Now, eighty years later, interest in the necklace had been revived. Even as the remaining Calhouns searched through decades of papers and ledgers for a clue, reporters and hopeful fortune hunters had become a daily nuisance.
Amanda took it personally. The legend, and the people in it, belonged to her family. The sooner the necklace was located, the better. Once a mystery was solved, interest faded quickly.
"When is Trent coming back?" she asked her aunt.
"Soon." Sighing, Coco stroked the silky red chemise. "As soon as he ties things up in Boston, he'll be On his way. He can't stand being away from C.C. There will barely be enough time to begin the renovations on the west wing before they'll be off on their honeymoon." Tears filled her eyes again. "Their honeymoon."
"Don't start, Aunt Coco. Think of what a fabulous job you'll do catering the reception. It's going to be great practice for you. This time next year you'll be starting your new career as chef for The Towers Retreat, the most intimate of the St. James hotels."
"Imagine it." Coco patted her hand at her breast.
At the knock on the front door, Fred was up and howling.
"You stay here and imagine it, Aunt Coco. I'll go answer the door."
In a race with Fred, she clattered down the steps. When the dog's four legs tangled, sending him somersaulting, she laughed and gathered him up. She was snuggling the dog against her cheek when she opened the door.
"You!"
The tone of her voice had Fred quaking. Not so the man who stood at the threshold, grinning at her. "Small world," he said in the same slow drawl he'd used when they'd knelt on the sidewalk. "I'm liking it better all the time."
"You followed me."
"No, ma'am. Though it would've been a damn good idea. The name's O'Riley. Sloan O'Riley."
"I don't care what your name is, you can turn around and start walking." She started to slam the door in his face, but he slapped a hand against it and held it wide.
"I don't think that's such a good idea. I've come a long way to get a look at the house."
Her dark blue eyes narrowed. "Oh, have you? Well, let me tell you something, this is a home, a private home. I don't care what you've read in the papers and how badly you want a shot at looking under loose stones for the emeralds. This isn't Treasure Island, and I've had my fill of people like you who think they can just come knocking at the door, or sneaking into the garden at night with a pick and shovel."
She looked just fine, Sloan thought as he waited out the tirade. Every furious inch of her. She was tall for a woman and lean with it—but not too lean. She curved out nicely in all the right places. She looked as though she could ride hard all day and still have the energy to kick up her heels at night. Stubborn chin, he decided, and approved. When she jutted it out, her warm brown hair swayed with the movement. Big blue eyes. Even while they spit fire they reminded him of cornflowers. When it wasn't scowling or swearing, he imagined her full, shapely mouth would be soft.
Soft and tasty.
"You run down yet?" he asked when she stopped to take a breath.
"No, and if you don't leave right now, I'm going to let my dog loose on you."
Taking his cue, Fred leaped out of her arms. With neck fur bristling, he bared his teeth in a growl.
"Looks pretty fierce," Sloan commented, then hunkered down to hold out the back of his hand. Fred sniffed it, then his tail began to wag joyously as Sloan scratched his ears. "Yep, pretty fierce animal you got here."
"That's it." Amanda set her hands on her hips. "I'm getting the gun."
Before she could turn inside to look for the fictitious weapon, Coco came downstairs.
"Who is it, Amanda?" "Dead meat"
"I beg your pardon?" She stepped up to the door. The moment she spotted Sloan her ingrained vanity took over. In the blink of an eye she whipped her apron off. "Hello." Her smile was warm and feminine as she extended a hand. "I'm Cordelia McPike."
"A pleasure, ma'am." Sloan brought her fingertips to his mouth. "As I was just telling your sister here—"
"Oh, my." Coco let out a trill of delighted laughter. "Amanda's not my sister. She's my niece. The third daughter of my late brother—my much older brother."
"My mistake."
"Aunt Coco, this jerk knocked me down outside of the boutique, then followed me home. He just wants to wheedle his way into the house because of the necklace."
"Now, Mandy, you mustn't be so harsh."
"That's partially true, Mrs. McPike." Sloan gave Amanda a slow nod. "Your niece and I did have a run-in. Guess I didn't get out of her way in time. And I am trying to get into the house."
"I see." Torn between hope and doubt, Coco sighed. "I'm terribly sorry, but I don't think it would be possible to let you in. You see we have so much to do with the wedding—"
Sloan's eyes whipped back to Amanda. "You getting married?"
"My sister," she said tightly. "Not that it's any of your business. Now if you'll excuse us?"
"I wouldn't want to intrude, so I'll just be on my way. If you'll tell Trent that O'Riley was by, I'd appreciate it."
"O'Riley?" Coco repeated, then fluttered her hands. "Goodness, are you Mr. O'Riley? Please come in. Oh, I do apologize."
"Aunt Coco—"
"This is Mr. O'Riley, Amanda."
"I realize that. Why the devil have you let him in the house?"
"The Mr. O'Riley," Coco continued. "The one Trenton called about this morning. Don't you remember—of course you don't remember, because I didn't tell you." She patted her hands to her cheeks. "I'm afraid I'm just so flustered after keeping you standing outside that way."
"Don't you worry about it," he said to Coco. "It's an honest mistake."
"Aunt Coco." Amanda stood with her hand on the doorknob, ready to pitch the intruder out bodily if necessary. "Who is this O'Riley and why did Trent tell you to expect him?"
"Mr. O'Riley's the architect," Coco said, beaming.
Eyes narrowing, Amanda studied him from the tip of his boots to his wavy, disordered hair. "This is an architect?"
"Our architect. Mr. O'Riley will be in charge of the renovations for the retreat, and our living quarters. We'll all be working with Mr. O'Riley—"
"Sloan," he said.
"Sloan." Coco fluttered her lashes. "For quite some time." "Terrific." Amanda let the door slam.
Sloan hooked his thumbs in his jean pockets and gave her a slow smile. "My thoughts exactly."
Chapter Two
“Where are your manners?" Coco said. "Here we are keeping you standing in the hall. Please, come in and sit down. What can I offer you? Coffee, tea?"
"Beer in a long-necked bottle," Amanda muttered. Sloan merely smiled at her. "There you go."
"Beer?" Coco ushered him into the parlor, wishing she'd had a moment to freshen the flowers in the vase and plump the pillows. "I have some very nice beer in the kitchen that I use for my spiced shrimp. Amanda, you'll entertain Sloan, won't you?"
"Sure. Why not?" Though she wasn't feeling particularly gracious, Amanda gestured to a chair, then took one across from him in front of the fireplace. "I suppose I should apologize."
Sloan reached down to pet Fred, who had followed them in. "What for?" "I wouldn't have been so rude if I'd realized why you were here."
"Is that so?" As Fred settled down on the rug between them, Sloan eased back in his chair to study his unwilling hostess.
After a humming ten seconds, she struggled not to fidget. "It was a natural enough mistake."
"If you say so. What exactly are these emeralds you figured I was here to dig up?"
"The Calhoun emeralds." When he only lifted a brow, she shook her head. "My great-grandmother's emerald necklace. It's been in all the papers."
"I haven't had much time to read the papers. I've been in Budapest." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a long, slim cigar. "Mind?"