Baby Talk and Wedding Bells

All of which made perfect, logical sense. What didn’t make any sense at all was that she found herself thinking about him anyway, and wishing he would walk through the front doors in contradiction of her logic.

She tried to push these thoughts from her mind, annoyed by her inexplicable preoccupation with a man she was undeniably attracted to but wasn’t sure she liked very much. A man who wasn’t so very different from any other member of the male species who came through the library.

Okay, that was a lie. The truth was, she’d never met anyone else quite like Braden Garrett. But there were a lot of other guys in the world—good-looking, intelligent and charming guys. Some of them even came into the library and flirted with her and didn’t regard her job as inconsequential. Rarely did she ever think about any of them after they were gone; never did she dream about any of them.

Until last night.

What was wrong with her? Why was she so captivated by a guy she’d met only once? A man who wasn’t only gorgeous and rich but a single father undoubtedly still grieving for the wife he’d lost only a year earlier.

Because even if he was interested in her, and even if it turned out that he wasn’t as shallow and judgmental as her initial impressions indicated him to be, she had no intention of getting involved with a man who was still in love with another woman. No way. She’d been there, done that already, and she still had the bruises on her heart to prove it.

So it was a good thing she would probably never see Braden Garrett again. A very good thing.

Or so she thought until she glanced up to offer assistance to the patron who had stopped at her desk—and found herself looking at the subject of her preoccupation.

Her heart skipped a beat and then raced to catch up. She managed a smile, determined not to let him know how he affected her. “Good morning, Mr. Garrett. Are you looking for some reading material today?”

He shook his head. “Returning some smuggled merchandise.” He set a red engine on top of her desk. “Apparently Saige loves the trains more than I realized.”

It wasn’t the first toy to go missing from the playroom, and she knew it wouldn’t be the last. Thankfully, the “borrowed” items were usually returned by the embarrassed parents of the pint-size pickpockets when they were found.

“Universal toddler rules,” she acknowledged. “If it’s in my hand, it’s mine.”

“Sounds like the kind of wisdom that comes from experience,” he noted, his gaze shifting to her left hand. “Do you have kids?”

She shook her head and ignored the emptiness she felt inside whenever she thought about the family she might have had by now if she’d married Joel instead of giving him back his ring. “No,” she said lightly. “But I’ve spent enough time in the children’s section to have learned a lot.”

“What about a husband?” he prompted. “Fiancé? Boyfriend?”

No, no and no. But she kept those responses to herself, saying only, “Thank you for returning the train, Mr. Garrett.”

“I’ll interpret that as a no,” he said, with just the hint of a smile curving his lips.

And even that hint was potent enough to make her knees weak, which irritated her beyond reason. “You should interpret it as none of your business,” she told him.

Her blunt response had no effect on his smile. “Except that if you’d had a husband, fiancé or boyfriend, you would have said so,” he pointed out reasonably. “And since there’s no husband, fiancé or boyfriend, maybe you’ll let me buy you a cup of coffee and apologize for whatever I did that put your back up.”

Before she could think of a response to that, Megan hurried up to the desk. “I’m sorry I got caught up with Mrs. Lynch and made you late for your break, Cassie.”

“That’s okay,” she said. “I wanted to finish logging these new books into the system before I left the desk.”

“I can do that,” her coworker offered helpfully.

Cassie thanked Megan, though she was feeling anything but grateful. Because as much as she was desperate for a hit of caffeine, she suspected that Braden would tag along on her break and his presence would make her jittery for a different reason.

“I guess you’re free for that coffee, then?” he prompted.

“I’m going across the street for my break,” she confirmed, unlocking the bottom drawer of the desk to retrieve her purse. “And while I may not be a corporate executive, I can afford to buy my own coffee.”

“I’m sure you can,” he agreed. “But if I pay for it, you might feel obligated to sit down with me to drink it.”

And apparently her determination to remain unaffected was no match for his effortless charm, because she felt a smile tug at her own lips as she replied, “Only if there’s a brownie with the coffee.”

