LAST SEEN... Page 2
Adam had seen his aunt and uncle's utter grief over losing their only son. Kurt's death had devastated them. A grandchild would be a gift, a legacy of the son they had lost.
But Adam didn't intend to tell them of the child's existence until he'd assessed the whole situation. He loved his aunt and uncle, who had raised him since the age of eleven when his own parents had died in a freak small plane accident. He would not invite more pain into the lives of the couple who had raised him.
Kurt's women had always been beautiful, but they'd also always been extremely dysfunctional. Some of them, aware of Kurt's family money, had been nothing more than gold diggers, others had been mentally unbalanced, or on drugs, or just plain needy.
Adam sighed and took another sip of beer, his thoughts returning to Breanna. It had instantly been obvious she was of Native American descent. High cheekbones gave her face a proud strength, but her long-lashed, liquid brown eyes had hinted at vulnerability.
Her long black hair had been tightly confined in a braid and he'd found himself wondering what she'd look like with those rich, thick strands loose and flowing around her shoulders.
Her skimpy clothing had done little to hide a lean, sweet, killer of a body. He frowned and downed the last of his beer.
"Damn you, Kurt," he repeated. He'd spent most of his life cleaning up Kurt's messes and he had a feeling that this was going to be the monster of messes.
He intended to hang around here for a week or two and see exactly what kind of a woman Breanna James was before he told his uncle Edward and aunt Anita that they had a grandchild.
His biggest fear at the moment was that somehow, someway he was going to have to figure out a way to tell them that the mother of their grandchild was a prostitute.
* * *
Chapter 2
«^»
It was just after ten when Breanna heard a car door slam shut and her mother's voice drifting in through the open living-room window. She went to the window and moved aside the gauzy curtain to see her mother talking to Adam Spencer.
Rita Birdsong James was a short, petite woman who had never met a stranger in her life. Breanna groaned inwardly as she wondered what sort of personal information Rita was giving to her new neighbor.
When Breanna had gotten out of bed at eight, Adam Spencer had already been up and weeding the pathetically neglected flower bed in his front yard.
Breanna had spent far too long standing at her bedroom window watching him. She told herself she was observing him as a cop would any person who invaded her personal space. But it was a woman's gaze that admired the play of his arm and back muscles as he worked. It was a woman's gaze that noted how the bright sunshine teased hints of impish red into his dark brown hair.
She had whirled away from the window, irritated with herself and the stir of heat her observations had created in the pit of her stomach.
She now returned to the kitchen table and the cup of coffee she'd been enjoying, knowing her mother would come inside when she was finished chatting up Adam.
Ten minutes later, Rita flew into the kitchen, dark eyes snapping and a satisfied smile on her face. At fifty-eight years old, Rita was still a stunningly beautiful woman. Her face was smooth, unlined … as if life hadn't touched it with heartache or strife.
Her short hair was just as black as it had ever been, the cut emphasizing her defined cheekbones and generous smile. She was like a china doll in a collector's case, always perfectly made-up and elegantly dressed.
"So did you spill all the James's deep, dark family secrets?" Breanna asked.
Rita laughed and walked to the cabinet to grab a coffee cup. "I wish we had some deep, dark family secrets to spill. It would keep life interesting." She poured herself a cup of coffee, then joined Breanna at the table. "And where's my baby girl this beautiful morning?"
"With Rachel. They went to the grocery store. Rachel decided she needed a few more things for her picnic lunch this afternoon."
"It's nice to see her opening up to the idea of dating again." She raised a dark, perfectly formed brow and peered at Breanna over the rim of her coffee cup. "That's something you might consider. He's very handsome and he's not married."
"Don't even start," Breanna warned.
"He's a painter, studying Native American art. I told him all about the Cherokee Cultural Center and invited him to dinner this afternoon."
