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“I’m not trying to be unreasonable.” She nodded toward the computer. “You can stay connected, go back to Baltimore for a day or two if you have to. Surely even the CEO gets some vacation time.”
“I can’t run a business that way, especially not now.” His dismissal was quick. “Sammy can come to Baltimore to get to know me.”
Fear flared and had to be extinguished. “Sammy isn’t a package, to be sent back and forth when you have time for him. If you want to be his father, you have to realize that. You getting acquainted with him needs to happen here, where he feels safe.”
His eyes narrowed. “Suppose I just start legal action. You can’t keep me from my son.”
The thought of facing a phalanx of ruthless Winchester lawyers made her quake, but she held her voice steady. “And have our private quarrel splashed all over the papers? I don’t think you’d like that. And I don’t think a family court judge would look favorably on a father who won’t take a few weeks to get acquainted with his son.”
Something that might have been surprise flickered in his eyes. “You’ve grown up, Miranda.”
“I’ve had to.”
“What you ask is impossible. You must know that.”
It wouldn’t have been impossible for the man he’d been at twenty-one, but she couldn’t say that, and maybe it wasn’t even true. Maybe she hadn’t really known the man she’d married.
She had to say the hard thing and end this now, before it damaged Sammy. Tyler’s sense of duty to the child he’d fathered had brought him here, but his sense of duty to the company would take him away again.
“If you can’t get away from your business for something this important, maybe you’re not meant to be a father.”
Tyler didn’t answer. He couldn’t. She had known all along how this would turn out, but still pain clenched her very soul. She turned away.
He grasped her arm, pulling her around to face him. At his touch, her treacherous heart faltered. She forced herself to look at him, her gaze tangling with his. Her breath caught in her throat, and for an instant she thought his eyes darkened.
“I know a challenge when I hear one, Miranda.” His voice lowered to a baritone rumble. “I’ve managed too many business deals not to know when someone’s making an offer they think I won’t accept.”
“I don’t—”
His grip tightened. His intense gaze was implacable. “Get a room ready for me. I’m moving in tomorrow.”
This was certainly a far cry from the elegance of the Dalton Resort Hotel. Tyler tossed his suitcase onto the patchwork quilt that adorned the four-poster bed in the room to which Miranda had shown him. He glanced around, wondering if he’d made a hasty decision the previous night. Did he really propose to run Winchester Industries from this small room on an island in the middle of nowhere?
He strode to the east window and snapped up the shade, letting sunlight stream across wide, uneven floorboards dotted with oval hooked rugs. Someone had put a milk-glass vase filled with dried flowers on the battered, rice-carved bureau, and the faint aroma seemed a ghost of last summer’s flowers.
Well, there was a phone jack, at least. With that, something to use for a desk and enough electrical outlets, he ought to be able to make this work if he wanted to.
Maybe that was the question. Did he want to do this? He frowned at what seemed to be a kitchen garden. The small patch of lawn, crisscrossed with clotheslines, couldn’t be intended for the use of guests. Beyond it was some sort of shed, then the pale green-gold of the marsh grasses. A white heron stood, knee-deep, waiting motionless for something.
Tyler assessed his options, trying to weigh them as if this were any business deal that had come up unexpectedly. In a business deal, the first step would be to research what was being offered. He grimaced. Miranda wasn’t exactly offering him anything. As for research—well, he didn’t need a DNA test to confirm what he knew in his bones. Sammy was his son.
He could stay. That meant subjecting himself to the uncertain welcome of Miranda’s family and trying to figure out how to be a father under Miranda’s no doubt critical gaze. Then, assuming he could gain Sammy’s acceptance, he’d face the tricky task of working out long-distance custody arrangements between Baltimore and Caldwell Cove and he’d commit himself to being a significant part of Sammy’s life for—well, forever.
He shoved the window up, letting the breeze that bent the marsh grasses billow the ruffled curtains. The alternative was to leave. Go back to Baltimore, take up life as it had been. He could afford generous child support, the best schools, anything material his son needed. He could satisfy his conscience without getting emotionally involved.
“Is everything all right?” Miranda paused in the doorway, clutching an armload of white towels against the front of a green T-shirt with a dolphin emblazoned on it.
