Bright Eyes (11 page)

“I called my attorney on the way out here,” Grace said flatly. “I’m cutting him out of my will. When I die, everything will go to Chad.”

Eventually Robert would apologize, and his mother would forgive him. That was the way it always went. “I’m sorry you’re so upset, Grace, but this will blow over. You’ll see.”

“Not this time.” Grace squared her shoulders. “I’d like to tell my grandson that he’s just become my heir.”

Natalie had known Grace to use her money as leverage against Robert countless times, her goal always to jerk him back into line and make him toe the Patterson mark. She wasn’t about to let Chad get caught in the middle.

“No,” Natalie said firmly. “I’m sorry Robert has disappointed you, Grace, and I can understand your need to express your displeasure, but leave Chad out of it.”

“But it’s fabulous news for him!” Grace smiled tremulously. “He’ll be a very wealthy man someday.”

“You can tell him when he’s older. He has enough to deal with right now.”

“I would never tell him
why
I revised my will. Surely you know that.”

“I don’t want it mentioned to him at all. There’s enough negativity in his life right now.”

Grace finally nodded, albeit reluctantly. “If I promise to say nothing about it, will you at least let him come to visit me?”

A knot of anger formed in Natalie’s chest. In Grace’s eyes, Chad was more important than his sister because he was a male and would one day carry on the Patterson name. “What about Rosie?”

“Oh, her, too, of course.”

Never in Natalie’s life had she wanted so badly to deny a request. But she couldn’t, in good conscience, deny Chad and Rosie the opportunity to know their grandmother.

“Of course they can visit.”

“When?” Grace pressed.

“Anytime soon would be difficult. We’ll be busy working here until Chad goes to camp. He’ll get home only a few days before school starts.”

“In September, then?”

Natalie could only hope that Grace’s sudden bent to be a grandmother would pass. “Sure. September will work.”

“I’ll call ahead to make arrangements.”

Natalie nodded.

Grace wasn’t usually given to displays of affection, but she hugged Natalie now. “My son is a fool,” she whispered. “He’ll live to rue the day and beg you to come back to him, mark my words.” She patted Natalie’s back. “Ultimately, that would be best, you know. They’re Robert’s children. The two of you should raise them together.”

Hell would freeze over first. Natalie loosely returned Grace’s hug, but her heart wasn’t in it. Long after Grace had backed her Lexus from the driveway, she remained there, staring at the road. She jumped when Zeke’s deep voice sounded behind her.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine.” Sweating under the hot burn of the sun, yet feeling oddly cold, she chafed her arms as she turned to face him. “Grace is pretty upset.”

“I heard.” He raked a big hand through his hair, leaving the sable strands furrowed by his fingers. “I just wonder at her reason for coming.”

“Her son is misbehaving. The only punitive measure within her power is to cut him out of her will. It’s a game they’ve played often over the years.” Natalie rubbed her sleeves again. “This time, she wanted to take it one step further by telling Chad that he’s now her sole heir. Up the stakes for Robert, so to speak, by making it official.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Grace’s parenting techniques are a blend of power and manipulation. If Robert thinks his son may inherit the fortune that’s rightfully his, maybe he’ll straighten up. If his wife will only go back to him, maybe he’ll be more discreet.” Natalie sighed. “When you haven’t worked to earn your children’s respect, it’s difficult to exert any control once they become adults.”

“Go back to him?” he echoed.

“When Robert and I were married, he sneaked around to see his girlfriends. Now he doesn’t bother. Grace’s friends are gossiping, and she’s mortified.”

Zeke’s gaze sharpened on hers. “Is there a possibility of that?”

“Of what?”

“Your going back to him.”

Natalie laughed bitterly. “Absolutely none. Why do you ask?”

Mischief danced in his blue eyes, and a smile flirted at one corner of his mouth. “Just curious.”

Natalie recognized masculine interest when she saw it. A shiver ran up her spine—a lovely, delicious little shiver—and for just an instant, she felt young and pretty and desirable. The moment didn’t last.

“I didn’t intentionally eavesdrop,” he assured her. “I took over painting the drainpipe, and some of the conversation carried to me on the breeze.” He arched a dark eyebrow, a gesture she was quickly coming to realize was a habit of his. “Did she mean it, do you think?”

“Which part?”

“That she would have shot him if she’d had a gun.”

Natalie chuckled. “Robert has that effect on people sometimes. She’ll get over it. She always does.”

He nodded, leading Natalie to wonder just how much of the exchange he had overheard. “I’m sorry she came over here,” she said. “Someone at the house must have told her where I was. Nothing like airing our dirty laundry in the neighbor’s driveway.”

