muttering under her breath, when the
teenager leapt out in front of her.
“Hi
I'm Cort!”
She
pulled up short to keep from running into him. “Er—pleased to meet
you.”
In
contrast to when he'd been around his father, the kid was smiling widely.
“Are you sure you're not staying for dinner?”
“I'm
sorry but I have to go.”
And she
was never coming back. The world was only safe if she and Nick Farrell didn't
get into another enclosed space together.
Cort's
face fell and she noticed again how much he and Farrell looked alike. The major
deviation was their wardrobes. Whereas his father had been wearing linen pants,
handmade loafers, and a monogrammed button-down, the kid had on ratty shorts
and a T-shirt that read, SPAM: the other pink meat. She decided not to inquire
what the first kind was.
Still,
they were obviously related. The younger Farrell was lanky, but he was clearly
going to fill out to the elder's size. And the bones of the teenager's face,
which had not yet hardened into the planes and angles she could see in his
future, held the promise of Farrell's stunning looks.
“I
think I better get going,” Carter said in a rush.
Cort
followed her out the front door, his hands and feet flopping around as he
walked. She imagined he'd grow out of that, too, and move as Farrell did. Like
an elegant prowler.
“So
where are you going?” he asked.
“Home.”
“Where's
home?”
Carter
looked around and remembered she'd left the Jeep by the service entrance.
“Burlington.”
“Where's
your car?”
“In
back.” They started around the mansion.
“What
do you drive?”
“A
Jeep.”
“The
army kind or the SUV?”
“SUV.”
“The
army kind are cooler. What color is it?”
“White.”
She had to laugh. “You always ask so many questions?”
“Pretty
much. When are you coming back?”
“I'm
not.”
His
expression darkened. “Because of him, right?”
Trying to
seem casual, she shrugged. “I don't really have a reason to—”
“You
wanted to dig, didn't you?”
“How
did you know?”
“I
looked in your car.”
“So
why did you ask me what kind I drove?” She shot him a dry look and the kid
flushed. At least he had the grace to be sheepish, she thought with a grin.
“I
wasn't sure it was yours. Anyway, most people don't show up with surveying
equipment and four different kinds of shovels if they aren't interested in
setting up shop on the mountain.” Cort sent a baleful look toward the
house. “He always does that. He always turns people away.”
“I'm
sure your father has his reasons—”
Cort
grabbed her arm.
“He
is not my father.” Anger clouded his eyes, and she was surprised at
the depth of the animosity.
“I'm
sorry,” she said gently. “I assumed because you look alike—”
“He's
my uncle. And I don't look like him.” The words were short and emphatic.
They
started walking again, more slowly.
“I
really am sorry,” she told him. “I've always hated it when people
tell me I look like my father. I should have known better.”
Cort was
silent until they stopped in front of her car. Abruptly, he smiled. “If
you do look like him, your dad must be real handsome.”
“He
is.” Now it was her turn to grow quiet. She covered up her awkwardness by
getting out her keys.
“I
don't know why,” the teenager said with frustration, “but my uncle
hates anyone digging up on the mountain. You should have seen what happened
when that other guy was here. Ivan was ready to shoot him, and Uncle Nick was
going to let it happen. I was there, I saw the whole thing. Hey, you want to
see where the guy was digging?”
Carter
had her car keys ready, even had her hand on the door. She wanted to say no.
She really wanted to say no.
“Okay.”
With a
wide grin, Cort led her behind some barns and a garage, through the meadow and
over to the edge of the forest. In between a white birch stand and some
honeysuckle bushes, there was a break in the undergrowth. No more