Caith returned to his suite, more on edge than he’d been since he’d arrived. Working with Veronica was damn near impossible. In Boston, she’d only haunted his dreams. Now she was under his skin like an itch he couldn’t reach. The more he thought about her, the more he wanted to right his wrongs. A hidden, unreasonable voice insisted she could end up like Trask, but the fear of living without her was stronger still. Seeing her again awakened feelings he’d unsuccessfully tried to suppress most of his life.
He didn’t deserve her. Of that he was positive. If there was any chance of them together, it had to be on her terms. He didn’t believe she was serious about his brother, or Merlin about her. It was more like a friendship with benefits, of that he was certain. He’d treat her far better than Merlin ever could, the way he’d always wanted to cherish her. But she had to make the next move. He had to know she wanted him as much as he wanted her. That meant patience, understanding, and the willingness to listen and concede mistakes. It meant old-fashioned courtship.
He was woefully out of practice with dating. Derrick had seen to that. He tried to remember the last time he’d been intimate with a woman, and found it required a stretch of the imagination. A friend from the police force had set him up a few times. He’d done the dinner and dancing routine, occasionally winding up in bed at the woman’s apartment. Thankfully, those incidents were rare. They always ended in awkwardness the morning after when regret replaced the heat of passion. The last true relationship he’d had was with Derrick’s mother, a bond of convenience far more than love.
So, he’d do the dating thing…wine, dinner, whatever passed for entertainment in Coldcreek these days. Veronica was worth the effort. Eventually, he’d have to introduce her to Derrick.
He stopped abruptly, struck by an unpleasant thought. What if Veronica didn’t like children? What if Derrick resented her?
Dropping into a chair, he fished Kay Porter’s phone number from his pocket. He was being an ass. Veronica had always adored children, and he’d never seen his kid react badly to any of the women he’d introduced. Well, maybe the red-haired stockbroker, but he’d reacted badly, too.
With a tight grin, he punched Kay’s number on his cell. Tonight he’d drive into town and spend time with Derrick. Placing daily phone calls had made him feel better, but four days without seeing his kid was too long.
Kay Porter answered on the third ring and Caith tried to concentrate on the matter for which he’d been hired. Earlier, before going to see Veronica, he’d left the bait container with the white-flecked soil on his desk. He bumped it now, locating a pad and pencil.
“Ms. Porter, my name is Conner Lairen. I’m a private consultant for Breckwood Industries, and I’d like to ask you a few questions about your stay at Stone Willow Lodge.”
As Aren indicated, cell reception was limited. Coupled with Kay Porter’s hesitation, Caith had his hands full trying to piece together the conversation.
Reluctant to talk at first, the woman eased under prodding. She’d taken a hike near dusk, skirting the lake. She’d been preparing to head back when a woman emerged from the trees on the opposite side of the bank.
“She just stood there staring at me.” Kay’s voice crackled through the spotty reception. “She had a weird white glow about her and was dressed in some kind of flowing gown. It looked vintage. You know…old-fashioned like something from another century. It might sound crazy, but with all that glowing white, I was sure she was a ghost.”
“What did you do?” Caith asked.
“Nothing. I was too afraid to move, so I stayed where I was.”
“Did she threaten you?”
“No. After a while she walked down the bank and disappeared into the trees. I went back to the lodge and told Miss Kent about it. Later, when I got back to Wilmington, I told my brother what happened. He did some research and discovered there was a religious sect associated with the house a long time ago. I think it had to do with the man who built it—Warren Barrister. My brother said Barrister’s wife wasn’t killed in the house. She drowned in the lake. He chased her there when she tried to escape. Do you think it could have been her?”
Caith made a note to check into the Barrister legend. Despite growing up in Coldcreek, he’d forgotten most of the details. “Legends have a way of getting out of hand. Myth, folklore. They get passed around so long, told and retold, the story gets distorted. If I asked three different people in Coldcreek about Warren Barrister and what he did that night, I guarantee I’d get three different versions.”