“It isn’t your laundry.” He fixed her with a sympathetic gaze. “It’s a shame you’re still having to deal with it.”

“I’ll be dealing with it until my kids turn twenty-one, I’m afraid. Robert’s their father.”

He squinted against the sunlight, accentuating the crow’s-feet around his eyes, which, she guessed, had been etched there by exposure to the elements. Deep creases bracketed his lips, which shimmered like satin, the upper one thin, the lower one full yet firm.

Natalie found herself wondering how it might feel if he kissed her—to feel those big, hard hands moving over her—to be held close in his strong arms. When she realized the direction her thoughts had taken, she gave herself a hard mental shake.

She had enough problems in her life without asking for more, and Zeke Coulter had trouble written all over him.

Chapter Six

T
hat evening, shortly after Natalie and the kids left for the day, Zeke found a woman’s wristwatch lying next to the foundation of the house. Fascinated, he held it on his palm, studying the dainty band, the small stem, and the way the fading sunlight glinted off the crystal face. It was only a cheap Timex, and in places, the gold was wearing off. Nothing special. So why was he staring at it?

The answer was simple. It wasn’t the watch that intrigued him, but its owner. She was fascinating, coming off as a sexy seductress in sequins one time, as wholesome and sweet as apple pie the next. He enjoyed watching her in candid moments—the way she swayed while painting the house, as if she had music playing inside her head, the gentle manner she had with her children, always smiling at Rosie, looking bewildered and sometimes hurt when she interacted with Chad. She had soulful eyes, large, thickly lashed, and a deep, rich brown flecked with amber. They revealed her every emotion, filling with shadows when she felt sad, sparkling when she felt happy. Every time he looked into those eyes, he got the strangest feeling, a sense of connection and rightness that he’d never experienced before, not with anyone.

After checking the time, he slipped the piece of jewelry into his pocket. It was going on six o’clock. Natalie was probably rushing around to leave for work, and she’d probably feel lost without her watch. If he broke a leg, he might catch her before she took off.

As Zeke crossed the field, he saw an old farmer leaving the Westfield property by a back gate. Zeke waved and breathed deeply, taking in the pungent scent of alfalfa almost ready for a second cutting. Over the summer, he’d noticed that someone else was working Pete Westfield’s land, and he surmised that Pete’s back problem had forced him to lease out his fields, a common practice when a man couldn’t raise any crops himself.

At the edge of the field, Zeke lost his courage and almost went back home. This was stupid, a poorly veiled excuse to see Natalie again, bottom line, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. The lady had two kids and a crazy family. Did he really want to get involved with her?

Maybe his brothers were right, he decided, and he was way too serious about everything. A lot of men his age dated women who had kids, and practically everyone had a crazy relative or two. Natalie was a beautiful lady, both on and off the stage; he was strongly attracted to her, and he greatly enjoyed her company. If it felt right, why not go for it?

When he reached the Westfield house, he circled around back where they parked their cars, the better to catch Natalie on her way out. To his surprise, the patchy backyard was lined with flowers, the borders so thick that blossoms spilled over onto the grass. Zeke suspected Natalie was responsible for all the color. Her father seemed to have back problems, Gramps was too feeble to work outdoors, and Valerie was probably far too busy primping.

Just as Zeke reached the rickety back porch, he heard Natalie burst into song somewhere inside the house. He paused and grinned as he listened to the words, something like, “And I shaved my legs for this?” Damn, but she had a beautiful voice. He almost hated to knock and interrupt her.

As he ascended the wooden steps, he saw that the screen door opened onto the kitchen. Through the wire mesh, he could see Natalie in front of an old-fashioned gas range. Just as Chad had described, she was pretending the long-handled fork she held in one hand was a microphone. Bending slightly at the knees and throwing her other arm wide, she belted out the song’s refrain. Zeke became so engrossed in her performance that he just stood there. The lady didn’t need stage lights and sequins. She was pure dynamite without props.

He finally collected himself and rapped his fist on the wood. She jumped so violently that she almost shoved a fork prong up her nose. “Oh!” She clamped a hand over her heart. “Zeke! You scared me out of ten years’ growth.”

“Sorry.” He swept his gaze over her. She’d changed into pink shorts and a flowery blouse that was faded and wash worn, the thin cloth clinging softly to her full breasts. Her hair lay loose around her narrow shoulders, an ebony cloud of curls. “You forgot your watch. I thought you might need it at work.”

She laid aside the fork and came across the kitchen, tugging self-consciously at the shorts in a futile attempt to cover her legs. Zeke fixed his gaze on her face, not wanting to make her feel uncomfortable.

