Hidden Treasures. Kathryn Springer

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      Forty-eight hours ago, his alarm clock had been the low keen of sirens and the rhythmic pulse of rush-hour traffic outside the window of his condo in St. Paul.

      He glanced at his watch and closed his eyes. Ordinarily he’d be showered, dressed and pulling into the Starbucks’ drive-thru by now. Not still horizontal in the twin bed he’d slept in as a child. Even the comforter was familiar—a lumpy bundle of goose down sandwiched between two soft pieces of flannel.

      Cade’s nose twitched. The blanket even smelled the same. A pleasing blend of sunshine and cedar that whisked him back in time. Whether he wanted to go there or not.

      In fact, it seemed as if the entire estate had been frozen in some sort of time capsule. Nothing had been updated. Or repaired. Even though Cade knew no one in his family had set foot on Blue Key in years, he’d still been shocked at how neglected the house looked when he’d arrived. The paint on the shutters had bubbled and faded. Scabs of dark moss crusted the roof. The flower gardens his mother had lovingly tended during their summer visits had turned into a matted tangle of weeds.

      Douglas Halloway, Cade’s father, had refused to sink a penny into the place for twenty years. Except for the generous weekly paychecks mailed to Bert.

      Bert.

      Cade winced and closed his eyes. He hadn’t seen her for years—had to admit he’d all but forgotten his mother’s best friend—but from the moment he’d stepped onto the dock, she’d fussed over him as if he were ten years old again. It didn’t seem to matter that his presence on Blue Key Island meant she was about to lose both her job and her home.

      Cade reminded himself that Bert had to have known the estate would eventually be sold. And she’d been well-compensated over the years for simply living in the house. But knowing those things still didn’t prevent him from feeling like a first-class jerk.

      Especially when Bert treated him with the same indulgent affection and warmth she had when he was a boy, scratched and dirty from climbing the birch tree on the point or dripping water on the floor as he raided the refrigerator for an afternoon snack.1

      He hadn’t given Bert more than a few hours’ notice about his arrival…or Parker’s upcoming wedding…and yet she’d hugged him fiercely when he’d arrived and told him that he had his mother’s eyes.

      Cade was glad his father hadn’t been there to hear Bert’s observation. He’d spent years making sure his children didn’t resemble Genevieve in any way. But not even Douglas Halloway, as powerful as he was, could change the color of a person’s eyes.

      The sun shifted a fraction of an inch, recreating a stencil of the lace curtain on the scuffed hardwood floor. For the first time Cade noticed a water stain in the corner of the ceiling above the window and mentally adjusted the price of the house. Again.

      Whoever bought the island would probably raze the place and put up a structure more suited to its surroundings. He hadn’t listed the island with a Realtor yet, but already he’d had inquiries from a developer interested in building a luxury lodge catering to executives-turned-weekend-anglers.

      Guys like him.

      Not that it mattered what happened to the place after it sold, Cade reminded himself. He had a job to do and the sooner he wrapped things up, the sooner he could get back to civilization. And his business. It had taken a long time for Douglas to turn over the reins to the family’s architectural firm and Cade didn’t want his father to regret the decision.

      Murmured voices, followed by a ripple of delighted laughter, drifted under the door. And worked its way right under his skin.

      Meghan McBride. Memories of the evening before came rushing back to Cade and guilt sawed briefly against his conscience. He hadn’t exactly been a model host. Okay, he’d been downright rude. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t told her who he was when they’d met in the boathouse. Maybe he could put it down to a day that had, thanks to Aunt Judith and a bichon frise that wouldn’t let him out of her sight, spiraled out of control. And Cade didn’t like it when things got out of control.

      Or when something disrupted his concentration. And at the moment, his concentration centered on getting the estate ready to sell. He didn’t have time to play the attentive host. Not even to the wedding photographer. Maybe especially to the wedding photographer, whose winsome smile just might make him forget he hadn’t come to Blue Key to relax and enjoy the scenery.

      After he interviewed Meghan and discovered why she’d shown up a full week before the wedding, he’d settle in behind the old oak secretary in the library and start making a list of the contents of the house. And try to hire a new landscaper.

      The unmistakable smell of bacon and maple syrup teased his senses and Cade pushed himself out of bed, resigning himself to renewing his gym membership when he got back to the Cities. He’d forgotten how much Bert loved to cook. The day before she’d caught a stringer of bluegills off the dock and fried them up for supper in a cast-iron skillet the size of a hubcap.

      He’d told Bert he didn’t expect her to cook for him, but she wouldn’t listen. In fact, she’d informed him in no uncertain terms that she got tired of cooking for one and he should just “simmer down” and let her spoil someone besides Miss Molly for a change.

      And judging from the feminine laughter coming from the kitchen, it sounded as though Bert had added another person to her list of people to spoil.

      Good. If Bert kept Meghan McBride company, he wouldn’t have to.

      Fifteen minutes later Cade padded into the kitchen. Meghan stood guard at the stove, tending Bert’s favorite skillet. Barefoot and wearing loose-fitting jeans with a white shirt knotted at her waist, she didn’t look old enough to be an established businesswoman.

      But her unconventional clothing wasn’t what made Cade’s breath hitch in his throat. The night before she’d looked as wet and bedraggled as Miss Molly. But the hair he’d assumed was auburn had dried, lightening to an incredible shade of strawberry blond that fell in a tangle of curls to the middle of her back. He couldn’t think of one woman in his circle of friends who would let her hair grow to that length. Especially Amanda, who scheduled her six-week appointments at a trendy salon a year in advance.

      But then again, he couldn’t think of anyone who’d wear what looked like a man’s dress shirt and jeans to an interview, either.

      Cade frowned. Maybe Meghan McBride didn’t realize that although Parker had hired her, he had the final say as to whether or not she stayed hired.

      

      Without turning around, Meghan knew the exact second Cade walked into the kitchen. And it wasn’t because of the subtle, musky scent of his cologne or the husky “good morning” he growled at Bert.

      It was because the skin on her arms prickled.

      She had goose bumps.

      And Meghan never got goose bumps.

      Rattled, Meghan scanned the counter for the pancake turner but couldn’t remember what she’d done with it.

      “It’s in your apron pocket,” Cade said helpfully.

      Meghan opened her mouth to argue that she wouldn’t put a cooking utensil in her pocket, but glanced down first, just in case he was right. And he was. Why did СКАЧАТЬ