Prescription For Seduction

Through the diner’s front windows, Brady saw Jeff Baron seated in one of the red vinyl booths lining the walls. Beside him was Cece. They were both smiling as they waved. Brady waved back, his own grin widening. He was about to turn back to Coop when he noticed the new waitress, Caroline Benning, staring at him from behind the counter. They’d formally met at the Christmas Eve party up at the Timberlake Lodge. He raised his hand to wave hello, but she looked away and began refilling the coffee cups of the diners that occupied every seat at the L-shaped counter.

“That new girl—”

“Caroline Benning.” Coop stopped smiling.

“She seems like a nice kid.” The two men started walking toward the center of town.

“She’s hiding something.”

Brady stopped, looked curiously at Coop.

“I can’t prove anything yet. It’s a feeling I’ve got. That woman has secrets.”

“We all have secrets, Coop.” Brady tried to restore his friend’s earlier smile.

“Maybe, but that lady has a big secret. I can feel it in my gut.”

Brady’s surprise increased. Everyone knew Coop was a man who believed in facts, not intuition or other intangible feelings.

“Don’t tell me you’re listening to all that gossip still going round?”

“I’m not the one who was found tangled up in the shrubs outside your dad’s house,” Coop pointed out as the two men passed the law firm where Brady’s brother, Quinn, was a partner.

“She said she was trying to catch a stray cat,” Brady noted.

“Then where was the cat?”

“Obviously, she didn’t catch it.”

“Obviously, there was no cat.”

“C’mon, Coop.” The two men turned onto Maple, nodded hello to Annabelle Scanlon opening up the post office. “What deep, dark secret could Caroline Benning possibly be hiding?”

“That’s what I intend to find out.”

Brady didn’t doubt it. Coop was good at finding things out. It’d taken him less than two months to find out about Violet’s death. Less than two months to answer the question Brady had secretly wondered for twenty-three years: When is my mother coming home? Now he knew. Never.

“Don’t you trust anybody?” Brady asked.

Coop looked at him, one dark brow arching. They both knew it was the pot calling the kettle black. “Occupational hazard, Doc.”

They walked a few more steps. Coop shrugged. “Maybe I’m wrong.”

Brady saw the strong set of Coop’s profile and knew the other man didn’t believe he was mistaken about Caroline Benning.

“No wonder you haven’t found your Woman of the River yet,” Brady said, referring to the local story of Coop’s ancestor and namesake, Night Hawk, whose dream of a hawk eventually led him to his own true love. “You think every woman you meet is Mata Hari.”

Coop shifted his impenetrable gaze to Brady. Everyone knew the story of Coop’s ancestor. Everyone also knew Coop believed the legend was just that—a legend. Nothing more.

“It’s bad enough every time I see your brothers, I have to listen to them go on about the wonders of married life and watch them get all sentimental and sloppy,” he said, “but at least I thought I could count on you to stay sane and steer clear of all this mush.”

He glanced down at the flowered canister Brady was carrying. Some of his smile returned. “But what can I expect from a man who spends his free time making cookies for the hospital bake sale?”

“Bake sale? These cookies are mine, and I’m not sharing them with anyone, so stop angling for a handout.”

Coop studied the tin. “Must be pretty special cookies. When did you take home ec?”

“I didn’t make these cookies. They were given to me by a friend.”

“I see…” Coop mused, contemplating the tin.

Brady saw his friend’s speculative gaze. “What now, Columbo?”

Coop looked at him. “When did you start going for the Betty Crocker type? All the women I’ve seen you with are serious career gals whose idea of a gourmet meal comes with a waiter.”

“I didn’t say I was dating this woman. I said we were friends.”

Coop laughed, dismissing Brady’s answer.

Brady stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “You don’t believe me?”

“Sure, I believe you.” Laughter was still traced in the strong lines of the young man’s face.

“No, you don’t.” Brady’s good mood was fading.

Coop eyed the canister. “You’re not going to give me a cookie now, are you?”

Unsmiling, Brady lifted the tin’s lid and grudgingly held out the cookies. Coop took a handful. He tipped his head in the direction of First Street. “Gotta go. See you Sunday at your dad’s.”

