Finders Keepers Page 9

  She couldn’t get into her gum shoes fast enough, when she was ready, she opened the door and smiled at Julian, who hadn’t, of course, given up on her and gone home. ‘‘We can take my van,” she told him.

  “This better not be a trick.”

  She only smiled, not feeling the least bit guilty. He was getting an inside look at how Holly Wingate Paynter worked, and there were those in the world who’d consider that not a trick, but a marvelous treat.

  It was his own loss, she told herself, that he probably wasn’t among them. Then again, with him, who knew?

  Chapter Six

  Julian was glad to let Holly drive. Jousting with her in the guest room at the Windham House had taken its toll. He was distracted—probably crazy, he thought. And he was getting his first look inside her van, inside a part of her life he hadn’t yet seen. She had everything in there: clothes, books, files, posters, tape recorder, insulated cooler, boxes of Cheerios and sugarless cookies, blankets, Thermos. She’d even hung curtains on the back side windows.

  His eyes kept drifting to the cot in back, and he thought...knew...that one day he’d make love to her there. He’d bet it’d be sooner rather than later.

  Despite having this self-described Sun Belt type behind the wheel, Julian wasn’t worried as they sped along the winding, unlit road into the dark, cold hills up beyond Old Mill Brook, in the general direction of the sawmill. She could still detour to his house—or anywhere.

  He told himself as long as the goblets were at the end of the journey, he didn’t care where she took him.

  And yet he knew better.

  If the goblets were his only concern—or even his prime concern—he’d never have done what he’d done. He wouldn’t even be here now, sitting next to her in her wild van. He’d have called the damned police.

  He had set her up. She’d been right about that.

  Yet if all he’d meant to do was protect what was his, he would never have risked that she’d skip town before he could get back to the Windham House. He’d have confronted her back at his house before she’d run off with the goblets in the first place.

  The truth was, he didn’t really give a damn about the goblets. They’d been a fortuitous discovery, that was all.

  What he gave a damn about was this beautiful storyteller with her devastatingly blue eyes. Why had she lied to him? Why did the goblets mean so much to her?

  More particularly, why was she refusing to acknowledge what was going on between them?

  He also wanted to know what was going on with himself. The source of this mad obsession with her. What it would drive him to do to his life—to hers. Whether he had any business—any right—to continue to play games with this woman.

  And the goblets were a game. A device. A way into Holly Paynter’s mind, and maybe her heart. He just didn’t know if that was a responsible game to be playing. He gave her a sideways glance. She was a good driver; she obviously spent a great deal of time on the road. A wanderer.

  He said dryly, “You’re awfully quiet.”

  She grinned. “You sound suspicious.”

  “I’m just assuming you’re plotting and scheming how you’re going to get yourself out of this one.”

  ‘‘Not at all. I don’t have anything to say right now, although I do admit I rarely go very long without saying something.”

  “That I can believe.”

  “Even when I’m by myself, lots of times I’ll record myself—I’ll just start describing what I see and feel as I’m driving. Sound crazy?”

  “Now that I’m getting to know you, no.”

  She negotiated a sharp upward curve, her eyes on the road, her hair sticking out in as many different directions as possible. She didn’t look pale or nervous or particularly guilty. Not even irritated. Just very determined. She’s got something up her sleeve. Julian sat back, smiling. In his opinion, determination was a major measure of character. Were lost puppies going to come into it again? Whatever she was cooking up, she was bound to try to make him feel like a worm because she stole a pair of sterling-silver goblets from him.

  He couldn’t wait for her next move.

  “This van is something else,” he said, looking around. “You could live in here.”

  “Sometimes it feels as if I do, but actually, I have an apartment in Houston. As I think I told you, between performances and research I’m on the road a lot.”

  “Enjoy it?”

  “Sure. I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t. I think of myself as a modern troubadour... a sort of wandering minstrel from southeast Texas.” She smiled at him, the lights of the dashboard catching the glittering blue of her eyes, this time, he sensed, telling the truth. “Given where you live, I gather you’re a stick-in-the-mud Yankee?”

