Неизвестно - Megan's mate

heart already belongs to you...

He got up to go to the stove and kiss her cheek.

The tornado blew in without warning. The kitchen door slammed open, and three shrieking whirlwinds spun through.

Aunt Coco! They're here!

Oh, my.

Coco pressed a hand to her speeding heart.

Alex, you took a year off

my life.

But she smiled, studying the dark-eyed boy beside him.

Can this be

Kevin? You've grown a foot! Don't you have a kiss for Aunt Coco?

Yes, ma'am.

He went forward dutifully, still unsure of his ground. He was enveloped against soft breasts, in soft scents. It eased his somewhat nervous stomach.

We're so glad you're here.

Coco's eyes teared up sentimentally.

Now the whole

family's in one place. Kevin, this is Mr. Fury. Nate, my grandnephew.

Nathaniel knew the story, how the scum Baxter Dumont had managed to get some

naive kid pregnant shortly before he married Suzanna. The boy was eyeing him now, nervous but contained. Nathaniel realized Kevin knew the story, as well or part of it.

Welcome to Bar Harbor.

He offered his hand, which Kevin took politely.

Nate runs the boat shop and stuff with my dad.

The novelty of saying

my dad

had yet to wear thin with Alex.

Kevin wants to see whales,

he told Nathaniel.

He

comes from Oklahoma, and they don't have any. They hardly have any water at all.

We've got some.

Kevin automatically defended his homeland.

And we've got

cowboys,

he added, one-upping Alex.

You don't have any of those.

Uh-huh.

This from Jenny.

I got a whole cowboy suit.

Girl,

Alex corrected.

It's a cowgirl, 'cause you're a girl.

It is not.

Is too.

Her eyes narrowed dangerously.

Is not.

Well, I see everything's normal in here.

Suzanna entered, aiming a warning look at both of her children.

Hello, Nate. I didn't expect to see you here.

I got lucky.

He slipped an arm around Coco's shoulders.

Spent an hour with my

woman.

Flirting with Aunt Coco again?

But Suzanna noted that his gaze had already shifted. She remembered that look from the first time they'd met. The way the gray eyes measured, assessed. Automatically she put a hand on Megan's arm.

Megan

O'Riley, Nathaniel Fury, Holt's partner and Aunt Coco's latest conquest.

Nice to meet you.

She was tired, Megan realized. Had to be, if that clear, steady gaze put her back up. She dismissed him, a little too abruptly for politeness, and smiled at Coco.

You look wonderful.

Oh, and here I am in my apron. I didn't even freshen up.

Coco gave her a hard,

welcoming hug.

Let me fix you something. You must be worn-out after the flight.

Just a little.

We took the bags up, and I put Christian in the nursery.

While Suzanna herded the

children to the table and chatted, Nathaniel took a good long survey of Megan O'Riley.

Cool as an Atlantic breeze, he decided. A little frazzled and unnerved at the moment, he thought, but not willing to show it. The peach-toned skin and long, waving strawberry blond hair made an eye-catching combination.

Nathaniel usually preferred women who were dark and sultry, but there was something to be said for all that rose and gold. She had blue eyes, the color of a calm sea at dawn. Stubborn mouth, he mused, though it softened nicely when she smiled at her son.

A bit on the skinny side, he thought as he finished off his coffee. Needed some of

Coco's cooking to help her fill out. Or maybe she just looked skinny and prim because she wore such severely tailored jacket and slacks.

Well aware of his scrutiny, Megan forced herself to keep up her end of the conversation with Coco and the rest. She'd grown used to stares years before, when she was young, unmarried, and pregnant by another woman's husband.

She knew how some men reacted to her status as a single mother, how they assumed she was an easy mark. And she knew how to disabuse them of the notion.

She met Nathaniel's stare levelly, frostily. He didn't look away, as most would, but continued to watch her, unblinkingly, until her teeth clenched.

Good going, he thought. She might be skinny, but she had grit. He grinned, lifted his coffee mug in a silent toast, then turned to Coco.

I've got to go, got a tour to do.

Thanks for lunch, Coco.

Don't forget dinner. The whole family will be here. Eight o'clock.

He glanced back at Megan.

Wouldn't miss it.

See that you don't.

Coco looked at her watch, closed her eyes.

Where is that

man? He's late again.

The Dutchman?

Who else? I sent him to the butcher's two hours ago.

Nathaniel shrugged. His former shipmate, and The Towers' new assistant chef, ran on his own timetable.

If I see him down at the docks, I'll send him along.

Kiss me goodbye,

Jenny demanded, delighted when Nathaniel hauled her up.

You're the prettiest cowboy on the island, he whispered in her ear. Jenny shot a

smug look at her brother when her feet touched the floor again.

You let me know

when you're ready for a sail,

he said to Kevin.

Nice meeting you, Ms. O'Riley.

Nate's a sailor,

Jenny said importantly when Nathaniel strolled out.

He's been

everywhere and done everything.

Megan didn't doubt it for a minute.

So much had changed at The Towers, though the family rooms on the first two floors and the east wing were much the same. Trent St. James, with Megan's brother, Sloan, as architect, had concentrated most of the time and effort on the ten suites in the west wing, the new guest dining area and the west tower. All of that area comprised the hotel.

From the quick tour Megan was given, she could see that none of the time and effort that had gone into the construction and renovations had been wasted.

Sloan had designed with an appreciation for the original fortresslike structure, retaining the high-ceilinged rooms and circular stairs, ensuring that the many

fireplaces were working, preserving the mul-lioned windows and French doors that led out onto terraces, balconies, parapets.

The lobby was sumptuous, filled with antiques and designed with a multitude of cozy corners that invited guests to lounge on a rainy or wintry day. The spectacular views of bay or cliffs or sea or Suzanna's fabulous gardens were there to be enjoyed, or tempted guests to stroll out onto terraces and balconies.

When Amanda, as hotel manager, took over the tour, Megan was told that each suite was unique. The storage rooms of The Towers had been full of old furniture, mementos and art. What hadn't been sold prior to Trent's having invested the St.

James money in the transformation now graced the guest rooms.

Some suites were two levels, with an art deco staircase connecting the rooms, some had wainscoting or silk wallpaper. There was an Aubusson rug here, an old tapestry there. And all the rooms were infused with the legend of the Calhoun emeralds and the woman who had owned them.

The emeralds themselves, discovered after a difficult and dangerous search some said with the help of the spirits of Bianca Calhoun and Christian Bradford, the artist who had loved her resided now in a glass case in the lobby. Above the case was a portrait of Bianca, painted by Christian more than eighty years before.

They're gorgeous,

Megan whispered.

Stunning.

The tiers of grass green

emeralds and white diamonds almost pulsed with life.

Sometimes I'll just stop and look at them, Amanda admitted,

and remember all

we went through to find them. How Bianca tried to use them to escape with her children to Christian. It should make me sad, I suppose, but having them here, under her portrait, seems right.