Stonebrook Cottage

by Carla Neggers

  about the gravel pit out over the hill.

  Sam listened and said little.

  They came to a stand of poplars, and she continued, unbothered, it seemed, by his lack of response. "Charlie and Pete Jericho will give nature a helping hand, but even if they didn't, it'd happen over time—just too long a time to satisfy my mother-in-law." She smiled at Sam, but he noticed her eyes remained difficult to read. "Madeleine insists the gravel pit's not much better than a strip mine, but that's not fair. There'll be fines and general hell to pay if it doesn't get restored. She'd like it a lot less if the Jerichos chopped up their property into estate lots and sold them for a fortune, I can tell you that."

  "What about zoning?"

  "It's very strict in some towns, less so here in Bluefield. Connecticut has a forever-farmland program, where the state buys the development rights of a property in exchange for it remaining farmland, but the Jerichos haven't applied. They just keep working the land in their own way."

  Sam glanced around him, the shade shifting in the late-morning sun. "It's beautiful land out here."

  She smiled. "Yes, it is."

  They crossed a narrow, muddy stream. A swarm of mosquitoes found them and followed them out to drier ground. One fat mosquito stayed with Sam all the way out to the end of the lane, where they came to a rolling field of orange and yellow wildflowers and tall, straw-like grass that swayed in the breeze. Across the field, against the bright, clean sky, were the immaculate buildings of what he assumed was the Stockwell estate.

  "Madeleine still calls it Stockwell Farm." Allyson lingered in the shade. "They've never raised stock or grown crops for sale, but they were almost self-sufficient for a while when my husband was growing up here." She laughed suddenly, almost embarrassed. "Do you have this effect on everyone? I'm just yammering on."

  "Feel free," Sam said.

  "The Stockwells have a great deal of money. I don't. I'm comfortable, but the bulk of my husband's estate is held in trust for our children. Don't get me wrong, as Connecticut goes, they're not super-wealthy. I mean, they're not Rockefeller rich—"

  "They never owned land that was turned into a national park?"

  She tilted her head back, eyeing him. "Do you have a problem with wealth, Sergeant Temple?"

  "No, ma'am. Not me." He grinned at her. "I'm from Texas."

  "My God. Have you smiled at Kara like that?"

  "Has no effect on her."

  "That's what you think, is it?"

  He didn't, not really, but he wasn't discussing Kara with the governor of Connecticut, no matter how long she and Kara had known each other. Allyson walked out into the field, and Sam followed, the sun bright and hot, something not at all right with this woman. She'd let her brother-in-law know she was returning from the cottage accompanied, so Sam didn't have to worry about armed guards swooping down on him.

  When her cell phone rang, she was so startled she nearly dropped to her knees. Sam caught her by the upper arm, steadying her, and he noticed she was shaking and had bit her lip, drawing blood.

  "I forgot I had my phone with me," she said lamely, knowing, obviously, that she'd overreacted to a simple phone call. "It's my private line—I'm sure it's Hatch or one of the kids."

  She retrieved her small, expensive cell phone from a pocket and pressed it to her ear, the muscles in her hand visibly stiffening, as if she was trying to keep it from shaking. She said her name and listened a moment. "I can't talk right now. I'll have to call you back." Her tone was cool, almost affected. She shut off the phone and closed her fingers around it. "I shouldn't have had it on in the first place. Sorry for the interruption."

  "No problem."

  But Sam was still watching her. She couldn't breathe. Her skin color went a pale gray, and purple splotches appeared on her cheeks. Sam was one second away from calling out the troops—he wasn't having a governor pass out on his watch.

  She held up a hand, smiling wanly. "I'm okay. A bit of a panic attack. I think I'm allowed, don't you?" She took a shallow breath. "I haven't had one since my first year of law school. Kara was there, but it wouldn't have mattered. I'd have told her. Everyone tells Kara everything."

  "Mike Parisi told her he couldn't swim," Sam said.

  "He didn't tell me. I didn't know until he drowned.

