The Family Diamond. Moyra Tarling

a nap. Dinner is at seven.”

      Maura rose from the chair. “Thanks for coffee.”

      Spencer eased himself away from the counter. “If you’d like to come this way.”

      Maura kept her smile in place and followed Spencer from the kitchen. He was silent as he led her up the oak stairs.

      “The house is beautiful,” Maura commented. “Have you lived here all your life?”

      “Yes,” Spencer said. “The Blue Diamond Ranch has been in our family for several generations.”

      “Are all the neighboring properties horse ranches, too?” she asked.

      “No,” he responded, but he didn’t elaborate on his answer as she’d hoped. The temptation to ask him about Walnut Grove was strong, but she kept silent. At the top of the stairs Spencer turned left. Halfway down the corridor he came to a halt.

      “Your bedroom has its own bathroom,” he told her as he opened the door.

      “Thank you.” Maura started to cross the threshold, but Spencer’s hand came out to stop her. “Do you know Michael Carson?” he asked abruptly.

      Maura heard the hint of tension in his voice, and, careful to keep her expression neutral, she met his gaze.

      “No, I’ve never had the pleasure,” she replied truthfully, ignoring the prickle of sensation darting up her arm caused, she knew, by his fingers resting on the sleeve of her jean jacket.

      Spencer held her gaze for what seemed an eternity. He was searching her face for…what? She didn’t know. Her heart sounded like a drum-roll crescendo in her ears, and he was standing so close she was sure he must hear it.

      “I’ll see you at dinner,” he said before turning and striding away.

      Maura stepped inside the carpeted room and closed the door. She leaned against it for support and, taking several deep breaths, waited for her heart to slow to a more normal pace.

      Her thoughts turned to her father and the fact that she might not have to wait too long to meet him. If Michael Carson was a close a friend of the Diamond family, it was possible he’d drop in for a neighborly visit.

      Maura’s breath hitched and her pulse gathered speed at the prospect of meeting her father, the man she hadn’t known existed until a month ago.

      She wasn’t surprised to learn that he’d been married. But the fact that he was now a widower simplified matters a little. Her trip to California had been impulsive, but she had no intention of creating any kind of problem for him.

      Restless, she crossed to the stylish French doors leading onto a small balcony. Opening the doors she stepped outside.

      The sun had already gone down, but a faint trail of pink tinged the darkening sky along with a smattering of stars. The air had cooled, and a breeze tugged at her hair. She sighed, welcoming the caress that helped calm the jittery excitement inside her.

      Not for the first time she wished there had been a photograph of Michael Carson amongst her mother’s personal things, but other than the journal and the letter there had been nothing.

      She would have to be patient. It was fortunate that he was returning from, rather than setting out on, his cruise.

      Her mother’s death a year ago from cancer had left Maura without family—no brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins or grandparents. Though her mother had married Brian O’sullivan when Maura was three, they’d never had children of their own.

      Maura had often wondered why her mother had married Brian, who, at her mother’s insistence, had legally adopted Maura. But her childhood dream of being part of a real family, of having a father who loved her unconditionally had been quickly crushed.

      In Brian O’sullivan’s eyes she was another man’s child, and for the most part he ignored her. His bouts of drinking turned him into a mean and angry man, and Maura soon learned to stay out of his way.

      The marriage lasted three years, dissolving after her mother finally tired of her stepfather’s constant drinking and verbal abuse. For Maura it was a relief to be rid of him, but his negative presence had only heightened her longing for her real father.

      She’d tried asking her mother questions about him, only to be told the subject was off-limits. Though she’d known her mother had loved her, Maura always had the impression that having a child out of wedlock had been something of a burden for her. And Maura had been envious of friends who were lucky enough to have a loving, caring father.

      Learning that her own father was alive and living in California had rocked her to the core, and she knew she would never rest until she’d met him face-to-face and asked him why he’d turned his back on her and her mother all those years ago.

      She needed to know. She deserved to know.

      Reentering the bedroom, she noticed the tasteful decor. A cream-colored carpet covered the floor, and the bedroom furniture, made from mahogany, consisted of a dressing table with matching nightstands and a beautifully carved headboard on the queen-size bed.

      The bedspread reminded Maura of a field of wild-flowers, and the walls, painted a pale shade of apricot, gave the room a cool ambience.

      Crossing to her suitcase she lifted it onto the bed and proceeded to unpack.

      Spencer stood at the wet bar in the dining room and poured himself a generous serving of whisky. His parents were in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on the meal.

      Ten years ago his father had handed the business of running the ranch over to Spencer. Since then his father derived a great deal of pleasure from puttering around in the kitchen.

      During the years he and his brother and sister had been growing up, his mother had hired a cook. And once they’d all left home for college or a career, his mother hadn’t had the heart to let Mrs. B. go. Mrs. B. had taught her new and apt pupil, Elliot Diamond, everything she knew, while his mother had happily encouraged her husband to take over in the kitchen.

      Spencer smiled. After more than forty years of marriage his parents were still very much in love and truly enjoyed each other’s company. And when Spencer had married Lucy, he’d been sure that theirs would be the kind of marriage that would last.

      He’d been wrong. His marriage had been nothing short of a disaster, souring his dreams and leaving him adrift on a sea of pain and bitterness.

      A faint sound caught his attention, and he turned to see Maura standing in the doorway dressed in a cream blouse and rainbow-colored skirt that reached her ankles. Her coppery hair was tamed into a severe knot at the base of her elegant neck.

      “Come in,” he invited, aware once more of a swift jab of attraction at the sight of her. “May I pour you a drink?” he asked, deciding he liked her much better with her hair flowing free, the way he’d seen her the first time they met. He was sorely tempted to walk over and remove the pins.

      “Soda water would be nice, thank you,” she replied. She came toward him, stopping on the other side of the bar.

      “Are you sure I can’t interest you in a glass of Chardonnay? Or a Riesling perhaps? California wineries produce some of the best wines in the world.”

      She nibbled thoughtfully on her lower lip, and instantly his stomach muscles clenched and an emotion, long dormant, stirred deep inside him.

      “Thank you. I’d love to try a California Chardonnay.”

      “Good choice,” he replied. Setting his glass on the bar, he opened the small fridge below the counter and brought out a bottle of wine.

      With practiced ease he stripped off its foil cover and withdrew the cork with the aid of a big brass corkscrew clamped onto the bar.

      “Now there’s a clever device,” Maura commented. She watched him pour the pale gold liquid into a wineglass.

      “And