Kitabı oku: «Spring Flowers, Summer Love», sayfa 3

“I’m not deliberately trying to cause problems, you know. And there’s no other way. Unless you want me to remove the terraces completely?”

He frowned. “But then everything would eventually slip downhill, wouldn’t it?”

“As it’s doing now, yes.” She pulled out a diagram she’d drawn yesterday. “This is Wingate now. This is what I propose.” Using her pencil she outlined the small changes. Anger had chased away her case of nerves, thank goodness.

“Cost?”

“It wouldn’t cost any more to do it at this stage. We could slip in an underground watering system, make your uncles’ lives a lot easier in future drier years.”

“It sounds great but the uncles are hoping to retire soon. They haven’t got the cash on hand to cover something like what you’re talking about. You’ll have to come up with something else, Miss Davis, or work with what’s already here. That’s my decision.” He turned to leave.

Why didn’t he call her by name? And would it hurt him to unbend just a bit?

“I want it on the record that I feel the terraces are unstable, Mr. Wingate.” Rowena sighed. “As soaked as they are now, they’re dangerous. I can’t begin really working with them until they dry out, so my timetable is on hold indefinitely. I’ll try a couple of ideas on the lower one, see how it reacts. That’s all I can promise.”

“June 1. That’s the deadline.” His bossy tone carried through the rain. “Remember that everything has to be finished by June 1.” He strode across the yard, sprayed his boots off beneath the outside faucet, then climbed the steps without so much as a backward glance.

“I suppose I should have bowed or something,” she muttered sourly. “Don’t want to get above my station.” It was times like this that Rowena wished her work permitted her to wear a power suit that carried weight, to force people like Connor to accept her as a professional and not just some crazy woman mucking about in the mud.

Instead she tromped across the sodden grass in her rubber boots to resume work on the trees. She could forget about the terraces for now, anyway, since there was so much pruning to do.

“Maybe you could send a little sun, Lord,” she prayed. “Just so I could figure out how in the world I’m supposed to accomplish this.”

That she would accomplish it was beyond question. Completing this job was the only way she had to get the nursery back and she was going to get her father back on that land if it was the last thing she did.

Her two workers had taken a break with a drink in the cab of her truck. She waved them forward.

“Okay, guys. Let’s get back to work.”

She’d been at it for a week and a half, sawing, cutting, mulching. And all of it done in a steady rain or drizzle. Her crew was good, he’d seen that for himself. But even two skilled men and one tiny woman couldn’t make an Eden out of that mess, even though Rowena Davis was a powerhouse.

Connor had come to think of her by her first name in spite of his desire to remain aloof until he got the job done and could leave this place and get on with his future. Whatever that was.

He wasn’t here to make friends. He was here to get Wingate Manor up and running, to see it successfully through another season and then hand it over to his uncles, preferably with a tidy profit.

Connor was used to managing. His first job had been supervising a portfolio no one else wanted. His success had led to one management position, then another. Eventually he’d worked his way into his own company and a very hefty client base. His reputation for getting the job done was what Cecile claimed she’d loved most.

Connor deliberately pushed thoughts of her away. The past was finished. He’d assumed he’d be halfway around the world trying to forget his mistake. Instead he was sitting here in Serenity Bay, watching a woman and two men manhandle trees twice their size.

What would he do when his great-uncles came back, when it was time to leave the Bay?

He’d sold the New York condo Cecile chose as quickly as possible after her death. Even his car was new. The only thing that remained from the past was Tobias. Sooner or later he’d find him a good home, too.

Then Connor would start fresh. Somewhere else.

Suddenly aware that the dog hadn’t stopped barking for several moments, Connor pushed back a curtain and gritted his teeth. Escaped again. He hoped Tobias hadn’t caused worse problems than covering everyone in mud.

Connor strode through the house, shrugged into his slicker and slid his feet into the boots he hadn’t yet returned because he hadn’t wanted to go into town to buy replacements, preferring not to face the curious stares. He stepped onto the porch, noticed the dog was above him, shielded by the house.

Once he was around the corner Connor saw an orange earthmover perched at the top of the hill. Suddenly he heard a sucking noise. He twisted his head, gasping as a huge pine toppled over. The sopping earth around it immediately pooled into a slick mass that oozed down onto the first terrace. He could see immediately that it was too much for the weakened walls. Before his eyes, the stones loosened, the wall crumbled and the seeping black tide slithered down onto the next terrace, gathering momentum as it broke through that and moved faster downhill.

