by Nora Roberts
On the cliffs, the wind was rougher, whipped in from the sea and tasting, as Laura always thought, of adventure and romance.
The winter grass rustled, and the waves roared, fuming water like froth from a bottle of champagne. Once a young girl had died there, through her own will. An old man had grieved there, through his own memories. And somewhere, gold hidden for more than a century waited to be found.
Laura enjoyed the company and the leisure as much as the search. Nearly every Sunday, she and her friends and her daughters came here with the shadow of Templeton House behind them to look for Seraphina’s dowry.
“We could buy a horse when we find it, couldn’t we?” Kayla looked up from her enthusiastic scraping with a garden spade. “From Mr. Fury. I know how to take care of a horse now. He showed us. You have to feed them and water them, and brush them and clean out their feet—”
“Hooves,” Ali put in, feeling superior. “You pick out their hooves. And you have to exercise them, too. And muck out their stalls.”
“Have you been mucking out, Ali?”
Ali shrugged her shoulders, hoping the new earrings in her pierced ears showed off to their best advantage. “Mr. Fury says it’s part of the job. You don’t just get on and ride, you have to take care of them.”
“Yes, you do.” The father-daughter supper was behind them, and Ali had survived it. Laura touched Ali’s hair. “When I was a girl and we had horses, I mucked out my share of stalls. I never minded.”
“Couldn’t we have some?” She’d tried not to ask. Ali wasn’t quite willing to forgive her mother for letting her father go away and marry some other woman. “Mr. Fury’s going to build his own stables and house. When he goes away, he’ll take the horses.”
“We’ll talk about it.”
“You say that when you mean no.” Ali rose from her crouch.
“I say that,” Laura returned, praying for patience, “when I mean we’ll talk about it. Right now Mr. Fury’s renting the stables and there isn’t really time for another horse.”
“He’d sell us one of his if you wanted. If you really wanted.” Ali turned her back and went over to where Margo and Kate ran the metal detector.
“She’s still mad because he’s getting married soon,” Kayla said.
“Hmm?”
“You know, Mama. He’s marrying Mrs. Litchfield.”
“I’ll talk to her again.” Though she could think of nothing left to say on the matter. “Are you mad, baby?”
“No, I don’t care if he marries her. I don’t know why he wants to when she has that mean smile. And when she laughs it hurts my ears.”
With an effort, Laura muffled a laugh of her own. Leave it to Kayla, she thought, to sum up Candy in such accurate terms. “People get married because they love each other.” Or so she’d once believed, Laura mused as she looked out to sea. So she’d once dreamed.
“Are you going to be in love with someone and get married?”
“I don’t know.” Dreams change, Laura reminded herself. “You can’t plan these things.”
“I heard Mrs. Williamson tell Annie that Mrs. Litchfield planned to catch Dad in her trap, and how he deserved it.”
“Ah.” She cleared her throat. “She just meant that they were going to be happy together.”
“I guess.” Kayla thought no such thing but was wise enough to let it pass. “I’m going to get some lemonade from the thermos. Do you want some?”
“That would be nice.” Laura rose as well and wandered over to her friends.
“I’m not skimming, damn it.” Blowing hair out of her face, Margo continued to run the detector. “I’m doing it the way I always do.”
“Half-assed.” Kate rolled her eyes as Ali giggled. “Sorry.”
“She’s been hanging around the gym too much,” Margo told Ali. “Picking up bad language along with locker room sweat.”
“You’ve got too much jewelry on,” Kate complained. “You’re going to send the thing into convulsions.”
“Bitch and moan.” Margo winced herself. “Sorry, Ali. Here, why don’t you wear my bracelet a while?”
“Can I?” Thrilled, Ali watched her glamorous aunt transfer the heavy gold links, then held up her arm, watching the sun bounce off them. “It’s so beautiful. It glitters.”
“What’s the point in wearing it if it doesn’t glitter?” She winked and flicked a finger at Ali’s earlobe. “Those are pretty.”
