to be signed for, of course.’
‘Of course,’ she echoed.
‘But, before that can happen, Mr Bradford has to provide a password.’
The air left her in a rush. Her entire body slumped like a deflated balloon before she had the foresight to shake herself upright again. She turned to Rick, trying to swallow her panic. A password?
‘You will only get one chance, Mr Bradford.’
Acid burned her throat. ‘Oh, Rick...’
He merely grinned at her, those dark eyes dancing. ‘Don’t sweat it, Princess.’ He turned to the solicitor. ‘The password will be Marigold.’
‘That’s correct.’
Marigold? He was a genius!
‘All you now need to do is sign here.’ Clint handed Rick a pen without looking at him and indicated where he should sign. His lack of courtesy grated on her. Hadn’t the people around here heard that Rick’s name had been cleared?
Ah, but there’s no smoke without fire. Her lip curled at the narrow-minded pettiness of it all.
Rick read the short statement, signed and took the letter from Clint’s outstretched hand. He clasped her shoulder briefly. ‘Thanks, Nell.’
And then he left. She wondered if she’d ever see him again.
* * *
Seven and three-quarter minutes later Nell made her escape from Clint Garside. With what she hoped was a breezy wave to Lynne, she shot outside to drag a breath of air into lungs that had cramped.
‘Hey, Princess.’
She spun around to find Rick leaning against the wall just outside the door. One leg slightly raised, knee bent so his foot rested on the wall behind too. The epitome of casual indolence and she had to swallow to contain the leap of joy her heart gave at seeing him.
Slowly, she eased a breath of air out of lungs that had cramped up in an entirely different way. Rick wore a pair of dark denim jeans and a white business shirt, top button undone—no tie—and with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He looked like a model for a jeans commercial.
‘Everything okay?’
She should be the one asking that. She swallowed and nodded and tried not to swoon in relief that he’d waited. ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d still be here.’
‘Why not?’
That intent dark gaze watched her as if...as if she were worth watching, she realised. As if he liked not just what he saw, but...her. As if he liked her.
No doubt it was all just a trick of the light. And if it wasn’t it’d just be smoke and mirrors. Rick had a reputation where women were concerned. Flirting would be as natural as breathing to him.
‘I thought you might like to be alone to read John’s letter.’
He glanced away and she took a step closer. ‘What did it say?’
One of those broad shoulders lifted. ‘I haven’t opened it yet.’
She stared at those shoulders and bit her lip. A hum started up in her blood. She stretched out her toes to prevent them from curling.
‘The street didn’t seem like the right place. I’d prefer more privacy than that.’
Did he want to go home? Or maybe he wanted privacy, but didn’t want to be totally alone? ‘You could come back to Whittaker House with me if you like.’
One corner of his mouth hitched up. It made her blood chug. ‘You’re dying of curiosity, aren’t you?’
‘Absolutely,’ she agreed. ‘But there are cupcakes at my place. There’s a Salted Caramel with my name on it.’
‘Is there one for me?’
She gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes. ‘Of course there is. I would never be so cruel as to eat one in front of company without offering them around first. You can have the Cherry Cheesecake and the Bubblegum if you like.’
‘Sold!’ He pushed away from the wall and fell into step beside her. ‘Did you drive?’
She shook her head. ‘It’s only a five-minute walk—did you?’
‘Nah, it’s only about two minutes from Tash’s.’
They walked along in silence. She was aware of the heat and magnetism he gave off, of the grace with which his tall body moved and the confidence in his strides—shortened to match hers at the moment. With each step she took, her awareness of him grew.
‘You were magnificent back there, you know?’
‘Me? You were the one who guessed the password!’
‘You had that slimy solicitor eating out of the palm of your hand.’
She snorted. ‘That was nothing more than him being overtaken by his own greed.’
‘You played him to perfection. I went into that meeting determined to stamp my mark on it, but...’
She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and dared to meet his gaze. ‘But?’
‘You were an absolute delight to watch and I didn’t want to interrupt you. I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed myself so much.’
Her cheeks warmed. ‘I was pretty good, wasn’t I?’ she said because she didn’t want him to see how much his words touched her.
He threw his head back and laughed. ‘Did you crush him like a bug when I left?’
‘I was tempted to, but no.’
He eased back to survey her. ‘Why not?’
She kept her gaze straight ahead. ‘It doesn’t do to make enemies.’ She had enough of those as it was. ‘He thinks I’m exploring my options and that he’s number one on my go-to list. Besides, I didn’t want to burn our bridges where he was concerned until after you’d read your letter.’ Who knew when they might have to consult with him again?
He didn’t say anything so she forced herself to smile up at him. ‘I’ll save squashing him for another day.’
Her heart started to thump. Hard. She had to tread carefully—very carefully. She was in danger of turning this man into her Sir Galahad. Just as she’d done as a ten-year-old...and throughout her early teens—the fantasy boy who’d ride up on his white charger and rescue her.
She scowled and picked up her pace. Well, she was no damsel. And Rick Bradford wasn’t a Sir Galahad in anybody’s language.
NELL BUSTLED ABOUT the kitchen, putting the coffee on to percolate, arranging some of those sugary confections with their over-the-top frosting and decorations onto a plate and setting it on the table.
While Rick was aware of Nell’s activity, all he could focus on was the letter he’d placed on the table. Sun poured in through the windows over the sink and a warm breeze wafted through the wide open back door and the kitchen gleamed in spotless—if somewhat crowded—cleanliness. And yet none of it could hold his attention.
The envelope sat on the table and the black capitals seemed to sneer at him. He deliberately turned to Nell. ‘When did you move back in here, Princess?’
‘Friday.’
His head snapped back. ‘Friday? As in five days ago?’
‘That’s right.’ She poured out two mugs of steaming coffee. She wore another frock. This one was white with cherries printed all over it and she had a red patent leather belt cinched at her waist.
She’d