his arms and legs, a two-inch scar on his knee. His presence left her feeling raw and exposed, had her pulse jumping in a different way from the anonymous call, her nerves a jittery mess.
The breeze picked up, whipping her nightgown against her, outlining her figure in excruciating detail. She shivered when she noticed his eyes on her breasts. "You don't have any ideas, do you? The calls couldn't have something to do with you instead of me, could they?"
He shifted his gaze to her face. "Not that I know of. I won't pretend I don't have enemies."
"Personal or business?"
"I don't make those kinds of distinctions. My personal life and business life are more or less one and the same. You can't do what I do without someone ending up wanting your hide."
"Who's running the show while you're up here?"
She could tell she'd struck a nerve. "I have people I trust working for me. I'm in constant touch with my office, but—" A self-deprecating twitch of a smile. "I'm not known for taking much time off."
"Control freak?"
The smile broadened. "I've heard you Yankees are a blunt lot."
Piper laughed, which felt good mixed in with all her tension. "Sorry. It's just that local gossip has it that you're—I don't know if ruthless is the right word, but a tough businessman. I guess it takes focus and commitment and a lot of hard work to do what you do."
"It does."
"So, who knows that you bought the Frye house?"
"A few people. Not many." He gave her a long look, a half smile. "And no one knows I've been dealing with a trespassing neighbor."
Piper grinned. "You mean you didn't call home and gripe about me stealing valerian root out of your back yard?"
"I did not."
She stared out at a seagull wheeling over the marsh, and suddenly she could hear the voice on the other end of the phone, hear its fury and determination. Her throat tightened, her light mood gone. She turned back to Clate. "You know, if you were planning to build a resort out here, you'd want to get hold of my land. It'd be to your advantage. The nature preserve limits what you can do to the north. The only way you could expand would be to gobble up my land."
"Honey, if I wanted your land, I'd get it some other way besides making mindless phone calls."
He'd get her land. Not he'd try to get it. If the rumor mill in Frye's Cove was to be believed, Clate Jackson was a successful, driven businessman who didn't regard land, family, or community in the same way she did.
Her gaze drifted to a No Trespassing sign posted on a pitch pine. It said everything. "I suppose you would, at that."
"What about you, Piper?" he asked. If he'd noticed her irritation, he wasn't calling her on it. "Any enemies?"
"Me? No. Not anyone who'd deliberately try to scare me. I'm not naive. I know not everyone likes me, but I can't think of anyone— anyone —who'd do this to me, not out of plain hatred. There'd have to be a more concrete motive."
"Such as?"
Piper exhaled, turning her gaze back to the water. The wind was cold now, and she wished she'd thrown on a sweatshirt before heading down to the beach. Motives for harassment, for someone not wanting her messing around on Clate Jackson's land. Hannah was trying to get her to dig for supposed buried treasure and uncover the answers to one of Cape Cod's most notorious incidents. Who on earth would care? Who even knew?
Piper's immediate impulse was to lie outright and deny anything and everything. She couldn't stand to have Clate suspect her aunt or apply that hardheaded thinking of his to her claims about what she saw as a girl of seven.
But she didn't want to lie to him, either. "I can't think of any motives that make sense." That was true, as far as it went. "If I do, I'll let you know."
Clate settled back on his heels, studying her through suspicious half-closed eyes. Piper tried not to squirm. This wasn't a man who'd take well to lies, dissembling, or foolishness, a quality that no doubt served him well in business. She didn't know how
The breeze picked up, whipping her nightgown against her, outlining her figure in excruciating detail. She shivered when she noticed his eyes on her breasts. "You don't have any ideas, do you? The calls couldn't have something to do with you instead of me, could they?"
He shifted his gaze to her face. "Not that I know of. I won't pretend I don't have enemies."
"Personal or business?"
"I don't make those kinds of distinctions. My personal life and business life are more or less one and the same. You can't do what I do without someone ending up wanting your hide."
"Who's running the show while you're up here?"
She could tell she'd struck a nerve. "I have people I trust working for me. I'm in constant touch with my office, but—" A self-deprecating twitch of a smile. "I'm not known for taking much time off."
"Control freak?"
The smile broadened. "I've heard you Yankees are a blunt lot."
Piper laughed, which felt good mixed in with all her tension. "Sorry. It's just that local gossip has it that you're—I don't know if ruthless is the right word, but a tough businessman. I guess it takes focus and commitment and a lot of hard work to do what you do."
"It does."
"So, who knows that you bought the Frye house?"
"A few people. Not many." He gave her a long look, a half smile. "And no one knows I've been dealing with a trespassing neighbor."
Piper grinned. "You mean you didn't call home and gripe about me stealing valerian root out of your back yard?"
"I did not."
She stared out at a seagull wheeling over the marsh, and suddenly she could hear the voice on the other end of the phone, hear its fury and determination. Her throat tightened, her light mood gone. She turned back to Clate. "You know, if you were planning to build a resort out here, you'd want to get hold of my land. It'd be to your advantage. The nature preserve limits what you can do to the north. The only way you could expand would be to gobble up my land."
"Honey, if I wanted your land, I'd get it some other way besides making mindless phone calls."
He'd get her land. Not he'd try to get it. If the rumor mill in Frye's Cove was to be believed, Clate Jackson was a successful, driven businessman who didn't regard land, family, or community in the same way she did.
Her gaze drifted to a No Trespassing sign posted on a pitch pine. It said everything. "I suppose you would, at that."
"What about you, Piper?" he asked. If he'd noticed her irritation, he wasn't calling her on it. "Any enemies?"
"Me? No. Not anyone who'd deliberately try to scare me. I'm not naive. I know not everyone likes me, but I can't think of anyone— anyone —who'd do this to me, not out of plain hatred. There'd have to be a more concrete motive."
"Such as?"
Piper exhaled, turning her gaze back to the water. The wind was cold now, and she wished she'd thrown on a sweatshirt before heading down to the beach. Motives for harassment, for someone not wanting her messing around on Clate Jackson's land. Hannah was trying to get her to dig for supposed buried treasure and uncover the answers to one of Cape Cod's most notorious incidents. Who on earth would care? Who even knew?
Piper's immediate impulse was to lie outright and deny anything and everything. She couldn't stand to have Clate suspect her aunt or apply that hardheaded thinking of his to her claims about what she saw as a girl of seven.
But she didn't want to lie to him, either. "I can't think of any motives that make sense." That was true, as far as it went. "If I do, I'll let you know."
Clate settled back on his heels, studying her through suspicious half-closed eyes. Piper tried not to squirm. This wasn't a man who'd take well to lies, dissembling, or foolishness, a quality that no doubt served him well in business. She didn't know how
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