Night Whispers
Page 44
"Possibly," Courtney replied with a sudden smile, watching her father wave at someone and start forward. A moment later a blonde in running shorts and a tank top jogged into view on the beach and stopped to talk to him. Courtney watched for a few moments. "I'll bring him back here no matter what it takes," she promised enthusiastically, already sliding her chair back.
Sloan had given Douglas Maitland several reasons why she couldn't accept his invitation to join him for breakfast on the terrace, but he overrode her protests with charming insistence, pointing out that her family were all late sleepers; then he put his hand beneath her arm and marched her forward.
A sloping, beautifully landscaped lawn stretched the two-hundred-yard distance from the beach to the house, where it ended in a broad limestone terrace with three levels. Umbrella tables, chaise lounges, and white wrought-iron chairs with bright yellow cushions were invitingly arranged on each level, and as they neared the terrace, Sloan belatedly realized that one of the tables was already occupied by a man and a girl.
Sloan didn't need to see his features to be certain the man was Noah Maitland. She had seen him only three times, but his chiseled profile, his glossy black hair, and his wide-shouldered physique were emblazoned on her brain, and her nervous system reacted to the stimulation of his presence with an annoying jolt of adrenaline.
Sloan was trying to think of some last-minute excuse for a hasty retreat when the girl at the table jumped up and trotted down the terrace steps, heading straight toward them.
"You are about to meet my daughter, Courtney," Douglas warned her cheerfully, and tightened his grip on Sloan's elbow as if he sensed her desire to flee and somehow automatically attributed it to the girl's impending arrival. "It is an experience most people find difficult to forget. Her mother was my fourth wife. A lovely woman, but she realized she didn't want children after Courtney was born. Courtney has only seen her a few times, so she hasn't had the benefit of a mother's influence. We make allowances for that."
Tall and thin, the teenager had permed dark hair that she wore in a thick ponytail over her left ear, and she walked with a coltish exuberance that didn't fit with Sloan's image of the spoiled, conceited, whiny teenager whom she assumed Douglas was warning her about. Courtney's first words didn't fit with that image either. "You're Sloan, aren't you?" Sloan started to nod, and Courtney put out her hand. "I've been dying to meet you. I'm Courtney."
Sloan was not only taken aback; she was more than a little charmed by the child's enthusiasm, her mischievous smile, and her familiar gray eyes. "I'm very happy to meet you," Sloan said, shaking her hand.
"People sometimes start out feeling that way, but they usually change their minds."
Sloan dealt with teenagers all the time in Bell Harbor, and she had a feeling that if she didn't follow through with Courtney's opening salvo, she'd be showing Courtney a lack of interest rather than good manners. "Why is that?"
"Because I say whatever I think."
"No, my dear," Douglas contradicted mildly, "it is because you refuse to think at all."
Courtney ignored him and rushed toward the terraced steps, forcing them to hurry to keep pace with her. "Noah is going to be so glad to see you," she predicted as they approached him from the side. "Noah, look who I found—"
He was not glad to see her, Sloan noted. He glanced over his shoulder, and Sloan saw annoyance flash across his face before he laid down his newspaper and politely stood up. "Good morning, Sloan," he said with flawless formality and no warmth.
"I ambushed her on the beach," Douglas confessed, pulling out a chair for Sloan across from Noah's and settling into one on her right. Courtney took the chair on Sloan's left, and a woman appeared on the terrace carrying a tray with a coffeepot and cups.
"We're going to be four for breakfast, Claudine," he told her. "Sloan, what would you like to have?"
"Whatever you're having will be fine," Sloan said, trying not to think about how unfriendly Noah seemed and how stilted and awkward that was going to make the meal for her. She needn't have worried. While Claudine was still filling the coffee cups, Courtney lit a conversational bonfire. Perching her chin on her fists, she looked from Douglas to Noah and then to Sloan. "How does it feel to be the only woman in Palm Beach to have both Maitland men chasing you? And who is the leading contender?"
Sloan thought she must have misunderstood her. She blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"Courtney, please—" Douglas started to intervene, but he changed his mind when Courtney explained, "Noah said Sloan shot him down last night."
Douglas turned an intrigued smile on Sloan. "Did you really?"
"No, I—" Sloan glanced at Noah, who was scowling at Courtney, who wasn't daunted in the least.
"Yes, she did," Courtney told her father. "Noah said so this morning." Turning to Sloan, she said, "I asked him how things went with you last night, and he said he 'crashed and burned'—"
"No," Sloan blurted desperately. "You misunderstood. He—he didn't even get off the ground—"
She didn't realize what she'd said until Douglas gave a bark of laughter and slapped his knee. Sloan felt as if the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland were going to materialize next if she didn't get the situation under control. Since Noah seemed to be the only other relatively normal person at the table, she looked directly at him. "What I meant to say," she explained very clearly and concisely, "is that you couldn't have 'crashed and burned' because you weren't even trying to—to—"
A flicker of amusement lit his gray eyes, "to get off the ground?"
"Exactly," Sloan said emphatically. She'd been at the table for less than two minutes and she felt as if she'd already fought her way through a treacherous minefield. "Thank you," she added feelingly.
Noah had intended to make an excuse to absent himself from the meal, but the beguiling gratitude on Sloan's face changed his mind. "Don't thank me yet. This could get worse."
"I guess you weren't in very good form last night, Noah," Courtney concluded.
"I guess I wasn't," he said.
