Kestrel (Hart Briothers #3) by A. M. Hargrove Page B

to endure her pounding me with question after question. Besides, I
wouldn’t know what to tell her anyway, since she doesn’t know about Ells’ room.
I can see her face now when I’d explain to her that I’ve made a deal with the
man who’s buying my house. In exchange for dating him, I get the chance to
visit my dead daughter’s room. She’d probably send up the guys in white with a
straight jacket and have them haul me off to the state mental hospital in
Columbia, South Carolina. No, it’s better to keep this all to myself. Oh, and
what about Kestrel’s bizarre reaction and the way he left me? I’m not even sure
what the deal is between us now. My head feels like exploding just thinking
about it. My mind is filled with the bits he told me about his father and how
I’d wanted to pull him in my arms and hold him. But I know that wouldn’t have worked.
He probably would’ve flung me out of the car and driven off. What the hell have
I gotten myself into?

 
    Chapter
Eight
    Kestrel

 
    When
I back the car out of the driveway, Carter is still standing there watching me.
I know I’ve confused her, but I have to get away from her and the quicker the
better. My reaction to her touch appalls me. She must think I’m the biggest
asshole around, especially after those kind things she said. And seeing her there
makes me feel like a bigger shit than I already am. But right now I’m
practically jumping out of my skin. Christ! My intentions were to ask her to dinner
mid-week so we could be more comfortable around each other at that function on
Saturday. It’s important that I go. It’s necessary to make connections and
she’ll probably know many of the people there. Now when we attend, and that is
if she will even go with me, it will be under less than ideal circumstances.
    I
must make it a point to call her during the week and ask her to dinner. That
would help to break the ice for the weekend. Thaw things out a little. She’s
much more pleasant to be around than I ever would’ve imagined. She reminds me
somewhat of Gabby—intelligent with I suspect a witty personality hidden
beneath the layers of sorrow. Too bad she’s had such a tragic life thus far.
    My
plans for meeting her crash and burn. I barely have time for bodily functions,
much less to meet her for dinner. Work is ridiculous. I stay at the office
every night until nine or ten o’clock. The new receptionist occupies most of
Shayla’s time, which leaves me buried under a mound of paperwork. Jack from our
Manhattan office arrives on Tuesday, and I feel like I’m a horse at the
Kentucky Derby for the rest of the week. Thursday’s here before I know it and I
haven’t given Carter a thought.
    So
on the way home from work that evening, I take a chance and make that call.
    “Drayton.”
    “Such
formality,” I remark.
    “Oh,
sorry. I’m still at work.”
    “Busy
week?”
    She
sighs. “Yeah. Very.”
    “Am
I interrupting?”
    “Actually,
yes.”
    “I’m
sorry. I’ll call later.”
    “No,
let me call you back. I’m just about to wrap up this modulation,” she says.
    “Sure.”
I have no idea what the hell she’s talking about.
    After
we end the call, I wonder what she actually does. I know she’s some kind of a
doctor. Then I laugh out loud. I’m usually very in-depth about anyone I have
any dealings with. I haven’t done a single background check or search on her.
Why is that? This is highly unusual for me. When I get home, I pour myself a
Lagavulin. Not long after that, my phone buzzes.
    “Carter.”
    “Hi.
Sorry I had to cut that last call short.”
    “Not
a problem. Tell me what you do.”
    When
she finishes, I’m stunned. Her tone is so animated, that I’m smiling. I can
feel her excitement about her work. It’s a living thing.
    “You’re
brilliant. I have to ask. Are you a Mensa member?” She must be. Her IQ must be
at least 130.
    “That’s
a rather silly question, don’t you think?”
    “I
don’t ask silly questions,