Because You're Mine(19)

Blinking at the brightness, she glanced at Barry’s door and found it still closed. Good. He probably slept. He’d looked tired, and she’d been little help in planning the wedding in a strange country. He’d arranged the catering and all the details. Let him sleep. She didn’t need a keeper.

The hall formed a T. Too many doorways to count left her dizzy. She wasn’t sure whether to go downstairs now or explore her surroundings up here. She turned right from her doorway and walked past a myriad of rooms. The only stairway this direction led to the next floor up. She retraced her steps to her room.

Warm milk might help her sleep. The dank scent of mold made her sneeze. She stepped into the brighter glow of the bulb overhead. The main staircase lay in front of her. The light illuminated the first few steps, then faded into the dark first floor.

Descending the inky steps was like walking into a black hole. She should have searched for a switch to illuminate the steps. Clinging to the banister, she reached the bottom without mishap. Groping for a light switch, she touched something sticky. A spider web? A trickle of legs ran up her arm, and she snatched her hand away.

Barely suppressing a shriek, she shook the spider, or whatever it was, from her skin. Still shuddering, she found the switch and flooded the room with light. A black spider raced away on the floor by her feet. It had been on her. She rubbed the goose bumps on her arms.

Something clanked in the next room over. “Barry?” Maybe he was up after all. She followed the noise. Pushing open the door, she found herself in the kitchen. A light shone brightly. “Barry?” She stepped deeper into the room.

The cabinets were a dark wood. The finish was cracked and old. A stained white sink held sudsy water and pots. Was Barry doing dishes? She couldn’t quite see her new husband washing up. She found a plastic cup in an upper cupboard.

A door opened, and a young man stepped into the room. At the sight of his broad shoulders and orange-dyed mohawk hairstyle, Alanna shrieked and dropped her cup. Backing away with her hands in front of her, she screamed Barry’s name again, then whirled to flee from the intruder.

The man grabbed her arm. “Hey, calm down.” The rich tones in his voice held no threat. “You must be Alanna.”

He knew her name? The panic beating against Alanna’s chest eased until she could draw in a lungful of oxygen. She clutched her robe around herself more tightly. “Who are you? What are you doing in my kitchen?”

“Taking charge right away, are we?” The young man grinned and leaned down to pick up her cup. “Good thing this wasn’t glass.”

She snatched the cup back, narrowing her eyes at him. “Who are you?” He knew her name, so he must belong here. Her gaze went to the black tattoos on his bulging biceps. His style statements didn’t surprise her as much as his presence. She’d thought she and Barry were the only ones in residence. “You haven’t answered my question.”

“I’m your new brother.” He unfurled his arms and held out his hand. “Grady Kavanagh.”

She touched her fingers to his, then withdrew. More family she was unaware of? Grady appeared around twenty-six or-seven. Smudges of dirt marred his big arms and face as though he’d been playing in the mud. “You’re Barry’s brother? You weren’t at the wedding.”

He shrugged. “I hate getting dressed up, and Barry said I didn’t have to go if I didn’t want to. He knew we’d meet sooner or later. I thought I wouldn’t see you till morning. Sorry if my banging around woke you up.” He glanced back toward the stove. “Hungry? There’s still some she-crab soup left.”

She was suddenly ravenous. “I wouldn’t say no to a spot of soup.”

He stepped to the stove and ladled up some soup. The bowl was warm when she accepted it from him. “Smells good. You made it yourself?”

“I’m a fair hand at cooking. I do most of it here. The great Barry Kavanagh can’t be bothered with such things.” He pulled a chair out from the painted table that had seen better days. “Have a seat.” His smirk came back when he glanced at her cup. “Want some soda in that?”

“Milk will do.” She set her soup on the tabletop and scooted closer in the chair. The way he stared at her gave her the jitters. He stood there like some kind of judge with his arms crossed over his chest and his blue eyes trying to see inside her.

She swallowed a spoonful of soup as he turned to pour milk into her cup. “Very good.”

“Glad you like it.” He put the milk away and returned to staring at her.

She put down her spoon. “Why are you staring?”

“Just curious about the woman who managed to snap up Barry Kavanagh. The society moms in the area are going to hate your guts. I can see how you caught him though. You look just like Miss Deirdre.”

“Is that the woman in the painting on the landing?”

“That’s her. She’s been quiet this month. I haven’t heard a peep out of her.”

“What do you mean?” Alanna didn’t mask her confusion. “She’s living here?” Hadn’t the woman been young in the 1940s?

He grinned and tugged at his lip ring. “In a sense. If you hear a banshee howling around the house, it’s Miss Deirdre. Or so my dad says.”

A banshee. Alanna barely held back a shudder. He was just trying to scare her. “Leave off! I’ll not be believing such a story.” But in this house, she could almost accept a myth like that. She scooped up a spoonful of soup and swallowed down her uneasiness.