had no idea….”
“After his second heart attack last fall, your father indicated to Break Away that Holly Cottage would no longer be available to them. He was planning to sell all his holdings—and he did divest himself of all the apartment buildings—but he never got around to putting the log house up for sale. Something seemed to be holding him back.” He returned the birth certificate to Caprice. “I don’t know what it was.”
“I should like to find out.”
“I’ll make inquiries—”
“Thank you, Michael, but this is something I want to do myself. I’ll come into the office on Monday to attend to the paperwork we discussed, and next day I’ll fly out to Seattle. I’ve looked up Hidden Valley on the map—it’s a couple of hours’ drive from the city. I’ll rent a car at the airport.”
“You’ll stay at Holly Cottage?”
“It’ll be habitable?”
“Oh, sure, a caretaker looks after it.”
“Then yes, I’ll stay there.”
“For how long?”
“For as long as it takes.” Caprice’s ebony silk blouse clung to her ribs as she drew in a deep breath. “Can you get me a key?”
“No problem. Come to think of it,” the lawyer added as he prepared to leave, “it may not be a bad idea for you to take off for a while, have a vacation in the country. You’ve been under a lot of pressure over the past couple of years with your dad’s failing health….”
Caprice waited till after Michael Duggan had gone before she opened the drawer again and withdrew the only other item she had found there: a photograph.
The snap was of a modest two-story log house, with a very lovely brunette posed at the front door.
On the back of the snap was written, in her father’s strong familiar hand, just one word. Angela.
Caprice felt her heart twist as she looked at it. Her mother’s name had been Kristin.
Who was she, this dark stranger who had been part of her father’s past? And why had he never talked about her?
It was a mystery.
And one she was determined to solve.
‘Will! Will! Dammit, where is that girl?”
Willow Ryland woke with a start. Her father’s voice, faint though it was, had penetrated her dreams. Oh, cripes, she thought frantically as she scrambled off the rocking chair where she’d dozed off, I’m in big trouble if he finds me up here!
She whipped off all the jewelry she’d bedecked herself with earlier—the silver charm bracelet, the ropes of pink pearls, the blue earrings, the gold brooch that spelled out Angela—and tucked them away swiftly in the bottom of the old trunk, under the silk dresses and scarves and straw hats and wonderfully shiny high-heeled sandals, before lowering the lid carefully so as not to make any noise.
“Will! Where are you and that damned dog?”
At the word dog, Fang stirred and gave a protesting growl. He’d been dozing, too, his squat little body stretched out on the planked floor in a beam of April sunshine that slanted through the attic skylight.
“Hush!” Willow hissed as she clambered onto the rickety table that sat below the skylight. Raising herself on her toes, she peered out. And—oh, cripes!—there he was, striding around the car park, looking every which way. For her. Then all at once he turned on his heel and strode toward the lodge. His face, she noticed, was set in a dark scowl.
“Oh, hell!” The bad word popped out before she could stop it. She’d have to say an extra prayer that night. “Fang, let’s get out of here!”
The black and white mongrel’s claws clicked as he scurried across the floor and then lolloped down the narrow winding stairs that led to the third floor. Willow climbed down after him backward, rolling her eyes as the dog lost his footing and his roly-poly body landed with a fat thud against the door at the bottom of the steps.
Cautiously, she opened the door a crack. She heard nothing. She crept out, with Fang rudely pushing ahead, and closed the door again. She turned the key in the lock, and biting her lip, planted the key where she’d first found it a year ago, in the shadowy cranny of a glass-doored bookcase, across from one of the guest bedrooms.
Then—heart thumping like mad—she sped to the passage and the landing.
Fang was already halfway down to the second floor. And when she caught up with him, she gulped at the sight of her father in the foyer. He was scratching a hand through his wavy black hair and muttering to himself.
“Dad!” she called. “Hi!”
He raised his head sharply, and she saw relief flood his eyes before sparks of irritation sent it flying.
“Where the hell have you been?” he asked. “I’ve been looking everywhere for—”
“Dad.” She used the same tone Miss Atkinson had used last week when the teacher had sent her to the principal’s office for wrestling with her best friend Mark at recess. “You’re not allowed to say hell. Remember?”
She saw his lips twitch. “Right. Sorry, Will. I’ll try to do better.”
Willow grabbed the banister, swung her leg over and swooped down with her back to him. He caught her—as she’d known he would—just as she shot off the end.
“So…where were you?” he said gruffly as he set her down. “You and that stupid mutt of yours?”
“Oh, just busy,” she said, cocking her head at him. And just loving him, like she always did. “Were you calling me? I didn’t hear you. What did you want?”
“Dinner’s ready,” he said. “Bacon burgers.”
Her very favorite dinner!
Happily, she skipped alongside him as they made their way along the passage leading to their private quarters, to the cozy little kitchen—which was her favorite room in the lodge, second only to the attic.
And this was her favorite time of year. The ski season was over, the summer season hadn’t started, the staff were on holiday, so she had her dad all to herself. Things would be different in two weeks when the lodge would be jam-packed with guests…and then he’d be off into the wilderness with a bunch of rich folks who wanted to do all that neat stuff like rock climbing and white-water rafting.
For now, she wanted to enjoy being alone with her dad. Who was the best dad in the world.
She’d eaten two bacon burgers, washed down with milk, before she noticed something that turned her blood cold.
She’d forgotten to take off the wedding ring.
It glowed like a firefly on her middle finger—the only finger it fit. And it was a miracle, truly a miracle, that he hadn’t noticed it yet.
Palms
