A Proposal Worth Waiting For

She took a deep breath and tried to smile. “I know. But I have to look and see.” She met his gaze and tried to maintain her dignity, but she knew he could see the pleading in her eyes. “Please, Marc. I really need to see what’s in the attic.”

He gazed at her for a long moment. The sweet, quiet way she’d asked him made him want to help her more than anything else! If she would put away the threat of antagonism that always seemed just a comment away, they might get on quite well with each other.

He shrugged. “Let’s go take a look.”

To her chagrin, he shoved the attic door open with no problem at all and then followed her up into the dusty area. The light from his flashlight made eerie shadows as it flickered through the beams. The ceiling was low and they both had to bend over to make their way toward where boxes and old suitcases were stacked.

Torie sorted through the boxes quickly, then turned to the luggage. Most items belonged to other people, but there was a suitcase that looked familiar. Marc gave the locks a jab with his pocketknife and they sprang open.

Torie stared at what was inside, more moved than she’d expected. These were the remnants of another life, far, far away, but she recognized them immediately. Her mother’s wool coat. Her own band uniform. Her father’s sweaters.

And beneath all that, a photo album and a stack of papers. She went through the papers anxiously, heart beating. Marc watched her, wondering what she was looking for. He didn’t ask again.

She’d set the photo album aside carelessly and he wondered why. He picked it up and leafed through it while she searched, holding the flashlight high. There was that chubby young girl Torie had once been. Seeing the pictures made him smile.

“How did you manage to make such a big change from the annoying little squirt you used to be?” he asked her dryly.

“Magic,” she shot back, not looking up from her search. “I traded a cow for a handful of beans.”

“Right.”

The pictures showed a loving family living at Shangri-La—his home—and none of them were any relation to him. Sort of weird. Jarvis the butler was just as he remembered him—full dignity with a touch of reserve. He remembered Torie’s mother, too, a pretty woman with a slightly worried, fragile look.

“Darn,” Torie muttered at last, sitting back. “It’s not here.”

He waited for a moment, but she didn’t say any more, and he moved impatiently.

“What? What are you looking for?”

She ignored him and began to put things back in the suitcase.

Assuming she would want the photo album, he held onto it.

“Take a look at these pictures,” he said, opening the album to a shot of Torie in her younger, more rounded past.

She took a deep breath and shook her head, avoiding even looking his way. “I can’t,” she said, her voice strangely choked. “Not now. I just can’t.”

He watched her curiously, touched by the emotion he heard in her voice. Life hurt pretty much everybody, one way or another, but it seemed life had really done a number on Torie. Still, he couldn’t believe she wouldn’t want the pictures eventually. He tucked the album under his arm and led the way back down into the house.

“What now?” he asked her.

She looked tired and a bit defeated. Not finding whatever it was that she’d been looking for seemed to have crushed her for the time being. He had a fleeting thought that this might be the time to press her, to poke around in her psyche and get to the truth of what she was doing here, what she really hoped to accomplish. But when he looked at her sad, pretty face, he didn’t have the heart for it. Maybe later.

“I guess I might as well go back to bed,” she said, holding her chin high with seeming effort. “I can’t really look any place else until it’s light.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to give me a hint?”

She glanced at him, then away. “What do you mean?”

“What are you looking for? What did you think you would find in that suitcase?”

She stared at him and he knew she was mulling over her options.

“You never know,” he said softly. “I might have already found it. I might have hidden it myself.”

“Hidden what?” she challenged, blinking rapidly.

He shrugged. “What you’re searching for. Why don’t you tell me what it is?”

She took a deep breath, looking at him sideways. He was sounding so reasonable and looking so gorgeous. It wasn’t fair. Marc wasn’t fair. He thought he could manipulate her. And maybe he wasn’t far off the track. He had to know she’d always had a thing for him.

She had to convince him that all embers of that fire had gone cold long ago. And they had! After all, he was one of the people, one of the family, who had been so cruel to her father. She had to remember that.

But she was at a dead end. She’d searched the caves. She’d searched the attic. She had no other leads.

“My mother thinks my father had a journal,” she said softly, avoiding his gaze. “She thinks he put things down that might help me—might show the way to the truth.” She shook her head. “I don’t know. I never saw it. I was just hoping...”

