Conflict of Interest
There was only one pole lamp on the property, and as far as Adrienne was concerned, it cast more spooky shadows than it eliminated. Moving swiftly but carefully over the slick rock walkway that led to the porch steps, she could almost feel the eyes of hungry night creatures following her progress. It was so quiet she was sure she could hear her own heart pounding. Who could sleep out here without the soothing sounds of cab horns and emergency sirens, muffled shouts and the clatter of garbage trucks?
She was relieved to duck under his covered porch, out of the mist. Tossing her damp auburn hair out of her face, she paused for a few moments to catch her breath before reaching for the doorbell. There were lights burning in the windows and sounds coming from inside, so she knew someone was home. Showing up unannounced on his doorstep was hardly proper business etiquette, but it wasn’t as if she could have called and let him know she was on her way. He wouldn’t have answered the phone if she’d tried.
She had to ring the bell a second time before the door finally opened. Her first thought was that this could not possibly be Gideon McCloud. This man was young—no older than thirty—and incredibly good-looking, with tousled dark hair, long-lashed green eyes and an athlete’s body clad in a gray sweatshirt, washed-soft jeans and running shoes. Maybe she had the wrong house.
But then he spoke—or rather, barked at her—and she knew she had the right man, after all. “What do you want?”
“Are you Gideon McCloud?” she asked, more a formality than an inquiry.
“Yes. Who are you?” His tone was impatient, his attention obviously focused elsewhere.
“I’m Adrienne Corley. Your agent,” she added, in case the name didn’t immediately register.
At least that got his attention. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Before she could answer, a child’s wail sounded from behind them. “Gideon! I still can’t find Hedwig.”
Gideon grimaced, then held the door wider. “Come in. You can help us look for—”
“Gideon!”
He shoved a hand through his hair, explaining its disarray. “I’m coming, Isabelle.”
Closing the door behind Adrienne, he turned and walked away, motioning for her to follow. Thoroughly confused, she trailed after him, her bulging briefcase tucked beneath her arm.
She noted in a quick, sweeping glance that the room they entered was a neatly furnished, Southwestern-style den. In the center of the room, dressed in a white nightgown with pink ribbons, stood a little girl with the angelically beautiful face of a Sandra Kuck cherub. Framed in a cloud of golden curls, her rosy cheeks were tear-streaked, her huge blue eyes flooded. Even as Adrienne watched, another teardrop escaped to slide slowly down her face.
“Your daughter?” she asked Gideon.
“My sister,” he answered curtly. “Isabelle.”
Sister? The child couldn’t be more than four.
“Gideon?” The little girl’s lower lip quivered as she spoke. “I’ve looked everywhere.”
“Then we’ll have to look again,” he said. “My house isn’t that big, and you’ve only been here a few hours. Your toy couldn’t have simply disappeared.”
He turned toward the doorway. “I’ll go look in the office and the kitchen again. You two keep searching in here.”
“Um, what are we looking for?” Adrienne called after him.
“Hedwig,” Isabelle replied.
“A stuffed toy owl,” Gideon clarified over his shoulder. “White.”
Left alone with the woebegone child, Adrienne looked uncertainly around the room. “Where have you looked?”
“Everywhere.”
Adrienne drew a deep breath and moved toward the suede couch. She laid her briefcase and leather jacket at one end, then turned toward the child. “Okay, let’s look again.”
They searched behind the cushions and beneath the couch, then peered under a big leather recliner and a couple of armchairs covered in a Southwestern tapestry fabric. Their efforts netted nothing. There weren’t even any dust bunnies beneath the furniture. She wished Gideon’s housekeeper lived in New York; Adrienne could use someone this scrupulous, she thought, recalling her own string of less-than-dedicated domestic workers.
Sitting back on her heels, she looked at Isabelle again. The child had been peering under tables and behind the television cabinet to no avail. Adrienne could hear doors opening and closing forcefully in another part of the house, probably the kitchen, the slams accompanied by a low mutter that was very likely a string of unintelligible curses. Gideon wasn’t having any better luck with his own search, obviously.
Remembering what he’d said, Adrienne spoke to Isabelle. “You’ve only been here a few hours?”
The child nodded. “Nanna brought me.”
“And you haven’t been anywhere else since?”
Isabelle shook her head. “I’ve been right here.”
