Текст книги "Daring Dylan "

Автор книги: Jacie Floyd

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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

Chapter Two

On a back road in Maine, Gracie O’Donnell’s spirits sank as her twelve-year-old Ford lost speed. An unexpected and impatient SUV roared up behind her, honked and sped around, as she steered her elderly, but previously dependable, car off the road. Before the vehicle ground to a complete halt, the odometer hit just shy of two-hundred-thousand miles. She shut off the engine and restarted it, but the Taurus refused to move another inch.

“What?” she muttered to the pile of metal and chrome. “You can’t make it three more miles to Liberty House?”

Earlier, she’d notified her grandmother that a six-year-old’s ruptured appendix had delayed her departure from Hartford. But with rush-hour traffic, her revised time of arrival at her grandparents’ East Langden bed and breakfast had come and gone. And now this.

Just her luck. It was dark and late, and her cell phone was out of juice. Not that it got anything better than spotty reception on these back roads even when fully charged. She should have guessed that after one of the most excruciating weeks of her life, if something else could go wrong, it would.

But things could be worse. It wasn’t far to Gran’s. She could walk if she had to, dark or not. But first, she’d check under the hood.

“You stay here,” she told her Scottish terrier, MacDuff, as she retrieved a flashlight from the glove box. “I don’t want you running off while I’m distracted.”

The dog cocked his head reproachfully.

“Don’t look at me like that.” She scratched the magic spot between his ears that turned him into a mop of doggie adoration. “Remember how long it took to get the burrs out of your coat when you chased that woodchuck last fall?”

As Gracie hopped out of the car, the delicious fragrance of spruce and pine laced with an underlying hint of salt and sea assaulted her. She inhaled deeply, and her spirits lifted a bit just from breathing in the familiar scents of home.

While she checked the dipstick and jiggled wires, a big fat raindrop landed on the crown of her head. A second one plopped on her shoulder, and then a deluge of water plastered her T-shirt to her spine like a frigid sheet of shrink-wrap. With a perturbed squeak, she dove back into the car.

Oh, great, now what?

Walking or waiting seemed like her only options. If she waited, it could be hours before the rain stopped and possibly morning before anyone passed by. This road didn’t lead anywhere except to the B&B and the long-abandoned Bradford place a couple of miles further down. Her grandfather was in the hospital, her grandmother didn’t drive at night, and their place wouldn’t be open to the public until the end of the week.

She shivered inside her wet shirt. Okay, I’ll walk.

It couldn’t be helped, even though the Doggie Prince hated to get his paws wet. She groped under the front seat to retrieve her umbrella just as unexpected headlights approached. Hope flared. Maybe Gran had sent someone to search for her. Her stepfather David, perhaps, or her best pal Clayton.

No. The hulking SUV heading her way looked like the same upscale model that had passed her earlier. Too new, too expensive, and too ostentatious to belong to anyone from East Langden.

But if this was her only chance to get help, she’d grab it. Gracie slipped on her jacket, zipped it, and stuck MacDuff inside. Grabbing her keys, she leaped out of her car, hoisted the umbrella, and planted herself at the side of the road. She blinked her flashlight on and off so she wouldn’t be mistaken for a wandering moose. When the vehicle skidded to a stop, she approached the driver.

The window slid part of the way down. Even with the rain-distorted view and indirect light, Gracie recognized the famous face that had constantly made the news in the weeks since his mother’s death. A thatch of thick, dark blond hair fell from a high forehead above slashing eyebrows that accentuated deep-set eyes. One supercilious brow hooked upward.

“Trouble?” The tinted window masked his nose and mouth.

“Yep.” She did all she could to maintain a friendly demeanor while staring into the face of upper-crust condescension. “Do you have a cell phone?”

“It isn’t working.” He held up the palm-sized gadget and shook it.

Right, like that would help.

