“Is your head spinning?” Lillian asked conspiratorially.
“I’m taking it in.”
She passed him a modern-looking key. “This is for you. It will get you in any of the doors. There’s no alarm.” The smile returned. “We don’t have trouble with anyone breaking in.” She lowered her voice. “Everyone thinks the old house is haunted.”
“Is it?”
“Not that I can tell, but I have hope.” She rose. “Come on. I’ll show you your room.”
He left his untouched lemonade on the table. They went down a hall, made a turn, and walked along another hall before reaching a wide curved staircase. The treads were at least six feet across, and the banister was hand-carved. The only modern touch was one of those stair-lift chairs.
Lillian sat on it and picked up a remote. “Shall we?”
He walked up with her, keeping pace with her slow progress. On the landing, she led the way to the left.
There were a few more twists and turns before they stopped in front of a set of double doors.
“I chose this room especially for you, Mason.” Her smile returned, this time tinged with sadness. “Leo and I so wanted children, but we were never blessed. I suppose we should have adopted, but somehow we never thought about it. Anyway, this would have been our oldest son’s room. I hope it suits.”
She pushed open the doors and motioned him inside.
His first impression was that the bedroom—more of a suite, really—was as big as his house back in Texas. His second was that the room came with a balcony and a view of the Pacific Ocean.
“It’s very nice here during sunset,” Lillian told him. “And beautiful when the storms come in.” She linked arms with him again. “What are you thinking, Mason?”
“That this country boy from West Virginia has come a long way.”
Something brushed against his leg. He looked down and saw a cat rubbing against him. The two in the kitchen had been black and brown. This one was white.
“How many cats do you have?” he asked, as the white cat jumped gracefully onto the bed.
“About fifteen, I think. They’re so restful to have around, and such excellent company.”
Fifteen cats? He swore silently. He shouldn’t even be surprised. Roses had thorns, and his unexpectedly fantastical inheritance came with a little old lady and a shitload of cats.
* * *
Robyn’s mild sense of dread at having to deal with her ex-husband was mitigated by the fact that he wasn’t her problem anymore. Because of their kids, she would be tied to him forever, especially when grandchildren started showing up, but she was no longer “Cord’s wife.”
She didn’t have to worry about him buying something impulsively, without talking to her first. Not a car or this house or anything else. She wasn’t concerned about the ups and downs of his business—although to give him his due, in the past few years, there had only been ups. Their divorce settlement had relieved her of any responsibility to the family firm. He’d released her legally and was in the process of buying her out. A significant lump sum had been deposited the day their divorce was final, and every month he wrote her a check.
Because she had a smart lawyer, she was paid before any of his other bills, and should Austin want to go to college, his four years would be covered by his dad, as Harlow’s had been. The house was a bit more of a complication. She was required to pay the mortgage, insurance and taxes until Austin turned eighteen—something that had happened a few weeks ago. After that, she had six months to sell and split the proceeds with Cord, or buy him out. Something she had no intention of doing. The beautiful house on the water had skyrocketed in value. Keeping it would require getting a loan for at least two million dollars. Even more significant, she didn’t actually like the house.
But her thoughts on moving were for another time, she thought, as the antique clock struck six. Right now her biggest problem was guilt at not fixing appetizers or cocktails. Telling herself Cord’s visit wasn’t a social call didn’t make the compulsion go away. She’d been raised to be a good hostess. Old habits die hard.
At two minutes after the hour, the doorbell rang. Robyn let in her ex. Cord, about six feet of Florida tan, with a rangy build and easy, superficial charm, swept in with a grin and a quick cheek kiss.
“It’s humid,” he said, walking toward the kitchen. “Thunderstorms tonight.”
“As long as they’re done by morning,” she said. “So they don’t get in the way of the charters.”
Boating and lightning weren’t a good mix.
Cord looked around the kitchen. He wore a Hawaiian shirt over worn jeans. His sandy-brown hair, a shade darker than Austin’s, was a little too long, but the messy style suited him. His eyes were brown, his jaw square. He was, by all standards, a handsome man. Yet when she looked at him, she only felt relief that he wasn’t her problem anymore. Not directly. Fighting with him because of her kids was easy—it was fighting with him for herself that had always left her feeling emotionally broken and battered. She’d never known if he was simply better at winning arguments than her, or if he knew her better than she knew herself. Regardless, she had rarely survived any of their verbal altercations unscathed.
“No cocktails?” he asked, giving her an easy grin. “So this is going to be a serious conversation.”
“It is.”
“And here I thought you wanted to talk about getting back together.”
She had no idea if he was kidding or not, so she ignored him. Instead of answering, she pointed to the kitchen table, thinking it was the closest seating area and the one least conducive to making them want to linger. Chitchat by the pool could go on for hours, while the uncomfortable, straight-back chairs encouraged brevity.
“What’s up?” he asked, taking his former seat at the head of the table.
She went to the opposite end, so they were facing each other. With Cord, it was never good to give up ground.
“Austin told me he’s only moving out for the summer, to hang out with his friends. He’s moving back here in September.”
Cord nodded. “Makes sense. He’s not really ready to be on his own.”
“I still want him to consider college.”
Her ex-husband slumped back in his chair. “Let that go, Robyn. He’s not the college type. He loves working for me. Sure, he doesn’t have Harlow’s ambition to run the place, but he’ll make a good living and be plenty happy. Isn’t that what matters?”
“What about his future? Shouldn’t he have options?”
“To do what? Be a brain surgeon? Austin’s the most easygoing kid in the world. Do you see him making it in corporate America? He lacks the killer instinct. I can give him a good life. Hey, if nothing else, he has job security.”
“He’s eighteen. Job security shouldn’t be what he’s looking for.”
But Austin wasn’t the reason she’d wanted to talk to Cord. There was a more pressing issue.
“I had lunch at the club today,” she said. “One of the women there took great pleasure in telling me that you’re dating someone new.”
Cord’s expression was comically confused. “What do you care who I’m dating? We’re not married.”