Caught in the Act (The Davenports) (3 page)

“Welcome to the Dyersport Museum and Historical Center,” the lady said, her voice cheery and polite, and sounding like it was just barely able to contain a secret she wanted desperately to share. Her hair was pulled back into a sedate bun at the base of her neck, and she wore a long dress that looked like something out of another century.

It was the same costume that had been used twenty years ago. Cat had volunteered there one day a week before she’d stopped coming up with her cousins for the summers.

“Thank you,” Cat greeted her. She gave a polite nod. “I’m Catherine Davenport Carlton. My family has a collection on exhibit here. I thought I’d stop by and see it.”

“Of course. I know who you are, Ms. Carlton. Welcome.” The woman waved a hand, motioning her closer. “It’s a pleasure to have you here. I’d heard you were in town.”

Cat nodded. She’d assumed word had gotten around. She held up the boxes in her hands. “I brought doughnuts.”

“Ah. From Lily’s Bakery.” The woman patted her stomach, which was not flat by any means. “I started there this morning myself.” Her eyes glowed as she took in the boxes, as if someone had plopped a cake piled high with frosting down right in front of her and told her it was all for her. She gave Cat a wink. “But that was over an hour ago.”

Cat laughed. She already liked this woman.

“My name is Louisa. Let’s put those in the break room, then we’ll find Janet. She’s the owner. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to show you around.”

“Sounds perfect, Louisa. Thank you so much.”

As Cat trailed behind the other woman, she took in everything her gaze could seek out. From the outside, the museum looked smaller than it really was. Inside there were hallways and rooms stretched out in every direction. She peeked into the rooms as they passed, running her gaze over centuries worth of treasures she couldn’t wait to explore. She wasn’t a history fanatic, but when it came to the country’s story, she found most everything about it intriguing.

Louisa led her to a small break room in the back of the building, and then grinning, took out a glazed doughnut for herself. She held it on a napkin, and Cat could tell she was fighting the urge to dig in.

“Please,” Cat encouraged. “Go ahead. That batch just came out of the fryer.”

“I know,” Louisa whimpered. “I can tell from the smell.”

Before Cat could say anything else, Louisa chomped into the sugary treat and let out an unladylike moan. Cat couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of pure bliss on the woman’s face.

In fact, it looked so sinful that she found herself plucking out a doughnut as well. She normally stuck to a sensible diet since extra carbs threatened to do their best to make her wider, but heck, she was on vacation. Wasn’t the old saying that calories didn’t count when on vacation?

That was the story she was going with.

She bit into the pastry and her eyes went wide, locking on to the older woman’s. Louisa laughed gleefully. The doughnut was pure sin. Her hips were most definitely going to have issues after spending an entire month here.

Both women collapsed into laughter as they shoved their mouths full of the delicious treat. “Had I known what those would taste like,” Cat began when she had her mouth empty once again, “I might not have bought them. I can’t imagine how I’ll exist without one every day.”

“Tell me about it.” Louisa took one last, longing look at the open box before closing the lid and shaking her head. She patted her rounded figure. “Good thing there’s plenty of room in this dress. I can tell you, it’s already about three-quarters full of Lily’s doughnuts, as it is. Just wait until you try the Boston cream–filled ones.”

Cat groaned at the thought. She might have to add running to her morning yoga routine simply to continue fitting into the clothes she’d brought with her. And nothing got her running unless something with big claws was chasing her.

But then, maybe if she ran with a certain hot body and cute butt . . .

Nah. She’d do better to watch from the deck . . . then welcome him back with a shower.

And suddenly her body temperature shot up again. Dang, she really had to stop thinking about that man.

But it’s been four years!
her body protested.

Yeah, and she wasn’t the type for a hot, torrid affair.

Unfortunately.

She was, instead, a sensible, responsible mother.

A Davenport.

They rinsed the glaze from their fingers, and Louisa led the way out of the small room.

“Janet McMillan is our owner,” Louisa began, speaking with her hands as well as her mouth. “She was with our group of students earlier, welcoming them for the summer program, but they should be in with our resident historian now. He’s a doctor of history at the college here in town but always takes time to teach a weekly class with the students during the summer. Not much for chitchat,” Louisa muttered under her breath, “but sure is a looker.”

She fanned her face as if having a heat stroke before resuming her monologue about the different programs offered for the children. They continued through the maze of hallways, Louisa’s hands swishing back and forth with her words. When she got to the back wall, she turned right, but sounds from the room on their left caught Cat’s attention.

