Нора Робертс - Black Rose

“I’m fine. Just fine.”

“It’d be stupid for me to pretend I didn’t hear murmurs about what was behind that scene last night. Or what would have been a scene if you hadn’t handled things so . . . adroitly.”

“Adroitly’s how I prefer handling things, whenever possible.”

“And if you’re going to get your back up when a conversation between us touches on the personal, it’s going to be tough to research your family history.”

Because he was watching carefully, because he was learning to read her, he saw the annoyance flick over her face before she composed it. “Last night has nothing whatsoever to do with my family history.”

“I disagree. It involves you, and this . . . thing going on in your house involves you.”

She might kick him out as . . . adroitly as she had Bryce Clerk, but if so, it would be because he was honest and up-front.

“I’m going to pry, Roz. That’s what you’ve hired me to do, and I won’t always pry gently. If you want me to move forward with this, you’ll have to get used to it.”

“I fail to see what my regrettable and thankfully brief second marriage could have to do with the Harper Bride.”

He didn’t have to see her eyes clearly to know they’d chilled. He heard it in her voice. “Bride. Whether or not she was one, she’s referred to as such through your family lore. When she . . . manifested herself,” he decided, “last spring—in spades—you said she’d never bothered with you when you’d socialized with men, or when you’d married—as she had with Stella.”

“Stella has small children. My children are grown.”

“Doesn’t make them less your children.”

Her shoulders relaxed, then she bent to scoop up some smaller twigs and toss them in the mouth of the chipper. “No, of course, it doesn’t.”

“So, we can theorize that she didn’t feel threatened by Bryce—and what the hell kind of name is that anyway? Stupid. Or that she considered your maternal duties done, and didn’t care what you did regarding your sex life. Or that after a certain point, she stops showing herself to whoever’s living in the house.”

“It can’t be three, as I’ve seen her recently.”

“Since June?”

“Just a few days ago, and then again last night.”

“Interesting. What were you doing, what was she doing? I should have my notebook.”

“It was nothing. She was there, then she wasn’t. I don’t expect you to solve the puzzle of why she comes, or to whom. I want you to find out who she was.”

“One puzzle’s connected to the other. I really want some time to talk to you. And this is obviously not it. Maybe we can have dinner, next evening you’re free.”

“It’s not necessary for you to buy me dinner to get an interview.”

“It might be enjoyable to buy you dinner. If you have strong objections to mixing business and pleasure, I’m going to be sorry to wait to ask you out until I’m finished with this project.”

“I don’t date anymore, Mitch. I gave it up.”

“The worddate always makes me feel like I’m back in college. Or worse, high school.” He took a chance and reached out to slide her glasses down her nose. Looked directly into her eyes. “We could just say that I’m interested in spending time with you on a social level.”

“That saysdate to me.” But she smiled before she scooted the glasses back in place. “Not that I don’t appreciate it.”

“We’ll settle for an interview for now. I’m going to be in and out the next couple of weeks, so you can let me know when you’ve got time to sit down for an extended period. Otherwise, you can call me at home, and we’ll set it up.”

“That’s fine.”

“I’ll go in, get some work done. Let you get back to yours.”

When he started to walk away, she reached for the switch on the chipper.

“Roz? Any time you change your mind about dinner, you just let me know.”

“I’ll be sure to do that.” She switched on the machine, pushed the branch in.

SHE WORKED UNTILshe lost the light, then stowed her tools before climbing the steps to the second-floor terrace and her outside door.

She wanted an endless hot shower, soft clothes, then a cold glass of wine. No, she thought. A martini. One of David’s amazing, icy martinis with the fancy olives he squirreled away. Then she’d make a sandwich out of that glorious leftover ham. Maybe she’d spend most of the evening playing with sketches and ideas for the florist expansion. Then there were the bag selections Stella had gotten for her, for the in-house potting soil.

Dates, she thought as she shed her clothes and turned on the shower. She didn’t have time, certainly didn’t have the inclination to date at this stage of her life. Even if the offer had come from a very attractive, intelligent, and intriguing man.

One who’d ask her out when she was covered with wood chips.

Why couldn’t they just have sex and clear the air?

