Chapter Four

 

Taylor tried to steal the ball as Reese dribbled it across the backyard Sunday afternoon. Before she could intercept it, though, her niece kicked it toward the goal. She missed, and the ball rolled past the goal and toward the woods.

“I’ll get it,” Reese called out, sprinting after the runaway soccer ball.

“While you do, I’m going to take a water break.” They’d been out there for at least an hour. Reese didn’t look even close to tiring out. The child had an endless supply of energy.

When they’d come out, she’d left two bottles of water on the patio table. Opening one, she took a long swallow, the cool drink immediately perking her up. A few feet away, her mom checked on the chicken and burgers she’d put on the grill. The house had no central air conditioning, only window units, so once the weather turned warmer they cooked outside as much as possible to keep the inside temperature down.

“Maybe we should see if Curt wants to join us.” Priscilla closed the grill cover and took a seat at the table. “We have plenty of food.”

This was the first time Mom had mentioned Curt since their conversation early yesterday afternoon. She’d expected a million questions as soon as she came home from having coffee with him. Oddly, Mom never said a word except a thank-you for bringing home the pie. She should’ve known that was too good to last.

“He has plans today.” He hadn’t given her any particular details and, it being none of her business, she hadn’t asked.

“C’mon, Auntie. I got the ball.” Reese walked past the goal, carrying the pink-and-white soccer ball in her hands.

Just what she thought; Reese wasn’t ready to quit for the afternoon.

“Why don’t you practice by yourself for a little and give Aunt Taylor a break,” Mom suggested. “I think you wore her out.”

Yep, the reprieve from questioning was over. Mom planned to start her interrogation now.

Reese shrugged and dropped the ball to the ground. “Okay.”

Having no siblings or friends next door, Reese was used to playing alone. She dribbled the ball across the yard toward the goal, leaving Taylor alone with Mom.

“Go ahead and ask away,” Taylor said. Mom had questions. The sooner she asked, the sooner they could talk about something else.

“Can you blame me for being curious?” Mom asked.

Blame her? No, not really. Wish she’d mind her own business on this? Yes, most certainly.

“Considering you only went for coffee at the Java Bean, you were gone for a long time yesterday.” Mom refilled her iced tea from the pitcher she’d brought outside earlier. “I assume that means he’s not a serial killer who runs around at night wearing a clown costume.”

The statement rubbed her the wrong way. “Mom, I didn’t interrogate him. We just talked.” They’d talked so much they’d both lost track of time as one coffee turned into another. In the end, they’d each had three cups.

“Relax. I’m kidding. I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.” She paused with her glass almost to her lips. “You did enjoy yourself, right?”

Definitely. She found talking with Curt easy. They’d discussed a huge range of topics. They’d even touched on politics a little, something she tended to avoid with most people. She found too many people got upset when you didn’t share the same political views as them. Often, those same people tried to convert you to their way of thinking. Rather than risk a disagreement or offend someone, she was selective about with whom she discussed the topic. While she and Curt shared some of the same political views, they hadn’t agreed on everything. Much to his credit, he hadn’t insisted his opinion was correct or tried to convert her to his way of thinking.

Not only was Curt easy to talk to, but there was also something about him. Something that set him apart from the men she’d gone out with before. She’d first noticed when he insisted on paying for coffee. He hadn’t argued with her, but it had been obvious it didn’t sit well with him. Dennis had never had a problem when she paid. A few times, he even suggested they split a bill.

Curt pulling out her chair, and later opening the car door for her, stood out vividly in her head. Dad used to open doors all the time for Mom, but he was from a different generation. Men didn’t do things like that anymore. At least, she’d never met any who did. Yet Curt had done both, and not because he was trying to impress her. No, it’d been too automatic on his part. Like it’d been ingrained in him to treat a woman a certain way.

“I did.”

“And will there be a second date?”

