Nesting in North Carolina Read online

  Even surrounded by luxury, Becca couldn’t help but feel a pang of homesickness. And guilt. She didn’t really believe that idle hands were always the devil’s playground, but she did believe in living a life of service. But with employees to run his house, what kind of service could she do? She decided she’d talk to Archer about it when he got home. Whenever that might be, she thought as she toweled herself off with a bath towel softer than a kitten’s fur.

  When she ventured downstairs, she heard noises in the kitchen. Becca forgot for a moment that Archer employed a housekeeper and hurried in that direction. Maybe he’d changed his mind and come home? She came to a quick stop, skidding on the smooth tile floor, almost knocking over an antique bust that sat near the doorway.

  “Land sakes,” came a woman’s booming voice. “You scared the daylights out of me, missy!”

  The woman, clenching a sharp knife to her chest and standing over a cutting board of minced vegetables at the marble island in the middle of the kitchen, was tall, probably an inch or so over six feet, and broad shouldered, despite being probably around sixty. She had a homely face, but the laugh lines on it showed that she was probably a good-natured person. She also looked very familiar, and Becca racked her brain for a moment, trying to place her face.

  “You must be the new wife,” said the housekeeper, setting down her knife and coming around the counter. “Archie asked me to the wedding, but I didn’t think it’d be proper, me being just the housekeeper.” She stuck out her hand, and Becca shook it.

  “I’m Becca,” she said shyly. “You must be Jacqueline?”

  The woman let out a surprisingly young-sounding giggle. “Jackie. Archie insists on calling me that because he knows I don’t like it. That’s why I call him Archie. I figure if it was good enough when he was five, it’s good enough now. It’s very nice to meet you, Becca. Want a cup of coffee?”

  “I’d love one, thank you. I can get it, though.”

  Jackie looked at her sideways. “You’re not like the Hayes family, are you?”

  She blushed miserably. “Is it that obvious?”

  “No, honey, no!” Jackie gave her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder that almost knocked her down. “Here. I’ll get it for you.” She pulled out a stool from the kitchen island, and Becca sat. “All I meant was,” Jackie said, bustling over to the cupboard that held mugs, “that you don’t seem all . . . high in the instep.”

  “No, my insteps are flat as can be,” Becca muttered. It was more and more obvious that she was the last person Archer should have married.

  “And the name you were looking for is Julia, by the way.” Jackie set down a steaming mug in front of Becca and slid her a small cream pitcher and a little sugar bowl. “Julia Child. That’s who I usually remind people of.” She grinned. Obviously, the comparison to a famous chef didn’t bother her at all. “Julia cooked a little better . . . but I’m a little taller.”

  Becca giggled. “It’s nice to meet you, Jackie. Can I help you with anything today?”

  “Oh, no—” Jackie stopped talking as Becca’s face fell. “Well, there is one thing. I was going to make some homemade bread, since Archie loves it so much, but my hands. . . .” She cracked her knuckles. “A little bit of arthritis. You don’t happen know how to knead bread dough, do you?”

  “Yes. Thank you,” Becca said gratefully, wanting to cry at the woman’s obvious effort to make her feel at home. She rolled up her sleeves instead. “Now, let’s see your recipe. I want to see how similar it is to mine.”

  She was happily up to her elbows in flour, Jackie settled comfortably at the table with a cup of coffee, when Lavinia sailed into the kitchen. Jackie stopped in the middle of the story she’d been telling about Archer when he was little and jumped to her feet, automatically straightening her apron. “If you’ll excuse me, miss,” Jackie blurted out, her face reddening. “I’ll just get to the laundry.” She almost ran from the kitchen.

  Lavinia wore a pale pink pantsuit, pearls, and high heels that clattered against the floor tiles like machine-gun fire. She spared only a glance at Jackie and sniffed disapprovingly before advancing on Becca like a military general. “I’m sure you’re used to having to cook for farmhands or something every day,” she trilled, waving one heavily ringed hand, “but the Hayes family never sullies their hands with menial labor.”

  “I like menial labor,” Becca said quietly, her own hands clenching in the dough. “Baking bread soothes me.”

