Page 32 of Whispers

It never ended, Kane thought as he opened the mailbox and disrupted an industrious spider trying to spin a web in the shade between the box’s flag and latch.

The envelope was there. Flat and thin, it was tucked into a stack of bills that would probably go unpaid for another forty-five days. But tonight Hampton Moran would dance with Black Velvet and tomorrow he’d get drunk with Jack Daniel’s. By Wednesday he’d be back to his cheap rotgut, which would last until the fifth of August.

Kane scooped up the mail as the hound sniffed in the brush. It was time to leave Chinook and a thankless father. He lifted the envelope to his nose, hoping for the scent of perfume or the faint whiff of cigarette smoke, anything that might remind him of his mother, but smelled nothing. Scowling, he set off for the front porch, knowing full well that he’d have to help his dad to bed tonight.

“Come on, boy.” He whistled to the dog and knew that Pop was right about one thing. Benedict “Dutch” Holland was one miserable son of a bitch. But that bastard had somehow sired the most interesting girl Kane had ever met.

Something was wrong. Claire could feel it in her bones; hear it in the words Harley hadn’t said. Hanging up the phone in the front hallway, she felt empty inside and wondered, not for the first time, if her sisters and father had been right in warning her against dating him.

“Trouble in paradise?” Tessa asked as she breezed toward the stairs. A Diet Pepsi dangled from her fingers, and her skin was tanned and oily from the past two hours sunbathing near the pool.

“Everything’s fine,” Claire muttered, irritated that her sister seemed to read her thoughts at all the wrong moments. The house smelled of Ruby Songbird’s barbecue sauce, and she could be heard humming while working in the kitchen.

“Is it really, fine, I mean?” Tessa’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “You know I saw Harley with Kendall the other day.”

Claire’s heart sank, and she wanted to scream at Tessa that she was lying, but she bit her tongue. “You did?”

“Mmm. Down at the marina. If it’s any consolation, it looked like they were fighting, but they were definitely together.” She took a swallow from her soda and continued up the stairs, nearly running into Miranda at the landing.

“Are you giving her a bad time again?” Randa asked, eyeing Tessa with the older sister glare Claire recognized. It had been focused often enough in her direction.

“Just a little advice.”

“Maybe she’s had enough.”

Claire couldn’t believe her ears. Randa was always worrying that her younger sist

ers were flirting with danger, that they didn’t use the brains God gave them, that they were forever getting themselves into trouble. Today she seemed carefree as she slipped down the final few steps. Dressed in shorts and a sleeveless top, she had a beach bag slung over her shoulder. Peeking from the open bag were a beach towel and her dog-eared copy of The Clan of the Cave Bear.

Tessa leaned over the rail from the stairs above. “I just think that if Claire’s going to date one of the Taggert boys, she should concentrate on Weston.”

Miranda stopped dead in her tracks. “You’re kidding.”

“No way. Weston Taggert’s everything Harley’s not—hand-some, athletic, sexy—”

“—trouble of the worst order,” Miranda filled in through suddenly tight lips.

“Maybe I like trouble,” Tessa teased, lifting her soda to her lips and drinking.

“Not his kind. I’m not kidding, Tess.”

“You don’t even know him.”

Miranda flushed. “He’s a bastard with a capital B.”

“Oooh,” Tessa said, grinning that she’d managed to goad ever-cool Miranda.

“Believe me, he’s bad news.”

“Oh, that’s enlightening!” Tessa took another pull from her drink.

“Harley’s a sweet kid,” Miranda clarified, touching Claire on the arm. “If you like him, okay, I can maybe understand it, even if dating him is a big hassle here in this house, but Weston . . .” Her eyes, cold as an arctic sea—found her youngest sister. “He’s the worst kind of trouble a woman could possibly find. It has nothing to do with Dad’s stupid feud.”

“So look who’s suddenly the goddess of love. The one of us who doesn’t date.”

“Low blow, Tessa,” Claire said.

“Well, it’s true.” Tessa leaned over the rail, her breasts propped on the smooth banister, the fingers of her free hand clinging to the carved wooden bear standing on a nearby post. “What would Randa know about men, or boys, for that matter?”