Inner Harbor

“Did Felicity show you to your room?”

“Changing the subject, Annie?”

“Yes. Did she?”

He nodded, his mouth tilted in a wicked grin. “She did. Thank you.”

“Good. Fine. Excellent.” She was babbling. “Well, make yourself at home then. Let me know if you need anything.” She turned, walked through the dining room and into the kitchen. There she made a pot of coffee, chose a freshly baked cinnamon bun from the rack.

When she turned again, he stood leaning against the door frame, leather jacket gone but still the charmer in black cashmere and worsted slacks. If she’d snapped a photo of him, Annie would have titled it The Ultimate Flirt. Funny, she’d thought she’d heard him leave.

“Wanna share?”

“Oh. Well, it’s up to you.” What else could she say? He was her guest. She poured two cups of coffee, then motioned toward the cinnamon rolls. He put three on the plate she offered.

“I’m good at sharing.” He laughed at her look. “I’m also starved.”

“I see that.”

They sat down at the small bistro table under a bank of windows that overlooked a tiny flagstone patio and Lake Michigan beyond. Suddenly Annie remembered.

“Since you’re going to be living here, I wonder if you’d be interested in playing for our children’s choir—the same music you played today. Easter morning.” She rushed on, blurting out the facts in no particular order. “They’re good kids, but I can’t direct and play, and they need to practice to memorize their parts. We haven’t yet begun to coordinate with the readers, and that will take a lot of work to get the timing right, and—”

“Okay.”

“And then, of course, there are the robes to think of. Someone else is handling them, but I expect—” She stopped, stared at him. “What did you say?”

“I said I’ll play for you. The organ?” His eyes sparkled with mirth. “That was what you asked, wasn’t it?”

“Oh. Yes, it was.” Annie gulped. That easy? “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He licked the white Danish icing off his fingertips, then took a sip of coffee before leaning back in his chair like a satisfied cat just finished a bowl of cream. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something else.”

“Talk to me?” she demanded, suspicious of the odd smile twitching at his handsome mouth. “Why?”

“Calm down. It’s nothing horrible,” he assured her. “I can see the worst ideas flickering through your eyes.”

“What could you possibly have to talk to me about? We’ve only just met.”

“Remember I told you we used to come here in the summer?”

She nodded.

“My parents are both lawyers in Chicago. They’re very busy. Back then they lived in Green Bay and they wanted a place nearby where our family could get away from work and relax together.” His voice tightened a fraction.

“Oh, yes.” She still didn’t see what that had to do with her.

“My grandparents would come sometimes, too. My grandfather wasn’t crazy about leaving work. He was a workaholic, and lazing around made him very uncomfortable. But my mom loved having her mother visit us at the cottage, and my gran adored the lake. They spent a lot of time talking. My grandfather didn’t dare put a damper on that because Gran was the love of his life.” Those unusual eyes darkened with emotion. “Their marriage was perfect, exactly what everyone thinks of when they say the word love. Unfortunately Gran died eight years ago.”

“Oh.” Where was this going? “They were your only grandparents?”

“The only ones I knew. Dad’s parents died before I was born. They lived in New York.”

Mitchard. The name pricked her memory. A newspaper article, what, a month ago? Something named in memory, wasn’t it? Annie stared at him. “The land developer?”

He smiled. “Uh-huh.”

“Oh.” What else was there to say? Russ Mitchard’s grandfather had been a household name and certainly a workaholic. No wonder he hadn’t wanted to put grandiose building schemes aside to traipse around Door Country like the tourists. If she remembered correctly, the son, Russ’s father, was an only child and had inherited everything when Mitchard Senior had a heart attack. Curiosity got the better of her.

“With that history, it seems strange you’d choose the career you have. I’d have thought you’d follow your grandfather, build more office buildings.”

“There’s nothing wrong with what I do.”

The belligerent words startled her.

“I didn’t say there was. I just thought—” She stopped when his face darkened. “Never mind.” She sipped her coffee, thinking. “So you came back to Safe Harbor because of your memories.”

“I came back because the marketing studies I commissioned showed great potential for my business here.” The words stopped abruptly.

“Good for you. And welcome to our town.” She tried to lighten the tone.

“I have another reason for staying, though, Annie.” He peered at her.

“Really?” She laughed nervously. There was something about those unusual eyes. “Well, according to the Chamber of Commerce there are a lot of reasons anyone would choose Safe Harbor.”

“It had nothing to do with the Chamber of Commerce. I’d already decided to set up shop here, just not quite yet. But then my grandfather upped the ante. More particularly, his will did.”

Something—a fizzle of awareness—shot through her. “Your grandfather’s will said you had to live in Safe Harbor?” she whispered.

“No.” He took a deep breath and looked her straight in the eye. “My grandfather’s will said I have to marry you to collect my inheritance.”

Annie stared with shock into that cool gray gaze. So this was R.J. She wished she’d been prepared. But then, wasn’t that why Wharton Willoughby had written her, to prepare her?

As she watched him, a mask slid into place, shielding his expressive eyes from her. How much did he know, she wondered. Was he aware of the relationship she’d shared with his grandfather?

“What did you say your name was?”

He frowned. “Russell James Mitchard. Most people call me Russ. My gramps used to call me R.J. Why?”

All hope that this was a case of mistaken identity flew away. Annie swallowed.

R.J. This was the beloved grandson, the man her dearest friend had chosen as her husband. A husband she didn’t want.

Ignorance was bliss. And it was worth a try if it deflated this crazy idea before it got airborne. She’d pretend his proposal came as a shock.

“Proposing marriage to someone you’ve only just met is preposterous. I’m afraid I’ll have to turn down your proposal, Mr. Mitchard. I’m not interested in getting married.”

“Now?” he asked, one eyebrow quirked.