  “Well, you don’t have time to play in the kitchen right now.” Lavinia’s blue eyes were frosty. “As a Hayes, you have responsibilities.”

  Becca wanted to laugh. Archer’s mother didn’t think she had responsibilities before she got married? Instead, she turned her back deliberately on Lavinia and washed the sticky bread dough from her fingers in the deep sink behind her. “What kind of responsibilities?” she asked as she scrubbed, her hands turning red from the angry friction.

  Lavinia snapped her fingers sharply, and Becca turned around quickly, nearly ready to go off on the woman, Archer’s mother or not, snapping at her like a naughty puppy. But Lavinia was gesturing a small blond woman into the room. She was very pretty, in a doll-like way, and her eyes were big and deep brown. She reminded Becca of a doe.

  “This is Harper.” Lavinia sounded almost gleeful when she made the introduction.

  Becca recognized a kindred soul when she saw one. Harper was shy. She was also terrified of Archer’s mother. Becca dried her hands on a dishtowel and stepped forward. “It’s very nice to meet you, Harper,” she said to the younger girl with an encouraging smile and held out a hand. Harper shook it tentatively but stared back at Becca with what looked like guilt and embarrassment.

  Suddenly it clicked. “Harper Woodham?”

  The sweet girl that Archer should have married, according to his mother. Her heart nearly stopped as the girl nodded her head miserably, looking at her feet.

  “Harper’s going to educate you on what a proper woman of means does with her days,” Lavinia explained with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got ever so many appointments this afternoon. My schedule is just booked.”

  With that, she left Harper and Becca standing in uncomfortable silence in the middle of the kitchen, like two pillars of stone.

  They heard the front door slam, and Harper jumped a little bit as if scared. Becca sighed. Even though this beautiful, obviously well-bred young woman was supposed to be the one married to Archer, she couldn’t find it in herself to hate her. She could never hate anyone. Even Lavinia. “Would you like a cup of coffee?” she asked instead.

  Harper looked up, confused, and Becca smiled at her.

  “Wh-why ar-aren’t you being me-mean to me?” she nearly whispered. Her voice was soft and sweet, but her stutter was so pronounced that Becca had to hide her surprise.

  “You’re the one who should be being mean to me,” Becca pointed out. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know that you were supposed to marry Archer. Our . . . our marriage was a little unusual. There wasn’t really a courtship.”

  Harper smiled back hesitantly, humor lurking in her eyes. “I know. Y-you used a m-matchmaker. La-Lavinia was s-so m-mad. It’s okay, th-though. I didn’t want t-to marry Archer.”

  Not want to marry Archer? How could any woman not want to marry Archer? Becca shook her head in bemusement. “I think we need that cup of coffee now. Then, we can sit down and have a nice chat. How’s that sound?”

  Harper grinned, transforming her features from simply pretty to beautiful, and nodded.

  Becca felt a lightness in her chest as she poured cups of coffee for both of them. She was already so lonely in this big old house, even though Jackie was a sweetheart. It would be nice to have a friend in this scary new life, and oddly, it looked as though Archer’s supposed “intended bride” was going to be just that.

  Once Harper relaxed, her stutter was nearly unnoticeable. “M-Miss Lavinia doesn’t even know about m-my speech im-i
mpediment,” Harper confessed almost immediately, kicking off her ballerina flats and pulling her legs up under her to sit cross-legged at the table. “She’s so dom-domineering, she’s never let me get a word in edgewise. Otherwise she’d probably have figured out I’m not worthy of her pr-precious boy.”

  “How is it that Lavinia—” Becca stopped herself. She’d almost said, “got her claws into you,” but changed her mind. “Picked you for Archer?”

  Harper’s face clouded and she took another delicate sip of her coffee. “Sh-she talked to my father. He’s ‘nouveau rich.’ Not considered qu-quite as good as the bluebloods of Asheville, since he was po-poor before he invented the car part that made him millions. When Lavinia said she’d find m-me a husband, he was relieved to let her have me. He wants me to marry well and is afraid I won’t be able to because I get t-tongue-tied.”

