wantin'?"
Had the old fool even heard his name? Was his senility so far advanced that he didn't remember the kid who'd grown up in the shadow of Oakleigh?
"I'm building a plastics plant on the Lanier property." Cole felt Elinor's gaze sear him, but he ignored her to focus on the man who'd drawn so much of his adolescent rage. The old snob had never missed a chance to sneer at Cole's father. "You're a significant citizen of Bayville and I just wanted to acquaint you with my plans."
"I don't want to know about any plans. Why should I care what they do in Bayville?" Prescott demanded. "I'll be dead inside a year. The town can rot for all I care."
Catching Cole's eye for a significant second, Elinor bent near her grandfather to say, "Charlie said you had some papers for me."
"Yeah," her grandfather said, the fire suddenly going out of him. "They're over there on the desk. Don't look at them now! Just take them. I don't want you hanging around any longer than you have to."
"Okay. I can see you're all right. I'll take the papers and go," she promised, bending to kiss his withered cheek.
To Cole's surprise, the old man accepted her display of affection without rejecting her. "Go on now," he said, his voice softening only marginally.
Elinor picked a fat envelope up off the desk, saying quietly, "Good night, Grandfather."
Cole walked out with her, feeling unaccountably shaken. He'd come back to Bayville knowing his enemy was in a weakened state, but he'd never expected to pity Daniel Prescott. And the oddest thing was that he didn't pity the old man for his age and infirmity as much as he did for Daniel's obvious inability to acknowledge the love of his granddaughter. Cole couldn't help but feel compassion for her.
Elinor carefully closed and locked the heavy front door.
She felt a small sense of triumph that her grandfather now tolerated her presence in his life. At first when she'd come to live in Bayville, he'd sworn at her viciously and told her never to darken his door.
Fortunately, she'd never lacked determination. That crusty old man was her only living relative, and he needed her even if he'd never admit it.
"Walk me to my car?" Cole asked, the slightest hint of cajolery in his voice.
"Of course," Elinor agreed politely, her wariness of him suddenly roaring back to life. For a few minutes, when he'd spoken so quietly on the front gallery and seemed so unperturbed by her grandfather, she'd almost forgotten who he was.
Glancing quickly at him now as they descended the shallow steps and walked across the lawn, she wondered how that was possible. He emitted an aura of self-assurance like a silent pheromone. Even being dismissed by her grandfather hadn't shaken him. That in itself had a telling significance. Men who sought influence were usually jealous of their importance.
Cole Whittier carried himself as if power no longer mattered to him. And, for a man in his position, that could only mean that he had more power than he'd ever need.
Elinor shivered, in spite of herself. She'd sworn long ago never to get involved with a man who worshipped money. It had destroyed Daniel Prescott and had governed her own father's life until his dying breath.
"You're very quiet," Cole murmured as they walked along the drive, narrowed by heavily overgrown shrubs. "It must be difficult being saddled with a sick old man who never gave a damn about you when you were a kid."
"He's not just a sick old man," she retorted stiffly, hostility flooding through her at his callous words. "He's my grandfather."
"I'm sorry," Cole apologized. "I didn't mean to imply anything. It's just that taking care of an elderly relative is no picnic. Particularly when you consider the financial strain."
"Well, I don't, Mr. Whittier." Elinor's agitation quickened her steps down the drive. "I don't consider the 'financial strain.' There are some things that can't be figured up in terms of cash equivalents."
"Wait a second." He caught her arm, pulling her to
Had the old fool even heard his name? Was his senility so far advanced that he didn't remember the kid who'd grown up in the shadow of Oakleigh?
"I'm building a plastics plant on the Lanier property." Cole felt Elinor's gaze sear him, but he ignored her to focus on the man who'd drawn so much of his adolescent rage. The old snob had never missed a chance to sneer at Cole's father. "You're a significant citizen of Bayville and I just wanted to acquaint you with my plans."
"I don't want to know about any plans. Why should I care what they do in Bayville?" Prescott demanded. "I'll be dead inside a year. The town can rot for all I care."
Catching Cole's eye for a significant second, Elinor bent near her grandfather to say, "Charlie said you had some papers for me."
"Yeah," her grandfather said, the fire suddenly going out of him. "They're over there on the desk. Don't look at them now! Just take them. I don't want you hanging around any longer than you have to."
"Okay. I can see you're all right. I'll take the papers and go," she promised, bending to kiss his withered cheek.
To Cole's surprise, the old man accepted her display of affection without rejecting her. "Go on now," he said, his voice softening only marginally.
Elinor picked a fat envelope up off the desk, saying quietly, "Good night, Grandfather."
Cole walked out with her, feeling unaccountably shaken. He'd come back to Bayville knowing his enemy was in a weakened state, but he'd never expected to pity Daniel Prescott. And the oddest thing was that he didn't pity the old man for his age and infirmity as much as he did for Daniel's obvious inability to acknowledge the love of his granddaughter. Cole couldn't help but feel compassion for her.
Elinor carefully closed and locked the heavy front door.
She felt a small sense of triumph that her grandfather now tolerated her presence in his life. At first when she'd come to live in Bayville, he'd sworn at her viciously and told her never to darken his door.
Fortunately, she'd never lacked determination. That crusty old man was her only living relative, and he needed her even if he'd never admit it.
"Walk me to my car?" Cole asked, the slightest hint of cajolery in his voice.
"Of course," Elinor agreed politely, her wariness of him suddenly roaring back to life. For a few minutes, when he'd spoken so quietly on the front gallery and seemed so unperturbed by her grandfather, she'd almost forgotten who he was.
Glancing quickly at him now as they descended the shallow steps and walked across the lawn, she wondered how that was possible. He emitted an aura of self-assurance like a silent pheromone. Even being dismissed by her grandfather hadn't shaken him. That in itself had a telling significance. Men who sought influence were usually jealous of their importance.
Cole Whittier carried himself as if power no longer mattered to him. And, for a man in his position, that could only mean that he had more power than he'd ever need.
Elinor shivered, in spite of herself. She'd sworn long ago never to get involved with a man who worshipped money. It had destroyed Daniel Prescott and had governed her own father's life until his dying breath.
"You're very quiet," Cole murmured as they walked along the drive, narrowed by heavily overgrown shrubs. "It must be difficult being saddled with a sick old man who never gave a damn about you when you were a kid."
"He's not just a sick old man," she retorted stiffly, hostility flooding through her at his callous words. "He's my grandfather."
"I'm sorry," Cole apologized. "I didn't mean to imply anything. It's just that taking care of an elderly relative is no picnic. Particularly when you consider the financial strain."
"Well, I don't, Mr. Whittier." Elinor's agitation quickened her steps down the drive. "I don't consider the 'financial strain.' There are some things that can't be figured up in terms of cash equivalents."
"Wait a second." He caught her arm, pulling her to
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