Читать книгу Her Sister's Children - Roxanne Rustand - Страница 7

CHAPTER ONE

IF SHE’D KNOWN about the snake, Claire would have thought twice about leaving New York.

Jason’s two-foot albino corn snake slithered sedately across the kitchen floor and coiled itself into a neat, flesh-colored pile at the base of the refrigerator. From unwelcome experience, Claire knew Igor would bask in the warmth of the motor indefinitely—to avoid northern Minnesota’s early-September chill, no doubt.

The children’s dog or cat napping there would have an altogether different—a more domestic—effect on the room. But Gilbert, the elderly poodle, always took off for the farthest reaches of the old Victorian house whenever Igor managed to escape his guaranteed-escape-proof reptile cage. And Sullivan, emitting Siamese yowls to rival any civil defense siren, had found her usual refuge on top of the cupboards.

Claire had developed an aversion to snakes as a child, but she’d never argued over Jason’s ownership of Igor. She’d tried to make every concession possible in hopes that Jason would feel welcome and happy. Nothing had worked.

A car door slammed. Heavy footsteps marched up the concrete walk. With a sigh, Claire remembered her days in New York as assistant personnel director of her father’s electronics firm. After four weeks of strangers knocking at her door at all hours, mountain-high piles of laundry and a phone jangling from morning till night, her familiar world of deferential employees and maid service was rapidly gaining appeal. Her parents’ wealth had never bought happiness, and her rise in the company had been her father’s dream, not hers, but there had been some definite advantages to having money.

She’d made her decision, Claire reminded herself with a rueful smile. She’d welcomed the challenge of taking in her late sister’s three children, although she had serious doubts about ever adjusting to their pets. So now she could dwell on her problems or view her new career as an exciting challenge. Here at Pine Cliff Resort she could finally succeed on her own merits, away from her family’s influence. And after losing their parents in a car accident six months before, the kids needed her, not a nanny. Nothing mattered more than giving them the best possible life. She loved them too much to settle for less.

A sharp knock on the door echoed through the room. Smiling at an older woman staring at her through the screen, Claire crossed the gleaming vinyl floor. “Can I help you?”

“I’m Mrs. Rogers,” the woman announced in a two-pack-a-day baritone. A cloying odor of heavy perfume and stale cigarette smoke blew in as Claire opened the door. “I have reservations.”

The decibel level of Sullivan’s yowls rose.

Though built like a woman who could clear timber and slay bears before breakfast, Mrs. Rogers drew back in alarm. She leaned to one side to peer suspiciously past Claire. “Where’s the manager?”

Suppressing a chuckle, Claire ushered the older woman into the small entryway and turned to the rolltop desk by the door. She ran a finger down the names in the reservation book. “I’m the new manager. Is cabin three okay?”

The woman shook her head and tapped the toe of her shoe against the floor. “When I called in June, I was promised the end cabin, as always. Check your book again.”

Claire dutifully rechecked the reservation book. “That one will be open tomorrow, but three does have a lovely view.”

A heavy, disapproving silence hung in the air. “We stayed in three once. My Henry, rest his soul, said the bed didn’t have enough support—” With a sharp intake of breath, Mrs. Rogers stepped backward, her eyes widening.

Apparently, she’d seen Igor. “Anything else?” Claire asked sweetly. A companion for your cabin, perhaps?

Handing the speechless woman a pen, Claire snagged a set of keys from the strip of Peg-Board on the wall and silently thanked Igor for cutting short a potential tirade. Until a month ago, Claire had fired irritating people. Now she had to smile at them.

It wasn’t easy.

After Mrs. Rogers backed out, key in hand, Claire lifted a bag of blueberry potpourri from a shelf above the desk, but decided that the delicate fragrance wouldn’t have a chance against the raw scent of cologne still clouding the air. Frowning, she opened the three windows behind the claw-foot oak table, then watched the lacy white curtains dance high on the incoming breeze. The children deserved a clean, cheerful home, not one smelling like a nightclub at midnight.

She glanced over her shoulder at the clock above the stove. Two-thirty. Just enough time to finish cleaning the last cabin before meeting the school bus at the resort entrance.

