The Calhouns Collection Page 11

  It was guilt, that was all, he assured himself. He had hurt her, the way he was certain he’d never hurt another woman. No matter how cool she had been today, no matter how composed, that was a guilt he would live with for a long time.

  Maybe if he went up and talked to her again. His hand was on the knob before he stopped himself. That would only make things worse, if possible. Just because he wanted to assuage some guilt was no excuse to put her in an uncomfortable position again.

  She was handling it better than he by all accounts. She was strong, obviously resilient. Proud. Soft, his mind wandered. Warm. Incredibly beautiful.

  On an oath he began to pace again. It would be wiser for him to concentrate on the house rather than any of its occupants. The few days he’d spent in it might have caused a personal upheaval, but it had given him time and opportunity to formulate plans. From the inside. It had given him a taste of the mood and tone and the history. And if he could settle down for a few moments, he could put some of those thoughts on paper.

  But it was hopeless. The minute he took his pen in hand, his mind went blank. He was feeling closed in, Trent told himself. He just needed some air. Snatching up a jacket, he did something he hadn’t given himself time to do in months.

  He took a walk.

  Following instinct, he headed toward the cliffs. Down the uneven lawn, around a crumbling stone wall. Toward the sea. The air had a bite. It seemed that spring had decided to pick up her pretty skirts and retreat. The sky was gray and moody, with a few hopeful patches of blue. Wildflowers that had been brave enough to shove their way through rock and soil blew fitfully in the wind.

  Trent walked with his hands in his pockets, and his head down. Depression wasn’t a familiar sensation, and he was determined to walk it off. When he glanced back, he could just see the peaks of towers above and behind. He turned away and faced the sea—unknowingly mirroring the stance of a man who had painted there decades before.

  Breathtaking. It was the only word that came to his mind. Rocks tumbled dizzily down, pink and gray where the wind buffeted them, black where the water struck and funneled. Bad-tempered whitecaps churned, slicing at the darker water. Smoky fog rolled and shredded, and the air held a fresh threat of rain.

  It should have been gloomy. It was simply spectacular.

  He wished she was with him. That she would be here, now, beside him before time passed or the wind changed. She would smile, he thought. Laugh, as she planted those long, gorgeous legs and lifted her face to the blow. If she had been there, the beauty of it wouldn’t make him feel so lonely. So damned lonely.

  The tingle at the base of his neck had him turning, nearly reaching out. He’d been so certain that he would look and see her walking toward him. There was nothing but the slope of rock, and the wind. Yet the feeling of another presence remained, very real, so that he almost called out.

  He was a sensible man, Trent assured himself. He knew he was alone. Yet it seemed as though someone was there with him, waiting. Watching. For a moment, he was certain he caught the light, drifting scent of honeysuckle.

  Imagination, he decided, but his hand wasn’t quite steady as he lifted it to push the blowing hair out his eyes.

  Then there was weeping. Trent froze as he listened to the sad, quiet sound that sobbed just under the wind. It ebbed and flowed, like the sea itself. Something clenched inside his stomach as he strained to hear—though common sense told him there could be nothing to hear.

  A nervous breakdown? he wondered. But the sound was real, damn it. Not a hallucination. Slowly, ears pricked, he climbed down a jumble of rocks.

  “Who’s there?” he shouted as the sound sighed and drifted in the wind. Chasing it, he hurried down, driven by an urgency that drummed through his blood. A shower of loose stones rattled into space, bringing him sharply back to reality.

  What in God’s name was he doing? Scrambling down a cliff wall after a ghost? He lifted his hands and saw that despite the brisk wind his palms were sweating. All he could hear now was the frantic pounding of his own heart. After forcing himself to stand still and take a few calming breaths, he looked around for the easiest form of ascent.

  He had just started back when the sound came again. Weeping. No, he realized. Whimpering. It was quite clear now and nearly under his feet. Crouching, Trent searched behind an outcrop of rock.