Breanna wanted to protest. She'd been looking forward to their first barbecue of the year, to a relaxing time with family and close friends. But she knew it did no good to protest. As her father, Thomas, often said, the Birdsongs were the most stubborn people in the Cherokee nation.
The sound of the front door opening halted any further conversation. "Grandma!" Maggie exclaimed as she burst into the kitchen.
"Hello, my little doe. Come give me my kiss." Rita opened her arms and Maggie climbed up on her lap.
"Look what Rachel got for me." Maggie held out a pink cord necklace; dangling from it was a plastic charm in the shape of a horse.
"She's named him Thunder and swears she's never taking him off," Rachel said as she entered the kitchen carrying a sack of groceries.
"Never taking him off?" Breanna smiled indulgently at her daughter.
"Not even to take a bath," Maggie replied. She wiggled down from Rita's lap, unable to remain confined for another moment. "I've got to show him to Mr. Bear. Mr. Bear always wanted a horse friend." With these words Maggie tore out of the kitchen, her footsteps resounding as she raced up the stairs to her bedroom.
"Ah, to have her energy," Rita exclaimed.
"Mother, you have more energy than ten Maggies put together," Breanna replied dryly.
"Your father says there are times it's quite irritating. Did I tell you I was mad at him?"
As Rita began to catalog her most recent complaints against her husband, Breanna thought of her parents' marriage.
For thirty-eight years they had shared a spirited relationship. They fought as loud and passionately as they loved … and it was obvious to anyone who spent any time in their company that they were true soul mates.
That's what Breanna had once wished for herself. The kind of love that strengthened rather than diminished with time, the kind of commitment that didn't have to be spoken aloud but was just there … in the heart … in the soul.
Her brief, disastrous marriage to Kurt had destroyed those dreams and broken her heart. Despite her mother's wish to the contrary, she had no desire to date, no desire to involve a man in her life. She and Maggie were just fine alone.
"Well, I'd better get out of here," Rita said. She stood and finished the last of her coffee. "We're haying everyone's favorite food today," she said as Breanna walked her to the front door. "I'm putting beef ribs on the grill for your father and Clay. I'm making bean bread for Savannah and grape dumplings for you."
"Sounds wonderful. What can I bring?" Breanna asked as they stepped out on her front porch.
"Your new neighbor. I told him you'd pick him up at three."
"Mother!" Breanna protested.
Rita reached up and kissed her youngest daughter on the cheek. "He's a stranger in a strange town and the Cherokee are known for their hospitality. I expect you to honor your heritage and be a gracious hostess. And I know you will."
After the two had said their goodbyes, Breanna watched her mother get into her car, then she went back into the kitchen where Rachel was putting together her picnic lunch.
She grinned at Breanna. "So, it sounds like I'm not the only one who has a date this afternoon."
"This is definitely not a date," Breanna protested and poured herself a fresh cup of coffee. "I'm merely transporting a person to my parents' home for a barbecue."
"I think your mother hopes it will be something quite different," Rachel observed as she slathered bread with mustard.
Breanna sat back down at the table and sighed. "I'm afraid my sister and brother and I have disappointed Mother when it comes to our love lives."
Breanna shook her head as she thought of her older brother. "Clay has never had a lasting relationship with anyone. He spends all his time either at a crime scene or cooped up in his lab."
"A terrible waste of hunk-hood," Rachel exclaimed.
Breanna grinned. She knew her brother was considered a hunk by most of the women in Cherokee Corners, but he was positively possessed by his work as a crime scene technician.
"It's so sad that Savannah and her husband seemed to have such a wonderful marriage and then he got killed in that car accident last year." Rachel grabbed the sliced ham from the refrigerator and continued. "And it isn't your fault that Kurt turned out to be a selfish little boy who wasn't prepared to take on the role of husband and father."
"Sometimes it feels like my fault," Breanna replied. "I should have seen the signs, I shouldn't have married him so soon after meeting him."
