looked out the back window at the residential area they’d left behind.
“Something wrong?”
“No. I…well, I assumed you lived in Eastridge,” she admitted.
He shook his head and kept driving. And Emma, who had lived in Buttonwood for several years, realized she didn’t have a clue where they were. The paved road, only wide enough to accommodate two passing cars, curved and climbed. Then they rounded a sharp outcropping of rocks and shot down again, straight toward a spectacular house that seemed an actual part of the ridge that overlooked Buttonwood.
Kyle pulled up into a drive that was narrow simply because two-thirds of it was being excavated. He parked in front of the house before turning to look at Emma. He hoped she liked it. Only because he wanted her to be comfortable here, he rapidly assured himself. But she was facing out the side window and he couldn’t see her reaction, except for the fingertips she drummed silently against her thigh, which was draped with her purple-and-pink skirt. “I realize it’s not Eastridge, but do you think it’ll do?”
Her fingers went still and she looked at him. “It’s big.” Then her eyes widened slightly and her cheeks colored. “And…lovely.”
He smiled faintly. “Did you expect a circus tent or something?”
“No. No, of course not.” Her lips pressed together for a moment. “Who is Baxter?”
“Baxter?” Kyle looked beyond Emma toward the house. How to describe the man. His conscience? His friend? “My housekeeper,” he said after a moment. “But he’d say butler. He’ll be crazy about Chandler. You’ll probably see more of him than me, actually.”
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