Another Man's Treasure

by Renee Roszel

  Another Man’s Treasure

  Renee Roszel

  Copyright © 1985 by Renee Roszel. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any matter whatsoever without written permission from Don Congdon Associates, Inc.; the agency can be reached at dca@doncongdon.com.

  To Norda,

  for all the times I pinched her and made her cry.

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  A white mansion framed by branches of sprawling sugar maples, pines and elms caught Raine’s eye. The warm June sun cast a patchwork of shadows across its face, drawing conflicting sharp lines beneath overhanging eaves and behind columns and cornices. Yet as Raine’s middle-aged SUV approached along the meandering coast road, the grand house’s face softened. Green-swathed branches, caught in a cool sea breeze, beckoned toward her, suggesting mutely that she detour from her planned route and explore its hidden recesses and towering galleries. With regret, she drew her eyes away to maneuver her car around a sharp curve in the road.

  “Oh! Turn here, Miss Webber.” Nordie Hunt, wedged between two male students in the backseat, sat forward, pointing. “That’s our house.”

  Raine guided the car around the bend and blinked into the rearview mirror. “Where?”

  “That white house.” Nordie gestured toward the mansion Raine had just been admiring. “That’s Hunt’s Treasure. See, there’s the gate.”

  Raine did see. Heavens, she’d had no idea that Nordie’s family lived in Portland, in a mansion that was Maine’s answer to Scarlett O’Hara’s Tara! She’d expected the president of Scavenger Hunt, Inc. to have a nice home, but this? Turning off the main road, she stopped her car before a gate, an impressive structure ten feet tall. It was a well-wrought work of art, with the initial “H” swirled in script amid delicate metal leaves and vines. Massive brick pillars flanked the elaborate metalwork.

  “Roll down the window, Bill,” Nordie instructed the redhead that sat beside her. “I’ll get us in.”

  Nordie leaned across him and waited.

  “May I ask your business?” The crusty voice was especially startling, since it was amplified by a speaker in the brick pillar.

  “Hi, Lys. It’s me, Nordie. I’m in a SUV and there’s another car behind me. Let us in, will you?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” There was a pause. “Good to have you home.”

  “Thanks.” Raine watched her attractive student in the side-view mirror, noticing the slight frown that appeared on the pert young face. “Say, Lys, is Cotter home, or in town?”

  “Home. In his office.”

  “Okay. Better tell him we’re here.” She sounded vaguely doubtful.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Oh, and Lys? How’s Carl?”

  There was another pause before the crackly voice replied, “He is about the same, ma’am.”

  “Oh.” The word was a disappointed sigh. “Okay, Lys. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome, ma’am.”

  The gate slowly swung open, allowing them to enter the private grounds. A narrow drive curved along the manicured lawn, leading them to the three-story manse.

  As Bill rolled up the window, Nordie settled back in her seat. “Professor Webber, I figure we’ll be able to do the cataloguing in the building that used to be the stables.” She waved toward the side of the house, and Raine observed a long, low brick building with six arched entries. Nordie seemed enthusiastic again as she explained, “It’s empty now, so there’s plenty of room to back a truck inside, and lots of flat surfaces where we can set up tables. I think it’ll be okay.”

  Raine smiled at the understatement. “It sounds perfect.” She wondered at Nordie’s matter-of-fact attitude. Raine had known her student for only one semester. She was a friendly kid and an adequate worker when she applied herself. But nothing she’d mentioned had given Raine an inkling of the vast wealth Nordie’s family commanded. Perhaps that was how it was with people who had always known wealth; they took it completely for granted.

  She pulled the car up in front of the towering house only seconds before the excited team of students began pouring from every door. Just as she grabbed the strap of her shoulder bag and stepped from the car, she heard Nordie cry delightedly, “Cotter! Oh, Cot!” Raine closed the door and paused, careful to stay out of Nordie’s path as she scurried toward one of the staircases leading to the majestic porch.

