Carolina Heat Read online

  “I’m just saying you’ve been gone for three months. You didn’t shoot me an email to tell me you were coming home, and you don’t bother to call me until the services of my truck were requested.” Ashby leaned on the tailgate and gave Mark a not-too playful punch in the arm. “Makes a person feel disposable.”

  “Are you insane? I mean seriously, have you been clinically diagnosed? You know damn well I only flew in a week early because Clay asked me to cover his carriage tours. He told your mother when she visited him in the hospital, which means your mom turned around and told you practically within the hour. For crying out loud, I’ve been home two days and haven’t even unpacked yet.”

  “Simmer down.” Ashby squirted his water bottle directly into Mark’s face, laughing uproariously as the other man swore and spluttered. “I met Jillian for breakfast.”

  “Whoa—subject change. You and Jilly? Since when do you two do breakfast?” Mark was not a morning person. Better not to engage with anyone, not even his closest friends, until much coffee had been guzzled.

  “She moved back to town right after you left. We get together every week, split a pizza or grab some takeout.”

  “It sounds, uh, weird. Sounds like you guys are dating.”

  Ashby snorted. “You’re crazy. We’re hanging out like we did in high school.”

  “No, in high school all three of us hung out. And back then Jillian didn’t look like a Victoria’s Secret model. Last time I saw her she almost popped out of her dress. Who knew she’d turn out so gorgeous?”

  Ashby took a long pull of his water. “Too bad she’s practically our little sister.”

  “Yeah, key word being practically. You’ve got eyes, Ash. The girl is smoking hot. No wonder you’re dating her.”

  “We’re not dating!” he denied. “And if you think she’s so hot, why don’t you ask her out?”

  “Hey, I would never poach your girl.”

  “She’s not my girl!” he exploded.

  Mark punched him on the arm. Now they were even. “Ash, I’m yanking your chain, and you made it pretty damn easy. It’s cool you guys hang out.”

  “Not funny. I don’t think of her as a girl. She’s one of us.”

  Mark gave him a long, measuring look. “Right. One of us, but with a killer body.”

  “Drop it already!”

  “Whatever you say. What’s the deal with breakfast?”

  “She loaded me down with errands for her stupid ball. I complained about all the driving around she lined up for me.” He downed what was left in the bottle in one big gulp. “When I mentioned on top of it all you needed my truck today too, she saw it as a chance to wriggle off the hook.”

  “Jilly always was good at slipping out of trouble. Usually by dumping the blame on someone else, if I recall.”

  Ashby shrugged. “Why mess with a proven track record? Anyway, she told me what to say to make you feel like a low down jerk, and we took bets on how long you’d play into it.”

  Aha. That explained Ashby going nuts with the ‘feelings’ and their friendship. “I’ve had about enough of people getting their yucks out of almost drowning me,” Mark grumbled as he wiped his face again.

  “It was fun to spout all that relationship crap and watch your face turn ten shades of red. Have to admit Jillian won the bet. I thought you’d have told me to shut up way sooner.”

  “Believe me, I’m regretting it now.”

  “Did they confiscate your sense of humor when you went through Customs?”

  “Very funny.” They climbed into the truck and barreled down the highway.

  “Who else is throwing water at you? It’s undeniably my duty as your best friend, but I’m happy to give a hand to anyone else who catches you off guard with the business end of a hose.”

  “Believe me, the lady doesn’t need any help.”

  Ashby hooted with laughter. “A woman got you? What’d you do to deserve it?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Doubt it,” Ashby shot back. “What happened to your famous charm with the ladies? Losing your touch? Joining the ranks of us mere mortals?”

  “All right, enough. I don’t have to take this kind of abuse from you when I can get it from a pretty redhead.”

  “A redhead? Okay, I’m interested. Now spill.”

  Mark ground his palms into his eyes. “There isn’t much to tell. I met a girl at the airport, she showed up on my tour yesterday, and we walked around for a while afterwards.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen, the award for most boring pick up story ever goes to Mark Dering!”

  “Very funny. I told you there wasn’t much to it.”