She stopped. Tears were choking her voice. He stared at her, wanting to take her in his arms. She looked so sad, so lonely. But he wasn’t ready to give her the benefit of the doubt. Not yet.

What was it about this woman that seemed to crash right through all his normal defenses and touch him at his core? They were fighting over something here and he couldn’t concede. Not without getting something for his side.

“I’ve never found a journal,” he told her. At least he could be honest with her. “Are you sure it exists?”

She shook her head, avoiding meeting his gaze. “I’m not sure of anything.” She looked up at him, tears shimmering in her haunted eyes. “I’m not even sure my father was innocent. What do you think of that?”

He raked his hard fingers through his hair, leaving spikes in every direction. He could see she was tortured and he wanted to grab her and hold her and tell her it was going to be okay—but he couldn’t.

“I don’t think,” he told her, mostly because he didn’t know what to think of that statement. “I just react.”

She nodded. She shouldn’t have said that. It was true, but no one else needed to know. She couldn’t un-say it, but she could throw some other things out there into the mix to lessen its impact. Hopefully.

“Okay. React to this.” She took a deep breath and her green eyes looked like bits of shattered emeralds. “I’ve hated your family for fifteen years. I think you caused my father’s suicide. If it hadn’t been for the way you all handled it and how disgraced you made him feel, he would be alive today.” Her voice was firm, but the edges were trembling, just a little bit. “What’s your side say?”

Her words stung. He turned away. His natural reaction was to lash out at her, but he held it back. She was talking crazy. Her words, her emotions, her reasoning, everything was jumping all over the place. She wasn’t really making sense. And maybe that was because she really didn’t have any solid proof of anything. It was all conjecture, all an attempt to fill in a past she just couldn’t understand.

Understandable. Still, he had to balk when he heard her using his family as an excuse to cover up her family’s heartbreak. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t in pain. He could see it. He could feel it. Her soul was writhing in agony.

And he had a sudden insight. If it was true what she’d told him, if she really didn’t know for sure if her father was guilty, if this was more a search for truth than a search for proof—then she had a kind of inner integrity that was rare to find.

Still, it didn’t mean she couldn’t be capable of some pretty underhanded methods to get to where she wanted to go. He’d seen enough of the raw and untamed side of humanity to know it was always lurking. Never trust anyone. That was his motto.

“My father was an honorable man,” he said softly, leashing his anger. “If he did something that hurt your father, I’m sure he had a reason. He didn’t have a mean bone in his body.”

Tears were sliding silently down her face. Her mouth twisted. “I know,” she whispered. “I...I loved your father, too.” Her voice broke. “He was so kind to me. I can’t believe... Don’t you see?” She hugged herself, arms wrapped tightly. “That’s part of the problem. It just doesn’t make sense that he would treat my father like an evil person. He...he...”

She couldn’t go on. He started to reach for her, but she turned away. “Torie,” he said, but she shook her head and moved further away.

“Let’s go back.” She started off down the trail. He followed close behind.

He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. Everything in him rebelled at her calling his father a villain. He didn’t believe it. He’d known the man too well.

But at the same time, he suspected her father had probably been treated badly. Why? How? Had he really been guilty of the original theft? Or what? He wanted to get to the bottom of this as much as she did.

“By the way,” he said as they walked along the path. “The Greeks have gone.”

She stopped and whirled, staring up at him, remembering the shouts she’d thought she heard in the night.

“What? What happened?”

He shrugged. “Turns out they weren’t very Greek. And they definitely weren’t on the up and up.”

Her shoulders sagged and her face was truly sad. “Oh no. I liked the Greeks.”

“Sure you did,” he said as they started off again. “That’s part of their game. They spend a lot of time at events like this, or resort gatherings, endearing themselves to people with money and trying to get some of it.”

She sighed sadly, looking up at the house as they approached. All the windows were dark. Hopefully everyone was asleep—even Marge and Jimmy. “So there’s no idyllic little Greek supper club?”

“No.”

“No little Greek grandmother with secret recipes from the old country?”

He gave her a half smile. “Sorry.”

She shook her head. “It’s a real shame. I liked that story.”

“Yes.”

