âWhy on earth donât you replace thisâ¦stuff?
Itâs your house, after all.â
Alexâs gaze lingered on the heavy oil portrait of his grandfather that hung over the dining-room fireplace. âSometimes I find that hard to believe.â
His words were so quiet, he almost seemed to be speaking to himself. Paula wanted to argue, but instinctively she knew it wouldnât do any good. Sheâd been wrong. It wasnât his house, not in the way she understood those words. It was the Caine mansion, and right now Alex looked as if that were a heavy burden.
She frowned down at the folder in her hand. âIâll get started on this.â
Alex turned toward her, seeming to shake off the clouds that surrounded him. âThank you.â
âFor what? Itâs my job.â It was hard to sound casual when her heart clenched at his closeness.
âFor being here. For helping me. Iâm glad youâre back.â
wanted to be a writer from the moment she encountered Nancy Drew, at about age eight. She didnât see publication of her stories until many years later, when she began writing childrenâs fiction for Sunday school papers while she was a church educational director. Although now retired from that position in order to write full-time, she continues to play an active part in her church and loves teaching a class of lively fifth-and sixth-grade Sunday school students.
Marta lives in rural Pennsylvania with her husband of thirty-seven years and has three grown children. She loves to hear from readers and enjoys responding. She can be reached c/o Steeple Hill Books, 300 East 42nd Street, New York, NY 10017.
This story is dedicated with love and gratitude to
the siblings and spouses who add so much richness to our lives: Pat and Ed, Bill and Molly, Herb and Barb, Gary and Arddy, and Chris. And, as always, to Brian.
A man who lived in a twenty-room house ought to be able to have silence when he wanted it. Alex Caine tossed his pen on the library desk and stalked to the center hallway of the Italianate mansion that had been home to the Caine family for three generations. The noise that had disrupted his work on a crucial business deal came from beyond the swinging door to the servantsâ area.
Frowning, he headed toward the sound, his footsteps sharp on the marble floor, and pushed through the door to the rear of the house. Heâd told his ailing housekeeper to rest this afternoon, so there should have been no sound at all to disturb his concentration. But Maida Hansen, having taken care of him since the day his mother died when he was six, tended to ignore any orders she didnât want to follow.
Well, in this case she was going to listen. If he didnât find the right words for this delicate negotiation, Caine Industries might not survive for another generation. There might be no company at all to leave to his son.
He winced. What would his grandfather or his father have said to that? Theyâd assumed they were founding a dynasty to last a hundred years. They wouldnât look kindly on the man who presided over its demise.
The noise came from the pantry, down the hall from the kitchen. He seized the doorknob and yanked.
The figure balanced precariously on the step stool wasnât Maida. Maida had never in her life worn blue jeans or a sweatshirt proclaiming her Worldâs Greatest Teacher. His heart stopped, and he looked at the woman he had thought heâd never see again.
âWhatâs going on?â
She spun at the sound of his voice, wobbled and overbalanced. Her arms waved wildly to regain control, but it was too late. The step stool toppled, sending her flying toward him. Pans clattered to the floor. In an instant his arms had closed around Paula Hansen.
The breath went out of him. Carefully he set her on her feet and stepped back, clamping down on the treacherous rush of feelings. Paulaâhere in his house again, looking up at him with what might have been embarrassment in her sea-green eyes.
With an effort he schooled his face to polite concern and found his voice. âPaula. I didnât expect to find you here. Maida didnât tell me you were coming.â
Maidaâs time outside her duties was her own, and she was perfectly free to have her niece stay at the housekeeperâs cottage whenever she wanted to. But in the almost two years since the plane crash, since what had happened between them, Paula hadnât returned to Bedford Creek.
âShe didnât tell you?â Surprise filled Paulaâs expressive face. She tried to mask it, turning away to right the step stool.
âNo, she didnât.â If heâd known Paula was on the estate, he wouldnât have betrayed shock at the sight of her. In fact, heâd probably have found a way to avoid seeing her at all.