Conflict of Interest (The McClouds of Mississippi) (12 page)

“Girlfriend,” she corrected. “College roommate.”

“Ah. So is there a boyfriend in New York?”

She thought of the man she had dated infrequently during the past year, a stockbroker who had recently begun to hint about marriage, mostly because it was time for that step in his longtime life plan. He had considered her a suitable mate, one who came very close to matching his “profile” of the type of woman he wanted as his wife and the mother of his children.

Though she liked Robert, his approach to marriage had seemed too calculated. While he had spoken of affection and loyalty and commitment, he had never used the words “love” or “passion.” A couple of her friends had questioned her sanity when she’d begun to extricate herself from the relationship—after all, decent, successful men who were interested in marriage were hard to find. But she simply couldn’t get excited about being married because she fit some preexisting, arbitrary profile.

“No,” she said. “There’s no boyfriend.”

His elbow still resting on the back of the couch, he turned sideways so he could see her better, propping his cheek on his fist. “Do you enjoy your work?”

“It pays the bills.”

“Not exactly a glowing endorsement.”

She smiled and shrugged. “I’m good at my job, and I find it interesting most of the time. It’s quite demanding, of course—long hours on the phone and in meetings, confrontations with editors on behalf of my authors, stacks of reading, attending the occasional writers’ conference. But most jobs are challenging—that’s why they call it work, right?”

“Did your father pressure you to join his firm?”

She stared down at her hands. “It was what he always wanted. Not because he wanted to spend that much time with me, but because he liked the idea of having someone he could control as his second in command.”

“He controls you?”

“Like one of those radio-operated airplanes,” she said dryly. “Do you suppose we could talk about something else now?”

“Of course.” He reached over to brush a strand of hair from her cheek. “How’s your ankle?”

His touch caused a tiny shiver to course through her. Her voice was just a bit hoarse when she said, “It’s better, thanks.”

“It’s swollen again. You’ve been standing on it too long today. I’m sure it hurts like hell, but you’re not a complainer, are you?”

“I try not to be.” Whining and complaining had never been tolerated by her father; she’d learned early to keep her troubles to herself.

His mouth twisted wryly. “When I hurt, everyone knows about it. I’ve been told I’m a rather…difficult patient.”

That made her laugh. “I’d just bet you are.”

His gaze lingered on her mouth, and her smile wavered. Was he suddenly leaning closer? She cleared her throat. “Maybe I should…”

What?
She couldn’t think of one reasonable excuse to retreat, except, of course, cowardice.

He was definitely moving closer, and there was a gleam in his eyes now that made her pulse speed up. “Um, Gideon…”

“You know all those times we talked on the phone during the past couple of years?”

“Yes?”

His fingers slid down the curve of her jaw. “I didn’t picture you looking quite like this.”

“What—” She started again. “What did you think I looked like?”

“Different.” His fingertips traced her cheek, and then the pad of his thumb moved lightly across her lower lip. It was as if he were a blind man learning her face by feel alone, and the sensation was decidedly erotic. It wasn’t hard to imagine him exploring the rest of her body the same way.

It wasn’t hard to picture herself learning
his
body the same way. And that image was so tempting that she knew she had to move
now,
before she did something really foolish and unprofessional—like make a pass at her client.

“I think I’ll read for a while before I turn in,” she said, scooting away from him. “I have a couple of manuscripts to look over, one that looks pretty good, another that has so many flaws I’m not sure it’s fixable. But I thought I would look at it one more time, just to make sure I’m being fair before returning it to the author. I can’t wait to read your new book when you finish it, by the way. I’m really looking forward to it.”

He studied her face for a moment, his gaze so intense that she wondered if he saw too much there, but then he asked, “How would you like to read it now?”

“It’s finished?”

“No. But I’ve printed out what I’ve written to this point. Sometimes I edit more efficiently on paper than on screen.”

“I thought you had a policy of not letting anyone read your work before it’s finished. You don’t even like to submit sample chapters to your editor.”

“Not usually, no. But I’ve had some problems with this one, and you’ve always given me good advice in the past.”