  In spite of himself—in spite of Holly Paynter’s lying, thieving ways—Julian laughed. ‘Too beautiful out there to leave, isn’t it? Or have you been talking to my brother and sister? They think I’m fast becoming the town recluse.”

  “Nothing’s too beautiful to leave once in a while. It always looks better when you come back. But I haven’t been talking to anyone in Mill Brook about you. I’m a pretty good reader of people, usually; I can spot a stick-in-the-mud when I see one.”

  He had no reason to doubt her. “Do you ever get tired of wandering?”

  “I thought we were talking about you.”

  “I’m not sure we’re talking about anything, just passing the time. Dare I ask where we’re headed?”

  She laughed, a delicious sound that filled him with an indescribable longing, and he had to restrain himself to keep from glancing back at the cot. “My, my,” she said, clearly having fun. “Here I’ve admitted to borrowing the goblets and you still don’t trust me.”

  “Borrowing? Stealing’s more like it. Since when—”

  “All in due time, all in due time.”

  Julian twitched in the patched, but comfortable, van seat. Now she’s setting me up, he thought, but for what? The woman was relentless—and doubtlessly too damned captivating for his own good. Ever since she’d blinked plaster dust out of her eyes and fastened their sapphire beauty on him, he’d endured a slow-building fire inside him…a deep, primitive longing that had damned little to do with lies about puppies and names and goblets.

  Grabbing her around the waist back at her room had nearly been his undoing. He’d acted on impulse, thinking more of ends than of means; he hadn’t been about to let her march out on him. So he’d stopped her. Simple enough. Except the feel of her soft skin under the thin cotton of her robe had deposited a few more hot coals in the pit of his stomach. He was torturing himself, wanting this woman, knowing once would never be enough, that it would only make him want her more, again and again and again. Yet she was a wanderer. He might have her once, but then she’d be gone, back to her wandering. He wasn’t going to set himself up for that kind of agony—or her. He didn’t want her to change, not because of him and his “stick-in-the-mud” ways.

  He willed away his contradictory thoughts—make sense, will you?—and watched her drive past Mill Brook Post and Beam, its lights glowing softly in the darkness of the riverbank.

  “Whoops,” she said, trod on the brakes, checked the rearview mirror for traffic and flipped her trusty van into reverse. “Kind of sneaks up on you, doesn’t it?”

  It didn’t, especially when it was dark and its lights the first in a couple of miles. But he didn’t say anything, smiling to himself as he imagined what might have been preoccupying her thoughts. Were there a few hot coals blazing inside her, distracting her from her thieving business? Or had she just been preoccupied with fine-tuning whatever lie she had in store for him?

  The van hit a patch of ice in the parking area and skidded, and she stomped on the brake, way too hard. Before Julian could warn her, they were fishtailing and out of control. Holly didn’t panic—but there wasn’t a whole lot she could do. The van finally came to a wild, crooked stop inches from Adam’s truck.

  “Whoa,”
Holly said, collapsing back against her seat and breathing out a sigh.

  Julian shook his head, unperturbed. ‘‘You learn after a while to take your foot off the brake in a skid. Just makes it worse if you stomp on the brake.”

  “I know that.”

  “You still did it.”

  “Goes against nature, not trying to stop when your vehicle’s about to careen into a river.”

  “You’re yards from the river.”

  “Whole yards, huh? Gee, that makes me feel so much better.”

  Julian laughed. “Rather deal with a hurricane, huh?”

  “You bet.”

  “I’ll make sure that spot gets sanded.”

  Holly yanked on the emergency brake and turned off the engine; he noticed a slight tremble in her hands as the lights went off. He couldn’t blame her. As many uncontrollable skids as he’d been in, he was never prepared when one happened. All things considered, hers wasn’t too bad—they’d never whipped completely around. But he doubted would appreciate such a distinction.

