Page 207 of The Donovan Dynasty

“Or the guest house if you’re more comfortable.”

She wanted to protest, say that she’d just head out when this band of rain eased.But she knew the power of Texas storms, particularly near the coast.And if the computer predictions were accurate, there were more powerful winds to come.“I’ll have a look at the radar again later.”

“The ranch roads can wash out in places if we get a lot of rain in a short period.”

She hadn’t considered that possibility.“I know you were only planning to have me here for an hour or so.”

Looking over his shoulder, he said, “Ms.McBride, I can assure you, I have no objection.You’re anything but an inconvenience.”

Uncertainty rippled through her as she moved away from him.“Do you mind showing me the rest of the mansion?”

None of the house was ostentatious.As he’d said before, it was intended to be lived in.Furnishings were sturdy.And for a house that had been occupied for most of a hundred years, there were surprisingly few personal items.The parlor had a library of hardback books, all lined up alphabetically behind glass-fronted doors.Family portraits hung on many walls.Most of the other paintings depicted either landscapes or Texas historical sites.

“Is it what you expected?”he asked when he led her upstairs.

“No.I thought it would be much more…” She sought for the right word.The place seemed a little austere, unlived in.The courtyard with its bright, tropical plants, flowers, roses, provided a stark contrast.Finally, she settled for, “Grandiose.”

“Humphrey Sykes’ father was a lawyer who left Virginia to find a better life for his family.He moved them all to Texas, took advantage of some land grants, but he died shortly after.Yellow fever, I believe.The family wasn’t rich, and Humphrey grew up knowing that everything he had could disappear in a moment.”

“The fire reaffirmed that?”she guessed.

“It did.”He nodded.“So he never overspent.When my great-grandfather Phillip died, all of his personal possessions filled a shoebox.Money went into the land, into the kids’ educations, purchasing cattle and horses.An obligation to the future.”

“Is that ideal something that you share?”

At the top of the stairs, he paused and turned toward her.

She stopped a step below him.“In your office, I didn’t see anything that might belong to you.”

“I grew up really poor the first few years, and not because my dad wanted it that way.”

“So you don’t feel as if any of this is really yours?”

His eyes darkened again.When he spoke, his voice was ragged, a bit raw with emotion.“You might say that.”

Without another word, he headed down the hallway.

More interested than ever about him, she followed.

“This is for storage,” he said, indicating a door.“When the house was built, trunks were kept here, for traveling, for extra clothing.That type of thing.Generations since have kept holiday decorations, unneeded furniture.If indeed we do a pamphlet, there may be some things of interest in there.”

He pointed out bathrooms and bedrooms, and the transom windows so that air could move between interior spaces.“Many of the windows facing the courtyard open all the way so you can walk out them and onto a sleeping porch.Of course, now that we have air conditioning, the only people who do that are kids.”

“Did you?”

She had a difficult time picturing him as a little boy.

“Yeah.More often than my mom might have liked.She used to say she was afraid the mosquitoes would carry me away.”

“I think my mother used to say something similar.”She grinned.“Where does she live?”

“Waltham.She opened a leather shop.Saddles, furniture, that sort of thing.Mostly with leather from our ranches.”

He paused.“This one is my room.”The door was closed and he didn’t offer to open it.

“When I pulled up, I noticed a turret.Is it just for decoration?”

“No.It’s functional.It’s actually part of the master bedroom.”