GOT HERE AS SOON as I could,” Jared Fontaine said, his straight blond hair gleaming in the sunshine as he took the steps leading up to the house.
“You must’ve left your office the moment I telephoned,” Charlotte said, ushering Jared into the parlor. With its Georgian paneling, milled moldings and soaring white ceiling complete with two crystal chandeliers, the room was the most elegant in the entire mansion. Moving soundlessly across the oriental rugs, Charlotte opened the blue velvet drapes that covered the double French doors, letting sunlight spill into the long, rectangular room. She glanced around quickly, checking to see if everything was in order. “I barely had time to put water on for tea.”
“I didn’t come for tea, Charlotte. I came to see you.” Jared took both her hands in his and held them away from her body. “Honey, you look as if you haven’t changed a bit.”
That was true, she thought uncomfortably, but at the moment it was correct for all the wrong reasons. Normally, she wore slacks and blazers and clipped her long hair back at the nape of her neck. But that wouldn’t work in the conservative Poplar Springs business community, so she had rummaged through the back of her closet for something appropriate to court a hopelessly old-fashioned banker in, and come up with a demure pink business suit. She’d added a strand of costume pearls and clip- on earrings, and combed the heavy waves of her shoulder-length hair in the loose, girlish style of her youth.
Unfortunately, the Southern-belle ensemble that was charming Jared Fontaine now hadn’t made a dent in Hiram’s stony resolve, Charlotte thought. But that was where Jared came in. An attorney and old family friend, he could advise her on what to do.
Jared dropped his grip on her, thrust his hands in the pockets of his trousers and stepped back. In a white double-breasted suit, he looked dapper and successful.
They exchanged smiles. “Please make yourself at home in the parlor, Jared, while I run back to the kitchen and get our tea,” Charlotte said.
When she returned, Jared was seated in one of the two wing chairs in the alcove in front of the French windows. It was the coziest, most intimate spot in the room.
Trying not to attach any special significance to that, Charlotte set the silver tea service down on the table between them as Jared’s sherry-colored eyes lasered into hers.
“So what has you so upset?” he asked gently.
“First Unity Bank is trying to force us to sell Camellia Lane because we can’t pay the balloon note on the first mortgage.”
Jared’s expression remained impassive. “How much do you owe?” he asked.
“Fifty thousand,” Charlotte replied, as she poured steaming tea into two bone-china cups.
He whistled, his eyes focused on the movements of her hands. “That’s not exactly penny change.”
“No, it isn’t,” Charlotte agreed, sitting back in her chair. “Which is why we need your help. I’ve already talked to Hiram, to no avail. But I thought perhaps if you intervened—”
Jared held up a hand. “I’ll be honest with you, Charlotte. The likelihood of you and your sisters getting an extension from the bank is slim. You owe the money. The bank has every right to collect.”
Charlotte’s expression fell. Jared and his family were very well connected; she had been counting on him to help her. “Couldn’t we even get a couple more weeks?” Enough time for her to find Sterling?
“It’s doubtful. Life here is changing. With the new auto plant coming in next year, Poplar Springs will no longer be the sleepy little burg we both grew up in. The price of land in this part of Mississippi is already shooting up.”
“All the more reason why my sisters and I should hold on to Camellia Lane,” Charlotte said stubbornly.
He shook his head. “Don’t be a fool. Now is your chance to get out of debt and in on the ground floor of something really big.”
With effort, Charlotte kept her voice Southern-lady-pleasant. “You’re not listening to me. I don’t want to sell, and neither do my sisters.”
Jared settled his broad shoulders more comfortably against the back of the chair and balanced the saucer on the flat of one hand. “It doesn’t work that way, Charlotte. If you don’t sell your land, then someone else here will sell theirs. A year from now, if other subdivisions do pop up in the meantime, then there’ll be no demand for your land.”
“So much the better,” Charlotte said with a shrug.
Jared studied her. “You really want to fight Hiram, don’t you?”
“And the Heritage Homes developers. Camellia Lane is one of the few antebellum mansions left in this part of Mississippi. It should be preserved. The question is, will you help me?”
Jared studied her as if a great deal were at stake for him, too. “If I do…does that mean you’ll stay on?”
“In Mississippi?”
“Yes.” Jared kept his eyes on hers.
Charlotte shrugged, feeling uneasy at the suddenly intimate nature of his gaze. “The magazine I work for is located in New York.”
The corners of his mouth lifted slightly. “You couldn’t give it up?”
Charlotte drew a deep, enervating breath. “For what?”
“A life here at Camellia Lane.”
Again, his gaze was a little too intense for comfort. Surely he couldn’t be saying… Charlotte backed off. She raised a hand in a cautionary manner. “I can’t think about that today, Jared.” And she meant it.
He set his cup and saucer aside and leaned toward her. “Then when?”
Charlotte drew another breath. “I’ll think about it tomorrow,” she said.
* * *
CHARLOTTE SHUT THE DOOR after Jared and leaned against it wearily. She had tried to make it clear from the outset that she had called him because he was an old family friend—not a potential love interest. Unfortunately, he was thinking of her amorously.
She was going to have to think up some way to let him down gently. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings.
In the meantime, she had to think of a way to make the balloon payment if she couldn’t locate Stephen Sterling in time. With that purpose in mind, Charlotte marched across the front hall to the library. She was halfway across the room when she caught a flash of movement on the sofa and let out a startled scream.
“Lady, what is it with you?” Brett drawled as he lazily sat up. “Must you always scream people awake?”
Charlotte resisted the urge to slug him for scaring her half to death. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“I thought you wanted me to do more caretaking.”
Charlotte braced her fists on her hips and stood her ground. “What does that have to do with you sleeping on the library sofa?” And why did he have to look so sexy, with his dark