* * *

Growing up a Garrett in Charisma, Braden wasn’t accustomed to having to work so hard for a woman’s attention. And while he was curious about the reasons for Cassie’s reluctance to spend time with him, he decided to save the questions for later.

He pulled open the door of the Bean There Café and gestured for her to precede him. There were a few customers in line ahead of them at the counter, allowing him to peruse the pastry offerings in the display case while they waited. He ordered a lemon poppy-seed muffin and a large coffee, black; Cassie opted for a salted caramel brownie and a vanilla latte.

“How’s this?” he asked, gesturing to a couple of leather armchairs close together on one side of the fireplace, further isolated by a display of gift sets on the opposite side of the seating.

“Looks...cozy,” she said.

He grinned. “Too cozy?”

She narrowed her gaze, but he suspected that she wouldn’t turn away from the challenge. A suspicion that was proven correct when she sat in the chair closest to the fire.

The flickering flames provided light and warmth and the soft, comfy seating around the perimeter of the room provided a much more intimate atmosphere than the straight-back wooden chairs and square tables in the center. Braden relaxed into the leather seat beside Cassie and set his muffin on the small table between them.

“Are you going to let me apologize now?” he asked her.

She eyed him over the rim of her cup as she sipped. “What are you apologizing for?”

“Whatever I said or did to offend you.”

“You don’t even know, do you?” she asked, her tone a combination of amusement and exasperation.

“I’m afraid to guess,” he admitted. But he did know it had happened the previous morning, sometime after Baby Talk, because her demeanor toward him had shifted from warm to cool in about two seconds.

She shook her head and broke off a corner of her brownie. “It doesn’t matter.”

“If it didn’t matter, you wouldn’t still be mad,” he pointed out.

“I’m not still mad.”

He lifted his brows.

“Okay, I’m still a little bit mad,” she acknowledged. “But it’s not really your fault—you didn’t do anything but speak out loud the same thoughts that too many people have about my work.”

“I’m still confused,” he admitted. “What did I say?”

“You asked if working at the library was my real job.”

He winced. “I assure you the question was more a reflection of my interest in learning about you than an opinion of your work,” he said. “And probably influenced by a lack of knowledge about what a librarian actually does.”

“My responsibilities are various and endless.”

“I’ll admit, I was surprised to see so many people at the library yesterday. I figured most everyone did their research and reading on their own tablets or computers these days.”

“To paraphrase Neil Gaiman, an internet search engine can find a hundred thousand answers—a librarian can help you find the right one.”

“My mother’s a big fan of his work,” Braden noted.

“I know,” she admitted. “Anytime we get a new book with his name on it, I put it aside for her.”

“She’s a fan of yours, too,” he said.

Her lips curved, and he felt that tug low in his belly again. There was just something about her smile—an innocent sensuality that got to him every time and made him want to be the reason for her happiness.

“Because I put aside the books she wants,” Cassie said again.

“I think there’s more to it than that,” he remarked. “How long have you known her?”

“As long as I’ve worked at CPL, which is twelve years.”

“Really?” He didn’t know if he was more surprised to learn that she’d worked at the library for so many years or that she’d known his mother for that amount of time.

“I started as a volunteer when I was still in high school,” she explained. “And in addition to being an avid reader, Ellen is one of the volunteers who delivers books to patrons who are unable to get to the library.”

“I didn’t know that,” he admitted. “Between the Acquisitions Committee of the Art Gallery, the Board of Directors at Mercy Hospital and, for the past year, taking care of Saige three to five days a week for me, I wouldn’t have thought she’d have time for anything else.”

“She obviously likes to keep busy,” Cassie noted. “And I know how much she adores her grandchildren. Ever since Ryan and Harper got custody of little Oliver almost three years ago, I’ve seen new pictures almost every week.

“Of course, hundreds of pictures when Vanessa was born, and hundreds more when Saige was born,” she continued. “And I know she’s overjoyed that Ryan and Harper are moving back to Charisma—hopefully before their second child is born.”

“You’re probably more up-to-date on my family than I am,” he admitted. “I don’t even know my sister-in-law’s due date.”

“August twenty-eighth.”

