by Willa Blair
Caitlin had nice things to say about him? Since when? “Good to meet you, too.” Holt shook his hand while he studied the man. He was older than Holt had imagined and looked familiar, yet Holt was sure they’d never met. The vet seemed to consider him, too. Holt nearly asked, but Caitlin interrupted.
“I’ve told Holt what little I know about what you do here, Doc, but I thought if you have time, you might show him more.”
“I don’t want to take up your time,” Holt objected, thinking of the crowded waiting room. “I’m sure you’re busy.”
“Not at the moment. My techs are dealing with the routine cases—vaccinations and so forth. This little guy,” he said, gesturing at the puppy in the carrier, “just finished his wellness check. He’s going to board with us while his foster family is out of town for the holidays. He’s one of the potential search-and-rescue trainees.”
Caitlin beamed at the puppy, then at the vet.
Holt fought to keep a frown from his face. “That’s very interes—”
“Doc Coats,” the receptionist called as she burst into the room, cheeks red against her suddenly pale face. “Someone just brought in a puppy that might have Parvo.”
“Put them in the nearest empty exam room. I’ll be right there.” He turned to include both Caitlin and Holt in his gaze. “I’m sorry, but this is dangerous for the other canine patients. I’ve got to go.” He gave Holt a quick nod. “Thanks for stopping by.”
“I still owe you a coffee,” Caitlin told him as he left, not quite at a run.
Holt heard him and the receptionist exchange a few words, then the hallway got quiet again, except for a faint Christmas melody that suddenly seemed out of place.
“I hope that puppy is all right,” Caitlin said, her gaze on the door. Then the puppy in the room with them whined, and Caitlin stepped over to its carrier. “Don’t ye fash, ye wee lad. Ye’ll be fine. They’ll take good care of ye here.”
“We’d better go,” Holt said, suddenly eager to get away from this place. Caitlin’s interaction with the vet had been too brief for Holt to determine anything about their relationship, but at any rate, she seemed way too attached to the puppy. He did not need her to decide that fostering it over the holidays would make their Christmas complete.
****
After they left the veterinary office, Holt remained quiet, his gaze on the traffic that had appeared since their trip into town.
In moments, the silence became heavy, weighted with Caitlin’s own disappointment that he hadn’t had more time to learn about the search and rescue work Doc Coats told her about. To break it, she asked, “Last-minute shoppers?”
Holt glanced at her, then back at the road. “What?”
“All the cars, all of a sudden. I’m wondering if they’re all last-minute shoppers. Christmas is coming, ye ken.”
“Oh. Maybe.”
“No, really. Christmas is coming,” she replied and waited for a reaction.
Holt glanced aside at her, then back at the road.
“Of course,” Caitlin added after checking the analog clock on the dashboard, “it is nearly lunchtime. Everyone could be on the way to their favorite takeaway.”
“Takeaway?”
“Um, where ye pick up food and take it back to the office.”
“Take-out. Or carry-out. Or a fast food place. Burgers, pizza, fried chicken.” Holt glanced at her then back at the road.
He seemed more relaxed now that they were away from the vet’s office. Caitlin wanted him to stay that way. “Another thing that’s simpler in Scotland,” she told him. “Takeaway. Done. Usually Indian, or fish and chips.”
“Are you hungry?”
“I wasn’t, but then I mentioned fish and chips—not that I expect you’ll have anything like good Scottish fish and chips here.”
Holt nodded. “Mrs. Smith suggested a seafood place with the best lobster rolls on the island. Fish and chips, too, I’ll bet.”
“Really?” Caitlin’s stomach growled.
“There’s my answer.” Holt turned at the next cross street and headed out of town, at right angles to the road back to the estate. “Don’t worry, it’s just far enough to let your appetite develop.”
“Who are you and what have you done with Holt Ridley?” Caitlin was happy to see him unwind.
