“Is there a point to this?”
He fingered the rough post that supported the roof. “I thought you should know that things have changed around here. Significantly. For one thing, Neal Taggert suffered a stroke a few years back. He’s stuck in a wheelchair. Weston’s in charge now.”
Claire shuddered inwardly. Weston Taggert was the opposite of his younger brother. Tall, athletic, cocksure, and mean-tempered, Weston was the antithesis of all that was good in Harley.
“It’s no secret that Weston’s worse than Neal when it comes to hating your family. And his wife . . .”
“Kendall,” Claire said, feeling as if the weight of the world had been dropped on her shoulders. They had a past, she and Kendall, a link because of Harley. And now Kendall Forsythe was married to Harley’s older brother, a man who had stated publicly as well as privately that he’d like nothing better than to embarrass the hell out of Dutch Holland—then run him out of town.
“Seems like you and Weston are cut from the same cloth.”
Kane’s eyes flashed dangerously, and the skin over the bridge of his nose tightened a bit. He leaned closer to her and she took a small breath. “I have nothing against you or your sisters, you know that.”
“I don’t know anything about you, Kane, or why you’re on this mission to destroy my family.”
“Not the family. It’s your father—”
“Who had nothing to do with Harley Taggert’s death. You know, Dad thinks you’re being paid by the Taggerts, and it wouldn’t surprise me a bit.” She tilted up her ch
in and gazed defiantly into eyes the color of expensive scotch. “I assume you’re being paid a lot of money to paint my father as an ogre.”
“This isn’t about money.”
“Sure it is. Big book deal, kickbacks from my father’s political opponent, and a little pot sweetener from the Taggerts. Looks like you finally got what you wanted, Kane.”
“That, darlin’, is where you’re wrong.” He stared at her so intently she wanted to back away, was certain he’d reach out and grab her, yank her hard against him, but he didn’t move. Instead his pupils dilated and the corners of his eyes squinted ever so slightly. “You know what I wanted a long time ago, what I couldn’t have.”
Her throat caught.
“That’s right, Claire. Back then, I wanted you. I would have laid down and died if you would have just looked at me—really looked at me—as a person who loved you rather than as a curiosity, a one-night stand to experiment with, a tiny step onto the wild side when you had no one else to turn to—”
“Stop it! I don’t know why you’re here, why you’ve started dredging all this up again, but it’s a mistake. Believe me. Leave this alone. Find some other dirty little scandal to expose, but just . . . just don’t do this.”
“Too late, darlin’. I’ve already got myself a deal.”
“As I said. ‘Money.’”
“Mom?” Sean, hearing the end of the conversation, appeared around the corner of the house. His eyes centered on the intruder before settling on his mother. “You okay?”
Oh, great! How much of the discussion had he heard? As if suddenly jolted by a current of electricity, she stepped away from Kane, put much-needed distance between her body and his, and forced her quivering insides to settle. This was no time to lose a fraction of her composure. Not in front of her son. Not with Kane Moran.
“Your boy?” Kane asked.
“Yes, uh, this is Sean. Sean—Mr. Moran.” Her voice sounded so much calmer than she felt.
“Glad to meet you,” Kane said, walking up to Sean with his hand outstretched. “I knew your Ma when she was about your age.”
“That’s right. Kane was a . . . neighbor.”
“My dad worked for your grandfather.”
“So?” Sean wasn’t impressed and his insolent I-don’t-give-a-damn attitude was firmly in place.
“Lived right across the lake in that old cabin over there.”
Sean couldn’t help himself, his gaze wandered over the water to the thicket of fir trees and the tiny cottage nestled therein. “Doesn’t look like much.”
“Sean!”