“You had your owl when you got here?”
Another nod.
“Okay.” Adrienne stood. “Tell me everything you’ve done since you arrived.”
Isabelle puckered her face in thought. “I watched TV, and I drew pictures in Gideon’s office.”
“He said he would look in the office.”
The child sniffed. “He already did. He looked all over it.”
“What did you do after you drew pictures?”
“I had dinner. Gideon made spaghetti. I spilled some on my clothes,” she added, her lip quivering again, “so Gideon told me to change into my pajamas.”
“You changed in a bedroom?”
“No. In the bathroom, because I had to wash spaghetti off my face and hands.”
“Where did you put the clothes you had on before?”
“In the hamper.”
Adrienne held out her hand. “Show me.”
Slipping her little fingers into Adrienne’s, Isabelle led her down a short hallway to a small bathroom papered in a muted plaid and fitted with oak cabinets and a marble sink and tub. White globe lights framed the beveled mirror over the sink, and a wicker hamper stood beneath a print of ducks in flight at sunrise.
Isabelle opened the hinged lid of the hamper and pointed at the brightly colored knits tumbled in the bottom. “Those are mine.”
Adrienne reached in to pick up the spaghetti-sauce-splashed shirt and slacks. Two brown plastic eyes stared up at her from the bottom of the hamper. “Is this a friend of yours?” she asked with a faint smile, holding the toy up for Isabelle’s inspection.
The child’s face brightened with a broad, dimpled smile. “Hedwig!”
Adrienne watched as Isabelle hugged the stuffed owl tightly, and then she said, “We’d better go tell your brother we found it.”
“He’ll be glad. I think he was getting sort of mad. It’s hard to tell with Gideon, though.”
Adrienne couldn’t help chuckling. “Is it?”
“Mmm-hmm.” As naturally as if they’d known each other for a long time, she reached up to take Adrienne’s hand again as they moved into the hallway. “I don’t think Gideon’s used to being around kids.”
Adrienne was intrigued by Isabelle’s mannerisms. She was such a tiny little thing, yet her self-possession seemed years ahead of her age. Adrienne suspected she’d spent a great deal of time with adults. “You don’t think he’s used to kids? Don’t you know?”
“I haven’t known him very long,” Isabelle confided, then pulled Adrienne into an airy kitchen, where Gideon was peering into an oven.
The little girl seemed to find the sight amusing. “Hedwig’s not in the oven, Gideon. He’s right here.”
Closing the oven door, Gideon turned to stare at the child who had transformed from tearful to cheery. “Where was it?”
“We found him in the clothes hamper. She, um, what’s your name?” Isabelle suddenly thought to ask Adrienne.
“I’m Adrienne Corley.”
Isabelle nodded gravely and turned back to Gideon. “Miss Corley found him.”
Gideon released a pent-up breath. “Good. Now why don’t you and Hagar go watch TV or something while Ms. Corley and I talk a few minutes?”
“It’s not Hagar, it’s Hedwig,” Adrienne corrected him before Isabelle could do so. “From Harry Potter, right?”
Isabelle smiled and nodded, then skipped out of the room with her owl. Adrienne watched her leave, then turned to find Gideon looking at her questioningly.
“I’m in publishing,” she informed him. “I know about Harry Potter.”
“You want some coffee or something? I could use some myself. Actually, a couple of shots of bourbon sound pretty good right now, but since I’m baby-sitting, I guess I’d better stick with coffee.”
“Coffee sounds good. Thanks.”
He waved her to one of the four chairs grouped around a round oak pedestal table. “Have a seat. Want something to eat? I’ve got some lemon pound cake I bought at the bakery yesterday.”
“That sounds great,” she said, realizing only then how hungry she was. She’d missed dinner during her travel adventures.
A few minutes later she found herself sitting across the table from Gideon, cake and coffee in front of them. It was somewhat disconcerting to be facing him that way, after the unexpected chaos surrounding her arrival. The search for Hedwig had certainly been an ice-breaker, but now she was having a bit of trouble getting her mind back to business.
She couldn’t stop thinking about how attractive he was, with those amazing green eyes and that brooding mouth, and his thick, dark hair. She noted only as an objective observer, she assured herself—someone who had reason to imagine his photograph on the back of a book jacket.
As for anything more than that, she still wasn’t even sure she liked the guy.
