Chapter one 4 When the knock at the door sounded twice, sure, quick, Tora's heart jumped. She swallowed and resettled herself in the chair, making sure the best side of her face was toward Trent and the flounce of her polonaise that fell to the floor was "just so." She could feel his presence before he came into view, and she wondered at this thing inside her heart, this thing that would not die, that stirred for him more than any other. What was it about Trent Storm? He entered the room as if he owned it, looking elegant in new attire. He peeled off his gloves and coolly perused her. "Tora," he said with a nod and then a slight smile. There was something hopeful in his eyes, and Tora was glad for it. "Trent!" she said in a surprised tone, as if she had forgotten he was coming, and went to him. He bent over her hand and kissed it, then held it in his warm, strong fingers as they stared at each other. After a long, intense moment Tora squirmed. "It has been a while, Trent." "Yes, well, things at home have kept me quite busy. Helena is a few miles from Duluth, mind you." "Please sit down," she said with a grand gesture, hoping he would notice the neorococo furniture just in from France. He sat without hesitation. "Yes, but we haven't seen each other for what? Five months?" "Counting, darling?" Tora frowned. His eyes were alive with challenge, and the air was suddenly charged with energy. "No, not at all. I simply was commenting. I've certainly been busy enough establishing new roadhouses--I've not had time to count the hours until seeing you again." She hoped the edge of sarcasm in her voice would deflate whatever dangerous balloon was rising between them. "Quite. The facilities here are quite impressive. Not to mention this house." He glanced around. "Very nice. I trust you did this with only your own funds." Tora scowled. This was not going at all as she had planned. "Of course, Trent," she said, hating the defensiveness in her tone. "I wanted to build a house in which I could entertain important guests, but moreover, a home . I had to borrow a certain sum from the bank, but they were happy to assist such a prominent--" "A home?" Trent interrupted, rising and walking to a window that stretched from the floor to the twelve-foot ceiling. He parted the velvet drapes and looked outside. "Hmm. A home. Something that reminds you of Bergen?" Tora felt the blood drain from her face. "Bergen? Why, it has been years since I've thought of Norway. No, I was thinking of someplace--" "Like Camden?" "Camden-by-the-Sea?" she managed to ask without her voice rising an octave. Where was he going with this? "No, what I started to say was--" "That you needed a home," he put in. "Yes," she said, staring back into his eyes when he studied her. "A sense of place." "Yes, I suppose so." "A place where you know who you are, and others do as well. That's the reason for this grand showcase of a home, correct? The three-story, overdone, showy Queen Anne of the Storm Roadhouse Maven?" Tora rose, thoroughly alarmed now. "Trent, whatever is wrong with you? I had so hoped you would like it, so treasured the idea you might want--" "What? To live here?" He shook his head once, decisively. "No, Tora. I do not even know who the Storm Roadhouse Maven is. You have not allowed it. How could Excerpted from Deep Harbor by Lisa Tawn Bergren All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