Someone gave a shout. Connor scanned the area, saw Kent yell at his son, point. He turned to look, watching as the mud slipped over the slick grass to the bottom terrace. Rowena was bent over, hitting a mallet against the rocks around her, earplugs making her totally unaware of the danger above.

“Rowena!” The wind grabbed his warning, tossed it away.

Connor took off, racing downhill as fast as he dared. At the last moment she looked up. Terror filled her eyes as a huge pillow of mud bulged over the edge, capturing her before she could escape. Then she was gone, drowned by the black flood.

She would smother if she didn’t get out of there fast!

Connor slid over the edge, reached into the muck, feeling for something, anything, as he prayed.

“Not another death, God. Please, not again.”

Back and forth he slid his arms through the mess, grasped an object, pulled it out. A clump of sodden grass. He kept working, heard the pounding footsteps of the other two men.

“Don’t jump in,” Connor warned. “You could step on her. Stay at the edge and reach in. Pull on anything you find.”

Seconds drummed past, his heartbeat thudding in his ear as he searched. Finally his fingers found purchase on a bit of fabric. Connor pulled, but it would not come free.

“One of you, come on this side. Reach here. Now pull.” After several tugs, part of her sleeve emerged. “Kent, we’ll pull. You scoop it away from her.”

They worked feverishly as the words circled round and round Connor’s brain.

A few dollars could have prevented this.

If she dies it’s my fault.

“No one else dies,” he muttered. “Do you hear me, God?”

Finally Rowena’s head emerged, covered in mud, her face barely visible. Connor smeared his hands across her cheeks, scooping the mud away from her mouth and nose.

“Get a pail of water, quickly,” he ordered.

Quint raced away.

“Is she breathing?” Kent asked.

“I don’t know.” Using his sleeve, Connor wiped her face clean and pulled on her chin to open her mouth. “Come on, take a breath,” he coaxed.

Suddenly they were both doused in icy-cold water. Rowena gasped, opened her eyes. She spit out some mud, then raised her head to glare at Quint.

“I’m not wet enough?” she complained.

“Wet and very dirty,” Connor agreed, amazed and utterly relieved by the anger widening her hazel eyes. “We all are. Let’s take a break.” He boosted her up to Kent, who pulled her the rest of the way out, then slogged out of the muck himself.

Tobias remained some distance away. He’d stopped barking and was now sniffing around the fallen tree.

“We’ll rinse off under the tap, then go inside and take hot showers,” he told them. “Rowena first.”

“I’m too dirty to go inside Wingate,” she argued. “I’ll go home.”

“Forget it. Just do as I say.”

“Do you always have to give the orders?” she demanded before ducking her head under the tap.

“Yes.” He helped her peel off her coat, took her boots and rinsed them out, sprayed the major portion of soil off her shirt and pants. “Go inside. First floor. Third door to the left. Get in the shower.”

“Yes, master.” Tossing him a glare that promised later discussion, she complied, shudders racking her body.

“You two next. Come on.” Once they’d shed the worst of the mud he showed them the public washrooms at the back of the house. “My uncles had them installed for the cast of the summer stock group that performs. They’re on a separate system from the house,” he explained. “You won’t interfere with Rowena’s shower. Take as long as you like. There are towels in the long metal cupboard and some clothes in a box by the door. I was going to give them away.”

The two men nodded, removed their filthy boots and moved inside. Connor cleaned himself off. Tobias raced up to him, barking once.

“Yes, I know you sounded the alert. Good boy. You’ll get a treat tonight.” He reached out to touched the dog’s head, saw his own hand tremble and knew exactly why.

She’d come so close to tragedy.

If Rowena Davis had died, he would have been guilty of causing a second death. And for what—a few dollars? He had plenty of those, more than he would ever spend.

So why had he been so cheap? Sure, he wanted to protect the uncles, but underneath there was another motive, one he hadn’t wanted to face.

The truth was he needed a barrier between them, a clear line of employer, employee. Why?

Because Rowena Davis was a woman, a very attractive woman whom he’d like to know better.

“Never again,” he vowed, an image of Cecile’s sad face filling his mind. This time he’d keep his mind on business and not let himself be swayed by feelings he misread. One mistake was more than enough.

