Hidden Treasures

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 she get the feeling that Cade Halloway was always right?

Bert cruised past with a platter of hash browns and scrambled eggs, pausing long enough to flip on the fan in the hood above the range. “All set, Meghan?”

Meghan nodded, even though she was pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to eat a bite of Bert’s fabulous breakfast.

Once they were seated, every time Cade’s unnerving cobalt gaze settled on her across the table, she knew he was silently questioning her qualifications. She refilled her plate—frequently—because basic etiquette said it was impolite for a person to talk with their mouth full.

“I can help you clean up, Bert.” It would buy her a few extra minutes before Cade’s interrogation…Meghan swiftly amended that negative thought…interview. That’s what it was. An interview.

“Don’t be silly. What else do I have to do?” Bert made a shooing motion with her hands. “Cade wants to talk to you and he’s not the kind of man who likes to be kept waiting.”

Meghan had figured that much out for herself. She hated to make snap judgments about people, but it was Saturday morning and Cade had dressed as if he were on his way to the office. The only thing missing was a conservative silk tie.

So maybe he had been blessed with traffic-stopping good looks but he was so…serious. The only time she’d seen the hint of a smile soften his features was when Bert had reminded him that it was his turn to catch their supper.

At least if she had to meet with Cade, it would give her an opportunity to pay more attention to the paintings hanging on the library walls.

She took a deep breath and tried to work up a smile.

“Come in, Miss McBride.”

She would have, if she hadn’t frozen in the doorway. How in the world did Cade manage to lower the temperature in a room as welcoming as the library? Instead of taking one of the chairs by the fireplace like he’d done the night before, he’d positioned himself at an antique secretary to conduct his interrog—interview.

“You can call me Meghan.” Because it would be harder to fire her if they were on a first-name basis. Wouldn’t it?

Cade’s eyes narrowed.

Okay, maybe not.

He motioned to a chair but Meghan decided not to sit down. It would give him too much of an advantage. Instead she took a casual lap around the perimeter of the room to check out the artwork, sucking in a breath at the some of the signatures she saw. Nina Bonnefield hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d told Patrick that the Halloway family supported the arts.

She was used to seeing paintings of this caliber displayed behind a satin rope in a museum or in an upscale gallery, not in a casual arrangement on a backdrop of sun-faded wallpaper.

Her stomach knotted at the sudden realization that maybe there was a Ferris somewhere on the premises.

“…found you.”

Cade’s voice filtered into her thoughts and snagged her attention. Meghan mentally kicked herself for getting lost in the paintings. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

He frowned slightly. “Maybe we should start with how my sister…found you.”

Found her? As if she were a stray cat?

Meghan bit down on her lower lip to prevent a smile. She’d already rehearsed the answer to this question. Her parents had taught her that honesty was the best policy and she’d made a promise to herself—and Ms. Bonnefield—that she wouldn’t tell a lie to explain her presence on Blue Key Island.

“The usual way. By referral. An acquaintance of mine heard your sister was looking for a photographer…someone who didn’t mind coming this far off the beaten path for a wedding.”

He couldn’t argue with that, now could he? Not only was Blue Key Island way off the beaten path, a person had to take a boat to get there. And she wasn’t even charging them for mileage.

Cade’s fingers drummed against the top of the desk. “What studio are you employed with?”

The knot in Meghan’s stomach tightened. “I’m a freelance photographer.”

“Freelance.” Cade repeated the word as if he’d never heard of it.

“That’s right. I have my own business.”

“Really.”

It didn’t escape Meghan’s notice that Cade’s sentences had gotten shorter as the interview progressed.

“I apprenticed with a master photographer for two years before opening my own studio five years ago.” Which she ran out of her apartment, but Cade didn’t need to know that. As her reputation had spread, she’d begun to travel more frequently but still tried to keep regular business hours.

“But you specialize in weddings.”

It sounded more like a statement than a question, but since Cade seemed to be waiting for some sort of response, Meghan gave him a truthful one. “I take pictures of a variety of subjects.” And please don’t ask what they are.

“I’m sure my sister asked for references.” Cade’s fingers drummed against the top of the desk again.

Meghan simply smiled. She’d never met Parker Halloway in person and she had no idea if Parker had checked out her Web site. If she had, she would have discovered Meghan McBride did photograph a variety of subjects. Most of them just happened to have four legs. And occasionally, feathers.

Cade’s eyes met hers and Meghan did her best not to flinch under the cool appraisal. “My sister can be a little…impulsive but she is a stickler for details. When you come back this weekend for the wedding—”

“Come back?” Meghan interrupted without thinking.

“It’s only Saturday,” Cade reminded her. “Parker and the rest of the wedding party won’t arrive until Friday morning. I assumed you came to check things out today….”

And then leave.

Meghan silently filled in the rest of the sentence Cade Halloway was too polite to finish.

Now what? She needed a legitimate reason to explain her extended stay on the island and not compromise her promise to stick to honesty.

The cry of a loon filtered through the open window and with a flash of inspiration, Meghan found her reason. “I know I’m here early, but I happen to be free this week.” Also the truth. “I’d love to photograph some of the wildlife.”

