Nothing But Trouble (15 page)

“Of al the gin joints in al the world, he had to walk into mine,” Laura answered.

Merry laughed, a light, musical sound, very different from her brother’s deep chuckle.

Laura smiled, but it died quickly. “I have to tell you, I’m very nervous about meeting your family.”

“Let me give you some advice. Be yourself. My father wil love you. Bran’s just like him. My mother doesn’t believe there’s a woman on earth worthy of her son. That’s just the way it is. So if you go into it knowing that you could be the Queen of England and she’d find you lacking, you have nothing to worry about.”

“I don’t know why Brandon is so hel -bent on taking me there.”

“I do.”

Laura waited, but Merry didn’t elaborate. “Well?” she prodded.

Merry shrugged. “He likes you.”

“I like him too, but you don’t see me dragging him down to North Carolina.”

“So that’s where you’re from. I love your accent.”

“Thank you. Merry, let’s cut to the chase here. I’ve really enjoyed spending time with Brandon. But there’s just no future for us.”

“You think so?”

“Definitely.”

“If there was a possibility, would you be interested?” 

“I can’t afford to be interested. It’l only hurt al that much more when it doesn’t happen.”

“That’s al I needed to hear.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“One thing you’re going to learn about Brandon. When he wants something badly enough, he’l make it happen.”

* * *

THEY DOCKED in Newport a little before noon the following day. The pier was buzzing with activity, and everywhere Laura looked she saw the Prince Shipping logo. On smal boats and large, on warehouse-like buildings, on many dockworkers’ shirts.

If she’d wondered before about the size of the family enterprise, she wasn’t wondering any longer. Prince Shipping was huge.

“I can’t do this,” Laura said adamantly. “Take me back to Manhattan.”

Brandon grabbed her shoulders. “Sweetheart, I haven’t seen you back away from a challenge yet. Don’t let me down now.”

Laura was horrified to feel tears sting her eyes. “I don’t belong here.”

“You didn’t belong in Manhattan, either, but you took the town by storm. Come on, I want my parents to meet the future mother of my children.”

She smacked his arm. “I told you I was kidding about that.

Besides, I changed my mind. You’re too much of a bully.”

He bent forward and kissed her. “I’m a pussycat. If you remember correctly from this morning, you were the tiger.”

Laura didn’t need to be reminded. In just a couple of short nights she’d become addicted to him, unable to get enough of his touch. It scared her spitless that they would part soon enough, and she would have to relearn the art of living and sleeping alone.

She couldn’t believe how much she’d taken to sharing his bed. And it wasn’t just the lovemaking, either, although that was a big bonus. A wonderful bonus. But more than that was the aftermath, being held in Brandon’s warm, strong arms and just talking quietly about anything and everything. Laughing at sil y things, sharing thoughts and feelings and personal stuff. And enjoying every moment of it.

She was going to miss him. That much was as clear as Carolina rain already.

“If I ask real nice and polite, wil you turn this tub around and take me home?”

“No.”

“If I threaten to make you a soprano?”

He laughed and tugged her down to the pier. “You could do it, but we’d both lose.”

Laura dug in her heels one last time and forced him back to face her. “You owe me this much. Tel me why you’re dragging me here.”

He hesitated for about half a minute. “Because, Ms. Tanner, beautiful, wil ful, sexy lady, one way or another you’re going to have my children.”

* * *

BRANDON’S FAMILY home wasn’t a mansion. It would have to lose a wing or two to be demoted to that. No, it was a sprawling Tudor, which, when you included the five or so guest cottages on either side of the main building, probably took up an entire city block.

The grounds were country club impeccable, almost too perfect, if that were possible. A red brick driveway curved in a semi-circle in front of the main entrance. And several sets of French doors opened onto porches where family or guests could relax and enjoy the view of the sea, directly in front of the property.

Laura had a tough time picturing this place as a home that Brandon had grown up in. Not that he didn’t exude comfort and class, but this home seemed sterile to Laura, certainly not a place that had housed rowdy children.

“Don’t let it intimidate you,” Brandon said as they waited for the driver to unload the luggage. 

“Why should it intimidate me?” she shot back. “I’ve been to museums before.”

Brandon grinned. “Good girl.”