Chapter Four

“What’s with you?” Rowena pushed her freshly shampooed hair off her face, glaring at Connor. “There’s no one to blame here. I told you before that several trees were unstable. Today one fell before we could get to it. That’s all.”

“If you’d gotten to it any later you might have been killed today,” he shot back, his face brimming with anger. “It pushed a pile of the mud onto the terrace. That’s what started the whole slide.”

“It doesn’t really matter now, does it?” She fixed him with a stare that had quelled lesser men. It didn’t have much effect on him.

“It matters.” Connor turned an accusatory glower on the two men, homed in on Kent. “How long is it going to take to get the rest of those damaged trees down?”

Rowena bit her tongue. She was going to do this job whether Connor Wingate liked it or not. But the way she did it, whether or not she could trust her workers to follow her orders, very much depended on Kent’s answer right now.

“You’re talking to the wrong person, man.” She could have kissed Kent. “Rowena’s the boss.”

Connor rocked back in his chair, turning his icy glare back on her. “So how long?”

Oh, she longed for those easy jobs in the city where once the client knew the plan, he left you alone to finish it.

“Look, Connor. This isn’t an exact science.” She cupped the mug of coffee he’d given her and told herself patience was a virtue. “We work as best we can. If we have to stop, adjust the schedule to accommodate a problem, then we do it. But we get the job done. You have to stop pushing so hard.”

“I have to push.” His face tightened; his hands clenched. “Maybe you should scrap the big fountain idea. That would shave off some time. I mean, you’ve been at this for almost three weeks and there’s hardly anything to show for it.”

Quint set his coffee cup down with a thunk, his face dark as a thundercloud about to dump on everyone. “If our clothes are dry, Dad and I should get back to work.”

“They’re not dry yet so sit down. Everybody just take a deep breath. And you.” Rowena turned her attention on Connor. “Listen to what I’m about to say, because I’m not going to repeat it. We are doing this job the way it is supposed to be done. Between the three of us, you’ve got a lot of experience sitting in this kitchen, and I’m telling you we’re making the fastest progress we can, given the circumstances. Maybe it doesn’t look like it to you, but you’ve never gone through this before. Am I right?”

He had the decency to look sheepish. “No.”

“I realize you’re used to being in control but this time you’re just going to have to find someone else to push around while we do our job.” Rowena held his gaze.

Tobias sent up a mournful round of howls that rent the tense silence.

“What now?” Connor muttered under his breath. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

He donned a coat and left. When he returned, he bore a big splotch of mud on one cheek and one knee looked soaked but the howling had stopped.

“He got tied up in a rope.”

“Which is why I asked you to keep him penned up. He could get hurt.”

“Don’t worry. He’s back in the pen. I pushed a big stone urn against the place where he’d dug it out.” Connor stood in the kitchen under the overhead fixture, his face solemn. The light cast a glow on his hair, illuminating tiny silver droplets that glinted like diamonds.

“As long as he’s out of the way. I like dogs. I don’t like seeing them hurt.” She gave him her severest glare.

“I’m sorry I questioned your professionalism,” Connor said softly. At least he sounded genuine. “I’m nervous about running this place for the uncles and not running into any hitches. I guess I took it out on you. I apologize. To all of you.”

“I think it’s the weather. It’s getting to all of us.” Kent swallowed the last of his coffee. The dryer buzzer broke the awkward silence. He rose. “Our clothes are dry and we’ve still got work to do. Might as well get back at it. Come on, Quint.”

“Do a quick assessment of the worst of them but don’t start any more cutting until I’m out there. Got it?” she emphasized when they didn’t respond.

“Got it.” Kent shared a look with his son, jerked his head toward Rowena. “She’s worse than your mother ever was.”

Quint burst into laughter, winking at Rowena. “I’ll make sure he bundles up and has a clean handkerchief, too. Okay?”

“Very funny. Get back to work,” Rowena ordered, hiding her smile. She watched them unload the dryer and return to the basement to change. Then she faced Connor, intent on getting this settled once and for all.

“You look mad. You’re going to bawl me out, aren’t you?” The corners of his eyes crinkled with his self-mocking smile.

“Yes, I am,” she assured him.

“Don’t bother. I know I shouldn’t have questioned your authority. I won’t do it again.”

“Uh-huh. Until tomorrow, anyway.” How could she stay angry with someone like him? “I’m not kidding about this, Connor. These men work for me. If I went to your staff without talking to you, you wouldn’t like it.”

