Conflict of Interest (The McClouds of Mississippi 2)

“Then maybe your other sister?”

He snorted. “Deborah has spent even less time around Isabelle than I have. She’s still coming to terms with having another sibling in the family.”

Whatever their father had done to the family, Adrienne couldn’t imagine anyone holding it against sweet little Isabelle. But it seemed that she and Gideon were on their own with this dilemma, whatever its cause.

She drew a breath and nodded. “I’ll go try to talk to her again.”

“We’ll both try again.” He followed close behind her as she limped into the den, deliberately leaving the cumbersome crutches behind.

Isabelle was still parked in front of the TV, her eyes focused almost unblinkingly on the screen. Yet she seemed to find little pleasure in the taped shenanigans. Adrienne settled on the couch beside the child while Gideon took one of the chairs.

“What would you like for dinner tonight, Isabelle?” Adrienne asked, hoping an innocuous opening would lead to a more meaningful conversation.

Without looking away from the television, Isabelle shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”

Adrienne looked at Gideon. Your turn.

He cleared his throat, then snapped his fingers. “This is Wednesday. Didn’t your schedule say you have a dance class at five?”

Isabelle scooted a couple of inches closer to Adrienne and looked at Gideon with big, somber eyes. “Do I have to go? I don’t want to.”

“You want to miss your dance class?” Adrienne asked her. “Dance class is fun, isn’t it? I know I always enjoyed going to them when I was your age.”

Gideon raised an eyebrow, as if he were picturing her in a tutu, but she kept her attention focused on Isabelle. “I’ll go with you, if you like.”

Isabelle shook her head. “I don’t want to go.”

Adrienne and Gideon looked at each other again, and he obviously had no more idea what to do than she did. After a moment he shrugged. “Okay, no dance class tonight. If she’s coming down with something, she doesn’t need to be spreading it around to the other kids.”

She had to concede that he’d made a point. “Okay. So, what would you like to do, Isabelle? Do you want me to play a game with you?”

Isabelle shook her head. “Not right now,” she said, then crawled without warning into Adrienne’s lap. She nestled her head in Adrienne’s throat and gave a little sigh. “Could I just sit here for a little while?”

Nonplussed, she felt Isabelle’s face with her hand again, but the soft cheeks were cool, without even a hint of fever. “Sweetheart, are you sure nothing hurts? No tummy ache or sore throat or ear ache or anything?”

Isabelle shook her head against Adrienne’s shoulder. “I don’t hurt anywhere.”

Settling more comfortably back into the cushions, Adrienne wrapped her arms around the child and prepared to stay that way for a while. Sometimes it was easy to forget that Isabelle was so very young, little more than a baby. And here she was stuck with two rather clueless caretakers who were practically strangers to her, even if one of them was her brother. It was entirely possible that she was simply homesick and needed a little cuddling.

Gideon stood and pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “It’s a little early, but I guess I’ll go start dinner. Any special requests?”

Adrienne shook her head. “Anything’s fine with us, isn’t is, Isabelle?”

Isabelle nodded. “Gideon’s a good cook.”

Gideon looked a bit startled and then, to Adrienne’s amusement, rather pleased by the compliment. “Yes,” she murmured, “Gideon is a very good cook.”

With typically masculine embarrassment, Gideon muttered something incomprehensible and made his escape, leaving Adrienne rocking Isabelle soothingly as they watched cartoons together.

Gideon spent quite a while preparing dinner—teriyaki chicken with rice and vegetables. For dessert, he made brownies from a mix he found in the pantry. He told himself the reason for the special meal was to tempt Isabelle into eating, certainly not to show off his culinary skills.

He was just putting the finishing touches on the meal when the telephone rang. He glared at it for a moment, then gave in and reached for the receiver. If this was a telemarketer, he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions.

But the caller was his sister, Deborah. “You answered the phone,” she said in exaggerated astonishment. “Wow.”

“Since you call me fairly frequently and get through, you needn’t act so surprised. What’s up, Deb?”

“If you think a call every couple of months or so is frequent…” She let the sentence trail off, then went on, “Actually, I’m trying to reach mother. I’ve been calling her since last night and I keep getting her machine. Do you know if anything’s wrong?”