Forever Wife And Mother. Grace Green
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stile.
After that, Will took Fang to Holly Cottage as often as she could, but only between May and October and only when her dad was away. This was the first time ever that she’d risked going onto Lockhart land while he was home, and she really didn’t know what had brought her there today.
She hadn’t gone as far as the log house, though, because the Lockhart summer ladies didn’t start coming till the first of May, but she’d climbed over the stile and skipped down the forest path a bit with Fang.
And was on her way back for breakfast—was close enough to the stile to see it through the trees—when she’d heard someone up ahead.
Holding her breath, she peeked around the trunk of the oak tree. And her heart almost stopped when she saw a stranger on the other side of the fence, standing with one hand atop a fence post.
Fang barked.
Will got such a start she lost her grip on his collar, and he lurched from their hiding place and bounded to the fence.
Tail whisking like mad, he yelped ferociously at the stranger. She stepped back. Which made him bark even louder. On and on and on…
There was nothing for it, Will thought, frustrated, but to come out. If she didn’t, her dad might hear Fang and come to investigate.
So she put on her scowliest face and marched out of the shadows. Grabbing Fang’s collar, she ordered him to hush. Which he did. Then she held up the bottom wire and pushed him under the fence before climbing over the stile to the other side.
By the time she’d clambered over, the stranger had crouched down and was making friends with Fang, whose tail might well drop off, Will thought disapprovingly, if he kept wagging it that fast!
She frowned at the stranger, who wasn’t very big. And she was real skinny. She had blond hair that was scooped up in a high ponytail but would probably reach halfway down her back if it wasn’t. Her white T-shirt was tucked into her blue jeans, and she was wearing white Reeboks. Will had just finished giving her a good once-over when the woman stood up and fixed smiley gray eyes on her.
“Hi,” she said. “What a dear little dog.”
Will folded her arms over her chest and said, in a growly voice, “You’re trespassing. This is Ryland property. You’d best get off it real fast, before my dad catches you.”
The stranger looked past Will, across the fence. “I was just wondering,” she said, “where that path leads.”
“You can’t go down there, either. That property belongs to old man Lockhart—” Will stopped abruptly as her watch beeped an alarm. “Cripes,” she muttered. “It’s seven. If I want breakfast I’d better—” Dodging around the stranger and saying, “C’mon, Fang!” she hurtled away up the hill, not breaking her stride as she called over her shoulder, “Like I said, lady, you’d best get going real fast or you’ll be staring up the barrel of my dad’s shotgun!”
Caprice chuckled.
And started up the slope.
A tomboy, she mused as the child disappeared over the crest of the hill, but an adorable one, with that raggedy yellow hair, delightfully tip-tilted nose and lovely eyes. Mismatched eyes, one green, one hazel, and densely fringed with lashes the color of toffee.
Caprice paused and looked back when she reached the top of the slope. Over the tips of the trees, she could see three chimney pots. If that was Lockhart land, then that would be the log house. Holly Cottage.
What secrets might she uncover there? Would she find some clue as to why her father had deceived her? If not, she’d have to become acquainted with the locals in the hopes of finding someone who’d known him and would talk about him. Under the circumstances, it would be unwise to ask anyone outright if Malcolm Lockhart had been involved with a woman called Angela. Who knew what can of worms that might open up! No, better to play it safe, be discreet.
Heaving a restless sigh, she turned and walked on. At the lodge, she went in by the main entrance. She was hesitating in the foyer, unsure where to go, when the little girl shot out from the passage leading to the Rylands’ private quarters.
She skidded to a halt when she saw Caprice.
“Are you Mrs. Kincaid?” Her whisper was panicky.
“Yes.”
The child gulped. “Mrs. Kincaid, please don’t tell my dad you saw me on the other side of the fence. That’s Lockhart property and…” Her cheeks took on a guilty flush. “I was the one who was trespassing. Not you.” Taking a deep breath, she added in a rush, “I’m not supposed to go in there. If my dad found out, he’d be as mad as—”
“It’s okay,” Caprice assured her. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
“Oh, thank you—”
“Will!” Gabe Ryland’s voice thundered from somewhere in the depths of the lodge. “Did you find her?”
Caprice raised her eyebrows. “You’re Will?”
“Yup.”
“Oh, I thought when your father spoke of Will last night he was referring to…your mother.”
The child’s eyes became shuttered. “My mother’s dead,” she said. “It’s been just me and my dad since I was four.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry—”
“Will!”
At the sound of her father’s bellow, the little girl said, “Uh-oh! We’d better get into the kitchen if we want to eat. C’mon!”
She darted off, and Caprice followed her to the kitchen, which turned out to be small and cozy and bright, with windows facing east. The sun beamed in and cast its pink glow over a jade-green slate floor, granite countertops, maple cupboards and a maple island.
Fang was in a corner of the room, digging his nose greedily into a bowl of dog food, and Gabe Ryland was standing with his back to her at a round maple table set in a windowed alcove. He was wearing khaki shorts and a khaki shirt, and she found her gaze flicking in awe over his wide shoulders, his lean hips, his long, brawny legs. Talk about rugged! Talk about tough! Talk about powerful! She could well imagine this man leaping mountains in a single bound or overpowering a cougar with one twist of his bare hands.
He said to Will as she clambered onto her chair, “Did you find Mrs. Kincaid?”
“She did,” Caprice said.
He turned around, a coffee carafe in his hand. “Oh, hi, there.”
“Good morning,” Caprice murmured, adding with an edge of humour in her voice, “I hope I’m not late?”
“Rules,” he said, “are meant to be kept.” Amusement gleamed in his eyes—hunter green eyes that were so intense Caprice could almost feel them lasering into her soul. He glanced at his daughter. “Right, Will?”
The child wriggled uncomfortably in her chair, and to save her from being put on the spot, Caprice interjected lightly, “Some say that rules are for the obedience of fools and the guidance of idiots.”
“Without rules,” he returned as he poured coffee into two mugs, “the world would be an even crazier place than it already is.”
Caprice took the seat he indicated. “But surely there are times when we must break the rules—”
“It may be more difficult, at those times, to keep to them, but in the long run it works out for the best. As long as the rule is a good one to start with.” He returned the carafe to the coffeemaker and brought a rack of toast to the table. “Take mealtimes. If the rule is that we always sit down at a certain time and we all adhere to that rule, it makes the cook’s work easier.” His eyes teased her. “Don’t you think so?”
“What I think—” Caprice added milk to her coffee “—is