Did they use the word in Scotland? “Yes. My only excuse is jet lag. I took the red-eye to get here yesterday morning.”
“I see.”
Despite her clipped replies, she seemed to be taking this well. She wasn’t frowning at him, at least. Holt decided to try a little charm. “So, am I forgiven?”
Caitlin set aside her writing materials and stood. “Mr. Ridley, you— or your solicitor— hired me to do a job. I’m doing it,” she added with a wave of her hand, then crossed her arms. “What you do with your estate once I finish is up to you.” A quick frown drew a line between her brows, then smoothed away, as if she decided it wasn’t in her best interest to pick a fight with him.
Still, he was clearly not forgiven. “As true as that is, I’d still like us not to be at odds while you’re here. Why don’t we start by using first names? I’m Holt.”
“Do names matter? Either way, I’ll do what I was hired to do.”
Frustrated, Holt cast about for a way to keep his apology from turning into another argument. Appealing to her expertise seemed to be the best way to deflect this uncomfortable conversation. “What are you working on?”
“This globe. I’m making notes, then I’ll use the pictures I’ve taken to do some further research on it.”
“Why? It looks like any other globe to me.”
“Come closer.” She beckoned, then pulled on the gloves.
Holt straightened and went where she directed him. “It’s pretty, I’ll give you that.”
“As well you should. But it’s more than pretty.” She gave it a gentle spin and pointed out the features that made it special, from the quality of the stones and the artistry of its construction to the historical place names and boundaries.
He’d also noted the bandage on her hand and wondered how she’d hurt it. But she didn’t mention it, and since her gloves hid it, he soon forgot to ask. She clearly knew her subject, and her enthusiasm for it succeeded where her proclamations at dinner last night had not. Holt’s interest was piqued. “Okay, I’ll admit, it’s an attractive and thought-provoking piece.” He could say the same about her. Attractive and thought-provoking. And irritating.
“And if my suspicion is correct, it’s unique enough to be the perfect cover image for the catalog of the estate’s furnishings that I’ll put together for the auction.”
Holt nodded. She hadn’t liked his comment last night, but it appeared she’d taken it on board. “Thank you.”
“No need to thank me. I’m just doing what I was hired to do.” She pulled off the gloves. “If that’s all…?”
Dismissing him, was she? “Not entirely. I’d like to get a sense of the age and condition of the estate’s furnishings. Not in detail, just your general impression. What can you tell me so far?”
Caitlin frowned but resumed her seat and gestured him to one on the other side of the table. “Farrell and Mrs. Smith have done an excellent job maintaining the contents of the estate. It has helped, I suppose, that no young children have resided here in a generation.”
“Who told you that?”
“Mrs. Smith, of course. The house is not, as you say, child-proof. I understand from her that your mother was the latest, and she was in high school during her residence.”
Holt’s belly clenched as he pictured his mother living in this house under her aunt’s thumb. Her parents had died in a car crash early in her sophomore year in high school, and with no other relatives, she’d wound up dependent on her widowed aunt’s begrudged charity.
“For a little over three years, yes.” Holt considered telling her how his mother had been forced to work two jobs to support them, but hadn’t he told Caitlin, just last night, that her responsibilities didn’t include meddling in his personal life?
As she filled him in on what she’d gleaned so far, ticking off points on her fingertips, Holt understood how she’d won this job. In her professional element, her intellect and expertise were undeniable. He’d been attracted to her beauty at first, but her smarts made her even more intriguing. And that was a problem. Helen Conroe had taught him not to get too close to someone in a professional relationship, not to trust their motives. He needed to remember that and keep Ms. Paterson at arm’s length.
CHAPTER4
Caitlin finished her preliminary survey of the library the next afternoon and decided to reward herself by having a walk on the nearby beach. As she crossed the back lawn, she heard a car come up the front drive and wondered if it was Holt returning from wherever he had gone.
She hadn’t spoken to him since he left her in the library the day before. He’d even skipped dinner, which worried her a bit. Had she made such a terrible impression that he was avoiding her? She’d passed the office door several times since he’d arrived and seen him hunched over his laptop, intent on his reading, fingers flying over the keyboard as he answered emails or wrote memos or whatever he did to keep his company running smoothly. Even three thousand miles away from his business and life in California, he couldn’t leave them behind. One of the pitfalls of being the boss that she knew well. The only difference between his situation and hers was that she was her company. She had no one else to cause problems, and no one else to rely on. If she had to work twenty hours a day to finish a job, she did.
She continued down to the beach, where Holt surprised her, coming across the lawn behind her and calling her name.
“I saw you through the back windows,” he said, stopping as soon as he reached the sand to remove his shoes and socks and roll up his pants. “Ah, warm sand, cool air. Can’t beat the combination.”
“And cold water?” She gestured toward the dark green water lapping at the shoreline. She had intended to wander the beach alone but decided she would make the effort to enjoy Holt’s company, too. He seemed more relaxed, less stand-offish than he had the past two days. Perhaps getting away from the house was good for him.
“Probably colder than you’re used to.”