The lean fingers on both of the man’s hands made a series of tapping noises. Meghan realized Cade Halloway didn’t vent his emotions. He “drummed” them instead. “I have a lot of work to do. I thought I’d be alone on the island before the wedding chaos started.”

What a coincidence. She’d thought the same thing!

“You won’t even know I’m here,” Meghan added. In spite of his words, she sensed him weakening.

“Somehow I doubt that,” Cade said under his breath.

The telephone suddenly rang, saving Meghan from having to respond. Cade reached for it with a terse, “Excuse me,” and Meghan took that as a cue their interview was officially concluded.

She slipped out of the library, quietly closed the door and collapsed against the wall.

The Ferris was somewhere in the house.

Cade Halloway was in the house.

Meghan decided it was going to be a very long week.

Chapter Four

Meghan grabbed her camera—just in case Cade saw her—and stepped outside. Into wonderland.

Why hadn’t she seen this the day before?

Probably because the pelting rain had forced her to keep her head down. And because she’d been so taken with the house, she’d failed to notice the yard.

Meghan took a hesitant step forward and paused, not sure where to begin. The strange silhouettes she’d seen in the shadows while she’d tripped along after Cade Halloway came to life in the bright morning sun. Sculptures. But not the kind a person found in the gardening section of the local discount store.

Meghan’s gaze settled on a blue heron created out of angle iron and followed the elegant arch of its neck to the unblinking marble eye and the fish trapped in its beak.

To the right of the heron, a trio of baby raccoons clung to the trunk of a birch tree—their mother perched on a sturdy branch above them. They’d been soldered together with bits and pieces of discarded metal, but each of their masked faces somehow conveyed a different expression.

Automatically, Meghan’s feet moved toward a bald eagle, hewn right from the stump of the tree it sat on, poised for flight.

Incredible.

Some of the sculptures were larger than life, but others, like the whimsical turtle made from a clam shell that peeked out from under the broad leaves of a hosta, were so small a person could walk right by and not notice them.

They not only differed in size, they differed in design. Some were primitive, a simple sketch of an animal or bird created with minimal materials, while others were so detailed they looked as if they were about to come to life right in front of her eyes.

She’d studied the works of Joseph Ferris in the car on the way to Willoughby and wondered if she was within reach of one of his creations. Ferris had worked in several mediums but seemed to favor watercolor. And although he’d been a product of the pop art culture of the sixties, he’d been more influenced by the early Impressionists. Meghan guessed that was the reason why his work had gone unnoticed until after his death.

She wandered through the sculpture garden, looking for something that reflected the spare lines and luminous colors Ferris favored.

“Amazing, isn’t it?”

Meghan, who’d dropped to her knees to peer at a stained-glass replica of a dragonfly, started at the sound of a voice behind her.

“I didn’t see any of this yesterday.” Meghan’s heart resumed its natural rhythm and she smiled up at Bert, who stood several feet away with Miss Molly nestled comfortably in the crook of her arm. “And I’m not sure amazing describes it.” She reached out to pick up the dragonfly and then changed her mind. Maybe someone had instigated a No Touch rule.

“Go ahead.”

“Are you sure?” Without thinking, Meghan glanced toward the house.

“I’m sure.” Bert’s low laugh told Meghan she’d guessed the reason behind her hesitation. “Besides, the dragonfly is one of mine.”

Meghan picked it up and cradled it in the palm of her hand. “You’re an artist?”

“I work with stained glass.”

“It’s beautiful.”

Bert’s eyes sparkled at the compliment. “I have a few minutes. I’ll take you on a little tour of the island and show you the rest.”

“There’s more?”

A mysterious smile touched Bert’s lips. “Oh, there’s more.”

Cade put down the phone and blew out a sigh, wondering if a photo of his aunt Judith was being faxed to every landscaping business in the county. He couldn’t find anyone willing to come to the island and fix up the grounds before the wedding.

He walked over to the window but found his view almost completely obstructed by a hedge of fragrant arbor vitae desperately in need of a trim.

Without warning, a memory of his mother kneeling on a folded beach towel in the garden returned. While he and Parker had spent summer afternoons fishing for perch or catapulting themselves off the end of the dock, Genevieve had turned the island into an eclectic hodgepodge of gardens and objects d’art. A direct contrast to the formal decor of their house in Minneapolis.

He and Parker had grown up rattling around their father’s childhood home in a neighborhood where the air still carried the faint whiff of “old money.” Aunt Judith’s influence had prevailed even there in the subdued neutrals and the furnishings arranged with museumlike perfection. Genevieve didn’t so much as rearrange the jade statues on the mantel above the fireplace, but when Douglas purchased the island she’d practically designed the entire house, decorating it with airy fabrics and bright colors.

In Minneapolis, dinner guests were chosen from his father’s business associates and potential clients; the conversation around the table as carefully planned as the menu. On the island, people dropped by with no advance notice and stayed as long as they wanted.

Judith had visited Blue Key only once that Cade could remember. She’d hated the water and the sand, declaring the place a tasteless “amusement park.” And she’d never set foot on the island again.