  Ashby parked in Mark’s driveway and turned to face him. “Sorry, but you’re wrong. I’ve never seen you so twisted up after spending what—a couple of hours with a girl? Something’s going on.”

  “Yeah.” That was the crazy thing. “I barely know this woman, but I can’t stop thinking about her. You haven’t even heard the strangest part. She lives in New York. She’s only here for a few days on work. Which means we have exactly less than a snowball’s chance in hell together. Why am I wasting my time thinking about her?”

  They got out of the truck in silence and lugged the box onto his patio. Half an hour later (and after several arguments about proper placement to avoid lighting the magnolia tree on fire along with the burgers) the barbecue was set up. Mark got them a couple of beers and they relaxed into the matching green Adirondack chairs.

  “Where were you for the last three months?” Ashby asked.

  “What?”

  Ashby took a long swig of beer. “Humor me. Play along.”

  “Fine. I was in Cairo.”

  “And where were you last summer?”

  He’d have to pull out his passport to keep up with this conversation. “I don’t remember. I think it was San Francisco. What’s your point?”

  “You barely live in Charleston as it is. Sure, you have a house here, but it’s mostly a place for your bills to land. Meanwhile, here’s the first woman in years who manages to tie you up in knots in less than a day. What difference does it make where she lives? I say go for it.”

  It was an interesting point of view. Mark just wasn’t convinced a couple of hours made it worth planning to rearrange his life. And wondered why Ashby was so willing to ship him off again. “You really worried I’m going to distract all the Charleston hotties from you?”

  “No man, I’m serious. And for the record, nothing distracts a woman once I set my radar on her. But you have a house, a job you like—seems like the only piece of the puzzle you’re missing is the right woman.”

  Mark took a long drink from his bottle, and then another. “Guess Jillian really did underestimate us. Today’s apparently our day to bond and share. And I’ll take your advice on one condition.”

  “Which is?”

  “We never speak of this again.”

  Annabelle sprawled across the huge four poster bed. A magnolia scented breeze wafted from her balcony through the white lace curtains. It was a relaxing, heady scent, and she closed her eyes for a moment to fully enjoy it. The minutes ticked by until the discomfort of being fully clothed roused her. It was a huge effort to tug off her shorts and undo her shirt. She unfastened her ponytail and tousled her hair, the curls extra springy from the humidity. With her last ounce of energy, she nudged a pillow under her aching feet.

  On the way back to her room, she’d constructed a mental list of goals for the evening: undress, nap, dine on Mrs. Haley’s sure-to-be-sublime roast chicken, and then call it a night. Simple pleasures, but she knew she deserved the night of rest. Her day had been comprised of three restored mansions, two more museums, a dungeon, four churches, and ended with a boat ride out to Fort Sumter. Far too much for one day, she concluded wearily. But the fire of determination to find Vanessa burned hot and strong, and pushed her forward every day.

  “Excuse me, Miss Annabelle?” Ruth Haley peered around the half open door. Annabelle tugged the
sheet up until she was decently covered, and then bade Mrs. Haley enter. The older woman clucked her tongue in reprimand.

  “Child, you look all tuckered out! I know I told you to come back and nap in the heat of the day. After all, the whole state does it. If you took my advice, you wouldn’t feel so poorly now.” She fussed about Annabelle like a mother hen as she spoke, plumping the pillows and straightening the quilt.

  “I appreciate your concern and advice, truly,” Annabelle said, with a soft touch to Ruth’s hand. “But sometimes a nap isn’t on my agenda.”

  “You make sure you squeeze one in tomorrow. I can’t have my guests wandering about the city looking as exhausted as you do. It’s bad for business. And I’ve bragged to almost everyone about the famous writer I have staying here. The ladies at the garden club were mighty impressed, and the Daughters of Charleston want to know if you might mention us in your article. But I don’t think you could write a word, looking as purely wrung out as you do.”

  It was nice to be mothered every once in a while. “I’ll take a quick nap before dinner. It should make me presentable enough to mingle with the other guests.”

