Hunter's Bride and A Mother's Wish

by Marta Perry

  Well, he was determined to try his best to fit in here, for Chloe’s sake. This trip gave him an excuse to look over the area and make Chloe’s parents happy. Unfortunately, Chloe didn’t seem to be reacting quite the way he’d hoped. She sat stiffly within the circle of his arm, as if she’d pull away at the first excuse.

  He squeezed her shoulder. “Come on, Chloe.” He spoke softly under the noise of the motor. “Lighten up. You’re not on your way to the guillotine.”

  That startled her into meeting his eyes. “I’m not acting as if I am.”

  “Sure you are.” He moved his hand, brushing her hair. It flowed like silk over his fingers. “I know you don’t like the pretense, but can’t we at least be friends?”

  Her mouth tightened, and her eyes were very bright. “Friends, or boss and assistant?”

  “Friends,” he said firmly.

  “Maybe being friends isn’t such a good idea. When we go back to Chicago…” She stopped, and her gaze eluded his. “Well, it might cause problems.”

  That unsettled him. He hadn’t really considered what their relationship was going to be like when they went back to the city, back to their relative positions in the company. He’d only thought about that corner office, with the vice-president title on the door.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” It came out more sharply than he intended. “We’ve always worked well together, and we always will. Nothing will change between us.”

  “Maybe,” she said softly, looking away. “Maybe you’re right.”

  Annoyance shot through him. All right, he hadn’t thought through that part of it very well. So he couldn’t go back to looking at Chloe as if she were nothing more than an efficient assistant. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but Chloe looked as if it were the end of the world.

  He opened his mouth to tell her so, but the motor suddenly throttled back and their privacy vanished. Chloe slid to the edge of the seat, putting several inches between them.

  “There it is—Angel Isle.” She pointed.

  “Looks pretty good, doesn’t it, Chloe-girl?” Her father swung the boat toward a dock, cutting the motor so that they drifted in.

  “Looks great to me.” Chloe scrambled to fasten the lines. “Not a thing has changed.”

  “Well, that’s how we like it.” Her mother bustled back, pulling out the picnic hamper.

  Luke got to his feet slowly. He should help her, but for the moment he could only stare at the scene spread out in front of him.

  The dock anchored one edge of a wide, shallow curve of shoreline. Palmettos and moss-draped live oaks fringed a pristine, untouched sandy beach. Waves rolled in gently, rippling onto the sand like a woman shaking a tablecloth. It was as isolated and exotic as a castaway’s island.

  Chloe had already scurried up onto the dock, and she held out her hand to him. Whatever reservation he’d sensed in her a moment ago was gone now. Her eyes sparkled with eagerness, almost golden in the sunlight.

  “Hurry up. I want to see the cottage.”

  He climbed out and followed her off the dock and onto the shell-strewn path, leaving her parents behind on the boat. He could already see the house, although he wouldn’t call it a cottage. The building was long and low and nearly as large as the inn. Gray-shingled, with a screened porch running the length of it, it fit into the setting as if it had grown there.

  “Pretty big for a cottage, isn’t it?” He caught up with Chloe and took her hand.

  She looked startled but she didn’t pull away. “I guess. I mean, the family has always called it that. Years ago, they used to summer here. That was in the days when everyone went to the outer islands in the hot weather. But that got too difficult once they opened the inn. Now we use it for shorter visits, family reunions, that sort of thing.”

  He tried to visualize Angel Isle as he’d seen it from the water. It had looked virtually deserted. “Are there any other houses?”

  “Others?” She went up the porch steps. “No. Just ours.”

  He hardly wanted to look at the idea that was forming in his mind, for fear he’d see some flaw in it.

  “I suppose all this is some sort of nature preserve or something, then?” That might explain why no one else had built here.

  “No, of course not.”

  Chloe had already hurried across the porch. Standing on tiptoe, she pulled a key from a hook at the top of the door frame, then unlocked the door. She swung it open, and he had a quick glimpse of a spacious room dominated by a massive brick fireplace.

