A Will And A Way. Нора Робертс

tossed her jacket over a chair.

      “I always feel like I’m walking into Better Homes,” he commented as he let her cases drop.

      Pandora glanced down at them briefly, then at him. “I’m sure you’re more at home in your own room. It’s more—Field and Stream. I expect tea’s ready.”

      He gave her a long, steady survey. Her jacket had concealed the trim cashmere sweater tucked into the narrow waist of her slacks. It reminded Michael quite forcibly just what had begun to attract him all those teenage years ago. For the second time he found himself wishing she were a man.

      Though they walked abreast down the stairs, they didn’t speak. In the drawing room, amid the Mideast opulence Jolley had chosen there, Charles was setting up the tea service.

      “Oh, you lit the fire. How lovely.” Pandora walked over and began warming her hands. She wanted a moment, just a moment, because for an instant in her room she thought she’d seen something in Michael’s eyes. And she thought she’d felt the same something in response. “I’ll pour, Charles. I’m sure Michael and I won’t need another thing until dinner.”

      Casually she glanced around the room, at the flowing drapes, the curvy brocade sofas, the plump pillows and brass urns. “You know, this has always been one of my favorite rooms.” Going to the tea set, she began to fill cups. “I was only twelve when we visited Turkey, but this room always makes me remember it vividly. Right down to the smells in the markets. Sugar?”

      “No.” He took the cup from her, plopped a generous slice of cake on a dish, then chose a seat. He preferred the little parlor next door with its tidy English country air. This was the beginning, he thought, with the old butler and plump cook as witnesses. Six months from today, they’d all sign a document swearing that the terms of the will had been adhered to and that would be that. It was the time in between that concerned him.

      “Rule number one,” Michael began without preamble. “We’re both in the east wing because it makes it easier for Charles and Sweeney. But—” he paused, hoping to emphasize his point “—both of us will, at all times, respect the other’s area.”

      “By all means.” Pandora crossed her legs and sipped her tea.

      “Again, because of the staff, it seems fair that we eat at the same time. Therefore, in the interest of survival, we’ll keep the conversations away from professional matters.”

      Pandora smiled at him and nibbled on cake. “Oh yes, let’s do keep things personal.”

      “You’re a nasty little package—”

      “See, we’re off to a perfect start. Rule number two. Neither of us, no matter how bored or restless, will disturb the other during his or her set working hours. I generally work between ten and one, then again between three and six.”

      “Rule number three. If one of us is entertaining, the other will make him or herself scarce.”

      Pandora’s eyes narrowed, only for a moment. “Oh, and I so wanted to meet your dancer. Rule number four. The first floor is neutral ground and to be shared equally unless specific prior arrangements are made and agreed upon.” She tapped her finger against the arm of the chair. “If we both play fair, we should manage.”

      “I don’t have any trouble playing fair. As I recall, you’re the one who cheats.”

      Her voice became very cool, her tone very rounded. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

      “Canasta, poker, gin.”

      “That’s absurd and you have absolutely no proof.” Rising, she helped herself to another cup of tea. “Besides, cards are entirely different.” Warmed by the fire, soothed by the tea, she smiled at him. As Michael recalled, that particular smile was lethal. And stunning. “Are you still holding a grudge over that five hundred I won from you?”

      “I wouldn’t if you’d won it fairly.”

      “I won it,” she countered. “That’s what counts. If I cheated and you didn’t catch me, then it follows that I cheated well enough for it to be legal.”

      “You always had a crooked sense of logic.” He rose as well and came close. She had to admire the way he moved. It wasn’t quite a swagger because he didn’t put the effort into it. But it was very close. “If we play again, whatever we play, you won’t cheat me.”

      Confident, she smiled at him. “Michael, we’ve known each other too long for you to intimidate me.” She reached a hand up to pat his cheek and found her wrist captured a second time. And a second time she saw and felt that same dangerous something she’d experienced upstairs.

      There was no Uncle Jolley as a buffer between them now. Perhaps they’d both just begun to realize it. Whatever was between them that made them snarl and snap would have a long, cold winter to surface.

      Perhaps neither one of them wanted to face it, but both were too stubborn to back down.

      “Perhaps we’re just beginning to know each other,” Michael murmured.

      She believed it. And didn’t like it. He wasn’t a posturing fool like Biff nor a harmless hulk like Hank. He might be a cousin by marriage only, but the blood between them had always run hot. There was violence in him. It showed sometimes in a look in his eyes, in the way he held himself. As though he wouldn’t ward off a blow but counter it. Pandora recognized it because there was violence in her, as well. Perhaps that was why she always felt compelled to shoot darts at him, just to see how many he could boomerang back at her.

      They stood as they were a moment, gauging each other, reassessing. The wise thing to do was for each to acknowledge a hit and step aside. Pandora threw up her chin. Michael set for the volley. “We’ll go to the mat another time, Michael. At the moment, I’m a bit tired from the drive. If you’ll excuse me?”

      “Rule number five,” he said without releasing her. “If one of us takes potshots at the other, they’ll damn well pay the consequences.” When he freed her arm, he went back for his cup. “See you at dinner, cousin.”

      Pandora awoke just past dawn fully awake, rested and bursting with energy. Whether it had been the air in the mountains or the six hours of deep sleep, she was ready and eager to work. Breakfast could wait, she decided as she showered and dressed. She was going out to the garden shed, organizing her equipment and diving in.

      The house was perfectly quiet and still dim as she made her way downstairs. The servants would sleep another hour or two, she thought as she stuck her head in the pantry and chose a muffin. As she recalled, Michael might sleep until noon.

      They had made it through dinner without incident. Perhaps they’d been polite to each other because of Charles and Sweeney or perhaps because both of them had been too tired to snipe. Pandora wasn’t sure herself.

      They’d dined under the cheerful lights of the big chandelier and had talked, when they’d talked, about the weather and the food.

      By nine they’d gone their separate ways. Pandora to read until her eyes closed and Michael to work. Or so he’d said.

      Outside the air was chill enough to cause Pandora’s skin to prickle. She hunched up the collar of her jacket and started across the lawn. It crunched underfoot with the early thin frost. She liked it—the absolute solitude, the lightness of the air, the incredible smell of mountain and river.

      In Tibet she’d once come close to frostbite because she hadn’t been able to resist the snow and the swoop of rock. She didn’t find this slice of the Catskills any less fascinating. The winter was best, she’d always thought, when the snow skimmed the top of your boots and your voice came out in puffs of smoke.

      Winter in the mountains was a time for the basics. Heat, food, work. There were times Pandora wanted only the basics. There were times in New York she’d argue for hours over unions, politics, civil rights because the fact was, she loved an argument. She wanted the stimulation of an opposing view over broad