Headed for Trouble (The McKay Family #1) (17 page)

He definitely wasn’t here to chat with Ella Sue.

Men like him didn’t view women like Ella Sue as somebody
worth
talking to, which only meant he wasn’t worth the space that took up the suits he wore.

She hit the kitchen just as he hit the doorbell.

His voice crackled through the speaker when Ella Sue elected to use the intercom system instead of going to greet him. “Ella Sue, please come open the door. It seems my key no longer works,” he said.

“Mr. Charles…?” Ella Sue winked at Neve.

Neve rolled her eyes.

“Is that you, Mr. Charles?” Ella Sue said, despite the fact that he’d bitten off a terse
yes
.

“Didn’t I just say it was? Open the door.”

“Just give me a moment, sir. I’m in the middle of preparing a salad for dinner and my hands are a mess.” She disconnected the intercom and looked down at her clean hands for a moment before reaching for a knife. She glanced at Neve. “I do love a nice salad with dinner, don’t you?”

Neve snorted. Then she grabbed a carrot from the bowl of vegetables. “What does he want?”

“Who knows?” Ella Sue expertly chopped up romaine lettuce. “Please tell me you’re not lingering around. If it’s just me, he’ll leave soon enough. But if you’re here, he’ll find a reason to stay. None of us need that.”

“Hmmm. Good point.” She munched the rest of the carrot and then headed for the door.

“Don’t go far.” She wagged a knife at her. “Dinner is in less than two hours.”

Neve hesitated and then nodded. “I won’t. Thank you.”

If she couldn’t lose herself somewhere on the sprawling grounds, then she didn’t deserve to call herself a McKay.

“Oh, don’t thank me. I’m doing this so
I
don’t have to put up with him. Heaven knows why your sister married him. I kept hoping he’d take himself back to England once they divorced, but no…” Ella Sue’s voice faded away until she was muttering to herself.

Grinning, Neve slid out the back door.

She headed off down the path that led to the gardens, and from there, the river. Something told her Charles wasn’t a nature boy.

*   *   *

Gideon Marshall owed him.

Ian stood in the kitchen, hands folded behind him as he smiled at Ella Sue and tried not to snarl at Charles Hurst.

“I’m intruding,” he said, ignoring the smug British sod as Ella Sue poured peach tea into a glass for him.

He’d drink it—probably even most of it—because Ella Sue was one of the dearest ladies he’d ever met, and she’d watch him with amusement in her dark brown eyes the entire time.

He’d once told her it was a wonder people had any teeth left after drinking tea like this their whole lives. He would swear he could feel the cavities forming after his first sip.

She’d laughed at him and ever since he found himself holding a glass of sweet tea any time he was in her presence.

“You know you’re always welcome.” Ella Sue smiled serenely and then looked over at Charles. “Charles, of course, you’re welcome to have a seat, but I don’t know what you want me to tell you. I hardly keep tabs on the comings and goings of the people who live here.”

You lovely, beautiful liar
, Ian thought, oddly delighted. He took a healthy swallow of the tea and even managed not to shudder as the sugar hit his system all at once.

“Can you ring Brannon for me then?” Charles gave her a tight smile, ignoring Ian. “I’ve tried, but he must be busy. Moira always told me he knew better than to ignore your calls.”

“You give me more credit than I deserve.” She gave him a smile that was loaded with as much sugar as the tea Ian was gamely trying to drink as she opened the oven.

Ian started to salivate. He’d discovered he had a weakness for Ella Sue’s cooking. “Ella Sue, put me out of my misery—divorce that worthless sod you married and be my wife. I’ll treat you like a queen.”

“A hundred men have told me that.” She shot him a look. “You might have been able to tempt me, Ian, if Brannon had brought you over here before I finally found one good man.” She pulled out a deep dish of ribs.

Ian thought he’d embarrass himself if he had to stand there and breathe in that rich, savory scent too much longer—drool never did work well on him. Particularly with the beard. As Charles went to open his mouth, likely to start with his blathering again, Ian cut around the island, doing the one thing that would earn the ire of the woman who secretly ran McKay’s Ferry. He acted like he’d swipe a taste from the pan.