“Which proves my point.” He polished off the last bite of his muffin.

She broke off another piece of brownie and popped it into her mouth. Then she licked a smear of caramel off her thumb—a quick and spontaneous swipe of her tongue over her skin that probably wasn’t intended to be provocative but certainly had that effect on his body and thoughts.

“I only remember the date because it happens to be my birthday, too,” she admitted.

He sipped his coffee. “As a librarian, how much do you know about chemistry?”

“Enough to pass the course in high school.” She smiled. “Barely.”

“And what do you think we should do about this chemistry between us?” he asked.

She choked on her latte. “Excuse me?”

“I’m stumbling here,” he acknowledged. “Because it’s been a long time since I’ve been attracted to a woman—other than my wife, I mean.”

She eyed him warily. “Are you saying that you’re attracted to me?”

“Why else would I be here when there are at least a dozen coffee shops closer to my office?”

“I thought you came to the library to return the train Saige took home.”

“That was my excuse to come by and see you,” he said.

She dropped her gaze to her plate, using her fingertip to push the brownie crumbs into the center.

“You didn’t expect me to admit that, did you?”

“I didn’t expect it to be true,” she told him.

“I was a little surprised myself,” he confided. “When I found the train, I planned to leave it with my mother, for her to return. And when I dropped Saige off this morning, I had it with me, but for some reason, I held on to it. As I headed toward my office, I figured I’d give it to her later. Except that I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

She wiped her fingers on her napkin, then folded it on top of her plate.

“This would be a good time for you to admit that you’ve been thinking about me, too,” he told her.

“Even if it’s not true?”

He reached across the table and stroked a finger over the back of her hand. She went immediately and completely still, not even breathing as her gaze locked with his.

“You’ve thought about me,” he said. “Whether you’re willing to admit it or not.”

“Maybe I have,” she acknowledged, slowly pulling her hand away. “Once or twice.”

“So what do you think we should do about this chemistry?” he asked again.

“I’m the wrong person to ask,” she said lightly. “All of my experiments simply fizzled and died.”

“Maybe you were working with the wrong partner,” he suggested.

“Maybe.” She finished her latte and set the mug on top of her empty plate. “I really need to get back to work, but thanks for the coffee and the brownie.”

“Anytime.”

He stayed where he was and watched her walk away, because he’d never in his life chased after a woman and he wasn’t going to start now.

Instead, he took his time finishing his coffee before he headed back to his own office—where he thought of her throughout the rest of the day, because he knew he would be seeing the sexy librarian again. Very soon.

Chapter Four

When Cassie left work later that afternoon, she headed to Serenity Gardens to visit Irene Houlahan. Almost three years earlier, the former librarian had slipped and fallen down her basement stairs, a nasty tumble that resulted in a broken collarbone and femur and forced her to sell her two-story home and move into the assisted-living facility for seniors.

The septuagenarian had never married, had no children and no family in Charisma, but once upon a time, she’d changed Cassie’s life. No, she’d done more than change her life—she’d saved it. And Cassie knew that she’d never be able to repay the woman who was so much more to her than a friend and mentor.

Since Irene had taken up residence at Serenity Gardens, Cassie had visited her two or three times a week. The move had been good for Irene, who was now surrounded by contemporaries who encouraged her to take part in various social activities on the property. And then, just after the New Year, Jerry Riordan had moved in across the hall.

His arrival had generated a fair amount of buzz among the residents and staff, and Cassie had overheard enough to know that he was seventy-two years old, a retired civil engineer and widower with three children and eight grandchildren, all of whom lived out of state. He was close to six feet tall, slender of build and apparently in possession of all of his own teeth, which made him the object of much female admiration within the residence.

But far more interesting to Cassie was her discovery that the newest resident of the fifth floor was spending a fair amount of time with the retired librarian. One day when Cassie was visiting, she’d asked Irene about her history with Jerry. Her friend had ignored the question, instead instructing Cassie to find To Kill a Mockingbird on her shelf. Of course, the woman’s personal library was as ruthlessly organized as the public facility, so Cassie found it easily—an old and obviously much-read volume with a dust jacket curling at the edges.