  It was a poor, pitiful sight, he thought. The little black puppy was hardly more than a ball of fur-covered bones. Relief poured through him, making him laugh out loud. He wasn’t going crazy after all. As Trent studied it, the terrified pup tried to inch back, but there was nowhere to go. Its little frightened eyes fixed on Trent as it trembled.

  “Had a rough time, have you?” Cautiously Trent reached out, ready to snatch his hand back if the pup snapped. Instead it simply cowered and whined. “It’s okay, fella. Relax. I won’t hurt you.” Gently he stroked the puppy between the ears with his fingertips. Still shivering, the pup licked Trent’s hand. “Guess you’re feeling pretty lonely.” He sighed as he calmed the dog. “Me, too. Why don’t we go back to the house?”

  He gathered the dog up, zipping it inside his jacket for the climb. When he was halfway to the top, Trent stopped then turned blindly around. It was at least fifty yards from where he had stood looking out to sea to where he had discovered the stray. His palms grew damp again when he realized it would have been impossible for him to have heard the puppy’s whines from the ridge above. The distance and the wind would have smothered the whimpers. Yet he had heard . . . something. And, hearing it, had climbed down to find the lost dog.

  “What the devil was it?” Trent murmured, and, cuddling the pup closer, headed for home. He was just beginning to feel foolish when he crossed the lawn. What was he supposed to say to his hostesses? Look what followed me home? How about . . . Guess what? I decided to take my life in my hands and climb back down the cliff. Look what I found. Neither opening seemed quite suitable.

  The sensible thing would be to get in the car and drive the dog down to the village. There was bound to be an animal shelter or vet. He could hardly march into the parlor and dump his find on the rug.

  But he couldn’t, Trent discovered. He simply couldn’t turn the shivering ball of fur over to strangers. The little guy trusted him and was even now curling softly under his heart. As he stood hesitating, C.C. came out of the house.

  Trent shifted and tried to look natural. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” She paused to button her denim jacket. “We’re out of milk. Do you need anything from the village?”

  A can of dog food, he thought, and cleared his throat. “No, thanks. I, ah . . .” The pup wriggled against his shirt. “Did you find anything?”

  “Lots of things, but nothing that tells us where to look for the necklace.” Her misery turned to curiosity as she watched the ripples run along his jacket. “Is everything all right?”

  “Fine. Just fine. “Trent cleared his throat, folded his arms. “I took a walk.”

  “Okay.” It was awful, she thought, just awful. He could hardly meet her eyes. “Aunt Coco’s making a light lunch if you’re hungry.”

  “Oh—thanks.”

  She started to move by him when a high-pitched yip stopped her in her tracks. “What?”

  “Nothing.” He smothered an involuntary chuckle as the puppy wiggled along his ribs.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, yes, I’m fine.” He gave her a sheepish smile as the dog poked his nose above the zipper of the jacket.

  “What have you got?” C.C. forgot her vow to keep her distance and stepped closer to tug the zipper down. “Oh! Trent, it’s a puppy.”

  “I found him down in the rocks,” he began quickly. “I wasn’t sure just what to—”

  “Oh, you poor little thing.” She was already cooing as she gathered the puppy to her. “Are you lost?” She rubbed her cheek over its fur, nuzzled nose to nose. “There now, it’s all right.” The puppy wagged his tail so fast and hard he nearly f
ell out of her grip.

  “Cute, isn’t he?” Grinning, Trent moved closer to stroke. “Looks like he’s been on his own for a while.”

  “He’s just a baby.” She crooned and cuddled. “Where did you say you found him?”

  “Down on the rocks. I was walking.” And thinking of you. Before he could stop himself, Trent reached out to touch her hair. “I couldn’t just leave him there.”

  “Of course not.” She looked up and saw that she was all but in his arms. His hand was in her hair, his eyes on hers.

  “Catherine—”

  The pup yipped again and had her jolting back. “I’ll take him in. He must be cold, and hungry.”

  “All right.” The only place left for his hands was his pockets. “Why don’t I run down and get the milk?”

  “Okay.” Her smile was strained as she backed toward the steps. She turned and, murmuring to the puppy, dashed inside.