She glanced in to find a man with his back to her, short dark hair haphazardly spiked in a way that didn’t look intentional, addressing a roomful of enthralled five- or six-year-olds. Cat stopped, stunned. She’d never seen kids of that age sit so quietly. Certainly not her own kids. And especially not for a history lesson.

Glancing at the teacher, she watched as he interacted with the children. He addressed each personally when they raised their small hands, taking the time to make sure they felt special, and making a game out of everything he was teaching them.

He was good.

A sweet little girl with dark curls and big brown eyes raised her hand and gave a shy smile when he looked her way. Instead of simply asking what her question was, the teacher—she had to assume this was the doctor of history that Louisa had mentioned—squatted to address the little girl.

As his jeans molded to his crouched form, Cat made a strangled noise in the back of her throat.
That ass!

She would recognize that rear anywhere. Hadn’t she been watching it for days?

She turned to go, bumping into Louisa—who’d somehow suddenly gone quiet and was standing right next to her. Her eyes were focused on the exact thing Cat had been watching. Cat blushed when the older woman gave her a knowing smile. Apparently age didn’t keep a woman from enjoying a man’s backside when such a fine specimen presented itself.

Cat couldn’t help it. She turned back to the view.

“What can I do for you, Amy?” the man asked the little girl, his smooth, deep voice sending a round of shivers through Cat’s body. She wanted to get to know this man.

For the next three weeks.

The girl pointed directly at Cat. “There’s a woman here,” she said in a loud whisper.

Ah, crud.

Cat whirled around again, intent on leaving, but Louisa remained in her way. Instead of stepping back, Louisa gave a polite, almost demure smile and nodded toward the room behind Cat.

“Mrs. Catherine Carlton.” Louisa’s voice took on the same I’ve-got-a-secret tone it had welcomed Cat into the building with. “Please let me introduce you to Dr. Hollister.”

Cat froze. She felt her expression go flat as she stared at Louisa. She had to be joking. But then, how would the other woman know the name Hollister would mean anything to her? Cat swallowed.

The entire back of her body tingled as if someone had run a roller of sharp tacks over it. It couldn’t possibly be him. Not after all this time. In this same town?

He wasn’t even from here.

With dread settling low in her stomach, she slowly turned. Her gaze caught at his waist first. He was trim, and from the tight gray T-shirt tucked into his jeans, she could see that he was all muscle. She forced her eyes higher as saliva disappeared from her mouth. It couldn’t be Brody.

Her breath stopped when her eyes hit the dark-stubbled jaw. She did not want to look any farther.

Because, no. She did not want to be standing there lusting after Brody Hollister.

Three more inches and a long rush of air escaped her. Those eyes. She could never forget the eyes of the man she’d given her virginity to. Even if they had aged almost twenty years.

Vibrant green irises stared back at her from behind trendy black frames as if not at all surprised to see her. But then, he lived there. He probably
wasn’t
surprised to see her. In fact, he’d probably been aware that she’d been in town for days.

Living right next door to him.

Hot anger suddenly shot through her. The man could have at least walked the thirty feet to her door and said hello.

She pressed her lips together as she seared him with her gaze.

“Brody,” she finally said, her voice tight. “It’s been a while.”

CHAPTER THREE

W
ELL THAT ANSWERED
one question, Brody thought. The woman had had no clue whom she’d been staring at for the last five mornings. The shock in her eyes was not faked. Nor was the undisguised lack of excitement at finding him standing in front of her.

All of this left the question of exactly why she’d been watching him if she hadn’t known who he was. It also suggested that she didn’t know who his brother was, after all.

It was almost too hard to believe.

The daughter of his biological father’s nemesis showed up next door, gawked at him through binoculars every morning, and she had no ulterior motive?

He didn’t buy it. She had to be faking.

He took in her glass-blue eyes and the pink tint high on her cheeks. She was a darned good actress if she hadn’t known.

“I . . . uh . . .” Louisa’s stumbling words caught his attention. She was looking back and forth between them, confusion marring her face. “I guess you two know each other?” she finally asked.

Brody’s gaze met Cat’s. They nodded simultaneously.

“We know each other,” he said. “Though it’s been a long time.”

Cat nodded again, the anger he’d seen flash across her face softening back into surprise. “Long time,” she muttered.

And then her gaze skittered away.

Her lack of eye contact intrigued him, and he took the moment to study her appearance. Her makeup was just right: applied with a light hand but enough to come across as professional. Her hair, with its wide band perfectly matching her top and shoes, didn’t have a single flyaway strand.

