“Fergus.”
“Right. The family only uses the first two floors, and we patch things up as we have to.” She ran her finger along an inch-wide crack in the wall. “I guess you could say if we don't see it, we don't worry about it. And the roof hasn't crashed down on our heads. Yet.”
He turned to study her. “Have you ever thought about turning in your socket wrench for a real estate license?”
She only smiled. “There's more down this way.” She particularly wanted to show him the room where she had tacked up plastic to cover the broken windows.
He walked with her, gingerly across a spot where two-by-fours had been nailed over a hole in the floor. A high arched door caught his eyes, and before C.C. could stop him, he had his hand on the knob.
“Where does this lead to?”
“Oh, nowhere,” she began, and swore when he pulled it open. Fresh spring air rushed in. Trent stepped out onto the narrow stone terrace and turned toward the pie-shaped granite steps.
“I don't know how safe they are.”
He flicked a glance over his shoulder. “A lot safer than the floor inside.” With an oath, C.C. gave up and climbed after him.
“Fabulous,” he murmured as he paused on the wide passageway between turrets. “Really fabulous.”
Which was exactly why C.C. hadn't wanted him to see it. She stood back with her hands in her pockets while he rested his palms on the waist-high stone wall and looked out.
He could see the deep blue waters of the bay with the boats gliding lightly over it. The valley, misty and mysterious, spread like a fairy tale. A gull, hardly more than a white blur, banked over the bay and soared out to sea.
“Incredible.” The wind ruffled his hair as he followed the passage, down another flight, up one more. From here it was the Atlantic, wild and windy and wonderful. The sound of her ceaseless war on the rocks below echoed up like thunder.
He could see that there were doors leading back in at various intervals, but he wasn't interested in the interior just now. Someone, one of the family, he imagined, had set out chairs, tables, potted plants. Trent looked out over the roof of the pergola, to the tumbling rocks below.
“Spectacular.” He turned to C.C. “Do you get used to it?”
She moved her shoulders. “No. You just get territorial.” “Understandable. I'm surprised any of you spend time inside.”
With her hands still tucked in her pockets, she joined him at the wall. “It's not just the view. It's the fact that your family, generations of them, stood here. Just as the house has stood here, through time and wind and fire.” Her face softened as she looked down. “The children are home.”
Trent looked down to see two small figures race across the lawn toward the
pergola. The sound of their laughter carried lightly on the wind.
“Alex and Jenny,” she explained. “My sister Su-zanna's children. They've stood here, too.” She turned to him. “That means something.”
“How does their mother feel about the sale?”
She looked away then as worry and guilt and frustration fought for control. “I'm sure you'll ask her yourself. But if you pressure her.” Her head whipped around, hair flying. “If you pressure her in any way, you'll answer to me. I won't see her manipulated again.”
“I have no intention of manipulating anyone.”
She gave a bark of bitter laughter. “Men like you make a career out of manipulation. If you think you've happened across four helpless women, Mr. St. James, think again. The Calhouns can take care of themselves, and take care of their own.”
“Undoubtedly, particularly if your sisters are as obnoxious as you.”
C.C.'s eyes narrowed, her hands fisted. She would have moved in then and there for the kill, but her name was murmured quietly behind her.
Trent saw a woman step through one of the doors. She was as tall as C.C., but willowy, with a fragile aura that kicked Trent's protective instincts into gear before he was aware of it. Her hair was a pale and lustrous blond that waved to her shoulders. Her eyes were the deep blue of a midsummer sky and seemed calm and serene until you looked closer and saw the heartbreak beneath.
Despite the difference in coloring, there was a resemblance—the shape of the face and eyes and mouth—that made Trent certain he was meeting one of C.C.'s sisters.
“Suzanna.” C.C. moved between her sister and Trent, as if to shield. Suzanna's mouth curved, a look that was both amused and impatient.
“Aunt Coco asked me to come up.” She laid a hand on C.C.'s arm, soothing her protector. “You must be Mr. St. James.”
“Yes.” He accepted her offered hand and was surprised to find it hard and callused and strong.
“I'm Suzanna Calhoun Dumont. You'll be staying with us for a few days?” “Yes. Your aunt was kind enough to invite me.”
“Shrewd enough,” Suzanna corrected with a smile as she put an arm around her sister. “I take it C.C.'s given you a partial tour.”
“A fascinating one.”
“I'll be glad to continue it from here.” Her fingers pressed lightly but with clear meaning into C.C.'s arm. “Aunt Coco could use some help downstairs.”
“He doesn't need to see any more now,” C.C. argued. “You look tired.”
“Not a bit. But I will be if Aunt Coco sends me all over the house looking for the Wedgwood turkey platter.”
“All right then.” She sent Trent a last, fulminating glance. “We aren't finished.”
“Not by a long shot,” he agreed, and smiled to himself as she slammed back inside. “Your sister has quite an...outgoing personality.”
“She's a fire-eater,” Suzanna said. “We all are, given the right circumstances. The Calhoun curse.” She glanced over at the sound of her children laughing. “This isn't an easy decision, Mr. St. James, one way or the other. Nor is it, for any of us, a business one.”
“I've gathered that. For me it has to be a business one.”
She knew too well that for some men business came first, and last. “Then I suppose we'd better take it one step at a time.” She opened the door that C.C. had slammed shut. “Why don't I show you where you'll be staying?”
Chapter Three
“So, what's he like?” Lilah Calhoun crossed her long legs, anchoring her ankles on one arm of the couch and pillowing her head on the other. The half-dozen bracelets on her arm jingled as she gestured toward C.C. “Honey, I've told you, screwing your face up that way causes nothing but wrinkles and bad vibes.”
“If you don't want me to screw my face up, don't ask me about him.”
“Okay, I'll ask Suzanna.” She shifted her sea-green eyes toward her older sister. “Let's have it.”
“Attractive, well mannered and intelligent.”
“So's a cocker spaniel,” Lilah put in, and sighed. “And here I was hoping for a pit bull. How long do we get to keep him?”
“Aunt Coco's a little vague on the particulars.” Suzanna sent both of her sisters an amused look. “Which means she's not saying.”
“Mandy might be able to pry something out of her.” Lilah wiggled her bare toes and shut her eyes. She was the kind of woman who felt there was something intrinsically wrong with anyone who stretched out on a couch and didn't nap. “Suze, have the kids been through here today?”
“Only ten or fifteen times. Why?” “I think I'm lying on a fire engine.”
“I think we ought to get rid of him.” C.C. rose and, to keep her restless hands busy, began to lay a fire.
“Suzanna said you already tried to throw him off the parapet.”
“No,” Suzanna corrected. “I said I stopped her before she thought to throw him off the parapet.” She rose to hand C.C. the fireplace matches she'd forgotten. “And while I agree it's awkward to have him here while we're all so undecided, it's done. The least we can do is give him a chance to say his piece.”