Hidden Talents Page 13

  “Stables.”

  “Stables,” Serenity amended. “With hay and everything probably.”

  “When you've got horses around, you've usually got hay in the vicinity.”

  “Wow, talk about your classic rural lifestyle. This is incredible. A real slice of Americana. I'll bet everyone here still eats beef. Promise me you'll take me on a complete tour before we leave.”

  “Why do I get the feeling that this is turning into a sitcom called Serenity Visits Middle America?”

  “Don't laugh. Travel is very educational.”

  Caleb gave her an odd look as he turned the Jaguar into the tree-lined drive. “This is eastern Washington, not Outer Mongolia.”

  “Both are foreign countries to me,” Serenity said simply.

  The door of the Ventress home opened just as Caleb brought the Jaguar to a halt in the circular driveway. A woman appeared. She wore an apron over a flowerprint dress. Her hair was a froth of graying curls, and her shoes were the sturdy sort favored by people who spent a lot of time on their feet.

  “That's Dolores.” Caleb opened his door and got out. He lifted a hand in greeting as he walked around to the passenger side of the car.

  “About time you got here, young man,” Dolores called cheerfully. “Your grandfather was starting to worry.”

  “I doubt it.” Caleb opened Serenity's door. “More likely he was just getting annoyed.”

  “That, too.” Dolores smiled warmly at Serenity. “This must be Miss Makepeace.”

  “It is. Serenity, this is Dolores.”

  “How do you do?” Serenity slid quickly out of the Jaguar. “What a beautiful home.”

  “Thanks. Lord knows I work myself to the bone keeping it that way. Not that I get any thanks for it. Come on in, Miss Makepeace. I'll show you to your room so you can freshen up before you meet the rest of the family.”

  Caleb lifted his suitcase and Serenity's out of the trunk. “Everyone else is already here?”

  “Yes, indeed. Arrived about an hour ago. We've been waiting for you and Miss Makepeace.” Dolores smiled at Caleb. “You know your grandfather wouldn't dream of letting things get started until you got here.”

  “You're lucky to be part of such a close family,” Serenity whispered to Caleb as they went up the steps.

  “That's us Ventresses for you,” Caleb agreed. “Just one big happy family.”

  Fifteen minutes later, feeling reasonably refreshed and confident in her Miss Town & Country attire, Serenity walked down a long hall toward the great room at the front of the house. She was carrying the small gift that she had brought for Roland Ventress.

  After what seemed an interminable distance, she turned a corner and found herself confronting a group of people who, she guessed, were all Ventresses. Taken as a group, it was easy to see the family resemblance. They were a tall, dark-haired lot who carried themselves with the self-assurance and poise that came naturally to a proud, established clan. She took a deep breath and tried to recall the techniques she had developed for dealing with faculty parties at Bullington College.

  “Hello,” she said to the room at large.

  A hush fell on the small crowd. Everyone turned to look at her.

  Caleb was standing at the window talking quietly to a silver-haired man who could only have been his grandfather. He turned his head at once at the sound of her voice. His eyes pinned her across the distance of the room.

  “Sir, this is Serenity Makepeace. Serenity, my grandfather, Roland Ventress.”

  “How do you do, Mr. Ventress?” Serenity smiled as she examined the older man with interest.

  Caleb had told her that his grandfather was celebrating his eighty-second birthday, but there was an air of vigor about him that would have done credit to a much younger man. He was almost as tall as Caleb. There was no hint of a stoop to his shoulders from a lifetime of ranch work. His eyes, which were brown instead of gray like Caleb's were sharp and alert.

  “Miss Makepeace.” Roland inclined his head in an old-fashioned manner. His voice was laced with an easy western drawl. “Glad you could join us. Allow me to introduce you to my family.” He nodded toward a handsome but rather severe-looking middle-aged woman dressed in a navy-blue knit suit and blue and white pumps.

  “This is my niece, Phyllis Tarrant.”

  “How do you do, Miss Makepeace,” Phyllis said with cool politeness. She examined Serenity with a vaguely disapproving expression.