  By the time Trent returned, the stray had a place of honor by the kitchen hearth and the undivided attention of four beautiful women.

  “Wait until Suze and the kids get back,” Amanda was saying. “They’ll flip. He sure goes for your liver pâté, Aunt Coco.”

  “Obviously a gourmet among dogs.” Lilah, already on her hands and knees, leaned her nose against his. “Aren’t you, cutie?”

  “I’m sure he should have something more bland.” Coco was also on the floor, charmed. “With the proper care, he’ll be very handsome.”

  The pup, amazed at his good fortune, raced in circles. Spotting Trent, he gamboled over, tripping over his own feet. The women scrambled up, all asking him questions at the same time.

  “Hold on.” Trent set the grocery bag on the table, then crouched down to scratch the pup’s belly. “I don’t know where he came from. I found him when I was walking along the cliffs. He was hiding out. Weren’t you, boy?”

  “I suppose we should ask around, to see if anyone’s lost him,” Coco began, then held up a hand as her nieces voiced unanimous dissent. “It’s only right. But it is up to Trent, since he found him.”

  “I think you should do what you think’s best.” He rose to pull the milk out of the bag. “He could probably use some of this.”

  Amanda already had a saucer and was arguing with Lilah on the proper amount to give their new guest.

  “What else did you get?” C.C. poked at the bag.

  “A few things.” He moved his shoulders, then gave up. “I thought he should have a collar.” Trent pulled out a bright red collar with silver studs.

  C.C. couldn’t hold back the grin. “Very fashionable.”

  “And a leash.” Trent set that on the table, as well. “Puppy food.”

  “Uh-huh.” C.C. began to go through the bag herself. “And puppy treats, rawhide bones.”

  “He’ll want to gnaw,” Trent told her.

  “Sure, he will. A ball and a squeaky mouse.” Laughing, she squeezed the rubber toy.

  “He should have something to play with.” He didn’t want to add that he’d searched for a dog bed and cushion but hadn’t come across them.

  “I didn’t know you were a softie.”

  He glanced down at the happily lapping puppy. “Neither did I.”

  “What’s his name?” Lilah wanted to know.

  “Well, I . . .”

  “You found him, you get to name him.”

  “Do it quick,” Amanda advised him. “Before Lilah sticks him with something like Griswold.”

  “Fred,” Trent said on impulse. “He looks like a Fred to me.”

  Unimpressed with his christening, Fred plopped down with one ear in the saucer of milk and went to sleep.

  “Well, that’s settled.” Amanda gave the pup one last pat before she rose. “Come on, Lilah, it’s your turn to take a shift.”

  “I’ll give you a hand.” Instincts humming, Coco hustled her two nieces out of the room and left C.C. alone with Trent.

  “I’d better go, too.” C.C. started for the door. Trent laid a hand on her arm to stop her.

  “Wait.”

  “What for?”

  “Just . . . wait.”

  She stood, battling back hurt. “I’m waiting.”

  “I—how’s your hand?”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Good.” He felt like an idiot. “That’s good.”

  “If that’s all . . .”

  “No. I wanted to tell you . . . I noticed a rattle in the car when I drove down to the village.”

  “A rattle?” She pursed her lips. “What kind of rattle?”

  An imaginary one, he thought, but shrugged. “Just a rattle. I was hoping you could take a look at it.”

  “All right. Bring it in tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “My tools are at the shop. Is there anything else?”

  “When I was walking, I kept wishing you were with me.”

  She looked away until she was sure she had rebuilt the chink he’d just knocked in her defensive wall. “We want different things, Trent. Let’s just leave it at that.” She turned toward the door. “Try to get your car in early,” she added without looking around. “I’ve got an exhaust system to replace tomorrow.”

  Chapter Eight

  C.C. fired up her torch, flipped down her faceplate and prepared to cut off the tail pipe on the rusted exhaust of a ’62 Plymouth.

  The day was not going well.

  She wasn’t able to get the scheduled family meeting off her mind. No other paperwork on the necklace had shown up, though they had gone through reams and reams of receipts and old ledgers. She knew, because of Amanda’s refusal to talk, that the news wasn’t good.

