Читать книгу Myth and Magic - Mae Clair - Страница 11

Veronica clung to Caith’s heels as he barreled into the lobby where Alma Kreider stood screaming. “Alma, what is it?” she cried, rushing to the woman’s side.

White-faced, her eyes darting between Veronica and Caith, Alma pointed behind her. “The kitchen. There was a man outside. A horrible man. I saw him looking in the window.” Covering her face with her hands, she began to cry. “It was ghastly. Like a scarecrow. A ghost.” Her voice broke beneath hysterical sobs.

“Shh,” Veronica comforted. Thankfully, all the guests were out on a hike with the guide, Ben Dunning, and hadn’t heard the commotion. “It’s all right now.”

Caith snatched the flashlight from her and darted for the kitchen. Wrapping an arm around Alma’s shoulders, Veronica led her to one of the low-backed sofas in the lobby. It took her close to ten minutes, but eventually she managed to calm the agitated woman. Alma’s sobs had dwindled to sniffling by the time Caith returned.

“Well?” Veronica asked expectantly as he walked into the lobby.

The cold air had heightened the color in his cheeks, intensifying the wintry blue of his eyes. He shook his head.

“Nothing. I looked outside and the ground wasn’t disturbed below the window.” He scowled doubtfully at Alma. “The soil’s soft enough to leave prints, but I couldn’t find any.”

“It’s almost dark,” Veronica said. “You could have missed them.”

“Maybe.” Unconvinced, Caith continued to look at Alma. “Are you sure it wasn’t a trick of the light? A reflection of some sort?”

“I know what I saw, young man. You sound just like that Sheriff Cameron and all his cronies, not willing to believe a word of anything.” Alma’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Who are you anyway, and what are you doing here?”

Before Caith could answer, Veronica rushed to explain. “Alma, this is Conner Lairen. He’s the consultant BI hired to evaluate the lodge and its anti-stress program. He’ll be staying with us for a while.”

“Consultant. Hmph.” Alma’s snort of contempt made her opinion clear. “Just what we need, a corporate busy-body sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. BI should get off their executive keisters and send us security instead of a paid snitch.”

“I’ll be sure to put that in my report.” Caith motioned to the hallway. “Would you mind coming back to the kitchen and showing me exactly where you were standing when you saw, uh…whatever it is you think you saw?”

Alma’s expression was hostile, but the belligerence helped dry her tears. Straightening her shoulders, she stood and traipsed from the lobby, her bearing defiant.

Veronica frowned. “I hope you make a better impression on the rest of the staff.”

* * * *

Caith stepped into the kitchen, fully aware he’d made a mistake. No question about it. He’d thought he could waltz into the lodge, help Aren with his problem, and then vanish again with his pockets a little fuller. Stupid.

Especially since he’d never cared about money. Oh, he didn’t mind an income that let him buy what he wanted, when he wanted, without having to worry about strapping his bank account. But cash had never been the driving ambition behind anything he did. And if he was honest with himself, money had absolutely nothing to do with his reasons for returning to Coldcreek. As much as he wanted to pretend otherwise, the pull of family was here. Family, and the woman he’d loved since he was eighteen.

He’d gotten over the initial shock of seeing her, but not the aftereffect. Even now, his palms sweated and his heart raced. He felt like a tongue-tied school kid with a crush. Raising Derrick didn’t leave him time for relationships, and the sight of this woman, the one who’d haunted his dreams for the past twelve years, resurrected how much he wanted her.

“Where were you standing Alma?” Veronica asked.

Caith tried to concentrate on the question but was too preoccupied by how much she’d changed. She’d always been a tom-boy, lean and small-hipped. Still beautifully slender, her body had ripened with sexy curves. Small, pert breasts strained against the fabric of a teal sweater with a V-neckline, her long legs were luscious in soft gray slacks. Her hair was pulled back in a sleek pony tail, gold and gilded like the sun with just a hint of brown beneath. Clear, creamy skin warmed the minty green of her eyes.

“Mr. Lairen,” Veronica snapped.

He jerked at her formality. Too late, he realized he’d been staring.

“Did you hear anything Alma said?” Clearly annoyed, Veronica stepped to the sink. “She was standing right here, a few feet from the window. I think it’s obvious she wasn’t imagining things.”

Recovering, Caith glanced about the kitchen. It was large and roomy with cherry cabinets, mocha-colored counters, and a center island for food preparation. Copper pots and wicker baskets dangled from hooks overhead, adding a touch of warmth along with practicality.

Caith stepped to the window and ran his finger along the edge. The seal was tight and unbroken. With both women shooting daggers at him, he moved to Veronica’s side. “There’s your face,” he said, with a nod for the pots. The reflection in the window didn’t quite form features, but taken with the small baskets on either side, a quick glance could have produced a startled reaction.

“That’s absurd,” Alma hissed. “I’m not given to flights of fancy, young man.”

“Maybe not, but everyone’s been edgy. It’s easy to misconstrue something when your nerves are rattled.”

“I am not rattled!” Alma pressed her lips into a tight line. “At least, I wasn’t until you showed up.”

