Yet here he was, alone on Cape Cod, having a white-hot affair with a woman who valued her life and reputation in her little hometown.
It was Benjamin who spoke first. "I'll be straight with you, Clate. People are talking behind your back. I don't like it, and neither does Andrew, but we can't help hearing things. It's a small town. We've been the subject of that kind of talk ourselves." He paused, apparently waiting for Clate to respond. "Okay. I'll put it this way. We'd better not find out you're at the bottom of what's been going on with Piper and Hannah."
Clate gave the man credit for laying it out to him straight. "And why would I be?"
Andrew stirred. "Because something's in it for you."
"Such as?"
Benjamin shrugged expansively. "Profit. You wouldn't be the first outsider to take advantage of the locals around here." As if Cape Codders themselves had never done damage to their own land and futures by going for short-term gain. "You make a few calls, get Piper all worked up about living out here alone. Next thing, she sells you her land."
As upset as she was about the calls, Piper was taking them in enviable stride, Clate thought. If anything, she'd only dig in her heels and stay put if she guessed someone was trying to move her, much less sell her land to a Nashville developer. Her brothers, however, had their own ideas about their younger sister.
"I don't resort to scare tactics when I want something. And most of my projects have been in downtown Nashville, except for my hotel, which was on land that everyone agreed was open to development." But he understood what the brothers were trying to tell him. "I bought this place because I needed a retreat. That's the best I can explain it. A resort on thirty acres." He sighed. "That's not what I do."
"Then if it's not you," Andrew said, "someone in your outfit's talking out of turn."
"I suppose someone from Tennessee could be making inquiries." He considered the prospect a moment, liked it less and less. "Could be an enemy rather than a friend. Someone who wants to know my plans. If I'm distracted up here, perhaps they can move in on me down there."
Benjamin shifted his weight from one leg to the other. "You don't trust anyone, do you?"
"I have no illusions about people."
"Must be a hard way to live," Andrew said.
Clate had the feeling Andrew Macintosh understood just how hard, if for different reasons. "The point is, even if I would employ such tactics, I have nothing to gain by harassing your sister and exploiting your aunt."
"You bought her house."
"It was for sale, and I paid far more than I needed to pay."
"Why?"
Clate met Andrew's intent stare. "I liked the location."
"What about the house itself?" Benjamin asked.
"I don't care about the house." And then he knew: there was more. He frowned. "What is it?"
Benjamin sighed. "Another credible rumor floated to us this morning. Says you're looking into the historic value of the Frye house so you can have it moved or torn down."
He gave a short, bitter laugh. "Why bother? If I do nothing, it'll collapse on its own before too long."
Both brothers' professional interest was piqued. They muttered for a few moments about how they'd warned Hannah for years to fix up the place, about its pristine lines, its potential. But they quickly brought themselves back to their point. Benjamin said, "So is that a denial? You're not interested in having this house moved, either to make way for a resort or a new house?"
"What difference does it make if I want to build a new house?"
A stupid question. He knew it instantly. This was Cape Cod, this was New England, and his was, by any definition, a historic house, even if never placed on the national register. There'd be pickets, letters to the editor, and general hell to pay if he decided to take an ax to the place and put up something new, to better take advantage of the sea breeze, the views, the technological advances of the past century or two. No wonder Hannah had decided to sell.
And he'd paid her every last dime of her asking price. He hadn't negotiated, as much proof as he probably needed that the old woman was a witch after all.
"Never mind," he said. "I haven't even decided if I like Cape Cod, never mind what to do with this house."
The brothers seemed surprised that someone might not actually like Cape Cod, but after a few more questions along the same lines, they departed. Clate wasn't sure how satisfied they were with his explanations, and he wondered who the hell was spreading credible rumors about his intentions.
The thought propelled him to his car and into town. Time he and Mrs. Frye had a talk about what she was holding back.
Hurtling herself down the main road from Hannah's house, without benefit of bicycle or car, was Piper Macintosh. He pulled over, rolled down his window. She started, jumping up a good foot and nearly tripping on the sandy shoulder. "Oh, it's you. Gosh, you startled me. My mind was wandering."
"I'm surprised to see you out on your own."
She smiled wryly. "So am I."