Courtney decided to switch to a more vulnerable target and aimed at Sloan. "Noah said you have a black belt in karate and that he saw you throw Carter on his ass—"
"That wasn't karate," Sloan interrupted, trying not to look shocked.
Sloan had given Douglas Maitland several reasons why she couldn't accept his invitation to join him for breakfast on the terrace, but he overrode her protests with charming insistence, pointing out that her family were all late sleepers; then he put his hand beneath her arm and marched her forward.
A sloping, beautifully landscaped lawn stretched the two-hundred-yard distance from the beach to the house, where it ended in a broad limestone terrace with three levels. Umbrella tables, chaise lounges, and white wrought-iron chairs with bright yellow cushions were invitingly arranged on each level, and as they neared the terrace, Sloan belatedly realized that one of the tables was already occupied by a man and a girl.
Sloan didn't need to see his features to be certain the man was Noah Maitland. She had seen him only three times, but his chiseled profile, his glossy black hair, and his wide-shouldered physique were emblazoned on her brain, and her nervous system reacted to the stimulation of his presence with an annoying jolt of adrenaline.
Sloan was trying to think of some last-minute excuse for a hasty retreat when the girl at the table jumped up and trotted down the terrace steps, heading straight toward them.
"You are about to meet my daughter, Courtney," Douglas warned her cheerfully, and tightened his grip on Sloan's elbow as if he sensed her desire to flee and somehow automatically attributed it to the girl's impending arrival. "It is an experience most people find difficult to forget. Her mother was my fourth wife. A lovely woman, but she realized she didn't want children after Courtney was born. Courtney has only seen her a few times, so she hasn't had the benefit of a mother's influence. We make allowances for that."
Tall and thin, the teenager had permed dark hair that she wore in a thick ponytail over her left ear, and she walked with a coltish exuberance that didn't fit with Sloan's image of the spoiled, conceited, whiny teenager whom she assumed Douglas was warning her about. Courtney's first words didn't fit with that image either. "You're Sloan, aren't you?" Sloan started to nod, and Courtney put out her hand. "I've been dying to meet you. I'm Courtney."
Sloan was not only taken aback; she was more than a little charmed by the child's enthusiasm, her mischievous smile, and her familiar gray eyes. "I'm very happy to meet you," Sloan said, shaking her hand.
"People sometimes start out feeling that way, but they usually change their minds."
Sloan dealt with teenagers all the time in Bell Harbor, and she had a feeling that if she didn't follow through with Courtney's opening salvo, she'd be showing Courtney a lack of interest rather than good manners. "Why is that?"
"Because I say whatever I think."
"No, my dear," Douglas contradicted mildly, "it is because you refuse to think at all."
Courtney ignored him and rushed toward the terraced steps, forcing them to hurry to keep pace with her. "Noah is going to be so glad to see you," she predicted as they approached him from the side. "Noah, look who I found—"
He was not glad to see her, Sloan noted. He glanced over his shoulder, and Sloan saw annoyance flash across his face before he laid down his newspaper and politely stood up. "Good morning, Sloan," he said with flawless formality and no warmth.
"I ambushed her on the beach," Douglas confessed, pulling out a chair for Sloan across from Noah's and settling into one on her right. Courtney took the chair on Sloan's left, and a woman appeared on the terrace carrying a tray with a coffeepot and cups.
"We're going to be four for breakfast, Claudine," he told her. "Sloan, what would you like to have?"
"Whatever you're having will be fine," Sloan said, trying not to think about how unfriendly Noah seemed and how stilted and awkward that was going to make the meal for her. She needn't have worried. While Claudine was still filling the coffee cups, Courtney lit a conversational bonfire. Perching her chin on her fists, she looked from Douglas to Noah and then to Sloan. "How does it feel to be the only woman in Palm Beach to have both Maitland men chasing you? And who is the leading contender?"
Sloan thought she must have misunderstood her. She blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"Courtney, please—" Douglas started to intervene, but he changed his mind when Courtney explained, "Noah said Sloan shot him down last night."
Douglas turned an intrigued smile on Sloan. "Did you really?"
"No, I—" Sloan glanced at Noah, who was scowling at Courtney, who wasn't daunted in the least.
"Yes, she did," Courtney told her father. "Noah said so this morning." Turning to Sloan, she said, "I asked him how things went with you last night, and he said he 'crashed and burned'—"
"No," Sloan blurted desperately. "You misunderstood. He—he didn't even get off the ground—"
She didn't realize what she'd said until Douglas gave a bark of laughter and slapped his knee. Sloan felt as if the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland were going to materialize next if she didn't get the situation under control. Since Noah seemed to be the only other relatively normal person at the table, she looked directly at him. "What I meant to say," she explained very clearly and concisely, "is that you couldn't have 'crashed and burned' because you weren't even trying to—to—"
A flicker of amusement lit his gray eyes, "to get off the ground?"
"Exactly," Sloan said emphatically. She'd been at the table for less than two minutes and she felt as if she'd already fought her way through a treacherous minefield. "Thank you," she added feelingly.
Noah had intended to make an excuse to absent himself from the meal, but the beguiling gratitude on Sloan's face changed his mind. "Don't thank me yet. This could get worse."
"I guess you weren't in very good form last night, Noah," Courtney concluded.
"I guess I wasn't," he said.
Courtney decided to switch to a more vulnerable target and aimed at Sloan. "Noah said you have a black belt in karate and that he saw you throw Carter on his ass—"
"That wasn't karate," Sloan interrupted, trying not to look shocked.
