The other man’s dark hair had thinned on top, leaving him almost bald. His nose seemed larger than it used to be—a part of the aging process, Ryder supposed. While Ryder carried his age well and still looked as if he were on the underside of forty when in reality he was two years past it, Cobb looked every minute of his sixty years.
“How are the rewrites coming?” Cobb poured himself a cup of coffee. He sat down in one of the leather wingback chairs facing the desk.
“Slowly. More so than normal.” Ryder leaned back, rocking slightly. “I’m bored with the story. Hell, I’m bored with myself.”
“You should go on holiday.” Cobb brought his cup to his lips and took a careful sip. “Somewhere with white sandy beaches and nubile young women in bikinis.”
“We have that here. Well, on the other islands.” Ryder sent him a frown. “But you know I can’t leave Phelan’s Keep.”
“No, sir, I don’t know that.” Cobb leaned forward and set his cup on the tray. He braced himself with elbows on knees and laced his fingers together. “You are not your father. His madness is not yours.” He shook his head. “Your father was only a few years older than you are now when the…incident occurred.”
“Don’t remind me,” Ryder muttered. He put his half-eaten sandwich down on the plate and snagged a chip.
“I’ve seen no indications that you’re becoming unbalanced.” Cobb met his gaze. “You’re a good man, sir. An honorable man. One with the notion that what you’re doing is the only course of action. I disagree. However,” he went on, leaning back in his chair, “it’s clearly not my place to tell you what to do.”
“I value your opinion.” Ryder scrubbed his hand along the back of his neck. “It’s just not that simple. It isn’t simple now and it wasn’t simple then.”
“It certainly didn’t help matters having Miles underfoot all the time.” Cobb picked up his own sandwich. “Always nattering at your father about one thing or another.”
“Yes, well, Miles had his own set of challenges, that’s certain.”
Cobb rolled his eyes, making Ryder grin. “You and your father were both too lenient with the boy,” the older man said. “I understand the trauma he suffered, losing his parents at such a young age, but there comes a time—or at least there should—when we grow up and take responsibility for our lives.” Cobb picked up his cup and leaned back in his chair again. “When the two of you were teenagers with barely three years separating you in age, there was still a world of difference in your level of maturity.”
Ryder snorted. “I’ll say one thing for my cousin—he was more than happy to take credit for anything that made him look good. But when things went wrong, it was always someone else’s fault. Usually mine.” He shook his head. “I wonder on whom he blames things now?”
“I wonder what’s become of him. It’s been twenty years since he left the island.”
“Twenty years since I kicked him out, you mean.” Ryder popped the last bite of sandwich into his mouth.
“It was necessary,” Cobb said in loyal support. “Always following you around, demanding to be just like you.” He scowled and dabbed at his lips with his own piece of burgundy linen. “He’s from your mother’s side of the family, not the Merrick side, so of course he couldn’t emulate you. He should have counted himself lucky your father left him the inheritance he did.”
Ryder swiveled in his chair and stared out at glittering ocean waves he could see beyond the edge of the bluff. “Miles was only four when he came to live with us. Mother and Father treated him like their own son from day one, which I didn’t have a problem with. It was nice not being the only child.” His throat tightened with sorrow over things lost, regret over things that would never be. He closed his eyes briefly and then turned back toward his employee. “And Mother was glad to have a piece of her sister still with us. So it was only natural for Father to remember him in his will.”
“But it wasn’t enough, was it?” Cobb stood and began clearing the lunch items. “Miles wanted it all.”
Cobb wasn’t wrong. Miles had alternated between begging and demanding to be given his due, given what he felt should be his birthright, too. Ryder had never understood that. Being a Merrick was what had made his father take the drastic steps he had. Why would anyone willingly take that on?
Finally exasperated to the point of almost losing control, Ryder had told the nineteen-year-old to get out. Now, thinking back on it, he still didn’t see any other course of action. The inheritance Miles had received had been close to seventy-five thousand pounds. Twenty years ago, that was a good amount of money. Ryder knew that letting his cousin stay could have proven to be too dangerous. To both of them. “I lost track of him after he moved to the States. He stayed in New York for a while, I know, but I don’t think he’s still there.”
“Good riddance to bad rubbish, I say. Nothing but trouble was that young man.” Cobb picked up the tray and turned toward the door. “Is there anything else you need, sir?” At Ryder’s negative gesture, he murmured, “I shall be in the kitchen if you need me.” He closed the door softly behind him.
Ryder heaved a sigh and moved his laptop back to the middle of the desk. He cracked his knuckles. “Just type something,” he muttered. “You can always go back and fix it.” Fingers back on the keyboard, he began to type.
Drivel. It was all pure drivel.
Damn. What was wrong with him today? He felt on edge, disturbed on an elemental level. He wasn’t an inordinately superstitious man, but this restlessness suggested something was going on. Perhaps the change in atmosphere in front of the upcoming storm was responsible.
Perhaps it was something else.
Whatever it was, it was obvious he was done with work for the moment. He wouldn’t waste any more time putting such dismally written words on the screen. He saved the document and then turned off the laptop. Pushing back from the desk, he stood and stretched. The bones along his spine popped, and the pressure from sitting hunched over the keyboard lessened immediately.
Ryder left the study and went in search of Cobb. He found the older man in the immaculate kitchen, wiping down the counters. Ryder grabbed his rain slicker from a peg by the back door. “I’m heading out for a walk,” he told Cobb. “Hopefully it’ll clear my head.”
“Be careful.” Cobb gave his usual response.
When Ryder opened the door and the wind blew leaves into the room, Cobb turned without a word and headed into the hallway. Ryder knew he was going after a broom. “Sorry,” he called out.
“Not to worry, sir,” said Cobb cheerily as he walked back into the kitchen, push broom in hand. “Devil’s playground and all that.”
Ryder grinned. He walked outside and made his way through the small side garden, now mostly dormant except for a few late blooms. He followed the meandering cobbled path until he reached the woods. There the cobblestones ended, and the path was a hard-packed trail forged over time.
As he made his way across the island, heading down toward the water on a natural incline, insects chirped and various small creatures rustled in the undergrowth. Part of him longed to break into a run to try to chase away the demons that continually plagued him, but he knew it wouldn’t work. It never did. He’d content himself with listening to the rush of the sea against the rocks as a way to calmness.
Within ten minutes he’d reached the caves. He slowed, then stopped. His heart rate increased and sweat popped up on his skin. The old fear resurfaced. He clenched his jaw and took a step forward. Then another.