Hope Everlastin' Book 4 (16 page)

She nodded. "She hasna said
anythin’ mair regardin’ yer family history, but she has—and I be
verra gracious in ma words, Roan—manipulated Lachlan and Beth into
tellin’ her abou' their return. She doesna know ma origins, but she
watches me too closely. I think she be aware I am mair'n I appear
on the surface."

"I don’t trust her,
either."

"There is somethin’ mair ye
need to know."

Roan frowned as dread
formed a knot inside his stomach.

"I glimpsed her thinkin’ o'
the dirk."

"The MacLachlan
dirk?"

"Aye. She wants
it."

"Wha' on earth
for?"

Deliah shrugged. "Somethin’
abou' a project she be researchin’. Wha' concerns me is, I canna
locate the dirk. I know it be in the house. I sense its
vibrations."

"Vibrations?"

"Aye, Roan. Maist times tis
barely perceivable, but tis there, nonetheless."

"Wha' kind o' project could
she be workin’ on tha' could possibly have anythin’ to do wi' tha'
damn weapon?"

"Roan, yer sister be a
reporter."

This shocked him more than
hearing of Taryn's interest in the dirk.

"She be hard to probe, but
tha' much and this abou' her I be certain: She be here for a story,
and I believe she be ruthless enough to go to any lengths to get
wha' she wants."

"Verra perceptive o' you,"
said Roan dryly. "She was always demandin’ her own way. She could
do no wrong, accordin’ to ma parents."

"This, too, ye must know,"
Deliah went on. "She be envious o' ye and this estate, but she does
love ye."

"From wha' I've deduced
from her meager letters over the years, I don’t think she's capable
o' lovin’ anyone."

"Aye, her heart be hard,
but I sense she be mair lost than gone."

"Wha' do you mean by 'mair
lost than gone'?"

A secretive smile appeared
on Deliah's face. "We shall see. Three paths await her. One will
lead her back to her home. Two ithers will take her into anither
realm, where she will find love or she will find daith."

Roan paled and gave in to a
shudder. "Anither realm? The grayness?"

She shook her head. "I can
say no mair. She must choose her path. Ye canna help
her."

"She may be a royal pain in
the arse, Deliah, but she is ma sister!"

"Ah," she said wistfully,
her bright eyes sparkling. "Here now stands the brither I knew ye
to be."

"Humans are verra capable
o' lovin’ and hatin’ the same person," he grumbled.

"Do ye truly hate
her?"

With a hangdog expression,
he muttered, "I guess no'."

"I will take the lads to
the nursery and watch them and the babies. Keep Winston wi' ye,
Roan. He knows wha' I have told ye. If she be hidin’ mair, he will
know."

Roan heaved a ragged
breath. "I don’t know if I can hold up to wha' Taryn has to
say."

"Aye, ye can, because ye be
a strong mon, Roan. But if ye feel yer knees gettin’ week, think o'
me sittin’ on yer nose."

He laughed at this. "I'll
keep tha' in mind."

C
hapter 6

Taryn Eilionoir Ingliss
wasn't happy about being the center of attention in the library at
Baird House, although she was confident enough about her acting
abilities to know the others viewed her as being cool, calm, and
unperturbedly collected. Sitting on one corner of the sofa, an arm
across its back and one leg crossed over the other, she represented
the "Queen of the Paparazzis", a title her editor at
The Investigator
magazine
had given her three years prior. She had been dubbed that because
of her ruthlessness in obtaining photographs of reluctant
celebrities, and later had added journalism to her accomplishments,
using her fertile imagination to embellish the story behind the
photographs.

She'd been approached by
competitive rag magazines, but no one would give her the creative
freedom Dan Whitecomb did. Now and then she free lanced, especially
with her writing, often taking one of their older space alien or
hairy-creatures-in-the-woods stories and rewriting them with a new
slant on the supposed sightings. The Loch Ness monster was always a
favorite.

Ironically, it'd been a
light conversation at a Christmas Eve party two years ago that had
brought about her latest obsession. Dan's wife, Julia, had
commented on the current fad of Scottish movies and books, and had
asked Taryn about her background. It was the first time Taryn
realized she didn't know that much about her heritage. She was six
when her parents had moved to Providence, Rhode Island, and she
considered herself an American. She'd never had any interest in
anything Scottish, until she remembered her parents had a set of
journals hidden away in a locked cedar chest in their
bedroom.

She remembered finding the
journals in a box shortly after their move to the States and asking
her mother if she could color in them. Brusquely, her mother had
said they were very old, and Taryn watched her lock them in the
chest. Until the party, she hadn't given them another thought. And
until she'd read them she'd had no idea of the incredible story of
her own ancestry. She wasn't through investigating the
past.

The dirk was the key to
unlocking all the secrets.

The others in the room grew
more restless by the minute. She inwardly gloated at her ability to
camouflage this meaner streak in her personality. An unsettled
audience was one easily swayed to playing the game according to her
rules. She was here on a give-and-take mission. Her brother's less
than cordial welcoming had smarted a little, but when he found out
she'd left with the dirk, he would probably disown her, anyway.
Such was the price of obsessions. They didn't keep her warm on
winter nights or ease the occasional itch of sexual need, but they
kept her mind as sharp as a honed knife, and she wouldn't trade any
of it for a man.

Well...maybe she would
detour for a bit of time with a man like Lachlan. During the past
five hours, she'd barely been able to keep her eyes off him. He
made her tingle in places that hadn't shown life for some time.
Four years, to be exact. Maybe she was due for another fling. The
possibility of it happening with him made her mouth water. Now that
she knew he was alive again, she regretted wiping off the taste of
him from her lips.

