Page 4 of A Man for Amanda
“We need more than blind faith and mystic visions. Bianca could have hidden them anywhere.” Scowling, she plopped down onto the bed again.
She didn’t care about the money—though the Calhoun emeralds were reputed to be worth a fortune. It was the publicity that had resulted when Trent, her sister’s fiancé, had contracted to buy The Towers, and the old legend had become public knowledge. Amanda’s idea of an ordered existence had been thrown into chaos since the first story had hit.
It certainly made good print, Amanda mused as her aunt oohed and aahed over the lingerie she had bought for her sister’s shower.
Early in the second decade of the century, when the resort of Bar Harbor was in its elegant heyday, Fergus Calhoun had built The Towers as an opulent summer home. There on the cliffs overlooking Frenchman Bay, he and his wife, Bianca, and their three children had vacationed, giving elaborate parties for other members of the well-heeled society.
And there, Bianca had met a young artist. They had fallen in love. It was said that Bianca had been torn between duty and her heart. Her marriage, which had been firmly supported by her parents, had been a cold one. With her heart leading her, she had planned to leave her husband and had packed away a treasure box that had contained the emeralds Fergus had given her on the birth of their second child and first son. The whereabouts of the necklace was a mystery as, according to legend, she had thrown herself from the tower window, overwhelmed with guilt and despair.
Now, eighty years later, interest in the necklace had been revived. Even as the remaining Calhouns searched through decades of papers and ledgers for a clue, reporters and hopeful fortune hunters had become a daily nuisance.
Amanda took it personally. The legend, and the people in it, belonged to her family. The sooner the necklace was located, the better. Once a mystery was solved, interest faded quickly.
“When is Trent coming back?” she asked her aunt.
“Soon.” Sighing, Coco stroked the silky red chemise. “As soon as he ties things up in Boston, he’ll be on his way. He can’t stand being away from C.C. There will barely be enough time to begin the renovations on the west wing before they’ll be off on their honeymoon.” Tears filled her eyes again. “Their honeymoon.”
“Don’t start, Aunt Coco. Think of what a fabulous job you’ll do catering the reception. It’s going to be great practice for you. This time next year you’ll be starting your new career as chef for The Towers Retreat, the most intimate of the St. James hotels.”
“Imagine it.” Coco patted her hand at her breast.
At the knock on the front door, Fred was up and howling.
“You stay here and imagine it, Aunt Coco. I’ll go answer the door.”
In a race with Fred, she clattered down the steps. When the dog’s four legs tangled, sending him somersaulting, she laughed and gathered him up. She was snuggling the dog against her cheek when she opened the door.
“You!”
The tone of her voice had Fred quaking. Not so the man who stood at the threshold, grinning at her. “Small world,” he said in the same slow drawl he’d used when they’d knelt on the sidewalk. “I’m liking it better all the time.”
“You followed me.”
“No, ma’am. Though it would’ve been a damn good idea. The name’s O’Riley. Sloan O’Riley.”
“I don’t care what your name is, you can turn around and start walking.” She started to slam the door in his face, but he slapped a hand against it and held it wide.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea. I’ve come a long way to get a look at the house.”
Her dark blue eyes narrowed. “Oh, have you? Well, let me tell you something, this is a home, a private home. I don’t care what you’ve read in the papers and how badly you want a shot at looking under loose stones for the emeralds. This isn’t Treasure Island, and I’ve had my fill of people like you who think they can just come knocking at the door, or sneaking into the garden at night with a pick and shovel.”
She looked just fine, Sloan thought as he waited out the tirade. Every furious inch of her. She was tall for a woman and lean with it—but not too lean. She curved out nicely in all the right places. She looked as though she could ride hard all day and still have the energy to kick up her heels at night. Stubborn chin, he decided, and approved. When she jutted it out, her warm brown hair swayed with the movement. Big blue eyes. Even while they spit fire they reminded him of cornflowers. When it wasn’t scowling or swearing, he imagined her full, shapely mouth would be soft.
Soft and tasty.
“You run down yet?” he asked when she stopped to take a breath.
“No, and if you don’t leave right now, I’m going to let my dog loose on you.”
Taking his cue, Fred leaped out of her arms. With neck fur bristling, he bared his teeth in a growl.
“Looks pretty fierce,” Sloan commented, then hunkered down to hold out the back of his hand. Fred sniffed it, then his tail began to wag joyously as Sloan scratched his ears. “Yep, pretty fierce animal you got here.”
“That’s it.” Amanda set her hands on her hips. “I’m getting the gun.”
Before she could turn inside to look for the fictitious weapon, Coco came downstairs.
“Who is it, Amanda?”