Brady nodded. Coop started toward the police substation. Brady knew the other man’s skepticism was justified. Brady’s many relationships with women weren’t for friendship. They were for fun, relaxation and mutually agreed-on good, clean sex. No strings, no soul searching, no complications. It was the way he—and the women he dated—preferred it. In fact, he maintained a comfortable distance in all his personal and professional relationships.

Except for Eden. She had only to tilt her head and smile and it seemed he had no secrets. It had never been that way with anyone before.

“Hey, Brady,” Coop called. Chewing, he held up a half-eaten cookie. “Marry this woman.” With a rare laugh, he turned and continued down First Street.

MOLLY SPENCER balanced a stuffed rabbit in each hand. “These bunnies are so cute. When did you get them in?”

“Just yesterday.” Eden came over to the wicker étagère. “There’ll be more coming in a few days.”

Molly put one bunny down and took a cookie from the plate Eden offered. “Good thing Sara isn’t with me. She’d want one in every color.” She pressed a butter-yellow bunny to her cheek. “I don’t think I can resist this one, though. I’ll put it away for her Easter basket.”

“Goodness, they are adorable,” Anna Kelsey agreed as she joined the women. She picked up a sky-blue bunny. “You have the nicest things, Eden. And the loveliest shop. So pleasant. Not to mention these fabulous cookies,” she added as she took one. “It’s so generous of you to make the floral decorations for Jenna’s baby shower.”

“It’s my pleasure. Why don’t we sit and have a cup of tea?” She indicated the small wrought-iron table and chairs in the corner. Nearby a tea cart offered all the fixings. “I’ll bring over some books for you to look at, and we can figure out exactly what colors and flowers you’d like.”

Anna looked at Molly. “Do we have time before we have to pick up the kids from Kaity’s?”

Molly glanced at her watch. “Sure, we’ve got a few minutes.”

“Good. And I think I’ll bring this little fella with me.” Anna carried the stuffed animal to the table. She smiled down into the bunny’s eyes, the same brilliant blue as her own. “I’ll save it for Jeremy’s basket.”

Molly set her purse on the chair and went to the tea cart. “Easter?” She smiled and winked at Eden. “Ten to one, Jeremy will have that bunny before lunch.”

Anna settled into a chair. “Grandma is my name. Spoiling is my game.”

Laughing, Molly brought the older woman a cup of tea.

“What?” Anna stirred sugar into her tea. “You’re trying to tell me that Sara isn’t getting spoiled by that new daddy of hers?”

A loving curve came to Molly’s lips at the mention of her new husband, Quinn.

“And what about those new uncles of hers?” Anna noted. “Why, Brady stood on that sidewalk right out there two nights ago and told me that Sara is ‘pure adorable.’” She took another cookie. “Eden, you’ve got to give me the recipe for these. They’re wonderful.”

“You saw Brady the other night?” Molly sat down at the table.

“Let me get those books to give you some ideas what we can do for Jenna’s shower,” Eden suggested.

Anna nodded in response to Molly’s question. “Yes. My mother had come over for pot roast, and it was such a lovely evening, Mom insisted on walking back to Worthington House. Eighty-seven, and I swear the woman has more energy than a teenager.” Anna sipped her tea. “She doesn’t miss a trick, either.”

“We haven’t seen much of Brady lately.” Molly tapped her spoon on the edge of the cup, then set it on the saucer. “He doesn’t dare miss Sunday night dinners at Quinn’s father’s, of course. Elias would write him out of the will. But even then he seems, well, preoccupied. Quinn says that’s just Brady.” She broke a cookie in half. “Of course, he knows him better than I, but I still say something’s bothering him.”

“You know, the other night he did seem a little odd.” Anna nibbled on a cookie. “He appeared out of nowhere. Came out of the alley right next to the shop here. Scared the pudding out of me. Didn’t faze Mom a bit. Just gave her more ammo to tease him with.”

Eden returned to the table with several books. “Why don’t we start with these? There’s some wonderful ideas in them, but I have more books if you don’t see anything you like here.”

“What was he doing in the alley?” Molly took a book from the top of the stack but didn’t open it.

“He didn’t say,” Anna replied. “I assumed he was on his way home from the hospital. He walks all the time no matter what the weather.” Anna smiled at Eden. “He didn’t stop in here to pick out some posies, did he?”