“My brother is an expert in paranormal research.” She was suddenly defensive. “What did you say your name was?”
He knew when it was time to back off so he thanked her for the information, apologized if he’d offended her, and ended the call amicably.
He glanced at his watch. Alma would be making dinner. The staff would avoid him, but he could probably coerce a few of the guests into telling him how their stay was progressing. Later tonight he’d give Aren the soil sample and tell his brother to use his BI influence to get it analyzed.
And then he would decide how best to go about softening up Veronica.
* * * *
Veronica passed the activity schedule to the nervous looking systems manager from BI’s Boston office. “Ben Dunning is taking everyone horseback riding after breakfast tomorrow,” she said with a bolstering smile. The physical awkwardness of some of the employees who enrolled for the retreat often surprised her. Wayne Hollis looked like a man most comfortable pushing papers behind a desk. A higher up in the corporate chain had probably encouraged him to complete the program.
“Yes, uh…thank you.” He accepted the printed sheet of paper with a fidgety smile. “I think I’ll go read now. Maybe find a quiet spot on the porch.”
As he hurried from the lobby, Caith strolled down the steps. “You’re lucky he didn’t pass out. Horseback riding? Come on, Ron. The closest that guy wants to come to a four-legged animal is the computer mouse on his desk.”
She ignored him, organizing a display of brochures on the reception counter. His manner was breezy, too confident. He’d certainly have no problems on a horse. She wondered what he would look like riding bareback, all that lean muscle moving in rhythm, thick hair flying in the wind. Abruptly warm, she bit her lip.
The front door opened before either of them could speak. “Delivery for Caithelden Lairen,” Aren said, stepping inside.
Veronica turned in time to see a black-haired rocket streak across the floor. “Dad!”
Her breath caught in her throat when Caith snagged his son, still at full run, spun him around, and dangled him upside down. She’d only seen pictures of Derrick at Melanie’s house, but he’d been much younger, and the amazing resemblance to his father hadn’t been evident.
Caith grinned extravagantly. “Aren, why are you bringing me strange kids? I’m not sure who this is, it’s been so long since I’ve seen him. Kind of a scrawny thing.”
“Dad.” Laughing, Derrick tried to claw right-side up. “Dad, put me down. There’s a girl.”
“A girl?” With a strong arm to his son’s waist, Caith flipped him to his feet and set him on the floor. Aren joined them at the reception desk, a copy of the Coldcreek Herald tucked under his arm. “Derrick, this is Veronica Kent.”
Derrick’s eyes went wide at the name. “You’re the one in the picture. The one my Dad keeps on the mantel. You, Dad, Uncle Merlin, and Trask.” He puffed up a little straighter. “Dad says I’m named for Trask.”
Surprised that Caith kept the picture, but more surprised that he’d told his son about Trask, Veronica offered a faltering smile. “It’s good to meet you, Derrick. You look like your father.”
“Everyone says that. And I like Derry better.”
“Okay, you can call me Ron.”
“Ron’s a guy’s name.”
“When we were kids, she was like a guy.” Caith sent her a lopsided smile. “She climbed trees, had mud battles, and even beat me in a sword fight.”
Derrick’s eyes grew round as he looked at Veronica. It was clear she’d soared three notches in his esteem. “Cool!”
Caith ruffled his hair. “Miss me?”
Derrick grinned at him, making Veronica’s heart melt. He was such a good-looking kid, all curly black hair and wide blue eyes, and he obviously adored Caith. “You won’t believe what Matt, Noah, and I did today.”
Caith looked at his brother. “Where are Matt and Noah?”
“Melanie has them. Back-to-back dentist appointments.”
“Uncle Merlin took us on this really cool hay ride after school.”
Caith’s brows drew into a hostile crease. “Merlin?”