“I don’t go in tonight,” she said. “I take Sundays and Mondays off.”

“Ah.” Fishing in his pocket for her watch, Zeke stepped to one side as she pushed open the screen door. “You didn’t mention that today.”

“Our busy nights are Thursday through Saturday,” she explained. “Frank, my piano player, holds down the fort for me on Sunday and Monday, and I return the favor on Tuesday and Wednesday. It gives us each a break.”

Zeke put the watch on her outstretched palm. She had gorgeous legs—not that he was looking. “That’s good—you getting a little time off, I mean.”

She held the screen ajar with her left elbow while she donned the watch and fastened the clasp. “Thank you for bringing it over. I took it off while I was painting. I can’t believe I left it.”

“Not a problem.”

She pushed the screen wide. “I just made some ice tea. Won’t you come in and have a glass?”

Zeke hadn’t intended to stay, but the lady issuing the invitation tempted him in a way he couldn’t understand and didn’t want to resist. “I’d love to.”

As he stepped inside, she sniffed the air and got a horrified look on her face. “Oh
no,
the chicken!”

The screen slapped Zeke on the ass as she rushed back to the stove. She grabbed a potholder to take the lid off a big cast iron skillet. Smoke billowed upward. She waved her hand and coughed.

“Darn
it!”

From somewhere at the front of the house, Gramps or Pop, Zeke wasn’t sure which, yelled, “Nattie, have you gone and burned supper again?”

She made a face and whispered, “
No
. It’s just well done.” As she retrieved the fork and turned the meat, she added, “Crispy on one side, that’s all.”

Zeke grinned and sank onto a chair at a battered gray table, which reminded him strongly of the one in his grandparents’ kitchen when he was a boy. Slanting a long look at the stove, he watched the lid bounce on a pot that sat over a back burner. Judging by the smell, she was boiling potatoes.

“Might better turn that rear flame down. I think your spuds are about to spill over.”

She adjusted the knob, then wiped her hands on her blouse. “Tea!” She hurried over to the refrigerator. “I’m sorry. Organized, I’m not.”

Zeke thought she was adorable, distracted by his presence and all aflutter with nerves. When she bent over to take a pitcher from the fridge, he was afforded a fabulous view of her bottom and the backs of her bare thighs. If she had cellulite dimples, he couldn’t see them. Not that he had anything against a few dimples here and there.

“Lemon?”

He jerked and fixed his gaze on hers. “Pardon?”

She’d caught him looking. Two bright spots of color flagged her cheeks. “Do—you—want—lemon?” she asked with exaggerated slowness.

He liked his tea the same way he liked his women, sweet with just a hint of tartness. “Yeah, a little lemon will be great.”

She plucked a small bowl of lemon wedges from the shelf, rinsed her hands, and then shoved a wedge over the edge of his glass. She fetched a spoon from a drawer before advancing on him with the tea. Zeke fleetingly wondered if he was going to drink it or wear it.

“Thanks,” he said when she set the glass on the table with a decisive click and slid the sugar toward him.

“You’re welcome.” She returned to the stove to check the chicken. Every time she turned a breast, she tugged at the legs of her shorts. “Can you stay for supper? We have plenty. Valerie and the kids aren’t here tonight.”

Zeke preferred his breasts plump and tender. “Where are they?” he asked as he stirred two heaping teaspoons of sugar into his drink.

“Valerie worked for an attorney who recently retired and closed his office. She got her severance pay in the mail yesterday. She’s springing for pizza and a movie tonight.”

“That’s sweet of her.”

“Yes. My kids don’t get many treats these days.” She slipped the lid back over the chicken, adjusted the flame to simmer, and went to pour herself a glass of tea. When she joined him at the table, she said, “Sweet as it is, though, I can’t help but wonder where her head is. She went to a community college for two years to become a legal secretary, which is great, but now she’s hell-bent to do nothing else. There are no jobs in her field at present. I keep hoping she’ll take something else, a regular secretarial position or a job as a receptionist, but she won’t even consider it. And in the meanwhile, she’s out blowing money she can’t afford to blow. Next week, she’ll be broke and wonder how on earth it happened.”

Zeke plucked the wedge of lemon from the edge of his glass and squeezed the pulp into his tea. He’d had similar thoughts about his younger siblings more than once. “I hear you. You’re wondering if she’ll ever grow up.”

She looked a little startled. Then her sweet mouth, which he found himself wanting to kiss more and more by the moment, curved into a slight smile. “Yes. How’d you know?”

“One of six kids, remember? And I’m the second oldest.” He touched his temple. “See the gray? I earned every white hair.”