  He was more interested in answers to his questions than he was in the Caldwell cottage. “Then, why hasn’t anyone else built on Angel Isle?”

  “Because it belongs to us. My daddy, I mean. I thought I explained that. Grandpa split things between Daddy and Uncle Jeff.” Her face clouded. “Uncle Jeff thought Daddy a fool for taking Angel Isle, when the other property was so valuable.”

  That must be a piece of the feud between the brothers. “So all this belongs to your father.”

  She nodded, then went quickly across the room and began throwing open curtains and unhooking shutters. “You want to give me a hand?”

  He followed her, mind busy, excitement building as he helped her tug on a recalcitrant shutter. He’d have to find out exactly how much land there was, but there should be some way of working a deal with her father. Because he’d just found the perfect place for the next Dalton Resort hotel.

  He looked at Chloe, intent on the shutter. Did she really not know what he was thinking? He wanted to shout it to her, wanted her to share his excitement, wanted to feel her encouraging him to another success.

  But that was Chloe back in their other world. Here—here he didn’t know how Chloe would react if he told her. Would she be excited and happy?

  For an instant he felt resentment. He wanted his old Chloe back, the faithful right hand who always anticipated his needs and backed him no matter what.

  “There!” The shutter popped open and sunlight streamed into the room. It lit Chloe’s skin, tangled in her hair, made her eyes shine. “Isn’t that better?”

  “Better,” he echoed. Would it be better if he had his old Chloe back? Maybe so, but he wouldn’t trade this Chloe for an instant.

  Chapter Seven

  What did this mean? Chloe tried not to stare at the expression on Luke’s face, but she couldn’t help it. He looked as if he were seeing something for the first time.

  “Chloe.” He said her name softly, holding out one hand toward her, palm up. Something seemed to stir in the shaft of sunlight from the window, as if the very air between them would speak.

  Her breath caught. She took a step toward him, and the movement was as slow as wading through the surf. In an instant they would touch—

  “How’s everything look?” Her father’s voice shattered the silence.

  Chloe’s face flooded with heat as she turned toward the door. Luke turned, too, moving away from her quickly. Was he relieved they’d been interrupted? Or maybe she’d just imagined the whole thing.

  “Let me take that for you.” Luke reached for the thermos her mother carried. “Can I bring anything else from the boat?”

  “Not a thing.” Her mother set the thermos on the table. “We’re just fine.” She exchanged a knowing look with Chloe’s father. “You young people go on out and enjoy the day. We’ll take care of things here.”

  “No. I mean, we’ll help you.” Chloe couldn’t be sure, but she thought Luke’s expression echoed her words.

  “Nonsense.” Her mother shooed them with her hands, for all the world like Gran. “Luke hasn’t even seen Angel Isle yet. You show him around, honey. We’ll straighten up in here, then we’ll have lunch when you all get back.”

  They didn’t seem to have much choice. Chloe headed for the door, hearing Luke’s footsteps behind her. He probably regretted he’d gotten out of bed that morning.

  She didn’t look at him as she took the path back to the shore, but she could feel his presence as surel
y as if they touched. She didn’t say anything. What could she say that wouldn’t make this more awkward?

  When they reached the stand of sea oats that marked the dunes, she heard him chuckle. The sound was a bit strained, but at least it meant he wasn’t angry about her parents’ machinations.

  “Subtle, aren’t they?” he said.

  “Sorry about that.” She tried for a lightness she didn’t feel. “I’m afraid my grandmother recruited them to do a little matchmaking.”

  “I thought as much.” He strode beside her on the hard-packed sand of the beach. “Don’t worry about it, Chloe. If we can cope with a corporate near-takeover, we can cope with a little family matchmaking.”

  Her tension eased at his words, reminding her of the difficult days three years ago when Dalton Resorts’s future hung in the balance. They’d all worked around the clock until the danger was over. Luke had put things back on a business basis, and that was clearly what he wanted. The moment when they’d stood looking at each other in a shaft of sunlight might never have been.