Veronica sensed alarms going off. If there was one person who got under Caith’s skin nearly as much as his father, it was his brother. The transformation on his face alerted her he was close to losing his temper. Derrick didn’t need to witness a scene between his father and uncle. Snatching up his hand, she smiled encouragingly. “Derry, do you want to see the rest of the lodge? I think Alma has some chocolate cake in the kitchen.”
He nodded eagerly.
Ushering him around the reception counter, she led him down the hall. Even then, she heard Caith’s voice rise in anger behind her.
* * * *
“You let Merlin take my kid?” Caith felt like he’d been gut-punched.
Heaving a sigh, Aren set his copy of the Coldcreek Herald on the reception counter. “Why do we have to do this? It’s not as bad as it sounds.” Still dressed for the office, his charcoal suit and pin-striped tie made a sharp contrast to Caith’s navy Dockers and stone-washed denim shirt. “Melanie was with them. I told you about the hay ride we’re planning for Friday. They were with the farmer who’s arranging it for us. He’s a friend of Merlin’s.”
“Since when does Merlin have friends who don’t wear imported suits and drive Porsches?”
Aren shot him an ugly frown. “You can be downright nasty when you want.”
“I left my kid in your care.”
“So I let him go on a hay ride. What’s the problem? He was with his cousins and his aunt.”
“And an uncle he’s never met before.”
“Is that what’s bothering you?” Aren shook his head. “You’ve gone off the deep end. Derrick never met Galen either, but I didn’t see you acting like a jerk when he showed up at your house.” Smiling tightly, he held up his hand. “Uh, wait a minute. Maybe you did. It’s hard for me to tell anymore, since you’ve been a general ass for the last twelve years.”
“Fuck you.”
“Ditch the nastiness, Caithelden. The only reason you don’t want Merlin near Derrick is because you have a problem with him.”
Caith ground his teeth, turning away. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Let me take a wild stab at it.” Aren snagged his arm, holding him in place. “Your problem with Merlin is about Trask. And your problem with Trask is he got killed saving your life.”
“Shut up!” Caith flung off his grip. Before he could think it through, he drew his fist back and popped Aren in the jaw.
“Hell, Caith!” Staggering, his brother shrugged off the blow. In the next instant, he had Caith by the collar and slammed him into the wall.
“What the fuck is wrong with you? You think conking me is going to change what happened to Trask? I brought Derrick here because it doesn’t matter anymore. Read page two of the Herald and you’ll see what I mean.”
Giving Caith a violent shove, he started for the door.
“Wait.” Caith dragged a hand over the back of his neck. “I, uh…I didn’t handle that very well.”
Aren paused halfway across the lobby. “If that’s your way of saying you’re a fucking ass, we’ll call it even.”
The hint of a smile ghosted over Caith’s lips. “You know, Aren, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you lose your temper, and I know I’ve never heard you swear.” Looking away, he thumbed open the Herald. “How about if I let you take a whack at me later and we call it even?”
Frowning, Aren rubbed the corner of his mouth. He loosened his tie and joined Caith at the counter.
“So is this more bad news or the usual Herald drivel to make me feel at home?” Caith asked, thumbing open the paper.
“Someone’s been talking to your old girlfriend, Kelly Rice.” Calmer now, Aren rifled a hand through his sandy hair, tidying his appearance. “And don’t think I’m going to forget I owe you a cheap shot.”
“Not anytime soon, huh? Ron tells me there’s a line for that.” Caith flipped to page two. He gave a low whistle as his eyes hit the headline. “‘BI’s Private Lies’ by Kelly Rice.”
Veronica returned to the lobby with Derrick in time to hear his comment. “Another stinging article?” she asked, joining them at the desk.
“More like an obituary,” Aren countered. “I get the feeling she wants to bury BI.”
“Her family owns the paper,” Veronica pointed out. “She can say what she wants.”
Derrick tugged at Caith’s sleeve. “Dad, what’s an obit…bit… “
“Obituary,” Caith said for him. “It’s something I have to discuss with Uncle Aren and Veronica. How about giving us a few minutes, partner?”