And her stance screamed that she was important—only not so much as to not fit in with the locals. She wore her Davenport air, and from everything he’d seen over the last two decades, she should be standing there with a high level of confidence.

However, she was still focusing on anything other than him.

And then he got it. She hadn’t been spying on him for the last five days. She’d been ogling.

Him.

This brought a broad grin to his face. It had been nineteen years since he’d seen her. And yeah, he knew that people checked him out. He took care of himself. According to gossip at the college, he was a “hottie.” But to have Cat think so. After all this time. The very idea sent a rush of hot pleasure through his body.

And he could see it on her face when she peeked up at him once more. Her chin tilted stubbornly in the air. Catherine Davenport had just figured out that the guy she had the hots for was the very boy who’d once fumbled his way into her panties.

And she lived right next door to him.

The summer suddenly looked a whole lot brighter.

“Mr. Hollister,” a high-pitched voice said at his side. A small hand yanked on his belt loop, and in the next instant, multiple hands yanked on multiple belt loops, with additional “Mr. Hollisters” thrown in.

Brody looked down. He was surrounded by every kid who’d been sitting perfectly quiet only two minutes earlier. Not that he couldn’t handle them when they weren’t sitting quietly, they’d just caught him off guard. It would be only a matter of getting everyone calmed back down, and things would be fine.

He pried Amy’s tiny hand off his jeans while ignoring Cat still standing in the doorway. “What can I do for you, Amy?”

“Can the woman stay?” the girl asked.

“Yeah!” Fourteen other kids shouted the word in unison and began bouncing up and down, almost as one entity. “Let the woman stay,” they chanted. “Let the woman stay.”

A soft chime sounded overhead, and Louisa mumbled something about the front door. She was gone before Brody could ask for help.

Amy tugged on his belt loop again. “Mr. Hollister.”

“Yes, Amy?” Once again, he pried small fingers from the denim.

“I need to pee.”

Oh geez.

Brody looked around, panicked, feeling suddenly out of control. He did not want to ask Cat for help. There was a certainty in him that if he let her in, even a millimeter, she would quickly become more than a pretty neighbor to secretly fixate on.

He shoved the thought from his mind. She may be next door, and he may still want her—no matter how they’d ended—but it didn’t mean he had to act on it. Even if one glance at her in close proximity had him thinking that he wanted to peel that innocent-looking white skirt from her body and see what she looked like in a teeny-tiny pair of bikinis.

It had nothing to do with her personally. It had simply been a while.

And men had needs.

“How about we all make a bathroom run?” he suggested. He stood tall and swept his gaze over the children. “Line up.” He motioned with his arms, each drawing out a line the kids should step to. “Boys on one side, girls on the other.”

Cat entered the room.

She reached out a hand for Amy’s. “I’ll take the girls.”

“There’s no need,” Brody started. He grabbed Amy’s hand before Cat could. “I can handle it.”

Sculpted blonde eyebrows rose before him. “So can I.”

She stared at him, and it was as if nineteen years slipped away into nothing. Something had happened that summer that he’d never been able to replicate with another woman. Not even the one he’d been engaged to.

And it seemed to be happening again whether he liked it or not.

All of a sudden, he felt like the geeky teenager he’d once been. She’d been so out of his league. A Davenport. A year older. She’d had a license, for Christ’s sake.

Yet she’d been drawn to him, too. She’d become his best friend during those weeks. He would have followed her anywhere.

Fine.
He silently relented. He narrowed his eyes at her as he released Amy’s hand.
But I didn’t ask for your help.

Shocker.

He’d been proud even then. No father, a single, struggling mother. He’d needed to be on top of his game for the scholarships he sought.

Cat had needed to be pristine for her family’s reputation.

All of that had disappeared on their last day together.

Cat pasted on her fake, public smile now and proceeded to ignore him. She glowed down at the line of waiting girls. Each of them tittered in front of her as if in the presence of a princess. “Let’s make it a game,” she suggested in a secretive voice. “I’ll be the mama duck, and each of you are my ducklings. That means you have to hold on to your duckling sister in front of you.” She showed them how with one arm outstretched toward Amy’s shoulder. “And stay in a single-file line.”

The girls solemnly nodded and then assembled behind their leader, each with one hand on the girl in front of her. As they filed out of the room, the occasional soft
quack
could be heard coming from the hallway. Brody couldn’t help but smile.

When the last one disappeared out the door, he realized that he stood in the middle of five silent boys. All of them—including him—had fallen under Cat’s spell and were now staring awestruck in the direction she’d gone, tongues practically lolling out of their mouths.

