Black Dan, the pirate. So Matt lied, and he did it well, because no one ever considered that his story might not be the truth.
“That’s so sweet of you to say,” Connie replied. “We’ve been simply overwhelmed at the warm welcome we’ve received here in Newport. Especially after hearing about that famous New England aloofness all these years.”
“Aloofness-spoofness.” Rick grinned broadly. “Y’all just promote that notion to keep out the riffraff. I’ve got your Yankee number.”
“I believe you do.” Matt felt a distinct liking for the older man and his what-you-see-is-what-you-get manners. It took a tough character to build a fortune with his bare hands, and Rick O’Reilly had earned the pride he wore as if it were the Congressional Medal of Honor. Matt envied him that privilege.
“I thought I saw Scarlett talking to you,” Peyton said, her voice perfectly cordial, the grip she still had on Matt’s hand distinctly impatient. “Did she leave?”
Mother and daughter exchanged a look long on subtext and riddled with tension, but painfully civil. “Yes, she did. Covington wanted to take her for a moonlight drive.”
Peyton closed her eyes for a moment, took a slow breath. “And you gave her permission?”
“Well, of course,” Connie answered, her Southern smile skimming Peyton to settle on Matt. “Young people these days are always off on their own adventures, you know. And such a nice group of young men and women have included our Scarlett in their number. Richard and I were just talking about how easily she fits in here. But that’s Scarlett for you, never meets a stranger.”
“Did she leave in a group?” Peyton persisted. “Or just with him?”
Connie was clearly uncomfortable having this discussion in front of Matt. As, perhaps, Peyton had intended. “I trust Covington completely, Peyton. He’s a lovely boy, as I’m sure Matthew would be happy to tell you.”
Matt did not want to get in the middle of this. Not even a little.
As if sensing retreat, Peyton pressed her fingers hard into his, asking him to stay, even as she continued the visual wrestling match with her mother.
Connie didn’t yield. “You know, Matthew, I would dearly love to meet Nick Shepard. If I promise not to be so gauche as to ask for his autograph, would you, perhaps, introduce me? I understand your sister, Miranda, is engaged to his brother. Won’t that be nice, having a genuine celebrity in the family?”
A way out. A convenient segue from this family situation to less demanding company.
Matt was ready to take the opportunity offered, but suddenly, Peyton was all smiles, her voice sifting accent and assent in a slow, sweet deception. “Oh, Mother, I did not bring Matthew over here so you could steal him away from me.” Her smile shifted to him and he nearly dropped to his knees under its calculating charm. “Not after he’s just asked me to take a stroll in the garden with him. He insisted I tell you where I’d be.” Her hand slipped up his arm and settled in the crook of his elbow. “So you wouldn’t worry. Isn’t he simply the most thoughtful thing you ever laid eyes on?”
If she fluttered her eyelashes, he was out of there. But in the brief moment her gaze locked onto his, he saw only a mute appeal for him to play along. And, what the hell. This was better than the way she usually treated him. “I did suggest a moonlight stroll,” he lied, smiling down at her before he turned back to her father, man-to-man being the logical next step in this farce. “I promise I’ll bring your daughter back with roses in her cheeks,” he added, thinking that the autumn air would probably give her goose bumps as well. But then, considering that the pediatric center didn’t actually have a garden yet—it was still under construction—they wouldn’t be strolling in it long enough to feel the nip.
“See that you do.” Rick O’Reilly had already lost interest, his attention wandering to a waiter who was passing by with a tray of drinks. “You want something else to drink, Mother?”
Peyton had Matt away and out the front door before he quite knew he was on the move. “Thank you,” she said in a rush when they hit the open air. “I’m so sorry. Really, really sorry. But there wasn’t much time and I couldn’t think of a better idea. And…well, I needed you as a distraction.”
From hero to distraction in the space of a sentence. “That certainly takes the wind out of my sails,” he said. “I thought you were having a change of heart.”
“No, you didn’t.” Forehead creased, expression troubled, Peyton paced away from him, her emerald gown sashaying across the curve of her hips, rippling around her ankles. The evening dress was virtually backless, exposing an expanse of sleek, creamy skin to the cool October night, and he wondered if he should offer her his jacket.
But she seemed oblivious to the cold as she studied the parking lot, turned, and paced back to where he waited. “Where would a lovely young man with more car than sense take a gullible young girl with a propensity for trouble on Halloween night?”
“Your sister?”
“She would be the gullible young girl.”
“And Covington Locke?”
“He would be the lovely young man.”
“And you think they’ll get into trouble?”
She arched an eyebrow. “Even if it wasn’t Halloween.”
“So why did your parents let her go?”
The other eyebrow rose. This didn’t require much imagination, really. Parents who equated wealth and privilege with character and who wanted their daughter to be accepted. Two teenagers. A car. Miles of secluded beach. “Maybe they’re in a group,” he suggested, as if that would keep trouble at bay.
“I’m going after her.” Determination thrummed through the words, her nod was mere confirmation. “Tell me the top ten list of teenage hideouts,” she said. “Starting with the one you think Covington would be most likely to hit first. And then tell me how to get there.”
“We’d be here all night and halfway into tomorrow. Rhode Island has over four hundred miles of coastline, much of it easily accessible and pretty secluded at night. And that’s not even counting any number of inland places they might have gone.”
“Well, isn’t there a public curfew or something?”
This time his eyebrow lifted. “Weren’t you a teenager once?”
She sighed. “Scarlett was my curfew. She kept me from getting into who knows what kind of trouble. I’m not doing a very good job at returning the favor.”
“Maybe it’s not your job.”
“I thought you took care of your younger siblings.”
“I did. Our parents were away more than they were home.”
“And if it was your teenage sister out there, what would you do?”
“Go after her.”
She stood there, looking out into the dark as if she could will her sister back to the party inside, rubbing her arms against the chill and daring him without words to explain