“Then what?”
Derrick was the picture of hope and eagerness. Feeling a protective tug on his heart, Caith dropped a hand on his shoulder. Four days in Coldcreek and he hadn’t spent a single moment with his kid. His brothers had been with Derrick more than he had.
“We’ll drive into town and stop wherever you want. Deal?”
Derrick grinned ear-to-ear. “Deal.” He wandered away to explore the rest of the lobby and Caith returned his attention to the paper. He read the article aloud.
“Breckwood Industries has been hiding more than corporate failures at Stone Willow Lodge. The anti-stress retreat recently welcomed a new guest in the guise of Conner Lairen, a corporate evaluator assessing the program for continued longevity. Despite BI’s attempts to deceive employees and guests, Lairen’s true identity is Caithelden Breckwood, a private investigator and the youngest son of Stuart Breckwood, owner and president of Breckwood Industries. Lairen was hired by his family to probe the recent rash of unexplained occurrences at the lodge.
“Born and raised in Coldcreek, Lairen left the area twelve years ago after a well-publicized falling out with his father. Since then, he has served on the Boston police force as a homicide detective, retiring after seven years to begin a private investigation firm. He dropped the Breckwood name shortly after leaving Coldcreek, apparently finding a life of anonymity preferable to the undeserved and excessive awe surrounding his family.
“Left to wonder why BI has resorted to underhanded snooping, one can only assume there is something to hide at Stone Willow. Perhaps Caithelden Lairen, nee Breckwood, should stop to consider why he left Coldcreek in the first place, and he might recall a kidnapping-murder that scarred this community far deeper than anything that goes bump in the night.
“Reputed to be in town with his eight-year-old son, Lairen is making a name for himself and BI in ways he never intended.”
“Damn her!” Caith sent the paper soaring over the counter. “She’s got no business putting Derry in the news. She can drag my name and BI through the headlines all she wants, but she leaves Derrick out of it!”
Looking puzzled, Veronica retrieved the paper. “How did she know you were here? As a private investigator, I mean? No one at the lodge knows who you are except for your family and me. And even if the staff or one of the guests suspected you were an investigator, they wouldn’t know you’re a Breckwood.”
“Someone told her,” Aren said darkly. “Someone made sure she knows. She’s never been kind to BI in her column, but she’s downright vindictive when it comes to Stone Willow.” He studied Caith thoughtfully. “Throwing you into the mix seems to have kicked her grudge-holding into high gear.”
Caith scowled. “There’s nothing personal if that’s what you’re driving at. I haven’t spoken to her since high school.”
“Maybe that’s the problem,” Veronica ventured. “You might have forgotten Kelly, but she’s never gotten beyond Coldcreek where you can’t turn a corner without being reminded BI and the Breckwoods support the town. You’re salt in an open wound.”
“She dumped me, Ron, and it’s been twelve years. There was never anything exceptional between us.”
“Except Breckwood money. She missed out on a joint bank account.”
Surprised, Caith laughed. “When did you get so cynical?”
“Not long after someone sent me a letter.”
Unprepared for the verbal slap, Caith eyed her sharply. Before he could say anything, Derrick wandered to his side. Having exhausted all of five minutes exploring the lobby, he was clearly bored. “Dad, are you done yet? You said we’d go where I want.”
“Yeah, Derry, we’re done.” Caith folded the paper Veronica had set on the counter. With a smile for his son, he shoved aside the recent unpleasantness. “So, what do you want to do, partner? Ice cream, video games, or just stay here and check out the lake?”
“I want to go with Uncle Aren, and I want you to come, too.”
“Back to the house?”
Aren exhaled loudly. “Not exactly. Galen’s stuck at the office handling a crisis with Boston Corporate. He wants me to stop and pick up some paperwork for him.”
Suspicious, Caith frowned. “Pick up paperwork where?”