  He never confided in me that way." Her speech was too rapid, and Sam had trouble understanding her. She talked Yankee fast as it was. "Kara was like a daughter to him, but I think it was more than that."

  "He was in love with her?"

  "A little—maybe a lot. But their relationship was strictly platonic. Kara attracts men who love her from afar. They're afraid they'll ruin everything if they touch her." Her speech regulated, and some of the purple splotches faded as she got control of herself. A spark of humor flashed unexpectedly in her eyes. "But you don't have that problem, do you, Sergeant Temple?"

  He smiled. "You're a bold woman, Governor Stockwell."

  "I'm practicing."

  "You want to tell me what that phone call was about?"

  "Nothing that would interest you." She continued out across the field, the flowers up to her knees. "I imagine you don't like the idea of Big Mike drowning over an injured bluebird, but it happened. How could his death have been deliberate? It's just about the craziest way to assassinate a governor I can think of. You'd have to find a bluebird, capture it, break its leg, keep it alive long enough to toss it into the pool, get Big Mike out there in time to see it while he'd still have hope of rescuing it—it's just crazy."

  "Logic would suggest it was an accident," Sam said.

  "That's right."

  "Do you believe it was?"

  "Let's just walk," Governor Stockwell said.

  He stopped, still within a few yards of the cover of the woods. "You go on from here. I should get back to Kara and your kids."

  "You just don't want to explain that gun you're carrying to my security people. I am the governor of my state. I know its laws." She suddenly reminded Sam of her son in one of his know-it-all moods, but it didn't last. Her mood shifted, and she gave him a long look, one that told him she was, indeed, governor material and not a woman to underestimate, no matter her current emotional state. "Why are you here, Sam?"

  "Kara's sister-in-law asked me to find her."

  Allyson smiled. "Kara broke the rules, didn't she?"

  "Many."

  "Good for her."

  "Governor Stockwell, I think your children are in danger. I think they know it, and I think you at least suspect it. You need to talk to your people here."

  The ice mask came down, and Sam knew he'd overstepped his bounds—not that he cared. Allyson Stock-well tilted back her head at him, the bright light washing out all the color of her hair. She looked older than thirty-seven, and very tired. "Henry and Lillian have a certain flair for the dramatic. In her own way, underneath all her professionalism and courtroom cool, so does Kara. I'd maintain my objectivity if I were you."

  "If you're withholding information from authorities—"

  "Need I remind you that you have no jurisdiction in Connecticut?" He didn't answer, and she added crisply, "Thanks for walking me home. I hope you'll let me handle my children in my own way." She spun on her toes and marched three steps, then stopped abruptly, shifting back to him, all her haughtiness gone. Her eyes glistened with tears. "You and Kara—you'll look after Henry and Lillian, won't you?"

  Sam took a step toward her. "Governor Stockwell— Allyson, tell me what's wrong. You're right, I don't have jurisdiction here, but if you're in trouble—"

  But she'd turned her back to him again and was running now, not a woman of great accomplishment or a New England governor determined to hold her own— she ran as if she was a scared kid herself.

  Sam returned to the shade and cover of the woods and decided not to go after her. For all he knew, the Stockwells had dogs. Underground alarms. Razor wire. Allyson Lourdes Stockwell had state troopers guarding her who would, indeed, ask to see a local
permit for his weapon. In their place, Sam would, too.

  And the governor of Connecticut wasn't telling him anything more today.

  About a million mosquitoes followed him back through the woods. As soon as he got back to the cottage, he planned to tell Miss Lillian he'd take eight kinds of rattlesnakes over a swarm of damn Connecticut mosquitoes any day.

  Thirteen

  When Kara pulled into the cottage driveway, Sam was sitting on the stone steps waiting for them. She'd assumed she'd beat him back, even with her detour to the diner for onion rings. He got up and walked slowly toward the car, his movements controlled but stiff with displeasure. She climbed out of the front seat and popped the trunk. A pissed-off Texas Ranger didn't scare her.

  Before she could get back to the trunk, Sam was there, lifting out two grocery sacks and handing one each to Henry and Lillian. "Go on," he said. "Take them inside."

