When the Spirit Is Willing Page 9

  "Did you wish to tour the museum?" the woman asked, going behind the desk to hang up the telephone. "I'm sorry to keep you waiting. Our handyman is out sick, so I'm wearing more hats than usual." She indicated the crate. "We just received a shipment of stuff an agent acquired for us at an estate auction. He said they were marvelous old paintings. I'm dying to peek."

  Laura smiled at her excitement. "I'd love to look around, but I really came to see Mr. Kincaid. Is he in?"

  The woman glanced at a closed door on the other side of the foyer, a disapproving expression flitting across her face. "He certainly is." She touched the telephone. "Whom shall I say?"

  "Laura Daniel."

  "And Jessica Daniel," Jess chimed in.

  Ms. Whittock smiled at her, then at Laura. "The Willows, right? You're restoring the old Burbage house?"

  Carter must have talked about her. Laura wondered what he'd said.

  An odd, almost mischievous expression was dancing around the woman's mouth now. "Why don't you both just go straight on in," she said, gesturing at the door. "I'm sure Mr. Kincaid would be delighted to see you."

  "Thank you." Laura wasn't quite sure Carter would be all that thrilled after the way she'd treated him yesterday, but she headed for the door, anyway, with Jessica holding on to her hand.

  She knocked lightly, but evidently no one heard her. When she opened the door she saw Carter Kincaid and a red-haired woman—Miss Teenage America, no less—sitting with their backs to her, gazing at a computer screen. Their heads were very close together.

  On the floor near the desk lay a very large, golden-haired dog, his nose stretched out on his forepaws. His brown eyes studied Laura and Jessica, then he lumbered to his feet. He was even bigger than she'd thought, but he seemed to have stood up more out of politeness than as a threat. His feathery tail was wagging.

  "No, no, Carter, honey," the young woman said, turning her head to bat her incredibly long eyelashes at him. "You were supposed to hit Alt/F7 not Control/F7. Control/F7 gives you footnote. What you want is Columns/Table."

  Carter grunted, then punched some keys on the keyboard. The screen went blank.

  "Well, that's okay," the young woman said in a voice of supreme patience. "Don't worry, I can get it back."

  "Hello?" Laura said.

  The dog woofed in answer.

  Both swivel chairs swung around. Miss Teenage America wasn't showing quite as much flesh as she had when she'd strolled into Laura's kitchen, but there was a fairly plentiful supply of bare thigh hanging out under her brief white shorts.

  "I did knock," Laura said apologetically, even though she didn't really feel like apologizing.

  Carter was already on his feet, coming toward her. His lean dark good looks struck her with renewed force. As before, he was elegantly dressed in a well-cut suit. His smile was as cheerfully wicked as she remembered it.

  "This is a terrific surprise," he said, with every appearance of sincerity. "I was going to call you shortly, to see if you were free for lunch." Gesturing toward his co-computer operator, he said, "You remember Tiffany?" He looked embarrassed. "I guess you never were formally introduced. Laura and Jessica Daniel. Tiffany Starling."

  "Hi," Tiffany said, with a wide and friendly smile.

  The dog padded over to Jessica, sat in front of her and offered her a paw. Entranced, she shook it gently. In return the dog swiped her face with his long pink tongue.

  "Max," Carter said warningly, but Jessica giggled and flung her arms around his neck.

  "I don't have time to go to lunch," Laura said firmly. "I just came to tell you—" Breaking off, she glanced at Tiffany, who was looking from her to Carter with undisguised interest. "I need to talk to you about something," she said.

  "Sure." Looking slightly harassed, he glanced at Tiffany himself. "Would you mind going on with the appraisal lists?" he asked. "I promise I'll get back to them soon."

  Tiffany nodded obligingly, turned around and started tapping away efficiently on the computer keys. "We'd better try to find a quiet spot," Carter murmured.

  "Can Max come, too?" Jessica asked.

  Carter smiled down at her. "Sorry, Jess. He isn't allowed to leave this room. He has to be on his best behavior when he's here—no barking, no wandering, no knocking people down."

