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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 having 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