In moments, the village gave way to forest-lined streets, then to a wider, faster highway, and the trees changed from the hardwoods in the area surrounding the village and the estate to short pines. In the suddenly sandy-looking soil, the trees grew sparse and spindly. Caitlin got glimpses of water through breaks in the trees. “There’s nothing out here. Are you sure you know where you’re going?”
“Have a little faith,” Holt replied, a quirk on his full lips.
Caitlin eyed him in disbelief. He’d almost smiled. She could get used to seeing him smile. And laugh, she thought, recalling the day she’d cut her foot. But for the most part, those expressions were un-Holt-like. Heartened, she turned back to take in the view, which was becoming more and more beachy. Suddenly buildings appeared, and after a few whizzed by, Holt slowed and turned the car into a car park. He pulled into an empty space. The tires crunched on the white shell fragments that covered it.
“Watch your step,” Holt advised as he got out. “Let me know if your foot hurts.”
Caitlin exited the car to tinny Christmas music from the restaurant’s outdoor speakers, and took a few tentative steps, feeling the shells shift beneath her feet.
Holt came around the bonnet and put a hand on the small of her back.
Was he going to pull her into his arms and carry her to the door?
“The oyster shells rock a bit if they’re not dug into the sand, but you’ll get the hang of it.” He turned her and walked beside her toward the building.
“Everyone does, it seems,” Caitlin remarked, glancing around at the nearly full car park to avoid looking at Holt. She kicked herself for sounding whiney instead of droll, but she deserved congratulations for being capable of speech. Her face had to be red in response to the heat radiating from Holt’s hand. She hadn’t expected his touch, but even less, her reaction to it—her desire for him to take her in his arms. She wanted more. A bad idea, that. And not just because the car park was nearly full with people coming and going. Holt was too near, too warm, and his grip was too firm as he encouraged her toward their destination. It reinforced the impression his trim, but muscular physique had given her when they first met, even more so as he carried her to the house from the beach. His hand on her lower back made her even more curious about what delights he kept hidden under that buttoned-up exterior.
“You’re doing fine,” Holt replied, releasing her to open a screen door and gesture her through.
Fine didn’t begin to describe what she was feeling. Besides being glad to be back on a smooth surface, even if it was stained concrete, Caitlin regretted Holt no longer needed to steady her. Or so she thought. His touch had done something to her equilibrium. Or maybe it was just low blood sugar. While Holt arranged for a table with the lass at the reception desk, Caitlin took deep breaths to restore herself. Mouthwatering scents filled her nose.
Before her stomach could growl loudly enough to embarrass her, Holt beckoned for her to follow the hostess to their table, then handed her into her seat. The hostess left them each a lengthy menu and the news that their server would be right with them.
“Lobster rolls, ye say? I’ve never heard of them,” Caitlin said as they picked up their menus.
Holt nodded. “You might have if you hadn’t locked yourself in the midst of dusty old—very old—furnishings for days. The only breaks you’ve taken have been to go into the village, where you got mugged. And again with me.”
“Checked up on me, have ye?”
“Farrell filled me in on what you’ve been doing, and I have been there for part of the time since you arrived.”
“Aye, well, some of those old—and some ancient—furnishings are quite interesting to me and valuable.�
��
“Not all of them?”
“Nay.” Caitlin set her menu aside. She didn’t need it to order the best fish and chips on the island. “The precious pieces are where you might expect—where visitors to the house see them. The more private spaces tend to have more disposable furnishings which, I expect, have changed over time with fashions and the family’s taste.”
“Makes sense. So—”
Their server interrupted at that point and took their orders.
“So?” Caitlin prompted once they were alone again.
“How much more do you have to do?”
“I’ve done a cursory look in the bedrooms and the upstairs parlor, but want to get a closer look at a few pieces up there.” Warming to her favorite subject, she went on to describe the ones that had caught her eye, but cut short her explanation when she saw Holt’s gaze wandering around the room. His attention clearly wandered, too. She clamped down on her irritation. She’d hoped her enthusiasm for the estate and its contents would begin to sway Holt in its favor, but she’d been fooling herself. “As for the main floor, I’m nearly done.” Caitlin frowned at the thought. She should be glad to finish a job where she was so at odds with the client, but for some reason, she wasn’t eager to leave.
