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Forever In Time
By Barbara Bretton Harlequin Enterprises, Ltd.
Copyright © 2004 Harlequin Enterprises, Ltd.
All right reserved. ISBN: 0-7783-2136-3
Chapter One
Zane Grey Rutledge downshifted into second as he guided the black Porsche up the curving driveway toward Rutledge House. Gravel crunched beneath the tires, sending a fine spray across the lacquered surface of the hood and fenders. He swore softly as a pebble pinged against the windshield, leaving behind a spiderweb crack in the glass. He stopped the car behind a huge moving van and let out the clutch. The bricks had faded and the stones were worn smooth, but still the house stood, proud home to more generations of Rutledges than Zane had desire to count.
"One day it will matter to you," his grandmother Sara Jane had said to him not long before she died. "There's nothing more important than family."
Sara Jane had been dead now for three months and finally he was about to put the last of her estate to rights. Lately he'd had the feeling that she was watching him from somewhere in the shadows, shaking her head the way she used to when he was a boy and he'd been caught drinking beer with his friends from the wrong side of town.
He leaned back in his contoured leather seat and watched as the treasures of a lifetime were carried from the house by a parade of moving men. Winterhalter portraits of long-dead Rutledges, books and mementos that cataloged a nation'shistory as well as a family's.
His fingers drummed the steering wheel in a nervous rhythm. He'd done the right thing. Damn it, it was the only thing he could have done, given the circumstances. Playing curator to a museum masquerading as a house held little appeal for him. He wasn't about to change his way of life to suit a collection of inanimate objects just because they came with a pedigree as long as his. So far he'd done a pretty good job of escaping responsibility and he wasn't about to blow his reputation as the black sheep of the family at this late date.
Not that there was any family left to speak of. Sara Jane's death had seen to that. With her passing, the once-mighty Rutledges of Pennsylvania had only Zane to carry on the tradition of pride and patriotism that had begun back in the time of the revolutionary war. Too bad there was no one else around to appreciate the joke.
"Mr. Rutledge? Oh, Mr. Rutledge, it is you. I was so afraid I'd missed you."
He started at the sound of a woman's voice floating through the open window of the car.
"Olivia McRae," she said, smiling coyly. "We met last week."
He opened the door and unfolded himself from the sleek sports car. "I remember," he said, shaking the woman's birdlike hand.
"Eastern Pennsylvania Preservation Society."
She dimpled, and Zane was struck by the fact that in her day Olivia McRae had probably been a looker.
"We have much to thank you for. I must tell you we feel as if Christmas has come early this year!"
He cast her a quizzical look. She was thanking him? In the past few days he had come to think of her as his own personal savior for taking Rutledge House and its contents off his hands.
"A pleasure," he said, relying on charm to cover his surprise.
"Oh, it's a fine day for Rutledge House," she said her tone up-beat. "I know your dear departed grandmother Sara Jane would heartily approve of your decision."
"'Approve' might be too strong a word," he said with a wry grin.
"Accept is more like it." Bloodlines had been everything to Sara Jane Rutledge. No matter that the venerable old house had been tumbling down around her ears, in need of more help than even the family fortune could provide. So long as a Rutledge was in residence, all had been right with the world.
"Just you wait," said Olivia McRae, patting him on the forearm in a decidedly maternal gesture. "Next time you see it, this wonderful old house will be on its way to regaining its former glory."
"It's your business now, Olivia. Yours and the state of Pennsylvania." He'd never been one to bow down before the grandeur of history, family or otherwise. He didn't give a damn if he never saw Rutledge House again.
"We would welcome your input," the older woman said. "And we would most certainly like to have a Rutledge on the board of directors at the museum."
"Sorry," he said, perhaps a beat too quickly. "I think a clean break is better all around."
The woman's warm brown eyes misted over with tears. "How thoughtless of me! This must be dreadfully difficult, coming so soon after the loss of your beloved grandmother."
Zane looked away. Little in life unnerved him. Talk of his late grandmother did. "I have a plane to catch," he said gruffly. No matter that the plane didn't take off until tomorrow afternoon. As far as he was concerned, emotions were more dangerous than skydiving without a chute. "I'd better be on my way."
Olivia McRae peered into the car. "You do have the package, don't you?"
"Package?" His brows knotted. "I don't know anything about a package."
"Oh, Mr. Rutledge, you must have the package I set out for you." She looked at him curiously. "The uniform."
"Damn," he muttered under his breath. "I'd forgotten." The oldest male child in each generation is entrusted with the uniform, his grandmother had told him on his twelfth birthday when she'd handed him the carefully wrapped package. Someday you'll hand it down to your son.
Not if he could help it.
He hadn't forgotten about the uniform. He knew exactly where it was: in the attic under a thick layer of dust, as forgotten as the past should be - and usually was.
"You wait right here," said Mrs. McRae, turning back toward the house. "I'll fetch it for you."
He was tempted to get behind the wheel of the Porsche and be halfway to Manhattan before the woman crossed the threshold. For as long as he could remember, that damn uniform had been at the heart of Rutledge family lore. His grandmother had woven endless stories of derring-do and bravery and laid every single one of them at the feet of some long-dead relative who'd probably never done anything more courageous than shoot himself a duck for dinner.
Moments later Olivia McRae was back by his side.
"Here you are," she said, pressing a large, neatly wrapped pack-age into his arms with the tenderness a mother would display toward her firstborn. "To think you almost left without it."
Zane looked at the package curiously. "Heavier than I thought it would be," he said. "You sure there isn't a musket in there with the uniform?"
Mrs. McRae's lined cheeks dimpled. "Oh, you! You always were a tease. Why, you must have seen this uniform a million times."
"Afraid I never paid much attention."
"That can't be true."
"I've never been much for antiques."
"This is more than an antique," said Mrs. McRae, obviously appalled. "This is a piece of American history ... your history." She patted the parcel. "Open it, Mr. Rutledge. I'd love to see your face when you -"
"I will," he said, edging toward the Porsche, "but right now I have a plane to catch."
"Of course," she said, her smile fading. "I understand."
She looked at him and in her eyes Zane saw disappointment. But why should Mrs. McRae be any different? Disappointing people was what he did best. He tossed the package into the back seat and with a nod toward Olivia McRae roared back down the driveway and away from Rutledge House.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Forever In Time by Barbara Bretton Copyright © 2004 by Harlequin Enterprises, Ltd.. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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