  Becca laughed. “That’s what my grandma says about me. That I’m tongue-tied. My grandma says a lot of things. She also told Dr. Lachele, my matchmaker, I wanted a rich guy. That was the furthest thing I’d wanted. I told Dr. Lachele I wanted a nice widower with lots of kids.”

  Harper relaxed again. “I could tell you were kind of shy, too, but you seem so much st-stronger than me! Doesn’t Archer make you nervous? He’s so . . . intimidating.”

  “Not yet.” Becca blushed and fiddled with her own coffee mug. “Except he’s so handsome. It’s hard to think straight or remember to be shy around him.” She thought about the way he kissed her and felt her cheeks burn a little hotter. How long were his work days anyway? When would she get to see him? Would he kiss her again tonight? She’d have to find out what time he got up in the morning, so she could see him off to work . . .

  Harper cleared her throat, probably not for the first time.

  “Sorry,” Becca grinned.

  Jackie poked her head around the doorway. “I see the Rolls Royce is gone. Is the witch, gone, too?” When she saw Harper at the table, her eyes went wide. “I mean—”

  Harper just nodded solemnly, a smile teasing the corner of her lips. “Sh-she’s gone. Want some c-coffee?”

  Jackie blew out a relieved breath and hurried to sit down at the table, the wooden chair creaking under her weight. “Hon, you scared the life outta me. I’m too old to find another job, and Miss Lavinia would just love to give me the pink slip.”

  Becca brought Jackie a fresh cup of coffee. “What happens in the kitchen stays in the kitchen. And, speaking of kitchens . . . Harper, do you want to learn how to make homemade bread?”

  Archer pulled up under the portico, gravel crunching under the tires of his car, and sighed tiredly. What a day. Not for the first time, he wished he could leave it all behind and run away to Bora Bora. He rubbed at the back of his neck, where the muscles felt like knotted rope.

  It was almost eleven o’clock, and the house was mostly dark, which wasn’t unusual. What was different was that there was a light glowing through the rain on the main floor, beaming a welcoming light into the darkness.

  Becca.

  Unconsciously, his step quickened, and he forgot about the headache brewing behind his eyes. The house was quiet, no noise from the TV, and he sniffed the air. Jackie must’ve made bread. And, was that cinnamon? His stomach growled, but he dropped his laptop case and his coat on a table in the foyer, kicked off his shoes, and headed for the living room.

  Becca was curled up on the couch like a kitten, her blond hair gleaming with reddish highlights from the glow of the fireplace. He felt a smile crease his face and walked soundlessly across the thick Aubusson carpet. Her lashes shadowed her cheeks, long and thick and just a little darker than her hair. He watched her sleep for a moment, wondering if he should leave her or wake her, when those lashes fluttered, and her eyes focused on him.

  “Archer,” she said sleepily, smiling up at him. “I’m so glad you’re home.”

  That sleepy smile did it. He was toast.

  “You look like Sleeping Beauty,” he said, his voice husky. “Can you close your eyes again, so I can kiss you awake?”

  She smiled at him and closed her eyes. He knelt down beside the couch and brushed his lips over hers.

  Once. The tension of the day melted away.

  Twice. Her lips warmed under his.

  A third time . . . and her arms came up to hold him close. His heartbeat pounded in his ears. This beautiful, enchanting woman was his wife. It made him dizzy for a moment. And, suddenly, he wanted more than anything to make her his in every way.

  “I know we haven’t known each other long . . . but we’re married. May I take you upstairs?” he broke away long enough to ask.

  “I can’t think of anything I’d like more right now.” Her blue eyes sparkled in the dim light from the dying fire, and her lips curved in an innocently sensuous grin. “Please do.”

  When Archer lifted her in his arms, the butterflies in Becca’s stomach fluttered triple-time. “I’ve never done this before,” she added, clutching Archer’s shoulders for balance as he moved swiftly up the stairs.

  He gave her a wicked grin and a wink, nudging his bedroom door open with one shoulder. He tossed her gently into the center of the bed, and she laughed as she bounced once on the cool, green bedspread.

  “That makes two of us,” he answered. “I guess we’ll have to figure it out together.