“Mama got them for me. I got an A on my science report.” She glanced toward her mother, and her smile bloomed hesitantly. “She said I worked hard and deserved a reward.”
“You did—and you did,” Laura confirmed. “Would you mind helping Kayla get lemonade? I think we’re all dry.”
“All right.” She took a step, stopped. “Would you like a sandwich?”
It was an apology, Laura realized, and though she wasn’t hungry, she smiled. “That would be terrific. Why don’t you and Kayla spread out the blanket and we’ll take a break for lunch?” Laura murmured as her daughter picked her way around rocks, “She’s trying. It’s hard for her to accept.”
“If I had the prospect of Candy Cane as my stepmother, I’d find it more than hard,” Kate muttered.
Margo merely lifted one elegant shoulder. “Candy’s too much in love with Candy to give them the time of day. And the girls are smart enough not to give her any more than that back.”
“I suppose it would be easier if they liked her—a little.” Then Laura sighed and gave in. “And it’s probably selfish of me to be glad they don’t. But I’m glad they don’t.”
“Anyone want to take bets on how long the Peter and Candy show runs? My take is—” A little dizzy, Kate sat down abruptly on a rock. “There it goes again.”
“Are you all right?” Kate had a history of ulcers, and now Laura leapt to her side. “Is it a flare-up?”
“No.” Kate took easy breaths, waiting for the world to settle. Yes, there was the sky, nicely blue and back in its proper place. “You know what? I think I’m pregnant.”
“Pregnant?” With a thud, Margo set the detector aside and crouched in front of Kate. “How late are you? Have you taken a test?”
“Late enough.” Kate closed her eyes, tried to analyze what she was feeling. “I bought one of those instant things at the drugstore. I haven’t used it because I’m afraid it’ll say I’m not.”
“You’re using it first thing tomorrow,” Margo ordered, and she cupped Kate’s face in her hand to take a long look. “Morning sickness?”
“Not really. A little queasy when I first get up, but it passes.” She shifted her eyes. “The two of you stop looking at me with those smug, knowing grins.”
“Not a chance.” Laura sat beside her. “What does Byron say?”
“I haven’t mentioned it. In case I’m wrong. I don’t want to be wrong,” she said shakily. “I know we’ve only been married a few months and we have all the time in the world, but I don’t want to be wrong.”
“Another sure sign,” Laura declared. “Unstable and heightened emotions.”
Then she heard a voice, slow, deep, and male, and admitted that pregnancy wasn’t the only cause of unstable and heightened emotions. Lust was definitely right up there in the running.
With her hand still on Kate’s shoulder, she got to her feet.
“Is this club for women only?”
“Depends.” Margo went to automatic purr. “On the man. Want to help us look for treasure, Michael?”
“You all would be pretty ticked if I got lucky and found it first shot, after all the time you’ve put in.”
“He has a point.” Kate reached up to pat Laura’s hand, signaling that she was fine now. “Anyway, men just don’t get Seraphina’s dowry. Do they, Mick?”
“Seems to me if she’d had one, she’d have been better off doing something with it instead of burying it somewhere and taking a header off a cliff.”
“See?” Her point made, Kate rose. “I’m going to check out lunch
. Rumor is Mrs. Williamson made potato salad.”
“I’ll give you a hand.” Enjoying the tension that had leapt into the air, Margo decided to let it hum. She sent Michael a quick wink before following Kate.
“I’d gone upstairs to make some calls,” Michael began before Laura could retreat. “Looked out the window and saw five pretty girls scattered over the cliffs. It was hard to think about going back to work without getting a closer look.”
“We try to spend a few hours out here every Sunday. So far we’ve found two coins. Or rather Margo found one and Kate found one. The girls and I are batting zero.”
“Is it important to you? Finding gold?”
“The hunt’s important. And the mood.” She shifted her gaze to the sea. “The possibilities. I imagine her there, that young girl standing on the edge of the cliff thinking she had nothing left to live for.”
“There’s always something to live for.”
“Yes, there is.” She did retreat, the few bare steps the rocks allowed, when he lifted a hand to her face. “I should help with lunch. You’re welcome to have some if you like.”