For a moment, an image of the children’s smiling faces and eager chatter warmed her heart. Maybe this time one of the kids would give her a hug. But Claire knew there was a greater chance for an August blizzard. The twins’ subdued, sad-eyed compliance and their brother’s veiled hostility hadn’t changed since she’d picked them up in Minneapolis last month and brought them north. Brooke’s will had given Claire the resort and custody of the children, but no legal document could guarantee an easy adjustment.

A second sharp knock at the door startled Claire. Another pleasant guest, no doubt.

She gave the snake a stern glance. “Stay!”

Motionless, with approximately the same dimensions and personality as a small pile of men’s underwear, Igor stared back at her. He looked unimpressed.

Summoning her best innkeeper’s smile, Claire lifted her chin and turned toward the door. A tall, broad-shouldered man in faded jeans and an ancient Nike T-shirt stood outside. His buff-colored jacket had the scent of fine leather. Backlit by bright af ternoon sun, his features were cast in shadow, but Claire had an eerie feeling she had met him before. A shiver raced down her spine.

“Yes?” She moved a half step closer and looked up into the stranger’s face.

Only he was no stranger.

Her heart stopped. Her breath caught raggedly in her throat. Logan. The past fourteen years had hardened the youthful beauty of his features, adding breadth and power to his elegant body. His hair had darkened to deep, sun-streaked caramel, but there was no mistaking those seductive deep blue eyes. Her pulse raced. Her knees wobbled. He was everything she’d remembered, only much, much more.

But this man was as safe as a plateful of nightshade or a midnight stroll in Central Park. He’d been the object of her first adolescent crush, then become the creature of her youthful nightmares.

And he had nearly destroyed her sister’s life.

Suddenly aware she was staring, Claire lowered her eyelashes. She felt momentarily unable to speak. What did one say to the devil himself? And why on earth was he here?

The silence lengthened, grew awkward. After taking a steadying breath, she lifted her gaze and caught his expression of supreme frustration. “Can I help you?”

“I hope so.” The boyish charm and humor of years past were gone, leaving a man who could glare the snarl off a rottweiler. “All I need is information. Can I come in for a minute?”

Claire considered the options of firmly dismissing him, or slamming the door in his face. The latter would be infinitely more satisfying, but—

Taking advantage of her brief hesitation, he reached out, opened the screen door and strode into the kitchen.

Claire pulled herself together—fast—and snatched the receiver from the phone on the desk. Her finger punched the first number of 911 before she had the receiver halfway to her ear.

Logan reached out, but she slid away and punched the second number. “Back off,” she snapped.

He looked at her in surprise and held out his hands, palms up. “I was going to shake hands and introduce myself. Are you always this edgy, lady?” He managed a damn good expression of innocence.

“Of course not. People don’t barge into my house every day.”

“Believe me, I’m no threat.” His voice was calm and low, with the quiet reassurance one might use with a frightened child.

Claire’s finger hovered over the last number. “Make one more move and I finish this call. The sheriff will respond whether I say a word or not.”

“No need.” He stepped away and slowly turned. The tension in his body seemed to dissipate as he studied the antiques and small paintings adorning the lace-curtained room. “Someone has been busy,” he said with a trace of bitterness. “Brooke was never one for the warm-and-welcoming look. I’m Logan Matthews, her first husband. All I need is the address and phone number of her executor.”

Claire stared at him. He doesn’t recognize me. Of course, fourteen years ago she’d been a child in pigtails and cutoffs, and the effects of her passion for French fries and hot fudge had been all too obvious. “Why do you want to know?”

“I’ve had remarkably bad luck trying to contact members of her family in New York and Minneapolis.” Logan ran a gentle hand over the surface of the old oak cupboards, as if reliving a memory. “My lawyer’s calls haven’t been returned and my letters came back unopened. Not twenty minutes ago, her mother’s housekeeper hung up on me for the third time.”

“Must have been your gracious manner,” Claire muttered under her breath, sending up a silent prayer of thanks that Brooke’s children were the product of her second marriage. Once Claire got Matthews out of her kitchen, she would never have to see him again. “Surely you can’t think you were mentioned in the will.”

