Inheritance (The Lost Bride Trilogy, #1)(128)

When he laughed, Sonya went in for the kill. “It’s a big job, and I’ve got one shot at it. I want to show ordinary people—not professional models—using Ryder equipment in their daily lives. You do biceps curls, so, that’s you. Cleo’s going to represent yoga. Trey’s baseball.”

He laughed again. “She got you? First the lawyer shot, now this? He hates having his picture taken.”

“Hate’s a strong word,” Trey said.

“But…” Lashes batting again, Cleo ran a hand down Trey’s cheek. “So handsome.”

“Yeah, she’s got you. Me? I’m fine with it. Come on, Jones, let’s go pick out our bunk for the night. Don’t start that vodka thing without me,” he told Cleo. “I want to watch.”

“An interesting man, your friend.”

Trey sent Cleo his slow smile. “He’s many-layered. Like Shrek.”





Chapter Twenty-seven



As Trey walked toward the kitchen in the morning, he smelled bacon and coffee. The duet of siren calls.

Owen, the sleeves of an ancient denim shirt rolled up, the front open over an equally ancient T-shirt, whipped something in a bowl.

“Dogs beat you down. They’re having a meeting outside.”

Nodding, Trey headed straight to the coffee.

“Heard the clock,” Owen added. “Three in the a.m.”

“Yeah. Sonya slept through it. And the music after.”

“I heard somebody crying, it sounded like down the hall from the library. I walked over, then downstairs. Nothing and nobody there. Except. You know I’ve got twenty-twenty, but when I walked into the music room, just for a second, I didn’t see rings on either portrait. Wedding rings. Then I did.”

Eyes narrowed, Trey leaned against the counter. “That happened to Sonya. She mentioned it last night.”

“Yeah? Maybe it’s a Poole thing.”

“Maybe. And maybe it means she’s not the only one who can find the rings. Wherever the hell they are.”

“Or—maybe again—take a walk through that magic mirror. Wherever the hell that is.”

“Have you talked to any of the cousins about this?”

“They’re not interested. Collin didn’t leave them the manor for good reason. They’d have sold it in a heartbeat.”

“But not you.”

“No. I don’t know what the hell I’d do with it, and there’s another reason he left it to Sonya. But it’s been in the family for more than two centuries. That shit matters. The business matters, same reason, and that they get. Even if it’s only, or at least mostly, for the income.”

“But not you,” Trey said again.

“Hey, I’ve got nothing against making money. We play to our strengths, and that works. Clarice may not know how to build a dinghy, but she’s got an eagle eye on the business of the business. Connor could sell sand to a man wandering the desert. Mike could build if he wanted, but he’s best at design. Cathy and Cole, they’re both settled in Europe, got family there, and handle that end of things.

“And Hugh,” Owen added, speaking of his younger brother, “he’s grateful for the share Collin left him, and he’d do whatever I asked him to do. But what he wants is to live in New York, wear fancy suits, and work in finance. He’s good at it.

“Do you figure the women are coming down before lunch?”

“Sonya’s up. She wanted to check something in her office first. I don’t know about Cleo.” Trey looked in the bowl. “French toast?”

“It’s Sunday.” Owen got out two skillets. “Somebody else is doing the dishes. How many slices do you want?”

“I can smell the bacon. Are you making eggs, too?”

“It’s Sunday.”

“Then two.”

When Sonya walked in, Owen added more soaked slices of bread to the skillet. Then poured beaten eggs into the other.

“You meant a serious breakfast.”

“It’s Sunday. How many do you want?”

“Just one, thanks.”

“That’s sad, but your choice.”

By the time he’d piled everything on one big platter, Cleo joined them. He shot her a look.

“Do you wake up looking like that?”

She just smiled. “Now, that’s a Sunday breakfast.”

“I made extra in case you decided to show up.”

“It’s Sunday,” she said, and made Trey laugh.

As they ate, Sonya turned to Owen. “So, Trey tells me you build doghouses.”

“Not really. A couple.”

“You did that duplex for Lucy.”

“A few,” Owen corrected.

“Yoda really needs his own house. I mean like right now, he has guests. Maybe they all want to hang out, watch some ESPN. Or Paw Patrol.”

Owen scooped up some eggs, eyed her as she smiled at him.

“What’ll it take?”

“Don’t know. Haven’t thought about it. Right off, you need a design, dimensions.”

“It just so happens.” She popped up, retrieved the sketchbook she’d brought in with her. “I have that.”