If she had been in the city, or if the motorist had been a complete unknown, Gracie would have asked him to drive on and call Triple A at the first opportunity. But this wasn’t an unknown motorist and she could guess what had brought him to the area. For Clay’s sake, she shouldn’t pass up the opportunity to interrogate a Bradford—especially if she could get him to agree to give her a lift.

“You lost?” she asked.

“Why would you think that?” His irritatingly precise prep-school diction reminded her of Baxter, her faithless ex-fiancé. Not a happy comparison.

“It’s a good guess that if Dylan Bradford is wandering around on this road for the first time in decades, he’s bound to be looking for something.”

His eyes narrowed. “How do you know who I am?”

At the sharp tone, MacDuff poked his nose out and growled. “Hush.” She gave him an absent pat. “The bona fide Bradfords may not have graced East Langden with their presence in over twenty years, but if one of you belches, it still makes the local news.”

“Hmmph,” he muttered, just this side of a snort. “What’s wrong with your car?”

“I think it’s the transmission. Want to take a look?”

How many jet-set playboys does it take to check a dipstick? There had to be a good punch line in there somewhere.

His gaze moved from her damp curls to the squirmy lump inside her jacket, passed over the threadbare knees of her jeans, and on down to her muddy discount sneakers.

Instinctively, she knew he wasn’t scrutinizing her the way a man sized up an attractive woman. This was the kind of guarded assessment a cop would make before frisking a suspect for weapons. With his history, maybe he suspected she had a hidden microphone or camera.

Understanding his concern didn’t keep her from fidgeting under the visual inspection. She tilted her umbrella back to allow him a clear view of her face. The gesture sent rain dripping down her neck. She shimmied her shoulders to halt the icy trickle dribbling down her spine.

“If you’ll give me a lift to my grandparents’, I can make sure you get to your cabin.” A flash of lightning and boom of thunder accentuated the offer. “It’s not out of your way.”

Maybe he recognized her for the honest person she was. Maybe he took pity on her predicament, or maybe he was blessed with a more helpful disposition than she supposed. For whatever reason, just as she began to think he’d leave her to her fate, he shrugged. “Hop in.”

“I thought you’d never ask.” She grinned to soften the sarcasm, then splashed her way around the upscale car without giving him time to rethink the offer.

In her haste, the umbrella caught on the door. The time it took her to wrestle it closed allowed the cold and damp to invade the vehicle like an invisible wet blanket. Finally, she managed to settle into the seat with even less grace than usual.

The leathery new-car scent and the aroma of expensive cologne reminded Gracie of Baxter again. The reminder made her feel less ashamed than she should about tracking mud all over his spanking clean floor mats.

“Which way?” Dylan asked as she buckled up.

When she told him, he put the car in gear and took off. She nodded toward the dash. “Why didn’t you use your navigational system?”

“It kept telling me to turn at Cleveland, and unless I’m way off the mark, we’re nowhere near there.”

She suppressed a smile. MacDuff chose that moment to wriggle his head free and lick her chin.

“Who’s your friend?” Dylan put out his hand for the Scottie to sniff.

“This is MacDuff, the main reason I didn’t want to walk. I would’ve started out carrying him. But after a while, he would have wriggled to get down. And soggy dog is not my favorite bedtime companion.”

“He sleeps with you?”

“Every chance he gets.”

Dylan’s chuckle created a connection between them, a pleasant moment that she resented and would have believed impossible until it happened.

“Smart dog.”

She glared at him, but he shrugged. That kind of innuendo was probably second nature to him. He couldn’t refrain from flirting with any available female any more than MacDuff could keep from chasing woodchucks.

Ignoring the fact that his comment produced some definite heat somewhere around her mid-section and lower, she shivered inside her damp clothes and tried to think of a way to advance her fact-finding mission for Clay. Unfortunately, she was hopelessly straightforward down to her bones. Nothing devious or clever came to mind.

“I was sorry to hear about your mother.” Her tentative comment managed to evaporate any connection they shared.