They’d reached the porch and slowly took the steps, one at a time, until they were in front of the door.

“How did you find out?” she asked, turning to face him again.

His face took on a hooded look and he shoved his hands down into the pockets of his jacket. “I’ve got some friends in law enforcement. I made a few calls.”

She looked at him, tilting her head. Was that a subtle hint that she and Carl had better watch their steps?

“What did your sources have to say about me?” she asked tartly.

He started to grin, then cut it short. “I’ll let you know when I get the full report.”

She reacted badly. That wasn’t something she had wanted to hear. “You see this face?” she asked him, pointing at it. “Once again, this isn’t adoring reverence for you. This is what we call anger. Anger and resentment and...”

His kiss stopped her words. He couldn’t help it. It had to be done. Right now, she needed to be kissed, and he was the man to do it.

It was just a kiss. A kiss wasn’t a surrender. It didn’t mean he believed her. It didn’t have anything to do with guilt or innocence. It was just an expression of desire, or maybe need, or maybe something even deeper. But that hardly mattered at all. It just was.

She gasped, her hands rising up to push him away, but they didn’t try very hard. His mouth was hot and his arms were strong and she began to melt. And just as she began to enjoy it, he pulled away.

“Good night, Torie Sands,” he said roughly, hunching deeper into his jacket. “Go to bed.”

She felt slightly dizzy. “Where...where are you going?”

“I think I’ll just take one more turn around the area. See what’s shakin’.” He gave her a quick grin as he turned to go. “See you tomorrow. Breakfast is at nine.”

CHAPTER SIX

BREAKFAST was served on a wicker table on the terrace overlooking a clear blue ocean beneath a clear blue sky. It was a beautiful morning. Just what any real estate agent would have ordered if such a thing were possible.

Torie slipped into a chair beside Carl. He looked dreadful, like a man with a serious hangover.

“What’s the verdict?” she murmured to him as she reached for a small glass of orange juice that was perched tantalizingly on a silver tray.

“The verdict?” he responded sharply, jumping as though the word startled him.

She looked at him impatiently. “What do you think of Shangri-La? Are you going to buy the place?”

“Buy the...? Oh, uh...” He moved restlessly in his chair. “I haven’t seen enough yet,” he muttered. Then he seemed to remember who she was and he frowned at her fiercely. “And you haven’t been much help. You keep disappearing.”

“You were the one disappearing last night,” she said. “What were you looking for out there in the dark?”

He glared at her, then leaned closer to talk without being heard by others. “Look, way back when we first started talking about this, you told me you used to go with old man Huntington on his rock-hunting trips around the estate. Didn’t you?”

She nodded carefully, wondering where he was going with this.

“And I asked you to draw up a map of all those places you used to go with him. His favorites. Didn’t I?”

“Sure.”

He glared. “You didn’t put the caves on that map.”

The caves. She should have known it would come back to the caves.

“Yes I did. I sketched in where they are along the coast.”

“Vaguely. No detail. And when I went out there, I realized there was no way I was going to be able to search them.” His nostrils flared. “They’re like a maze. It must take forever to know where all the hiding places are in those caves. You didn’t give me a clue.”

She stared at him, wondering at the intensity she was seeing in his face. “You know Carl, maybe if you told me what you’re looking for, I could help you better.”

She stared at him. He stared back.

Come on, Carl, she thought silently. Tell me you think you’re going to find the Don Carlos Treasure. Admit it. Let’s get it out in the open.

He took a deep breath, his eyes smoldering with anger. She almost thought he’d heard what her mind was thinking.

“Just make a map of the caves,” he said. “That’s all I ask.”

She smiled and waved as Lyla called out a good-morning greeting, walking out toward the edge of the terrace. Her smile faded as she realized where Lyla was headed. Marc was sitting on the broad stone wall, dangling his legs over the side. Lyla laughed as she kicked off her stiletto heels and prepared to join him.

Torie turned back to the man beside her, feeling a bit more grumpy than she had seconds before.

“Carl, I was a kid when I knew the caves that well. That was fifteen years ago. Do you really expect me to remember...?”

He leaned so close his hot, thick breath was on her cheek. “What were you doing down there yesterday?” he demanded. “What’s in those caves?”