“No, I wouldn’t. I’ve already apologized, Rowena.”

He’d called her by her first name. Wonder of wonders.

“Yes, you have.” That zap of awareness fluttered in her stomach. She ignored it.

“You want me to repeat it?”

“No.” She almost smiled at the thought of Connor Wingate apologizing twice for the same misstep—unthinkable!

“Then…”

Rowena settled back in her chair. “What is it about me that’s so hard for you to trust? Do I look like a crook or something?”

“Hardly. I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you you’re a beautiful woman.” He leaned his elbows on the counter, watching her.

Beautiful? With mud oozing from every pore of her grimy body? Yeah, right. Gorgeous.

“Now you’re being mean.”

“Mean?” Confusion darkened his eyes to bronze.

She was so not going to argue about her unbeautiful self.

“Forget it.” Rowena rose, stared down at her odd attire. “I think my clothes should be dry by now. I need to get back to work.”

He checked her out, a little grin twisting his lips. “That shirt looks better on you than it ever did on my Uncle Henry.”

She found his appraisal uncomfortable, and stayed silent.

He chuckled. “As compliments go, I guess that one missed the mark. Let me rephrase.”

She shook her head. “Don’t bother.”

Who wanted to be told she looked better than a sixty-five-year-old balding man with a potbelly? Even if that old gent was a sweetheart? Rowena stepped around Connor, walked to the dryer and lifted out her clothes.

“Mind if I use the bathroom again?”

“Help yourself.” Connor remained silent until she was almost out of the kitchen. “Rowena?”

“Yes?” Surprised by his stern tone, she turned, frowned. “Is something wrong?”

“Stay away from the terraces. I’m calling someone in to repair them. Until the work is done, they’re off-limits—to all of you.”

That rendered her speechless for about ten seconds, long enough for him to leave the room. By then it was too late to say thank you. Connor had disappeared.

“I’m willing to pay whatever it takes.” Connor switched the phone to his other ear. “I just want it done as soon as possible. You’ll stop by to give an estimate tomorrow? Good. Thanks.”

He hung up, paused to study the threesome working outside. Actually, his interest rested primarily on the small woman manhandling brush into some kind of chopper.

How did she do it? She could have died out there this afternoon, yet she picked herself up, cleaned herself up and got on with the job.

Connor knew it would be a long time before the picture of Rowena sucking in that first breath of life was erased from his brain. No way he was going to let anything like that happen again, regardless of the cost. He’d gladly pay to be free of the image of one or both of his uncles one day buried in just such a mess with no one around to help.

“Mr. Wingate?”

Esther Padderson had been his uncles’ trusty office assistant for as long as Connor could remember. He couldn’t get used to her calling him “Mister.”

She stood in the doorway, shorthand tablet in one hand.

“I don’t know why you can’t call me the same name you’ve used for years,” he complained. “I’m still Connor.”

She ignored him. “Yes, Mr. Wingate. Chef Pierre is on the line. He says he’s not coming back this year.”

Connor jerked upright. “According to his contract, he is. Or else he’s going to owe Wingate Manor a lot of money.” He translated the look on Esther’s face to mean she wasn’t going to be the one to tell the temperamental chef what he’d said. “Okay, I’m coming. But while I’m talking to him I’d like you to prepare some advertising copy.”

“To replace Pierre, you mean?” She looked scandalized. “But he does this every year.”

“Really? And my uncles put up with not knowing whether he’ll show or not?” Connor shook his head. “I don’t operate like that. Either he’s going to be here or we make other plans.”

“He won’t like it.” Esther worried as she followed him to the office.

“Tough. He gets top dollar for his work here, free accommodation, the winters off to spend with his family in France. He’s not hurting.” Connor accepted the phone, waited till she’d clicked a button on the console. “Hello, Pierre. I understand you’re resigning.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Esther leave the room, gray head shaking. Connor sat down, tilted back in his chair. He listened for about ten seconds, then cut in.

“You’re not sure? Well, I’ve got an ad waiting to run. I can’t wait for you to dither back and forth. I want all my staff in place at the end of April. My uncles are counting on me to have the place in top shape for our first booking and I have no intention of letting them down. So will you be here or do I consider your contractual agreement broken?”

Connor listened, smiled and eventually hung up. One chef hired.

“The meat company is on line two,” Esther told him, “complaining about the distance they have to travel to get here. They’re talking a major delivery surcharge.”