  Roland indicated the stout man standing next to Phyllis. “Her husband, Howard. He's in real estate.”

  Serenity nodded politely. “Mr. Tarrant.”

  Howard bobbed his head and smiled benignly.

  “My nephew, Franklin Ventress,” Roland continued. “Chairman of the board of the Ventress Valley Bank. His wife, Beverly.”

  Serenity smiled and then shot a quick, repressive look at Caleb. He had not mentioned that his family was in banking. Caleb lifted one shoulder in a negligent shrug.

  “Miss Makepeace. So glad you could come with Caleb,” Beverly said with the gracious charm that Serenity had once associated with professional faculty wives.

  Franklin, a distinguished-looking man in his fifties, had no doubt been devastatingly attractive in his younger years. He had the dark eyes that characterized most of the family. His once black hair was almost all silver. “Miss Makepeace.”

  “Mr. Ventress.”

  Franklin took over the introductions. “Howard and Phyllis's daughter Jessica, and her husband Sam. Sam is a partner in a local law firm. The two youngsters over there are their kids.”

  Serenity nodded, struggling to keep all the introductions straight. She grinned at the children, who appeared to be five and seven, respectively. They giggled.

  Franklin's eyes reflected paternal pride as he nodded toward a handsome man of about thirty. “My own son, Peter. He and his wife Laura, here, operate the Ventress Vineyards Winery. You may have heard of the label. Their cabernets have taken gold medals for the past three years.”

  “Yes, of course,” Serenity lied cheerfully. “Congratulations.”

  Peter grinned. “Thanks. We're quite pleased. Ventress Vineyards is a relative newcomer to the wine scene, but we feel we've gotten off to a good start.”

  “Thanks to Caleb.” Laura, attractive with tawny hair and blue eyes, smiled. “He oversaw the start-up of our winery. Caleb's very good at that kind of thing.”

  “Yes, I know,” Serenity murmured. She smiled at Laura and the others and mentally added up the total thus far. Real estate, banking, law, a winery, an Arabian stud farm, and a town named after the family. She took another deep breath and hoped her personal version of Miss Town & Country was measuring up.

  “Sherry or whiskey, Serenity?” Caleb went to a teak drinks cart and picked up a bottle.

  “Sherry, please.” She saw that Caleb had whiskey in his own glass. She was suddenly very conscious of the gaily wrapped package in her hand.

  “What's that?” Caleb asked as he crossed the room to hand her the glass.

  “A present for your grandfather.” She took a fortifying swallow of the sherry. “You did say this was supposed to be a birthday party, didn't you?”

  He frowned. “Yes, but you weren't expected to bring a gift.”

  “You're supposed to bring gifts when you attend birthday parties. It's traditional. I didn't have much time to make a selection, I'm afraid. I had to grab some things off the shelf at the store.”

  “It's not important,” Caleb said. “You shouldn't have bothered.”

  Serenity ignored that and turned to smile brightly at Roland. “This is for you, Mr. Ventress. Where shall I put it?”

  “Dolores will take it and put it with the others,” Phyllis said before Roland could respond.

  “No,” Roland said. He studied Serenity for a few seconds. “I believe I'll open it now, Miss Makepeace. I reckon I've got a streak of curiosity a mile wide.”

  “Me, too,” Serenity agreed. “I can never wait to open
presents.” Conscious of Phyllis's annoyed expression, Serenity hurried toward the window where Roland stood. “And please, call me Serenity.”

  “All right. Serenity.” Roland set down his whiskey and turned the package in his hands. “Nice of you to bring this.”

  “I hope you like it.” She watched as he untied the green bow and undid the bright paper to reveal the cardboard box inside.

  Roland lifted the lid of the box and examined the assortment of products inside. “What have we got here?”

  “It's a collection of items from my store, Witt's End Grocery,” Serenity explained. “A bottle of the best herbed vinegar ever to grace a salad, lemon and orange marmalade from the Sunflower Café, a package of mixed dried beans, and the instructions for a terrific bean chili and some homemade granola. Do you like granola?”

  “Don't believe I've ever eaten any.”

