Roxanne Rustand - Her Sister's Children

Curse those women. Claire’s coldly aristocratic grandmother and mother were cut from the same cloth. No wonder her father had escaped to New York years ago. She could imagine them telling the girls, “Crying does not help. Sit up and eat your dinner” without so much as a pat on the shoulder. Heaven only knew how many times her own childhood emotions had been ignored. It had been a bad mistake to let the children spend any time—let alone five months—in that house.

The twins searched Claire’s face, as if sure their only refuge would now collapse in ruins.

Claire stroked their corn-silk hair and gave each a gentle kiss on the cheek. “If I cry, it’s because I’m sad for you. I’m sad for me, too. Your mother was my sister. It’s okay to cry.”

Annie snuggled closer, her tear-damp face pressed against Claire’s neck. Lissa wavered, her big blue eyes probing Claire’s expression.

“You’ll always have a home with me,” Claire added softly. “Cross my heart.” She considered for a moment, then added with a smile, “At least until you’re grown-up and ready to fly. Deal?”

“D-deal,” they said in unison.

Annie and Lissa snuggled deeper into her embrace, like two starving waifs finding unexpected salvation. A primal rush of tenderness surged through Claire. There was nothing she wouldn’t do to keep these children safe.

From just ahead came the unexpected clank of metal against metal. The rusty screech of a gate hinge. Claire lunged to her feet and scanned the surrounding forest, which suddenly seemed dark. Menacing. There were several other properties along the lane leading to the resort, but none of them included homes, and she had yet to encounter any of the owners. A feeling of vulnerability washed through her. She’d been foolish, walking so far with the girls this evening.

“Let’s turn around,” she murmured. “It’s getting late.”

They had walked just a few feet when Claire heard another unexpected noise—the soft rumble of an engine. She whirled around. A dozen yards away, a black Explorer slipped out of the trees and onto the road, angled toward the highway.

She stopped dead and stared. Logan Matthews. The vehicle also came to a stop, backed up a few feet, changed direction. Headed their way. Her pulse speeding up, Claire reached for Annie’s and Lissa’s hands.

The truck pulled up a few yards away. Its smoked-glass passenger-side window slid down a few inches. “I don’t mean to be unpleasant, but I don’t allow resort guests on my land,” he said.

Claire couldn’t see Logan clearly in the shadowed depths of the vehicle. Its darkened windows and the deepening twilight apparently prevented a clear view of her. The window began to glide upward.

Motioning the girls to stay behind, she crossed the road in two long strides, then braced one hand against the door and rapped sharply on the glass. Her career had taught her how to deal with men—and cowering before this one would be a major mistake. Bullies never expected strength.

“We’re not guests. And I believe you’re on my land, Matthews.”

“Claire?” His door opened, then he slowly unfolded himself from the front seat. Facing her from the other side of the truck he stared at her for a long moment. “I didn’t recognize you in this light—” he looked down at the girls, who had followed her across the road like ducklings “—and with children.”

His eyes were shadowed with old anger and dark secrets, but pure male interest glimmered there as well. Another man, another time...and her shivery inner response might have pushed her into the next step of a tentative relationship. But this was Logan Matthews.

“Three kids, actually,” she pointed out, sure his interest would wither. “The teenager is at home.”

He gave her a knowing look, as if he understood exactly why she’d elaborated, then grinned at Annie and Lissa. They hid behind her.

He gestured toward the path she and the girls had followed from the meadow. “The surveyor’s stake is hidden in those weeds.”

Claire stiffened. “I—I’m sorry. My original tour of the property was brief and in the rain. I thought the line was another twenty-five yards down.” A sudden thought chilled her. “Do you live out here?”

“Yes. I designed my house years ago, but didn’t get around to building it until this summer. By next spring, I’ll run my business from up here.”

As an architect he could do his work almost anywhere, she supposed. Which meant he would be practically underfoot every day of the year—a constant reminder of Brooke and her family’s deep bitterness over the past. Her heart sinking, she scrambled for an appropriate response. “You and your wife must have a lovely home.”

“No wife,” he said. “I try not to repeat past mistakes.”

She couldn’t let him get away with that dig at her sister. “Women throughout the world can sigh with relief.”

Logan threw back his head and laughed, his teeth gleaming white in the faint light. “Touché, Guin-evere.”

The sound of his laughter and the ring of his old nickname for her sent memories cascading through her thoughts. She studied him once more. He’d aged well—his eyes crinkled with laugh lines when he smiled, while a surprising hint of early gray at his temples added a touch of dignity.

“Look,” he continued. “It’s just the tourists I discourage. I don’t mind if you three wander on my land while you’re still up here.”

“Still up here?” Claire’s mellow thoughts turned to dry ice. “I certainly was naive years ago. I always thought you were a more perceptive man.”

A corner of his mouth tipped upward. “I am.”

“Then you realize the kids and I aren’t going anywhere. We’ll be happy at Pine Cliff. It’s a perfect place to raise a family.”

“You’ll get bored. Or scared, surrounded by these deep dark woods. Trust me.”

Claire didn’t try to hide her look of astonishment. “Interesting choice of words there, Matthews. Trust. Brooke certainly discovered the value of trust, didn’t she?”

“I’d say that lesson was mine. And it isn’t one I care to remember.” He pensively stared toward the meadow, a muscle working along his jaw. His gaze shifted back to Claire. “I do have a few good memories, though—of a sweet young girl in pigtails who told me her secrets, who said I was her Prince Charming. She said she would mar—”

“I was barely a teenager.” Claire felt warmth rise in her cheeks. “A young girl’s imagination takes wild flights.”

“I can imagine.” He winked at the twins, then looked up at Claire, his eyes grave. “I’ll give you a deal. Twenty-five percent above the market value for your half of Pine Cliff. You and your children can even stay in that house until spring, if you like.”

She hid her surprise. “All that for a struggling resort?”

“Not everyone has life handed to them on a silver platter,” he said softly. “This place means something to me. But I don’t expect you to understand.”

“You think—” He was the one who didn’t understand. Claire cleared her throat and started over. “If you only knew.”

His smile turned cold and cynical. “Choke on that silver spoon, did you?”

Startled, she stared up at him, caught between irritation and hysterical laughter at his assumptions. “We were discussing the property. It won’t happen, but I’m curious. If you did have all of Pine Cliff, what then?”

“The buildings will be bulldozed.”

He spoke as if it were going to happen. Claire looked at him in disgust. “High-priced condos?”

“Just wildlife and trees.”

“Lovely idea, Matthews. But I’m not selling. This place provides my income. I left New York under rather hostile circumstances and I’m not going back.”