“You’ve obviously had this a very long time.”

“A lot more years than you’ve been alive,” Irene acknowledged.

Cassie opened the cover to check the copyright page, but her attention was caught by writing inside the front cover. Knowing that her friend would never deface a work of art—and books undoubtedly fit that description—the bold strokes of ink snagged her attention.

Irene held out her hand. “The book.”

The impatience in her tone didn’t stop Cassie from taking a quick peek at the inscription:

To Irene—who embodies all the best characteristics of Scout, Jem and Dill. One day you will be the heroine of your own adventures, but for now, I hope you enjoy their story.

Happy Birthday,

Jerry

She closed the cover and looked at her friend. “Jerry—as in Jerry Riordan?”

“Did someone mention my name?” the man asked from the doorway.

“Were your ears burning?” Irene snapped at him.

Jerry shrugged. “Might have been—my hearing’s not quite what it used to be.” Then he spotted the volume in Cassie’s hand and his pale blue eyes lit up. “Well, that book is familiar.”

“There are more than thirty million copies of it in print,” Irene pointed out.

“And that looks like the same copy I gave to you for your fourteenth birthday,” he said.

“Probably because it is,” she acknowledged, finally abandoning any pretense of faulty memory.

“I can’t believe you still have it,” Jerry said, speaking so softly it was almost as if he was talking to himself.

“It’s one of my favorite books,” she said. “Why would I get rid of it?”

“Over the years, things have a tendency to go missing or be forgotten.”

“Maybe by some people,” the old woman said pointedly.

“I never forgot you, Irene,” Jerry assured her.

Cassie continued to stand beside the bookcase, wondering if she was actually invisible or just felt that way. She didn’t mind being ignored and she had no intention of interrupting what was—judging by the unfamiliar flush in her friend’s usually pale cheeks—a deeply personal moment.

Years ago, when Cassie had asked Irene why she’d never married, the older woman had snapped that it wasn’t a conscious choice to be alone—that sometimes the right man found the right woman in someone else. Of course, Cassie hadn’t known what she meant at the time, and Irene had refused to answer any more questions on the subject. Watching her friend with Jerry now, she thought she finally understood.

“Are you going to sit down and read the book or just stand there?” Irene finally asked her.

Cassie knew her too well to be offended by the brusque tone. “I was just waiting for the two of you to finish your stroll down memory lane,” she responded lightly.

“I don’t stroll anywhere with six pins in my leg and I wouldn’t stroll with him even if I could,” Irene said primly.

“Thankfully, it’s just your leg and not your arms that are weak,” Jerry teased. “Otherwise you’d have trouble holding on to that grudge.”

Cassie fought against a smile as she settled back into a wing chair, turned to the first page and began reading while Jerry lowered himself onto the opposite end of the sofa from Irene.

She read three chapters before she was interrupted by voices in the hall as the residents started to make their way to the activity room for Beach Party Bingo. Irene professed to despise bingo but she was fond of the fruit skewers and virgin coladas they served to go with the beach party theme.

When Cassie glanced up, she noted that Jerry had shifted on the sofa so that he was sitting closer to Irene now. Not so close that she could find his ribs with a sharp elbow if the mood struck her to do so, but definitely much closer. Apparently the man still had some moves—and he was making them on her friend.

“I think that’s a good place to stop for today,” she decided, sliding a bookmark between the pages.

“Thank you for the visit,” Irene said, as she always did.

Cassie, too, gave her usual response. “It was my pleasure.”

She set the book down on the coffee table, then touched her lips to her friend’s soft, wrinkled cheek.

Irene waved her away, uncomfortable with the display of affection.

“What about me?” Jerry said, tapping his cheek with an arthritic finger. “I’d never wave off a kiss from a pretty girl.”

“Isn’t that the truth?” Irene muttered under her breath.

Cassie kissed his cheek, too. “Good night, Mr. Riordan. I’ll see you on Friday, Irene.”

“There’s a trip to Noah’s Landing on Friday,” her friend said. “We’re not scheduled to be back until dinnertime.”