“Did you know her?” The chill in his voice frosted the air between them.

“Not really, but she visited the clinic where I work in Hartford a few times. All of the staff admired her commitment to women’s and children’s health issues.” She thought of Baxter’s over-privileged mother and the distance she maintained between herself and anyone less fortunate. Dylan’s mother’s generous actions were the exception, not the norm among the uber-wealthy. “Your mother took a personal interest that we greatly appreciated.”

He slid her a look from the corner of his eye that might have been surprise or gratitude, but it was gone before she could decide. “Thanks.”

The curtness of the single word prevented her from continuing a dialogue that might have revealed her own mother’s death nine years ago. Even after all this time, the searing loss remained clear and sharp in her memory, so his abruptness didn’t offend her. If anything, she was grateful.

Sharing grief about their mothers might have led to further revelations. They had both lost their fathers at an early age to tragic accidents, too. But it didn’t matter how many similarities they shared, they really had very little in common. She was blue-collar, beer, and chowder all the way. He was blue-blood, champagne, and sashimi.

Just like Baxter. Except better looking, of course.

Annoyed by her awareness of his effortless just-rolled-out-of-bed scrumptious good looks—she’d have to be blind not to notice them—it was time to abandon polite conversation in favor of a more direct approach. She turned in her seat and peered at his strong profile in the dim light. “So, why are you gracing us with your presence?”

His fingers tightened on the steering wheel, and he gave her a full dose of the famous Bradford political smile. But she wasn’t sucked in by it. She’d seen that same expression many times on the face of Dylan’s unacknowledged half-brother and Gracie’s sort-of-step-brother-slash-best-friend Clay Harris.

“My mother left me the Bradford camp. I want to look it over before deciding what to do with it.”

Simple explanation, plausible, but she didn’t believe evaluating this insignificant portion of his inheritance was the reason for his visit.

If she inherited property in France, Fiji, and East Langden, as the papers reported Dylan had, which one would she visit first? All right, unfair question. She was prejudiced in favor of East Langden, but doubted that it held the same appeal to this spoiled political brat.

Did he know that area teens used the secluded cabin as Party Central? “It’s in pretty bad shape.”

“How do you know?”

“Sometimes I’m in that area picking blueberries.” She winced as the words came out of her mouth. The admission made her sound about as sophisticated as Little Red Riding Hood. Considering Dylan’s lady-killer reputation, he could easily fill the role of Big Bad Wolf.

He eyed her curiously for a moment. “You grew up around here?”

“Yep. Why?”

“Do you know a guy named Clayton Harris?”

“You mean Doctor Harris?” She stressed Clay’s professional title. Her interrogation skills clearly left something to be desired since Richie Rich had taken control of the questioning so easily. “Sure, I know him.”

“What’s he like?”

“Nice guy, good friend.” She couldn’t possibly sum up what Clay meant to her in a few words. Thinking of his struggle to find out who he was and where he belonged, she couldn’t resist the temptation to try and shake Dylan Bradford’s rock-solid self-assurance. “He looks a lot like you actually.”

Chapter Three

“No.” The single syllable response sliced through the air like a scalpel while Dylan stopped the car with robotic precision at the fork in the road. Only the rain on the car roof and the whap-whap of the windshield wipers interrupted the silence. “Which way?”

Well, he hadn’t fallen apart from her needling, but she’d obviously hit a sore spot. “Right,” Gracie directed. “About another quarter of a mile. There’s a sign at the end of a little lane.”

Once he’d reached the destination, his headlights picked up the script lettering and he turned onto the driveway. “Liberty House? What’s that? A hotel?”

“A B&B.” She unbuckled her seatbelt and prepared to make a dash through the rain.