He gave her a look of complete disgust. “Of course not. But Brooke died owning something that belongs in my family.” He looked away and hesitated, as if considering how much to say. “She won this half of Pine Cliff in our divorce settlement. She’d always hated the place, yet she refused to sell her half back to me at any price.”

Claire lowered the phone to her side, feeling continued reassurance in its cool surface under her fingertips. “There must be other properties you could buy that are in much better condition.”

He moved across the room to the trio of windows overlooking Lake Superior. Bracing one arm high on a window frame, he silently stared out at the waves. Claire studied him in the bright sunlight. He had the face of an angel, but she knew his heart and soul belonged a lot farther south.

“I inherited this place from my grandmother years ago,” he said at last. “I just want a chance to buy it back.”

The faint note of underlying pain could not have come from him. Not unless he’d decided to gain her sympathy. She remembered Brooke’s tearful stories of how deceptive he’d been, how callous. But Claire was not the breezy, naive girl her sister had been. If he thought he could manipulate Claire Worth, he was dead wrong. She marshaled her coldest, most businesslike tone. “I’m her executor. Pine Cliff is not for sale.”

Logan turned and studied her for a moment, his eyes reflecting dawning recognition. “Claire?”

“Right.”

“Blond, but I don’t see any other resemblance to Brooke.” A hint of a smile tilted one corner of his mouth, although his eyes remained grim. “You were what, thirteen? Fourteen or so when she and I divorced? I can imagine what they told you.”

“Enough,” Claire snapped.

“I can see there’s probably no point in discussion,” he said slowly, his voice tinged with regret. “Brooke’s version of the past must have been... convincing.”

“It certainly worked for me.”

“Are you planning to sell later on?”

“I’m planning to stay,” she retorted. He stood there like a man in a TV commercial—muscled. sexy and altogether too appealing. Her sister had fallen for him almost overnight.

He lifted one eyebrow. “A little far from your social circle, aren’t you?”

“That’s not your concern.” Some of his old charisma surfaced in a lazy half smile and a teasing glint in his eyes, but she was not taken in. The flutter of her pulse came from tension, not a response to the dark and smoky tone of his voice.

He glanced at the open reservation book on the desk, then gave her an incredulous look. “You’re managing this place?”

“Yes.”

“You won’t last”

Exactly the sentiments of her ex-fiancé in New York, who had declared her incapable of raising three children and foolish for giving up her career. Of course, he’d been trying to protect his plan to become her father’s protégé and heir. Claire felt the heat of anger rising in her throat. “I’d like you to leave.”

Logan shook his head. “I should have recognized the Worth family wit and warmth right away.” He walked to the door, hesitated, then dropped a business card on the desk. “Blood does tell.”

“Out!”

His mouth curved into a faint smile, but no flash of humor showed in his eyes. “You’ll be in serious country-club withdrawal by Thanksgiving. You’ll be dying to sell. Don’t bother with a real estate agent, just call me. You’ll save time and won’t get a better price.”

As soon as he stepped outside, Claire shut the heavy oak door and rammed the dead bolt home, then moved to a window by the desk. After Logan’s gleaming black Explorer disappeared up the lane, she sank into the creaky swivel chair at the desk.

The faint scent of sandalwood and leather lingered in the air, sending her thoughts flying back to the time when she had nurtured the world’s most intense, embarrassing crush on this man.

As a teenager caught up in the throes of her first impossible romance, Claire had thought her older sister’s boyfriend represented masculine perfection—tall, witty and handsome enough to compete with any teen idol. She’d lived for glimpses of his slow, easy smiles, loved the way his eyes crinkled at the corners and deep dimples grooved his cheeks. He’d always ruffled her hair and teased her, treating her like a kid sister.

Her lack of perception at the time still astounded her. Granted, she’d been an inexperienced young girl, but how had she missed seeing what the man was really like? In all her life, no one had ever fooled her so completely.

Shoving a hand through her short-cropped hair, she started to sweep Logan’s business card off the desk and into the wastebasket, but his address caught her eye. She stared in disbelief. Matthews Architectural Associates, St. Paul, Minnesota. A local phone number and address had been written at the bottom. The address nearly matched that of Pine Cliff. Claire’s heart missed a beat.

It was discomforting to know that one of her neighbors had a long-term grudge against her family, and a proven propensity for deceit.