  About halfway up the wide steps, a man was waiting. In white shirt and slacks, he looked very much like one of the house’s pillars, and almost as immovable. As Nordie charged up the steps, Raine guessed that he was Cotter Hunt, their host. Tall and trim, he stood motionless, his silver hair glistening in the noon sun. Raine watched his face as he scanned the group of eight male students milling between the cars before his eyes settled on Raine. She swallowed at his expression. Despite his strong, open features, he seemed tense. She became uneasy as his black eyes regarded her. But his scrutiny was brief; an instant later, his attention was drawn from her to Nordie as she leapt into her brother’s arms.

  “Oh, Cot! I’m so glad to see you.” She wrapped her arms about his neck. Raine watched as he folded Nordie into a familiar embrace.

  Raine heard a deep, resonant voice and realized it was Cotter talking to Nordie. Nordie had assured her that all had been arranged, but now she was not so sure. Could it be that Nordie’s request to bring Raine and her group there might have actually been refused, and in her eagerness she had ignored the rejection and brought them anyway? Raine nervously adjusted her glasses, squinting to get a better look at Cotter’s face. He wasn’t exactly frowning, but he didn’t look delighted, either. Nordie was speaking now, her gestures animated, her voice low.

  “Oh, Lord.” Raine exhaled slowly in a practiced effort to keep cool. She watched the man shake his head, indicating something far from promising perhaps? She should have known it was too good to be true. And she shouldn’t have let Nordie insist on making all the arrangements herself. But knowing that now wasn’t especially helpful….

  Hearing a scraping sound behind her, Raine turned to see the boys pulling bags from the trunk of the second car. She was about to caution them to wait a few moments when Nordie called down to them. “Well, aren’t you all going to come on up and meet my big brother?”

  Raine turned to see both of them watching the group. Cotter’s hands were clasped around the marble railing, and Nordie had circled one of his arms with hers.

  The boys grabbed their gear and began to hurry up the wide steps. Still feeling unsure of the situation, Raine smoothed the wrinkles out of her navy skirt and followed the boys.

  “First, Cot,” Nordie announced, motioning toward the group, “I want you to meet my anthropology professor, Miss Raine Webber.” She waved the young men back like a mother hen, and they automatically made a path for Raine to precede them. “She’s going to lead this dig.”

  Cotter lifted one arched brow, his lips curling into a half smile. It was more an expression of curiosity than greeting. He held out his hand, and as Raine accepted it she was struck by how nicely manicured it was. Odd, she thought, considering his business. Clearing her throat, she spoke first. “Hello, Mr. Hunt.”

  He murmured her title, “Professor.” In the back of her mind it occurred to her that his hand felt warm, making hers
seem strangely cold.

  Their contact was brief and businesslike, but the warmth of his hand lingered. She offered quietly, “Please, call me Raine.”

  “You’re too kind.” The remark seemed cynical but the half smile remained.

  In the awkward pause that followed, she cleared her throat again, almost afraid to broach the subject of why they were there. This introduction might just be his preamble to telling her—however politely—to take her pack of pupils back to the University of Maine and leave him and his wayward sister their privacy.

  Her natural shyness made it even harder to look into Cotter’s dark eyes. But. Raine quietly urged herself to confront him, at least to clarify his position on the project. You might as well get it over with, she reasoned. He’s either going to tell you to get out, or he isn’t! With a forced smile, she tried to sound upbeat. “You were very kind to allow us to come here to do our garbology study. When Nordie told me about your firm and your offer to help, I was…overwhelmed.” She immediately regretted her choice of words. The situation didn’t call for superlatives.

  “Yes, well, it is somewhat overwhelming, isn’t it?” His expression didn’t change.

  Was that a yes or a no? Her smile began to fade.

  Before she had time to put the question into words, he added, “How my operation can possibly be worth an anthropologist’s time is a mystery to me, professor…Raine, but I would never stand in the path of Nordie’s education, no matter how bizarre and convoluted that path might become.”

