Page 41 of Bride By Committee

“You don’t understand, Harry,” she interrupted. “You don’t have all the facts.”

“Then tell me. What am I missing?”

She drew a ragged breath and met his gaze, her expression resolute. “I’m an Adams, the daughter of Wilson Adams. That’s why they asked you to check up on me. They want to make sure that I wasn’t corrupted by my father, that I’m not following in his footsteps.”

Her certainty stopped him cold. “Explain.”

“I’m sorry they put you in the middle.” She averted her gaze, visibly withdrawing, her emotions concealed behind a dispassionate calm. Even her curls had stilled their vivacious dance. “Never mind. I’ll handle it from here.”

The hell she would. “I’m not going anywhere, Madison. Not until you tell me what this is about.”

“You want the sordid details?”

“Why do I have the feeling I’m supposed to take the high road and say no?” he muttered.

Wry humor flickered through her gaze, the first hint of amusement he’d seen since they’d arrived at her office. “Wishful thinking on my part, Iguess.”

He considered doing as she asked, shaking his head when he realized he couldn’t. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Ican’t let it go. Tell me how your father is involved in all this.”

She shrugged. “Okay. Assuming Sunny and Bartholomew really do get married, you’d have heard the story eventually.” She turned toward the French doors and thrust them open. “Let’s go outside. We can talk there.”

He followed, pausing at the edge of the grass. The morning light flooded the yard, providing a warm welcome. Cedar chip walkways bordered with large clumps of bright pink begonias crisscrossed the small yard and a set of wooden benches placed beside a massive rhododendron offered a pretty resting spot at the far back of the property. Haphazard flowerbeds spilled onto the neatly trimmed grass, teeming with every possible variety of flower andherb.

Someone had put a lot of time and effort into the place and Harry suspected he knew who. The garden “felt” like Madison, the abundance of color suited to her vivid appearance. “Nice. Is this where you play?”

She nodded, confirming his guess. “I’ve found gardening a terrific stress reliever. You should have seen it a few years ago. It was a mess.” She looked around with satisfaction. “It’s been quite a learning experience. I’d barely even picked a flower before giving this a try. It was sort of trial and error for a while there.”

True, the garden hadn’t been designed by a professional landscaper. Flowers overran everything in an impractical, enthusiastic jumble as though this was the one place in her life she could safely release all controls and act with spontaneous abandon. But Harry found the overall effect appealing. It was also apparent that the garden had been cared for by a loving hand, free of weeds and pests, and well fertilized. Dozens of competing scents perfumed the air, anchored by the rich, earthy odor of freshly tilled soil, the combination melding into an appealing whole. After a few minutes in her garden Madison visibly relaxed and a healthy flush returned to her cheekbones.

She took her time, wandering to the fence marking the end of her property. Every few steps she bent to pull a weed or pinch off a faded bloom. “I think I mentioned that my father was an accountant,” she finallysaid.

“You told me you’d inherited your practical nature from him.”

“Yes. Dad was always… practical.” She stooped beside an aggressive clump of mint even though it caused the points of her stiletto heels to sink into the dew-laden grass. Harry had the distinct impression she did it to avoid his gaze. The fact that it was so out of character riveted his attention. “Dad was also one of the most amoral men I’ve ever known. He was a thief and a liar.”

Harry grimaced. Hell. He hadn’t seen that one coming. “I gather that’s not just idle speculation?”

“No. In the years he was married to my mother, he systematically stripped the Sunflowers of most of their assets.”

Harry crouched beside Madison while he considered her claim. Grasping her elbow so she wouldn’t lose her balance, he removed first one of her shoes, then the other.

She frowned at him in exasperation. “What are you doing?”

“Keeping you from ruining your shoes.”

“What possible difference does it make if they get wrecked?”

He cradled the scraps of leather in his hands and regarded them with a smile. “This may come as news to you, but men fantasize about shoes like this.”

“Want to try them on?” she asked dryly.

His smile grew. “No, sweetheart. Aside from the fact that I couldn’t fit much more than my big toe in them, they suit you far better. Actually, they’d suit you best if you wore these and as little else as possible.” He fired his next question at her before she had time to do more than stare at him in stunned disbelief. “Did Sunny tell you Wilson had stolen the Sunflowers’ money?”

She looked like she preferred to discuss the shoes some more—anything to avoid their previous conversation—but finally shook her head. “No. Sunny never said a word.”

“Then who?”

She stood and walked barefoot to the next flowerbed, throwing her reply over her shoulder almost as an afterthought. “Dad told me.”

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