Terrific. Nothing had changed. She had a way about her.

He looked down at Dylan, the oldest of the boys, who had lifted his head and was studying Brody intently. A quizzical expression was etched on the boy’s face.

“She’s pretty,” Dylan said innocently.

Brody nodded. “Yes, she is.” She had only gotten prettier since he’d last seen her.

“I like her,” the boy stated.

It didn’t take long to figure that out about Cat. Everyone liked her. Dread settled in Brody’s gut. He may have been only fifteen before, but she’d broken his heart in two.

I like her, too.

“And . . . action.”

Brody watched the scene act out on the stage in front of him while listening to Clyde Reynolds, the director, give suggestions and make adjustments as needed. At the same time, Brody took notes. Everything was coming together exactly as he’d envisioned. Only a couple of points to discuss with Clyde and they’d be good to go.

This year’s lead actress was the best they’d ever had.

He could almost feel success closing in on him. It would be the tenth year he’d written a play for the small theater, and though last year’s production had made a lot of noise in the press—all the way down to Boston—he’d still not managed to get attention from anyone in New York.

This year, though. This year, after many e-mails and calls, and still a few more e-mails, he’d finally gotten a commitment from a producer. The man would be up, himself, on opening night. Which was only two days away.

This could be it. Finally, he might see one of his plays adapted for Broadway. The thought was enough to bring him to his feet.

“Cut!” the director yelled.

The cast broke for a much-needed break, and Brody’s mother took the side steps, heading straight for him. She had a bit part, as she always did, and she loved it. She grinned from ear to ear. Though she still lived in the same New Hampshire town she’d grown up in, still taught political science at the community college there, she always made time for Brody’s plays. She tried out every year. She enjoyed being in them as much as he enjoyed seeing her there.

“This one is good,” she said as she reached his side. She grabbed his hand and squeezed. “I can feel it. You’ll get it this year.”

His mom, his biggest supporter. Brody shot her a wry look. “You say that every year.”

“And I mean it every year. But this one . . .” She broke off, looking around the small, dimly lit space. Her pride shone bright. “This one is different, Brody. The humor is so much more sophisticated than before. And that lead actress is phenomenal. Maybe when they offer you a deal they’ll offer her one, as well.”

The humor had always been his sticking point. As a history professor, it wasn’t far-fetched to say he’d been called dry a time or two in his life. But that hadn’t stopped him. He’d wanted to write screenplays since he’d been a kid. And he wanted to write funny ones.

He actually had been writing them for as long as he could remember, only no one had known about them until ten years ago. Except for Cat. But he doubted she remembered the dog-eared copy of his first attempt.

But ten years ago, when he’d gone home after a long day at his Georgetown teaching position, determined to set a wedding date with his then-fiancée, his life had changed on the spot. Instead of looking forward to a wedding, he’d packed his bags and moved out. At the end of the semester he’d headed north for the last time. He hadn’t belonged in DC. Too many people in the town were only looking for an angle. How best to use each and every person they met. That’s a lesson he should have learned when he was sixteen.

The job here at St. Mary’s had practically been handed to him. Having graduated from the small, prestigious school at the top of his class, they’d eagerly welcomed him on board. Next thing he’d known, he’d swallowed his pride and had approached the head of the theater department. He’d wanted to know how much work he had ahead of him to become a viable playwright.

The following summer, he’d convinced the local playhouse to put on one of his plays. He’d wowed them with uniqueness and sophistication, while at the same time keeping it family friendly for the entire community to enjoy. Clyde had been coming back to him ever since.

They would love for him to write more than one play a year, but he didn’t want it as a career. Teaching was his career. But he did intend to fulfill his dream. He would someday see one of his plays on Broadway. There was no reason he couldn’t do both.

And his mother was right. All the pieces were lining up for this one to be it.

“So . . .” his mother said. She leaned back in the chair she’d settled into, going for nonchalant, but Brody knew her well. She had something on her mind. He lowered into the seat beside her.

He knew exactly what she was about to bring up. And he knew why.

Cat.

“About Catherine Carlton being back in town,” his mother finally finished.

“Drop it, Mom.” His tone was clear. This was not a topic she needed to worry about.

She gave him an unconcerned shrug. “I can’t.”

“You can. Just close your mouth and say nothing more.”

“Brody, you have to talk about it. You haven’t seen her in years. And you were so crazy in love with that girl. You came home walking on air that summer.”