“Nothing,” she said back, recoiling and frowning at him. “That isn’t the only place I went. I walked up and down the beach, remembering things from my childhood and just enjoying seeing it all again. I walked past the boathouse and went into the canyon to the little redwood forest.”

“Redwood forest? What redwood forest?” He pulled out the map and curled it open at one end. “You didn’t put any redwood forest on here.”

“I guess I forgot it,” she said coolly. She’d had about enough of Carl and she welcomed the chance to throw him off the scent of the caves. “Here, let me fix that.” She snatched up the map and opened it to the coast area, grabbing a pen and quickly drawing in a tree where the canyon should be. “There it is.” She handed the map back to him. “Have yourself a ball,” she told him caustically.

She started to gather her things with every intention of leaving Carl and going over to the stone wall to see what Marc and Lyla were doing, but it occurred to her that she ought to warn him.

She turned and looked at him, wondering how she could have let herself pretend this man was sane and safe. Anyone could have seen he was nothing but trouble—ugly trouble. And now she was stuck with him. She sighed, but resigned herself to a duty warning.

“You heard about the Greeks?”

“No.” He glanced around and didn’t see them. “What?”

“It appears they were not what they seemed.” She gave a little cough of a laugh. “Just like us. Funny, no?”

He looked uneasy. “What are you talking about?”

She leaned close and spoke softly. “Marc has connections with local authorities. They have connections with the feds. He asked for a background check and got one. The Greeks are not even Greek, and they are out on their ears.”

He stared. “Are you kidding me?”

She shrugged. “Would I kid about a thing like that?”

He rose, shoving his plate aside. “I’ve got to get out of here.” He glanced at his watch. “Okay, I’ll be back.” He looked up and jabbed a finger in her direction. “And I want you to be available at noon.” He glared at her fiercely. “You’re going to lead me through the caves.”

She swallowed hard. Something about his obvious burning anger was beginning to put her on edge. “I told Marge I would join the group in a hike along the cliff after breakfast. I don’t know if we’ll be back in time to...”

“Be back,” he said coldly, almost snarling at her, his eyes suddenly looking very bloodshot. Reaching out, he gripped her upper arm painfully. “I’m going to need you. Understand?”

“Okay,” she said a bit breathlessly. “Okay. Take it easy. I’ll be here.”

He nodded, obviously trying to get a grip on his emotions. “Good. I’ll hold you to that.” And then he turned away, walking quickly in the direction of the stairs and toward the rocky shoreline.

She rubbed her arm, watching him go. The man was beginning to scare her. She turned, planning to go to where Marc was, but he was gone. Lyla sat alone, swinging her legs over the side, and that was not an inviting scenario. Torie turned back toward the house. It was probably time to get ready for the hike.

* * *

An hour later, the hike was in full swing. Their little group was straggling toward the cliffs about half a mile from the house. Torie was walking behind Frank and Phoebe and wishing she knew where Marc had gone. She was on edge and conflicted and not sure what to do next.

She regretted allying herself with Carl. He was obviously some sort of underhanded crook, and she didn’t want to be associated with him any longer. She knew it looked bad, that it made her look less than honest herself. What did Marc think? She was afraid she might just know.

Marc had been her crush from the time she was about ten years old. He’d never looked twice at her, except for various, vague incidents in their past. But on the whole, he didn’t know she existed most of the time. But she certainly knew about him.

She’d watched him grow from a gawky but adorable teenager to a slender willow of a young man, strong and sharp, smart and quick, brave but restless. He’d gone off to join the military because he needed something in his life, needed to do something, be somebody. She’d only been fifteen the last time she’d seen him, but she’d known what he wanted to do and she’d understood his hunger for life. She’d felt a bit of an echo of it in her own heart at the time.

And now he’d come home, thicker, stronger, more wary of life and its challenges. He’d been through some things out there in the world, things he wasn’t going to talk about. You could see it in his eyes. He didn’t seem to trust anyone or anything anymore. It made you wonder what he’d seen, what had been done to him, what he’d had to do to others that he might regret. He was a man.

And when he’d kissed her, he’d been her dream come true. She’d gone up to her room and slipped into her bed and stared at the ceiling, and gone over it—feeling his mouth on hers again, catching her breath in a gasp of sensual excitement like she’d never felt before.

