Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 99604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
A knock sounded at the back door.
“That better not be Henry again,” Nana muttered. “Come in.”
The back door opened. We were closed, yet people kept wandering in.
A tall and rather handsome man stepped inside, taking in the three of us before speaking. “I’m hoping to speak with Fiona O’Shea.” His accent was all British. He hesitated when his gaze landed on Donna. The air changed, and she blinked. Twice. “Please tell me that you’re Fiona,” he said.
“No, I’m Donna,” she said quietly.
“I’m Fiona,” Nana answered, moving forward to shake his hand. “And you are?”
He clasped her hand with an easy confidence. “My name is Cormac Coretti.”
The name hit the air like a challenge. Nana tilted her head, the lilt in her voice stronger now. “Your name sounds Gaelic. Cormac, as in son of the chieftain?”
He smiled. “Some say that. Others link it to the old Irish word, meaning raven. Raven’s son, which is a bit darker, don’t you think?” The man’s voice was smooth with a definite British accent. Not Irish or Italian.
Donna recovered her composure. “Which is it?”
Even his chin looked strong. “It depends what day you catch me on.”
“Cormac Coretti,” I said slowly. “You’re Irish and Italian?”
One of his eyebrows lifted. “Yes. Does that matter?”
Oh boy. Did it.
He was broad-shouldered and clean-cut, with burnished brown hair and eyes that couldn’t decide if they were blue or green. When he smiled again, the room brightened a notch too much.
Donna tilted her head. “I know accents, and yours is British. Not Irish…nor Italian.”
He studied her for a moment. “True. My lineage is Irish and Italian, but I was raised in London from an early age.”
Fascinating.
“What brings you in?” I asked, since both Nana and Donna seemed momentarily speechless.
“I’d like to make you an offer on the seven missing nugget boxes,” he said to Nana.
I tilted my head. “They’ve been stolen. We no longer possess them.”
“Yes. I’d like to buy them so that when they’re found, I own them.” His tone stayed friendly, but focus sharpened his gaze.
Nana studied him, her head tilted slightly. I’d seen that expression on her face before—her radar was on. “You have a phenomenal aura.”
“That’s kind of you,” he said smoothly.
“You’ve heard that before?” Donna asked.
He looked at her again, and for a second his eyes seemed to shift, blue to green, then back again. “More than once.”
I must’ve imagined the change in eye color.
Cormac kept his gaze on my sister. “You don’t like my aura, Miss…?”
“Donna Albertini,” Nana offered.
“Delighted.” He offered his hand. Donna hesitated only a moment before shaking it. She never hesitated. Was Mercury in retrograde or something? What was happening?
“This is Anna,” Donna said.
He turned toward me. His eyes had returned to the bluish green hue. “Anna.”
I took his hand, and his scent of smoke and amber filtered around us. “Why buy boxes that are missing?”
“I tend to find things,” he said.
“How do you know they’re missing?” Donna asked.
His smile showed a dimple in his right cheek. Just one. “Oh, it’s in the early edition of the paper.”
How did he arrive so quickly? “Do you live around here?” I asked. The guy was all charm. Way too much.
“No,” he said.
“Where are you from?” Donna pushed.
His grin didn’t falter. “I go where the wind takes me. Mrs. O’Shea, I’ll give you two hundred fifty thousand for all seven boxes.”
I steadied my legs before I hit the floor. “The map on the bottom is just for fun,” I said. “There’s no treasure out there.”
“I don’t know. I’ve followed more than one treasure map in my time, and sometimes they lead places,” Cormac said.
“You have?” Nana asked, delighted.
His expression didn’t alter. “I really have.”
“I’d like to hear those stories.” Nana looked between him and Donna.
“I don’t believe in stories,” Donna said. “Anna, I’ll catch you later.” She leaned over and kissed Nana’s forehead. “I’ll bring those pots over tomorrow before work.” Then she met Cormac’s eyes. “It was nice to meet you.”
“Ditto.” He watched her all the way to the door and a few beats after it closed.
Nana shot me a look. I cleared my throat, loud enough to break his trance.
Cormac turned back, still smiling. “Sisters?”
I lifted my chin. We hadn’t given him my last name. “Yes, but most people don’t realize that,” I said. “We don’t look alike.”
His grin deepened. “Your auras do.”
Nana gasped. “They really do, don’t they?”
“Yep.” He looked at her again, the corners of his mouth easy and sure. “So what do you say?”
Nana hesitated, studying him for a beat. “I’m sorry, Cormac.”
“Call me Mac. Most people do.”
The warmth returned to her eyes. “But Cormac is such a lovely Gaelic name,” she said happily. “The silver boxes are family heirlooms. I couldn’t sell them.”
He shifted his weight, his body appearing relaxed. “All righty,” he said, still cheerful. “Will you be putting up a reward for their return?”