  Five

  Archer winced at the sound of the alarm. Five o’clock came far too early. He rolled over to shut it off and encountered a warm shape next to him in the darkness. His wife. She was curled on her side and sleeping as soundly as a kitten. Turning off the annoying beeping so she wouldn’t wake up, he gave in to a moment of weakness and nuzzled his face into Becca’s hair. She smelled like fresh apples and made a sweet sighing noise as he pressed against her back. Her skin was smooth and sleep-warmed, and he didn’t want to go anywhere.

  But he had responsibilities, and an early morning snuggle wasn’t one of them.

  He tried to sneak out of bed without waking her, but when he came out of the bathroom after showering, dressed and ready for the office, she was sitting up in bed her hair, falling in tousled waves over her shoulders, glimmering in the soft light from the bedside lamp. She’d pulled the covers up over her breasts modestly, but the creamy glow of her shoulders made him want to climb back into bed and kiss her until he’d memorized her taste, her feel . . .

  “Good morning,” she whispered, smiling shyly. Becca felt her cheeks heat in a blush as she looked at Archer, handsome and severe-looking in his perfectly tailored business suit, his dark hair still damp and combed back from his angular face. He hadn’t seemed so intimidating when they were rolling around on his giant, comfortable bed, locked together in passion the night before. Now, he looked like a stranger again. Until he smiled, melting her instantly into a needy puddle.

  “You look like an angel, sweetheart. Go back to sleep. There’s no need to get up so early.”

  “Oh, I’m normally an early riser.” She leaned over the side of the bed, searching for the robe he’d taken her out of the night before. It was crumpled half under the bed, a messy pile of faded pink terrycloth.

  She shrugged into it and hopped up.

  Archer frowned at her ratty robe for a moment. “I thought my mother was supposed to take you out shopping yesterday.”

  Oops. She hadn’t gone shopping the day before. Instead, Becca, Jackie, and Harper had enjoyed a long afternoon of baking and laughing and cementing a firm new friendship.

  “Oh, I don’t need—”

  “You do.” Archer was insistent. “I’ll have your car delivered this morning and leave a credit card on the table. You need to start accepting that part of being a Hayes is dressing the part. I’ll send my mother over.”

  “No! I mean, don’t bother her,” Becca hurried to say, heading for the doorway in hopes of changing the subject. “Can I fix you a cup of coffee before you leave?”

  She was halfway down the stairs already when he laughed. “No, sweetheart. I always
stop at Starbucks on my way into town.”

  Becca headed into the kitchen, her bare feet cold on the tile floor. “How about some toast? Jackie made your favorite bread yesterday.”

  Before she could get the toaster down from the cupboard, she felt his arms slide around her waist. Archer kissed the side of her neck, and goosebumps rippled over her skin. She made a contented, purring sound before she could stop herself, and he groaned.

  “I’m fine. I’ll get something at the office.” He turned her around and kissed her, tasting like peppermint. “Now, I’ve got to go before I drag you back upstairs. I’ll see you tonight.”

  “But . . .”

  She’d been going to ask him what time he’d be home, so she could cook dinner for him, but it was too late. Archer was gone. She was all by herself again in a big, empty house, already wishing the day was over so she could see her husband again.

  Their days quickly fell into a pattern for the first two months.

  Despite Archer’s insistence that Becca sleep in, she always got up to see him off in the mornings. She would then wait until Jackie showed up for their morning coffee, and the two of them would tackle the house chores and baking or cooking for the day. Sometimes Harper would join them, though she made them promise to hide her under a bed if Lavinia showed up.

  Instead of a rusted-out Ford Taurus station wagon, Becca now had an apple-red Mini Cooper—with black and white racing stripes, no less—that she was still too afraid to drive. It had shown up on the second full day of her marriage, and Becca begged Jackie to move it around once in a while, so Archer’s feelings wouldn’t be hurt that she hadn’t used his gift yet. But what if she hit a deer? Or slid off the road on a patch of ice? She was even scared it would get bumped and scratched by a shopping cart at the grocery store. That zippy little car cost more than her parent’s whole house.