Eden opened the book Molly had selected and pointed to a picture. “Do you like this? See how the baskets are made to look like cradles?”

“Brady in a flower shop?” Molly smiled. “Wouldn’t that be something like a bull in a china shop?”

Anna chuckled in agreement. “I do love the boy, but we all know he’s not exactly the hearts-and-flowers type.”

“He’s a great doctor, though. He was wonderful with Sara that time she had the flu.”

“He’s one of Tyler’s best surgeons. The people around here trust him. The doctors and nurses respect him. So, he may not win Mr. Congeniality. Everybody knows beneath that no-nonsense attitude is a compassionate heart. Handholding doesn’t put people back on their feet. Although he did give Mom a big buss on the cheek the other night. I don’t know which one of them was more surprised.”

Molly looked at the other woman. “See what I mean? That’s what I’m talking about. If I hadn’t seen him lately, I wouldn’t believe it, either. But I don’t know. The man is acting peculiar.”

Anna sipped her tea. “Well, maybe not so much peculiar as—what did you say earlier—preoccupied?”

Molly nodded.

“It’s probably stress. He has a billion things on his mind, and it’s only natural he sometimes gets as absentminded as the rest of us mortals. I’m sure that’s what it was the other night when he seemed so confused.”

“Confused?” Molly questioned.

“As if he didn’t know which way he was going,” Anna explained. “He came out of the alley, turned one way, walked a few steps, stopped, started again, stopped. Then he spun around and came our way.”

“Maybe we should pick the color theme first. How about yellow or pink, blue, lavender?” Eden suggested. “Or did you have a specific flower preference?”

Molly glanced at the photo in the book opened on the table, but she said, “Quinn said Brady was born a doctor.”

“Well, he always did have a grown-up air about him, even when he was a youngster. Didn’t he, Eden?” Anna didn’t wait for a reply. “Of course, he had to grow up in a hurry. All the boys did after Violet ran off. It’s not really my place to say, but I don’t think it ever helped that Elias wouldn’t talk to them about it.”

Molly nodded. The two other women knew she was thinking of her own husband and how she’d almost lost him to the past.

“In my opinion it would’ve done those boys some good to talk about it, but Elias didn’t allow it. Violet was gone, and that was that. They had to deal with it. As the middle child, Brady always was the bridge between the two other boys, but after Violet left, he really took on the role of the family fixer. He tried to take care of everyone.” Anna glanced at Eden. “You were probably too young to remember.”

No, she remembered. She remembered the lines already etched in his brow, his face too solemn for a teen, as he’d blotted the blood off her scraped knees. She remembered him caught somewhere between boyhood and manhood, already trying to heal the world around him.

Anna chewed thoughtfully. “He’s a good man.” She looked at Eden again for confirmation.

Eden nodded.

“Mom sure gave the poor fella a heck of a time the other night.” Anna smiled at the memory. “Wanted to know when he was going to come to his senses like his brothers did and settle down, start a family.”

“I’m sure he’d have no trouble finding a candidate. Lord knows, he’s interviewed enough of them.” Molly winked at the women.

“Is that what you young people are calling it nowadays?” Anna still smiled. “From the impression I got the other night, he seems bound and determined to keep his status as the last single Spencer brother.”

“The right girl hasn’t come along yet, that’s all.” Molly touched the corners of her mouth with one of the linen napkins Eden always had folded in a small basket. “And she’s obviously not here in Tyler because he knows every available girl in town and has dated over half of them.”

“He does get around, but I bet he ends up with someone not from Tyler. Someone like that city doctor he was seeing a while back. That’s the only relationship I think he’s had that has lasted longer than a date or two.”

Molly stirred her tea. “Maybe Jenna has some friends or cousins back in New York City? You can’t get much more big city than that.”

“Well, whoever she is and wherever she comes from, I’ll bet when the right girl comes along, Dr. Brady Spencer will fall like a sack of bricks.” Anna winked at Molly. “Just like his brothers.”

Eden stood, her chair scraping against the tiles. The other women looked at her. “I’ll get you both some more tea,” she offered.

“Goodness, no.” Molly glanced at her watch. “I’d love some, but it’s almost time to pick up the kids and we haven’t even looked at the flowers.” She slid the opened book toward Anna. “This is pretty, isn’t it?”

