huh. Texas. They live next to the water.” She took a drink of lemonade. “It’s nice there. I like the beach. Where are your brother and sister?”
“Dani lives in Atlanta. She’s married and has a little girl about four years younger than you. Ty has a construction company in the next town.”
“Dani’s a girl, right? Short for Daniella?”
He nodded.
Billie licked a dab of icing off the corner of her mouth. “Mom knows her. I think they were friends a long time ago. Is there a tree house in the backyard? She talked about that on the drive out. My mom went to school here and everything.”
“I know.” So Jane had mentioned his sister but not him? No surprise in that. After the last time he saw her—
He forced away the memory, refused to acknowledge the coldness that had swept over him or the overpowering scent of flowers and burning candles.
“There’s icing.” She pointed to the chocolate ribbon left on her plate. “Want to split it?”
“You go ahead.”
“Okay.” She swept her finger across the gooey confection, then stuck it in her mouth. “Yummy.”
It seemed easier to concentrate on Billie and ignore the past. He didn’t believe in thinking about things that couldn’t be changed. Choices had been made a long time ago. It didn’t matter anymore.
“What are those for?” She pointed to the copper pots hanging on the far wall.
“Cooking.”
“I’ve never seen pans that color before.”
“Adam, who are you entertaining in the kitchen? I declare, you’ll give our family a bad name.”
Charlene Belle Standing, of the Carolina Standings as she referred to her family, swept into the kitchen.
A bright purple caftan fell in soft folds to the floor.
Several bracelets jingled on each wrist. Her hair, still a bright shade of red, had been twisted into an old-fashioned chignon.
She was close to sixty, looked forty and acted like she was twenty-five. Or fifteen.
“My, my. And you are?”
Adam rose to his feet. “Charlene, this is Billie. Billie, my favorite aunt, Miss Charlene Standing.”
Her blue eyes snapped at him. “I’m your only aunt, Adam.
If I’m not your favorite, then I’ve been doing something terribly wrong.
” She moved closer to Billie and stopped on the far side of the island.
Diamond rings on three fingers of each hand gleamed in the overhead light.
“Child, you look so familiar, but we haven’t met. I would have remembered.”
For the first time since he’d met her, Billie was tongue-tied. She stared at the older woman.
“She’s Jane’s daughter. You remember Jane Southwick? She lived next door.”
Charlene raised one arched brow. “I see. That explains it. You have your mother’s eyes. A different color perhaps, but the shape’s the same. Pretty eyes, I always thought.”
He waited for her to make a comment on his introduction, to call him on his choice of descriptions for Jane. He could have said she was his old girlfriend, or at least a friend of the family.
“Is your hair really that color?” Billie blurted out at last.
“Obviously your tact must come from the other side of the family. Jane was always the most well-mannered child.”
Billie grinned, undaunted. “I’m more trouble than I’m worth, but she loves me, anyway.”