style="font-size:15px;"> “Good mornin’, Caroline.” His voice was deep and thick. The way he pronounced her name, with a slight roll of the r, sounded like music.
She advanced to the table and gripped the top rung of the chair opposite him. “I want you to leave.”
He took a long draw of coffee, then plucked a sausage link from his plate and bit off half. Grinning as he chewed, he said, “’Tisna your house, is it, but your father’s. I’m here on his approval.”
“My father doesn’t make a habit of inviting drifters to share our table. What did you do? Follow me here last night? Did you sleep in the woods and wait for your opportunity?”
His grin faded. “I’m no’ a drifter.”
Her nails dug into the polished wood. Her mother would throttle her if she marred the furniture. Inhaling deeply, she lowered her arms to her sides. She would not allow him to provoke her. Dealing with irritating people and situations was commonplace.
“Who are you then?”
Determined footsteps echoed in the hall and her father entered, newspaper rolled and tucked beneath his arm. His salt-and-pepper hair was combed off his high forehead. Dressed in a severe black suit, a gold tack pinned into his red tie, he’d long ago perfected the image of a successful businessman.
Caroline used to be in awe of him, of his accomplishments and the respect he had commanded in their former home of Charleston, the state of South Carolina and beyond. Now, whenever she was in the same room with him, she questioned if his character was as sterling as she’d thought. Was his success based on honest practices? Or was he, like other kings of industry she’d read about, pursuing wealth at the expense of integrity? The documents the blackmailer had provided as an impetus to meet his demands were upstairs in her room. Copies, of course, in case she was tempted to destroy the evidence. But were they copies of authentic documents or were they falsified?
Albert spared her a brief glance. “Ah, Caroline, I see you’ve met Duncan. He’s taking George’s place.” Striding over to the silver urn, he dispensed coffee into his cup and stirred in a generous portion of cream. “How did you fare last night, Duncan? Does the cabin suit you?”
“Aye, sir. I slept like a bairn.”
George? Cabin? “Y-you hired him?”
Mr. McKenna’s gaze, bright with humor, shifted to her. He ducked his head, but not before she saw his slow grin. He was enjoying her shock.
“Yes, Caroline.” Looking down his hawkish nose at her, Albert addressed her as one would a difficult child. “Mr. McKenna is our stable manager now. He came highly recommended from the Stuarts.”
“Your friends in North Carolina?”
He nodded. Leaning against the sideboard, he said, “I expect you to make him feel welcome. In fact, you can give him the grand tour of the property. I’ve got a meeting at the bank this morning.”
“Bank? Why are you going there?” Anxiety rose up to choke her. “Is there a problem?”
His brows pulled together over his nose. “You’re acting strangely this morning. Perhaps you need to eat your breakfast instead of peppering me with questions.” He started for the door, pausing but for a moment to address Duncan. “We’ll talk later.”
Duncan dipped his head. “Aye, sir.”
When they were alone again, he motioned with his fork and winked at her. “I recommend the flapjacks.”
She stiffened. “I don’t need your recommendations, Mr. McKenna. Cook has been with us since I was eleven.” Stalking over to the sideboard, she filled her plate without paying attention to what she was doing, her thoughts focused on one thing—her life had just gotten more complicated.
When she took the seat across from him, he blinked in surprise. “A hearty appetite, I see. Wouldn’t have guessed it. But then, I learned a long time ago not to judge people on their appearance.”
The arrow hit home. Sipping her tea, she wished he’d leave.
“Does Cook have a name?”
The cup rattled as she replaced it in the saucer. “Of course she does.”
“What is it?”
Caroline raked her memory and came up empty. The buxom, wiry-haired woman who prepared their meals had always been referred to as Cook. “If you’re so interested, why don’t you ask her?”
He smirked, his gaze condemning. Duncan McKenna thought she was a snob.
“You don’t know it. To you, she and the other staff aren’t people. They’re simply fixtures here to make your life easy.”
His condemnation shouldn’t sting. He was a crude, ill-educated stranger who was clearly envious of those who’d achieved success.
“You don’t know anything about me, Mr. McKenna. Who’s the one judging now?”
Surging to her feet, she tossed her napkin over her plate and opted to escape. These days, trying to protect her father’s reputation consumed all her energy. She didn’t have the capability to cope with an infuriating employee on top of everything else.
He’d driven her from her breakfast. Not exactly gentlemanly behavior. Nor was it wise to provoke the boss’s daughter.
Duncan scraped his chair back and hurried into the high-ceilinged, papered hallway in the center of the house, catching up to her on the veranda that ran the length of the rear exterior. Pots of cheerful yellow blossoms lined the white railing and flanked the steps. White wicker chairs were arranged to take advantage of the pastoral view, verdant fields that gave way to forest framed by majestic, blue-toned mountains.
“Caroline, wait.”
On the crest of the steps, she slowly pivoted. Her delicate features were arranged into a controlled mask, but he could see the rapid pulse leaping at her neck. She wasn’t as nonchalant as she’d like him to think.
“I don’t recall giving you leave to address me by my first name.”
“You were right back there. I don’t know you and have no business commenting on your character.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “You didnae touch your food. I’ll leave you alone to enjoy your breakfast.”
She regarded him with a less-than-friendly gaze. Despite her attitude, she presented a vision that, if a man wasn’t careful, could blind him to her obvious faults. Her sapphire-blue dress, a perfect choice for her fair complexion, draped over her figure like a glove. Her white-blond tresses were arranged in a sophisticated style, parted down the side and swept into a tight chignon at the back of her head. There were no diamonds today, only a ribbon choker about her neck and a blue-and-white cameo nestled in the dip of her collarbone.
“I lost my appetite.” Presenting her back to him, she pointed to the stables situated close to the house. “Let’s get this over with.”
A