"And I should have seen the signs that Michael was a possessive, obsessive, brutal man, but I didn't until it was too late." Rachel touched her cheek, where a small scar puckered the skin. "I had no idea what he was capable of."
"At least he's behind bars where he belongs," Breanna said. "Unfortunately they don't put immature men in jail."
Rachel grinned. "If they did, they'd definitely need to build more jails."
"Isn't that the truth," Breanna agreed.
Later that afternoon, as Breanna dressed for the family barbecue, she thought about her brother and sister and how sad it was that none of the James siblings had been successful in their quest for happy marriages.
Savannah had come the closest, having been married to Jimmy Tallfeather for just a little over a year before tragedy had ended their marriage. The entire family had been worried about her because she still clung to her grief as jealously, as deeply as she had on the day she'd learned her husband had been stolen from her.
Maybe Adam Spencer was the man to bring Savannah back to life. Maybe that had been her mother's ultimate hope. This thought made Breanna less tense about spending any time at all in the handsome newcomer's company.
She would suffer the short drive from her own home to her parents', then introduce him to Savannah and hope for an instant love connection between the two.
* * *
At exactly quarter to three, Adam stepped out on his front porch and looked at the house next door. She was a cop, not a prostitute and the knowledge filled Adam with relief. When he'd met Breanna's mother that morning, one of the first things she'd shared with him was the fact that her family was comprised of law enforcement officials.
It would certainly be easier to tell Uncle Edward and Aunt Anita that the mother of their grandchild was a vice cop rather than a prostitute.
He was interested in learning more about the James family, who would forever be bound to him by the existence of a little girl. He wanted to see that Breanna and her daughter were okay, set up a trust fund for Kurt's daughter, then go on with his own life knowing he had cleaned up Kurt's final mess.
He sat down on the porch stoop, wondering if she would be one of those women who were perpetually late for everything. He looked down the street, breathing in the sweet scent of spring that filled the air.
Cherokee Corners had been a surprise. He'd expected a dusty little town and instead had discovered a bustling metropolis. The downtown area was built on a square, with the city buildings in the center, and unique shops and familiar chain stores surrounding them.
He'd found Breanna's home on the west side of town, only a few miles from the Cherokee Cultural Center that included a replica of a village and Cherokee life a hundred years before.
Rita Birdsong James had indicated that she spent a lot of time at the center and was actively involved in the running of the educational tourist attraction.
And he'd told her he was an artist … a painter, for crying out loud. He swiped a hand through his curly hair and sighed. He'd regretted the words the minute they had left his lips, but she'd surprised him by asking what had brought him to Cherokee Corners and what he did for a living.
Painting had sprung into his head because he'd found a half-completed paint-by-number of a Native American on horseback in the kitchen when he'd moved in. Telling Rita Birdsong James that he was an artist leaped to his lips before he'd had an opportunity to think it through.
Of course, an artist was certainly more exciting, more exotic than his real job as the owner of a small, but successful accounting firm. And he had a feeling that telling Rita that he was interested in Cherokee culture had granted him instant access to their family gathering that afternoon.
At that moment Breanna's front door opened and a little girl danced outside, followed by Breanna. Adam stood and his heart jumped into his throat as his gaze was captured by the child.
Kurt. Her long, curly brown hair was all Kurt's, as was the slender oval of her facial structure. As she smiled up at her mother, another arrow pierced through Adam as he saw the dimple that danced in one cheek … just like the dimple that had made Kurt's smile so infectious.
Breanna saw him and waved him over as she opened the driver door to her car. "Good afternoon," she said as he approached. "This is my daughter, Maggie. Maggie, this is Mr. Spencer. He's going with us to Grandma's house."
"Hi, Maggie." Adam fought the impulse to lean down and grab the child to his chest. He hadn't expected the emotions that now rolled around inside him as he continued to gaze at Kurt's child. "Mr. Spencer is kind of a mouthful. You can call me Adam."