  “You want me to hold your hand on the way in, keep you from slipping on the ice?” he asked.

  “What makes you so sure I’ll slip and you won’t? As far as I can see, ice is ice and it doesn’t matter if you live with it or not, if you hit it wrong, down you go.” She looked at him, her lips pulled tightly together. “Besides, I’m not sure us holding hands is a good idea, you accusing me of thievery and all.”

  “You think I’d push you?” He could feel his eyes twinkling; he’d known just what she’d meant.

  “No—never mind. Let’s just get this over with.”

  She’d gotten herself so worked up, she jumped out of the van and obviously forgot about the ice. With a swear and a yell, down she went. Julian leaned over to make sure she hadn’t hit her head, but she was already grabbing the open door and pulling herself up, cursing him, Yankees in general, snow, ice, New England winters and her own damned idiocy. By the time she finished, Julian had walked, more cautiously than he’d have ever admitted to her, around the van, spied a sanded spot and quickly occupied it.

  She scowled at him. “You have something on your boots to keep you from slipping?”

  “Nope. It is icy—”

  “Well, thank you, sir, for telling me that. I don’t think I could have figured it out for myself, just having nearly dunked us in the river and rebruised my back end and all.’

  “Looks to me,” he went on, “as if Abby and David have been trying to make themselves a skating rink again. Adam will have a talk with them.”

  He put out a hand to help her, but she shook her head, which threw off her already precarious balance and her feet almost went out from under her again. But she recovered, with no help from him, and slipping and sliding, made her way to the sanded section near the walk.

  “When we were kids, we did stuff like this for fun.” Julian said.

  ‘That right there is why kids grow up.”

  “What did you do for fun, when you were a kid?”

  Her expression, pleased in spite of herself, told him she’d heard the genuine curiosity in his voice. She grinned. “Played with rattlesnakes. Come on, let’s go fetch a couple of goblets.”

  Mill Brook Post and Beam was getting ready to close for the day. Abby and David were off in a corner squabbling over a game of marbles while they waited for their father to gather his work for the evening. Beth waved at Julian and Holly from her computer, where she was immersed in one of her collection of computer games—her way of winding down before heading home. She would get so absorbed in what she was doing Julian was convinced the mill could burn down around her and she’d just gripe about losing the electricity. But for Holly Paynter, he observed, his one and only sister not only looked up and waved, but shut down her computer.

  Holly waved back, looking cheerful and perfectly at ease. She might as well have been on her own turf. Julian watched in amazement at her audacity as she strode across the old pine flooring and started exchanging pleasantries with his sister.

  With the two women preoccupied, Adam took the opportunity to look over and scowl at his younger brother. Adam Stiles hated lying to anybody, but to Holly Wingate Paynter, well-known storyteller, delightful woman, professionally interested in Mill Brook and the mill—Julian knew his brother was squirming over what he’d done. Hell, he thought, Holly Paynter can lie to anybody but nobody can lie to her without feeling guilty.

  “Come on, kids, let’s go,” Adam said. He grabbed his stack of work as his two children scrambled for their marbles, understanding that when their father said it was time to go, there was no arguing. On his way past Julian, he muttered, “You’re lucky you’re my brother. I don’t like lying and I don’t like setting people up.”

  “All in a noble cause, Adam,” Julian said.

  “Right. But maybe not the one you’re thinking of.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Adam gave his younger brother one of his rare half smiles. “All’s fair in love and war, pal—only this isn’t war, and if you’re too stubborn to admit it, I’ll just tell you myself.”

  “She’s a thief—”

  “So? Call the cops.”

  “Adam...”

  “I know. That’d spoil the fun. You don’t want my opinion, don’t ask me to do asinine things. Now I’m off. I got a couple of hungry kids to feed.”

  Julian wasn’t sorry to see him go. His older brother was scrupulously aboveboard in everything he did, including telling Julian exactly what was on his mind— no matter how uncomfortable it made him feel.