“At Dad’s.”
“Forget it.”
“But you promised!” Derrick tugged on his hand. “Grandma and Grandpa aren’t even home.”
“Derrick,” Caith warned.
“You should go,” Veronica coaxed at his side. “Show Derry all those great places we used to hide as kids. I’ll go with you.”
Derrick grinned at her over the counter, his eyes bright with excitement. His kid had just found a co-conspirator.
“Looks like you’re out-voted, Caithelden.” Aren glanced at his watch. “So let’s get moving. I want to be home before Melanie gets back with the boys.”
Caith glanced from Derrick’s expectant face to Veronica’s challenging stare, then to Aren. None of them were playing fair. Irritated, he glared at his brother. “If I do this, you just forfeited your cheap shot.”
“Deal. Now get your butt in the car. I can only handle one moody eight-year-old at a time.”
* * * *
Before they left the lodge, Caith retrieved the soil sample he’d taken at the lake and gave it to Aren to have analyzed. Derrick wanted to stay at Stone Willow that night, and since there really wasn’t a need for pretense any longer, and Aren was willing to bend the rules, Caith agreed. He took his own vehicle, getting Derrick settled into the back while Veronica rode with Aren. The drive wasn’t long, and within twenty minutes they pulled into the circular driveway at his parent’s gated residence.
Caith had forgotten how brooding the house appeared with its distinctive gothic lines. His father had it designed around his mother’s love of folklore, incorporating massive chimneys, steeply arched windows, and multiple roof peaks. A marble fountain, littered with dry leaves, dominated the center of the driveway. Caith remembered playing there as a child, the water spouting up in magical streams, glittering with the glow of multi-colored lights. His father had often joked he would have been happy with a simple cape cod, but would settle on nothing less than a storybook castle for Caith’s mother, his queen.
When they stepped from the car, Derrick abandoned him, racing to the house after Aren. Caith moved far more slowly, walking around the side, re-familiarizing himself with the grounds. Treed and landscaped, the earth unfurled in flat parcels and gentle slopes, connected by cobblestone paths and raised gardens. Statues of stone, marble, and iron made a host of fantastical sentries beneath trees and trellised walkways. No garden gnomes for his mother. Brooding gargoyles, fierce dragons, and majestic unicorns guarded the Breckwood estate.
Caith eyed the entrance to the nearest garden, still blooming with late fall flowers. A black bird, forged from iron, perched on a gothic-looking gate, its wings unfurled to the sky.
“Mom, what does my name mean?”
With a soft smile, Caith’s mother brushed the thick hair from his forehead.
“You’re the raven, Caithelden. Strong and swift, like the bird from the Myth of Orlen. It was born after a mighty battle when Prince Kenrick fought his brother Prince Orlen for the throne of their father.”
“And Prince Kenrick died.” Caith knew the legend. He’d heard it countless times.
“Yes. But Orlen wept, sobbing bitter tears that he’d slain his own flesh. No one could console him, not even his men. So a wizard was summoned, and from Orlen’s tears he conjured a raven to carry Kenrick to the next life. And that is why the raven haunts battlefields, collecting souls who pass from one world to the next.”
“Derry went inside with Aren.”
Caith jerked when Veronica appeared at his shoulder. Frazzled at being caught unaware, he nodded curtly.
She looked past him to the gate with its dark sentry. “Bird watching or reminiscing?”
His immediate retort, a defensive reaction, died on his tongue. Her expression was open, almost playful, those remarkable green eyes betraying a thread of the mischievousness he remembered from childhood. Although it was dark, he saw her face clearly, outlined in the soft glow of solar lighting. Her hair glimmered with the kiss of awakening starlight.
“Remembering.” What good was the past? With her face upturned to his, her lips petal-soft and inviting, all he wanted to do was drown in the present. To claim her mouth with his and sink in the slow emersion of a mind-numbing kiss.
Disturbed, he jammed his hands into his pockets. “I should go inside and get this over with.”