“Then I’ll come Friday night,” Cassie offered.

“That’s fine.”

“No, it’s not,” Jerry protested. “You can’t ask a beautiful young woman to spend her Friday night hanging out with a bunch of grumpy old folks.”

“I didn’t ask, Cassandra offered,” Irene pointed out. “And she comes to visit me, not any other grumpy old folks who decide to wander into my room uninvited.”

“Well, I’m sure Cassandra has better things to do on a Friday night,” he said, glancing at Cassie expectantly.

“Actually, I don’t have any plans,” she admitted.

He scowled. “You don’t have a date?”

She shook her head.

“What’s wrong with the young men in this town?” Jerry wondered.

“They’re as shortsighted and thickheaded now as they were fifty years ago,” Irene told him.

“And on that note,” Cassie said, inching toward the door.

“I’ll see you in a few days,” Irene said.

“Don’t come on Friday,” Jerry called out to her. “I’m going to keep Irene busy at the cribbage board.”

“I have cataracts,” she protested.

“And I have a deck of cards with large print numbers.”

Cassie left them bickering, happy to know that her friend had a new beau to fill some of her quiet hours. And eager to believe that if romance was in the air for Irene, maybe it wasn’t too late for her, either.

Of course, if she wanted to fall in love, she’d have to be willing to open up her heart again, and that was a step she wasn’t sure she was ready to take. Because what she’d told Braden about her struggles with chemistry was only partly true. About half of her experiments had fizzled into nothingness—the other half had flared so bright and hot, she’d ended up getting burned. And she simply wasn’t willing to play with fire again.

* * *

While Braden wouldn’t trade his baby girl for anything in the world, there were times when he would willingly sacrifice a limb for eight consecutive hours of sleep.

“Come on, Saige,” he said wearily. “It’s two a.m. That’s not play time—it’s sleep time.”

“Wound an’ wound,” she said, clapping her hands.

He reached into her crib for her favorite toy—a stuffed sock monkey that had been a gift from her birth mother—and gave it to Saige. “Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.”

She immediately grabbed the monkey’s arm and cuddled it close. Then she tipped her head back to look at him, and when she smiled, he gave in with a sigh. “You know just how to wrap me around your finger, don’t you?”

“Da-da,” she said.

He touched his lips to the top of her head, breathing in the familiar scent of her baby shampoo.

She was the baby he and Dana had been wanting for most of their six-year marriage, the child they’d almost given up hope of ever having. In the last few weeks leading up to her birth, they’d finally, cautiously, started to transform one of the spare bedrooms into a nursery. They’d hung a mobile over the crib, put tiny little onesies and sleepers in the dresser, and stocked up on diapers and formula.

At the same time, they’d both been a little hesitant to believe that this time, finally, their dream of having a child would come true. Because they were aware that the birth mother could decide, at the last minute, to keep her baby. And they knew that, if she did, they couldn’t blame her.

But Lindsay Benson had been adamant. She wanted a better life for her baby than to be raised by a single mother who hadn’t yet graduated from college. She wanted her daughter to have a real family with two parents who would care for her and love her and who could afford to give her not just the necessities of life but some extras, too.

Within a few weeks, Braden had begun to suspect that he and Dana wouldn’t be that family. For some reason that he couldn’t begin to fathom—or maybe didn’t want to admit—his wife wasn’t able to bond with the baby. Every time Saige cried, Dana pushed the baby at him, claiming that she had a headache. Every time Saige needed a bottle or diaper change, Dana was busy doing something else. Every time Saige woke up in the middle of the night, Dana pretended not to hear her.

Yes, he’d seen the signs, but he’d still been optimistic that she would come around. That she just needed some more time. She’d suffered so much disappointment over the years, he was certain it was her lingering fear of losing the child they’d wanted so much that was holding her back. He refused to consider that Dana might be unhappy because their adopted daughter was so obviously not their biological child.

Then, when Saige was six weeks old, Dana made her big announcement: she didn’t really want to be a mother or a wife. She told him that she’d found an apartment and would be moving out at the end of March. Oh, and she needed a check to cover first and last month’s rent.