No, Miranda, nothing’s been all right since that photo of Sammy landed on my desk. Miranda was undoubtedly talking about the room, not his inner struggle.
“Fine.”
“You looked as if you might be having second thoughts about this, now that you’ve seen the accommodations.” She put the towels on the edge of the bureau.
“The accommodations are fine.”
“If you want to change your mind—”
“I don’t,” he said shortly, trying to ignore the fact that he’d been thinking just that. He’d better concentrate on the room instead of noticing how well those faded jeans fit her slim figure. “I need something to use for a desk. A table would work, if you have one to spare. If not, I’ll go out and buy one.”
“No need. I’ll find something.”
She shoved a strand of hair from her eyes. He found himself thinking that its color was nearer mahogany than auburn and then told himself that it didn’t matter in the least what color Miranda’s hair was. She vanished before he could say anything, her quick footsteps receding down the hallway.
All right, he needed some rules if he were actually going to stay here. The first one had to be no staring at Miranda. And the second one better be no remembering the past.
He heard her coming before he could decide on rule three. Something thumped against the wall. He reached the door to see Miranda backing toward him, holding one end of a rectangular oak table. Her mother, wearing a dolphin T-shirt also, wrestled with the other end. He sprang to help them.
“Mrs. Caldwell, let me take that.”
Sallie Caldwell surrendered her grip, giving him a smile too like her daughter’s for comfort. “I’m afraid the table doesn’t match the rest of the furniture, but Miranda said that didn’t matter.”
Miranda had probably said that if he didn’t like it he could lump it.
“It’ll work.” He guided the heavy table through the doorway, finding it necessary to remind himself again not to let his gaze linger on Miranda’s face. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, either from exertion or because she had indeed said what he imagined.
Miranda helped him position the makeshift desk near the window. Then, as if she thought she’d spent enough time in his company for one day, she retreated to the doorway where her mother waited.
“If there’s anything else you need, just let us know.” Sallie Caldwell put her arm around her daughter’s waist with easy affection as she smiled at him. She had Miranda’s bronze hair, streaked with gray.
“I will.” He tried without success to imagine his mother letting gray appear in her hair or wearing faded jeans and a T-shirt.
“We’ll try to make you comfortable while you’re here.”
They all knew there was nothing comfortable about any of this. Still, he sensed that Miranda’s mother meant what she said. There was no artifice about her—just the same unselfconscious natural beauty her daughter had.
“Thank you, Mrs. Caldwell. The room will work just fine.”
If I stay. The words whispered in his mind as the Caldwell women vanished down the hall.
His cell phone rang, and he flipped it open. Probably Henry, responding to the message he’d left at the office. But it wasn’t his assistant—it was his brother.
“Henry’s secretary passed your message on to me. He’s out of the office. What’s going on?” Curiosity filled Josh’s voice.
“Out of the office where?” What was reliable Henry doing out of the office when he’d left him in charge?
“Didn’t tell me.” He could almost see Josh’s shrug. “Something you want me to take care of before he gets back?”
His first instinct was a prompt no, but someone at the office had to know where he was. And why. And how long he intended to stay.
“Not exactly.” He hesitated. His brother would have to know. As irresponsible as Josh was, he wouldn’t spread the news if Tyler asked him not to. “I have a…situation here, and I don’t want anyone else to know the whole story. You can tell Henry, but no one else. Understood?”
“Got it.” He could almost see Josh leaning back, propping his feet on the desk. “What’s up?”
“You remember Miranda Caldwell?”
A pause, but Josh would remember. After all, their father’s death had rocked both their worlds.
“Your ex-wife.”
“Yes. Turns out there was something she neglected to mention when we got divorced. I have a son.” He waited for an explosion of questions.
Instead Josh whistled softly. “I assume you’re sure he’s yours.”
“I’m sure.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
The very question he’d been asking himself. Apparently he already knew the answer. “I’m going to stay here for a while to get to know him.”
He expected an argument. He didn’t get it. “Okay. I’ll tell Henry. What about Mother?”
“Not yet.” He thought uneasily of their mother, honeymooning in Madrid with her new husband. She wouldn’t be happy that Miranda was back in his life. “Thanks, Josh.”