Gran had turned on the exterior lights. The soft glow of Liberty House welcomed Gracie home with the guest wings stretched out like giant arms. Small lights along the walk revealed sprouts of pink phlox. Spiky delphinium stalked among the boxwoods edging the front porch. The building exuded a charm that combined the solid structure of days gone by, her grandfather’s expert carpentry, and her grandmother’s loving care.

The unpleasantness of the past few weeks dissolved. Tears Gracie had kept frozen inside threatened to melt under the onslaught of warmth and comfort that gushed through her. She bent her head to hide any betraying emotion and hugged MacDuff close.

“Thanks for the ride.” Her fingers groped for the handle. “Turn right at the end of the drive, go about a mile, and look for a dilapidated school house with a caved in roof.” She lifted her eyebrows to ask if he got that, and he nodded. “Turn left onto Cleveland Road.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope, but the road’s narrow and overgrown. The sign’s been missing for years.” She smirked. “See you around, Dylan Bradford.”

“Wait,” he commanded. “I don’t know your name.”

“It’s Gracie.” Impatient to see Gran and be out of the presence of another difficult man, she prepared to jump and make a dash through the rain. “Gracie O’Donnell.”

The tail of her jacket hooked on the door handle, halting her exit. He leaned forward to assist her, but she jerked free, slammed the door, and didn’t look back. Entering the house, she heaved a sigh. Home at last.

“Gran!” She set MacDuff on the parquet floor and sniffed the familiar lemon furniture polish and lavender potpourri. Those heavenly aromas mingled with Gran’s cooking, stirring up a treasure-trove of childhood memories.

“Finally!” Her white-haired grandmother’s sweet voice that had soothed countless fears and read thousands of bedtime stories floated to her. Emerging from the kitchen at the end of the hall, Gran dried her hands on her apron. “I didn’t hear your car. Why did you come in through the front? Looks like you got caught in the rain. What’s that on your face? Is Baxter with you?”

She opened her arms, but Gracie stepped back. “No, wait. I’m all wet.”

“A bit of damp doesn’t matter, not when it’s been a month since I’ve seen you.”

Gracie hugged the little woman whose fragile exterior hid the emotional strength and sturdiness of Maine granite. She held onto the embrace longer than a casual homecoming warranted. After she’d soaked up all the emotional reassurance she could without alarming her grandmother, Gracie straightened and fielded the questions.

“No, I’m alone. Sorry, I’m late. I got caught in the rain, had some car trouble, and had to hitch a ride.”

Over her grandmother’s shoulder, Gracie glanced at her reflection in the mirrored umbrella stand. She rubbed a finger over a black streak smudged across her nose. “Darn. Grease from the car.” With an arm around Gran’s shoulders, Gracie headed toward the kitchen, her favorite room in the house. “How’s Granddad today?”

“Feeling guilty because you’ve had to come and help out and grumpy about being laid up due to his own foolishness. He knew he shouldn’t have tried to paint the Colony Room by himself, but Edgar called in sick that day and your grandfather didn’t want to wait.”

“That’s Granddad, all over. Be back in a sec.” Dropping a quick kiss on Gran’s cheek, Gracie ducked into the laundry room to change into a dry flannel shirt she found hanging on a peg and a pair of warm gray socks she fished out of the dryer. Running a comb through the Medusa curls did nothing to control the chaos. She abandoned the task with a shrug. No one but Gran around anyway.

Gracie raised her voice over the gush of running water while she washed up. “Except for the fact that he’s hurt, I’m glad I had an excuse to get out of Hartford for a while. With two new pediatricians at the clinic, it wasn’t any trouble to take a short leave.”

“Probably more trouble than you’re admitting, but I’m happy you’re here. It would’ve been a challenge to get the place ready for the season’s first guests if you hadn’t been able to come.”

When Gracie paused in the kitchen door, Gran turned away from the stove and fixed her with a measuring eye. “Will Baxter be arriving tomorrow? Or later in the week?”