  Relieved by his positive answer, Raine nodded in response. But her curiosity of Cotter’s diffident manner increased.

  With a flashing sidelong look at his sister, Cotter turned to Raine and spoke in a confidential tone. “Nordie’s been a bit vague about the details; perhaps we can discuss your exact needs later today at dinner.” His smile was evident now, but somehow it seemed superficial, almost like a public relations device. “Meanwhile, I’m sure Nordie would love to show you around the grounds while I tell Hanna to get your rooms ready.” He turned toward his sister, adding, “We weren’t expecting you quite this early.”

  Nordie coughed into her hand, and Raine was sure she saw the trace of a smile diminish before Nordie spoke. “Great idea, Cot. I’ll introduce you to these trash diggers at dinner.” Turning to the young men, she tossed her head toward the ocean. “Let’s go down to the beach for a while. Professor Webber, you come, too. Lys’ll get the bags.”

  “Okay.” Raine hesitated a moment and glanced at the porch in time to see Cotter Hunt disappear around one of the columns. The echo of a heavy door opening and closing marked his exit.

  Her thoughts remained on Cotter as she wondered about the guarded, quiet man. He seemed to be thirty-five or forty and he shared the sculpted features of his young sister. But there was a striking difference between brother and sister: Cotter’s eyes had a distracted quality, and they were darker than Nordie’s. His expression seemed to lack the amusement of his sister’s. In fact, his eyes held no laughter at all. Instead, they revealed an intriguing hint of wariness, like a hunted—or haunted—creature.

  “Professor?” Raine felt Nordie’s hand on her wrist, and turned toward the younger woman. It was very quiet now, and Raine realized that the young men had headed down the steps and were on their way toward the beach.

  “Yes?”

  Nordie made an excessive point of looking in every direction before whispering conspiratorially, “I—I thought you ought to know.” She paused, making sure that she had her teacher’s undivided attention before adding in a rush, “I—I thought you ought to know. My brother—Cotter—is gay.”

  BENT STUDIOUSLY over his huge mahogany desk, Cotter made an entry in his account book, “You told who what, Nordie?” He inclined his head to look at her as he sat back in the red leather wing chair.

  She pouted, a flicker of humor evident in her brown eyes as she veered away from the subject. “You know, Cotter, I should be the beautiful one, not you.”

  “You should be committed.” His expression was loving, if slightly skeptical.

  She laughed. “Oh, but I am. I am. Totally.”

  “To what? Getting me committed? Nine house guests without any advance warning—for a month, yet? I should thrash you to within an inch of your life.” He held the gold pen between his long fingers, remarking with a casualness that he knew would thoroughly irk her, “Should I expect a busload of psychiatrists to arrive later today for a live-in study of your demented sense of humor?”

  At her exasperated humph his smile broadened, and he shook his head. Cotter loved his sister to a fault. Unfortunately for Cotter, she knew it.

  He couldn’t help the way he felt about her. She was an unpredictable kid, spoiled and petted because he’d done everything in his power to protect her from the harshness of the world he had known as a child. And, to be truthful, he was happy that she had no memory of the hard times. He’d given everything he could afford to give—both to her and to his younger brother, Carl. He wanted them to have everything they might have had if their parents had lived—if he, in his cowardice, hadn’t failed to save them from their burning house trailer. It was his fault that they had been left alone, without parents. Nordie and Carl were his only family, and he had made his promise to be their guardian twenty years ago.

  With a wry grin at her expression of practiced innocence, he asked more seriously, “Why do you take so much delight in doing these things to me?”

  “Why did Pike climb the peak?”

  He pursed his lips. “I didn’t think it was to irritate his brother.”

  “Of course not, Cotter. It was for the challenge, the excitement!” She stuck out her lower lip. “Actually, surprising you with Professor Webber et al wasn’t as much fun as I’d hoped it would be. You recovered too quickly. I don’t think they even realized you didn’t know they were coming.” She lifted a warning finger and eyed him menacingly. “But I’ll trip up that calm facade of yours yet.”

