Ghost Moon by Karen Robards

with sparks in her eyes. ‘‘What do you mean, if I’m interested? Of course I’m interested. I know it was my fault that he collapsed, but I couldn’t help it! How was I to know he would react to seeing me that way? And he’s my grandfather— at least, I always thought of him as my grandfather—just like he’s yours.’’
    Seth made a derisive sound and swallowed some more coffee. ‘‘If you hadn’t stayed away for nine years, having you pop up like that might not have been such a shock to him. To everyone.’’
    Olivia’s hands clenched by her sides at the unfairness of that. ‘‘Aunt Callie invited Sara and me to come for a visit. She knew we were coming. Ask her. If you and Big John weren’t so gall-darned bullheaded, she probably would have told you we were coming in advance, instead of planning to spring it on you when it was too late for you to object. Anyway, for years now you—you all—have known where I live. You could have come to see me anytime. Nobody did. All I got was an occasional card from Aunt Callie.’’ Certainly she had expected them—Seth, to be specific—to come after her when she’d run off with Newall. Blissfully in love with her new husband, she had been relieved at first when no one had. Only after Sara was born and her marriage went bad and she was left to pick up the pieces of her life did she realize how much their just letting her go had hurt.
    But then, what had she expected, really? She had never truly been an Archer, after all. Not by blood, and with this bunch blood was all that mattered. You were either kin, or you weren’t.
    ‘‘You were married. There wasn’t much point.’’ Seth took another swallow of coffee. ‘‘What God hath joined, let no man put asunder.’’
    Olivia discovered that she hated him just as much as she always had.
    ‘‘Oh, shut up,’’ she said, glaring at him. Grabbing a suitcase with each hand, she stalked from the kitchen.
    It infuriated her to realize that he was smiling a little as the door swung shut behind her.
    By the time she was halfway up the stairs, Olivia could have kicked herself. She had responded to Seth exactly as she would have when she was a teenager and he was the older, wiser pseudocousin who thought he had the right to tell her what to do. In fact, she had said those same words to him so many times over the years that that was probably why they had risen so automatically to her lips.
    The next time he baited her, she vowed, she would ignore him. If he hadn’t matured in nine years, she had.
    Sara was still sleeping when Olivia entered the bedroom, and she realized that it was still very early. Sara slept like the dead most of the time, so Olivia did not fear waking her as she unpacked clothes for the two of them to wear that day. Stowing the suitcases under the bed—she would unpack later—and leaving Sara’s outfit for the day on the foot of the bed, she left the bedroom for the bathroom. She took a shower, washed her hair and blew it dry, put on makeup, and pulled on a pair of cut-off jeans, a lime-green T-shirt, and Keds before returning to check on Sara again. A glance at the alarm clock by the bed told her that it was eight fifteen. Sara still slept.
    Stymied, Olivia headed back downstairs. Faint sounds from the kitchen told her that someone was there— perhaps Seth still, or maybe Martha. She certainly didn’t want to encounter Seth again so soon, and didn’t feel much like talking to anyone else, either. Trying to ignore the fact that her head still ached, and temper had cheated her out of her much-needed morning coffee, she went out the front door into the enveloping warmth of the day. Just in time to keep it from banging shut behind her, she caught the screen door and eased it closed. No need to alert whoever was in the kitchen to her presence.
    For a moment Olivia stood beneath the shelter of the veranda, looking past the fluted columns and hanging ferns at the sun-drenched grounds. Not so much