her. And in Jackson’s case, she feared, first to threaten the strength of her ribs.
It would have been overwhelming if the anticipated jousting hadn’t been a common occurrence since she’d known them. They were the Cades, not just a breed apart from other men, but among themselves. Yet, in their differences, once they had been a close family. Eden hoped they could be again.
“Lincoln,” she said in greeting as the tallest, and second oldest, took command, virtually lifting her off her feet.
Before his kiss was finished, she was snatched away by Jackson, the fiery one. Whose exuberant bear hug, as expected, literally took her breath away.
“Hey, brother, don’t break her in half or you’ll have our older brother to contend with,” Jefferson said as he gently extricated her from Jackson’s brawny arms.
Jefferson, the quietest of the four, clasped her shoulders, looking her up and down as if inspecting her for injuries. Then he laughed, muttered something about being indestructible and beautiful, and drew her in his arms. “How are you, Robbie?” he murmured against her cheek. Then, in a breath, “How is he?”
Putting her from him, but not letting go of her hand, he asked in an oddly desperate tone, “How is Adams?”
“He was tired when he arrived, and deeply concerned about Gus. But one of the staff informed me he had an early breakfast. Though not so early that I would think he didn’t sleep well. I’m hoping that means he’s rested.” Going with Jefferson to the sofa, she took the seat he offered.
For all that he lacked in compassion, Gus Cade had never stinted on social instructions for his sons. They might have been prone to mischief and each had scattered the wildest of oats, but few in conventional and proper Belle Terre could match Jefferson, Jackson or Lincoln for gallantry. And only one could best them, Eden recalled. Only the first of them. Only Adams.
Taking the coffee Lincoln poured from a silver server and cream from the pitcher Jackson offered, she sipped dutifully before continuing her report. “Adams is staying in the river cottage. I thought it would be more suitable for your reunion.”
Eden knew that in direct defiance of Gus Cade’s decree, the brothers had seen each other sporadically over the years. But never in Belle Terre. Never so close to home and Gus.
None of them wanted to hurt Gus, but nor were they willing to abandon their brother as the father had. Secrecy and distance had been the answer. Yet when Adams came to River Walk, Eden hadn’t doubted that Lincoln, Jackson and Jefferson would come, as well.
Looking from one startlingly attractive, startlingly different brother to the next, Eden wondered why life had become so busy that they saw each other so little. Even so, she knew she mustn’t keep them. None would think of rushing her, but she realized that beneath the decorum they were eager to be with Adams.
“When I went to the garden this morning, the grounds-keeper said he had seen Adams down by the river-cottage dock. I assume he’s still there.”
“He’s here,” Adams’ voice drifted to them from the open doorway. “Dropping off some fish for dinner.”
Clasping her cup tightly to keep from dropping it, Eden looked to the door. Before his brothers surrounded him, she saw the perfectly barbered hair was disheveled, the perfectly tailored suit had been exchanged for a cotton shirt and denims, the perfectly shined shoes for sneakers. Best of all, in the smile he flashed at her, she saw the ghost of the young man she’d loved.
Lincoln was first to speak as they clasped hands to forearms as they had as boys. “I’ve waited for this, for the day you would come home.”
“Not home, Linc, but close enough, I suppose.” Though his pleasure in being with his brothers was heartfelt, the hurt in Adams’ eyes was not so skillfully hidden. “But wherever, whenever, it’s good to see you. All of you.”
“Adams.” Jackson clasped the other arm. Each man’s brawny forearm was aligned, with their hands circling the muscles barely below the elbow of the other. A salute began as a secret ritual of boys survived to become the affectionate gesture of men.
Watching discreetly, Eden wondered how many times she had seen these proud, vigorous men display their affection. That the brothers loved one another and their father deeply was forever evident. Only Gus, who had driven his sons without mercy, judged without compassion, had never offered an iota of affection.
Only Jefferson, the youngest, had ever seemed to matter to the caustic old man. Being Gus’ favorite might have made Jefferson’s life easier in some ways. But, as few could understand, Eden knew that in the ways that mattered most it made his life far more difficult.
Perhaps there was some explanation for the special bond that had always existed between Adams, the whipping boy, and Jefferson, the favored son. One even Eden could never fathom. It was simply a tie none but the Cades could understand.
As Lincoln and Jackson stepped away from Adams, Jefferson was there, standing before him. Not touching him, not speaking, only looking. No two men could look less like brothers. But with a single glance, any but a fool would know.
In spite of the fact that one was dark-haired and dark-eyed, while the other was blond with blue eyes, there were inexplicable similarities. Similarities caught in a look, a gesture, a tilt of the head. The flash of a smile. A rare laugh.
They were all sons of Caesar Augustus Cade, but with different mothers. Not one bore any resemblance to Gus, except in pride and determination. In looks, each was his mother’s son.
In choosing his wives, Gus had seemed determined to create a family as diverse as possible. Adams’ mother was of French descent. Lincoln’s, a Scot. Jackson’s was Irish. And Jefferson’s, a Dane. All women with nothing in common except uncommon beauty and a distinct lack of staying power. Thus, with nothing of Gus, the common denominator, in their physical makeup there was little reason for the existence of any other similarities. Yet, with their strong-willed father the only constant force in their young lives, there existed an indefinable element proving they were brothers, and men of a kind.
Eden couldn’t explain the phenomenon in the past. She couldn’t explain it now. But as Adams and Jefferson faced each other in a room gone silent, she was never more aware of it.
Beyond the windows the garden was alive with bird-song. In the freshening breeze live oaks swayed and whispered, the old house shifted and creaked. Every sound seemed magnified, and every observer frozen in place as the odd moment dragged by.
Then Adams smiled and hooked a palm around the younger man’s neck to draw him into a brother’s rough embrace. “Jeffie.”
The childhood name eased the building tension. Soon all four were laughing, talking at once. Setting down her cup, meaning to slip away, Eden circled around them to the door. She’d almost reached her goal when an arm slid around her waist. Gentle fingers splayed circumspectly over her midriff drew her back against a hard, brawny chest.
Adams. She would know his touch anywhere, anytime.
“Where do you think you’re going?” He leaned so close his breath fanned a stray tendril that curled against her throat. “You aren’t escaping us so easily.”
Laughing, with a sense of old times revisited, Eden turned, expecting he would release her. Instead, she found herself standing in the circle of his arms as he kept her close.
“I