  Jessica giggled again. "Does he really knock people down?"

  "Let's just say he gets a little too affectionate sometimes."

  "I wish I had a dog," Jessica said. "But when you're remodeling houses for other people to live in, it's not really possible to keep pets around."

  Carter glanced at Laura, smiling at the little girl's precocious language. "I guess she was listening," she said.

  "Perhaps now that you're settled?" he suggested.

  Laura frowned. "But we're not. Once the house is finished, I'll be putting it up for sale and moving on, just as I always do."

  "Away from Port Dudley?" He was astonished by the hollow feeling this prospect gave him.

  "Probably."

  How could she be so casual about going away, leaving Port Dudley, leaving him? He was being ridiculous. She'd shown over and over that she had no personal interest in him at all.

  "Doesn't it upset you to let go after you've put so much work into a place?" he asked, for want of anything else to say.

  Her mouth tightened. "Would you ask that question of a building contractor? A mall developer?"

  Oh, Lord. Now he'd offended her.

  "Everyone asks me that," she said, sounding definitely irritated. "People think a woman is nothing but a bundle of sentimentality, anxious to put down roots, to build a nest, to nurture." She laughed somewhat harshly. "I have no desire to put down roots. Roots can get hacked out from under you."

  Obviously he'd put his foot in his mouth again and he wasn't sure how to get it out. He was also conscious that although Tiffany was tapping away on the keyboard, she was listening avidly.

  "Maybe I could bring Max to visit you sometime," he said to Jessica, taking the coward's way out. "We could leave him on the porch. He's good about staying on porches when he's told."

  "He could stay in my room," Jessica suggested. "My room hasn't been done yet."

  "We'll see," Laura said. She glanced sideways at Carter. "I'm sorry. I'm not usually so prickly. I guess I'm still upset about yesterday."

  Carter glanced again at Tiffany, whose head was leaning slightly backward. He could almost see her ears straining. He gestured toward the door.

  " 'Bye, Max," Jessica said reluctantly.

  "You'll see him again," Carter assured her.

  She looked up, hazel eyes as bright as stream-washed pebbles. Then she seemed to remember something and the light went out of her face. "We'll see," she said in stern imitation of her mother.

  She was telling him she wasn't going to be won over too easily, Carter decided. Like mother, like daughter. Which reminded him, he'd better clear up any possible misunderstandings right away. "Tiffany's teaching me how to use the computer," he said, as he escorted Laura and Jessica across the foyer. "I think I told you I'm computer illiterate. But Tiffany's a real whiz."

  "I'll bet," Laura said.

  He stopped and looked at her narrow eyed. "Did anyone ever tell you you're sexist?"

  "I am not."

  His dark eyebrows slanted upward. "You mean that you didn't take one look at Tiffany and think bimbo? Wasn't that disbelief in your voice when I said she was a computer expert?"

  Taken aback, Laura answered stiffly, "Okay, you've got me. But I didn't think bimbo. I thought Miss Teenage America. Those legs!"

  "What legs?" Carter asked, then grinned. "Oh, you mean those legs." He shook his head. "Mildred says I should tell her not to come to work in shorts, but I decided I'm probably safer pretending not to notice she has legs."

  "Safer?" Laura queried.

  "Miss Teenage America has a crush on me," he said smugly. Then he looked at Laura questioningly, obviously wondering why she was curious about Tiffany. She couldn't
answer that herself. She knew only that she hadn't liked finding the two of them sitting so close together. Looking sternly back at him, Laura discovered her mouth had gone dry. That was probably due to the museum atmosphere, since they'd have to keep the humidity low to prevent damage to the furnishings. "She seems very good-natured," she said lamely.

  "She is." He tucked a hand under her arm and they continued across the foyer and into a long hall.

  Tourists were out en masse. Laura was very aware of Carter's hand, she discovered. And she could hardly blame that awareness on museum atmosphere.