“Is there a problem?”
Damn, Holt noticed her frown. She needed to guard her expression more carefully. “Nay. I was just trying to recall how many days until Christmas. I don’t mind missing it so much, but I would like to be home for Hogmanay—New Year’s to ye.”
Holt frowned at that.
“You wanted me to finish quickly. Is there a problem?” Caitlin echoed his earlier question.
“No. I…you should know I’m going to the city for work tomorrow. I'll be back in a few days.”
“Okay.” Her stomach sank at the thought of days without having the distraction of Holt around to talk to. To spar with. “I thought the will said you had to remain at the estate.” On the other hand, with him out of the way, she’d get a lot more work done.
“And here you go,” a waiter interrupted before Holt could answer, setting beers and baskets of fried fish and chips from his tray in front of them. “Is there anything else you need?”
A thick wedge of lemon decorated one side of the pile of golden-brown breaded fish, and Caitlin had noticed the bottle of malt vinegar on the table earlier, so she shook her head.
“We’re fine,” Holt told him.
“Thanks,” Caitlin added. Despite wondering what else Holt had been about to say, she turned her attention to lunch. After a few bites, she told Holt, “Ye were right. This is good. Not quite up to Scottish standards,” she added with a grin, “but entirely acceptable.”
“If the Scots have something better than this, I want to taste it. I’ll have to come over so you can show me all your favorite spots.”
Caitlin nodded, butterflies suddenly fluttering among the bites of fish in her belly. Her favorite spots? She could take that several ways, at least one having nothing to do with food and everything to do with enjoyment, but for a change, Holt only seemed to be trying to charm her. Would he really come to Scotland? Surely not just to try the fish and chips. For her? She sipped her beer, trying to cool the fire that suddenly bloomed in her blood. “I have a few ye would enjoy,” she allowed. “But it’s a long flight from California.”
“My business does take me to Europe. I could show up on your doorstep someday.”
An image filled her mind of Holt at her door, stepping inside, and then pulling her into his arms. Ach, she had to stop that right there. Heat was climbing her neck, and she knew her face was going to be red in moments. “Ye’re welcome any time,” she managed to say, grabbed a chip, and dribbled enough malt vinegar on it to clear her sinuses for a week—or explain her sudden excess color.
Chapter Six
After his trip to the city, Holt was impatient to hear what progress Caitlin had made during the days he’d been gone. He told himself that was all he was eager for, but in truth, he’d missed her. He’d been busy, but that hadn’t stopped him from thinking of her when he spotted an auburn-haired woman on the sidewalk ahead of him. Even a bit of overheard conversation in an accent like hers at a coffee shop could make him look for her, then feel like a fool.
For a change, he came downstairs to find Caitlin hadn’t yet made an appearance. They both must be getting over jet lag from their respective time zones. “Good morning,” he greeted Mrs. Smith. “Just some coffee and toast will do for me,” he told her.
“Nonsense,” she replied, reaching for a skillet. “Bacon and eggs, at least. You won’t get far on toast.”
He gave in and settled back with his coffee while she made his breakfast. “No sign of Caitlin yet?”
“No,” she told him as she slid eggs next to the bacon on his plate. “She must be sleeping in.” Mrs. Smith set toast, butter, and jam in front of him while he dug into his breakfast, then puttered about, putting the kitchen to rights. “What do you have planned for today?”
“Nothing this early,” he told her. “California isn’t awake yet.”
“Have you looked up anyone you used to know since you’ve been back? Friends from school? Neighbors?”
“No, not yet.” Holt hadn’t considered going back to any of his old haunts, but once the idea took root, he decided today was as good a day as any to spend some time away from the estate. Taking a break from his business might do him some good. He considered waiting for Caitlin to see if she wanted to go with him, but after he thought about it, Holt realized he didn’t know what he’d find, or how he’d react to being in his old neighborhood. He decided to go without her. He’d talk to her when he got back.