No. Sorry, world. Those embers were not dead after all. The smoldering excitement of Marc was very much alive in her heart and soul, and she knew it would be hard to smother it at this point. Hard—or maybe darn near impossible.

She shook herself to get rid of the dream and forced her focus back on the hike. Marge was calling out instructions.

“If you keep a sharp eye out, you may just catch sight of sea otters hanging around that black rock you see there in the bay,” she was calling back to everyone. “And up the beach a bit, you’ll see sea lions basking in the morning sun.”

Their group consisted of Phoebe and Frank, Lyla and the Texan and Torie herself. And, of course, Marge, their fearless leader.

It was a beautiful morning but Torie couldn’t conjure up much interest in the scenery. She was wondering what Carl was getting into and if Marc was there to stop him. She should be there, too. What was she doing going on a nature hike when time was racing, running away from her? She needed to get back to the project at hand.

Last night hadn’t done her much good, but it had clarified a few issues. She knew now that Carl wasn’t interested in buying Shangri-La, never had been. What she didn’t know was what he was after. Something, that was for sure. And he seemed pretty crazed about getting to his goal.

One of the first things she planned to do was to see if she could find some of the old employees, someone who might remember her father. She knew it wouldn’t be easy. But surely someone knew someone. In order to get to a position to make any headway, she would have to get friendly with an employee.

The Greeks were crooks and they were gone. The Texan wanted to find evidence of gold-mine potential on the property. Marge wanted to get enough money to head for the Bahamas—maybe with Jimmy in tow. So what about Phoebe and Frank? Maybe they actually wanted to buy the property. Who knew?

Marc didn’t want his ancestral home sold out from under him. Torie could understand that. And he didn’t trust her, but he didn’t hate her either. Would that change? Would he start to hate her once he knew....knew about the little bag of Spanish gold doubloons she had hidden in the lining of her suitcase? She shuddered and closed her eyes, stricken and breathless just thinking about it. She had to find the truth—find it before anyone found those doubloons.

The sea lions came into view. Barking nastily, they flopped their huge bodies on the warm sand and threatened each other with dire warnings of terrible sea-lion battles to come. The little tour gathered around the edge of the cliff and stared down at them, fascinated. There was nothing cuddly about these beasts.

“Take pictures,” Marge advised. “But don’t try to go down and get close to them. They’re not friendly and just might hurt you if they get mad enough.”

Lyla came to stand next to Torie as they watched the noisy animals complain about their lot in life.

“They remind me of some ladies I lunch with,” Lyla said with a laugh. “Never happy.” She turned to look at Torie. “So, are you and Carl ready to make a bid on this place?”

Torie laughed. That seemed so far from her reality now. “Not yet, I’m afraid. How about you?”

Lyla sighed. “I do love it.” She arched one carefully painted eyebrow. “Now if the son came as part of the estate, I might do some serious thinking about it.”

“You mean Marc?” Torie said, stunned at the thought. “I doubt he’s for sale.”

“Oh no, honey.” Lyla was the one laughing now. “Everybody’s for sale. You just have to find the right price.”

She was still laughing as she started toward the other side of the area, as though she found Torie immensely naive and it really amused her. Torie bit her lower lip to keep from saying something mean, but the encounter didn’t improve her mood.

The incessant barking of the seals was setting her nerves on edge. She turned away from the cliff, shading her eyes and looking back toward the house. As though summoned by her impatience, a large horse appeared, coming toward them.

She stood where she was, transfixed, staring at the approaching animal. And then it got close enough to make out the identity of the rider. Marc, of course.

Marc. She felt as though there was something glowing inside her. She knew he was coming for her. She stood where she was and waited.

“Oh look,” Lyla cried, noticing him too and beginning to wave. “Marc’s got a horse. Oh, I love riding! Marc! Over here!”

As he rode closer, his mother started yelling at him, but he didn’t pay any attention to her. The horse was big and black, a beautiful mare, and he reined her in as he came near, making her walk softly up to where Torie was waiting.

She resisted the temptation to give Lyla a smile, but she had one for Marc.

“Come on,” he said, leaning down and reaching for her hand. “I want to take you to the village. There’s someone there you’re going to want to talk to.”