  But he had another problem to deal with, namely his sister. “Julian, you big jerk,” she hollered, marching his way. “Do you always have to jump to negative conclusions about people?”

  Sometimes he didn’t know why he didn’t move to Seattle. He glared at Holly, smirking as she followed Beth across to the reception area. “What have you been telling my sister?’’

  “My woes.” Holly said innocently, her eyes glittering.

  “I’ve got the damned goblets.” Beth interrupted. “Holly gave them to me after she swiped them from your place. They’re over on my desk. Take them, for God’s sake.”

  He just stood there, blinking like a damned fool. “What?”

  Beth huffed, indignant. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

  Julian tried to look as if he was expecting this curve, but he wasn’t a professional storyteller. He figured he just looked as if he’d been had.

  “I’ve decided to do a storytelling performance while I’m here in Mill Brook,” Holly said.

  Beth took over eagerly. “At Holly’s suggestion, we’re organizing a fund-raising benefit for the historical society. It’ll be a week from today. Holly’s donating her time. Can you believe our good fortune?”

  “When did Holly make this suggestion?”

  “This afternoon,” Beth said.

  “Right.” Another story. Julian recovered fast, although he knew it was probably too late: he’d been had again. “What’s this got to do with the goblets?”

  “I snuck them out of your house,” Holly said, “to show your sister and discuss the idea of using them as a prop in my performance. I was going to tell you about it and return them, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “But first I needed some advice from someone who knows Mill Brook and whom I felt I could trust.”

  “Namely me,” Beth supplied proudly—and with a scathing look at her notoriously skeptical brother. “Holly Wingate.”

  “That’s right,” Holly agreed, blithely lying through her previous lie about that subject. “As I explained to you, Julian, I came to Mill Brook because of the goblets. What I didn’t tell you—again, so as not to ruin my surprise—was that I’m distantly related to Zachariah Wingate. That further attracted me to the story of the goblets, the scandal, the idea of their being buried in an old New England dirt cellar.”

  Beth nodded, swallowing every word. “Ever since sh
e arrived in Mill Brook, she’d been toying with the idea of surprising us by working up a preliminary story involving the goblets and the Scandal of 1889—and premiering it in a fund-raiser for the historical society.”

  “Ah-ha,” Julian remarked.

  “And you, you cynical SOB,” Beth added, referring to the younger of her two brothers. “You had to accuse her of stealing the goblets.”

  “She did steal the goblets.”

  Beth groaned. “She was just borrowing them! Oh, Julian, for heaven’s sake, don’t be so mean minded, you should have been able to look at Holly, realize what her reputation is and given her the benefit of the doubt. Now—well, I’ve apologized for you on behalf of Mill Brook, for having the likes of you living around here, but I think you should apologize on your own behalf.”

  If Beth hadn’t been a hothead since she was six months old, her outburst might have irritated Julian, but he understood his only sister. And he was beginning to understand Holly Paynter: she always had a contingency plan.

  “An apology from Julian’s not necessary.” she said, sounding so pure. “Really. I’m just glad we got this straightened out before the police got involved.”

  Beth was having none of it. “Well, I think he owes you one.”

  Two can play this game, Julian thought. He smiled, as if he meant it, and gave Holly a mock-bow. If his sister hadn’t been standing there watching, he’d have kissed her—but their next kiss, he thought, wasn’t going to be one he’d want to have his sister around for. “My sincere apologies for having misjudged you,” he said. “Now you can let me make amends by permitting me to take you to dinner—”

  “That’s more like it,” Beth muttered, turning to her new friend from Texas.

  Holly’s only graceful choice was to remain innocent looking, smile and accept.

  Holly kept her eyes pinned to the winding road, not driving recklessly, but a little too fast. She could feel Julian’s dark gaze on her. He hadn’t said a word. No arguments, no accusations, no demands. Not a sound. It was unsettling.

  She wondered what she’d gotten herself into this time. Grandpa Wingate would be sighing and shaking his head, reserving comment on her big mouth, her impatience and her stubborn ways.