“It wasn’t a date, Mom. We talked and drank coffee.” Jeez, why did she keep insisting it was a date?

“Okay. Then, will there be a first date?” She set down her tea and moved back to the grill to check on the food.

“Next weekend.”

“Oh, how exciting. Now aren’t you glad I invited him over after he brought Stripes home?”

If she said yes, heaven knew how many other guys Mom might start inviting over for dinner. “Maybe a little, but let’s not make a habit of inviting men to dinner. I prefer finding my own dates, Mom. Okay?”

Mom looked over her shoulder, a smile stretched across her face. Whatever she intended to say, Taylor wasn’t going to appreciate. “Who knows? Maybe he’ll be the one.” She turned her attention back to the chicken. “He’s polite, successful, and he appeared comfortable interacting with Reese. So far, everything points toward him being a keeper.”

There Mom went with her romantic fantasies again. “You’re getting ahead of yourself. We had pie and coffee. That’s it. Before you reserve the church and call the photographer, let us go out again.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll wait until next week to call Reverend Shawn.”

“Why are you calling Reverend Shawn?” Reese asked, stopping for a water break just in time to catch her grandmother’s statement.

Taylor threw her mom a look that said, “nice going—you answer this one.”

“Grown-up stuff,” Mom said. “Nothing to worry about. Dinner is almost done. Why don’t you go inside and wash your hands?”

“Please tell me, Mimi.” The girl didn’t like to be left out of anything. “Why are you calling Reverend Shawn?”

Taylor watched Mom struggle with an answer Reese would accept. “I want to see if the church needs extra help for this year’s Old Home Day.”

Every year the church sponsored the town’s Old Home Day celebration, an event that had started in 1906 and grown over the years. Today, the entire town got involved with it.

Satisfied with the answer, Reese dropped her soccer ball into the bucket of outside toys on the patio, and went inside.

“She hears everything,” Mom said. “Before she comes back, is there anything else you’d care to share about our handsome new neighbor?”

“He’s different. But not in a bad way or anything.” Taylor thought for a good way to describe what she meant. “It sounds cheesy, but I’d use the word classy to describe him. He pulls out chairs, opens doors.”

“There are much worse things a person can be.”

She agreed with that.

Mom put the platter of hamburgers and chicken on the table. They’d already brought out a garden salad and potato chips. “There’s something about him that seems familiar. I can’t put my finger on what it is.”

Taylor tore open the chips and uncovered the salad bowl. “He probably reminds you of someone you’ve seen on a television show or in a movie.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Mom agreed, dropping the matter.

***

In Curt’s opinion, a long motorcycle ride was a damn good way to spend a gorgeous spring afternoon. He’d left his house over two hours ago, sticking to the back roads as much as possible. The highway would’ve shaved at least forty minutes from the drive, maybe even more, but who wanted to be stuck on the highway when it was this nice out? Definitely not him.

After parking in the underground garage, Curt took the stairs up to the Hillcrest’s main lobby. Both his cousins Trent and Gray lived in the exclusive downtown Providence complex. He’d visited both on numerous occasions, and never before had a problem going right on up without first stopping at the security desk. Today, as he walked toward one of the two public elevators, a uniformed security guard stopped him.

“Excuse me. All guests must check in before going upstairs,” the guard said. “Who are you here to see today?”

He remembered Dion, the security guard on duty, from his many previous visits; obviously the guard didn’t recognize him. “I’m visiting Gray Sherbrooke. He’s expecting me, Dion.”

“I’ll need to call up and verify. Name, please.” The guard picked up the phone and waited for an answer.

If nothing else, this further assured him his close-trimmed beard and longer hair helped conceal his identity. “Curt Sherbrooke.” He pulled his ID from his wallet and handed it over.

The guard glanced at it and then took a good look at him. “So sorry, Mr. Sherbrooke. I didn’t recognize you. It’s good to see you again.” Dion handed the ID back and put down the phone. “Go on up. Have a nice afternoon.”

