yet businesslike. Her hair blew away from her face which left it available to his gaze. Her skin was lightly tanned, her dark glasses hiding her eyes from his.
He wondered what she thought about dealing with him now, instead of his mother.
He’d already run into trouble with his mom on the terms of Jordan’s will. She didn’t approve of Jed’s having the control and claimed she should have all of Jordan’s paintings. It was a formality only; if she had to she could buy them all. The money went into the estate and then it would be divided back between him and his parents. Still, he planned to follow the letter of the will. Jordan had obviously written it for a reason.
Jed had been surprised to get a call from the lawyer once he’d spoken to his mother. He had not known Jordan had named him as executor. Everything had been put on hold until Jed could be located.
He and Laura both ordered the shrimp subsandwiches and iced tea. The hum of many conversations gave a background white noise. Above it, the slap of waves on the sand beneath the deck could barely be heard. The erratic breeze from the sea kept the temperature manageable, though Jed did slip off the suit jacket and roll back his shirtsleeves.
“It’s hot. Not many men wear suits here,” she commented.
“I came straight from the airport. I saw my parents briefly then came to see you,” he explained. Now he wished he’d changed first. Still, he was on a short time frame and was impatient to get things going. He felt like a fish out of water here. He wanted to wind up the estate and get back to work. His second in command could handle things, but Jed liked to run the construction site himself.
“I read the will,” she said. “It appears you have full authority. How does that impact the show? Will you let it proceed?” She withdrew the envelope from her purse and handed it back to him.
“I knew nothing about the proposed show. When I discussed it with the lawyer who wrote the will, we made plans to liquidate assets as soon as possible. We’re already three months after his death. My mother can buy his pictures, based on your appraisals, and show them if she wishes. If his paintings weren’t selling, what was he doing for money?”
Laura didn’t know how much their family talked to each other. Not much if Jed’s questions were anything to go by. She was curious about the true relationship. Jordan had said so little about his brother, or anything else actually—except how fabulously they’d live once his paintings sold. And how much he loved her. How he would treat her like a queen when the money began to roll in.
Foolish pipe dreams she now knew better than to believe. Her face flushed in memories of the love they’d shared. How she never asked questions, always content to bask in the moment. She’d been an idiot in retrospect. But what a blissful few weeks she’d had.
Jed was watching her. What had he asked?
“Your mother subsidized him until he began to sell.” She tried to keep her tone neutral. Her parents lived a modest lifestyle in Iowa. She’d been raised to become self-sufficient at a young age. She couldn’t imagine her own parents thinking they had to support her at this point in her life. She looked away. That was unfair. They would have helped her in a moment’s notice if she’d really needed it. Maria had lots of money; she probably didn’t think two thoughts about subsidizing Jordan.
“He was thirty and hadn’t begun to earn a living. Would he really ever have?” Jed asked.
She bit her lip, feeling the wash of guilt. Would it have hurt her any to have hung one or two of his paintings in her gallery? Maybe some tourist would have bought them and given Jordan a boost that could have changed his future.
“It’s hard to say.” Because she had not given him that chance.
She looked at Jed, feeling surreal talking to the man who looked so like Jordan. His features were identical. Only the shorter haircut and different attitude showed her she wasn’t living in some dream or caught up in the past. She could be excused for the awareness that hovered. He looked like someone she loved. Her body had a hard time differentiating between them. But her mind knew. She wasn’t going down that idyllic path a second time.
Their sandwiches came and for a moment conversation was suspended while they began to eat.
“Tell me about yourself,” Jed said a little later. “You’re not from here…I can tell from your accent.”
She laughed and put down the sandwich she was about to take another bite from. “I like to think I have no accent and those from here are the ones with the definite accent. I’m from Iowa. I went to college in Boston, studied fine arts, then looked for the ideal job. I found a less than ideal one in Boston where I had the opportunity to learn all I could about current art, appraising, marketing. I spent weekends and vacations looking for another position. A few years ago I came to Miragansett for a long weekend, fell in love with the place and began to look for a job. Hugo Atkins was kind enough to hire me and here I’ve been ever since.”
“It’s a nice town, what little I’ve seen over the years. My parents lived in Boston until I started college. I’ve been on my own since, and for the most part on assignments out of the country, so I’ve never spent much time here. But I remember my mother raving about Hugo’s gallery. It was one of the best in all of Cape Cod, she once said.”
“I like to think it still is. He died almost two years ago. I was fortunate he left the business to me,” she said quietly.
He raised an eyebrow at that but before he could speak, he heard a rise in the conversation level. Turning, he saw his mother. Maria Brodie wove her way through the tables until she stopped at theirs.
“What are you doing talking to Laura?” she demanded, frowning at her son.
Jed rose politely. “I didn’t expect you to join us for lunch,” he said easily.
“I’m not joining you!”
She glared at Laura. “I called the gallery. Heather told me you had come here to have lunch with Jed. He’s nothing like Jordan. He’s only here to wreak havoc with our lives.”
Jed was glad to see some things never changed—like his mother’s bent for dramatics.
Turning back to her son, she continued, “Haven’t we had enough heartache with Jordan’s death without your interfering with our plans?” Her dramatic tone seemed to expand to include the entire deck and all the people there. Most of the customers at nearby tables stopped eating, fascinated by the scene unfolding.
“I’m only following Jordan’s instructions, Mother. You saw the will, you know this is what he wanted,” Jed said quietly. He knew better than to try to head her off. She loved an audience. Did she realize so many people were watching?
“He wrote that several years ago. Things have changed. He should have left me the paintings, or at least left them to Laura. She was going to be his wife. It’s not fair!”
Laura started to open her mouth, thought better of it and closed it firmly. Glancing around, she saw other diners avidly observing every nuance.
“Maria, please, sit down and join us,” she urged. “People are staring.”
Maria paused, glanced around haughtily and then sat in the chair Jed quickly drew out for her.
She glowered at her son. “You stay away from Jordan’s fiancée. I remember the rivalry you two boys had, always trying to take away each other’s girls. You can’t have Laura. He was happy here, away from your interference. Stay away from Laura!”
“Then shall I find someone else to appraise Jordan’s paintings? We were having lunch to discuss that,” Jed said easily, sitting back in his chair. He wondered if he was going to be able to finish his sandwich. How did his mother live with such high drama all the time? He’d find it wearing.
Maria looked surprised. She glanced at Laura. “Of course I want Laura to appraise his work. She’d do a marvelous job. She loved Jordan and admired his paintings, right dear?”
Laura