“I wanted to talk to you about the girls, if you have a minute.”
“Oh.” The wariness in her eyes became concern. “If they’re getting in your way—”
“Laura,” he said patiently. “Do you really think you’re the only one who can appreciate their company?”
“No, of course not.” Annoyed with herself, logic hampered by rampaging emotions, she dropped her hands to her sides. “What is it?”
“I’ve been giving them a few pointers in the saddle. Kayla . . .” He glanced back, grinning as he watched the little blond head bob. “She’s a pistol. She’d be doing bare-back jumps if I let her.”
“Please.” Laura shuddered. “My heart.”
“Kid wants to gallop full out in the worst way. Wants everything full out. You gotta admire that. But she listens. She learns. I’m crazy about her.”
Laura blinked against surprise and sunlight. “She . . . she’s full of Mr. Fury and his horses every time she comes back from the stables.” Determined to relax, she sat on the rock, and barely jolted when he joined her. “She’s starting to lose interest in her dance lessons.”
“I don’t want to mess with your plans.”
“No.” Smiling now, Laura shook her head. “She only wanted them because Ali had them. That’s Kayla, always determined to keep up.”
There were tiny blue flowers fighting out of a crack in the rock toward the sun. In an absentminded move, Michael plucked one and offered it. “Did you get her that drawing instructor?”
Surprise again flitted into her eyes. How odd that he should remember those little family details. “As a matter of fact I did find someone.” She glanced down at the bloom in her hand, wishing she could take those habitual offer of flowers as casually as he did. “She’ll start next week.”
“Kid’s got real talent. Me, the only way I can draw is with a ruler. About Ali.”
“She’s going through a difficult time. She’s not as flexible as Kayla, or as resilient. She’s so easily bruised.”
“She’ll come around.” He took her hand, playing with her fingers. “The riding lessons. I don’t know how far you want me to push it.”
With a sigh, Laura studied her older girl, sitting so ladylike on the ground beside Margo. “If she isn’t cooperating, there’s no reason for you to push anything.”
“Laura, she’s a natural.”
“Excuse me?”
“The kid sits a horse like she’s been doing it all her life. She’s got this kind of baffling grace. And she listens to me as if what I’m saying is etched in stone. It’s scary. If you want to pursue this for her, you might want to look for someone with more experience in teaching than I have.”
Staggered, Laura stared at him. “She never says anything. Kayla comes back talking a mile a minute, and Ali just shrugs and says it was fine.”
“Kayla’s a bullet. Ali’s a song. She’ll sing when she’s ready.”
How could he know her children so well? she wondered. How could he see inside and understand their hearts so well, so quickly?
“She trusts you,” Laura said slowly. “Trust isn’t easy for Ali these days. If you don’t mind, I’d like you to stick with it. She needs something so badly right now, and I don’t seem to have whatever it is.”
Annoyed, he cupped a hand under her chin and turned her face to his. “You’re wrong. You have exactly what it is. She’s only blaming you because she knows you’ll take it. You’ll be there.”
He dropped his hand, resisted getting up to pace. He wasn’t a damn shrink, but anyone with eyes could see the woman needed something. “I went through a period when I blamed my mother for a lot of things. But I never said it to her. Because I didn’t know if she’d take it. I didn’t know if she’d be there.”
Perhaps that was how he saw, she mused. How he understood. “Maybe it’s easier for you to understand her. I never had anyone let me down. My mother and father were—are—as steady as this rock. Never faltered, never wavered. Never failed.”
And she had done all of those, Laura thought. Faltered. Wavered. Failed. It wasn’t a simple matter to regain balance after you’d been rocked.
“Then again,” he said, watching her face, “maybe she blames you because you blame you. Get a grip, Laura.”
“You’ve never been married,” she shot back.
“Yeah, I was. Six months.” He lifted a brow as he rose. “And I didn’t fuck it up alone. I’ll keep working with the kids,” he continued when she said nothing. “But I’ve got a condition.”