  “This is some of the world's best. Just ask Caleb. He's tried it.”

  Roland looked speculatively at Caleb. “That right?”

  Caleb's mouth curved in the first sign of amusement he had shown since leaving Witt's End. “Be sure to add milk. It's a little dry otherwise.”

  “For heaven's sake, Caleb.” Serenity glared at him. “I'm sure your grandfather knows enough to add milk to his cereal.”

  Caleb said nothing.

  “Thanks, Serenity,” Roland said. “I'll look forward to trying the various items. They're all from your store, I believe you said?”

  “That's right.”

  “And where would that be?” Roland asked.

  “Witt's End. Ever heard of it?”

  “Don't believe so,” Roland said.

  “I think I have,” Jessica said hesitantly. “It's a little town in the Cascades, isn't it?”

  Serenity was pleased. “Yes, it is. Have you ever been there?”

  “No,” Jessica admitted. “We sometimes ski at a resort that's not too far from there, though.”

  “Has your family lived there very long?” Peter inquired.

  “I was born there,” Serenity said proudly. “The first and only person who was ever actually born in Witt's End.”

  “Is that so?” Roland eyed her closely. “And your father? Did he run this grocery store of yours before you took it over?”

  “Oh, no.” Serenity took a sip of her sherry. “I opened the store all by myself three years ago.”

  “What line of work is your father in?” Roland persisted.

  It occurred to Serenity that she was being interrogated. She was aware that people in Caleb's world considered such rude questioning normal, but she had grown up with a different set of social rules. In Witt's End, no one asked such personal questions unless invited to do so. Still, when in Rome, she reminded herself.

  “Julius is into woodworking,” she said, not wanting to bog down the conversation with a long explanation of just how Julius's name came to be on her birth certificate.

  “And motorcycles,” Caleb murmured.

  Roland scowled. “Motorcycles? He sells 'em?”

  “No, he just likes them,” Serenity explained. “He and Bethanne both own Harley-Davidsons. Julius likes to brag that he rode with a wild bunch in his younger days, but just between you and me, I've always taken that story with a grain of salt.”

  Phyllis stared at her. “How on earth does your father make a living at woodworking?”

  Serenity took another sip of sherry and began to relax. These people weren't being deliberately rude, she decided. They were just curious. “Julius and Bethanne follow the craft fair circuit in spring and summer. Several residents of Witt's End do the circuit.”

  Franklin's hand tightened around his glass. “The craft fair circuit?”

  “They sell their creations at various craft fairs up and down the coast,” Serenity explained helpfully.

  Phyllis pursed her lips. “You mean they sell junky little trinkets at those cheap arts and crafts shows?”

  Serenity's determination to be tolerant vanished in the blink of an eye. “Julius and Bethanne are highly skilled artisans. They do not sell junk of any kind.”

  Jessica reddened. “Mother didn't mean to offend you. She was just a little surprised, that's all.”

  Phyllis glared at Caleb. “Have you met these people, Caleb?”

  “No,” Caleb said. “They're out of the country at the moment.”

  “Out of the country?” Roland's brow furrowed “What are they doing out of the country?”

  “They're on their honeymoon, I believe, sir.” Caleb looked at Serenity. “Isn't that right?”

  “That's right.” Serenity recovered her temper. For Caleb's sake, she would be polite. “They got married earlier this month.”

  Laura looked confused. “I don't understand. Is this a second marriage for one of them?”

  “No,” Serenity said. “A first for both of them. They've been living together for about fifteen years. Bethanne finally decided that it was time to get married.”

  There was a short, pregnant pause.

  Roland took a deep swallow of his whiskey. “How did you meet my grandson?”

  “We met when I hired him as a consultant for my new mail order business,” Serenity said. “Isn't that right, Caleb?”

  “Yes.” Caleb examined the whiskey in his glass. “She can't afford to pay my usual fees, so we've signed what amounts to a partnership agreement. When I get her new catalog business up and running, I'll collect a portion of the profits. Hell of a deal. I couldn't pass it up.”

