Megan's mate

champagne and fancy cake this time of night. Newlyweds. Ha! Haven't seen hide nor hair of the two in number three all week.

Where's your romance, Dutch?

I leave that to you, lover boy.

His ham-size fists delicately cut into the chocolate gateau.

Seen the way you was eyeing that redhead.

Strawberry blonde,

Nathaniel corrected.

More gold than red.

Bravely he took

another sip of rum.

She's a looker, isn't she?

Never seen you go for one that wasn't.

With an artist's flair, Dutch ladled vanilla sauce on the side of the twin slices of cake and garnished them with raspberries.

Got a kid, doesn't she?

Yeah.

Nathaniel studied the cake and decided he could probably force down a

small piece.

Kevin. Dark hair, tall for his age.

A smile curved his lips. Damned if

the boy hadn't gotten to him.

Big, curious eyes.

Seen him.

Dutch had a weakness for kids that he tried to hide.

Okay-looking boy.

Comes around with those other two noisy brats, looking for handouts.

Which, Nathaniel knew, Dutch dispensed with gxeat pleasure behind the mask of a scowl.

Got herself in trouble pretty young.

Nathaniel frowned at that. It was a phrase, too often used to his way of thinking, that indicated the woman was solely responsible for the pregnancy.

It takes two, Dutch.

And the bastard was stringing her along.

I know. I know. I heard about it. Not much gets past me.

it wasn't hard to finesse

information out of Coco if he pushed the right buttons. Though he'd never admit it, that was something he looked forward to doing daily. He buzzed for a waiter, taking delight in holding his thumb down until the kitchen door swung open.

Make

up a tray for number three,

Dutch ordered.

Two gat-o's, bottle of house champagne, two flutes, and don't forget the damn napkins.

That done, he tossed back his own rum.

Guess you'll be wanting a piece of this now.

Wouldn't turn it down.

Never known you to turn down food or a female.

Dutch cut a slice a great deal

larger than those he'd cut for the newlyweds and shoved the plate in front of Nathaniel.

I don't get any raspberries?

Eat what's in front of you. How come you ain't out there flirting with that skinny girl?

I'm working on it,

Nathaniel said with a mouthful of cake.

They're in the dining

room, all of them. Family meeting.

He rose, poured himself coffee, dumped the rest of his rum in it.

They found some old book. And she's not skinny.

He had

firsthand knowledge, now that he'd had Megan in his arms.

She's delicate.

Yeah, right.

He thought of Coco, those long, sturdy lines as fine as any well-crafted sloops. And snorted again.

All females are delicate until they get a ring through your nose.

No one would have called the women in the dining room delicate not with a typical Calhoun argument in full swing.

I say we burn it.

C.C. folded her arms across her chest and glared.

After

everything we learned about Fergus from Bianca's journal, I don't know why we'd consider keeping his lousy account book around.

We can't burn it,

Amanda fired back.

It's part of our history.

Bad vibes.

Lilah narrowed her eyes at the book, now sitting in the center of the table.

Really bad vibes.

That may be.

Max shook his head.

But I can't go along with burning a book. Any kind of book.

It's not exactly literature,

C.C. mumbled.

Treat

patted his wife's stiff shoulder.

We can always put it back where it came from or give Sloan's suggestion some consideration.

I think a room designed for artifacts, mementos Sloan glanced at Amanda

the pieces of history that go with The Towers, would add something. Not only to the hotel, but for the family.

I don't know.

Suzanna pressed her lips together and tried to be objective.

I feel

odd about displaying Fergus's things with Bianca's, or Aunt Colleen's, Uncle Sean's and Ethan's.

He might have been a creep, but he's still a piece of the whole.

Holt toyed with the

last of his coffee.

I'm going with Sloan on this one.

That, of course, enticed a small riot of agreements, disagreements, alternate suggestions. Megan could only sit back and watch in amazement.

She hadn't wanted to be there at all. Not at a family meeting. But she'd been summarily outvoted. The Calhouns could unite when they chose.

As the argument swirled around her, she glanced at the object in question. When Amanda left it in her office, she'd eventually given in to temptation. After cleaning off the leather, she'd flipped through pages, idly totaling up columns, clucking her tongue at the occasional mistake in arithmetic. Of course, she'd scanned a few of the marginal notations, as well, and had found Fergus Calhoun a cold, ambitious and self-absorbed man.

But then, a simple account ledger hardly seemed worth this much trouble.

Particularly when the last few pages of the books were merely numbers without any rhyme or reason.

She was reminding herself

it

wasn't her place to comment when she was put directly on the spot.

What do you think, Megan, dear?