Excerpt His Brothers Child

Reviews:

HIS BROTHER'S CHILD is a masterful blend of warmth and tenderness. It made me smile and get misty-eyed.... and reminded me why Romance is my favorite kind of fiction!

-----Loree Lough, award winning author of Suddenly Mommy!, Suddenly Daddy! and Suddenly Married!

HIS BROTHER'S CHILD is a charming story and a cozy read. 4 stars!

-----Reviews@Sime-Gen

HIS BROTHER'S CHILD .....His Brother's Child is an enjoyable emotional story

-----by Lisa Mondello for The Lovers Knot Magazine

. . . . . . .Although the plot had a lot going on for the short format, His Brother's Child is an enjoyable emotional story that at the core is about taking a good look at yourself and facing the truth. The twists and turns are both surprising and intriguing as the truth about the Lacey brother's is uncovered. In her debut book, Robin Bayne has done a wonderful job creating very real characters with hopes and dreams and flaws that we all can identify with despite social differences. After all, truth and faith have no social boundary. I would recommend this book to anyone who enjoys a sweet romance filled with family values.

Excerpt From - His Brother's Child: Robin Bayne

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His Brother's Child

Chapter One

Braci knew she'd never live in a house like this one. She stared at the mansion of white brick capped with graceful turrets and high, arched windows, then double-checked the house number. This wasn't the place. Too bad, because she loved huge houses with spiraling staircases and intricate floor plans, the kind that had seen romantic weddings and heard hymns of longing. The kind that called to mind true love, silhouetted against stained glass, whispering sweet promises.

But that would never be for her. And this was not the house she'd been looking for, anyway. Braci put her car back into "DRIVE" and aimed the maroon Toyota back into the narrow, black-topped lane. Before she could make the turn, squealing tires startled her and a glossy black sports car swerved in front of her, in a hurry to enter the circular driveway of the mansion. Adrenaline pumped the brake pedal to the floor, snapping her full attention back to the road. Just six inches closer and it would have sideswiped her own car, on her side. Warmth flooded her face when she realized a little scream had popped from her mouth.

"That was close," she said, shaking her head at the rapidly fleeing car. Probably some kid who just got his license, she thought. If he had one at all. Braci remained frozen for several seconds, gripping the steering wheel with tight knuckles. As her pulse slowed, she glanced back at the now-clear driveway, then tried once again to pull back into the flow of traffic.

The wailing of an ambulance siren stopped her again. At first she didn't see a thing, but waited, uneasy. Then the noise grew angrier as a red and white EMT vehicle approached. Blue lights beaconed as it pulled into the driveway and proceeded around the loop. She instantly forgave the driver of the black car, who could only have been racing toward the emergency.

Braci sat still, her muscles quivering, yet her form stayed as rigid as the marble angel statue that watched her from the grounds of the mansion. Well, not quite as stiff, and the statue surely didn't feel any adrenaline coursing through its veins. Willing her hands not to shake, Braci loosened the death grip she had on the steering wheel and put the car back into PARK. She took a deep breath, enjoying the calming effect it had on her rattled nerves. This must be how rubber-neckers feel when they dawdle in front of an accident scene, horrified yet obscenely fascinated.

A police cruiser pulled up behind Braci's car, saluting her with flashing red lights. Oh no, she moaned, clutching the wheel. What could I have done? Watching him approach her in the rear view mirror, Braci wondered if she was going to get a ticket for illegal parking. She touched the gold cross at her throat for reassurance.

"Miss," a young officer called, tapping on her window. "Open up, please."

Her awkward hands fumbled, searching for the electronic control. Whatever happened to regular turning handles?

"Yes, officer?" she asked, aware of his impatient gaze.

"Move into that driveway please, ma'am. Just a slight delay while the governor's caravan goes through. Over there, please," he repeated, and left Braci alone to follow his directions, giving her no chance to mention the ambulance already parked there.

She knew she ought to pull into the driveway, but was sorely tempted to just drive away. Of course it was the house of her dreams, the one she'd give her right arm just to tour. She'd give both arms to redecorate just one room. For some reason, she just didn't want to approach the place right now. Another glance in the mirror told her a line of cars waited to follow her.