  Mrs. Haley shook her head. “Now, you would surely disappoint your gentleman caller. On the other hand, it might be wise…”

  “A gentleman caller? Do you mean there’s a man downstairs waiting for me?”

  “Why yes, dear. That’s what I came up here to tell you.”

  “Well, why didn’t you?” This Southern habit of chatting for five minutes before getting to the point grated on Annabelle’s nerves. She jumped out of bed and grabbed her recently discarded shorts. Her mind raced with possibilities. Maybe Mr. Shaw had remembered something else from his last conversation with Tad.

  “Land sakes alive, I just did!” Mrs. Haley defended herself. “Now dear,” she laid a restraining hand on Annabelle’s arm, “don’t you have a pretty dress to put on? Your young man looks so nice.”

  “Why? Do you know who it is?” She shifted gears and grabbed a sundress. If whoever was downstairs was in a suit, it could be the police, or even the FBI. They ended up with missing persons’ cases fairly often. If anything had developed, Ralph Paxton would naturally tell them to contact her.

  Mrs. Haley smiled enigmatically. “Certainly I know, but I surely don’t intend to spoil the surprise.”

  Annabelle bent over and gave a quick fluff to her curls. It must be the FBI, or Mrs. Haley wouldn’t be acting so strangely. She slipped into sandals and grabbed her purse, complete with her ever-present notebook.

  Mrs. Haley preceded her down the hallway, and paused at the top of the stairs. “Don’t dawdle now; your young man is waiting.” She swept her arm towards the foot of the stairs. Stunned, Annabelle stopped dead in her tracks. It was definitely not an FBI agent in the foyer.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Propped casually against the door with long legs crossed at the ankles was Mark. But it was a vastly different Mark. This man was elegantly attired in a pale gray summer suit accented with a stylish mauve tie. Annabelle hastily descended the staircase, caught completely off guard. Mark met her at the bottom step.

  “For you, Miss Annabelle.” His eyes held hers as he produced a nosegay from behind his back. She took it and buried her face in the fluffy white blossoms. Her exhaustion disappeared with one whiff of their heady scent.

  “Carolina jasmine,” Mark said, in answer to her unspoken question. “I know people always associate magnolias with the South, but…”

  “They smell wonderful.”

  “Consider it background material for your article.” She gave him a quizzical look. “It’s the state flower. Seemed appropriate. I almost brought the state bird, but after careful consideration I decided flowers would make less of a mess.”

  Heat flushed Annabelle’s cheeks. It was one of the most thoughtful gestures she’d ever received. A sharp pang of guilt speared through her at the continual need to lie to this man.

  “Flowers and spiffy duds. Exactly what do you plan to accomplish by this show of suaveness?” She hoped her brusque question covered how she was melting on the inside like a gooey chocolate chip cookie.

  “At the most, I hope to spend the evening with you. At the very least,” he said wryly, “I hope to be able to coax another smile out of hiding.”

  That did it. She couldn’t mask any longer the effect he had on her, and rewarded him with a brilliant smile. “I like a man who comes right out and states his intentions. I also like the flowers very much.”

  Mrs. Haley bustled forward with a crystal vase. “Let me take those. I’ll put them in your room, Miss Annabelle.”

  “Thank you.” Her eyes never left Mark’s. He crooked his arm in an unspoken invitation. Still smiling, she linked her arm with his.

  “Does this mean you’ll join me for dinner?” he asked.

  “You did put on a suit for me. There isn’t a woman alive who could ignore the charm of that gesture.”

  “Stop teasing the boy,” Mrs. Haley scolded from the doorway.

  Annabelle picked up on the warmth of familiarity in her voice. “How well do you two know each other?”

  Mrs. Haley beamed fondly at Mark. “He’s the second son I never asked for. He’s been coming around since he was big enough to steal my cookies off the counter.”

  “Ashby Haley’s been my best friend forever,” Mark said, with an engaging grin. “He introduced me to the wonder of his mother’s cookies one day after kindergarten. I’ve been hooked ever since.”