  Roland's expression turned fierce. “What the devil do you want with a partnership in a mail order business?”

  “I'm diversifying,” Caleb said.

  Another sharp silence struck the room.

  Phyllis put her sherry glass down quite loudly on the polished oak coffee table. “This is preposterous. What is going on here, Caleb? Surely you aren't serious about becoming Miss Makepeace's business partner.”

  “I'm very serious about it, Aunt Phyllis. I've got a signed contract,” Caleb said softly. “It's a very interesting project. Takes up most of my time these days. I'm practically living in Witt's End.”

  Serenity stared at him. For a second she thought she saw stone-cold anger and an even colder pride in his eyes as he faced his family's combined disapproval and surprise. She had the uneasy impression that invisible battle lines were being drawn.

  The expression in Caleb's gaze was quickly veiled, but not before it had ignited a deeply disturbing suspicion in Serenity's mind.

  Perhaps Caleb had not brought her here in order to introduce her to his family for the conventional, traditional reasons.

  Perhaps he had brought her here in order to use her as a pawn in some unknown game that he was playing with his relatives.

  People here in the outside world operated under a different code, she reminded herself. Sometimes the subtleties of those rules escaped her. She had better make it clear to Caleb that she had no intention of allowing herself to be used.

  8

  THE CHEAP LITTLE JEWELRY BOX WAS STILL HIDDEN EXactly where he had left it the night of his eighteenth birthday. Caleb pried open the panel in the back of the bureau and reached inside the small space. His fingers closed around the case.

  He drew it out slowly and examined it in the light of the bedside lamp. It looked even tackier than he had remembered. A couple of the fake gems had loosened. The imitation gilt trim had almost worn off entirely. The blue vinyl cover had faded and had started to crack and peel in spots.

  Caleb put the jewelry box on the nightstand and sat down on the bed. He leaned forward, rested his elbows on his thighs and contemplated the only thing he possessed that had ever belonged to his mother.

  Roland had given the jewelry box to him the day he turned eighteen. It was the first time Caleb had realized that his grandfather had allowed anything of Crystal Brooke's to survive.

  “It's all in there,” Roland had told him. “The whole goddamn story of how she seduced and ruined by son. I kept t
he clippings for you so that you could see how that bitch very nearly succeeded in destroying this family.”

  “Why are you giving this to me, sir?” Caleb had stared at the jewelry case and seen a terrible Pandora's box.

  “Because it holds the truth. A man has to be able to face the truth without flinching. You're a man now, Caleb.”

  “Yes, sir.” Caleb had taken the jewelry box as if it were made of molten lead. It had burned his hands.

  “I've raised horses all my life.” Roland had stood at the living room window and gazed out toward the paddock where one of his prized Arabians, a stallion named Windstar, grazed. “If there's one thing I've learned, it's that blood always tells. I've told you that often enough.”

  Caleb's hands had tightened on the jewelry case until he thought it would shatter. He had heard this lecture often enough in the past. “Yes, sir.”

  “You've got her blood in you. There's no denying it. The blood of a cheap little hustler, a no-good whore. But you've also got Ventress blood in you, Caleb. The Ventresses are a strong breed. God knows I've done my best to make certain that your Ventress bloodlines are the only ones that show.”

  Rage had squeezed Caleb's guts, but he kept his face impassive, as always. “I know you have, sir.”

  “And I think I've succeeded.” Roland's voice held fierce satisfaction. “I know I've been a little hard on you at times, but it was for your own good.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I'll tell you the truth, Caleb. Part of what happened all those years ago was my own damn fault. Franklin is right when he says that I was too lenient with Gordon when he was growing up. Your father was my only son and I wanted him to have everything. That was a serious error on my part. My leniency weakened his sense of duty and responsibility. It made him vulnerable. When she came along, he was easy prey.”

  “I know. You've told me that, sir.”

  Roland had made a fist at his side. “But I didn't make the same mistake with you, by God. I've made certain that you learned what it means to be a Ventress, what's expected of you. Now you're off to college. The future of the Ventress family lies in your hands. Don't ever forget that.”