But the cool hostility Fleur Koranda exhibited when she opened the front door did nothing to bolster his shaken confidence. "Yes?"
That was all. No smile. No handshake. Definitely no hug. Regardless of age, women tended to go all melty-eyed when they saw him. It had happened so many times he barely noticed, but it wasn't happening now, and the novelty unbalanced him. "I need to see Meg," he blurted out, and then, stupidly, "I- We haven't been formally introduced. I'm Ted Beaudine."
"Ah, yes. Mr. Irresistible."
She didn't say it like it was a compliment.
"Is Meg here?" he asked.
Fleur Koranda looked at him exactly the way his mother had looked at Meg. Fleur was a beautiful six-foot Amazon with the same boldly slashed eyebrows Meg had, but not Meg's coloring or more delicate features. "The last time I saw you," Fleur said, "you were scrambling in the dirt, trying to knock a man's head off."
If Meg had the guts to stand up to his mother, he could face hers down. "Yes, ma'am. And I'd do it again. Now I'd appreciate it if you'd tell me where I can find her."
"Why?"
If you gave mothers like this an inch, they'd mow you down. "That's between her and me."
"Not exactly." The deep voice came from Meg's father, who'd appeared at his wife's shoulder. "Let him in, Fleur."
Ted nodded, stepped into a grand entrance hall, and followed them to a comfortable family room already occupied by two tall younger men with Meg's chestnut brown hair. One sat on the fireplace hearth, ankle crossed over his knee, strumming a guitar. The other tapped away at a Mac. These could only be Meg's twin brothers. The one with the laptop, Rolex, and Italian loafers had to be Dylan, the financial whiz, while Clay, the guitar-playing New York actor, had shaggier hair, ripped jeans, and bare feet. Both of them were exceptionally good-looking guys and dead ringers for an old movie idol, although he couldn't immediately recall which one. Neither resembled Meg, who took after her father. And neither appeared to be any more welcoming than the senior Korandas. Either they knew Meg hadn't shown up in San Francisco and blamed him, or he'd gotten it dead wrong from the start, and they weren't the ones who'd entered the contest for her. Either way, he needed them.
Jake made perfunctory introductions. Both brothers uncoiled from their respective seats, not to shake his hand, he quickly discovered, but to meet him at eye level. "So this is the great Ted Beaudine," Clay said with a drawl almost identical to the one his father used on-screen.
Dylan looked as though he'd sniffed out a hostile takeover. "No accounting for my sister's taste."
So much for hopes of cooperation. Although Ted didn't have any practice dealing with animosity, he damned sure wasn't going to back away from it, and he cut his gaze between the brothers. "I'm looking for Meg."
"I take it she didn't show up for your party in San Francisco," Dylan said. "That must have been quite a blow to your ego."
"My ego doesn't have anything to do with it," Ted countered. "I need to talk to her."
Clay fingered the neck of his guitar. "Yeah, but here's the thing, Beaudine . . . If our sister wanted to talk to you, she'd have done it by now."
The atmosphere in the room crackled with an ill will he recognized as the same kind of antagonism Meg had confronted every day she was in Wynette. "That's not necessarily true," he said.
Mother Bear's beautiful, blond fur bristled. "You had your chance, Ted, and from what I understand, you blew it."
"Big-time," Papa Bear said. "But if you give us a message, we'll be sure to pass it on."
Ted was damned if he'd spill his guts to any of them. "With all due respect, Mr. Koranda, what I have to say to Meg is between the two of us."
Jake shrugged. "Good luck, then."
Clay set down his guitar and stepped away from his brother. Some of his hostility seemed to have faded, and he regarded Ted with what seemed like sympathy. "No one else is going to tell you, so I will. She's left the country. Meg is traveling again."
Ted's stomach twisted. This was exactly what he'd feared. "No problem," he heard himself say. "I'm more than happy to get on a plane."
Dylan didn't share his brother's sympathetic attitude. "For a guy who's supposed to be some kind of genius, you're a little slow on the uptake. We're not telling you a damned thing."
"We're a family," Papa Bear said. "You may not understand what that means, but all of us do."