  “Heaven help me when that day comes.” He closed the book and dropped the pen into his top drawer. “Now what were you saying before? You told who what?”

  Her lips twitched. “I said, I told Professor Webber you’re gay.”

  He heard her that time. At least he thought he heard her. With any luck at all, his hearing was going, and she’d actually said she’d told Professor Webber that he was gray. That was true—obvious, but true; or maybe she’d meant tht he was happily excited, which, at the moment, was only half true—if you could call apoplexy being excited. He shuddered inwardly. His smile had frozen and was now melting into a grim line. “What?” The rasped whisper grated with disbelief. “You told Professor Webber I’m…” His powerfully built shoulders hunched as he slammed his palms on the desk surface to catapult himself to his feet. The chair, knocked off balance, hit by the back of his legs, slammed into the wall with the force.

  Nordie jumped in reaction to the booming sound, but her wide eyes remained riveted. Cotter’s strong, tanned features had turned to stone, and his face had taken on a disquieting pallor when he reached his full height of six feet three inches.

  “There’s not much I’d put past you, Nora Diane Hunt, but please tell me you didn’t.”

  She was squinting, trying to read his lips. He had spoken very quietly, afraid to do more. When she nodded, his anger was suddenly too strong to conceal, and he curled his hands into knotted fists. This time his baby sister had gone too far with her practical joking.

  Years and years of saying and doing the most outrageous things had come and gone as she’d played the game of trying to get Cotter angry; years of half victories and partial wins. But, if Nordie was telling him the truth, she had outdone herself this time. He was incensed and no longer had the strength to repress his feelings.

  Her smile was inquisitive. Blinking wide, innocent eyes, she prodded, “Cot, why is your jaw throbbing like that?” The question was high-pitched. “Did I getcha? Did I actually find your Achilles’ heel? The M
achismo Syndrome?”

  He growled, taking a step toward her, and she took a step backward. When he didn’t speak, she tried one of her remember-you-love-me-no-matter-what-I’ve-done smiles and held up a placating hand. “Lighten up, Cotter. Just give me a minute to explain. I had to tell her that.”

  He looked at her as though she were a maniac. “You told a perfect stranger—a guest in our house—that your brother is gay?” As soon as the word was out of his mouth, he clamped his jaw shut and with narrowed eyes glanced at the entrance to the den. The doors were closed; nevertheless, he lowered his voice. “Damn it, Nordie! Why?”

  She opened her mouth, but he halted her words with a shake of the head. “This had better be good, or it will be the last thing you explain on this earth.”

  “Cotter, Cotter,” she said, “would I say such a thing without a good reason?”

  He snorted. “Do paranoids look over their shoulders?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know,” she answered, looking wounded. Squaring her shoulders, she charged on. “You’re too damned handsome. That’s why I told her you’re gay.”

  He stared, dumbfounded, unable to fathom her ludicrous remark. Apparently his silence gave her new courage. He watched in shock as her lips lifted in the practiced smile of a coquette. Walking toward her brother, she took his hand. “It was for Carl,” she purred up at him. “He’s been so down ever since he was hurt at spring training. I mean his whole life was being quarterback for the Patriots, and now he may never walk again.” She squeezed his hand and looked up lovingly, and to his astonishment, she even managed to look a little pitiful. “And on top of everything, Carl’s wife walking out on him like that. Can’t you see why I had to do it?”

  Answering her with sarcasm, he countered, “Of course. It’s all as clear as mud.”

  Nordie couldn’t contain a laugh. “Actually, I told Professor Webber that you were gay ’cause I wanted her to pay attention to Carl while she’s here. She’s a Patriots fan, and—” she grinned at him again “—remember the saleslady that kept coming to our door week after week, trying to sell you siding?”