Chapter Two
Gideon studied the woman sitting across his kitchen table. She didn’t look exactly the way he’d pictured her during their telephone conversations. She was younger, for one thing, no older than his own thirty years, if that. And prettier, with glossy auburn hair and dark-chocolate eyes set in a creamy heart-shaped face. Nice figure, too, the type he referred to as “society sleek.” Small bust, narrow waist, slender hips, long legs—all nicely toned.
Definitely a big-city girl, as out of place here in rural Mississippi as he would have been in the juice bar of her trendy health club. “So why are you here? We didn’t have an appointment or anything, did we?”
Apparently savoring every bite of her cake, she shook her head. “I’ve been unable to reach you to set up an appointment. And I have tried,” she added, a touch of accusation in her tone.
He shrugged without apology. “I haven’t had a chance to check the mail in a while.”
“Or e-mail, apparently. And you don’t have an answering machine. I sent two registered letters—both of which you signed for—but you never replied. I didn’t know what else to do except come here myself.”
He supposed maybe he should express a little regret at her inconvenience. “Sorry. I tend to ignore the rest of the world when I near the end of a book. I’ve been told it’s not a particularly admirable trait.”
“So you are nearing the end of the book?”
“Is that why you’re here?” he asked instead of answering. “To find out how the book’s going?”
“That’s one of the reasons. Since your deadline was three weeks ago and I haven’t heard from you, I thought there might be a problem. I have some other business to discuss with you, also. Since I wasn’t able to give you advance notice of my arrival, I certainly understand if this is an inconvenient time for you. I would be glad to make an appointment with you for a later date—either a telephone conference or another face-to-face meeting.”
“What sort of business do you want to discuss?”
“The offers on your next book, for one thing. And the promotional opportunities for the one you’re working on now. Your publisher wants to give this one a big marketing push—book tours, national TV, print interviews, that sort of thing. I have several pages of paperwork I want you to look over.”
He winced. The very thought of a book tour gave him a headache. Having to deal with all those people? It was enough to make any respectable recluse shudder. “I really can’t discuss this tonight. It’s been a stressful afternoon, to say the least, and frankly, I’m too tired to think about promotion. Besides, I’ve got to get Isabelle bunked down for the night.”
She nodded, her expression resigned. “Tomorrow, perhaps?”
“Maybe,” he said, though he couldn’t imagine he’d be any more in the mood then. As she had pointed out, he was already past deadline on the current book, and he wanted nothing more than to be left alone to work on it. It seemed as though everyone was conspiring to keep him from doing so.
Adrienne nodded. “If you’ll direct me to the nearest hotel, I’ll call you tomorrow about a convenient time to meet.”
He chuckled dryly. “Closest we have to a hotel within an hour’s drive are a couple of bargain-rate motels out on the main highway.”
Her jaw seemed to tighten a bit, but she said only, “I’m sure that will be fine.”
“Tell you what,” he said on an impulse. “Why don’t you stay here tonight? Isabelle has the spare bedroom, but you can take my bed. I’ll sleep on the couch in the office.”
“Oh, no, I—”
He silenced her with a quick slice of his hand. “If you’re worried about inconveniencing me, don’t. I sleep in there half the time, anyway.”
Actually, the more he thought about it, the more it seemed like a good idea. Since Isabelle was staying overnight, and since she had responded well to Adrienne, maybe Adrienne could help him keep an eye on the kid during the night. Maybe even help her get ready for school in the morning; after all, what did he know about dressing a little girl, fixing her hair, that sort of thing? Since he seemed to be stuck with them for the night, he might as well make the best of the situation.
And very soon, he hoped, he would have his house to himself again. Just the way he liked it.
As Adrienne lay in bed that night—Gideon McCloud’s bed, she reminded herself, shifting restlessly on the crisp, clean sheets she had put on herself—she wondered if she had made a monumental mistake when she’d rather impulsively left New York. She certainly hadn’t expected to find herself staying overnight with him and his little sister.
She wondered what the story was with little Isabelle. She doubted they were full siblings, with a twenty-six-year gap between them. Had Gideon’s father, like her own, chosen a young trophy bride for his second marriage? At least Adrienne was spared the embarrassment of late-life half siblings. Lawrence Corley hadn’t particularly wanted her, much less any more offspring at this stage of his life.