Because she wasn’t built that way, she admitted. And wasn’t that too damn bad. There had to be a little more . . . something before she stripped down, literally and figuratively, with a man.

She liked him, well enough, she thought as she tipped her head back and let the hot water beat on her face, her shoulders. She appreciated the way he’d reacted last spring when there’d been trouble, admired—now that she had the distance to look back—the way he’d leaped in without hesitation, without investment.

Some men would have run the other way, and would certainly have dismissed the idea of working for her, in a house haunted by what they now knew could be a dangerous spirit.

And well, she’d been charmed, really, at the way he’d been so flummoxed over buying a child’s gift—and how much he’d wanted to find the right thing. It was a point in his favor.

If she were keeping score.

If she wanted to dip her toe in the dating pool again, it would probably be with someone like him. Someone she could have conversations with, someone who attracted and interested her.

And it didn’t hurt that he was what Hayley termed a hottie.

Then again, look what happened last time.

It was a stupid woman who’d use anyone like Bryce as a yardstick. Sheknew that, so why couldn’t she stop? The fact that she was doing it was a sort of victory for Bryce, wasn’t it? If she could do nothing else about it, she could and would work on pushing him out of her thoughts.

Prick.

All right, she thought as she switched the water off again and reached for a towel. Maybe she’d consider—just consider—going out to dinner with Mitch. Just to prove to herself that she wasn’t letting Bryce affect her life in any way.

A little dinner out, some conversation, a mix of business and pleasure. That wouldn’t be so bad, when she drummed up the energy for it. She wouldn’t mind seeing him on a personal level. In fact, it might help all around if she got to know him better.

She’d think about it.

After wrapping the towel around her body, she reached automatically for her lotion. And her hand froze inches from the bottle.

Written in the steam of the bathroom mirror were two words.

 Men Lie!

ROZ PUT MEN, family ghosts, and messages written in steam out of her mind. Her sons were home.

The house was full of them, their voices, their energy, their debris. Once, the piles of shoes, the hats, thethings they’d leave scattered around had driven her slightly crazy. Now she loved seeing the evidence of them. Once, she’d longed for an ordered, quiet house, and now reveled in the noise and confusion.

They’d be gone soon enough, back to the lives they were building. So she would treasure every minute of the two days she had her family under one roof again.

And wasn’t it fun to see her sons with Stella’s boys, or watch Harper lift a fussy Lily and cuddle her in his arms? It made up for finding herself at the head of this mixed generational train.

“I want to thank you for letting Logan stay tonight.” Stella settled onto the sofa beside Roz.

“It’s Christmas Eve. We generally have room at the inn.”

“You know what I mean, andI know it’s probably fussy and anal and silly, but I really want our first Christmas in his—our—house to be when we’re official.”

“I think it’s sweet and sentimental, and selfishly I’m glad everyone’s here tonight.” She watched Hayley scoop Lily up as the baby made a crawling beeline for the tree. “Glad to have children in the house tonight. Austin!” she called out as her middle son began to juggle three apples he’d plucked out of a bowl. “Not in the parlor.”

“That tune’s so familiar, I can add the music.” A tall, narrow-hipped young man with his father’s wavy blond hair, he winked at Gavin while giving the apples one more rotation. “Not in the parlor, Austin, not in the parlor,” he sang, making Stella’s sons roll with laughter before he tossed them each an apple, and took a bite out of the third.

“Here, Mama, have some wine.” Her youngest, Mason, sat on the arm of the sofa and handed her a glass. There was a wicked twinkle in his blue eyes that warned Roz trouble was coming. “Austin, you know the parlor is sacred ground. You don’t want to be juggling in here. Especially something like, say, shoes.”

“You can juggle shoes!” Awestruck, Luke goggled at Austin.

“I can juggle anything. I have amazing talent and dexterity.”

“But sadly, I wasn’t able to talk him into running off and joining the circus when he was eight.” Harper took Lily when she leaned away from Hayley and held out her chubby arms to him.

“Can you juggle mine?” Luke asked.

“Hand one over.”

“Austin.” Resigned, Roz sighed and sipped her wine. “You break anything, you’re grounded.”

“Why, another familiar tune. Let’s see, I need a challenge. Logan, looks to me like that shoe’s big enough to house a family of four. Let’s have it.”