Cade, who’d sensed the tension between his aunt and his mother even as a child, had a hunch Judith’s refusal to visit Blue Key was fine with his mother. In fact, it suddenly occurred to him that Genevieve had smiled and laughed more when they were on the island than she had in her own home.

The carousel just beyond the concrete fountain in the center of the courtyard was a testimony to Genevieve’s unusual taste. The painted horses had faded and patches of rust stained the metal canopy like a bad rash, but Cade remembered his mother’s excitement when she’d discovered it during one of her frequent trips to the salvage yard.

The next time they’d visited the island, there it was.

He’d spent hours playing on it—the horse he “rode” reflecting the adventure he’d chosen to pursue at that particular moment in time. When he wanted to be a cowboy, he jumped on the brown bronco with wild eyes and a lasso painted over the saddle horn. If he was a knight, it was the black horse with its armored headpiece and sword.

Parker always claimed the white horse with a flowing mane and tail. The garland of roses around its neck hinted it was a derby winner, but from Cade’s boyish perspective, flowers were flowers and he wasn’t going to have anything to do with them.

All the horses were carved out of wood, the paint on the saddles and bridles original. As a piece of American history, the carousel must have been worth a fortune, but Genevieve had let him and Parker scramble on it as if it had been purchased from the back lot of a discount store.

Cade shook his head, not sure why they hadn’t gotten rid of the thing years ago. Maybe he could donate it to one of the local museums. He’d been right to come back before listing with a Realtor. The rusted sculpture garden and the unusual objects his mother had collected might detract from the aesthetic value of the property.

He was turning away from the window when he caught a sudden movement out of the corner of his eye. Bert rounded the corner of the house with Meghan one step behind her.

Meghan’s chirp of surprise must have had something to do with the carousel because she made a beeline directly over to it. With a delighted smile, she ran her hands up the white horse’s face and over its mane as if it were real.

Cade knew he shouldn’t be spying but stood there, riveted in place, as Meghan hoisted herself onto its back and wrapped her arms around its neck.

He winced as the camera, hanging by a cord around her neck, slammed against the horse’s chest, but it didn’t seem to faze her. He would have thought a photographer would be a little more careful with the most important tool of her trade.

When Bert slipped between the horses and fished around inside the mechanical box, Cade’s shoulders tensed.

He doubted the thing worked after so many years. Even as a kid, he’d thought the simple tune the carousel played sounded muffled and rather tinny. Like the song a jack-in-the-box played right before a clown popped out of the top.

After a few minutes Bert gave up and Meghan slid off the horse’s back. And headed toward the mermaid fountain. Another one of his mother’s salvage-yard finds that had found its way to the island.

Maybe that was why no one in Willoughby would talk to him, Cade thought sourly. No doubt the old-timers remembered having to transport his mother’s purchases to the island by fishing boat.

“…it work?” Meghan’s lilting voice drifted through the screen as she started to scoop handfuls of wet leaves out of the fountain and drop them on the ground.

The fountain. Cade shook his head. One more reason to talk Parker out of her crazy idea to hold the wedding ceremony and reception on the island. Without an army of landscapers to tackle years of neglect, the place would never be ready for guests by the following weekend.

And Parker would have a fit if she saw the state the house and grounds were in. No doubt she still carried the memories of the way it was when they were children—not realizing Douglas had forbidden Bert to do anything other than the simplest maintenance projects in the house.

Cade still didn’t understand why Bert had stayed on. He knew Bert and his mother had been close friends. “Twins separated at birth” was the way Genevieve laughingly introduced Bert to visitors to the island. When he’d asked Douglas why Bert had stayed, his father had brushed aside the question in his typical gruff manner and muttered something about Bert not having anywhere else to go.

That didn’t surprise Cade, since Bert belonged to the group of artists that Genevieve had counted as friends. What surprised him was his father’s benevolence. Especially since Douglas had completely wiped out any reminders of Genevieve.

After Cade’s mother walked out on them, they’d simply continued on as if Genevieve had never been a part of their lives. Judith had moved into the suite of rooms in the east wing of their home and taken over the household.

And Cade had never seen his mother again.

The one time he’d gathered the courage to ask if she was coming back, the look of raw pain in his father’s eyes had discouraged him from ever bringing up the subject again.

Aunt Judith however, hadn’t been as silent with her opinions. There’d been anger, not pain, in her voice when she’d explained that Genevieve had found being a wife and mother too confining. That she’d gone back to the lifestyle she was more suited for.

Cade shook away the unwelcome memories that crowded in. The sooner he wrapped things up on the island, the sooner he could leave. All he had to do was convince Parker that without a landscape team working around the clock—for the next six months—Blue Key Island wouldn’t be the romantic setting for the wedding of her dreams she imagined it would be.

Cade had never understood, given Douglas’s keen business sense, why his father had held on to the island all these years. He’d seen the tax bills. Why keep shelling out money for a place they hadn’t visited for years? When they needed a getaway, they took advantage of their ownership in a luxury time-share.

He’d make sure Bert had a generous retirement package and close this particular chapter of Halloway history for good.

Selling the island was the logical solution.

Meghan couldn’t believe Cade wanted to sell the island.