She really should have insisted on finding another place to stay for the night, even if she had to make use of one of those bargain-rate motels Gideon had mentioned. She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t put up more of an argument. She’d found herself agreeing almost before she’d realized what she was doing.
What was it about him she found so persuasive? Sure, he was handsome, but she was accustomed to being around striking men. His green eyes were uncomfortably perceptive but hardly hypnotic. She’d been aware of a tug of attraction, but she had never allowed her hormones to guide her actions before.
So what was she doing in his bed?
She and Gideon hadn’t engaged in much conversation after she had agreed to stay the night. Somehow she’d found herself tucking Isabelle into bed and reading her a bedtime story—a suggestion that had come from Gideon. By the time Isabelle was asleep, Gideon had been closed into his office and settled at his computer. He’d looked up from his work only long enough to absently inform Adrienne where she could find the clean linens. As an afterthought he had added that she should let him know if she needed anything, but she suspected he was hoping there would be no further interruptions.
She had spent the rest of the evening reading one of the manuscripts she’d brought with her. After watching the local ten-o’clock news, she’d turned in a good two hours earlier than she would have usually gone to bed. Gideon had not once emerged from his office.
Rolling onto her side, she closed her eyes, but sleep proved elusive. It was much too quiet. She could hear every gust of wind, not to mention hooting owls and the occasional moo from a distant cow. As soon as she had Gideon’s signature on several contracts, she was heading back to civilization and her long-overdue vacation.
Groggy and disoriented, Adrienne woke after a restless night when the morning sun hit her full in the face. Either Gideon was an early riser, she thought, glaring at the sheer curtains that allowed the dawning sun into the room, or he was a heavy sleeper who wasn’t bothered by the light.
The bedside clock read six-forty-five when she climbed out of bed and moved into the adjoining bath. By seven-fifteen, she had showered, dried her hair and dressed in one of the two casual outfits she had packed with the two professional pantsuits she’d brought with her. Smoothing her thin, emerald-green sweater over comfortably tailored black slacks, she left Gideon’s bedroom.
Gideon and Isabelle were in the kitchen, and from the look of things, the morning was not running smoothly. Isabelle’s fine blond hair was a pillow-tangled mess, and there was a smear of grape jelly on her chin. She wore a long-sleeved pink T-shirt festooned with cartoon characters Adrienne didn’t recognize and black leggings that ended just above her bare feet. A half-eaten bowl of cereal sat in front of her, along with the remains of two jelly-spread slices of wheat toast and a half glass of milk.
Dressed in a wrinkled T-shirt and jeans, Gideon stood nearby, his dark hair in its apparently usual disarray, a look of impatience on his unshaven face. Just as Adrienne entered the room, he glanced at the microwave clock and said, “Isabelle, if you don’t hurry with your breakfast, you’re going to be late for school. How can anyone take this long to eat a bowl of cereal?”
“I was reading the cereal box,” the child explained. “It has funny jokes on the back.”
“You can already read?” Adrienne asked as she walked straight to the coffeemaker on the counter next to Gideon.
“I can read the easy words,” Isabelle answered, her tone somewhere between modest and boastful.
“And you’re only four?”
“Just turned four,” Gideon said. “The kid is smart, but she’s very slow,” he added with a meaningful look at Isabelle’s cereal bowl.
Isabelle dutifully spooned another bite into her mouth. Adrienne accepted the coffee mug Gideon offered her and filled it with strong, fragrant black coffee. She sipped the brew gratefully, feeling the jolt of caffeine clear her mind. “When does Isabelle’s school start?”
“Eight,” Gideon muttered with another impatient glance at his watch.
“I suppose we’d better hurry, then.” She set her mug down and moved toward the table. “Isabelle, it’s time to finish getting ready. Let’s go do your hair, brush your teeth and find your shoes.”
“She hasn’t finished her cereal,” Gideon pointed out.
Adrienne shrugged. “She won’t starve. My father sent me to school plenty of times with my breakfast half-eaten because I’d dawdled. I learned to eat in a timely fashion or be hungry before lunchtime.”
Gideon gave it a moment’s thought, then nodded. “Makes sense. Go with Adrienne, Isabelle. Tomorrow morning you’ll have to save your cereal-box reading until you’re completely ready for school.”
