“Why don’t you give her a warning and talk to her parents?” Aria suggested. Gareth could be frightening when he wanted to be, but no matter how intimidating he was, she’d bet that Teri was more scared of her parents. Most kids were.

Emily sighed. “Okay. But if she gets into any more trouble, it’s on you, Ri.”

Aria hoped she wasn’t being a sucker. “What’s your parents’ number?” she asked, pulling her cell phone from her pocket.

“Don’t bother,” Teri said. “They don’t care.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

Gareth said something to Emily and moved on. There was a certain danger in being Emily. As the sweetest, prettiest single girl in Itirangi, all the alpha males wanted to date her. Since she wouldn’t say yes to any of them, they had to settle for being overly protective from a distance. Being in her shoes would drive Aria nuts.

“It is,” Teri said emphatically. “They’re not from around here, anyway.”

“Where are they, then?” she asked, deciding to play along with the girl’s game for a while. She clearly had something to say, and Aria was willing to listen.

“Dad’s in Auckland, Mum’s in Dunedin. At least Dad says he’s in Auckland, when really he’s screwing his girlfriend in Wellington.”

She was aiming to provoke a response. Aria sensed that and deliberately didn’t react. “So, who can we call?”

“My brother.” A long-suffering sigh followed the words, then a theatrical eyeroll. “I’m only stuck in this hellhole because he’s here on business, and my parents can’t handle me. I’m the stuff-up. He’s the golden boy. They’re hoping he’ll rub off on me.”

“What’s his number?” Aria asked.

“Can you handle this?” Emily broke in.

“Yeah, sure,” Aria assured her.

“I’ll finish tidying up, then.” Emily busied herself picking up flower trimmings. Aria suspected she didn’t want to be part of any impending confrontation or unpleasantness.

Teri examined her fingernails, which Aria noticed were short and ragged.

“Your brother’s number?” she repeated.

Teri sighed again, dragging it out painfully. “Oh-two-seven-two-six-four-one-eight-nine-six.”

Aria dialed, and a terse voice greeted her. “Lockwood.”

“Mr. Lockwood?” she tested, startled to hear his voice on the other end of the phone. “It’s Aria Simons here.”

“Aria. To what do I owe the pleasure?” His deep voice sent shivers racing up her spine, as did the memory of his last words to her: I desire intelligent, curvy, maddening women.

“I’ve got your sister here,” she said.

Silence on the other end. Then: “Therese?”

“I assume so,” she answered. “Blonde. Doesn’t talk much.”

“That’s her.” Elijah’s voice was weary, and she couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. She doubted he had the faintest clue as to how to take care of a troublesome younger sister.