Well, why not? She'd been detoured many times in her life, with few ill effects. Designers were always driving to customer's homes, and always getting detoured, lost and waylaid. Nothing new. She drove in cautiously, and pulled around the ambulance. The lights were still flashing like some kind of fanatical strobe. Before she could steer around the circle, another car pulled in from the opposite end and appeared determined to hit her head-on. She braked, laying a quick slap to the floor of the car and another layer of suede from her heel.

Braci waited, giving herself a good five minutes to regroup, and then was out of her car before anything else could happen. A few splats of rain fell on her, cold drops on the part in her hair. Great, she thought, now we have weather to deal with on top of all this.

A door slammed with a hollow oak thruwmp. From the mansion's double arched doorway came a tall man in his early thirties, Braci guessed, wearing khaki pants and a soft white sweater. She felt a sudden urge to touch that sweater, to see if strength was hidden under the deceptively innocent cotton. The man inside the sweater didn't appear innocent at all, more brooding. What was she thinking?

Taking a few steps toward him, Braci decided to ask to use his phone. She was going to be late getting back to the store, and she'd need to let her boss, Janice, know about the delay. But before she could speak, the man's face darkened and threatened to storm. The cloudy expression was headed in Braci's direction. A shiver ran up her spine, just as it did in forewarning of the approaching electrical storm. There was something familiar about him.

Raindrops pelted her with more force, causing a shiver that ended just above her heart. Or perhaps it was the man's steady gaze that caused it, when he stopped a foot from her.

"Hi," she began, "would it be possible to use your telephone? It seems the police have re-routed me for the moment, well, re-routed all of us," she said, sweeping her arm toward the driveway and its occupants.

"I see," he said, not moving a well-defined muscle in reply. His hands remained hidden in the khaki pockets, his face still on hers.

"I just need to call my boss," Braci went on, wiping a particularly fat drop from her brow. Annoyance edged her voice. "It's a local call." Why was he just staring?

The man continued to look at her, despite the other detoured drivers beginning to roam the front yard. Some of them held cellular phones to their own ears, wandering around as if they owned the place. Braci wondered if he owned this huge estate. She watched his eyes drop to her shoes, black pumps she'd bought on sale at Campbells. With her employee discount, of course, but he didn't know that.

From that point, his gaze took in her knees, middle and neck. When he finally met her eyes again, the flecks of silver in his green eyes were dancing.

"Maybe I'll just wait in my car," she said, suddenly aware of feeling warm. Did he like what he saw or was he noticing the scuffs on her shoes?

"No, wait here for--" he said, but was interrupted by two paramedics carrying a stretcher from the front porch. An older woman, pale and lifeless, appeared to be the unlucky patient. His mother, perhaps? A dusty image of Braci's own mother flashed behind her eyes.

He followed the medical team to the back of the ambulance, discussing things Braci couldn't hear. She waited, not merely because she needed to use the phone, but because he had asked her to wait, and something about him commanded respect.

Rain splashed harder on the small crowd that circled the yard along with the curving drive. Heavy, metallic ambulance doors slammed shut, and the van was on its way, urging with lights and sirens the other cars to pull into the grass and let it pass. Braci watched as the man ran one hand through his dark locks, pushing them back away from his sculpted face as he watched cars tear up the lawn. When he turned back to her, she couldn't suppress another shiver.

With the damage done in muddy gashes of once green grass, the cars began filtering out into the main road again. Obviously the political entourage had passed. Braci and her strange host were alone in the yard that spanned several acres.

"Would you like to come in now?" he asked, letting his eyes once again meet Braci's.

A blush began when she realized how wet her clothing had become. No wonder he was staring, she looked like a rumpled child. So much for crisp, businesslike fashion.

"Yes, thank you," she managed to say, and followed him to the porch. White wood planks, it stretched the entire length of the stone house. Climbing four white stone steps, the man turned and offered his hand to Braci.

"It's slick," he said, and finally broke into a grin.

Braci's stomach now dropped to her toes. The smile radiated warmth and good nature. The brooding, ominous look had vanished. She completely forgot her purpose, becoming aware instead of every move he made. If she had ever met him before, he hadn't shown her this devastating smile.

"I'm Kyle Lacey," he said, finally breaking a silence that had only lasted a few seconds, but had felt like long minutes. He reached out and lightly touched the cross she wore around her neck.