  Added to that had been another restless night. She heard Fred’s whimpering and had gone to check on him only to hear Trent’s low murmuring soothing the puppy behind his bedroom door.

  She’d stood there for a long time, listening.

  The fact that he’d taken the stray into his room, cared enough to comfort and nurture only made C.C. love him more. And the more she loved, the more she hurt.

  She knew she was hollow-eyed this morning, because she’d made the mistake of looking at a mirror. That she could handle. Her looks had never been a major concern. The bills she had found in the morning mail were.

  She’d been telling the truth when she’d told Suzanna the business was doing well. But there were still rough spots. Not all of her customers paid promptly, and her cash flow was too often merely a trickle. Six months, she thought as she cut through the old metal. She only needed six months. But that was too long, much too long to help keep The Towers.

  Her life was changing, changing fast, and none of it seemed to be for the better.

  Trent stood watching her. She had some battered hulk of a car up on the lift and stood under it, wielding a torch. While he watched, she shifted aside as a pipe clattered to the floor. She was wearing coveralls again, thick safety gloves and a helmet. The music she never seemed to be without jingled from the radio on the workbench.

  Surely a man was over the edge when he thought how delightful it would be to make love on a concrete floor with a woman who was dressed like a welder.

  C.C. changed positions, then saw him. Very carefully she shut off the torch before she lifted the shield of her helmet.

  “I couldn’t find anything wrong with your car. Keys are in the office. No charge.” She flipped down the shield again.

  “C.C.”

  “What?”

  “How about dinner?”

  She pushed back the shield and eyed him warily. “How about it?”

  “I mean . . .” With a leery glance overhead, he stepped under the car with her. “I’d like you to have dinner with me tonight.”

  She shifted her weight. “I’ve had dinner with you every night for several nights.” She flipped the shield down. Trent flipped it up again.

  “No, I mean I want to take you out to dinner.”

  “Why?”

  “Why not?”

  She
lifted a brow. “Well, that’s very nice, but I’m a little pressed tonight. We’re having a family meeting.” She pulled down the shield again and prepared to relight the torch.

  “Tomorrow then.” Annoyed, Trent pushed the shield back up. “Do you mind? I like to see you when I talk to you.”

  “Yes, I mind because I’ve got work. And no, I won’t have dinner with you tomorrow.”

  “Why?”

  She blew out a long breath that ruffled her bangs. “Because I don’t want to.”

  “You’re still angry with me.”

  Her eyes, which had begun to heat, went flat. “We settled all that, so there’s no reason to go out on a date.”

  “Just dinner,” he said, finding he couldn’t let go. “No one’s calling it a date. One simple meal, as friends, before I go back to Boston.”

  “You’re going back?” She felt her heart drop to her knees and turned away to rattle through some tools.

  “Yes, I have meetings scheduled for the middle of the week. I’m expected in the office Wednesday afternoon.”

  Just like that, she thought as she picked up a pipe wrench and set it down again. I’ve got meetings scheduled, see you later. Sorry I broke your heart. “Well, then, have a nice trip.”

  “C.C.” He laid a hand on her arm before she could hide behind the shield again. “I’d like to spend a little time with you. I’d feel a lot better about everything if I was sure we parted on good terms.”

  “You want to feel better about things,” she muttered, then made herself relax her jaw. “Sure, why not? Dinner tomorrow night is fine. You deserve a send-off.”

  “I appreciate it. Really.” He touched her cheek, started to lean toward her. C.C. pulled the shield down with a snap.

  “Better stand back from the torch, Trent,” she said sweetly. “You might get burned.”

  * * *

  Family meetings with the Calhouns were traditionally noisy, argumentative and drenched with tears and laughter. This one was abnormally subdued. Amanda, in her capacity as adviser on finances, sat at the head of the table.

  The room was silent.

  Suzanna had already put the children to bed. It had been a little easier than usual as both of them had exhausted themselves with Fred—and vice versa.