Veronica touched his arm. “We used to have fun here. Do you remember?”
The light pressure of her fingers seared his sleeve with fire. He kept his hands in his pockets, fighting the desire to drag her against him. “I remember.”
“Your father made us that great play fort in the trees. He came out and pretended to be a troll so we could attack him with our swords. He spent all afternoon with us…letting you and Trask jump all over him and pull him down into the grass. Merlin turned him into stone, but I did something to set him free. I remember he threw me over his shoulder and said in a loud troll-like voice that I was too scrawny to eat.”
Caith chuckled. “You were scrawny. Like a toothpick in jeans.” He looked her over from head to toe, his gaze lingering on her slender curves. “But I wouldn’t think of calling you that now.” Snatching her hand, he pulled her toward the front of the house. “Come on, Ron. Time to go into the dragon’s lair.”
* * * *
Caith found Derrick and Aren in the back by following the trail of his kid’s coat, sweatshirt, and shoes. He picked up each item as he went, locating his brother and son in a two-story formal drawing room with an elaborate buttressed ceiling.
Derrick was flushed, one side of his shirt hanging sloppily over his pants. He looked like he’d run a race and still had massive amounts of energy to spare. Typical. Caith didn’t know where the kid packed his endless supply of enthusiasm.
“Uncle Aren showed me your old room, Dad. He said it’s still the same.”
Caith set the clothes aside on an ornate high-backed chair, and cast his brother a suspicious glance. “What do you mean?”
“Go see for yourself.” Aren shrugged nonchalantly. “Everything’s the way you left it.”
“I wanna see downstairs.” As if realizing his father wasn’t the best choice of tour guide, Derrick appealed to his uncle. “You said there’s a pool table and a big fireplace. Come on, Uncle Aren, I wanna see.”
“I’ll show you, Derry,” Veronica offered.
She’d been to the house often enough over the years, Caith guessed she knew it like her own apartment.
“Okay!” Grinning, Derrick bolted into the hall. The sound of his stocking feet thumping across polished hardwood echoed through the room. After a few seconds, the sound evened out into a long, gliding slide. “Dad, you should see this, it’s so cool. Like ice.”
Caith pinched the bridge of his nose. “He’s gonna knock something over.”
“Let him enjoy himself.” Veronica nudged Caith toward the front of the house and the multi-tiered staircase leading to the upper level. “Do something with yourself, Caithelden. Aren has paperwork to collect. I’ll look after Derry.”
He frowned, uncertain. “All right. Just, uh…don’t say anything about Trask. I never told him what happened when I was a kid. Let’s keep it that way, okay?”
After she left and Aren departed, Caith wandered upstairs. The house was much as he remembered, sprawling and lavish with high vaulted ceilings, gleaming woodwork, and gothic-inspired windows. The furnishings included a blend of Victorian antiques, Celtic artwork, and medieval-inspired decor—ornate wall tapestries, claw-footed chairs, massive candlesticks, and minted replicas of broadswords, sabers, and shields.
When he opened the door to his bedroom, it was like stepping into the past. Aren hadn’t lied. It was exactly as he remembered. The household staff had kept the room clean and tidy, but otherwise hadn’t disturbed a thing. The same artwork and posters hung on the walls, now terribly dated for the passing of time. The same books stood on the shelves, everything he had loved to read from T. H. White’s The Once and Future King to Conan Doyle’s master detective Sherlock Holmes. Both had helped him pass numerous Halloweens, closeted in his room as he tried to block the noise of his parents’ lavish parties below.
Shoving the memory aside, Caith opened a few drawers, rummaging through the clothes he’d left behind, the trinkets he’d collected over the years. When he found a Swiss army knife he and Trask had used to slice their thumbs, mingle their blood, and declare themselves brothers, pressure mushroomed in his chest. Breathing deeply, he nudged the knife aside and unearthed other mementos.
