“Oh, I’m not married.”
“Miss Moore. Get her a cup of tea, Liam.”
“Please, call me Charlotte.” She looked helplessly at Liam. He pointed at his own eyes with both forefingers, then gave her a thumbs-down gesture, both hands. Blind?
Her dismay must have been obvious. He nodded and walked toward her. “That sweater okay to go in the dryer?” It was on the kitchen table, along with her balled-up jacket.
Charlotte remembered why she was here—to dry her clothes.
“Sure, it’s wool but it’s washable. The jacket can go in, too.”
He held her clothes in one hand but didn’t move away. “So what’s this about leaving your sister’s bitch here? Didn’t she get my message?”
“Message?”
“I left her a message, let’s see—” he ran one hand through his already dishevelled hair “—just about a week ago.”
“My sister and her husband are in Belize on holiday. A week ago?” Charlotte paused, trying to think back. So much had happened in a week!
“Whatever. Your sister called here quite a few times, tried to talk me into breeding her bitch, but I told her I wouldn’t consider it.”
“You’re joking.” Charlotte didn’t mean that at all—joking. She was shocked to her core. “Laurel said she had it all arranged!”
“She lied.” He glanced toward the stove, where the kettle had just begun to boil.
“My sister doesn’t lie,” Charlotte said stiffly. She had to defend her own sister, for heaven’s sake! But she’d been suspicious of Laurel’s sudden enthusiasm at discovering that Charlotte was not only traveling to Prince Edward Island on business, but wanted to meet Liam Connery. Had Laurel set her up?
Liam cracked a smile, which frayed Charlotte’s jittery nerves even more. “Must’ve changed, then,” he said easily, taking a step toward the stove. He put her sweater on the counter. “She sure knew how to tell a tall tale at Dunwoody High.”
“But I have to leave Maggie here. I have other things I have to—”
“Sit down.” He indicated a chair at the kitchen table, then poured water over the tea bags and put the teapot back on the stove. He deposited a thick ceramic mug unceremoniously on the table, before picking up her clothes again and disappearing into another doorway that led off the kitchen. She wondered why he hadn’t offered his mother tea. She heard the slam of a door—the dryer—and then the sound of the machine starting.
“Psst!” Startled, Charlotte looked toward the corner where Liam’s mother was gesturing. “Don’t pay him no mind. He’s awful particular about who he breeds his dogs to, the Labs and the Chessies both.”
“But—” Charlotte began, then thought better of it. The tea was starting to simmer. She got up to take it off the stove and bring it to the table. It was already black as tar. Honestly! Didn’t he even know how to make a pot of tea?
“So, in the area tourin’, are you?” Ada Connery asked in a friendly tone, resuming her knitting.
“Actually, I’m here for a few weeks. I’ll be doing some work on the Rathbone estate. I’ll need to find a place for Maggie first, though, now that there’s been a mix-up.” Now that Laurel had screwed up royally! “I understand the estate is nearby.” The tea was hot and welcome. She wrapped her cold fingers around the mug, then took some sugar from a graniteware bowl that stood on the table, and stirred it in.
“Yes, indeed. Matter-of-fact, it’s right next door, just through the woods. You can’t miss it. There’s not much around here but the post office and the store. There’s the lobster supper in summer, over at Cardigan River. That’s all closed now.”
“I see,” Charlotte murmured. She sat down gingerly on a kitchen chair. The soles of her sneakers squeaked on the linoleum floor, and the woman across the room looked up.
Ada Connery shook her head. “Old Mr. Rathbone was always quite a gentleman, you know. Until he took his turn, that is. He became fairly hard to handle then, from what I’ve been told, always skulking about, springing up on people to surprise them. Boo!” She waved one hand quickly, as though imitating her deceased neighbor. “Couldn’t be trusted with a match in the end. Dementia, they say.”
She glanced in Charlotte’s direction with her sightless eyes and pulled another strand of yarn from the wicker basket by her side. Charlotte could count at least four completed mittens from where she sat, and wondered how many were in the basket and why Ada Connery kept knitting more.
“My late husband did odd jobs over there sometimes—gardening and what not. The old gentleman was very fond of huntin’ dogs. Liam has a couple of ’em now. But I do believe the neighborhood has improved since the old fellow has passed on. He was what they called a philanderer in my day—Miss Charlotte will be working at Gerard Rathbone’s place, did you know that, Liam?”
Liam had returned from disposing of her clothes and was carrying a sweater—not hers. “No, I didn’t, Ma.” He didn’t sound that interested. “Here— If this fits, you’re welcome to it.”
“Thanks.” Charlotte took the sweater and removed his jacket. “I’m assisting with the estate appraisal for the heirs,” she explained. “Art, furniture, that sort of thing.”
He raised one eyebrow briefly as though to underline his indifference. Her damp T-shirt was stuck to her breasts and belly, as she’d suspected. She was seized with an enormous shiver, the kind you felt right down to your shins, and quickly tugged on the garment he’d handed her, a Nordic-patterned sweater in greens and blues.
He’d turned away the instant she pulled off the jacket. Her earlier fit of modesty hadn’t been necessary. This man clearly had no interest—whatsoever—in her as a female. As a shapely woman wearing a revealing garment. He hadn’t even sneaked a peek, from what she could tell.
“I believe Bertie’s boy, Nick, is taking care of things over there for the family. I saved your dinner in the oven, Liam.” It took Charlotte a few seconds to realize that the family Ada was talking about was the Rathbones.
“I’ll have it later, Ma.” Liam went to the window that overlooked the path they’d taken to the house. “Here’s Jamie now.”
“What about my dog?” Charlotte stood quickly. Poor Maggie.
“I’ll make sure she’s all right.”
Without another word, he left. Charlotte took a gulp of the sweet tea. What she’d meant, what she wished she’d said, was, Aren’t you going to take her off my hands, as my sister supposedly arranged? Surely Laurel hadn’t been so foolish as to think that if Charlotte just showed up with Maggie, she’d be able to convince this man to breed the dog to one of his prize animals….
Frankly, Charlotte didn’t give a damn. It was Laurel’s problem, not hers. What she cared about was finding a place to board Maggie until her sister and brother-in-law got back from their holiday.
“You’ll want to have a look at the puppies before you go. Liam says they’re the best litter he’s had from Bear, and that’s sayin’ something.”
“Bear is—?”
“His Chesapeake Bay retriever daddy dog. Scout’s daddy is Old Jimbo, Liam’s Labrador daddy dog. He’s gettin’ on, poor fella.”
Charlotte’s head was spinning with dog details.
“Darn that old Scout! He’s quite a scamp.” The older woman chuckled again. “Yes, my son gets near a thousand dollars for one of Bear’s pups and he won’t sell to just anyone. He’s very particular. Very particular, indeed.”
Indeed.