“Katie, surely you don’t believe that ridiculous story about his being here to write about insect life in Clover?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he is. I’ve never seen an—an insectologist, or whatever they’re called, have you? Why couldn’t he be one?”
“Why would an insectologist have a bag filled with crime books, a map of Clover and a copy of The First Families of South Carolina?”
“Oh, Hannah, you did go snooping in his bag!” Katie was aghast.
“I didn’t have time to get to his notebooks,” Hannah lamented. “Or those files. I wonder what was in them?”
“Hannah, the man is my guest!” Katie cried. “It’s bad enough that the first room I put him in was like being lodged under Niagara Falls, but then you insult him and search his things! I wouldn’t blame him if he checked out—oh, I hope he won’t!”
“Because you consider him a dependable source of income?” Hannah paused on the stairs to scrutinize Katie’s flushed face. “Or because you think he’s—he’s...” Her voice trailed off and she actually blushed.
“Oh, yes, he definitely is, isn’t he?” Katie laughed. An incoherent Hannah was a rare an amusing sight. “And he is obviously attracted to you, Hannah. I thought he was going to pounce when he saw you stretched out on his bed.”
“I didn’t want him to know that I’d looked into his bag. I was trying to distract him. Do you think it worked?”
“I think the contents of his bag were the last thing on his mind when he was looking at you, Hannah. But if you’re so certain he isn’t what he says, why is he here? And why the need for subterfuge?”
“I don’t know. But I’m going to find out,” Hannah asserted resolutely.
“Hannah, from what I’ve seen of Matthew Granger so far, I wouldn’t recommend, uh, getting on his bad side.” Katie looked concerned. “We already know he’s quick to anger, and he’s aggressive and demanding, too. He is not the most agreeable guest I’ve ever had, but with the leaky roof to fix and the sump pump in the basement on the verge of giving out, I can’t be choosy. Whoever can pay, stays. But I intend to keep well out of his way, and I’d advise you to do the same.”
“Because you think he’s dangerous?” Hannah whispered, suddenly breathless.
The reckless glitter in her eyes disturbed Katie. “I don’t think he’s threatening in a physically harmful way. But I do detect a sense of danger about him, Hannah.”
“So do I.” Hannah’s face was aglow. “He makes me nervous, Katie. Me! That’s never happened to me before. When I’m around him, I feel jittery, both afraid and excited at the same time. Does that make any sense?”
“Yes.” Katie looked grim. “And those kinds of feelings and the kind of man who inspires them can be very dangerous, Hannah.” She had a haunted, faraway look in her eyes. “Emotionally dangerous,” she added bleakly.
Hannah stared at her, intrigued. Katie was three years her senior, slender and pretty with long, light brown hair and green eyes. Though she was warm and friendly and smiled often, during unguarded moments—like this one—there was a certain sadness about her. Was it inspired by an emotionally dangerous man?
Hannah remembered that some years ago Katie had seriously dated a man named Luke Cassidy, but he’d left town and never come back. Though Katie had never revealed what happened with Luke, the general consensus in Clover was that she’d had her heart broken. But nobody had any real facts, and Katie’s firmly quiet reserve did not invite intimate questions. Not even gossip maven Jeannie Potts dared to pry. This was the most personal conversation Hannah had ever had with Katie and she was tempted to take it further.
But before she could ask any questions about men in general or Luke in particular, Abby Long joined them on the steps. Slightly tipsy, she took Katie and Hannah by their hands. “I was looking for you two,” Abby exclaimed effusively. “Ben and Sean want to have a shag contest. Katie, do you still have those old shag records?”
“As if I would ever get rid of such nostalgic treasures!” Katie grinned, her somber mood evaporating. “I have Carolina Beach Classics, volumes one and two, and all four volumes of Shagger’s Delight. Why, those records are icons of the glorious past, handed down to me for safekeeping.”
“Maybe I should think about carrying them in my shop, along with the Victorian lady’s writing desk and the French Egyptian Empire chest and the Kestner baby dolls,” kidded Hannah.
“Katie, go get the records,” Abby ordered. “Sean, Tommy Clarke and Zack Abernathy are all demanding to have you as a partner, Hannah. You can either choose one or enter the contest with each guy.”
“Suppose I choose none of the above?” Hannah’s eyes danced. “I think I’d rather have that adorable hunk, Ben Harper, as my partner in the contest. Do you think his fiancée will mind?”
“That jealous witch?” Abby grinned, playing along with Hannah’s joke. “Keep away from her. She’ll get revenge by making you wear a hideous bridesmaid’s dress, say, something in puce with three hoopskirts and lots of ruffles.”
“Anything but that!” Hannah feigned a horrified gasp. “I swear I won’t go near the man!”
Laughing, the bride-to-be and her bridesmaids rejoined the party.
* * *
It took Matthew less than ten minutes to unpack, then he unzipped his canvas bag and pulled out his copy of The First Families of South Carolina. He turned to the index, found the name Farley and smiled slightly. It didn’t surprise him that the dark-haired beauty was a member of an affluent, highborn clan. She not only possessed the natural confidence of one blessed by money, brains and looks but also that intangible aura of class and privilege.
But Hannah Farley added sexual magnetism to the package; she had a provocative sparkle that other high-society types he’d met had lacked. That silver dress of hers with its halter top and short, tight skirt and those wickedly high-heeled sandals were unlikely to be seen at any proper country-club affair or society ball.
The jolt of pure desire that hit him caught him off guard, and he had to steel himself against it. He had not come to Clover to have a fling with the sultry little Southern belle with skin as soft and white as the magnolia blossoms that seemed to bloom in every yard in town. He was here to discover who he really was....
Matthew opened the top bureau drawer and removed the framed photograph he’d put there. The photo had been one of his mother’s favorites, always displayed on a small mahogany end table in the living room wherever they had lived. It was a five-by-seven color portrait of Galen and Eden Granger and their dark-haired, dark-eyed five-year-old son, Matthew, who gazed solemnly into the camera lens.
He had always been a serious child, intense and focused from an early age, and had grown into a responsible, hardworking student and athlete who’d made his proud parents even prouder. Matthew thought of the milestones—his graduations from high school, college and law school. His father, a camera buff, had been there to photograph the events, his mother smiling adoringly at her son. They had been there for the smaller everyday things, too—school programs, Little League games, helping with homework, a game of catch in the backyard. No son could have had a more loving, devoted set of parents. Matthew had been the center of their lives, and he knew it.
He had a shelf filled with albums of photos chronicling his life, from the day he’d been carried home from the hospital as a newborn to the family shots beside