A pack of matches from an out-of-town bar where he’d had his first underage drink, a cigarette lighter from the one and only time he’d tried to smoke. He’d swiped it from his dad’s desk. Later, Trask had stolen two cigarettes from his father’s pack of Kools, and they’d snuck into the trees for their first taste of nicotine. Both had pretended to enjoy the smoke, neither wanting to be the first to wuss out, even though they’d coughed and gagged through most of it.
Idiots.
There was a glow-in-the-dark yo-yo, a magnifying glass in a leather case they’d once used as a talisman against an imaginary army of trolls, and a faded green ball cap, frayed and worn at the edges.
Trask had rarely been without it except that fateful day when the black car had rolled to a stop behind them. Pulling the cap free, Caith slumped to a seat on the bed. It was only a hat, and Trask was gone. He set it aside and reached for the top drawer on the nightstand. Unlike those on the dresser, it refused to budge. He fiddled with it, applying force, and tugged harder. The increased pressure made it pop too quickly. The whole thing came free in his hand, disgorging a half dozen tubes of model glue, their sides split and oozing.
The odor struck Caith in the gut like a sledgehammer.
A cold room, moldy and damp. The dismal slant of fading sunlight through a mud-splattered window, washing the room in a sickly gray haze. Trask’s shoulder was pressed against Caith’s, both of them trembling with terror and cold.
A dark-haired man sat at a table, ignoring them as he calmly pieced together the plastic sides of a model truck. The stench of glue, sharp and astringent, filled the room until Caith couldn’t breathe. Until that lone scent encompassed every horror and fear he associated with his kidnapping.
Lurching from the bed, he bolted for the bathroom and doubled-up over the sink. Memory ripped through him with a viciousness he hadn’t felt in years. Grinding his teeth, he swallowed back bile until the sickness and memories passed. When he could breathe easier, he returned to the bedroom where he carefully examined the drawer. It had been rigged with razor blades, triggered to split the tubes when forced opened. Whoever had orchestrated the feat had been careful to use fresh glue for maximum affect.
Only one person knew what that odor did to him, someone he’d told years ago. Merlin had welcomed him home in a manner he wouldn’t forget.
* * * *
Veronica didn’t remember being as exhausting as a child. Derrick was everywhere, racing from room to room, wanting to know this or that story, more curious than his father had ever been. Knowing Caith as she did, she wouldn’t have thought that possible, but the difference was rooted in their personalities. Caith had been quietly analytical as a child while Derrick was charged like a live wire.
She told him about sea serpents, ogres, and trolls. About playing by the lake and in the woods. About sitting up at night and sharing stories under the stars. Every word sent a stab of painful whimsy through her heart, but Derrick was all eagerness and grins, forcing her to shelve her melancholy. When she heard a car out front, she guessed Melanie had arrived with the boys instead of going straight home.
“Let’s go upstairs. I think your Aunt Melanie is here with Noah and Matt.”
Derrick raced ahead of her, outdistancing her on the staircase. She heard his feet thump across the floor, then stop suddenly. A split-second of silence followed before his voice tumbled down the stairs, raised in excitement. “Grandma! Grandpa!”
Veronica’s heart lurched to her throat. Imagining every horrible scene in the book, she darted up the staircase, around the corner, and came to a skidding halt in the Great Room. Caith was nowhere in sight.
“Veronica.” Morgana Breckwood stopped fussing over her grandson long enough to spare a glance, her face rosy with delight. She wore a pencil skirt with low-heeled boots and a drape-front cardigan, her short blond hair styled in a becoming bob. As always, the picture of casual elegance. “What are you doing here? How did Derry—” She broke off laughing as her husband swept Derrick up into his arms.
“So this is the voice on the phone?” Stuart Breckwood asked with a wide grin for Derry. An older image of Caith, Stuart was slightly taller and broader through the shoulders, but his eyes were the same winter blue. Gray peppered the black hair at his temples, lending a distinguished look befitting the owner of a prominent company.