  “Of course we can.” That was best, she assured herself. “We’re a team.” That was what he’d always said, and she’d taken comfort in the sense that they were on the same side.

  “Always. You’re my right hand, remember?”

  She nodded, matching her step to his long stride. She had to stop imagining anything was changing. She ought to be happy. That meant they’d be able to go back to normal, once this whole thing was over.

  She took a deep breath, inhaling fresh salt air. She wasn’t sure she knew what “normal” was any longer, or if it was something she wanted or could even live with.

  Maybe she’d better concentrate on introducing this place that she loved to Luke. If he could appreciate it the way she did, that would be enough for the day.

  They rounded the heel of the tiny island, and the sea breeze lifted her hair and cooled her cheeks. “Now you see why they’re called the out-islands.” She pointed to the horizon. “There’s nothing beyond them but ocean.”

  Luke shielded his eyes with one hand. “It’s so clear I feel as if I can see all the way to Europe—” He turned, glancing back at the island, and she heard his quick intake of breath.

  “What on earth is that?”

  “Strange, isn’t it.” Chloe walked to the nearest uprooted pine, its trunk washed free of bark, its roots a tangled mass of bleached tendrils. She rested her hand on the massive trunk that had been scoured clean by the waves. “The power of the sea.”

  Luke stroked the smooth wood. “Do all these trees wash up here?” He looked down the beach, where tree after felled tree formed a bizarre landscape of twisted roots and gnarled limbs.

  “Not washed up,” she corrected. “They grew here, until the tide started coming in farther and knocked them down. None of the outer islands are stable on the seaward side—that’s why the buildings face the sound. The ocean’s taking a bite out of Angel Isle.”

  Luke put both palms on the trunk and hoisted himself. He reached down, smiling an invitation. She felt herself smile in response as he took her hand in a firm clasp, lifting her up to sit next to him.

  She settled on the smooth surface, trying to ignore the warmth that radiated from Luke, trying not to look at how the sun glinted on his bare arms.

  “It’s beautiful,” he said quietly, leaning back on his hands. “Weird, but beautiful, like another world.”

  She’d better concentrate on the scenery, too. “That’s what I’ve always thought. Another world.” She tilted her head back, letting the breeze ruffle her hair. A pair of brown pelicans swooped low over the water, and she envied their view. “Or maybe a little piece of heaven.”

  “I guess you could look at it that way.”

  His response was noncommittal, the careful answer he’d give a business colleague if the subject of religion came up. Suddenly she wanted to push him—she wanted more.

  “I’ve always felt closer to God here than anywhere else.” She didn’t bother trying to edit her words or shield her beliefs from him. “And I’ve always thought God must love it, too, or He wouldn’t have made it so beautiful.”

  For a moment she thought he’d ignore her. Then he frowned.

  “That sounds like something an old friend of mine would say.”

  “An old friend?” Was she actually about to see into his private life?

  “Reverend Tom—”

  He was looking out at the pelicans, but she didn’t think he saw them.

  “A good friend.”

  “Was he your minister when you were a child?” He wouldn’t answer; she knew that. He never talked about his childhood.

  “You could say that, I guess.” His mouth tightened to a thin, unrevealing line.

  “You don’t look as if the thought makes you very happy.”

  He shot her a look that gave nothing away. “It just reminded me that I haven’t been in touch with him in a long time. That’s all.”

  “Maybe you should be.”

  His face tensed, and she knew she’d gone too far.

  “We don’t fit into each other’s lives anymore.”

  He said it as if that ended the matter. The friend was another secret Luke didn’t intend to share. If they were in the office, she wouldn’t have pushed this far. But they weren’t in the office.

  “Would he like this place?”

  Luke shrugged. “He wouldn’t appreciate the potential.”

  For a moment she could only stare at him. “What do you mean?”

  His gesture took in the strange shapes of the drowned forest. “This. Hasn’t it occurred to you what a commercial draw this could be? With the right kind of promotion, people would pay to visit this.”