“What gray?”

“It’s there, trust me. First off, it was Bethany. When she got hurt, I thought it was the end of the world. Then came Hank. He’s finally straightened out, thank God. Now the twins are driving me nuts.”

“Tucker and Isaiah, right?”

“Good memory.”

“So, what are the little darlings doing to push you over the edge?”

Zeke chuckled. “The little darlings will be thirty-three in December. They’re only ten months younger than I am.”

“My goodness, your poor mother.”

His chuckle deepened to a rumble. “Another story. Don’t distract me. I stopped by unannounced at their town house the other night. Not a good plan.”

“Uh-oh.” Her eyes sparkled with laughter. “Let me guess. A toga and Wesson Oil party, minus the togas.”

Zeke grinned, trying to picture her in a toga. He decided she’d be beautiful in anything. “Nope. Tucker was entertaining a lady.”

“Hmm.” She raised her eyebrows and dimpled a cheek at him. “That sounds pretty tame. There must be something more. If not, get a life.”

At that precise moment, he thought that sounded like damned good advice. He could go for getting a life, especially if it included a curvaceous vocalist with eyes he could get lost in. “Oh, there was more.”

“Do tell. Were they—? Well, you know.”

Zeke touched his tongue to the squeezed lemon rind. The sweetness and tartness made him look at her mouth. “Nope. Tucker was mixing drinks at the bar, and the lady was hanging all over him, but nothing else was going on.”

“What, then?” Her eyes reflected genuine interest. “I’m dying here. Get to the good part.”

“She was calling him Isaiah.”

Long silence. She stared blankly at him for a full second, and then her eyes widened. “Oh, my
gosh!
They’re switching places.”

“Isn’t that juvenile?”

“Juvenile? It’s low down and rotten and—and absolutely unforgivable.”

“I agree. And now you know why they’re driving me nuts.”

She clunked her glass down on the table and sank back in her chair. Zeke was glad to have distracted her. She was no longer tugging at her shorts. “That poor woman!”

He peeled the pulp from the lemon rind with his teeth and pocketed it in his cheek, enjoying the sourness as he sipped the tea. “I’m sure that Tucker didn’t take it that far. He’s a decent guy at heart.” He no sooner spoke than he shrugged and added, “Well, I can’t be absolutely sure, of course. That’s why it bothers me so much, I guess. I didn’t blow the whistle on him. How do you tell a woman she’s getting cozy with the wrong man?”

“Oh, Zeke.” Her tone rang with sympathy.

“I’m sure, in his misguided way, Tucker was only trying to help Isaiah out. But it still bothers me.” Zeke lifted a leg to prop a boot on his knee, then immediately lowered it to the floor again. Thinking about the twins agitated him. “Isaiah’s the serious, bookish one. Always has been, even as a kid. When Tucker was swinging from curtains and sliding down banisters, Isaiah was off in a corner, totally absorbed in something cerebral. Nothing’s ever changed. He’s far too busy thinking about a cure for the latest swine virus to connect with reality, thus socks that don’t match and two dates the same night.”

Natalie’s eyes went soft. “You love them.”

“Well, of course, I—” Zeke sniffed the air and jumped up to advance on the stove. “If I’m staying for dinner, I’ll help get the meal on the table. If you don’t mind, that is.”

“Not at all. Chad says you’re a gourmet cook.”

“Not a gourmet, exactly. I just enjoy cooking.”

He plucked the lid off the skillet. After pushing at the meat with the fork, he decided it wasn’t beyond redemption. More like chicken jerky. Thank God he had strong teeth. He turned off the heat, slapped the lid back on the skillet, and leaned forward to check the spuds. They were as close to mush as potatoes could get.

“How did you plan to fix these?”

“Mashed.”

Damned good thing. Zeke turned off the burner. “How’s about if we work while we talk?” Without waiting for her assent, he washed his hands and opened the fridge to grab milk and butter. “Where’s your masher?”

She jumped up and opened a drawer. Zeke grabbed the utensil, grinned at her, and said, “I hope you don’t mind. I can’t sit still in the kitchen.”

She smiled and shrugged. “Have at it. I’m a disaster waiting to happen.”

While Natalie fixed a salad, Zeke cut the chicken into paper-thin slices and created an Alfredo sauce from scratch, which he served over both the chicken and the mashed potatoes. He enjoyed himself immensely, talking nonstop, which was a rarity for him. His brothers laughingly said that he was a man of few words, but around Natalie, he had plenty to say. They discussed gardening, horses, the employee turnover at his business and hers, the alfalfa crop in her father’s fields, and different ways to fix chicken.