close. Ambrose kept his distance from the rest of the family. We never saw much of him through the years." Rani pulled her hand out of her lap and deliberately spread her fingers so that the kitchen light reflected off the emerald-green ring. "But it's all equally false, Flint. Believe me."
"You're an expert?"
"No. I had them appraised. Some are plain glass, beautifully cut. Others are inferior stones cut and polished so perfectly they look like the real thing. The settings look good, just as this one does. But they're not worth more than any other piece of nice costume jewelry."
Flint eyed the ring thoughtfully. "You seem to enjoy wearing that ring."
Rani waggled her fingers. "I like all the pieces. They're fun to wear. Very pretty in their own way. Big, gaudy pieces of colorful junk. I've always liked bright colors." She flushed in a burst of self-deprecating amusement and glanced down at her bright sweater. "I have rather garish tastes, you see."
"Is that right?" There was a flicker of humor in the green eyes.
"Believe me, if this thing was real, I'd have it sitting in a safe-deposit box," Rani stated firmly. "I wouldn't dare wear it."
"I've just told you that the value of the ring lies in the story behind it."
"Any legend worth its salt would be about a real emerald, not a phony one. If there ever was a genuine stone in this ring, Uncle Ambrose removed it long ago. If the police are to be believed about Uncle Ambrose's business methods, it would have been cut up and sold on the black market." Rani picked up her spoon and began attacking her bowl of stew with a grim determination. She could only hope she'd said enough to discourage Cottrell if he was here with some vague notion of stealing her ring. It would be impossible to physically kick him out of the house. The man was big. But surely he wouldn't be sitting here chatting calmly about the ring if he intended to steal it.
"Legends are strange things. Very persistent things. Aren't you even curious about the ones concerning your ring?"
"Not particularly."
"Suit yourself. Is there any more stew?"
Rani stifled a sigh. "Yes, there's more stew. Have you brought linens and dishes with you, Flint?" She got to her feet to ladle out more food. "I doubt the cottage has any. From what I've seen of the place it's been vacant quite a while."
"I'll get by. I've slept in worse places."
"I'll bet," Rani muttered as she brought the dish back to the table. "When you've finished eating, I'll show you the cottage."
He looked up at her searchingly. "You're anxious to get rid of me, aren't you?"
"I'm sorry if I appear rude, but, frankly, this evening isn't going the way I planned, at all."
"Because I'm not the man you spoke to on the phone?"
"That's certainly part of the reason," she replied too sweetly. Rani resumed her seat. "The other part is that it makes me extremely nervous to know you've followed me all this way just because of a fake ring."
Flint put down his spoon and touched her hand, his gaze intent. "Don't be nervous. I brought good references, haven't I?"
"That letter from the Andersons? I don't know if it's a good reference or not." She withdrew her fingers, instinctively retreating from his touch.
"It's legitimate." He sounded arrogantly offended, as if he weren't accustomed to having his word questioned.
"Oh, I'm not doubting the signature. But who knows how much they knew about you when they rented the cottage to you? Who knows what you told them to get the job? You admitted you talked them into thinking they needed a… a handyman-gardener."
"Suspicious little thing, aren't you?"
"Wouldn't you be if you were in my shoes?" Rani asked coolly.
To her surprise he appeared to give the matter serious consideration. "I don't know. I can't imagine what it would be like to be in your shoes. I can imagine being attracted to you, but I can't imagine being you. We're at opposite ends of a spectrum."
Rani set down her spoon, aware that her pulse was racing for
"You're an expert?"
"No. I had them appraised. Some are plain glass, beautifully cut. Others are inferior stones cut and polished so perfectly they look like the real thing. The settings look good, just as this one does. But they're not worth more than any other piece of nice costume jewelry."
Flint eyed the ring thoughtfully. "You seem to enjoy wearing that ring."
Rani waggled her fingers. "I like all the pieces. They're fun to wear. Very pretty in their own way. Big, gaudy pieces of colorful junk. I've always liked bright colors." She flushed in a burst of self-deprecating amusement and glanced down at her bright sweater. "I have rather garish tastes, you see."
"Is that right?" There was a flicker of humor in the green eyes.
"Believe me, if this thing was real, I'd have it sitting in a safe-deposit box," Rani stated firmly. "I wouldn't dare wear it."
"I've just told you that the value of the ring lies in the story behind it."
"Any legend worth its salt would be about a real emerald, not a phony one. If there ever was a genuine stone in this ring, Uncle Ambrose removed it long ago. If the police are to be believed about Uncle Ambrose's business methods, it would have been cut up and sold on the black market." Rani picked up her spoon and began attacking her bowl of stew with a grim determination. She could only hope she'd said enough to discourage Cottrell if he was here with some vague notion of stealing her ring. It would be impossible to physically kick him out of the house. The man was big. But surely he wouldn't be sitting here chatting calmly about the ring if he intended to steal it.
"Legends are strange things. Very persistent things. Aren't you even curious about the ones concerning your ring?"
"Not particularly."
"Suit yourself. Is there any more stew?"
Rani stifled a sigh. "Yes, there's more stew. Have you brought linens and dishes with you, Flint?" She got to her feet to ladle out more food. "I doubt the cottage has any. From what I've seen of the place it's been vacant quite a while."
"I'll get by. I've slept in worse places."
"I'll bet," Rani muttered as she brought the dish back to the table. "When you've finished eating, I'll show you the cottage."
He looked up at her searchingly. "You're anxious to get rid of me, aren't you?"
"I'm sorry if I appear rude, but, frankly, this evening isn't going the way I planned, at all."
"Because I'm not the man you spoke to on the phone?"
"That's certainly part of the reason," she replied too sweetly. Rani resumed her seat. "The other part is that it makes me extremely nervous to know you've followed me all this way just because of a fake ring."
Flint put down his spoon and touched her hand, his gaze intent. "Don't be nervous. I brought good references, haven't I?"
"That letter from the Andersons? I don't know if it's a good reference or not." She withdrew her fingers, instinctively retreating from his touch.
"It's legitimate." He sounded arrogantly offended, as if he weren't accustomed to having his word questioned.
"Oh, I'm not doubting the signature. But who knows how much they knew about you when they rented the cottage to you? Who knows what you told them to get the job? You admitted you talked them into thinking they needed a… a handyman-gardener."
"Suspicious little thing, aren't you?"
"Wouldn't you be if you were in my shoes?" Rani asked coolly.
To her surprise he appeared to give the matter serious consideration. "I don't know. I can't imagine what it would be like to be in your shoes. I can imagine being attracted to you, but I can't imagine being you. We're at opposite ends of a spectrum."
Rani set down her spoon, aware that her pulse was racing for
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