"Braci Martin," she replied, and put her hand into his larger one. Static energy, residual lightening, electric but unrelated to the spring storm, jarred her senses at his touch. This is ridiculous, she told herself. I just met this man, and his poor mother probably just had a heart attack. She knew she had to make her call and get out of there.

Kyle held one of the front doors open; the high arches stood in silent welcome. She caught her breath at the sight of the two story foyer, the curving staircase disappearing into a deep hallway, the marble tiles shimmering under her feet. They were slippery, like the front steps, and Braci's wet pumps were just dying to turn her ankle. Kyle steadied her elbow. When did she get such sensitive nerve endings in her elbow?

"There's a phone in the library," he said, seemingly unaware of the tingling he caused in Braci's arm. When he closed a heavy, stained wood door behind them, Kyle leaned against it and smiled. "On the desk." He indicated a dark cherry desk with a Queen Anne chair by its side. Braci noticed a several photos on the bookshelf behind the desk, all adults except for one small, dark-haired boy framed in an oval of silver. An ornate crucifix lay next to the frame.

"Do you need privacy?" He called her attention back to the phone.

"No, that's okay." Braci quickly called Janice and relayed the reasons she was late. From the corner of her eye, Braci watched him caress the photo of the little boy, then turn it around, away from view. How odd. If she didn't have good peripheral vision, she would have missed the motion. When she hung up, Kyle hovered near. Braci's head only reached his shoulder, and she wondered how such wide shoulders fit through normal doorways. Good thing he lives in a mansion, she thought, smiling.

"Thank you," she said, her voice a whisper. He was so near. And staring.

"Miss Martin," he said, touching a lock of her damp hair that clung to her neck.

"Call me Braci," she said, meeting his eyes. Her bottom was resting on the antique desk. Would he mind?

"Braci," he repeated, pushing the hair back, away from her face. He leaned close. "Do you always wear the cross?"

She couldn't speak, so she nodded. What happened to her tongue, anyway? He smelled of Christmas pine and spring rain and expensive wood, and when his nose approached hers, Braci lost her train of thought. And in spite of his question, she lost all of her thoughts when his lips brushed her cheek, his dark head bent toward her lighter one.

She felt a strong hand support her chin, saw his head above hers as he began to say something. The phone on the desk rang shrilly, jarring in the quiet library. Braci was snapped back to the real world as if the phone had transmitted electrical shock.

"Thanks again. I have to go." What was wrong with him? His mother, or someone probably related, just got carried off on a stretcher. That had to be why he had screeched into the driveway earlier, when she was trying to pull away. Was he having one of those life/death responses the psychologists talked about? Responding to threatening situations with the need to be close to someone?

"I'll walk you to your car," he said. The ringing continued.

"Shouldn't you get the phone?"

"Someone else will." He opened the door and waved her through as if she were royalty. Sure enough someone in another part of the house, a female, started speaking once the ringing ceased.

Braci nodded, and moved back into the high-ceilinged hallway. Paintings lined the passage way, each ornately framed and accented by a piano-lamp over it.

"Your home is beautiful," she said as they reached the foyer. With an appreciative touch, Braci caressed the wooden ball at the banister base. "Such workmanship. Such a graceful shape."

When she looked up at Kyle, he was smiling. "Funny, I was just thinking the same thing about you." Whatever response she would have made was lost when a short, thick-waisted woman approached them. Having appeared from somewhere deeper in the house, she nodded toward Braci and then ignored her.

"Excuse me, please," she said, "Mr. Kyle, I've notified The Decorative Touch as you asked. That poor woman's family will meet her at the hospital."

Braci drew a full, surprised breath. The Decorative Touch was the strongest competition to her and Janice's small department at Campbells. The only reason they had not been driven out of business was their lower overhead and fee structure. And the in-store charge cards didn't hurt.

"Thank you, Nancy. I was just showing Ms. Martin out." He turned from the woman and opened the solid wood door for Braci, who followed him through.

Outside the storm had abated, leaving a gray sky hoping for sunlight. Her thoughts still on the competition, Braci spoke up. "I hope you don't mind my asking, but who was that woman? Did she work for a design company?" A nervous quiver in her stomach told Braci she was being plain nosy.

"Martha Jenkins, I believe her name is. Why? Do you know her?" Curiosity steeled his green eyes.