He thought for a moment. “Is there a butcher in town, Esther?”

She blinked. “John Purdy. He and his family own the local grocery store.”

“Get me their number, will you, please? And tell the meat people I’ll call them back.”

“Yes, sir.” A glint of humor lit up her round face. “Would you also like the name of a cattle rancher I know who raises his animals organically?”

“Thereby allowing us to advertise that we use only organically raised beef.” He followed her line of thought with delight. “Good thinking. Yeah, let’s talk to him, too. The uncles’ figures from last year will help us estimate how much we’ll need. You don’t happen to also know a chicken supplier, do you, Esther?”

She shook her head, but her eyes gleamed at the challenge.

“I’ll check around, but John might be the best resource for that, too. You wouldn’t have to pay shipping fees and he’s got tons of freezer space. If he comes across a deal, he could buy ahead.”

“Esther, you’re a genius!”

Her smile faded. “I wish Henry thought that.” She handed him a stack of résumés then padded out of the room.

Connor stared after her. A case of unrequited love for his stodgy old uncle? He shook his head.

“I can fix a lot of things around here, but that isn’t one of them,” he said to himself.

By the time he emerged from the office it was after five. Rowena and her men were still hard at work, this time on a lower section his uncles called the dale—as in “over hill, over dale.” Connor had to admit she’d made amazing progress.

“I’m leaving now.” Esther glanced out the window. “They must be tired and half-frozen after the day they’ve had. It’s too bad the old house at the nursery’s in such a state. I expect it needs a lot of work after all these years. I’m sure Rowena hasn’t got extra money to spend on that.”

“Oh?”

“Piper Franklin told me Rowena came back earlier than she’d anticipated because her father isn’t well. She thinks it will help if he can get back on the land. He always did love that nursery.”

“But he sold it to my uncles.”

“Didn’t have a choice after a storm nearly wiped him out. I think it almost broke his heart. Hers, too.” Esther frowned. “Several of us have invited her for meals just to give her a break. Ida Cranbrook went up there to drop off a pie for the girl. She said the place is practically falling down around her ears. Apparently she can’t even use the kitchen, it’s so bad. Just a hot plate.”

Which meant that she was paying restaurant prices for her meals. That would cut into her nursery’s start-up capital.

“Someone ought to do something about that house,” Esther said with a dark look in his direction. She snugged her plastic rain bonnet around her permed curls. “It should never have been passed on in that condition. It’s a bad reflection on Wingate and I intend to tell Henry so when I see him next. Good night, Mr. Wingate.”

Connor didn’t even hear her leave. His mind drifted back to his conversation with Pierre and his demand that the freezer be emptied of old stock before his arrival, ready for zee fresh ingredients.

There were steaks in that freezer, thick ones that men like those working outside would enjoy—far too many steaks for one great-nephew to consume.

Tobias nudged his nose under Connor’s hand, gargling a noise somewhere deep in his throat.

“You want to go for a walk?” Connor translated. The dog woofed his agreement. “You’ll get filthy again and I’ll have to bathe you again.”

Tobias didn’t have a problem with that. His tail thumped the floor eagerly.

“Go get your leash, then. I think we’re having company for dinner.”

“You didn’t have to do this,” Rowena murmured as she tossed the salad.

“What? Thaw out some meat?” Connor grinned. It changed him from a severe-looking boss to a cohort in this scheme. “Not so hard. But you should know that’s all I’m doing because I don’t cook. You’re totally on your own.”

“Not a hardship. It’s a dream kitchen,” she murmured, glancing at the gleaming stainless steel surrounding them. “A bit intimidating, though.”

A burst of laughter from the room across the hall interrupted.

“Sounds like they found a good show to watch.”

“It was nice of you to let them. I think it’s been a while since they’ve had much time to just enjoy each other. Kent told me the business they ran together went under. That’s hard on a relationship.”

“Where are they staying?”

“Above the florist.” She shrugged. “It’s probably a little cramped but at least they’re dry and close to work. Quint told me that when it warms up he wouldn’t mind camping out.”

“Why?” Connor shuddered. “I camped out once. I remember it vividly.”

“Once?” She giggled. “Wow! Mr. Worldly.”

He shrugged. “I don’t do nature. Numbers are my thing. The stock market’s always been my element.”

“But you sold your business.” Rowena blushed, turning away to study the steaks sizzling on the grill. “Your uncles mentioned it.”