"Okay," Maggie agreed with a bright smile. Even her eyes were all Kurt's … dark gray and sparking with life. "You want to see my horse?" She held out a necklace, where a plastic charm in the shape of a horse dangled. "His name is Thunder."
"That's a fine name for a horse," Adam replied.
"Maggie, get inside and buckle up. We need to hit the road."
As Adam got into the passenger seat, Breanna watched as her daughter buckled into the back seat, then she got in behind the steering wheel.
The shock of seeing Maggie wore off somewhat and he became conscious of Breanna's scent … a mixture of wildflowers and patchouli, slightly exotic and definitely appealing.
Her appearance was just as appealing. Her coral-colored T-shirt was a perfect foil for the darkness of her hair and her white shorts set off the rich, bronze tones of long, shapely legs.
Last night her features had been almost garish with heavy makeup. Today her face had a freshly scrubbed kind of beauty.
"Tell the truth, Adam." Kurt's voice filled his head. "You've always been jealous of my life and you've always wanted my women." Adam frowned and consciously shoved his cousin's voice out of his head.
"Thank you for letting me ride with you," he said, trying not to dwell on the fact that today her hair was down, loose and flowing and more beautiful than he'd imagined. "It was so nice of your mother to invite me."
She flashed him a quick smile as she backed out of the driveway. "If my mother had her way, all of Cherokee Corners would come to their barbecues. She loves people."
"That was obvious in the brief time I spoke with her."
"She tells me you're a painter. Would I have seen any of your work anywhere?"
Again Adam regretted his impulsive claim. "Only if you rummage through trash cans on a regular basis," he replied dryly. She laughed and a wave of pleasant heat swept through him at the sound of her melodic amusement.
"If that's the case, I hope you don't paint for a living," she replied.
"No. Actually I'm an accountant by trade. That's how I make my living." It felt good, to be able to give her this much truth.
"So what brings you to Cherokee Corners? This isn't exactly a financial center. Unfortunately this town has far too high a quota of people living in poverty."
"My office is in Kansas City. I'm not here in Cherokee Corners permanently. With tax time behind us for the year, I decided to give myself a little vacation and with
my interest in Cherokee culture and art, this seemed like the place to spend a month or two."
"Do you have any little girls or boys?" Maggie asked him from the back seat.
Adam turned and again felt that jarring burst of emotion as he looked at her. He tried to steel himself against it. The last thing he wanted was to become emotionally involved with this child and her beautiful mother. "No, honey. I'm afraid I don't. I don't have a wife or children."
"How come?" Maggie asked, her gray eyes gazing at him with open curiosity.
"That's a personal question, Maggie." Her mother replied before Adam got a chance to answer. "It isn't nice to ask personal questions."
"Oh. Is it personal to ask if he could get some kids so I'd have somebody to play with?" Maggie asked.
Breanna flashed Adam an apologetic look. "There aren't any children Maggie's age in the neighborhood and so she's always hoping somebody will move in with kids her age."
"I'm afraid I can't help you, honey," Adam said. "I don't see any kids in my life now or in the future." He turned around to look at Breanna once again. "Your mother mentioned that you all work in law enforcement."
She nodded and made a left turn at an intersection. "My father retired from the police force a year ago. He was chief of police for a number of years. My brother, Clay, works in crime scene investigations, my sister, Savannah, is a homicide cop and I work vice."
"Rather unusual, isn't it, that all of you chose that line of work?"
She shrugged. "I guess. For me, it was just a natural choice. Dad loved his work and listening to him talk about it as I was growing up, I knew very early that I was going to be a cop, too."
"Why vice?"
"Why not?" she countered. "It's a job somebody needs to do and it's where my superiors feel I'm most needed."
"You had just gotten off work last night when I met you?" he asked. She nodded and he grinned. "You make a very convincing lady of the night."
She cast him a glance that was distinctly cool. "And you almost got yourself shot as a prowler." She returned her focus out the front window.