She reached out and grabbed the wooden spoon that seemed to perpetually linger beside the stove—it was never used, never dirty—and brought it down on the back of his hand.

“Don’t you dare, Ian Campbell,” she said, shaking the spoon at him. “I’ve a mind to throw you both out of my kitchen now.”

“I’m sorry, Ella Sue,” he said with false meekness, turning to see Charles watching him with shrewd eyes.

“I’d be happy to get out of your way—clearly you’re busy, Ella Sue,” Charles said. “I simply need to speak with Brannon about … a personal matter.”

Grabbing an apple out of the dish on the island, Ian lobbed it up into the air. Cheerfully, he said, “Oh, I’d advise against that, Charlie. Unless you want to run up against the wrong side of his fist.”

For the first time since he’d come into the kitchen, Charles spoke to him. “I beg your pardon, Campbell?”

“Brannon’s brassed off about something.” He caught the apple out of the air a second time, lifted it to his lips, and took a bite. He took his time chewing, then swallowing. Then he grinned at Charles. “Don’t know if you’ve seen Bran in a temper before but you might want to steer clear. He’s looking for something to hurt and, if you get in his way, it just might be you.”

He took another bite and then blew out a breath. “As much as I’m loathe to do it, I suspect it will be me he hurts. Being a friend, I’ll make the sacrifice. Somebody has to take it and I love him like a brother. I suppose I should go and find him and we’ll pound on each other.”

Charles studied him for a moment. “You’re going to go find him so the two of you can pound on each other.”

“Well, better me than you.” He gave Charles a long look. “I don’t think your fancy suit would hold up.”

“Indeed.” Charles shifted his gaze to Ella Sue, opened his mouth, and then abruptly just turned and walked away. Over his shoulder, he said, “Please have him call—sooner rather than later.”

Once he’d disappeared down the hall, Ella Sue reached for a towel and wiped her hands off. The polite expression on her face didn’t fade, but the ice thawed and she looked at Ian. “Just what is Brannon … brassed off about?”

Ian looked down, contemplating his apple.

“If you take one more bite of that apple, I’m going to smack you again,” she warned, shaking her spoon.

“It’s a good apple,” he said, smiling.

She stared at him for a long moment and then sighed. “I bet you drove your poor mother to distraction, Ian.”

“I did, yes.” He took another bite, polishing the rest of the apple off. “As to Brannon, that’s not something I can discuss with you—even if I knew. It’s something personal and not my place.”

“Why are you here?” she asked quietly.

He considered a dozen answers and decided to be honest. “It’s entirely likely Brannon and I will have a row. Gideon wants me to keep an eye on him—make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid. I’m supposed to charm my way into staying for supper. Is he here?”

Ella Sue pursed her lips and then nodded. “He and Neve got in an hour ago.” Then she waved toward the back door. “Try the garden path, follow it down to the river.”

“Thank you.”

He went to head out the door and she called his name. “If you’re supposed to charm me into letting you stay for supper, is that the best you could do?”

He flashed a wide grin. “Miss Ella Sue, could I please trouble you to let me stay for supper? I’m quite famished.”

She just shook her head. “It won’t be more than another hour. Don’t be any longer.”

*   *   *

Ella Sue waited until he was out of sight before she left the kitchen. And although she’d heard the control pad for the alarm chime when the front door was opened, she went to check.

Yes, that fool Charles was gone as well.

Satisfied, she made her way through the house to the west wing.

Personally, this wasn’t her favorite part of the house, although she knew it as well as the back of her hand. She oversaw the cleaning and care of McKay’s Ferry—it had been her duty, and her privilege, to care for this family for nearly forty years. She’d started out as a cook and then worked her way up until she ran the household.

She knew more about running the home than any of the children did—children. She sighed as she opened the door that led to the indoor shooting range. They weren’t children anymore, as hard as it was to accept that. She loved them as if they were her own, though, and if there was a problem … well, she’d just have to see what it was.

She waited until Brannon had lowered the weapon. It looked big and mean and capable in his hands—and just then, he looked big and mean and capable, too. As he glanced up at her, there was a look in his eyes that chilled her to the bone.