Those words delighted her as much as her compliments about his books had seemed to please him earlier. “I would love to read your manuscript.”

He nodded, though he looked as though he half regretted the offer. “Be sure and tell me if there’s anything about it that bothers you. I can’t promise to be gracious about taking the criticism—I never am—but I want you to be honest, anyway.”

“I’m always honest with my clients,” she said firmly.

He seemed rather amused by the fervency of her assurance. “Go on back and put your feet up, and I’ll bring the manuscript to you.”

“In the bedroom, you mean?”

His eyes met hers. “Yes.”

“Oh. Well, you can just bring it in here and I’ll—”

“You need to get that foot elevated. It wouldn’t hurt to ice it for a few minutes, since it’s swelling again.”

“I’ll take an anti-inflammatory.”

He shrugged. “Whatever you think best.”

Pushing herself to her feet, she limped awkwardly toward the doorway. “I’ll wait for you in the bedroom.”

There was an undercurrent of laughter in his voice when he called after her, “That sounds good to me.”

She discovered then that she could move more quickly than she’d realized while hopping on one foot.

Chapter Seven

T
hough Gideon tended to be a restless sleeper on the best of nights, rarely needing more than five or six hours total, he slept very little that night. The couch in the office was perfectly comfortable. He’d spent many nights on it after writing until the wee hours and finally collapsing into sleep. So it wasn’t physical discomfort that caused him to prowl the dark hallways during those long hours.

He was concerned that Isabelle was getting sick or had encountered problems at school that he was unprepared to deal with. He certainly didn’t relish the prospect of a parent-teacher conference with him in the role of parent. But it wasn’t Isabelle’s odd behavior that had kept him awake—not entirely, anyway.

His mind filled with images of Adrienne, lying asleep in his bed. She would look flushed and warm and tousled, as she had when her soft moans of pain had led him to her. Something else was drawing him to her now and it was all he could do to resist.

She’d still been fully dressed when he had taken his unfinished manuscript to her. Sitting on his bed, her back propped against the pillows, her swollen foot stretched in front of her, she had looked both fetching and self-conscious. Attractive enough to make his palms sweat yet vulnerable in a way that made him keep his distance.

He’d been strung tight as a banjo string ever since. Partly because it made him nervous letting someone else read his work in progress—something he almost never trusted to anyone. But mostly because he had left that room with a need so deep he ached from it.

Maybe it was time for Adrienne to go back to New York, Isabelle notwithstanding.

If Adrienne had been under the illusion that Isabelle never misbehaved, she learned differently Thursday morning. She and Gideon were treated to an outburst that came perilously close to a tantrum when they tried to get Isabelle ready for school.

“I don’t
want
to go to school!” she cried out, stamping one foot, her face red and tear-streaked. “I want to stay here!”

Leaving her sobbing in the den, her face buried against her stuffed owl, Adrienne and Gideon retreated to the kitchen for a hasty conference.

“We’ll let her stay home,” Gideon decided, looking shaken by the flare-up. “Everyone needs an occasional mental health day.”

Adrienne tended to agree with him, mostly out of fear of what they might encounter if they insisted Isabelle go to school. And yet, “What if she refuses to go again tomorrow?”

“A four-year-old dropout.” Gideon squeezed the back of his neck with one hand. “Maybe we can get her a job serving Happy Meals.”

“This isn’t funny, Gideon.”

“No,” he admitted. “But we might as well lighten up about it. Mom or Nathan will be home soon, and they’ll probably know a heck of a lot better than we do how to handle this. I agreed to baby-sit for a few days, but I never promised to handle emotional crises.”

Adrienne bit her lip, hoping they were doing the right thing by giving in to the child’s tantrum. Adrienne knew her father would never have tolerated such behavior. But she also remembered how she had so often longed for him to listen to her problems and offer sympathy rather than lectures.

“You had better call the school and tell them Isabelle won’t be there today,” she advised him. “They’ll worry if you don’t.”

He didn’t look enthusiastic about making the call. “Miss Thelma will probably remind me of my total incompetence as a baby-sitter and ask me again what my mother was thinking leaving a helpless child in my care.”

“Maybe you should ask
her
what’s going on at her school that’s making Isabelle almost hysterical at the prospect of going back,” Adrienne suggested in return. “She’s perfectly happy here, but there’s something at school that’s upsetting her badly.”

Gideon nodded. “Maybe I will ask her that.”

“I’ll go sit with Isabelle while you make the call.”

“See if you can get her to stop crying, will you? I can’t handle much more of that.”

“I’ll do my best.”

It took bribery to stop the flood. Adrienne wasn’t proud of herself, but she was desperate. “Please tell me what you want, Isabelle.”

The child sniffled. “I don’t want to go to school.”

“I’ve already told you, you don’t have to go today.”

Her lips quivered. “I want Nate and Caitlin to come home.”

Homesickness. Just as Adrienne had suspected. It wasn’t the full explanation, of course, but it was part of the problem. “Your brother will be home soon. Maybe you can talk to him on the phone later, okay?”

“Okay.” Isabelle rested her cheek on Hedwig’s fuzzy head, looking so miserable that Adrienne’s heart twisted.

This was more than a tantrum, she decided abruptly. More than a childish power play. This child was hurting badly.

Her original thought had been to suggest they make no effort to entertain Isabelle. Hours of boredom might make preschool look pretty good, no matter what difficulties she had encountered there.

Now Adrienne’s thinking had changed. If she could get Isabelle to relax, maybe she would admit in an unguarded moment what had upset her so badly. “What would you like to do today? Surely there’s something you can think of that might be fun.”

Isabelle sniffed again and shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“There’s a new Disney film, isn’t there? Have you seen it yet?”

A flicker of interest crossed the child’s damp face. “No, not yet.”

“Would you like to see it this afternoon?”

She swiped the back of one hand across her cheek. “Okay.”

Adrienne pulled a tissue out of her pocket and handed it over. “Wipe your face and blow your nose and I’ll talk to Gideon about our plans, all right? You want to go play with your toys or something for a little while?”

Isabelle hesitated. “Gideon won’t make me go to school?”

“No, not today. But maybe we can talk about school again later?”

“I hate school. I don’t ever want to go back.” Isabelle stomped her little foot for emphasis, then ran out of the room.

Rubbing her aching temples, Adrienne wondered what could possibly have happened to turn a happy, sweet-natured, enthusiastic little student into a sullen, rebellious wannabe dropout.

And then she wondered if she and Gideon were up to the challenge of changing her back.

Gideon had no interest in attending the Disney movie. Claiming that he needed to work, he offered to drive them to the mall where the matinee was playing. When the film ended, Adrienne and Isabelle could go into the mall’s ice-cream shop for a treat, and he would pick them up there, he suggested.

Adrienne thought it sounded like a good plan, with one addition. She asked him to give her an extra half hour or so after the movie, to give her a chance to buy a couple of new tops. She was really getting tired of the few outfits she’d brought with her, she added ruefully. Though he warned her not to put too much strain on her injured ankle, Gideon approved the agenda.

Adrienne was initially concerned that Isabelle would be disappointed her brother wasn’t joining them for the movie, but she seemed satisfied with the prospect of a girls-only outing. With typical childhood resilience, her mood had transformed from sullen and tearful to sunny and cheerful, but Adrienne sensed that one reminder of school could trigger another crisis.

Because she didn’t want to take that risk, she carefully avoided mentioning anything sensitive. Cowardly, perhaps, but all in all, it seemed much safer.

Pulling up in front of the cinema entrance outside the mall, Gideon shook his head at the sight of the stream of mothers and toddlers going in. “You’re sure you want to do this?” he asked Adrienne.

She glanced at Isabelle, who sat between them on the truck seat, looking excited for the first time since she’d come home from school yesterday. “I’m sure.”

“You’ll be okay on that ankle?”

“I’ll be fine.” Wrinkling her nose, Adrienne looked down at her bound ankle. She couldn’t get her loafer on over the swelling, so she wore a black sock over her bare toes beneath the brace, and her regular shoe on her left foot. She thought it looked ridiculous, but she supposed it would suffice for a Disney matinee.