“Alma.” Veronica tried to calm her.

“I’m going to my room for a little peace and quiet. Then I’m going to call Aren Breckwood and tell him what a fool he is for saddling us with a snitch who’s as agreeable as arsenic.”

Caith bit his lip to keep from grinning. He’d been called a lot of things in his day, but he’d never been compared to arsenic. Somehow he didn’t think Veronica would find his amusement entertaining.

After Alma left the kitchen in a huff, he looked at Veronica. “I’d like to see the personnel file on her—I’m assuming you have one—and the rest of the staff while you’re at it.”

She stared in disbelief. “My staff? What for?”

“Because it’s my job, and it’s part of the investigation. Just because someone’s on your payroll doesn’t mean they can’t have motive. Something’s going on here. Until I find out what it is, everyone’s a suspect.”

Her eyes hardened. “Including me?”

He couldn’t stop himself. The note of challenge in her tone was too tempting. Leaning forward until only inches separated them, he gripped her chin and lowered his voice to a husky whisper. “Butchering dogs isn’t your style, Ronnie.”

Her eyes widened as if she wondered what the hell he was playing at. She smelled incredible, earthy and spicy, like autumn flowers washed in rainwater. He had no business getting so close, but he could have easily drowned in those bewitching eyes. Her bottom lip trembled slightly as her mouth parted in shock. He hadn’t meant to touch her. Hadn’t wanted to reawaken the raw attraction between them. But it simmered below the surface, waiting to be unleashed. He’d never stopped loving her. Never stopped wanting her. Before he could think it through, Caith lowered his head to kiss her.

Veronica slapped his hand away, then slammed her palm against his chest, shoving backward. “My office is this way.” Seething, she stalked from the kitchen.

Her anger crackled on the air even after she’d left. He deserved her hostility, was lucky she hadn’t gone for his throat the moment she’d seen him. He’d made a mess of things twelve years ago and was making a greater mess now. He had no business flirting with feelings they’d buried. No matter his motives in breaking off their relationship, his actions had been inexcusable. Time didn’t erase a wound like that.

As he followed her down the hallway, Caith berated himself for his thread-bare control. He’d always had feelings for her, but hadn’t expected them to return with the force of a summer storm. As she sashayed ahead of him in those flattering slacks, he remembered his first glimpse of her when she was eleven and he was twelve.

“She’s a girl,” Trask explained, “but she’s okay. Becky Kessler said her parents bought that white house at the end of Ripplemill Road. The one where Bobby Claymore used to live.”

“Becky Kessler knows everybody’s business.” Caith huffed out a breath as he trekked up the hill beside his best friend, Merlin racing ahead of them. They’d spent the day slaying dragons and battling trolls along the edge of Stone Willow Lake. Grassy embankments, cool water, and leafy trees created a kingdom where Merlin was wizard and they were brave knights and warriors who triumphed over evil.

Caith sent his friend a black glare. “Why’d you tell her we’d meet her anyway?” Girls had no business in mock sword fights or challenging ogres. Even now, the slender branch he’d fashioned into a make-believe sword dangled from his belt and bumped against his thigh as he walked. He liked the feel of it and wondered if a real sword swung that way. He’d have to ask his mother. She knew everything about folklore and myth.

Trask chewed around a wad of bubble gum. “She isn’t like Becky. She knows about legends and stuff. I saw her reading something on King Arthur. She told me she likes Robin Hood and some minstrel guy named Tal-Tali…”

“Taliesin,” Caith finished for him. He’d grown up on myth, courtesy of his mother’s family traditions. Over the years, he and Merlin had pulled Trask into their make-believe adventures.

“She thought your name was funny,” Trask continued as the incline steepened and he dug in to keep pace. “She couldn’t say it, so I broke it down for her. Caith-el-den.”

“You told her my real name?”

“Don’t be stupid. She already knew about you. Everyone knows about the Breckwoods. My dad says your father owns the town.”

Caith shrugged, not wanting to talk about it. Sometimes he hated the reverence that came with the Breckwood name. “I don’t care about that stuff. It’s for Aren and Galen.” They’d reached the top of the hill now, stopping beside Merlin who’d paused.

“Look there.” Merlin pointed toward a copse of trees.

A thin knobby-kneed girl in a faded sweatshirt and dirt-stained jeans was doing cartwheels on the hillside. Her hair was long and straw-colored, streaming down her back in a tangled ponytail. A single yellow rose, snipped just below the bloom, was tucked into her hairband.

“That’s Ron,” Trask said with a goofy grin. He looked from Caith to Merlin. “Come on. You guys have to meet her.”

She’d been distant at that first meeting. Distant and wary. After all, they were boys, and she was out of her element. But it hadn’t taken long. She’d been better with the pretend sword than him and could outrun both Merlin and Trask.

He’d liked her from the start, then grown attracted to her about the time he turned sixteen. It was when he began to use sex as a crutch to ease the gut-twisting guilt he carried over Trask’s death. There had been plenty of older girls, some from the local college, all willing to teach him. He hadn’t cared about names or faces, and the need for escape made him a fast learner. For every moment he lost himself in the blissful mindlessness of sex, caring only for the release it brought, Caith treasured Veronica from afar.