"The Martha Jenkins? The famous one who started that company, The Decorative Touch?" Braci was stunned. Of all of her fellow decorators, Martha's work had most inspired Braci. Both women designed with a flair for modern style accented with classical; a touch of Greek or Roman intermingled with glass tables and chrome.

"Yeah, I think so. Why?" An innocent question.

"I'm a decorator, and she's not only one of my initial role models, but her entire firm is now my competition. Well," she said, always honest, "I hope to give her some competition."

"Aaah," he said, smiling now. "Such an advantage you have now, Ms. Martin. Young, pretty and armed with inside knowledge of her rival. Aren't you glad you were detoured here?"

Braci felt another blush warming her skin. "I was just curious. Actually, I'm very glad my first impression was wrong. I wouldn't have wanted that to be your mother, or aunt, being taken out of here." Or wife, she thought, but didn't add it.

"Thank you," he said, sounding relieved, touching her arm. "When can I see you again, Braci Martin?"

She smiled. "Soon, I hope." She'd really like to see more of the house, and if he was in it, that was okay too. She tugged on her cross.

The purr of an engine arriving caught their attention, dragging it away from each other. A pearled white Mercedes pulled in front of the house. The car door swung open, and out stepped a lovely woman dressed in the purest white.

"Now there," Kyle said, "is my mother."

Once brief introductions were made, Kyle filled his mother in on the emergency of the day. After expressing considerable remorse, Mrs. Lacey wondered aloud about her interior work.

"No problem, Mother. Braci here is an interior decorator." Kyle's statement pleased Braci, but the pleasure was twinged with guilt over the circumstances that gave her this chance. Was it un-Christian to pursue this opportunity?

"Is that right?" Mrs. Lacey looked Braci over more carefully than before. "I haven't signed the contract yet, we were still at the consulting stage. Could your firm handle a project this large?"

"What are you redecorating?" She dropped her eyes for a moment, relieved to see her suit had mostly dried.

"The downstairs--all of it. And the master suite. I've developed some unusual tastes over the years; it comes from traveling you know. I want a mix of styles, modern, traditional, antique. I guess I'm just an eclectic, now. Not eccentric, mind you." She smiled. "Martha Jenkins understood what I desired." She turned more narrow eyes on Braci. "You're very. . . young."

"I'm older than I look, Mrs. Lacey. I would be honored for a chance to discuss this project with you, and I believe my partner and I could serve this beautiful home well." Hoping her voice conveyed the confidence she didn't completely feel, Braci kept her spine straight. The next thing she'd know she'd be curtseying for the woman.

"Very good. Can you meet with me on Monday?"

Braci's mind flew into time-line action. Could she have a proposal ready in four days? What would Janice say to her taking on her own project for such an important client?

"Will someone from Martha's company be expecting to take over for her?" She could not afford a reputational smear of any kind from The Decorative Touch.

"I sincerely doubt that. All of their designers are booked for specific jobs months in advance. I scheduled Martha last year." Mrs. Lacey still held a smile, but appeared to issue a challenge with her statement.

From the corner of her eye, Braci saw Kyle cross his arms and stroke his chin with one hand. Was he trying to hide a smile? So what if she wasn't booked up in advance?

"Monday would be great," she said, reaching to shake her new client's hand. Throughout the conversation, Kyle had stood three feet back and watched the discussion. Even if he found Braci amusing, she was glad for his presence. And grateful for this mixed-up chance of an opportunity.

She offered to fax over references, but Kyle's mother told her to send them with the proposal. When she had disappeared inside the great arch of a front door, Braci turned to Kyle.

"I owe you big time," she told him. "Can I take you to dinner?" Briefly she remembered Janice back at the store, but dismissed the thought. She was still working, technically speaking.

"Sure can, just not tonight. I'll call you," he said, taking her arm as they descended the last of the porch steps. "Slick, remember?" He grinned again.

"Vividly," she said, as he opened her car door. "Want to know the truth, Kyle?"

"You're really not a decorator?"

"No, I am that. But I didn't just happen to get detoured here. I was already here." She pulled the seat belt across her body, Kyle's gaze making her want to tell the truth.

"What do you mean?" His eyes became silvered slits, and he leaned into the car.

"I was looking for another address; someone near here wants an estimate. After running an errand, I drove by. Remember almost sideswiping a car as you turned in here?"

"Vaguely. That was you?"

"Uh-huh. Then after you came the ambulance, and then the police, and I was trapped. It was some afternoon around here."