Beth Stables was a problem,
though. She hadn't left the laird's side except to feed the twins.
Imagine that. Twins from the womb of the departed-returned. Dan's
ulcer would petrify if she wrote this up. Somehow, she figured
telling him she'd had an affair with Nessie would ring truer to
him.

Whatever.

She didn't plan to expose
the duo's secret. Robert Baird and Broc MacLachlan were her
targets. She would resurrect their long-dead carcasses through her
reports. Fame awaited them in the annals of the bizarre and the
unknown. The world, especially the female populace, would have a
fantasy love-affair with them through her planned
series.

More so, Broc. Thus far, he
was the hero of the two, but she still had a great deal to
investigate on his background. For all she knew, he probably had
more skeletons in the closet than not.

She would have to be
careful about how she wrote up Robert. After all, he was her direct
ancestor, and her parents were going to pitch a fit when she
deliberately exposed the Baird/Ingliss entanglement. But a good
writer could make a reader weep for a villain, even one embroiled
in betrayal and murder. By the time she finished writing Robert's
history, he would stir passion in women's hearts and understanding
for what he'd done.

She withdrew from her
reverie and locked eyes with Winston. Realizing his intense stare
meant he was delving into her thoughts, she paled and stiffened her
spine. Roan, Laura, Beth, and Lachlan didn't possess a threat. Not
even the sickeningly-sweet Deliah, although something about that
woman made Taryn damn uneasy.

But ol' Winston was another
matter. A psychic in the group made it more difficult for her to
hide information.

"Taryn," Roan clipped,
scowling at her.

He stood with an arm braced
on one end of the fireplace mantel, Laura next to him. Beth and
Lachlan sat on the window seat. Winston was seated on the opposite
end of the sofa, right ankle resting atop the left knee, his gaze
unwavering and his expression guarded.

"Yes, my room is very
comfortable," she said sarcastically to her brother. "Thank you for
asking."

Roan rolled his eyes in
exasperation. "Spare me the theatrics."

She grinned, but there was
nothing pleasant about it. "By the way, Mom and Dad send their
love."

Roan's jawline
clenched.

"Okay," she sighed, casting
each of the others a weary glance. "Pardon my bitchiness, but I
wasn't expecting to have to spill my guts in front of an
audience."

"Think o' them as ma
family," Roan said.

"I'm
your family."

He crossed to the coffee
table and sat on it facing her. "No, ye're a dim memory," he
countered, his tone holding more sadness than bitterness. "I know
that's no' yer fault, Taryn, but you can’t show up efter all these
years and expect me to welcome you wi' open arms."

"I never expect anything
from anyone," she said airily.

"Ye're a
reporter."

His blunt statement took
her aback. She glanced accusingly at Winston, who arched his
eyebrows and offered a hint of a smile.

"Paparazzi slash reporter.
So what?" she challenged, peevishly meeting Roan's gaze. "A girl
has to make a living, doesn't she?"

"Among a pool o'
sharks?"

She chuffed a laugh. "We're
not all sharks."

"No? Haven’t met a reporter
yet I would trust wi' ma garbage."

She winced. "Ouch. Well,
big brother, I'm not into garbage. And before you start flinging
accusations, I have no intention of reporting a word about the
Baird/Stables miracle."

"Did you say Stables?"
asked Beth.

"That is your name, isn't
it?"

Beth drew in a deep breath
through her nostrils. "Actually, it's Staples."

After a moment, Taryn
released a burst of laughter. "That explains it."

"Explains what?" Beth
asked.

"Why I couldn't get
information on your background. It came across the newswire that
Beth Stables of Kennewick, Washington, had died at the Baird Estate
and then returned to haunt the walls alongside her lover, the
nefarious laird himself."

Lachlan grunted at
this.

"Why were you checking into
my background?" Beth asked.

"You were a hot story for a
while." Taryn was pensively quiet for a few moments. "Do you have
any relatives who know of your death?"

Beth shook her
head.

"Hmm. Then it's possible no
one in the States really knows it's you who died."

The thought brightened
Beth's features. "Wouldn't a death certificate have been filed here
and the American Embassy notified?"

Lachlan's expressive
eyebrows drew down in a frown. "Viola Cooke took care o' the
details. I know Beth's passport and paperwork are still in the
armoire. There was an autopsy, but Miss Cooke brought Beth's body
back here in a casket. I dinna know wha' ither information she gave
to the police."

"Which means there's a
possibility my bank was never contacted about my death," Beth
murmured.

"Why is tha' important?"
asked Roan.

"My mother's will had
everything put in a trust for me. The taxes on the house and the
monthly bills are all paid through a lawyer. So this could mean my
house and trust are still intact. I just hope the neighbors are
still feeding my cat."

"I can look into it," said
Winston. "Use ma association with the agency to screen wha’ever
information the police have on their files."

"Watchit," Taryn grinned
wryly at Winston. "You're divulging plans in front of the
enemy."

"Are you?"

Roan's soft tone put a
chink in her sarcasm. "No. I told you, I won't reveal anything
about their return or the twins."

"So wha' is yer
interest—and don’t tell me it's me."

"Oh, Roan," she sighed,
"you never change, do you? You were a self-righteous prig when we
were kids, and you're a bigger one now. For your information, I do
think of you, and often." She briefly lowered her gaze. "Mom and
Dad are getting on in years, and you and I only have two cousins
and one aunt left. Then it's the end of the Ingliss line—unless you
and Laura decide to have children."

"I'll bet ma last Scotch
you don’t give a damn how much o' the family remains," Roan said,
again no bitterness in his tone. "You see, Taryn, these folks here,
they don’t judge me, and they're here for me no matter wha'
happens."