She deserved to be loved and cherished. The older he got, the stronger those emotions grew. But she deserved someone better. Someone who wasn’t tainted by death. Who wouldn’t put her in danger simply by being at her side. He’d spent many nights waking in fear, his chest so tight he couldn’t breathe, certain those who loved him would suffer.

The fear had never gone away. It had simply become bearable, distant.

Don’t hurt him! Trask’s voice echoed in his mind, resurrecting the sickening smell of model glue. Please… you can’t….

Then bits of images he’d locked in a dark place he rarely allowed to surface: a damp room, the slant of greasy sunlight through a mud-splattered window, a man with a pock-marked face, the sharp, straight edge of a knife.

Don’t hurt him! Trask had screamed.

Shaken, Caith dragged a hand over his face. He was grateful when he stepped into Veronica’s office and could concentrate on something other than the past.

The room wasn’t large, but homey, with bookcases, wooden file cabinets, and paisley curtains at the windows. A cherry desk topped with a computer screen, several folders, and scattered papers indicated the owner wasn’t always tidy. Paper clips, pens, pencils, a discarded newspaper, and an empty coffee cup added to the clutter. He guessed Ron, as manager, was the only one permitted a computer at the lodge.

His back to the door, Caith slid into a chair across from the desk. “If you pull the personnel files, I’ll take them to my room. You do have a room for me?”

Her gaze raked over him, decidedly cool. Most likely, she was still miffed about the near-kiss in the kitchen. Reaching into the top drawer of her desk, she snagged a key and tossed it at him. “The Blackbird Suite.”

Caith caught the key in his left hand, his brows crinkling at her frosty tone. “Blackbird?”

“Stone Willow has three floors not counting the basement, which you’ve already seen.” Veronica settled behind her desk. “The main level consists of my office and apartment, the lobby, kitchen, dining area, a room for gathering, and an enclosed porch to the rear. The second floor has six singular rooms, and the third, four suites—Blackbird, Hummingbird, Wood Thrush, and Nightingale.”

“You gave me a suite instead of a room?” Caith tried to lighten the mood. “Someone must like me.”

“Not me. It was Aren’s idea. As he’s the COO and you’re his brother, I guess that entitles you to some privileges. Besides, most everything that’s happened has been on the third floor or in the basement. We thought you should be where the action is.”

“With the gobbly ghouls,” a man inserted behind Caith in a sarcastic tone.

Caith spun quickly. The sight of the man poised in the doorway brought him to his feet. “Merlin.”

He hadn’t bargained on such a sharp reaction. Something dark danced up his spine. Time stretched like a taut rope as the two regarded each other in silence. Finally, Caith offered his hand. “It’s been a long time.”

Ignoring the overture, Merlin brushed past him. “Not long enough.” Stepping around Veronica’s chair, he placed his hands on her shoulders, leaning forward to press his lips against hers. The message was clear: She’s mine. Back off.

“Merlin!” Veronica tried to swat him away, as if annoyed he’d use her as a trinket in a power play.

“You haven’t changed much,” Caith observed sourly.

Merlin chuckled.

“I was telling Caith about the lodge,” Veronica interrupted with a sharp glance for Merlin. “He’s going to be staying in the Blackbird Suite.”

“How fitting.” Merlin’s gaze slid across the desk to Caith. “Blackbirds and ravens, eating the souls of the dead.” The hint of a mocking smile stretched his lips. “Then again, you know all about dead things, don’t you?”

“Merlin!” Veronica gasped at precisely the moment Caith launched himself at his brother. Catching Merlin by the collar, he slammed him up against the wall. “Shut up! You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Feigning innocence, Merlin held up his hands. “You’re overreacting, Caithelden. It was a simple comment.”

“Fuck you. It was about Trask.” With a final shove, Caith released him.

“What if it was?” Merlin straightened his shirt. “You think you can waltz into Coldcreek and not have to face that? You think everyone’s going to sidestep the issue so they don’t ruffle your feathers? The hell with that. I lived through it, too.”

“The hell with you.” Caith headed for the door. “Veronica, when you’ve got the files together bring them to my suite. I’m going to unpack.”

His fury carried him into the lobby and past the reception desk. He hit the front door with the flat of his hand, throwing it open. The force propelled it into the wall. Boiling, he took the steps two at a time. His Explorer was parked around the side of the lodge, tucked between trees where he’d hoped no one would see the vehicle until he was ready.

But Merlin had.

Merlin had shown up and reawakened all the bitter blood between them. It shouldn’t have happened. Brothers who’d been close in childhood torn apart by something ugly and vile.

He blames me.

Ignoring the enraged pounding of his heart, Caith wrenched open the back of the SUV and yanked his bags free. As he moved to close the vehicle, he raised his head and caught a startling glimpse of the house. Bracketed by the deepening night sky and tattered clouds, it looked somber and forbidding.

With a soft curse, Caith carted his bags into the lodge and to the suite he was certain Veronica had handpicked for him because of its name.