his attention turned elsewhere, Nicholas absently sat down at her table. She waited for him to become aware of her presence.
Finally, he turned to her with a start. “May I rest here a few minutes, old woman? I have an appointment and need to kill some time, but I don’t need my fortune told.”
“Welcome, Nicholas Scoville,” she whispered. “I have been waiting for you.”
“You must recognize me from photos of my great-aunt’s funeral in the papers.” He scowled at her. “But don’t think you can con me just because you know my name. I only need a spot to rest for a few minutes. Nothing more.”
She grinned with a knowing and sly smile. “You need a great deal more than that, young friend.”
For example, later tonight she knew that he would be going in search of a personal trainer to work with him toward his knee’s recovery. Passionata had already placed the right person in his path and the wheels of fate were set in motion. But that would only be the first step to his ultimate legacy.
“I have something to help you.” She reached into the chest under the table and produced a book with a heavy, inlaid covering. “This is but one part of the legacy left to Lucille Steele’s heirs. It has been bequeathed to you from my father in payment for a debt owed to her.”
“Great-aunt Lucille? If you have something owed to her, you need to contact her estate attorneys.”
“No,” she argued. “This book is a special gift, made for you alone.” Passionata shoved the journal-sized book toward him, and he automatically reached a hand out to take it from her.
Nicholas looked down at the original edition of The Grimm Brothers’ Children’s and Household Tales with its exquisite gold-and-ivory inlaid cover. She could see his fascination and curiosity grow.
“You must be mistaken,” he said once again, without looking away from the book. “Perhaps someone in my mother’s family is a first edition collector. But I am not.”
“Look for your name burnished on the back, Nicholas Scoville. This book will lead you to accept your destiny. Accept it. Cherish it.”
She watched him slowly turn the cover over in his hand before she silently took her leave. When he finally looked up with questions in his eyes, he found himself sitting all alone at the table.
But Passionata would be watching. Watching and waiting for her father’s legacy to weave its magic for Nicholas Scoville.
One
Six months later
Some battles even the bravest, strongest human being on earth should not attempt.
Annie Riley sighed and held the phone away from her ear. Facing the wrath of her mother, Maeve Mary Margaret O’Brien Riley, even just on the telephone from all the way back home in South Boston, was one of those battles.
But her mother was over a thousand miles away, and Annie had grown up and become stronger in the past six months that she’d been away from home. She put the earpiece back to her ear and tried to interrupt the steady stream of half Gaelic, half English words, spoken with determined but soft and lilting tones.
“Ma, please listen,” she begged. “I’ll be perfectly safe, staying on the island. The weatherman says the storm will probably miss us by fifty miles.”
“Your brother, Michael, tells me that this hurricane is a hundred miles across and headed right in your direction.”
Bless her older brother’s devilish little Irish heart. So what if Michael worked at a television station and probably had access to good weather information. He was so not a weather forecaster. He’d only mentioned the storm’s width to their mother in order to cause trouble.
She missed her family, but having so many older brothers and sisters was one of the very reasons Annie had decided she needed to leave home—leave South Boston—leave the entire continental United States.
“Does that boss of yours insist that you stay?” her mother demanded. “I’ll bet he’s already left, hasn’t he?”
“No. As a matter of fact, Nick refuses to leave the island even though two of the research facility team leaders have volunteered to stay.” Annie wouldn’t tell her mother that she’d had a difficult time convincing Nick that she too should stay on the island. The man was just plain stubborn.
“Oh, I hadn’t thought of those lovely fish. What will happen to them in the storm?”
“Not fish, Ma. Dolphins are mammals. They even breathe air, just like people do. And there’s a big elaborate plan for what will happen to them in the storm.” This conversation was getting her nowhere.
“Well, your boss should stay,” her mother declared forcefully. “The Scoville family owns most of that island. But you’re just an employee. You have nothing there to lose…but your life.”
“Please don’t be so melodramatic, Ma. I’ll be fine. Caribbean islands come through hurricanes all the time with no problem. The islanders here have already boarded up everything for us, and I’ve put extra food, water and batteries in the big house’s pantry. We’re all set.”
“Ah, dervla,” her mother sighed, using the old Gaelic word for daughter. “Must you stay on that private island? You’ll give your poor mother a heart attack with such worry.”
Her mother was pulling out all the big guns now. Hide, Annie Riley, she warned herself. A thousand miles away wasn’t far enough when her mother began her pity routine.
Annie took a deep breath and decided to try a different tactic altogether. “You have six other kids and nine grandchildren to worry about, Ma. Some of them have real problems. This is just a hurricane. You know no Riley would ever let a little storm stop them.
“By the way,” she continued, sure her plan to distract her mother would work. “How is Da doing with his rehabilitation after the heart attack? It’s been nearly a year. Is he sticking to it?”
The mention of her grandchildren and her husband’s close call with death slowed down Maeve Riley’s words. Annie knew she had won this battle by diversion, even though every member of her family was truly just fine. But she could never hope to win the war. Her mother would forever be overprotective of her baby daughter. Annie had accepted that fact long ago—and had finally found a way to leave home so she could live her own life.
As she listened with one ear to her mother go on about her loved ones not practicing the Irish good sense God gave them, Annie turned her thoughts to what she could do to best help the man she’d come to think of as a lost storybook prince—Nicholas Scoville, the man for whom she would gladly face a hurricane any day.
Annie stuck her head out of the one door left ajar and glanced hesitatingly up at the deep gray sky. It was a funny shade. Not the ugly black that the skies here sometimes became during a wild tropical thunderstorm.
No, this sky was the color of her father’s Sunday suit, a kind of pigeon-gray. And huge beige clouds swirled so quickly past above where she stood that they made the whole heavens look as if some leprechaun had hit the fast forward button on a DVD player.
The storm must be getting