Curt rode the elevator up with two women, both definite head-turners. They were dressed in the latest spring styles, their makeup and hair perfect.

The taller of the two kept looking his way and smiling, her interest in him obvious. Any other day he would’ve asked for a phone number. Today he smiled back, but otherwise kept to himself.

“I’m Linda. I just moved in last month,” she said as the elevator passed the fourth floor. “This is my sister, Katie.” She gestured to the other woman. “Do you live here, or are you visiting?”

“Just visiting. I’m sure you’ll enjoy living here; my cousin, Gray, and his fiancée do.”

“I live a floor below Gray and Kiera. If he’s your cousin, you must be a Sherbrooke. Don’t tell me. Let me guess.” She paused, and he imagined her running through a list of his family members. “You’re definitely not Scott or Jake.” Linda smiled and pointed at him. “Curt, right?”

“Correct.” Come on, elevator, reach her floor already.

Linda pulled a business card and pen from her purse. “Here’s my cell number if you want to give me a call sometime,” she said as she wrote on the blank side of the card.

The elevator door opened, and he wondered how he could decline without offending her. In the end, he didn’t have to worry about it because she pressed the card into his hand and walked away with her sister, the doors closing behind them.

Curt flipped the card over. Linda Hurley, Attorney at Law was printed on the front, along with Hale & Associates. The name of the same downtown law firm his cousin Derek and his wife, Brooklyn, worked for. He shoved the card into his back pocket. Later it’d find its way into the trash. His instincts told him Linda Hurley wasn’t his type anyway. She reminded him too much of his last girlfriend—unlike the DEA agent living next door to him. When it came to Taylor, his instincts told him something altogether different.

“Holy hell,” Gray said in lieu of a greeting when he opened the apartment door moments later. “Do they not have mirrors where you live?”

In many ways Curt was closer to Gray than his own brother. They were about a year apart in age and shared many of the same interests. Of course, that meant Gray felt no qualms about busting Curt’s balls every chance he got.

“Aunt Judith said you’d moved to New Hampshire. I didn’t know you’d decided to turn into a tree-hugging wilderness nut. What’s next, a plaid flannel shirt?”

Curt ignored Gray’s comments and walked inside. The entire apartment smelled like fresh herbs and something delicious he couldn’t identify. “Kiera cooking?”

Kiera, Gray’s fiancée, was a professionally trained chef who worked at Providence’s top French restaurant. More times than not she was in the kitchen, experimenting on a new dish. And if one was lucky enough to be around, they got to enjoy her efforts.

“She was earlier. Now she’s getting ready to go out.” Gray closed the door and headed for the living room. “She, Addie, and Brooklyn are going to a concert. Some boy band they all loved in high school is performing. Since he’s alone too, Trent’s going to come down with Kendrick. I invited Derek over too, but he has other plans.”

He hadn’t seen Trent in months. It’d be nice to catch up with him.

“What’s up with the wild-man look?” Gray asked as his fiancée entered the room.

Kiera immediately bypassed Gray and hugged him instead. Both her parents worked at Uncle Mark’s estate, so they’d known each other a long time. “Ignore him, Curt. I think the barely there beard makes you look sexy.”

“Linda on the elevator did, too. She gave me her number and told me to call her.”

Gray tugged Kiera down next to him. “You’re engaged, remember?”

Curt, as well as Kiera, knew Gray was only giving her a hard time.

She elbowed Gray in the side. “That doesn’t mean I’m blind, Mr. Sherbrooke.” She patted his cousin’s cheek. “Don’t worry, I find you sexy, too,” she said, using a tone one might when placating a small child. “So, who’s Linda? And what’s up with the new look?”

“She’s someone I just met on the elevator. Said she moved in recently. Here’s her card if you want to call her.” Curt dropped the business card onto the end table. “I don’t need it.”