“Grandpa.” Derrick measured the name with the man, grinning like he’d fallen into Christmas morning. “I can’t believe you’re here. Dad said you were in Canada.”
At the mention of Caith, something flitted through Stuart’s eyes too fast for Veronica to read.
“We decided to come home early.” Morgana leaned forward, kissing her grandson on the cheek. “We never expected to find you here.”
“I’m staying with Uncle Aren and going to school with Matt and Noah,” Derrick said proudly.
Morgana looked to Veronica for clarification.
Her face grew warm. Nervously, she hooked a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s…it’s a long story.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Stuart grinned, as delighted as Veronica had ever seen him. “I don’t care what the reason is as long as I have the chance to see my grandson.” Cupping the back of Derrick’s head, he kissed the boy on the forehead. “Eight years old. Look at you! The spitting image of your father.”
“I suppose you think I’ve kept him from you all these years.”
Caith’s tightly controlled voice drew four gazes in his direction. Veronica let a small gasp slip as he walked into the room. Something was wrong. Something beyond this unexpected, nerve-wracking reunion. Had something happened while he was upstairs? His skin was gray, his features tight and strained. He carried a green ball cap which he slipped into his rear pocket by the bill.
Stuart set Derrick on the floor but made no move to speak. Sensing the sudden tension in the room, Morgana swept from the group and embraced her son. “Caith, why didn’t you tell us you were coming? It’s so good to see you.”
Caith gave her a fleeting smile. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her temple. “Missed you, Mom.”
Encouraged by his affection, Derrick darted to his side. “Dad, can we stay? Can we stay here?”
“We’re going back to the lodge.” He laid a hand on Derrick’s shoulder. “Go find your coat and shoes.”
Veronica saw the angry defiance the moment it hit Derrick’s eyes. “I don’t want to. I wanna stay here.” He folded his arms over his chest, sulky and angry.
Disaster. Veronica knew Caith had reached the end of a dangerously short rope. His temper had been on edge from the moment he’d learned about Derrick’s interaction with Merlin. Every event since had been kindling for the fire. Clenching his jaw, he crouched in front of Derrick and gripped the boy by both arms.
“I’m not in the mood for games, Derrick. If you think making a scene in front of your grandparents and Veronica is going to change how I’ll react, you’re wrong. Now go find your coat and shoes. I’m not going to tell you again.”
Veronica winced at the control in his voice, knowing a storm brewed underneath. Derrick’s bottom lip trembled. A bright sheen of tears appeared in his eyes, but to his credit, he blinked them back. Caith released him and he went wordlessly, if slowly, in search of his shoes.
Stuart glowered. “He could have stayed. You don’t have to.”
“You mean you don’t want me to.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then you’d better roll out a fucking red carpet, because I don’t see any welcome signs.”
“Caithelden!” Morgana’s voice cracked between father and son, stopping Stuart cold when he would have snarled a reply. Her eyes burned as she spun to confront her son. “I’ve missed you dearly, but that doesn’t give you the right to be rude. Clean up your language this instant and show some respect, or I’ll toss you out on your tail-end.”
Caith clenched his hands. “Don’t worry. I’m leaving.”
“Looks like I’m missing a party.” Aren came back into the room with Derrick. His emerging grin faltered at the ugly expressions that greeted him. He chuckled in a clear effort to lighten the mood. “Hey, I’m one of the good guys.”
Stuart glowered. “We’ll see about that tomorrow. Two o’clock.” He glanced from Aren to Caith. “I want you both at BI. Merlin and Galen, too. And you, Veronica.”
“I don’t work for you,” Caith snapped.
Stuart smiled thinly, as if enjoying the upper hand. “Oh, but you do. At least for now. I understand BI hired you, and like it or not, I’m still President of Breckwood Industries.” He stepped closer, as if measuring the man the eighteen-year-old had become. “I expect you there, Caith. For once in your life, do the right thing.”