He finished eating and thanked Mrs. Smith. Then he gathered his jacket, gloves, and hat and headed to the garage, jangling the keys in his hand as he walked.
His memories of this end of Long Island were far from fond. But he found Caitlin’s enthusiasm was starting to open him to the possibility that his recollections were skewed by the bitterness he’d inherited from his mother. He’d have a look around and see if things were different enough to put old resentments in the past where they belonged. There was so much about his mother’s history—and his own—he didn’t know.
He headed west and south toward the village where he and his mother lived until he went away to college on an academic scholarship—one he believed he’d won through diligent study and the ethos of hard work he’d learned from his mother. Until his meeting with Thornton, who told him the truth, he’d never known otherwise. His great-aunt was actually behind the scholarship, and Holt could either let that news eat at him until the day he died or take advantage of his time here to learn as much as he could.
Their old neighborhood wasn’t far from the estate, but it could have been another world. He shouldn’t have been surprised how much the village had changed since he’d moved. But he’d always thought the south fork of Long Island had a timeless quality, so the differences surprised him. More traffic, more strip shopping centers, more apartments, balconies draped with colorful lights and the occasional wreath to mark the season. To him, this area had always suffered by contrast with the area around the estate, but over the years the contrast had sharpened. If this was the alternative, no wonder Caitlin wanted to preserve what he had at the estate.
He turned onto the street where he and his mother had lived. After driving for several blocks, he wondered if his memory was faulty. The tree-lined streets, the little house, in fact, the entire area, was gone, replaced by more apartments and parking lots, with not a soul in sight. The transformation saddened him. Their little neighborhood hadn’t been much, but now that he was here, he recalled a sense of community, kids playing outside until dark, riding bikes in the shade of grand old trees in the summer, neighbors who knew and looked out for each other’s kids.
He made a few turns and found the small office building where his mother, who had always been good with math, had done bookkeeping for several local
businesses. The accounting firm’s name was missing from the sign outside. Another link to his past gone.
He turned the car back toward the estate, passing the library where she’d worked part-time so he could check out unlimited amounts of books. They’d both been voracious readers, and it had been one of the few places he felt he belonged—back then. Seeing it changed—that last vestige of a love he shared with his mother—would hurt too much. He didn’t stop.
Instead he drove a few blocks farther and pulled into Charlie’s, his favorite hang-out when he’d been in high school. If the family still owned the business, maybe he could ask some questions. Charlie’s son, Jack, had been a classmate.
“Look what the cat dragged in!” Jack’s voice was unmistakable, even after more than a decade, as was the grin he directed Holt’s way from behind the counter. “I’d know you anywhere, Holt Ridley.”
Holt held out a hand. “Jack Romano. Good to see you.” Jack looked heavier, a bit more lined, but other than that, much the same. They’d played on the school lacrosse team together.
“Damn, it’s been, what, nearly fifteen years?”
“Since graduation, yes.”
He gestured to an empty booth by the front window. “Sit. What are you having? The lunch rush hasn’t started yet. I’ll join you.”
“One with everything, of course.”
“Beer?”
“No, a half-and-half, I think.” The fifty/fifty mix of iced tea and lemonade, a local favorite, was known as an Arnold Palmer everywhere but in this area. “I’ve got a lot of ground to cover today.”
“Be right with you.” He pushed through a swinging door at the end of the counter, yelling, “Anita!”
Holt let himself relax in the familiar surroundings. Same Formica tabletops, same red pleather bench seats in the booths. Some might have been reupholstered, but if so, care had been taken to make sure they matched. He smiled and inhaled tomato sauce, pizza spices, and toasted cheese with an overtone of spilled beer. At least one place in his past hadn’t changed.
After a few minutes, Jack returned with Holt’s drink, two small white plates, and a beer for himself. “Anita will bring the pie when it’s ready. You remember Anita Russo? In the class behind ours? She’s a Romano now. I married her.”