Eden carried her cup to the cart, straightened the china, lined up the silver spoons, waited for the roil of emotions within her to calm. She knew everything the women had said was the truth. Brady may not have found the right woman yet, but when he did, she would be sophisticated and dynamic, his equal in terms of experience, affluence and professional background. She wouldn’t be a twenty-seven-year-old virgin whose most serious relationship to date had been with a cat.

“I like this with all the baby’s breath and the Easter egg colors,” Eden heard Anna say behind her.

Not that anyone in Tyler would consider that the attractive, seductive Dr. Spencer would ever be interested in someone like her. Eden tucked in the corner of a napkin. Even she knew her fantasies were ludicrous, had told herself hundreds of times. Anna and Molly would be shocked if they even suspected she entertained such thoughts. Brady Spencer and Eden Frazier? Preposterous.

“We really only need a large centerpiece for the buffet table,” Anna said, “and a few smaller arrangements for the cake table. These cradle-looking baskets Eden showed us are nice.”

“Maybe some type of floral favors? What do you think, Eden?” Molly asked.

What did she think? At that particular moment she was thinking how just once she’d like to be thought of as more than good ol’ Eden, as constant and predictable as Timber Lake’s spring rising…and about half as exciting.

Chapter Three

“We’re friends, aren’t we, Eden?”

She went still, the cookies she’d been about to put with the others in the napkin-lined basket hovering. She knew the tone. She’d known it all her life. You’re a pal, Eden…a good kid…. I can talk to you as if you were one of the guys…. You’re like a sister to me.

She glanced behind her. Brady sat at the kitchen table. He looked tired tonight. She shouldn’t have kept him so long last night, plying him with cookies and cups of tea, but she had so loved sitting across from him, hearing his voice, watching his features change, seeing him smile.

He’d come late again tonight to order another arrangement. He’d also brought back her empty cookie tin. Even before he’d grumbled about having to share the contents with half the town, she’d already suspected he hoped she would fill the tin again. She’d opened it to do just that and found first aid supplies. She’d looked questioningly at him. “My moth—” He’d caught himself and began again. “We were taught never to return a container empty.”

She’d looked at the gauze pads, the tube of triple antibiotic ointment, the box of butterfly closures.

“It’s something you can always use. You never know when you might have an emergency.”

His voice had been so earnest and sincere, she’d had to smile. Who needed diamonds and Godiva chocolates when you had sterile gauze pads in a variety of sizes?

Now Brady waited for an answer to the question he’d just asked. Despite his fatigue, his green eyes didn’t miss their mark. She put the cookies in the basket. “I like to think of you as a friend, Brady.”

She saw his features relax, and her own worries grew. She’d thought she’d been careful. Had she, somehow, revealed to Brady how attracted she was to him? Had he sensed she dreamed of more, much more than friendship? Was he now attempting to let her down easy?

“And friends who bring you first aid…well, they’re rare.” She smiled at him, trying to postpone what she feared was inevitable. She knew the routine. She’d heard it before. I like you, Eden. I really do. You’re a great girl. It’s just that I don’t like you in that way. But we can still be friends, can’t we?

She brought the basket to the table. Brady’s face was pensive, weary. She’d take friendship. Except for her fantasies, she’d never expected more.

“You look beat tonight.”

He smiled, but even his eyes now had the unfocused look of someone who needed sleep. She picked up the basket. “Why don’t we sit in the living room? You’ll be more comfortable on the couch. We can have our cookies and tea in there at the coffee table.”

She led the way into the room painted soft apricot and cozy with plants and plump pillows. She cleared off the cedar chest that had been passed on to her by her parents when they’d retired and moved to Florida. She set the basket on the chest.

“I’ll just get some plates and napkins.”

“Let me help you.”

She shook her head. “You make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back.”

He started to sit, but when she returned, he was standing across the room, looking at the painting that leaned against the wall.

“That’s not finished yet,” she said.

“You painted this?” He picked up the canvas, held it at arm’s length and examined its vibrant color splashes, its heavy black shapes, its strong assault on the senses.

“It’s a hobby.” She dismissed the work, embarrassed and self-conscious. She set down the plates and napkins. “I’ll bet you didn’t eat anything again today. Come have a cookie.” She tried to lure him away from the painting.

