The Inn at Eagle Point by Sherryl Woods Page A

she said, frustrated by his determination to use
old news to manipulate the present.

"And yet you vanished without so much as a goodbye, much less an
explanation. I'm not taking any chances on that happening again, not until the
bank feels comfortable that these loans are protected."

"You mean until you feel comfortable," she said. "It has
nothing to do with what anyone at the bank needs. There's plenty of cash in the
inn's account to cover expenses, and you know it. This is payback, pure and
simple, Trace, and I resent it. You're taking out our drama, if you want to
call it that, on my sister. You know perfectly well she'll pay back every penny
of those loans. So does the bank. This is about you and me."

"Is it really?" he said, his expression innocent.

"I had no idea you could be so vindictive and hateful."

"Which just goes to prove that we never really knew each other at all,
because I didn't have any idea you were capable of being cruel and a
coward."

His words cut right through her. She knew she deserved them, because that was
exactly what she had been, cruel and cowardly. That didn't make it any easier
to hear them or to have them coming back to haunt her all these years later.

She regarded him with bewilderment. "If you think so little of me, why on
earth do you want me around here now?"

"Because you were always the most intriguing, infuriating person in
Chesapeake Shores," he said. "I figure your presence will keep the
next few months from being boring."

"So, what—I'm the mouse and you're the big bad cat who gets to toy with me
just for entertainment?"

"Something like that."

She stood up, shaking with indignation. "You're despicable," she
said, grabbing the crystal pitcher filled with ice water.

His gaze narrowed. "You really don't want to do that," he warned.

"Oh, but I do," she countered, dumping the contents over his head.
She gave him a considering look as he sat there drenched, his expression
startled. Then she smiled in satisfaction. "Yep, that was exactly what I
wanted to do."

Then she whirled around and went upstairs to check on the girls. Pleased with
her little demonstration of temper, she was taken aback when she heard his
laughter echoing after her.

She met Gram in the hallway.

"What's going on?" her grandmother asked.

"I just dumped a pitcher of water over Trace's head."

Her grandmother's eyes twinkled, but she fought to contain a grin. "Was
that wise?"

Abby sighed. "Probably not, but it felt darn good."

Thinking of how she—and perhaps even Jess—were likely to pay for it, though,
made her just the tiniest bit nervous.
    6
    M aking
himself at home, Trace wandered into the kitchen, found a dishtowel to mop up
his face and sop some of the water from his shirt, then took another towel into
the dining room to clean up the mess there. He regarded the dish of chocolate
mousse with regret. It hadn't exactly turned out to be the peace offering he'd
intended it to be.

"Chocolate mousse? Abby's favorite," Nell O'Brien noted as she walked
into the dining room and spotted it in his hand. "Nice touch, though I
imagine suggesting the yacht club for your meeting was your idea of a power
play. You know perfectly well she hates that place."

He winced at the accuracy of her comment. "None of it worked out quite the
way I'd planned," he commented wryly.

"I don't suppose she poured that pitcher of water over your head because
you brought her dessert," she said.

"No, I believe it had more to do with a few unflattering things I said to
her."

She shook her head. "You two act like you're six and still on the
playground. Go in the kitchen and take off your shirt. I'll throw it into the
dryer, and then maybe I'll give you a few tips on handling my
granddaughter."

Trace frowned at her, not entirely trusting the seemingly magnanimous offer.
Nell hadn't been one of his biggest fans ten years ago. He couldn't imagine why
that would suddenly change.

"Why would you do that?" he asked.

"Because it's obvious