  They obeyed without question.

  There was one more sack and a gallon of milk. Kara reached for the milk, but Sam touched her elbow, his black eyes narrowed as he gave her his best Texas drawl. "You need to learn the difference between mine and thine, Miss Kara."

  "If you hadn't parked behind my car, I wouldn't have had to take yours. I left you a note, so don't get all steely-eyed about me going to town."

  "Time you and I got a few things straight." "Such as?" But he must have sensed something in her tone—ei-

  ther that or he'd been sitting on the steps thinking dark thoughts for too long—because he took another step closer to her and laced his fingers into her hair, gently drawing her head back so that her eyes were locked with his. "Your brother would shoot me right now for what I'm thinking."

  "I might shoot you myself—" "I don't think so." He spoke as if he knew what she wanted, and he low

  ered his mouth to hers, pausing an instant as if to give her a chance to tell him he was wrong. She didn't, and he kissed her lightly, erotically, tracing his tongue along her bottom lip, not at all tentatively, a reminder of how intimate they'd already been.

  "Sam…the kids…" "I think they've seen people kissing before." "Not me." "Then maybe it's time." He slid his hands down to the small of her back, then

  pulled her against him, deepening their kiss, breaking down her natural reserve, until finally she cupped his waist just above his holster and felt the muscles and the heat of his skin through his shirt.

  He drew his mouth away from hers, still holding her, still close. "I went too fast with you two weeks ago, but I don't regret it. I can't." His voice was low and filled with an intense, direct passion, a kind of honesty that itself left her breathless. "I'm not afraid of hurting you. I don't want to, but I'm not afraid of it, because that'd mean backing off right now, and I'm not going to."

  "You're not afraid of anything." There was no lightness in her tone.

  "I am, Kara. I'm afraid of not being capable of the kind of love you want and deserve, the kind of commitment Jack and Susanna have for each other. You've watched them since you were a kid. They're soul mates." He dropped his hands, stepping slightly away from her, his eyes black and hard against the soft summer sky. "I'm not anyone's soul mate."

  "Sam…" Kara fought for air, a chance to regain her balance, and tried to adopt a teasing tone. "I don't know, maybe I should sneak off on you more often—"

  He touched her nose, then her chin. "One day you're not going to make jokes to cover for how you feel. You're going to tell me." He straightened and stepped back from her, grabbing the last sack of groceries. "Now, let's talk ground rules."

  "Who says you get to make the rules?" She didn't know what else to say, how to keep him from holding the high ground now that he'd claimed it.

  "All right, Miss Kara." His eyes gleamed, a twitch of humor on the corners of his mouth. "You can have input. Mind if I go first?"

  "No. Go ahead."

  "You don't leave here without me. The kids don't leave here without me." He rocked back on his heels. "Your turn."

  "That's it? That's all you're demanding—"

  "Requesting. Yes, ma'am, that's it. What's your input?"

  She eyed him and realized he was having fun with her, at least to a certain extent. Well, why not? She smiled. "Do I get my gun back?"

  "You must be hell in a courtroom."

  "Let's just say you don't want me cross-examining you if your story doesn't hold up."

  "Ditto. If we were in Texas, we wouldn't be talking ground rules. We'd be talking bail."

  She snatched up the milk jug. "Bet I could have disarmed you while you were kissing me."

  "You were too busy kissing me back."

  "You're cocky as hell when it comes to women, aren't you?"

  He grinned. "I know you'd rather kiss me than go for my gun. You went to Yale. You're smart."

  It didn't take a Yale education to know that, Kara thought with a touch of amusement. Sam Temple was not an ordinary man, and this was not an ordinary situation.

  His grin faded, and he lifted out the last grocery sack and held it in one arm. "What's wrong with your governor friend?"

  Kara shivered despite the warm air. "I don't know."

  He seemed to believe her. "Come on, let's fire up the hibachi and throw some dogs on. You can tell me who the players are in this state." He started across the lawn, peeking in at the groceries. "A lot of junk here."

  "I didn't think it was the time to enforce good nutrition."