He pushed her door closed, his face relaxed again. "I promise it will be calmer next time you visit. Are you heading home?"

She shook her head. "Back to the store. I have a lot to tell my boss, and an awful lot of numbers to crunch between now and Monday."

Kyle nodded and raised a hand as she drove off, wondering why she drove so slow if she had so much to do. This cute little brunette, all hundred and ten pounds of her, drove away in a compact foreign car. Square, with four doors. He could help her trade up to a nicer car. She couldn't be more than twenty-five or thirty years old, too young for a boring car. Remembering her soft cheek his lips had touched, so briefly, Kyle felt the urge to redecorate the rooms of his own house. Perhaps after she was done his parents' place. Had he told her he didn't live here with his family? It didn't matter, he hadn't spent more than a dozen nights at his own house since Kyle, Jr. was born. And this was the first woman who had caught his interest. He hadn't felt an attraction like this in years. He'd have to thank his mother for the opportunity, and her timing. He looked upward, thanking God, too, and reminded himself to send old Martha Jenkins some flowers and to mention her in his prayers.

~ ~ ~

After Kyle's father said his favorite prayer of thanks, dinner conversation at the Lacey home that evening was focused on poor Martha Jenkins. Kyle's younger brother, whom they teasingly called Pastor Gregg, was particularly concerned about the woman's status.

"I'll go see her tomorrow, and let you know how she's doing," Gregg offered, passing the mashed potatoes around the table.

"It's just wonderful when you boys are all here for a meal," Mrs. Lacey said, slipping a grin to her husband on her right. "That would be lovely of you, Gregg. You're so considerate."

Kyle and his older brother, Kelsey, made the grunting noises they'd used since childhood whenever Gregg behaved sweetly and unselfishly. Kelsey's wife hid what Kyle knew to be a grin behind her linen napkin.

"Okay, you two, that's enough." Mr. Lacey was stern-voiced and the epitome of authority, but smiling as well. "Kelsey's the doctor in the family, he should go too."

"Well, Kyle arrived just after it happened. Perhaps he should go, too." Mrs. Lacey made a valiant attempt at looking serious.

"Sure," Kyle said, reaching for a roll. He knew by then his parents were teasing, but that Gregg would certainly go visit the ailing decorator. It was in his nature. Kyle had seen it over and over again. Especially after little Kyle was gone. Three years ago Gregg had solidified the relationship of brotherly love, and these monthly family dinners always made Kyle remember. And appreciate.

"Kyle met a lovely young lady this afternoon," Mrs. Lacey said, pouring coffee to go with dessert.

Inhaling deeply of fresh baked peach pie, Kyle decided to oblige his mother's story telling.

"It's about time, Kylie-boy," Kelsey said, ignoring his brother's dark look.

"Tell us about her," Gregg urged, declining caffeine. He steepled his fingers under his chin. "Was she working with Martha Jenkins?"

"Against her, really." Kyle couldn't keep the irritation from his voice, but it wasn't directed at Gregg. It was his older brother who shouldn't' show so much interest. Kelsey had some nerve discussing women with him, after everything they'd been through a few years ago. He reminded himself to be charitable, after all, helping Kelsey had been his idea too.

He briefly recapped his meeting with Braci, omitting the kiss to her cheek. For Gregg's benefit, he explained that Braci got her big break when Mother had asked her to work on the house. He made a mental note to quietly have a nurse arranged for Mrs. Jenkin's return home.

"So she's a corporate ladder climber?" Kelsey asked, feigning innocence. "Not trying to get rich off of the Lacey clan?" He clinked his spoon against the china coffee cup.

"No, she's just a nice girl trying to establish herself. She doesn't seem to be a workaholic, or rich, or poor, or loud, and she's not an air head. She was wearing the tiniest little cross I've ever seen." Kyle felt his irritation growing as if he were an oyster with sand particles under his skin.

Kelsey grinned wide, showing large white teeth. "So what is she, then?"

Gregg spoke first. "It sounds like she's just right."

Kyle smiled his appreciation to the Pastor. Wasn't every oyster blessed with a pearl?

~ ~ ~

Braci hummed along with the car radio as it played April Love, enjoying the old-fashioned, yet romantic harbinger of spring. The sky surrounding her Toyota was clear and cloudless enough to be a cliché. Her hair hadn't frizzed, thanks to the unusually low humidity level. All in all, a perfect day to start a new job. Except for Janice.