Though her lower lip protruded just a bit, Isabelle slipped out of her chair and followed Adrienne out of the kitchen.
With Adrienne supervising, it took less than ten minutes to get Isabelle groomed and shod. “She’s still going to be late,” Gideon predicted, retrieving his car keys from a drawer in a table near the front door. “But at least it’ll only be by a few minutes. Why don’t you come with us, and I’ll buy you breakfast after we drop Isabelle off?”
Business breakfasts and lunches were commonplace for her, so she nodded. “Sounds good. But breakfast is on me. I’m the one putting you out.”
“We’ll argue about the check later. Let’s go.”
Because Gideon drove a pickup, they decided to strap Isabelle’s booster seat in the back of Adrienne’s rental car to give them more room. Adrienne gave him the keys and slid into the passenger seat. She waited in the car while he escorted Isabelle into Miss Thelma’s Preschool. He wasn’t gone long, and he was scowling when he returned.
“Miss Thelma dressed me down for bringing Isabelle late,” he muttered. “Talked to me like I was one of her preschoolers.”
Adrienne winced. “How did you respond?”
“I told her I was doing the best I could under the circumstances, and if she didn’t like it, too bad. Prissy old biddy.”
“I hope you didn’t add that last part aloud.”
“No. Not this time, anyway.”
“Admirable restraint.”
“I thought so.”
“Isabelle’s parents are away, I take it?”
“Isabelle’s parents—my father and his second wife—are dead,” Gideon replied with a bluntness that startled her. “They died in an accident last year. Isabelle lives with my older brother, Nathan, who’s away on his honeymoon. He was married Saturday morning.”
“So you’re baby-sitting.”
“I wasn’t supposed to be. My mother volunteered for that task, but she had to leave town yesterday because of a medical emergency with her sister. She didn’t have anywhere else to leave the kid, so she dumped Isabelle with me.”
Adrienne frowned a bit as she tried to understand his family tree. “Your mother was baby-sitting Isabelle?”
“Yes. Ironically enough, she’s become a sort of surrogate grandmother to the child my father created with someone else while my mother was still married to him.”
Before Adrienne could come up with a suitable response—if there was one—he turned the car into the parking lot of a metal-sided diner that looked as though it had been built in the 1950s. Most of the clientele appeared to drive pickup trucks. She noticed when Gideon escorted her inside that male customers outnumbered the women, and the majority of both genders wore blue-collar working clothes. The clatter of dishes and flatware melded with conversation and laughter to create a welcoming din.
The blue-jeaned, T-shirted, early-thirties redhead working the cash register just inside the door greeted Gideon with an eager smile that dimmed a few watts when she spotted Adrienne. “Just find yourselves a table,” she said to Gideon. “Carla will be with you in a minute.”
Adrienne couldn’t help noticing that Gideon barely gave the woman a second glance as he nodded and led the way into the busy diner. Signs dangling from the ceiling designated the smoking and nonsmoking sections, but since it was only one big room with no dividers, it seemed to Adrienne to be a rather meaningless gesture. Gideon chose a booth at the back of the nonsmoking area, where the haze seemed a bit thinner. Accustomed to restaurants that did not allow smoking at all, Adrienne blinked a bit to clear her burning eyes, her nose twitching against the acrid odor.
“Guess I should have asked if you suffer from allergies or anything,” Gideon commented belatedly. “There are still a lot of folks around here who haven’t kicked the habit.”
“I suppose I can tolerate the secondhand smoke for the duration of a meal.”
He plucked a plastic-coated menu from a stand that also held salt, pepper, ketchup and hot sauce. “Trust me, the food here is worth the discomfort,” he said as he handed her the menu.
Glancing down at the breakfast list, she mentally winced at the calorie counts of some of the features. Fried eggs, fried sausage, fried bacon, fried hash browns, buttered grits and biscuits with sausage gravy. Heart attack on a plate.
A heavyset woman with teased gray hair and a pleasantly lined face set a steaming mug of coffee in front of Gideon, then offered a second mug to Adrienne. “I already know what Gideon wants,” she drawled. “What can I get you, hon?”
Adrienne ordered one scrambled egg, an order of dry toast and a fruit cup.
“Are you sure that’s all you want?” Gideon asked. “The omelets and hot cakes are both great here, and nobody makes better biscuits.”