  "Probably not." He put one foot on the bottom step and glanced back at her, no hint of humor in his expression now. "One more thing, Kara. If you throw up again for no good reason, you and I are taking a trip to the local drugstore."

  "There's a well-stocked first-aid kit in the cottage—"

  "Does it include a home pregnancy test kit?"

  His black eyes drilled through her, but she managed a scowl. "It was food poisoning."

  He didn't say a word as she pushed past him, her mouth still tasting of his, her head spinning.

  Pete Jericho drove out to Stonebrook Cottage after lunch and found Henry and Lillian playing barefoot on the tire swing out back like a couple of ordinary kids. He greeted Kara politely, and she responded with her usual warmth, pretending she didn't know he still resented her for the plea bargain. He knew he wasn't being fair. Allyson had told him as much. He sometimes wondered if Allyson would have taken up with him had Kara stayed in Connecticut, if somehow Kara's presence had helped stall things between them.

  He'd worked hard all morning and smelled it. Kara introduced him to her Texas Ranger friend, and Pete could tell right away Sam Temple knew about his jail time. Either Kara had told him or Temple had some kind of cop radar that pointed out the ex-cons. Maybe both. Pete groaned inwardly. Maybe he was just paranoid.

  He wanted to get the kids alone to ask them about the tree house, but the opportunity didn't present itself.

  He didn't want to say anything in front of Kara or the Texas Ranger and cause trouble for the children, or come off as overdramatizing. So he just let it go.

  He wondered about Temple. The Texan didn't seem Kara's type, but who was? Hatch Corrigan had a thing for her, and Big Mike had, too, if Pete wasn't totally off base about what he'd seen and heard before she'd headed back to Texas. They were both a lot older than she was. Temple looked to be about the same age, and he was a law enforcement officer, armed, definitely not a Yalie.

  Well, who knew with Kara Galway. She and Allyson had been friends for years, very different people who loved and trusted each other. Pete figured that sort of friendship wasn't something that went according to logic. It was there, and he had to live with it.

  "Would you like some lemonade or iced tea?" Kara offered.

  "No, thanks. Just wanted to stop by. Kids are hanging out with you here for a day or two?"

  She nodded. "I haven't seen them in quite a while."

  "If you need anything, you know where to find me."

  He adjusted the rope on the tire swing and left, feeling vaguely foolish for
having come in the first place. What made him think he could be a stepfather for those kids? He'd known them since they were babies, but he was someone they'd hire after Madeleine died and they inherited Stockwell Farm. He could see himself in thirty years, like his father, puttering up on his tractor, arguing over cordwood. Henry and Lillian couldn't really remember their father. Lawrence had been so much older than Allyson, and maybe that was part of the problem—she was looking for a father figure. Pete was just a handy romp in the hay.

  He headed up the road to finish work on the retaining wall, but Madeleine cornered him out on the patio. She had a tall glass of iced tea and a full pitcher, but didn't offer him any. "I can't get used to having state troopers around whenever Allyson is here," she said, but Pete thought she was secretly pleased at all the activity. "She's been on the phone or in conference with Hatch most of the afternoon. She says she has state business to conduct. I understand, of course, but what state business could be more important than her own children?"

  "I just came from the cottage. They're fine."

  "They're not fine. They can't be fine if they took the trouble to run away. Allyson's doing nothing to get to the bottom of it."

  "Maybe it's not a mystery to her—"

  "Nonsense. She just doesn't want to know the truth. She's not one for discipline, you know. In my mother's day, they'd be in for a good buggy-whipping."

  Pete grinned at her. "Your mother's day, Mrs. Stock-well? You're not that old. A buggy-whipping's more like your grandmother's day."

  "I'm eighty. I never thought I'd live this long."

  She was on a roll, but Pete decided he'd gone in deep enough with her. "Maybe Allyson's taking advantage of having Kara here and clearing the decks so she and the kids can have some uninterrupted time after Kara leaves."

  Madeleine looked at him over her frosted glass, and he could see he'd surprised her. "You're so sensible, Pete. I'm not sure I knew that eight or ten years ago."