“He said that for a second there, he thought my father looked mad enough to vault over the bar, but he couldn’t decide if my dad wanted to hit him or the television screen. According to Jack, he looked a little wild.”
“That’s so strange. What do you think, Liam?” she asked, leaning forward intently with her elbows on the table. She wasn’t asking idly. It seemed clear from Liam’s somber expression he’d done some wrestling with his thoughts on the matter.
He paused before replying. “That news story was about the corporate takeover, so we researched the companies. But Jack couldn’t see that television screen like I could on that surveillance video—or like my father could. Lincoln DuBois himself was being interviewed for the segment.”
“You think your father could have been upset about Lincoln DuBois? But I thought you said your parents didn’t know him.”
“He’s a celebrity in the financial world, but my parents never mentioned knowing him personally. Is Lincoln DuBois even alive? I never hear about him on the news anymore. He used to be a media favorite, didn’t he? He’s got to be alive—he didn’t look all that old in that television segment.”
“He’s alive.”
Liam’s head shot up with interest. “He is? How do you know?”
Natalie nodded. “I read about it in an old Forbes article while you were combing through the newspaper references this morning. DuBois has had several strokes in the last two years, and I guess they caused some serious functional impairments. According to the article, he’s still running the company, but he does so from his Lake Tahoe home. He lives an isolated life.”
Liam’s brows shot up with interest.
“What part of Tahoe?”
“South Lake. Apparently, that’s where he grew up. DuBois comes from money, in addition to creating an empire on his own. His father was a multimillionaire—made his fortune in real estate and cattle. DuBois always kept it as his home base, even though his major corporate hubs are in both San Francisco and New York.”
“You’re brilliant,” Liam mumbled, preoccupied.
“I just read an article. Liam…what’s wrong?” she asked, leaning forward.
He blinked and pushed his chair back. “Nothing. The mosquitoes are starting to bite. Come on, let’s go inside.”
Her mind started jumping around as if she’d just consumed two turbocharged lattes as she followed Liam inside the screen door. Their conversation about Derry had distracted her for a few minutes, but now she couldn’t stop thinking about Liam asking her to spend the night.
The fact that she was thinking about accepting his proposal shocked her even more. If she agreed to sleep with Liam, she’d have to tell him she’d never had sex.
She grasped wildly for a safe topic of conversation as she helped Liam do the dishes, but her rising anxiety got the best of her. Luckily, Liam didn’t appear to be uncomfortable at all in a silence that felt suffocating to Natalie. He was absorbed in his thoughts, but he seemed to rise out of them as he shut the dishwasher.
“Do you want to see what I’v
e done to the cottage so far? I’d like your opinion on a couple of things.”
“Of course,” she murmured.
“I don’t want to waste money loading it up with furniture when I’m not really sure what I want yet,” Liam explained as he led her through the sparsely furnished living room.
“That’s a good idea. This place has such a light, open feel to it, like it was meant to be filled with clean lake air and sunlight. It wouldn’t do to cram it full with a bunch of heavy furniture. I pictured a golden tan for the walls in this room, and then filling it with rich browns and ivories. It’d make it look like a sunlit globe in the mornings. When I thought about buying the cottage, the first thing I fantasized about doing was restoring the fireplace to its former glory,” Natalie said as she ran her hand across the age-and-smoke-dulled wood. The magic she’d once felt sneaking into the rundown, yet still elegant old home, returned to her full force. “It’s made of carved African mahogany and Carrera white marble.”
Liam looked impressed. “My mom told me I was nuts when I said I was considering slapping some paint on the mantle. She could tell it was fine craftsmanship, but she didn’t know all those details. How’d you find out that stuff?”
“I dug up a few historical facts on the cottage when I was thinking about buying it. George Myerson, the original owner, was the president of the Pacific Railway and he commissioned Ellison Raft of Chicago to design the place. I copied the old articles I found. I still have them somewhere, if you’d like me to give them to you.”
“That’d be great, thanks,” Liam said as he led her up the stairs. Natalie followed him into the large, west-facing room.
“I can’t figure out what I should do with this space,” he said.
“Myerson used it as a saloon—a kind of nineteenth century Guys Only Club, where he and the other men played pool, smoked cigars, told fishing stories…avoided their wives,” Natalie added with a small smile. She opened a door, which led to what looked like an enormous closet or small room, and stepped over the threshold. “This was the actual bar in here, where he stored spirits and wine.”
“Huh,” Liam spoke from just behind her. “I’ve found the local expert on my house. How lucky am I?”
Natalie laughed and turned to face him. Her smile faded when she realized how close he was. He’d been peering into the small room from behind her, his arm braced above her head on the door frame. His tall, rangy body blocked her exit.
She couldn’t decide if her hammering heart was trying to tell her to escape or submit to her urge to stay put.