  “Well, I can tell you right now you won’t get sweets from me tonight. Miss Annabelle deserves something fancier than cookies and milk at the kitchen table.”

  “I love how you talk about me as if I’m not even here,” Annabelle commented, tongue firmly in cheek.

  “Don’t be silly. If you weren’t here, who would have dinner with me?” Mark opened the front door. “No more reminiscences, Mrs. Haley. Don’t want to miss our reservations. And don’t wait up!”

  Annabelle dissolved in a fit of laughter on the porch. “I feel like I’m back in high school. I haven’t heard that since the night of my senior prom. Like an idiot, my date showed up in a leather jacket instead of a tux. My father was not amused.”

  “Did he still let you go?”

  “Reluctantly. I had to be home an hour earlier than my usual curfew, though.”

  “Sounds like Dad was a real stickler. Oh, watch your step.” Mark steadied her elbow as her heel slipped between two cobblestones.

  “Thanks,” Annabelle said. “I guess twenty-first-century shoes don’t work well with seventeenth-century roads.”

  “Will you survive if we walk to dinner? Just a few blocks? I’ll hang on to you the whole way,” Mark reassured her.

  “Oh, I’m game. I prefer walking. It gives me a chance to soak up the flavor of a city. I can imagine what it’s like to really live there when I roam the streets. And of course,” she patted his arm, “it never hurts to have a tour guide as my escort.” Annabelle’s steps were lighthearted as they made their way into the heart of the historic district.

  In one of their last conversations Vanessa had lovingly but firmly scolded her.

  “All you ever do is work. Even now you’re at the top of your field—you get your choice of any assignment, and still all you do is work. You need to learn to enjoy the freedom success brings.”

  “But I enjoy my work!” Annabelle protested.

  “No,” Vanessa contradicted, “you bury yourself in it to the exclusion of enjoying the rest that life has to offer. It’s not healthy. How many dates did you go on last month?”

  “Uh-uh, not a fair question. I traveled for three of those weeks.”

  “When was the last time you spent a Saturday afternoon hanging out with friends?”

  Annabelle was smug with triumph. “Gotcha! You met me for coffee in Paris last weekend.”

  “Annabelle, you were on your way to the airport, and I had an hour before catching a train to Milan. A chance meeting i
n the middle of Europe isn’t a quality social encounter.”

  Too bad. It had been the highlight of her week. “I imagine there are people who would find sitting in a Parisian café with their best friend a nice way to spend an hour.”

  “Don’t be snide. You’re dodging my point, and you know it. Okay, try something simpler. Spring is here—have you stopped in the middle of a sidewalk to sniff the apple blossoms?” Vanessa shook her head sadly. “I love you, which means I worry about you. I don’t want you to wake up at fifty, alone in bed with only your laptop to keep you warm, and wonder what happened to the best years of your life.”

  Annabelle was moved by her friend’s words. “Believe it or not, recently I’ve started to worry about that exact thing. I promise I’ll try to relax my schedule a little. Maybe even get a cat to warm the other side of my bed.”

  “I’m serious, Annabelle. Promise me you’ll make every effort to live a little.”

  Annabelle shook her head to clear the memories. When she found her, Vanessa would be thrilled to hear about tonight’s date. Going to dinner with a near stranger because he brought flowers—well, it ranked pretty high on the spontaneity scale.

  “I suppose it’s too late in the season for apple blossoms?” she asked Mark.

  “You’d have to head north a few states for those.” He cocked his head. “Why? Do you have a hankering for apples?”

  “Just looking for something to stop and sniff. Silly of me, I guess.”

  “Not at all. The air here’s thick with the scent of flowers. It must be a drastic change of pace for someone from the concrete jungle of New York.”

  “Something like that,” she agreed as he led her into a restaurant. In short order they were seated by a large window overlooking Market Street. After they ordered and the wine was poured, Mark lifted his glass.

  “To chance meetings.”

  Annabelle smiled as she touched her glass to his. “How lovely. I never know what to say in a toast. I end up completely tongue-tied.”

  “You?” Mark made a comical face of mock surprise. “At a loss for words? Hard to believe.”