“No.” She’d hoped to avoid the subject of her ex-boyfriend a little longer. Retrieving dog food from the cupboard, she filled MacDuff’s bowl. “He won’t be arriving at all. Ever again.”

“Is it over between you? I’m sorry.” Gran’s hug made Gracie feel better than the pound of Godiva chocolate she’d consumed in the past week. “Are you all right?”

“I’m okay.” She didn’t want too much sympathy or she’d dissolve into another futile puddle of tears. “At first I was mad. And then sad, and now, like Granddad, I’m mostly annoyed that I got hurt because of my own foolishness.”

Gran shook her head. “Loving someone isn’t foolish.”

“No, but loving someone who isn’t trustworthy is.” Gracie turned away to lift the lid on the kettle of simmering clam chowder. “At least I’ve learned that lesson.”

“Did you really love him?” Gran scooted her over to stir the award-winning recipe. “The times I saw you together, you coddled him more like he was a child or a patient than your sweetheart. It seemed like he expected to be the center of your world and his and everyone else’s, too.”

“Hmmm.” His monumental self-absorption was obvious now that Gran pointed it out. “I’ve known for a while we weren’t right for each other, but I decided to wait and break up after he finished his cardiac residency.” She grabbed utensils from a drawer and set the oak table with nubby blue place mats and napkins. “Turns out it was Clarice Bennett, one of the other cardiac residents, he wasn’t finished with. The two-timing rat.”

Gran rapped the spoon against the rim of the pot with unnecessary force. She efficiently ladled the thick chowder into pottery bowls Gracie’s mother had made many years before. “You’re better off without the rodent.”

“Probably.” Definitely.

Gracie’s heart and stomach felt hollow, despite the brave face she paraded for Gran’s benefit. At some point between moving in with Baxter last year and discovering the full scope of his betrayals last week, her self-confidence had weakened to the consistency of wet tissue paper.

She took her seat at the table. “I’m sure I’ll be better off concentrating on my patients instead of letting myself be sidetracked by some man.”

“Speaking of men who’d like to sidetrack you...” Gran settled into a chair across from Gracie. “I saw Clayton at the hospital this afternoon. He said he’d stop by here after his evening rounds.”

“Great, I have something important to tell him. You’ll never guess who—” The ding-dong of the doorbell interrupted her news. Both women glanced at the Regulator clock on the wall, and then exchanged quizzical looks. “Expecting someone?”

“Just Clayton. But he wouldn’t ring the bell or come in through the front.”

“And it’s too early for him.” Gracie jumped up. “You sit. I’ll get it.”

MacDuff went bounding down the hall in front of her. The outside lights were still on, and Gracie peeked out the sidelight. If she hadn’t known Dylan Bradford was in the neighborhood, she might have believed it was her best friend standing in the shadows of the wide porch with his back to her.

Going by size and shape alone, the tall, broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped, man waiting there could have been Clay’s twin. But Dylan carried himself with an assurance that her friend’s abandoned-child insecurities would never let him duplicate. And from a purely objective standpoint, Dylan had a way better ass.

Squelching the observation beneath a world of misgivings, Gracie pulled the door open. Dylan turned toward her, and she got her first full-length, full-frontal view of him.

And what a view! Wow! Her heart went zing. Except that reaction would be physically impossible. She would not allow herself to generate such a cartoon-ish reaction. Her gaze traveled over his brooding, upscale, male-model good looks. She searched, praying for flaws. Warts or moles or jagged scars. Anything unsightly would do.

Nope. None. Blond, sun-streaked hair in artless disarray, chiseled jaw with just the right touch of grunge, the beginnings of a goatee rimming a perfectly shaped mouth, and deep blue eyes that flashed heat and commanded attention.

And to say he had on a sweater and jeans would be like saying Pavarotti could carry a tune.

More than a few lambs had provided the soft wool for the garment that covered his wide shoulders and chest. And she knew from shopping with Baxter that the designer denim molding itself to Dylan’s long, muscular legs cost more than the blue book value of her poor, dead car.