He’d been married? Her mind swung there, back, tried to keep up. “All right. What is it?”
“Stop hiding in the house. Come down and see what they’re doing.” Amused at both of them, he took the flower from her, tucked it in her hair. “I’m not going to jump you in front of your children.”
“I haven’t been hiding, and I never assumed your behavior in front of them would be inappropriate.”
“Christ, it’s fascinating to watch you click into that lady-of-the-manor mode. I don’t know whether to pull my forelock or jump you after all.”
Cool as snowmelt, she inclined her head. “I’d prefer you do neither. Now that we’ve spoken, I certainly will come down and check on the girls’ progress. I appreciate your bringing me up to date.”
“Yes, ma’am, Ms. Templeton.”
“Sarcasm suits you, Michael.”
He grabbed her arm before she could stride past him. “So do you.” He said it softly, his face close to hers. “By Christ, so do you. You want to be careful playing princess to peasant with me, Laura. Puts my back up. Makes me want to prove something.”
“You don’t have anything to prove to me. Now let go of my arm.”
“When I’m finished.” He preferred her like this, the challenge of her, encased in ice. The wounded woman made him feel weak and clumsy and eager to soothe.
“Let me remind you who you’re dealing with, in case you’ve forgotten,” he continued. “I like to break rules, and if someone puts up a barrier I like to step over it, just for the hell of it. When I’m pushed, I push back. Harder. And meaner.”
She didn’t doubt it, any of it. The man who faced her now looked capable of anything—sins, crimes, atrocities. When she had time to think, she would analyze what warped part of her was attracted to just that facet of him. For now, escape would have to substitute for valor.
“I appreciate the reminder. Don’t let me keep you from your work.”
“You won’t.” In a rapid shift of mood that left her baffled, he brought her clenched fist to his lips. Watching her, he pried it open, pressed his mouth to the palm. “Don’t forget, sugar, you’re still holding that rain check.”
He strolled off, pausing long enough at the picnic blanket to steal a sandwich and make the girls giggle. When there was enough distance, and she was sure the heat had died from her cheeks, she
went over to join her family.
“Mr. Fury kissed your hand, Mama,” Kayla announced. “Just like in the movies.”
“He was just being funny.” Laura took a glass of lemonade to ease her dry throat. “He was telling me how well both of you are doing with the riding lessons.” Though her stomach was still jumping, she casually chose a slice of apple. “I think he’s enjoying them as much as you are.”
“They’re all right.” Though she pretended disinterest, Ali studied her mother from under her lashes. The hand kiss hadn’t looked at all funny to her. And her mother had a flower in her hair.
“Michael seems to think both of you are doing more than just all right.”
“You ought to get back into riding yourself, Laura.” Delighted with the progress, Margo nibbled on a cube of cheese. No, that palm buss hadn’t looked funny. It had looked perfect.
“I’ll think about it.” Because she wanted to watch Michael climb the hill back to Templeton House, she looked deliberately west, out to sea.
She couldn’t sleep. Being bone-tired didn’t seem to make any difference. Laura wanted to believe that it was because the night was so clear, so full of stars, that it would be a shame to waste it. But she knew it was the dreams that kept her from bed.
She had begun to dream of him, and the content, the detail of the content, both shocked and amazed her.
She could, with concentration, control her thoughts during the day. But how could she control what snuck into her dreams?
They were so . . . sexual. “Erotic” was too tame, too formal a word for what went on in her head during sleep.
She should have been able to accept them, laugh at them, even share them with her friends. But she could do none of those things. Quite simply, she mused as she wandered the silent garden, because she had done none of those things that her subconscious created.
That rough, sweaty, elemental sex was a far cry from the dreams of her girlhood—except for those few scattered and shocking dreams she’d had about Michael as a girl. Those had been hormonal aberrations, Laura assured herself, not wishes. And they were best forgotten. In any case, most of her dreams had been soft, lovely, when she’d imagined love in all its forms to be tender and sweet. There’d been no ripping of fabric, no bruising hands or frantic cries of release in her innocent fantasies.