Hidden Talents

retire, and everyone knew it. But more often than not these days he was content to oversee his Arabian stud farm and leave the family finances to Caleb. Franklin and Phyllis never failed to make their opinions on financial matters known, and their offspring occasionally offered advice. But for all practical purposes, Caleb was in charge of the Ventress inheritance.
    No one had ever actually thanked Caleb or shown any particular sign of gratitude for his efforts on their behalf. The entire family simply took it for granted that Caleb was merely doing what was expected of him.
    “Well, then, that takes care of that,” Phyllis said. “Now, when shall we expect you on Saturday?”
    “I'm not certain. Probably around noon.” Saturday was Roland Ventress's eighty-second birthday. Caleb had never missed a single one of his grandfather's annual celebrations since the day he had been brought home to Ventress Valley. Caleb made it a point to be very faithful to all family rituals.
    “Very well, we'll expect you at noon.” Phyllis hesitated. “Last week you mentioned you might bring a guest.”
    “I've changed my mind.”
    “I see. Does this mean that lovely Miss Learson won't be coming with you?”
    “I'm no longer seeing Miss Learson.”
    The affair had ended three months ago by mutual agreement and with no hard feelings on either side. Susan Learson was the daughter of a successful California industrialist. She was poised, sophisticated, and charming, but Caleb had made it clear from the outset that he was not thinking of marriage.
    Susan had been satisfied with the arrangement for nearly a year. Through Caleb she had met a variety of interesting and eligible men, and eventually fell in love with one of them, the CEO of a mid-sized Seattle company. She was planning to be married at Christmas. Caleb wished her well.
    He had missed Susan for a time after the relationship had ended, and he thought of her now with a sense of remote affection. He knew his grandfather and the rest of the family missed her a lot more than he did. Roland was desperate to see Caleb married, desperate to know that the family would continue into another generation.
    Caleb knew that the old man was beginning to wonder if his grandson's failure to find a suitable wife was more than just bad luck. He was starting to view it as a subtle form of revenge on Caleb's part, or proof, perhaps, that Crystal Brooke's bad blood had finally surfaced.
    Caleb had not bothered to disabuse Roland of that notion, because he was not altogether certain it wasn't true. The only thing he was sure of was that a wife would demand more of him than any ghost had to give.
    There was a distinct pause as Phyllis digested the fact that Susan Learson had gone the way of the small, select handful of other women who had been involved with Caleb over the years.
    “It's unfortunate that you're no longer seeing her.” Phyllis's tone was laced with censure. “Your grandfather was quite taken with her.”
    “I know.”
    “She reminded me a bit of Patricia, your father's wife. Excellent family. Good breeding. Miss Learson would have made you a very suitable wife.”
    “No doubt.” If I was looking for a wife, which I'm not .
    “What happened between the two of you?” Phyllis demanded, sounding exasperated. “I thought you liked her.”
    “I did. I do. But it's over.”
    “I'm sorry to hear that. Your grandfather won't be pleased.”
    Caleb had had enough of blackmail ploys for one day. “That won't exactly be a new experience for him, will it? Good-bye, Aunt Phyllis.”
    He hung up the phone and gazed thoughtfully at the receiver.
    It seemed to him that his whole life had been shaped by blackmail. Hell, he was a pro at dealing with it.
    Something told him that Serenity Makepeace was not.
    She'd left his office determined to find the blackmailer who had destroyed her hopes and dreams for Witt's End.
    She was no doubt headed for trouble, and, like it or not, she was still officially his client. They had both signed that damned contract.
    Caleb picked up the phone and then slowly replaced the receiver. It was not his way to do anything without giving it a lot of thought beforehand.
    He made himself contemplate the matter for another half hour. Then he slowly and deliberately dialed the hotel where Serenity stayed when she came to Seattle to meet with him.
    The front desk clerk was brief and to the point. “I'm sorry, sir,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “She