The easiest of souls. Moira managed to keep that miserable laugh trapped in her throat.
And, yeah, she knew Charles. He seemed to see clear through to a person. It made him useful in his job—he was a curator, but he’d also proved to be very helpful when they’d been adding to their collection. When Moira tended to take people at their word, he’d always known when somebody just needed more coaxing, more time, more money … more charm. That sort of skill came from knowing people, understanding them. That he’d looked at Neve and seen the misery inside her shouldn’t come as a surprise.
“I can’t worry about this now,” she said, shaking her head. “Whoever did this, I’m sure it had nothing to do with Neve.”
She turned to look at Gideon.
If she hadn’t known him as well as she did, she would have missed it.
But she did know him.
Moira knew Gideon, far better than she knew the man she’d just turned her back on, and the glint in his eyes had her narrowing her own.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing.” He pulled the radio from his collar and started talking into it. “We need to get a report done up.”
“Gideon. I know that look.”
He ignored her blithely as he circled the car. His shrewd eyes focused on the lazy, elegant spread of the museum behind her and then he just shook his head.
“Moira, you want to tell me just why you had to park in the one spot that’s practically blind?”
“Ah…” She blinked and then looked around. Her car was tucked in the corner, where the shade fell over it during the worst of the day’s heat. Of course, that meant the car was in an area where it was bordered by trees on two sides. “Well. It gets hot.”
“It gets hot,” he muttered. Gideon shook his head and scraped his nails over the light growth of stubble darkening his jaw. “And you see the tire that got slashed … right? It’s out of view of the camera.” He demonstrated, kneeling in the spot, tapping the area next to him.
With a groan, she hunkered down, close enough that the scent of him flooded her head and, although it had to be her imagination, she thought she could feel the heat of his thigh reaching out to warm hers as they knelt there. As he gestured over the top of the car, she peeked up obediently. “I get the point, Chief Marshall,” she said sourly. “I can’t see the cameras. If I can’t see them, they aren’t going to see me, either.”
Patient blue eyes stared back at her.
That patience of his just pissed her off sometimes.
“What?” she half shouted.
“Get cameras—and security lights—that cover the area out here better,” he said, shaking his head.
“We live in Treasure. It’s practically Mayberry,” she pointed out. “The most crime we have around here is shoplifting down at the gas station or the occasional game of mailbox baseball.” She paused and then grimaced. “Unless Barney and Bertram start going at it. Are they together again?”
Gideon ran his tongue along the inside of his lower lip. “Yeah. They are.”
Barney and Bertram were two of the stranger—and not always in the best way—characters in Treasure. A gay couple who had moved to town nearly fifteen years ago, they had a very on-and-off-again relationship. Bert was actually bisexual and, when he wasn’t with Barney, he tended to hook up with any number of females, a fact that drove Barney crazy. That was mostly why he did it, a fact he’d admitted to. Whenever they got back together, things got busy for local law enforcement.
Their idea of foreplay involved a lot of … physicality. The rougher, the better. Without fail, when the cops arrived, the two of them would be both fighting and laughing, or … very much distracted.
And their odd idea of affection was only between the two of them. With anybody else, they were as peaceful and placid as a couple of old dogs sunning themselves on the porch. Moira had heard they’d met up on a boxing circuit in Atlanta years before. She didn’t know if this really was their idea of foreplay, or what.
“Barney and Bert don’t have anything to do with the tire, though,” Gideon said, his aggravation bleeding through his calm words. “At least I don’t think … unless you’ve been flirting with Bert. Barney gets testy about that.”
“Oh, please. Bert’s not my style.” She rolled her eyes and rose, wincing at the pull in her thighs. “Even if the big protective teddy thing is kind of cute. But he can’t ever be faithful.”
Moira managed, barely, not to look at Charles. Her voice cooled slightly, though, as she finished. “That’s sort of key for me.”
As Charles’s eyes zoomed in on her, she locked her gaze on Gideon.
“Not a bad key, in my opinion,” Gideon mused. Then he stood up and pulled a notepad from his pocket. As Charles opened his mouth, he smoothly cut the other man off. “Now … let’s see about taking care of that report.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
The sight of the shining silver Porsche pulling in front of Ferry made Neve want to throw herself back into the bed, pull the covers up over her head. She didn’t need to see the perfectly groomed dark head to know who it was.
That wasn’t a car Moira would drive, and it sure as hell wasn’t Brannon.
No, it had to be the one and only Charles Hurst.
How much?
Her lip curled and she threw her legs over the window seat where she’d been nestled, watching for her older sister to come home.
She needed to talk to Moira. She needed to get this over with.
But as she stood there, Charles flicked a glance up. He couldn’t see her from here. Maybe it had been years since she’d been home, but Ferry was still home and she knew it like the back of her hand. This was her spot, had always been her spot. The slant of the sun and the angle of the windows made it impossible for anybody to see much beyond the sparkle of the light glinting off the glass.
But she felt like he was looking for her.
How much?
Aggravated all over again, she spun on her heel. As she passed by the door to her suite of rooms, she grabbed the shoes she kicked off there and then hit the back stairs. She wasn’t going to hang around if he was going to be here.
Especially since she had a feeling he’d come to see her.
He definitely wasn’t here to chat with Ella Sue.
Men like him didn’t view women like Ella Sue as somebody worth talking to, which only meant he wasn’t worth the space that took up the suits he wore.
She hit the kitchen just as he hit the doorbell.
His voice crackled through the speaker when Ella Sue elected to use the intercom system instead of going to greet him. “Ella Sue, please come open the door. It seems my key no longer works,” he said.
“Mr. Charles…?” Ella Sue winked at Neve.
Neve rolled her eyes.
“Is that you, Mr. Charles?” Ella Sue said, despite the fact that he’d bitten off a terse yes.
“Didn’t I just say it was? Open the door.”
“Just give me a moment, sir. I’m in the middle of preparing a salad for dinner and my hands are a mess.” She disconnected the intercom and looked down at her clean hands for a moment before reaching for a knife. She glanced at Neve. “I do love a nice salad with dinner, don’t you?”
Neve snorted. Then she grabbed a carrot from the bowl of vegetables. “What does he want?”
“Who knows?” Ella Sue expertly chopped up romaine lettuce. “Please tell me you’re not lingering around. If it’s just me, he’ll leave soon enough. But if you’re here, he’ll find a reason to stay. None of us need that.”
“Hmmm. Good point.” She munched the rest of the carrot and then headed for the door.
“Don’t go far.” She wagged a knife at her. “Dinner is in less than two hours.”
Neve hesitated and then nodded. “I won’t. Thank you.”
If she couldn’t lose herself somewhere on the sprawling grounds, then she didn’t deserve to call herself a McKay.
“Oh, don’t thank me. I’m d
oing this so I don’t have to put up with him. Heaven knows why your sister married him. I kept hoping he’d take himself back to England once they divorced, but no…” Ella Sue’s voice faded away until she was muttering to herself.
Grinning, Neve slid out the back door.
She headed off down the path that led to the gardens, and from there, the river. Something told her Charles wasn’t a nature boy.
* * *
Gideon Marshall owed him.
Ian stood in the kitchen, hands folded behind him as he smiled at Ella Sue and tried not to snarl at Charles Hurst.
“I’m intruding,” he said, ignoring the smug British sod as Ella Sue poured peach tea into a glass for him.
He’d drink it—probably even most of it—because Ella Sue was one of the dearest ladies he’d ever met, and she’d watch him with amusement in her dark brown eyes the entire time.
He’d once told her it was a wonder people had any teeth left after drinking tea like this their whole lives. He would swear he could feel the cavities forming after his first sip.
She’d laughed at him and ever since he found himself holding a glass of sweet tea any time he was in her presence.
“You know you’re always welcome.” Ella Sue smiled serenely and then looked over at Charles. “Charles, of course, you’re welcome to have a seat, but I don’t know what you want me to tell you. I hardly keep tabs on the comings and goings of the people who live here.”
You lovely, beautiful liar, Ian thought, oddly delighted. He took a healthy swallow of the tea and even managed not to shudder as the sugar hit his system all at once.
“Can you ring Brannon for me then?” Charles gave her a tight smile, ignoring Ian. “I’ve tried, but he must be busy. Moira always told me he knew better than to ignore your calls.”
“You give me more credit than I deserve.” She gave him a smile that was loaded with as much sugar as the tea Ian was gamely trying to drink as she opened the oven.
Ian started to salivate. He’d discovered he had a weakness for Ella Sue’s cooking. “Ella Sue, put me out of my misery—divorce that worthless sod you married and be my wife. I’ll treat you like a queen.”
“A hundred men have told me that.” She shot him a look. “You might have been able to tempt me, Ian, if Brannon had brought you over here before I finally found one good man.” She pulled out a deep dish of ribs.
Ian thought he’d embarrass himself if he had to stand there and breathe in that rich, savory scent too much longer—drool never did work well on him. Particularly with the beard. As Charles went to open his mouth, likely to start with his blathering again, Ian cut around the island, doing the one thing that would earn the ire of the woman who secretly ran McKay’s Ferry. He acted like he’d swipe a taste from the pan.
She reached out and grabbed the wooden spoon that seemed to perpetually linger beside the stove—it was never used, never dirty—and brought it down on the back of his hand.
“Don’t you dare, Ian Campbell,” she said, shaking the spoon at him. “I’ve a mind to throw you both out of my kitchen now.”
“I’m sorry, Ella Sue,” he said with false meekness, turning to see Charles watching him with shrewd eyes.
“I’d be happy to get out of your way—clearly you’re busy, Ella Sue,” Charles said. “I simply need to speak with Brannon about … a personal matter.”
Grabbing an apple out of the dish on the island, Ian lobbed it up into the air. Cheerfully, he said, “Oh, I’d advise against that, Charlie. Unless you want to run up against the wrong side of his fist.”
For the first time since he’d come into the kitchen, Charles spoke to him. “I beg your pardon, Campbell?”
“Brannon’s brassed off about something.” He caught the apple out of the air a second time, lifted it to his lips, and took a bite. He took his time chewing, then swallowing. Then he grinned at Charles. “Don’t know if you’ve seen Bran in a temper before but you might want to steer clear. He’s looking for something to hurt and, if you get in his way, it just might be you.”
He took another bite and then blew out a breath. “As much as I’m loathe to do it, I suspect it will be me he hurts. Being a friend, I’ll make the sacrifice. Somebody has to take it and I love him like a brother. I suppose I should go and find him and we’ll pound on each other.”
Charles studied him for a moment. “You’re going to go find him so the two of you can pound on each other.”
“Well, better me than you.” He gave Charles a long look. “I don’t think your fancy suit would hold up.”
“Indeed.” Charles shifted his gaze to Ella Sue, opened his mouth, and then abruptly just turned and walked away. Over his shoulder, he said, “Please have him call—sooner rather than later.”
Once he’d disappeared down the hall, Ella Sue reached for a towel and wiped her hands off. The polite expression on her face didn’t fade, but the ice thawed and she looked at Ian. “Just what is Brannon … brassed off about?”
Ian looked down, contemplating his apple.
“If you take one more bite of that apple, I’m going to smack you again,” she warned, shaking her spoon.
“It’s a good apple,” he said, smiling.
She stared at him for a long moment and then sighed. “I bet you drove your poor mother to distraction, Ian.”
“I did, yes.” He took another bite, polishing the rest of the apple off. “As to Brannon, that’s not something I can discuss with you—even if I knew. It’s something personal and not my place.”
“Why are you here?” she asked quietly.
He considered a dozen answers and decided to be honest. “It’s entirely likely Brannon and I will have a row. Gideon wants me to keep an eye on him—make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid. I’m supposed to charm my way into staying for supper. Is he here?”
Ella Sue pursed her lips and then nodded. “He and Neve got in an hour ago.” Then she waved toward the back door. “Try the garden path, follow it down to the river.”
“Thank you.”
He went to head out the door and she called his name. “If you’re supposed to charm me into letting you stay for supper, is that the best you could do?”
He flashed a wide grin. “Miss Ella Sue, could I please trouble you to let me stay for supper? I’m quite famished.”
She just shook her head. “It won’t be more than another hour. Don’t be any longer.”
* * *
Ella Sue waited until he was out of sight before she left the kitchen. And although she’d heard the control pad for the alarm chime when the front door was opened, she went to check.
Yes, that fool Charles was gone as well.
Satisfied, she made her way through the house to the west wing.
Personally, this wasn’t her favorite part of the house, although she knew it as well as the back of her hand. She oversaw the cleaning and care of McKay’s Ferry—it had been her duty, and her privilege, to care for this family for nearly forty years. She’d started out as a cook and then worked her way up until she ran the household.
She knew more about running the home than any of the children did—children. She sighed as she opened the door that led to the indoor shooting range. They weren’t children anymore, as hard as it was to accept that. She loved them as if they were her own, though, and if there was a problem … well, she’d just have to see what it was.
She waited until Brannon had lowered the weapon. It looked big and mean and capable in his hands—and just then, he looked big and mean and capable, too. As he glanced up at her, there was a look in his eyes that chilled her to the bone.
Brannon had always been the … easiest of the three. Not that any of them could be called easy, no. But he’d laughed a little more often, forgiven a little sooner, and was the first to smooth things over.
But under that calm, easygoing manner lurked a temper. A fierce one. It took quite a bit to get it going, and after more than thirty years of taking care of him, she knew almost every tr
igger he had. She could even name them.
Moira … and Neve.
“I need to be alone right now, Ella Sue,” he said, his voice calm. Too calm.
“Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?” she asked after she took a moment to weigh his words.
He reloaded the gun, and she again had to note how capable he looked, how easily he handled the task.
“You’ll hear,” he said after a moment. “Soon enough.” Then he grimaced. “And you might want to be down here with me when it’s all over.”
“Hardly.” She wrinkled her nose and studied the weapons that lined the walls. They were secure, yet still on display—beautifully violent, they ranged from modern guns to ancient pieces that never left their protective cases. Many had been carried by the McKays who had served in the military. One of them was a rifle of some sort from the first World War. Brannon had written a report on the man who’d carried that rifle in middle school—she remembered helping him with the spelling late one night while his parents had been out of town traveling.
“Twenty bucks says you’re wrong,” Brannon said softly, drawing her attention back to him.
She sniffed. “Fifty bucks says I’m not.”
He lifted the gun back and met her eyes. “It’s a bet. If you don’t want to join me by the end of the week, I’ll pay up.” Then, with a reckless, somewhat wild grin, he added, “I’ll even double the bet—and I’ll handle the cooking Friday night.”
“Sounds lovely. I’d love a steak, out by the pool.”
“When I win,” Brannon said darkly, “I want lasagna. And double Dutch chocolate cake.”
She laughed and let herself out. Ella Sue didn’t lose bets.
* * *
Ian Campbell eyed the long, slim redhead standing on the edge of the dock and felt his heart start to race.
Not the redhead he’d been looking for.
Logic told him to beat a fast retreat.
Lust—and longing—told him to stay right where he was. No, not stay—move closer.
A lot closer.
Headed for Trouble (The McKay Family #1) Page 13