But he apparently didn’t like being studied any more than she’d liked it earlier. His clenched jaws rippled as if he were cracking walnuts with his molars. Dropping the leather duffel bag he carried, he leaned over to greet MacDuff, effectively ending her inspection.

The dog licked Dylan’s fingers like they were covered in hamburger, but his interest soon waned and he moved on to sniffing the bag. Straightening, Dylan stuck his hands in his back pockets and lifted his lips into a cajoling smile.

“The cabin’s uninhabitable.” He proffered the information as though it was the latest stock tip. “I need a place to stay.”

“Too bad.” Gracie’s primary goal was to get rid of him before Clay arrived. Disobliging the spoiled playboy at the same time was just a bonus. “There’s a motel out on the highway if you need a place to stay.”

“You said this place is a bed and breakfast. What about here?”

Because Clay will be here any second. “We aren’t open for the season.”

“I just need a room for one night. Someplace to sleep and plug in my laptop. It doesn’t have to be perfect. I’ll clear out first thing in the morning.” He upped the firepower of his smile from cajoling to megawatt.

The gesture had the exact opposite effect on Gracie than he probably expected. No way could he know that her disastrous association with Baxter had immunized her against the easy charm of entitled young men with too much money and too little character.

“Sorry.” She crossed her arms and refused to budge.

“Hey, c’mon,” he coaxed. “I gave you a ride.”

“Not until I asked,” she reminded him.

“And I’m asking you—”

”Gracie?” Gran said, coming down the hall. “Who’s here? Is it Cla—?”

“No.” She hoped she’d cut her off in time. Slanting her eyes toward Dylan, she checked for a reaction. “Just a tourist looking for a place to stay.”

Gran stopped in the doorway beside her. “I’m afraid we don’t open until next week.”

“So your granddaughter said.” Dylan treated her grandmother to the same persuasive smile he’d used on Gracie a minute before. “And I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you, but it’s kind of an emergency. If I could stay the night, I’d make it worth your while.”

“We-ell,” Gran began.

Seeing her soft-hearted grandmother waffling, Gracie stepped in. “Sorry, but no.”

“I’m Dylan Bradford.” He ignored Gracie and spoke directly to Gran. “I haven’t visited the area since I was a child, but I might be here fairly often in the future.”

Gran nodded, recognizing him, of course. “I’m Nora Lattimer.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Lattimer. Have you lived in East Langden long? Did you know my father’s family when they came here regularly?”

“I saw them around occasionally. My husband, Chester, worked for them at the mill.” Gran offered the information in her usual mild-mannered way, not mentioning that Granddad had been the mill’s master carpenter and that losing his job had been a financial catastrophe for them, or anything about the years of hardship that followed.

“I’ve heard my uncle say what a sad day it was for the family when the business here closed.” The high-voltage smile dimmed appropriately.

Gracie swallowed a snort of disbelief. “I’ll wager it was a sadder day for the workers.”

After a slicing glance, he resumed ignoring her. “Gracie said there’s a hotel on the highway. May I use your phone to see if there are any vacancies? I dropped mine in a puddle earlier and it stopped working.”

“I’m sure The Granite Inn has vacancies.” Gracie said. “Is that what happened to your phone?”

“It won’t hurt to check.” Gran ushered Dylan down the hall to the landline in the kitchen. “Water and cell phones don’t mix. I’ve heard you should put a wet phone in a bowl of rice.”

“I’ll give that a try.” He dialed the number Gran provided. After a brief conversation, he hung up and turned to them with a smile. “All set. Mmm, something smells good.”

“We’re having a bite to eat,” Gran admitted. “Would you like to join us?”

“I wouldn’t want to impose.” He hung back from the table, making a show of his reluctance.

“You probably need to be on your way,” Gracie urged.