The reaction of her boss to her news had startled Braci, who expected accolades, perhaps speckled with anxiety, for bringing in such lucrative business. Instead, Janice had turned away, but not before Braci caught a glimpse of a frown on the older woman's pale skin.

"Janice? Is anything wrong?" Braci had asked, touching her friend's shoulder.

"Of course not," Janice said, turning to face her again. "I was just surprised. I'll need to start on the specs right away." She took a deep breath and fussed with the silky scarf under her jacket lapels. "Good work, Braci," she added, her lips rising for a limp smile.

But her words had sounded static, not ecstatic, about the new job. Rolling her window down to sniff the spring air, Braci dismissed Janice's reaction and chalked it up to a bad morning. Everyone had them. Or maybe a large account like the Lacey project intimidated Janice--it certainly did Braci. Taking risks was crucial to her future; if she planned on some day owning her own design firm, which she did. Being a woman, especially a young woman, required Braci to work harder to get ahead. It seemed she, like her mother before her, was always fighting some type of discrimination. On the plus side, there was no longer anything else in her life to keep her from giving her career one hundred percent of her time and attention.

~ ~ ~

"I just don't know if we can pull this off, Brace." Janice pushed a handful of her red hair behind one brushed gold hoop.

"Time or dollars?"

"Dollars. Mrs. Lacey has made some very specific requests."

Braci nodded. "We can do it. I'll be over there day and night if I have to. Time shouldn't be a big problem. We need this job, and I intend to devote myself to it." She slid a file drawer into place. "Janice?"

"Sorry," she said, rubbing the back of her neck. "I wonder if I was cut out for this after all."

"I'll make more coffee. You always feel better with fresh coffee." She gave her friend a quick shoulder squeeze. "You didn't work five years as a secretary to put yourself through college just to give up right before our biggest job ever."

"You're right," Janice said, reaching over her shoulder to pat Braci's hand. "Here's my cup."

Mr. Coffee trickled steaming drops into the decanter, the aroma making Braci reach for a cup herself. Both mugs were white ceramic with "Campbells" scribbled across in red letters. Alone in their office, Braci and Janice could forget that the retail world was swirling around them with a flurry of cash registers and shopping bags. They pored over catalogs and books, selecting items for certain clients. When they felt really successful or severely depressed, they ordered items for themselves, too. Only those eligible for employee discounts, of course.

"We've spent all weekend studying the room dimensions Mrs. Lacey faxed over," Janice said, perkier after just a few sips of hot caffeine.

"Right. But we haven't seen the place yet to know what she has now."

"What did you see when you were there Thursday?"

"Hmmm, Queen Anne furniture. Heavy, dark cherry and a lot of brocade and tapestry. Dramatic oil paintings, many of them religious, all through the main hall. Portraits and landscapes, mostly. Heavy Orientals on the marble and slate floors."

"So she's going from dark and old-fashioned to lighter, more modern."

"Exactly. She's tired of the grand motherly look. It's kind of a shame. That house is just the way I'd have wanted my grandmother's house to be, if I had known her. Lots of mementos from the past, lots of family photos." Braci paused, remembering the photo of the little boy that Kyle had tried to hide from her. Of course, it was possible she was over reacting, perhaps he was just thoughtlessly arranging the shelf and had clumsily turned the picture the wrong way.

"We'll need to know more about the family. Who lives there, their tastes and the whole bit."

"Mrs. Lacey wants a more modern look, some brass and glass among the antiques. I assume that there aren't any small children running around. I already have an octagonal, glass coffee table in mind." She thought of the little boy again. Would he ever come around and possibly trip over such a table?

"Remember, Brace, they ask for change, even when that's the last thing they really want. Change scares people."

Braci smiled and poured a second cup of coffee. "You've taught me well, boss. I know change is scary, but it also pays our salaries."

"And commissions," Janice said, as a ringing sounded, followed by the beeping tone of the fax machine. "You're younger, you go get it."