“Oh, that Linda,” Gray said, earning him a cold stare from Kiera.

“Engaged, remember?” she said teasingly.

“And I’ll show you just how happily engaged when you come home tonight.” Gray kissed Kiera as if Curt wasn’t sitting right across from them.

“Hey, I’m still sitting here, remember? Save it for when you’re alone, please.”

Neither Gray nor Kiera looked the least embarrassed when they pulled apart.

“I’m going. Brooklyn and Addie are waiting for me upstairs. Behave yourselves tonight.” While Gray lived in one of the building’s three-bedroom apartments, his older brother, Trent, resided in the building’s penthouse, which encompassed the top two floors.

“Have fun. Say hi to Addie and Brooklyn.” Gray kissed Kiera again before she exited the room.

Left alone, Gray picked up the business card. “You’re sure you don’t want this?”

Curt nodded before going in search of whatever delicious dish Kiera had cooked up.

“Grab some plates and I’ll get the food.” Gray followed Curt into the kitchen and went straight for one of the two ovens. “You’re not interested in Linda, so are you and Miranda back on?”

He’d started seeing Miranda Bergman sometime the previous summer. He’d even taken her to his cousin’s wedding in September. He’d ended their relationship in December, though. “Nope. Derek told me she’s with his buddy, Colton Horne. Hope it works out for them. They seem well suited.”

Although sweet as well as beautiful, Miranda loved the spotlight, which was one of the main reasons he’d stopped seeing her. While Miranda wanted everyone to notice her, he preferred to fly low and not draw any extra attention to himself. Colton, on the other hand, shared Miranda’s need for attention. Anyone who’d ever met the guy would agree.

“There’d better be some of whatever Kiera cooked left.” Trent’s voice announced his arrival.

“Did you forget how to knock?” Gray called out.

“I ran into Kiera. She told me to let myself in.”

Trent entered the kitchen, his eleven-month-old son in his arms and a large diaper bag hanging from his shoulder. Curt couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of his once-carefree playboy cousin so domesticated. Of all his cousins, Trent had been the last one he expected to ever marry and have a family.

“What the—” Trent caught himself before he said something he shouldn’t in front of his son. “What happened to you?”

“He’s going for the Left in the Wild look,” Gray answered, referring to a popular reality show where they dumped four couples somewhere remote and they had to survive for a month on their own.

He’d brushed off Gray’s teasing before, but now it was starting to get to him. “Both of you can stuff it.” He’d prefer much more colorful language, but he had to watch it with Kendrick in room. Trent’s wife would kill him if the baby started repeating any four-letter words he might overhear.

“He moved to New Hampshire and decided to become one with nature,” Gray said while he filled three plates with whatever dish he’d pulled from the oven.

“You moved way up there?” Trent asked. “Why?”

Curt nodded. “The town isn’t far up. I can be in Massachusetts in about ten or fifteen minutes.”

Trent put Kendrick down, and immediately the baby toddled over to his uncle.

“He’s walking already?” Curt asked. When he’d last seen Kendrick, he’d only been crawling.

“Started last month. It’s a whole new level of craziness at home now,” Trent answered, dropping the diaper bag onto the floor.

“I think he’s having an identity crisis,” Gray said, going back to busting Curt’s ass again. “He even turned down the phone number of a beautiful woman. Linda Hurley gave him her card, and he told me to toss it.”

Curt took the dish his cousin offered and wondered why he’d thought spending an evening with Gray was a good idea. Instead, he could be home writing or, even better, having dinner with his single next-door neighbor. “No kind of crisis. Just trying to go unnoticed while I’m living in Pelham. I don’t need the distractions while I finish the book and work on the house.”

“Another renovation project. What’s this, your fourth?” Trent asked. “Is this one similar to the house in Marlborough?”

“Bigger, older, and it needs more work. Since I’ve left Nichols Investment, I decided to live in the house while I renovate it. Makes it easier. After it’s done I’ll move back to Boston. I kept my condo there.”