He held her elbow as he led her up the steps to the huge oak double doors. Before they could knock—or did Brandon have a key?—the right-hand door swung open, and a plump woman with snow-white hair and piercing blue eyes greeted them, her amazingly unlined face wreathed in a smile. She wasn’t dressed in anything recognizable as a uniform, but Laura just knew instinctively that she wasn’t Brandon’s mother. She looked too huggable.

Which is exactly what Brandon did, wrapping his arms around her and swinging her in a circle. “Marta, you gorgeous broad, you!”

“Oh, you,” she giggled, smacking him on the chest. “Still full of it.” She shoved him back a step to get a better look at Laura, who was wearing the jeans skirt and shirt she’d donned for their date the other night, as it was the only decent outfit Hannah had packed for her.

“This must be Laura.” Marta gave her a thorough once-over before nodding and beaming. “Yep, pretty as you said.” Laura was trying to figure out when Brandon had found time to announce her attributes to his entire family, seeing as they’d rarely been out of each other’s sight. Much less out of bed. “Laura Tanner, this is Marta Ingersol. She’s been with our family for twenty-five years.”

“Very nice to meet you, ma’am.”

“Ma’am?” The woman cackled. “You could learn some manners from this one, boy.” She turned abruptly. “Come in, come in. The sea breeze is a bit nippy today.”

They entered a huge foyer. The white marble floors were covered here and there with Persian rugs, and the antique Chinese vases were fil ed with all kinds of exotic vegetation and flowers. No less than six chandeliers hung from a ceiling that had to be thirty feet high.

The foyer was beautiful, no doubt about it. But she couldn’t help noticing that her childhood home would easily fit inside just this one room.

“Wil you be staying here, or at your own place?” Marta asked.

“We’l stay here tonight at least,” Brandon answered her.

Nodding approval, Marta said, “Jimmy will take your suitcases up to your rooms then. Your parents are waiting for you in the salon. Hurry on now. They’re anxious to meet your friend.”

As Marta bustled away, Laura looked up at Brandon. “You have your own place? What is it, a tiny little forty-room cottage?”

He chuckled. “A two-bedroom apartment. Don’t forget, I’m going to be living on an assistant D.A.’s salary.”

Pulling her to closed doors at the back right of the foyer, Brandon laid an arm over her shoulders. Laura tried not to drag her feet, but she real y wasn’t looking forward to this.

Brandon paused at the doors, took her shoulders and turned her to him. Planting a big kiss on her, squeezing her arms and smiling down at her, he said, “I’m crazy about you, you know.”

“Good. Then let’s run away right now.”

He shook his head. “I’m too crazy about you to do that.”

The logic of that completely escaped her, but before she could ask for clarification, he swung open the doors and nudged her inside.

For Laura, a salon was a place where you got your hair done.

But this room looked more like a large library, with mahogany-paneled wal s and rows upon rows of books that she’d love to explore if she weren’t ready to faint.

The furniture was all deep green leather, and the large picture windows looked out on Narragansett Bay. A brick fireplace held a careful arrangement of birch logs. Above it hung a large portrait of the entire Prince family, commissioned approximately ten years earlier by the looks of Brandon.

The room smel ed pleasantly of beeswax and cherry pipe tobacco. 

Laura took this all in slowly, in a vain attempt to forestall the inevitable. But when a stately older gentleman approached, she had no place to look but at him.

And she was pleasantly surprised and somewhat put at ease at the warm, friendly smile on his face. He was Brandon thirty years from now, right down to the dimples and the tal , wel -muscled body. His ebony hair was graying only at the temples. Brandon’s future wife was in for a very, very pleasant ride. His eyes were more of a gray-green than the deep green of Merry and Brandon, but they were warm and friendly nonetheless.

“Laura?” he said, holding out a hand. “I’m Brandon’s father.”

“Very nice to meet you, sir.”

“Cal me John.”

Laura smiled weakly. Not a chance in Hades was she calling Brandon’s father by his first name.

Mr. Prince dropped her hand and turned to his son. “You’re looking good, Bran.” Then before Laura could blink, the two men embraced in a bear hug.

A lump formed in Laura’s throat for no good reason. After all, she’d come to terms with her father’s lack of affection a long time ago.

