“You were mugged?” Holt’s gaze left the road again. This time, he frowned at her. “You never told me. That bandage on your hand yesterday…?”
She lifted her hand and displayed a thin, pink line, all that remained of her injury. “A scratch from the buckle on my purse strap. I refused to let go of it. Thanks to Dr. Coates, there was little to tell.” She shrugged as Holt returned his attention to the road.
“Then tell me the little there is,” he said. A muscle in his jaw flexed. Was he angry? That she hadn’t told him? Or about what happened to her?
“A man…a lad, really…tried to nick my purse. Dr. Coates was nearby and heard me yelling. He grabbed the thief, got my purse back, and held the lad until the local constable arrived and took charge of him.”
“I’m…sorry. And embarrassed you had such an unfortunate introduction to the village.”
Since when did he care what anyone thought about anything in this area? He was fighting to leave as quickly as he could, wasn’t he? “Ach, nay. Actually, it was quite fortunate. Otherwise, I might never have met the doctor or Alice Nash, the lady who owns the bakery.”
Holt frowned again. “Sounds like he did a good job rescuing you.”
Was he equating that with yesterday’s adventure in the sound? “Are you saying I need a lot of rescuing? Or that you think I’m unlucky? Getting mugged wasn’t my fault.”
“Of course not. You’re lucky the vet heard you.”
“Aye, he was very nice,” she answered, somewhat mollified. “According to Alice, he’s been in the village only two years. He’s done so much in that time. A successful veterinary practice, in the Army before that. He trains service dogs, too.”
“Admirable.”
Did Holt’s jaw look a wee more tense? Surely he wasn’t jealous. He’d never met the man, and she’d given no indication Doc Coates was more than a friend. Surprised, she changed the subject and spent the next few minutes directing Holt to the veterinary practice. Once Holt stopped the car in front of it, she reached for the door handle. “How long do you think your business will take?”
“No more than an hour and a half,” Holt responded, his gaze on the building.
Caitlin glanced around. One of the vet techs was walking a medium-sized dog with a missing front leg. She glanced back in time to see Holt wince. In sympathy for the dog? He might be an ultra-rich captain of the dot-com industry, but there was a heart in there somewhere. One he kept well-hidden and took out only to rescue damsels in distress. And maybe animals, too. “When you’re done, just come in and ask the receptionist, Rachel. She’ll ken where I am. Um…you’re not allergic to dogs or cats, are you?”
“Not that I’m aware.” His gaze followed the three-legged dog as the tech led it around the side of the building, then Holt’s brow furrowed. He sighed when it disappeared.
If he’d had a pet, he’d know if he was allergic. How sad. Caitlin took pity on him and didn’t remark on his reaction to the dog, but his sympathy for it reassured her.
“Great. I’ll see you in an hour or so.” She opened the door and popped out before he could respond. As soon as she closed it, he pulled away. Caitlin stood on the sidewalk, watching as his brake lights came on and he rounded the next corner. Caitlin suspected Holt had depths he’d yet to reveal, but she liked the hints she’d gotten from him yesterday and today.
* * *
Holt met with Mr. Thornton, the lawyer who had shown up in his California office. After reading through the papers Thornton left on Holt’s desk that day, Holt had a few procedural questions, but the one item forefront in his mind was the paper he’d found from his alma mater.
“You are correct,” Thornton told him, to Holt’s disbelief. “Your great-aunt funded the scholarship that allowed you to attend Stanford.”
“Why would she have done that?” Holt demanded, though he suspected he knew the reason. Sending him to school across the country had been another way to punish his mother.
“Her reasons were never communicated to me,” Thornton told him. “But her gift served to provide you with an excellent education and gave you the start to the successful life you’ve made for yourself.”
Holt didn’t see anything to be gained by arguing the point with him. If Thornton wanted to think the best of Holt’s great-aunt, he wouldn’t waste time trying to dissuade him.
“Do you intend to remain for the stipulated period to retain the estate?”
Now that he had seen the property, he was no less eager to unload it than he had been in California when he got the news about his inheritance. “Besides being dragged into court, what happens if I refuse the bequest?”
“It becomes the property of the local jurisdiction. I understand some developers are already filing paperwork to buy it. They would change the character of the area forever, I fear.”
Holt could imagine what Caitlin’s reaction would be to some local politician disposing of the estate. And of a developer tearing down the house to build something else. Condos? Even he couldn’t stomach the idea. She’d be furious, but even though he was beginning to see some of what she appreciated in the estate, he had not changed his mind about getting rid of it. Thornton’s comment only cemented Holt’s resolve that he would be the one to determine what happened to it. “At my office, you mentioned that brief visits away are allowed.”
“As long as you clear them with me.”
“Our meeting today is well-timed, then. I have a contracts meeting in New York City starting tomorrow. I’ll take the train and return as soon as my business is finished. Likely no more than three days.”
Thornton agreed, of course. Holt knew he would. It was a necessary and reasonable business-related request.