“I’d offer to help, but you wouldn’t want it.” Trent picked up Kendrick and sat him on his lap. “I see the long hair and the beard’s a disguise. Wish I’d considered that in the past. I certainly could’ve used it.”

Prior to his marriage, Trent had graced more tabloid magazine covers and Internet sites than anyone Curt knew. No easy feat when you’re part of the Sherbrooke family. There had been a point where the guy couldn’t even enjoy a coffee without someone snapping a picture of him and selling it to the highest bidder.

“Is it working?” Trent asked, while he tried to keep his son from reaching for the food on the plate.

“Yeah, so far.” Curt thought of his neighbors and cringed. “More or less, anyway.”

“Either a disguise works or it doesn’t.” Gray put his own plate down on the kitchen island, then went back to the refrigerator. When he came back he carried a container of baby strawberry yogurt and a baby-sized spoon. “Kiera got Kendrick’s favorite at the store.” He passed the spoon and yogurt to Trent. “Which is it, Curt?”

“I’ve only met the women who live next door. The three of them know I’m an author, but that’s it.”

Next to him Trent fed his son the yogurt, but the baby kept eyeing the food on his father’s plate instead. Curt didn’t blame the kid. Given the choice between strawberry yogurt and the roasted chicken Provençal Kiera had prepared, he wouldn’t want the yogurt either.

“Three women living next door. Is one of them the reason you’re not interested in Linda’s number?” Gray asked, his eyebrow cocked knowingly.

“Linda reminds me of Miranda. You know why I ended it with her,” Curt offered as an answer.

“Can’t disagree with you on that one. I’ve only run into Linda a few times, but I get the same impression. Derek would know better. He works with her.” Gray walked away again and returned with three bottles of sparkling water. “But Linda would provide a little distraction. You’ve got to do something besides hide out up there in New Hampshire. Or is one of your new neighbors providing you with that?”

“Yeah, but not in the way you mean.” At least not yet. “Yesterday Taylor and I went for coffee. Saturday, I’m taking her for dinner.”

“But she doesn’t know who you are?” Trent set aside the yogurt container and started on his own meal.

“Like I said, Taylor and her mom, Priscilla, know I’m C.S. Hilton. Besides, we’re only going for dinner.” He didn’t look at either of his cousins when he answered.

Gray narrowed his eyes and looked at him. “She lives with her mother. Exactly how old is she?”

“Don’t go there. She’s a DEA agent in Boston. She lives next door with her mother and niece. I don’t know the specifics, but Reese’s mom isn’t around. Taylor and Priscilla are bringing her up.”

Trent laughed. “You’re going to take a federal agent out for dinner and not tell her who you are? You realize she might figure it out, right? Investigating is part of her job.”

“He’s right,” Gray agreed with a shake of his head. “Can’t believe I just said that.”

“She believes I’m Curt Hilton, an author from Boston who likes to renovate old houses. Why would she investigate anything?”

“And what happens if you decide you want more than one dinner out, dude?” Gray asked, bringing up something Curt had already considered.

Trent gave up trying to keep Kendrick from sampling his roasted chicken, and raised his fork containing the tiniest amount toward the baby’s mouth. “You’re asking for trouble. Take my word for it, women don’t like secrets.”

“Damn it. I have to agree with Trent again.” Gray sounded disgusted. “And secrets have a way of coming out. Much better to be up-front with her now. Either that or avoid your neighbors altogether, if you really want them to believe you’re Curt Hilton.”

Taylor intrigued him too much to stay away. And he saw no reason she’d suspect he was anything more than he told her. “Trust me, it’s no big deal. Everything’ll be fine.”

Both Gray and Trent laughed knowingly. “Famous last words if I ever heard ’em,” Trent said with a smirk.

Gray smiled and shared his comment, too. “Yep. Make sure you let us know when it blows up in your face.”