He hung up, realizing why he didn’t want to tell anyone. The possession of a son had made him vulnerable. He didn’t like to be vulnerable. Miranda’s image presented itself in his mind and refused to be dismissed. Look where vulnerability had gotten him eight years ago.
Several hours later, he sat back in the chair and stretched, congratulating himself. He had a reasonable facsimile of an office set up, he’d been in touch with Henry about his plans and he’d contacted the Charleston subsidiary of Winchester Industries and arranged a meeting there, since it was only a couple of hours away. Almost as much as he might have accomplished in Baltimore.
At corporate headquarters, though, he wouldn’t have been quite so distracted by the view from the window. There, he’d look out on the Inner Harbor. Here, he looked out at Miranda, busy putting sheets on the clotheslines strung across the yard.
He stood, frowning at the photo of Sammy he’d propped next to his computer. The reason had nothing to do with sentiment, he assured himself. He’d put it there to remind himself that he had to find out who’d sent it, and why.
He picked it up, gaze straying again to Miranda. The chances he’d learn the truth about that without her help were slim and none. Therefore he needed to enlist her aid. He glanced at his watch. He’d better do it now, before Sammy came home from school.
Tucking the photo into his shirt pocket, he headed for the backyard and Miranda.
When he pushed open the screen door, Miranda was bending over an oval wicker clothes basket. She looked up at the sound, and her face went still at the sight of him.
“I thought you were busy with work.” She shook out a damp sheet and began pinning it to the line, as if to show him that she was busy, as well.
“I’ve made a good start.” He approached her, then had to step back as she shook out another sheet. “Don’t you have a dryer?”
“Of course we have a dryer.” At his raised eyebrow, she shook her head as if in pity. “We like to sleep on air-dried sheets. So do our guests.”
“Why?” He caught the end of the sheet she was manhandling. For a moment he thought she’d yank it free, but then she handed him a clothespin.
“They smell like sunshine.”
You smell like sunshine. He dismissed the vagrant thought. “Wouldn’t it be more efficient to use a laundry service?”
“That’s not how we do things here.” She snapped out the words as if he’d insulted her. Sunlight filtered through live oaks and dappled her face.
He reminded himself that he wanted her cooperation, not her enmity. “So you’re helping to run the inn now.”
“That’s right.” She pinned up another sheet. “My college plans were derailed.”
She’d been saving money that summer, he remembered, waiting tables at the yacht club so she could attend the community college that fall. Both their lives had gone in an unexpected direction, but hers had obviously been skewed more than his.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and meant it.
She looked at him for a long moment, then nodded in acceptance. “I don’t regret anything.” A smile blazed across her face. “I have Sammy.”
He nodded, the photo seeming to burn a hole in his pocket. Maybe he’d better get to the point before he brought up any more touchy subjects. “I’ve been thinking about that picture of him.”
“I’ve already told you, I didn’t send it.” She snatched the basket and ducked under flapping sheets to the other end of the yard.
He followed, evading damp linen. He needed her on his side in this. “I know you didn’t send it. Don’t you want to know who did?”
“Yes, of course.” She stopped, eyes clouded. “I’ve worried and worried, and I still don’t have an idea.”
“There has to be a way to find out. Why don’t we talk to Sammy about this?”
“Absolutely not.” She shot the words at him, shoulders suddenly stiff.
“But he may have noticed who took the picture.”
“I mean it, Tyler.” Her soft mouth was firm. “I don’t want him questioned about this.”
“That’s ridiculous. If we can find out—”
“It’s not ridiculous,” she snapped. It looked as if they were back on opposite sides. “If we talk to Sammy, he’s going to ask how you got a picture of him.”
“We can say—” He stopped. What would they say?
“I don’t want him thinking that some stranger is going around taking pictures of him, manipulating his life.” A shiver seemed to run through her. “It’s bad enough thinking that myself.”
“All right.”
Miranda looked at him suspiciously, and he raised his hands in surrender.
“I promise. I won’t say anything to him.”
The tension went out of her, and she reached up to unpin a dry sheet. He caught the end of it, and she let him help her fold it.
“Why? That’s what gets me,” she said. “Why would anyone want to interfere in our lives like that?”
“I wish I knew.” He had to hurry to keep up with the deft way she flipped the corners together. “No one’s said anything to you about it?”
“Nothing.”