Brannon had always been the … easiest of the three. Not that any of them could be called
easy
, no. But he’d laughed a little more often, forgiven a little sooner, and was the first to smooth things over.

But under that calm, easygoing manner lurked a temper. A fierce one. It took quite a bit to get it going, and after more than thirty years of taking care of him, she knew almost every trigger he had. She could even name them.

Moira … and Neve.

“I need to be alone right now, Ella Sue,” he said, his voice calm. Too calm.

“Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?” she asked after she took a moment to weigh his words.

He reloaded the gun, and she again had to note how capable he looked, how easily he handled the task.

“You’ll hear,” he said after a moment. “Soon enough.” Then he grimaced. “And you might want to be down here with me when it’s all over.”

“Hardly.” She wrinkled her nose and studied the weapons that lined the walls. They were secure, yet still on display—beautifully violent, they ranged from modern guns to ancient pieces that never left their protective cases. Many had been carried by the McKays who had served in the military. One of them was a rifle of some sort from the first World War. Brannon had written a report on the man who’d carried that rifle in middle school—she remembered helping him with the spelling late one night while his parents had been out of town traveling.

“Twenty bucks says you’re wrong,” Brannon said softly, drawing her attention back to him.

She sniffed. “Fifty bucks says I’m not.”

He lifted the gun back and met her eyes. “It’s a bet. If you don’t want to join me by the end of the week, I’ll pay up.” Then, with a reckless, somewhat wild grin, he added, “I’ll even double the bet—and I’ll handle the cooking Friday night.”

“Sounds lovely. I’d love a steak, out by the pool.”

“When I win,” Brannon said darkly, “I want lasagna. And double Dutch chocolate cake.”

She laughed and let herself out. Ella Sue didn’t lose bets.

*   *   *

Ian Campbell eyed the long, slim redhead standing on the edge of the dock and felt his heart start to race.

Not the redhead he’d been looking for.

Logic told him to beat a fast retreat.

Lust—and longing—told him to stay right where he was. No, not
stay
—move
closer
.

A lot closer.

She turned her head and glanced at him after a moment, and if she was surprised by the sight of him, she didn’t show it.

“If you’re just going to stand there, tell me now. It’s hard to brood when somebody’s staring at you.” She turned back to the river and, as he watched, she lifted her face, catching a slight breeze just in time for it to lift her hair back from her face.

He wanted to catch those curls in his hands, tangle them in his fists, then catch that mouth and taste it again—taste her.

“The prodigal daughter,” he said, moving out of the shadows of the trees, taking the path that led to the dock. There was an old rowboat tied there, and as he moved closer, he could hear it knocking against the dock.

Thump. Thump. Thump
.

For a few moments, that was the only sound.

Then he joined her on the dock and the roar and rush of his own blood threatened to drown out everything else.

Standing this close to her was enough to make the wiring in his brain short-circuit. That could explain why everything in him overheated, he supposed. Could maybe even explain why he had sudden, almost uncontrollable urges to pull her against him, to stroke his hands down her long limbs and press his lips to her mouth. He’d talk to her, he thought. He wanted to talk to her, to know her, all about her, and then he wanted her naked. Wanted her astride him—

“You’re just going to keep staring at me, aren’t you?”

Her voice startled him out of his reverie.

The words escaped him before he even realized what he was going to say. “It’s hard not to stare at you, Neve. You’re the closest I’ve ever come to seeing an angel.”

She gave an indelicate snort and turned her head to meet his eyes.

*   *   *

Neve hadn’t had a reaction to a man in so long, she sometimes thought her body was broken. She sometimes thought
she
was broken—that William had ripped out the parts of her that made her
human
, made her feel and act like anything other than a victim.

She
could
react—or at least she knew she used to be able to.

There had been a few guys she’d dated before she met William. One of them had been a musician and she’d dated him for two reasons, and two reasons only.

The first reason: She thought it would piss Moira off.

The second: When he kissed her, he lit everything up inside her, as if he had some secret path to a light switch at her core and all it took was just his touch, his lips on hers, his hand on her hip—anything—to make her feel like she was going to combust inside her clothing.