Family of Three

“You were up on the roof? That’s dangerous.” Jacob jumped to his feet and stomped around the large kitchen. “I won’t have it,” he said without thinking.

Sticking her feet out, Alysia contemplated her toes. She wiggled them experimentally. “That’s an atavistic male response,” she informed him. He wheeled and glared at her. “And useless, since you don’t have the right to order me around.”

“I’m not ordering you around,” Jacob said stiffly, knowing he’d blundered. But damn it, he didn’t want her on the roof! Wasn’t one broken arm on his conscience enough? Just then she tried to scratch under the edge of her cast, making him feel an added stab of guilt. “This is still my house. I don’t want you risking your neck on my property.”

“The roof needed to be repaired,” she declared. “What should I have done. waited for an act of God?”

“I didn’t know about it.”

“Your lawyer did.”

He opened his mouth, then promptly closed it. Matt had been trying to contact him but he’d ignored the messages. “I’m sorry. My life has been a little hectic.”

“That’s okay.” Alysia could afford to be generous. The house would be restored her way—with care and love—and it would stop draining every penny of her reserves.

“Why did you choose my house?” Jacob asked, defeated. “For that matter, what made you choose the Oregon coast?”

“I liked it.”

“Is that all? You must have checked into the market potential here…the business prospects for antique sales.”

She shook her head. The decision to quit her job and move to the Northwest had been spontaneous. Alysia had been poking around Astoria when she’d run across the deserted house and barn. She’d been enchanted and outraged at their condition. Local legends said the place was haunted, particularly the nearby ocean bluff. But legends didn’t scare Alysia, neither did hard work.

“But you must have checked. You signed an extended lease, for heaven’s sake,” Jacob exclaimed, offended that anyone, even a scatterbrained brat, would be so reckless. “Don’t you know anything about business? It usually takes years to start making a profit. And out here…you’re not even in town. You can’t survive in the country.”

She chuckled. “I’m already doing quite well. Although, my profits have been eaten up trying to repair the house.” Her eyes darkened to a mischievous jade green. “But I’m sure it will get better now that you’re here—the big strong man, capable of handling things for a helpless woman.”

“That isn’t funny.”

“Sorry.” Alysia grinned, unrepentant. In a funny sort of way he looked just like a grumpy little boy. His dark hair was mussed from his fingers and he had absentmindedly tugged the confining tie from his neck. It was kind of endearing.

She hadn’t told him the whole truth; she hadn’t felt it necessary. Actually, Alysia was quite capable of managing a successful business. In addition to her position at the museum, she’d been doing antique restoration for years, along with a kind of “finders” service for the filthy rich. If someone wanted a particular antique—say a Louis XV bombe chest—then she found it. Her clients were the sort of people who didn’t care how much a thing cost as long as they got it.

“What made you decide on my house?”

“The Captain.” Alysia pointed to the corner of the

kitchen, where a wicker basket rested next to the cast-iron wood stove. A pair of sleepy eyes peered over the rim of the basket.

“Good God, it’s a cat.”

“Perceptive of you. Don’t you like cats?”

“I can’t stand them.”

“Oh.” She nodded in understanding. No wonder they clashed. Cat people and noncat people were mixtures that simply didn’t work. “I’ll bet you like dogs.”

“That sounds like a criticism.”

“I like dogs well enough.” Alysia jumped down from the counter and crossed to the basket. The Captain deigned to let her scratch behind his ears. A purr rumbled from his broad chest. “But dogs are slaves. Cats are citizens.”

“That’s absurd. Felines are unpredictable, stubborn and egotistical. Dogs are much nicer.”

The Captain rose and stretched, then jumped out of his nest. He weaved around Alysia’s legs. “I like their independence,” she said calmly, wiggling her toes in the animal’s long fur.

“What did that rotten animal have to do with your picking this house?” Jacob asked, stepping closer.

Alysia bit her lip, distracted by her unusual response to Jacob’s presence. Her skin tingled and her pulse was definitely faster than normal. Goodness, she’d been living like a hermit too long. Sure, the man had a body that appeared scrumptiously proportioned under his formal attire, but she’d never been the weak-kneed type of female.

“Well?” he prompted.

She glanced up. “Um, I was looking around the property when I heard this howling in the barn. Somehow he’d gotten trapped and was making a fuss. Anyway, no one claimed him. He acted so much in charge that I called him ‘The Captain.’ When I learned a sea captain built the house, it seemed to be fate. I made a few calls and wound up leasing the place.”

Jacob glared at the feline. The Captain opened his mouth and yawned, revealing an impressive set of teeth. “I—”

“Son? What’s taking so long?” Mrs. Kirkland appeared at the door of the kitchen. She smiled at the younger woman.

“I’m coming in a minute. Is—” he hesitated “—is Tracy upset?”

“No, not at all. I haven’t seen her this animated since before the accident. Apparently Alysia mentioned the Reynolds ghost. Your daughter is quite intrigued.”

He rounded on the talkative culprit. “How dare you? You might have scared her silly!”

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Kirkland interjected. “Children love stories about haunted mansions. You always did. Remember? You used to beg me to tell you about Alice’s spirit, forever doomed to walk the sea cliffs. You found it quite fascinating.”

Alysia raised her eyebrows. “Ghosts and ghoulies? Why, Mr. Reynolds, I would never have guessed.” The man looked thoroughly annoyed that his childhood foible had been revealed.

“Forget it.” Jacob turned to his mother. “I’ll be just a little longer.”

“All right, but try not to be too long.”

Jacob glanced back at Alysia, leaning nonchalantly against the wall. In the low evening light the smudges on her face were invisible, but the supple curves beneath the disreputable sweatshirt were still evident. He hadn’t missed her reaction when he’d stepped close to her—it was the only time in the entire conversation when she hadn’t been in complete control. Intriguing. Of course, she wasn’t his type. Too brash, too unfeminine, too tomboyish, too everything.

But intriguing nonetheless.

“Tell me, Miss McKenna,” he said softly. “How much do you charge for services rendered? On restoration. of course.”

Alysia’s eyes widened. He might be referring to business, but somehow the air had gone from crackling with animosity to being supercharged with sexual innuendo. She thrust her thumbs in the belt loops of her jeans, not wanting to be betrayed into covering her breasts. It was bad enough that her nipples had hardened into revealing awareness, but she didn’t want to act as if it mattered.

“It depends,” she drawled. “On the individual customer and the work needed.”

“Really? Give me an example. How much do you charge for restoring, say, Queen Anne chairs?” He leaned forward, a slight smile playing on his mouth and looking uncannily like hisseafaring great-grandfather.

Alysia’s pulse jumped. The man beneath the stuffed suit had potential, and he was lethally attractive when he wasn’t frowning. “Er, it depends on the condition of the chair, and who’s asking for restoration.”

“You charge different amounts for different customers?”

“Why don’t you just ask me what you want to know,” Alysia snapped. She didn’t like subtle games of ambush and snide innuendo, and she suspected Jacob Reynolds was trying to scare her off. Buying her off hadn’t worked, nor had threats of legal maneuvering. Maybe he thought she would turn tail if he made a sexual pass. Fat chance.