Knight in Blue Jeans by Evelyn Vaughn Read Free Book Online Page A

loved her,” Greta repeated, adding dish soap.
    “No man who loves a woman would dump her, drunk, over the phone.”
    “Unless he was protecting her.” She turned to fix her seemingly sightless eyes on him. “Just as you’re trying to protect her now.”
    Smith stared back. Silence seemed his best option here.
    “You were well-off and respected. Suddenly you had nothing. Meant nothing—at least to the world the pair of you knew. My father’s story must sound familiar.”
    This was getting uncomfortable. “So why don’t I do a walk-through of the house, start prepping for when Trace gets here with the security equipment?”
    “Quite the dilemma,” murmured Greta. “You took a vow of honor not to speak of it, yet your own honesty won’t let you deny it. Don’t worry. That’s all the proof I need or will ask of you.
    “You are Comitatus. Of the blood. Of the tradition. This is how you know exactly what dangers Arden faces. And you, Smith Donnell, were exiled—just like my father.”
    Smith opened his mouth to protest—he could so be dishonest! But Greta silenced him with a raised, gnarled hand. “This is why I believe you should have this.”
    “Have…?”
    She stooped, pressed on a piece of the built-in shelving—and a panel suddenly swung loose from the wall.
    She had an honest-to-God hidden compartment.
    No wonder she’d bought the house back!
    Smith watched as she swung the panel back on a hidden hinge and claimed a slim, velvet-wrapped bundle, not a yardlong. She laid her treasure on the kitchen table and slowly, reverently, folded back its rich purple wrapping to reveal—
    Smith stared.
    It was a sword. A double-edged short sword, to be precise, and yet, somehow…more. It caught the summer shadows as if it glowed.
    But swords didn’t glow. Especially not seriously old swords—and this one was seriously old…or, more likely, a replica. It looked like something from some gladiator movie, Troy or Spartacus. The blade, extending out of a hilt studded with green gemstones, expanded into a swell at the tip that gave the oddly gold-colored metal a faint leaf-shape.
    An impression of sand and salty wind swirled into Smith’s mind for just a moment before he blinked it away.
    “The sword of Aeneas,” Greta explained softly.
    Smith stared at the sword. Then at the old woman he’d just met. Then back down at the sword.
    Well, that was unexpected.
    “The what of which?”
     
    “Woo hoo!” exclaimed fourteen-year-old Jefferson Leigh, sliding his leather backpack across the front foyer like a bowling ball. “I’m home! ”
    “Yes, you are,” agreed Arden as she closed the door behind him, taking pleasure from her baby brother’s high spirits. She’d needed a distraction from the return of Smith Donnell into her life, and Jeff, as always, did the job. His cheeks glowed with health under dark hair even curlier than hers. Camp in Switzerland had energized him. “Which is why we do not throw luggage.”
    “ Ar den!”
    “ Je ffie!” she parroted back his long-suffering moan, eliciting another grin. “Carry your bag to your room and I’ll make sure Esperanza has a snack for us, all right?”
    He saluted. “Ma’am, yes, ma’am!” As if it had been some kind of military camp, instead of a training ground for sons of privilege.
    She couldn’t believe how he’d grown in two short months, all feet and elbows. Then their father came in from the backyard—from his detached office—and she believed it after all. Donaldson Leigh was no small man, himself.
    “Jeff!” he bellowed. “Let the help take care of your bags and come tell me about camp! Arden, you’re staying the night to spend time with your brother, aren’t you?”
    When Jeff turned his big eyes on her, Arden was lost. Heaven knew she could ignore Smith’s warnings of possible danger to her. She could even dismiss Val and Greta’s concern as paranoia. She could resist her father’s paternal pushiness. But Jeffie…?
    And what