Braci headed for the machine, noticing once again how outdated it looked. It was lumbering away, beside the even older photocopy machine, receiving a transmission. Perhaps the store would spring for new equipment after the Lacey job paid off. She was younger than Janice, true, but Janice was the one who presented the polished, professional image. Even after a long, grueling weekend of guesstimating for the Lacey project, Janice was groomed to perfection. Every red hair was straight and on good behavior. Her long legs were clothed in gray flannel trousers, wrinkle-free. Her signature bow blouse was crisp and ready for the toughest negotiations.

They worked in silence then, the only noise rising from calculator keys tapping and the occasional squeal of a pencil sharpener.

"If we get the job," Janice said, after placing a neat stack of papers on her desk. "I've got subs to do the floors and wall coverings. You're in charge of window dressings and accessories. Deal?"

Braci tried to suppress her smile, and nodded. What a deal! Janice was taking over the boring part, and she would get to select the artistic objects that she loved.

"We do furniture together?"

"Yep. Just like always. Are we ready to see Mrs. Lacey tomorrow?"

"Absolutely. I think our estimate is more than fair." Braci rose to stretch, pulling her white tee shirt out of her jeans. "See you here at eight?"

"That's good. And Braci--we have to remember to order flowers for Martha Jenkins."

~ ~ ~

"I want all of the walls and carpets to be white," Mrs. Lacey said, indicating the boundaries of her front parlor. "The dining room and sitting room are to be white as well. The tables are to be glass, and there you can get as creative as you like. However, every cross over every door must stay."

Braci nodded, scribbling notes on her steno pad. She followed her hostess back to the library, a room Braci had already seen. Just as the first time they'd met, Kyle's mother was garbed in pure white from pump to neck bow.

"Here, we're dealing with dark wood floors, I know. But I'd like to brighten things up a bit. I'd like you to find a few Egyptian or Grecian pieces. We can scatter them throughout the house. It's not as if I'll have grandchildren coming to visit anytime soon." A wistful note appeared in her voice, and Braci wondered if the woman would heave out a great sigh for effect.

She did not. They moved back into the hallway.

"Mrs. Lacey, will we be able to change around this hallway as well? The paintings?" She watched the older woman pause, cross her arms and touch her cheek with one hand. Apparently contemplating the oils and their meaningfulness, she looked very maternal to Braci.

"Perhaps all but the large portrait on the far end. But we can move that one to the sitting room."

Braci looked, moving closer to the honored portrait. It looked like the same child in the photo that Kyle had turned around. Her stomach jumped--just who was this little boy? With plump golden cheeks and a headful of thick hair, he looked the cherub every woman dreamed of. She didn't have time to ponder the question, because Janice rejoined them.

"Measuring done?" Braci asked.

"Almost," she replied, tucking hair behind her fat silver earrings. Her gray pantsuit was crisp, not giving a clue that she'd been measuring--a typically dusty job.

Dust in this grand place? No, Braci didn't think so. Someone was keeping this house immaculate. Interesting, how both Janice and Mrs. Lacey appeared in almost identical pantsuits today. Both were what fashion magazines dubbed classic, timeless outfits.

Self-consciously, Braci smoothed her floral skirt. At home it had felt trendy and fashionable, but the skirt and navy blazer now made her feel young and unsophisticated around the older women. Did she look as naive as she suddenly felt?

Kyle watched her hands smoothing the material of her skirt. Her nervous gestures confirmed his suspicions that she was young, but his mother seemed quite taken with the pair of designers. With heads bent together over a legal clipboard, the brunette, frosted white, and red heads seemed to be in final negotiations.

"Kyle," his mother said, lifting her head toward him. "I didn't know you'd be here this morning." Her eyes flicked over him, and he knew she thought he'd come to see Braci Martin.

And she was right. He'd arrived here at the right time, too. Braci was pulling on her silky skirt, and he couldn't help but watch. That is, until Braci looked up at him and smiled. Though her actions hinted at her nervousness, her eyes shimmered with pleasure. Was she happy to see him again, or anticipating the money she would make with this work?

She didn't look a thing like Rebecca. Braci's hair swung naturally at her shoulders, unlike Rebecca's tightly wound chignon bun. The casual outfit, while appropriate for business, didn't reek of high-powered luncheons and career-making liaisons. Instead, it showcased Braci's slim figure and an innocence Kyle couldn't identify. But that boss of hers was a cool one, and just the type to corrupt Braci with promises of six-figure income and corner offices. Then she'd be no better than Rebecca--and that woman had gotten herself exiled from his heart and from her own country.

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