  She forced herself to take note of her surroundings. There was a pathway through each room, bordered by tasseled silk ropes on brass posts. One room was a complete Victorian parlor, featuring a lot of japanned papier-mâché ornaments, an art-nouveau mirror hanging over an ornate fireplace and a beautifully upholstered, Belter-style couch and matching chairs. The next room was a chamber with a bed that had a marvelously carved headboard.

  "I've kept the house pretty much the way it was when my grandmother handed it over," Carter said when Laura exclaimed over the richness of detail. "I can't really take credit for it." He opened a door at the end of the passage and led the way along a glassed-in hall. "This place is all my doing, however," he added.

  Laura and Jessica were both struck dumb with wonder. The hall had opened onto what was evidently the building next door. Spread out before them was a replica of Port Dudley's Front Street.

  Old-fashioned light fixtures lit the way to a series of small shops and offices filled with all manner of things, including mannequins dressed in the styles of the nineteenth century.

  One small building had been set up as a doctor's clinic, complete with a black leather bag on a stand and an old-fashioned wooden examining table. Across the street, on the waterfront side, there was a captain's cabin from an old sailing ship. A post office stood between a telegraph office and a replica of a bank. Yet another room purported to be a mercantile store. Jessica's attention was caught by an array of old-style toys and large candy jars on the long counter.

  "Phony candy," Carter told her apologetically. "We'd lose the lot if we put real goodies in there."

  "It's magical," Laura exclaimed. "It's the most attractive museum I've ever seen, Take away the tourists and you could almost imagine it was a hundred years ago."

  Carter smiled at her. "Wait until you see it at Christmas."

  For a moment, she could see it: shop windows trimmed with holly and red bunting; silver paper cornucopias filled with candies; Christmas trees hung with tangerines, strings of popcorn and cranberries and gold-foil stars. Briefly, she wondered if she'd still be in Port Dudley by Christmas. The remodeling was going well. A local real-estate agent had assured her of a quick sale. A wave of regret washed over her. She had so rarely stayed in one house more than a year. The Willows was going to be hard to leave. She was even getting attached to Priscilla.

  "This end of the street is not strictly authentic as far as placement goes," Carter said as they walked slowly along. "But it does include all the businesses that were in existence in the city during the boom years of the late-nineteenth century."

  "The boom years?" Laura queried absentmindedly, still looking around in fascination.

  He nodded. "Our history has been linked with, and has often eclipsed, Port Townsend ever since the Fraser River gold rush brought people rushing to the nearest ports in 1858. We went through some fairly rough, tough years after that. By 1866 half the ships that came into Puget Sound picked up their crews in Port Townsend and Port Dudley. Shanghaied them if they didn't quite jump at the job offer. And along with the sailors came other elements, of course. Bawdy elements." He lowered his voice and pointed to his right. "Some of our citizens didn't want this house included, but I argued that if it was part of our history, it should have its place."

  As they moved on, he gestured at a small railroad office. "At one time this area dreamed of being the western terminus for a transcontinental railroad. For a while it looked as if the dream would become reality. Property values escalated. Population doubled. Businesses flourished. Ships— there were so many ships in the area, a New York newspaper reported that Port Townsend was second only to New York City in marine crafts. Consulates were established. And all of this affected Port Dudley, as well. It was a time of great prosperity. And then in 1890 it all began to unravel. The shipping industry became depressed along with every other business. The railroad went to Seattle and Tacoma."

  They walked on again. "You'll see as we go that you're actually moving forward in time. The mercantile shop was from the turn of the century. This kitchen with its old washing tub and wooden mangle is circa 1920s. Farther on you'll run into World War I memorabilia. Things picked up around here during World War I, but once it was over, the area went into the doldrums again. It has seesawed since then, until about twenty years ago, when people started to figure out that tourism could be big business. Tourism is our lifeblood now. It has its down side, though. We offer a quality of life that is fast disappearing. We're trying to preserve that quality, while still providing facilities for visitors. Which isn't always possible. You try to attract tourists for economic reasons and so many come that the town begins to lose its integrity."

  He seemed to suddenly realize he had been talking for some time. "I'm sorry," he said. "I get carried away."