“I don’t know much about art—”

“Neither do I.”

He looked at her, his eyes once again intent. “You’ve had no formal training?”

“Some appreciation classes in college, but my major was horticulture, of course. Like I said, it’s just something I do.”

“Really?” Brady looked at the painting. “I like it.”

She sat in the rocking chair next to the sofa. “You do?”

He propped the canvas against the wall and stepped back, studying the painting. “I like it a lot.” He looked at her.

Perched on the chair’s seat, she felt as if he could see right through her. She touched her throat above her buttoned collar. The kettle on the stove whistled.

She jumped up, grateful to get away from Brady’s gaze. “Tea’s ready,” she sang out too loud. “Peppermint? Cinnamon apple?”

“Peppermint’s fine,” he answered, his eyes still on her as she went into the kitchen.

She gathered the tea things and carried them on a tray back into the living room. Brady had picked up the painting again.

“Do you have any more?”

She stopped. “Any more?”

“Paintings.”

“Why?”

He smiled. It was the smile the others talked about—the smile they said could save lives.

“I’d like to see some more.”

She looked at the strong shapes, textures, the powerful mix of primary tones on the rectangle in his hands. It was a hobby, something she did when her quiet world got too quiet and the perfect balance, careful symmetry of her arrangements made her shake. She would bring out her canvases, her darkest, richest colors, and brushes so soft to the touch she had to close her eyes and rub them across her lids.

She hadn’t been allowed to paint as a child. Crayons were okay; paints were too messy for parents used to a serene, orderly household. No being loud, running, banging, acting like a baby, being silly. Not only did that type of behavior disrupt the household, but Eden could get hurt. Her mother, having longed for her for so long, had been especially overprotective, spying potential dangers everywhere. By the time Eden went to school, her natural timidness had become a deeply ingrained shyness. Uneasy around people, strange places, unfamiliar experiences, she created her own imaginary world. There she was safe.

Eventually the extreme fearfulness and shyness had shifted into a content quietness, a dignified reserve. The world she had once only envisioned in her head was now real. Flowers always bloomed, people always smiled, nothing evil or hurtful was allowed. And the quiet that had been born in her and entrenched by experience was tolerated, welcome even, and only occasionally painful.

It was then, when longing became pain, that she locked her apartment door and went to her paints. Brush in hand, she became someone else—someone wild, loud, spontaneous, shocking. She painted, and she was free.

She’d never shown the paintings to anyone.

Holding the canvas, Brady waited for her answer. The lights in his dark-brown hair were as strong as the deepest color in her painting.

She set the tray on the cedar chest. “Just a moment.”

She went into her bedroom and kneeled by the canopy bed with the Battenburg lace duvet and the Victorian doll propped against the pillows. She lifted the bedskirt and saw the canvases lying there in the dark. She pulled them out. Some were smaller than others; all were passionate and intense. The work of a woman possessed, Eden thought, sitting back on her haunches, once more hesitating.

“I like that one. That one, too.”

She started, not having heard Brady come in. She looked over her shoulder and saw him leaning against the doorjamb.

“May I?” He looked not at her but the paintings.

She stood, brushed off her creased pants. Brady, not waiting for her answer, came and stood next to her. Together they looked at the colors and contrasts and textures and shapes spread out across the floor like a madwoman’s quilt. She felt him beside her more keenly than if she were in his embrace.

He picked up a smaller one and brushed off the dust that clung to its thick edges. “Why do you hide them under your bed?”

She didn’t meet his eyes. “They’re only a hobby.”

They both knew they were much more than that.

He turned the canvas over. “You don’t sign them?”

He was too near. She was too exposed. She looked away from the brilliant colors and found his eyes on her. “The tea’s getting cold.”

He smiled. “Yes, the tea.” His fingertip followed a ridge in the painting where the color had been applied thick and fast. He laid it next to the others. “Thank you for showing them to me.”

“You’re welcome.” The words were stiff; her voice a schoolmarm’s. “Shall we go have our tea?”

“Can I help you put them away?”

“No.” The answer was firm. “I’ll do it later.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded. He looked at her but didn’t ask again.

She followed him into the living room, turning off the bedroom light, leaving the paintings in darkness.