  Disappointment was an acrid taste in Chloe’s mouth. A commercial draw—that was all he could see. Maybe she’d been wrong about the depths she thought he hid. Maybe he was nothing more than the surface persona—the success-driven businessman who didn’t care about anything but profit.

  The thought shouldn’t hurt her heart as much as it did.

  “Look out!”

  Luke took a quick step back, holding the kitchen door for Miranda the next morning as she darted through with a steaming pot of coffee. She flashed him a smile.

  “Go on back. Chloe’s in there.”

  He wasn’t actually looking for Chloe, but there didn’t seem any point in trying to tell Miranda that. He’d come down this morning with the single aim of talking to Clayton Caldwell about Angel Isle.

  He helped himself to coffee from the sideboard while he scanned the dining room. The large oval table where they’d sat for dinner the first night was pressed into service as a breakfast buffet. Smaller tables for guests clustered around it and overflowed into the hall and onto the porch.

  Only a few guests had come down this early. Chloe’s father was usually one of the earliest people down, but the chair where he always sat was empty.

  Luke frowned. After their return from Angel Isle, he’d spent the rest of the day learning everything on the public record about Angel Isle. Now he was keyed up and ready to roll, but his instincts told him to proceed cautiously.

  Anyone could see that money was tight for this branch of the Caldwell clan. The inn couldn’t be bringing in much, and Clayton Caldwell had a lot of people depending on him. He should be glad to sell part of Angel Isle for the price Dalton Resorts would be willing to pay.

  But would he? Luke frowned, swirling the coffee with his spoon. He seemed to hear again Chloe’s soft voice, her Southern accent more pronounced the longer they stayed here, talking about how much the place meant to her. He was used to dealing with people who had their eyes on the bottom line. Chloe’s clan was something different, and he couldn’t judge how they’d react to his proposal.

  He’d handled difficult negotiations before. The key was simply to find the right approach. He’d sound out Chloe’s father cautiously, and when he hit on the thing that would make the man sit up and take notice, he’d know it
.

  He set down his cup. Where was Clayton? Maybe Chloe knew. He headed for the kitchen.

  The swinging door opened on a scene of controlled chaos. Sammy was taking silverware from the dishwasher, clattering it onto a tray, while Miranda cut fruit into a bowl, interrupting herself to stir something on the stove. Chloe slid a steaming casserole from the oven. All of them were talking at once, and the teakettle whistled noisily above the din.

  Retreat seemed the obvious course, but that wouldn’t tell him where Chloe’s father was. “Chloe?”

  She looked up, cheeks red from the oven’s heat. “Hand me that pot holder, will you, please? I’m about to burn myself on this.”

  He snatched the pot holder she indicated from its hook and slid it under the hot dish, helping her negotiate the course to the scrubbed pine table.

  “Ouch.” Chloe snatched her fingers away, blowing on them. “Thanks.” She flashed him a smile.

  “Anytime. Where…”

  But Chloe had already turned to her sister. “Why does Mom keep these worn-out pot holders? It’s not as if she doesn’t have plenty of them. Gran makes them faster than anyone can use them.”

  Miranda filled a pot with coffee. “You know Mom. She hates to throw anything away.”

  “Chloe…” He tried again.

  Before he could frame the question, Miranda had put a coffeepot in his hand. “You wouldn’t mind taking that to the dining room, would you, Luke? Our mother is taking one of the cousins to a doctor’s appointment in Savannah, and we’re a bit shorthanded.”

  He caught Chloe’s horrified look. Obviously it never would have occurred to her to ask him to help. But that was because Chloe knew he was more accustomed to giving orders than taking them.

  “Sure, no problem.” He started for the door with the coffee. “I’ve always wanted to be a waiter.”

  Miranda’s green eyes sparkled with amusement. “Busboy. You’re just a busboy. You have to work your way up to waiter.”

  He smiled back at her and pushed through the swinging door. This busboy would take the coffee in once. Then he’d find out where Clayton Caldwell was and make his escape.