  "You love all this, don't you?" Laura murmured. His enthusiasm had been contagious. For a while, as he'd talked, she'd imagined the town laid out in front of her coming to life with bustling men and women, all of them with their eyes on the future.

  "I wanted to create something as close as possible to a living history of the town," Carter concluded, with that sheepish look men seemed to get whenever they've admitted to some honest emotion.

  "And you did it all yourself?"

  That devilish grin of his lifted one eyebrow and one side of his mouth. "Except for the wiring and plumbing and some occasional help with those jobs that required brute male strength."

  Laura narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm not sure it's very chivalrous of you to repeat my words to me." She shook her head and laughed awkwardly. "This place is getting to me. I don't know when I've used the word 'chivalrous."

  "I'll try to be more chivalrous in future, Laura," he promised softly.

  He had taken her arm again. Jessica was studying an old pump organ. Laura managed a smile, but she was getting a little frayed around the edges. It really was dry in this building.

  A security guard had approached at a signal from Carter. "Is the meeting room free?" Carter asked him.

  The man shook his head. "Friends of the museum in there, sir."

  Carter sighed as the guard walked away. "I guess we'd better try the library for privacy. It's upstairs."

  They walked back to the foyer and up the stairs. Jessica ran ahead when she spied a model of a fort set in an alcove.

  As they reached the door of the library, Carter glanced over at Jessica. "What do you think of my museum, Jess?"

  "I liked the candy store," she said. "But I think I like this old fort best."

  "You want to look at it while your mom and I have our talk?"

  Jessica immediately looked suspicious. Glancing from Carter to Laura, she shook her head decidedly, her braid swinging. "That's okay," she said firmly.

  Carter grinned at her. To Laura's surprise, she didn't grin back. And her round little chin was set stubbornly. Yet she was usually friendly to everyone. When Laura thought about this, she realized Jess hadn't shown any particular feelings about Carter at all, and that was rare for her. She'd said how much she liked Sly, but hadn't commented where Carter was concerned.

  Carter had gone ahead into the library, which contained hundreds upon hundreds of books, all of them clean and well cared for, but definitely old. Gazing around, Laura saw that no one else was present. That was good, because it meant they could talk in private. But when she saw Carter Kincaid looking at her directly with those m
idnight-dark eyes and that smile that seemed to flit around the edges of his mouth Laura rethought her evaluation. No doubt about it, the man literally exuded charisma. She was beginning to feel feverish.

  "This used to be my bedroom," he said.

  Was that statement supposed to have some kind of double meaning? "It's very nice," she said stiffly. Then it hit her. "You mean this house was your grandparents' home?"

  He nodded and she felt a tug of sympathy for the little boy he had been, his father dead, his mother "fading away," coming to live in this great mausoleum of a house with a grandmother who was the lady-of-the-manor sort and a grandfather who quarreled with her all the time. What must it have been like, growing up in such formal, museumlike surroundings? No wonder he'd sounded so wistful when he'd said her house was homelike.

  "Not too terribly homelike, is it?" he said. It was as though he'd read her mind, as he occasionally seemed able to do. Remembering Priscilla, she wondered if her body language was giving her thoughts away.

  "Coming to visit Grandmother always made me wary— so many valuable things I wasn't allowed to touch. Living here, as you can imagine, was not always easy. But it wasn't Grandmother's fault she wasn't the motherly type. She made sure I was well taken care of—the housekeepers changed often, but they were carefully chosen. And Grandmother loved this town and its history. Her father started the first bank in 1884. She taught me to love and respect it, too. As for my grandfather, well, he wasn't too interested in small boys, though he could be quite a charmer where the ladies were concerned. Grandmother loved him in her way. That's why she insisted on calling the place the Kincaid Museum, even though it was hers."

  Bored by the conversation and the array of dull-looking books, Jessica had gone back out to the hall to look at the fort.

  "Shall we sit down?" Carter suggested, gesturing at a pair of chairs that were set fairly close together.

  "I don't have a lot of time," she protested, then realized she was being silly. It was going to take a while to tell Jessica's story about Sly.

  They sat, Laura on the edge of her seat, Carter settled well back on his.