“Nonsense, Gracie. It’s nothing fancy, mind you, just some chowder, but we’d be happy to have you stay.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” He rubbed his hands together. “A bowl of chowder sounds great. My grandmother’s cook used to make this all the time.”

While Gran ladled up another serving, Dylan took a seat, a single seat, like any normal person, but he seemed to take up more than half the space at the table. Gracie could only tap her fingers on her glass of tea and watch the clock. As important as his visit might be to Clay, she didn’t want her friend walking into an ambush tonight.

Dylan dug in and savored the first bite. “Even better than it smells. And is this homemade bread?”

“Yes, but not quite fresh,” Gran said. “I usually bake daily, but with Chester in the hospital, I haven’t had time.”

“Is your husband ill? Nothing serious, I hope.”

“Broken hip.” Gran worried her bottom lip between her teeth. “The doctor says he should be as good as new, but it will take a while. That’s why Gracie’s here to help out until he’s back on his feet.” She patted her granddaughter’s hand.

Dylan reached for another slice. “Is Dr. Harris his physician?” he asked, as smooth as the butter he slathered on his bread. “Gracie mentioned he’s a good friend of hers.”

“She did?” Gran’s eyes sparkled. “Why, yes, that’s true. They’ve been best friends since childhood.”

“Classmates?”

Gracie jumped in to prevent Gran from providing more background than necessary. “Clayton was a year ahead of me in school.” She wasn’t sure why she didn’t want Dylan to know the true nature of her relationship with Clay. But for the time being, the less he knew, the better. “Why do you care?”

“Just trying to get the lay of the land,” he said.

“That may take a while.”

He shrugged and leaned back, unconcerned and relaxed, like a man with a plan and all the time in the world. “I can give it however long it takes.”

His steel-blue gaze locked with hers. She no longer doubted Clay’s claim had brought Dylan here, but she couldn’t picture him embracing the idea of a newfound sibling or being all that eager to share the wealth.

A rap on the back door interrupted the exchange. Her friend tromped into the mud room.

“Gracie!” A grin split his face as he wiped his feet. “I’m so glad you’re home. East Langden is no fun without you.”

At the table, Dylan craned his neck to see the newcomer. Clay was out of his sight, but it would be only a moment before he stepped into the kitchen. When wearing his professional persona, Gracie knew he could be as controlled as a horse in a harness. But otherwise, he could be skittish and contentious when provoked, and sometimes, he spoke without thinking. She hated for him to be in a situation where he couldn’t put his best foot forward.

She rose and flung herself at him, hoping to segue the hug into a detour outside. “It’s great to see you, too.” Gripping his forearm in her hands, she pulled him toward the door. “Let’s go to the carriage house to talk.”

“Sure, okay.” He beamed at her enthusiastic greeting but stood his ground. “First, I have a message for Nora.”

Gracie tugged harder. “I’ll pass along any messages later.”

“Nonsense,” Gran said. “Let him come in.”

Reluctantly, Gracie turned back into the room. She stood foursquare in front of Clay, ready to protect him as she’d done throughout their childhood. Dylan set down his spoon, apparently sensitive to the charged atmosphere. Obviously, the two men were spitting images of one another, but as Clay moved toward the table, Dylan didn’t react to the resemblance.

Naturally, Clay could identify Dylan as easily as Gracie had. For many of their teen years, they had kept a scrapbook with news clippings about the famous family that didn’t claim him. The grip he clamped on her shoulder relayed his tension.

“Well.” His throat worked over words that failed to emerge. Stone still, he paused as if puzzling out this unexpected Bradford presence.

“Come in, Clayton. Meet Dylan Bradford.” Bless Gran for her calm manner, even though she must know the significance of this first meeting.

Dylan’s gaze flashed sharply to the new arrival’s face. Protective as ever, Gracie held her arms out at her sides, like a school crossing guard, holding Clay back. He brushed past her and held out his hand. She experienced a flash of pride at his composure.