She reached up to meet him and he pulled her up in front of him, effortlessly. She slipped into place with hardly a wasted move. Marge was still yelling. She looked back and smiled at them all. And then they were off.

They rode along the edge of the cliff, the blue ocean on one side, the stand of tall, green eucalyptus trees on the other. Torie felt glorious. The wind was in her hair, Marc’s hard, strong arm was around her, holding her in place, and the large, wonderful horse was beneath them. The whole scene was magical and she knew she would never forget it. If nothing else, she would always have this.

When she saw the village ahead, she knew the magic would be fading, and she regretted it. If only they could always ride like this...on and on and into the night. This felt like something she’d been born for.

She leaned back and his face was there, near her ear.

“You want to go down by the beach before we go to the village?” he asked her.

She sighed and nodded. “Yes,” she told him. “Let’s do it.”

There was a dirt road down the hill and then a paved road that came in and led to a boat-launching area. The beach was deserted. Sea gulls dove at them, then retreated to a nearby buoy to call at them from a safe distance.

She slid down off the horse and he swung down after her. They stood side by side, staring out to where the waves crashed outside the breakwater.

“Why is the movement of water so mesmerizing?” she asked him.

“I don’t know.” He turned to look at her, eyes hooded. “Maybe something in us wants to return to the sea.”

There was a sense of danger in his gaze that disturbed her and she looked back toward the water.

“When I was a little girl,” she told him after a moment of silence, “I loved The Little Mermaid movie. I would wander around, leaning against the furniture and looking lovesick, singing the Ariel song until everyone around me went mad with it.” She laughed softly, remembering. “They were threatening to tape my mouth shut if I didn’t cease and desist.”

He grinned, looking at her sideways. He remembered hearing her singing in the old days. That must have been why she’d sounded so familiar when she’d sung in the fog. “Don’t tell me you actually caved in.”

She gave him a look of pure cheek. “What? You think I’m a complete narcissist?”

“No. I think you’re stubborn as hell though.”

She laughed and turned toward him, but he was frowning as he studied her face. “You know, I’m starting to remember more about you,” he said. “You were around more than I remembered at first.”

“Or more than you noticed at the time.”

“Was that it?” He shrugged as though he wasn’t convinced. “I know one thing. When I reached down for you at the cliff, and you took my hand and vaulted up in front of me on the horse, I suddenly realized we’d done that before.”

Her eyes widened. Now he was bringing up things she’d forgotten herself. “Oh. Yes! That time I was walking home from the village...”

“And you found a lost dog—a little white one.”

“With the sweetest little black nose.” She grinned. “I was trying to carry him back with me but I had a bag of groceries I’d picked up for my mother and I kept dropping things.”

He nodded, his blue eyes filled with humor. “I must have been about sixteen.”

“And I was about eleven.”

“I was riding Brown Sugar, my favorite Indian pony. I passed you and I think I said ‘hi.’”

“Hah!” She gave him a mock glare. “You didn’t say a word.”

He frowned. “I must have said ‘hey.’”

“No you didn’t. You were much too cool to deign to speak to a little girl like I was.”

He looked at her for a long moment, then sighed. “I think you’re wrong,” he said, slightly grumpy. “Anyway, I looked back and you dropped your brown paper sack and macaroni noodles went into the air like a bomb had been set off, and the little dog jumped out of your arms and began to bark its head off.”

She winced. Some memories were just too painful. The sense of humiliation she’d felt that day came back to her in a wave.

“So I turned around. By the time I got back to you, you had it all back in your arms, but you looked like you were going to drop everything again any minute. I told you to give me the dog and the groceries.”

“And I thought you were going to ride off with them and leave me there.”

“But I didn’t. I stashed the groceries in my pack and the little dog in my shirt, and then I reached down for your hand.”

She laughed softly, staring off at the blue horizon. “And I felt like Cinderella,” she said.

She remembered that feeling. As though the prince had asked her to dance. She’d been on cloud nine all the way home, even though she knew he wasn’t exactly enjoying it as much as she was. Still, the most handsome boy she’d ever seen was being nice to her—for the moment. It made her whole summer brighter.

“I named him Snowcone,” she mused. “I loved that little dog.”