“Oh, for crying out loud, John,” a wel -bred female voice said. “You’re embarrassing us all.”

Mr. Prince and Brandon pulled apart, but their grins said they weren’t particularly concerned about embarrassing anyone.

As they stepped back, Brandon’s mother came into view. If possible, she was even more beautiful than her likeness in the portrait.

She was tall and wil owy with ash blond hair in an attractively short feather cut. Her eyes were the clear blue of a crystal lake. She had high cheekbones and a patrician nose.

Anyone would place her at around fifty, give or take a couple of years, but to look at her a case could be made for a decade less.

She smiled at Laura, but the smile was a trifle thin.

“Welcome to our home, Laura. We’ve heard so much about you.” Laura just bet. “It’s nice to be here,” she lied. Personal ethics aside, this situation definitely called for a whopper. “You have a beautiful home.”

“Thank you. Let’s have a drink, and then I’l give you a tour while Brandon and his father play their usual dreadful game of tennis.”

Oh, great. Laura was real y looking forward to that. She resisted the urge to latch on to Brandon and refuse to let go until they were safely back in the car on the way to the harbor and
Cloud Nine.

“Laura can join us if she’s interested in playing,” Mr. Prince offered.

Laura would have loved nothing better, but she had the feeling she’d insult Brandon’s mother if she chose that activity over a tour of this gigantic house. “To tel you the truth, I’ve never played tennis in my life,” she said honestly. She loved watching it, but had never had the time or money to get into it.

Mrs. Prince signaled for them to make themselves comfortable. Laura began heading for a wingback chair, but Brandon snagged her hand and tugged her toward the couch.

“What kind of refreshment would you like, Laura?”

Right now a double scotch sounded like a good start. “Iced tea?” Mrs. Prince hit a button on a decorative box sitting on a side table. “Marta? May we have some iced tea, please?”

Laura was a little surprised that the woman could hold up her hand at al , with a diamond that size on her ring. Amazing how rich some people were.

Mrs. Prince dropped gracefully into the chair Laura had intended to occupy. So Laura was happy Brandon had saved her from making the mistake of sinking into his mother’s personal seat. The woman crossed her legs and arranged her blue silk skirt. She glanced up with another fake smile until she saw her son drape his arm along the back of the couch behind Laura. 

Her veneer of civility slipped for a moment, and Laura watched in fascination as she struggled to regain it. But when she smiled this time, it held a wealth of cool condescension.

Nervous or not, Laura wasn’t about to let anyone look down their snooty nose at her, just because she’d been born into a family that had to scrape to keep a roof over their heads. Her father might not have been al that affectionate, but he’d never abandoned her, had never given her over to someone else to care for. He’d worked his fingers to the bone to keep the two of them fed and warm. And even though he’d scolded her for always having her nose in a book, he’d supported her efforts to get an education. Without his constant badgering, she might never have finished high school, much less made the National Honor Society list.

“So, Laura, we hear you run a . . . what would you cal it? A refreshment establishment?”

“You might if you were sel ing snow cones on Coney Island. In Manhattan we call it a bar.”

Out of the corner of her eye Laura saw Brandon’s father bring a hand to his mouth, then emit a discreet cough. She couldn’t see his mouth, but his eyes crinkled very nicely, just like Brandon’s did when he thought something was amusing.

Mrs. Prince, on the other hand, was not in the least amused.

“Oh, yes, a bar,” she said. She waited until Marta set down a tray fil ed with a pitcher of iced tea and some weird-looking little sandwich squares. While pouring, the woman struck again.

“There’s a fine family up in Hyannis port by the name of Tanner.

They’re in import-export. You wouldn’t be related, by chance?”

“The only Tanners I’m related to are located in Dead Dog, North Carolina. They’re into cows and grains.”

Brandon choked at her deliberate mispronunciation. Mr. Prince coughed again. Mrs. Prince narrowed her eyes. “I see. So that’s where your . . . lovely accent comes from.”

“Darn tootin’.”

The next ten minutes didn’t get much better. Mrs. Prince parried, Laura thrust back. She was horrified to feel her accent deepen dramatical y with every answer she gave the woman. But by the way Brandon kept hugging her and laughing softly, apparently he wasn’t all that concerned about it.