“I wish now that I hadn’t,” he admitted quietly.

“Why?” The potatoes were finished so she switched off the oven. Connor had set places at the kitchen table. Everything was almost ready, and he still hadn’t answered.

Too late she remembered his fiancée.

“Oh, I’m sorry. That was too personal.”

“No, it’s fine. It’s just that since Cecile’s death, I’m not sure what to do next. I’m in this kind of limbo state. No good for someone like me,” he explained with a self-derisive laugh. “I need to be busy.”

“I imagine Wingate Manor will take care of that once the season starts.”

“I guess. It’s the future that I was thinking about.”

“Only God knows what comes next for any of us.” She smiled to encourage him. “You’ll have to talk to Him about it, though I’m not sure He always gives us the whole picture. In my own case all He usually lets me see is into the next day. Sometimes that’s enough, don’t you think?”

Connor tossed her a veiled look that hid whatever he was thinking. Judging by the downturn of his mouth, they were not happy thoughts.

“Dinner’s ready. Will you get the others?”

They made a boisterous group. Father and son teased each other without rancor, setting a light note for the meal. Soon barely a crumb was left, which made Rowena feel good. It had been a long while since she’d cooked, and never in a kitchen as well-appointed as this.

“That was great!” Quint smirked a cheeky grin. “If this landscaping thing doesn’t work out for you, Rowena, maybe you could hire on here as a chef.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Thank you.”

“What’s not to work out?” Kent snorted as he gathered their plates. “She’s got degrees in horticulture, has won more than fifteen awards, including some big-name trophy for a rose garden gig she did in England.” He turned to glance at Rowena. “Right?”

“The Chelsea Flower Show,” she admitted, surprised by his knowledge. “How did you know?”

“My son’s the television addict, not me. Serenity Bay has a library and they have a computer linked to the Internet.” He shrugged. “I checked you out, wanted to see where else besides Toronto you’d worked.”

“Oh.” She hid her surprise.

“Dad has a thing for England. My mom was from there. I told my wife we’d spend our twenty-fifth anniversary there. Tell us more about it, Rowena.”

“Well, it happens in May when the grounds of the Royal Hospital in Chelsea come alive with the finest collections of flowers in the world.” She could close her eyes and smell those heady fragrances even now. Rowena could have so easily stayed in England, continued her work there—if it hadn’t been that her father needed her here.

She realized Connor was staring, so she hurried on.

“The show gardens are created by some of the world’s leading garden designers.”

“Sounds pricey,” Connor mumbled.

“Not necessarily.” She thought of a daisy garden that had won awards several years earlier and immediately wondered if the idea would work in the roughest terrain here at Wingate. “I came away with memories that still awe me. It’s the best place for inspiration.”

They sat silent for a moment, then Kent resumed clearing the dishes, assisted by Connor.

“My wife loves flower gardens. Losing the business almost broke her. I hope she gets to see Chelsea one day.” Quint’s words were so quiet Rowena wasn’t sure the others heard.

“I’m sure she will. You seem like a person with a lot of determination.”

“So do you. Getting the nursery running—that’s a mighty big goal.”

“I guess. I’m hoping my dad will move back soon, and be able to help out a little.”

Conscious of Connor listening intently to their conversation, Rowena decided to change the subject from her personal life. But Quint wasn’t finished.

“The place wasn’t kept up very well,” he said. “The trees—most of them wouldn’t meet retail standards. You’re basically starting from scratch.”

“I know.” There was no point in denying the obvious. Rowena shrugged. “But hard work doesn’t scare me.”

“Good thing. You’re going to have lots of it.” He moved to help the others with the dishes.

“You look tired.” Connor handed her a cup of coffee, spoke to father and son. “Since we cooked, we’re going to watch TV while you guys clean up.”

“If you’re sure we won’t break anything,” Kent teased.

“Or take too long,” Quint added with a wink at Rowena.

“You do and I’ll forget about any more steak dinners.”

“Come on, Dad. Work faster.”

Connor laughed, leading the way out of the room. Rowena followed. He wanted to talk to her privately—she got that. But about what?

The television lounge looked more like a library. A plasma screen sat above the big marble fireplace but Connor didn’t bother to turn it on. Instead he motioned her to one of the red leather wing chairs in front of the fire and sat in the other himself only after pushing the door so it was almost shut.