"In a few days. If we bother them now, Tippy Tail might get upset and move them." He glanced back at Tess. "A few days? You can manage?"
As if she had a choice. She couldn't evict a mother cat and newborn kittens. "Sure."
"The offer of a guest room stands."
The cat fixed her golden eyes on Tess, as if she knew exactly how she'd complicated her life. Pay-back, no doubt, for Tess scaring her last night. She'd probably been all set to have her kittens down in the cellar, and then Tess had come whomping in there to the rescue.
Andrew touched his daughter's shoulder, and she grabbed his hand. They moved back through the kitchen and outside without a word. Tess joined them, because there wasn't much else she could do except scare off poor Tippy Tail again.
Once she was safe on the driveway, Dolly jumped up and down and clapped her hands, spun herself around in a circle. "Oh, they're so cute! Oh, Daddy, did you see them? I want to name them." Harl was there, hovering close to the lilacs. "Harl, Harl, you have to see them! Oh my God!"
Andrew grimaced. "Dolly, you have to stop saying ‘oh my God' like that."
She nodded, obviously not really hearing him. "Can I show Harl?"
"Yes, you can show Harl."
Harl didn't seem eager to see the kittens, but Dolly had him by the hand, dragging him. If his appearance and demeanor were intimidating to others, they had no effect whatsoever on his cousin's six-year-old daughter.
Andrew shifted to look at Tess, the morning sun bringing out the flecks of gray in his dark hair, the angles of his face. As gentle as he was with his irrepressible daughter, Tess suspected he wasn't a man given to easy expression of emotion. "I see you got through the night all right."
He was only slightly better at hiding his skepticism over her snake story than his cousin was. Tess shrugged. "Fine, thanks."
"I'm sorry about Tippy Tail."
"Not your fault."
She glanced back at her house, so far nothing about this weekend was going according to plan or fancy. To add to her uneasiness, she realized she was attracted to Andrew Thorne. Just her luck. She wondered if he'd noticed the shade of blue of her eyes- the way she had his-or if he'd reacted to their physical contact last night. It wasn't expecting he had that got to her but rather the wondering. This, she thought, was what was so impossible about men. If only she could fast-forward into a relationship, check if it was worth being attracted to a man before she committed herself to expending all that energy.
Not that she was contemplating any kind of relationship with Andrew Thorne that didn't involve the word neighbor in it. Lusting after him-there was no other word for it-was just a way to get her mind off the skeleton in her cellar.
"Tess?"
She turned, noticed the muscles in his arms and shoulders, his lean, sexy build. Whoa, she thought, and gave him a quick smile. "Sorry. I was just thinking I should find a hardware store. I need to fix the cellar window. I guess I should add a litter box to my list."
He acknowledged her words with a thoughtful nod. "Good. I'll go with you."
"You don't have to. I can manage."
"I didn't say you couldn't manage, I said I'd go with you." He eyed her, and she thought she saw a glimmer of humor. "You'll never find the hardware store on your own."
"This town is about three streets big. I'll find it."
He'd already started down her driveway. "Give me ten minutes. I'll pick you up."
"I'll drive," Tess called.
He glanced back at her, as if he could sense her panic, knew she was having wild thoughts about him and that insisting she'd drive was a way of retaining a measure of control. He smiled. "Okay. You drive."
Nine
"Lauren, please understand." Richard grabbed a cup of coffee in the kitchen on his way out to the back porch with the newspaper. "I only have a few minutes. When this appointment's nailed down, I'll walk with you to Cape Cod and back if you want."
She tried to smile. "We used to walk all the time, remember?"
"I do remember. Of course I do. You sound as if it's been a lifetime. We've probably taken more walks in the eighteen months we've been together than most people have in years."
Lauren sat at the table, watching him, trying not to think how much she loved him. Not today. She wanted to stay aggrieved awhile. "Just a quick walk on the rocks would suit me. You can't spare thirty minutes?"
"I can't, really. Sweetheart, it's not you-it's me. I know that. I'm just swamped, I can hardly form a coherent thought. Let me drink my coffee and read my paper, okay?" He walked over to her, kissed her on the forehead. She could smell his coffee, see the lines in his face. "It'll be all right."
"Did Jeremy Carver say something last night?"
"No, everything's looking good. It would help if we'd hear from Ike."
She waved a hand. "Oh, pooh. This isn't unusual for him. Tell Carver to talk to me, and I'll ease his mind."
"I already did. They can investigate further if they have any doubts. I've already passed the institute's security checks-the Department of Defense and Senator Bowler's office shouldn't be a problem."
"Of course not." Lauren fingered her coffee cup, wishing she could drum up more interest in her hus-band's impending appointment to Washington. What would she do? Stay here? Go? Throw parties for him? She shuddered inwardly.
"It's important work," Richard said, as if guessing what she was thinking.
"I know it is, Richard. I'll do anything I can."
He nodded. "I've never doubted I can count on you."
"Go on. Enjoy your paper. The dogs and I will go for a walk."
He was out the door before she'd finished her sentence. Lauren dumped her coffee in the sink. The cavernous kitchen, with its tall ceilings and white cabinets, needed renovating, but she had no appetite for it. Lately, her house seemed more like a sprawling, empty inn. Maybe a new kitchen would perk her up. She could talk to Andrew about it.
Her spirits sank, and she moved into the front hall, ignoring the poodles scampering at her feet. She ran outside into a stiff, steady breeze off the water. The house stood on a cliff above Cape Ann, with dramatic views of the shoreline, rocks, the glistening horizon. The tide and waves, the brutal winter storms, were slowly eroding the sandy cliff, until, eventually, the house would either have to be moved or would be lost to the sea.
Lauren blinked back tears, blaming them on the wind. She didn't care what happened to the house. Let the Atlantic take it. Let its loss be her penance for not doing more to rein in her brother's excesses.
She shook off any thought of him, descended the porch steps so quickly she almost tripped.
She ran down a narrow dirt path, moving automatically, having gone this way so many times in her forty years. A gust of wind nearly knocked her over, and her breath came in gasps. She realized she'd been running, and slowed her pace. If only Richard had come with her. If only they'd held hands, laughed, talked. She wanted to confide in him. She wanted him to tell her everything would be all right.
When she got back to the house, Richard had left a note for her on the counter:
Muriel called. Tess Haviland is staying at the carriage house.????
The question marks meant he didn't know about Tess.
Lauren felt sick to her stomach.
She walked out through the back door, down the porch steps to her gardens. The house blocked the wind. She ran her fingertips over a deep orange daylily, just in bloom. Then she started picking flowers, one after another, at random, without thinking, without feeling.
Tess would never have found the hardware store on her own. It was tucked behind a diner on a dead-end side street a block from the village center, a mom-and-pop operation stacked from floor to ceiling with every imaginable item a woman with an 1868 carriage house could need. She bought glass and putty for her cellar window and took a look at starter tool kits. If she kept the carriage house and intended to do any of the work herself, she'd need her own tools. She'd worked as a carpenter's helper through college with a string of her father's pals, but she had no illusions about her capabilities. She was a designer, not a carpenter. She'd need tools, books, advice, borrowed brawn. And luck. Certainly better luck than she'd had so far.