His Timeless Treasure (Treasure Harbor Book 5)

by Kristen Ethridge

  The question cut straight to Bree’s heart and every so-called truth she’d always believed about herself. “Well, no, of course not. Josh knew me. He loved me.”

  “So why can’t I? I can’t fall in love with you because I’m on TV? That’s not fair, and you’re smart enough to know it, Bree.”

  Bree moved the belt buckle from one hand to the other, trying to collect her thoughts. She wanted to be eloquent. She wanted to say something smart, some quip they’d both remember that would end this nonsense once and for all.

  But she couldn’t. She could only think of one thing.

  “Can I trust you?” she asked simply. She had to know the answer before she could say anything further. Bree looked Reid in the eyes as she waited for his answer.

  “You can trust me.” He spoke without hesitation.

  She saw nothing but sincerity in the depths of his Carolina sky-colored eyes. Trust didn’t come easy to her, but Reid Knight had done nothing to prove she couldn’t take him at his word.

  Bree closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then opened her eyelids and prepared to take a leap of faith.

  “I’m holding the key to a mystery in my hands.” She stopped moving the buckle back and forth, instead holding it still and studying it carefully. Then she raised her focus and studied Reid’s eyes for just a moment before continuing. “But if I’m honest with myself, you’re holding the key to my heart. I shouldn’t be so closed off. I’ve put wall after wall up for years. But every wall has a door, right?”

  Reid nodded. Bree could sense he had more he wanted to say—it was as tangible as the wind rustling the grasses growing around the slab that had once sheltered pirates and legends.

  She’d come this far. She may as well put it all out there before she lost her nerve.

  X marked the spot, or something like that.

  This would be her X, the place she finally took a stand—a stand for what she wanted and was willing to fight for.

  She deserved to have another chance at love.

  “If every wall has a door, and I think you’ve got the key…” she hesitated, then pushed herself to get out the words. “I’d like to unlock the possibility.”

  “So you’re saying?” Reid took a half-step toward her, closing what small distance there had been between them.

  “Kiss me again.”

  HIS TIMEESS TREASURE

  Chapter Six

  Bree and Reid spent the remainder of the week searching through every dusty record and definitive book written on Treasure Harbor and the Burton family. There was plenty of information on Drake Burton, but facts about his twin brother were proving to be as elusive as the legendary treasure itself.

  Some accounts said that Blake Burton was a merchant, not given to the high-seas hijinks his brother engaged in. But the record seemed murky. What was clear was that he was in Hispanola at the time of Drake Burton and Camilla Callahan’s marriage. It seemed likely that Drake Burton was headed to join his brother when his ship was lost in a storm. And finally, most sources indicated that after Drake’s death, Blake never came back to Treasure Harbor again.

  Except one.

  Barnabas Shelton, the owner of The Old Fox Inn, kept a meticulous diary of his days. On his daily entry for October 22, 1718, he noted that Jenny Wharton’s seven-year contract of indenture had come to an end. The image of the spidery script burned into Bree’s head as soon as she read the time-worn note.

  Said she was not staying as she had all the coin she needed to support herself and the boy. Offered to send Simeon to help move her things, but she declined. At closing time, she slipped out the back door to a wagon in the alley. I watched from the window as the ghost of Drake Burton laid the whip to the horse and took off into the fog. But Drake! He’s been dead these many years! Old scoundrel that I am, I need to quit drinking from my stock late into the night, I cannot carry my cup anymore.

  Shelton never mentioned Jenny Wharton again, although he did continue to insist almost daily that his habit of drinking alongside his best customers needed to end before it got him in trouble.

  While the publican dismissed the sight that foggy night to ghosts and drink, Bree wasn’t so sure.

  It amazed her that a few short weeks ago, she’d been concerned about how she was going to make her mark with the other faculty at Carolina Harbor College, to move on from all the things in her past that she felt had been weighing her down.

  Now, she had a renewed excitement for the work she’d dedicated her life to. She had someone in her life to share it with, and she knew she was one breakthrough away from solving Treasure Harbor’s greatest secret and setting the record straight about her family.

  And it was all due to this strange connection with the past, the hunt that had taken hold across the whole town for the centuries-old treasure.

  By Sunday, it seemed like everything in Bree’s life had changed.

  Thankfully, her Sunday routine remained one constant in her life. She’d felt rudderless without it during her years away from home, and the minute she signed her contract with Carolina Harbor College, she made sure that Sundays with Granny Lillian picked up right where they’d left off.

  Granny was the oldest resident of Treasure Harbor, and at 102, she had heard all the stories and seen so many of the events that Bree had only read about in books. She was a living look at history.

  Every Sunday, Bree picked up Granny Lillian at the Treasure Harbor Senior Home and took her to the late service at Safe Harbor Church. They sat on the fourth row from the back, two seats from the aisle. They never deviated from the routine and the familiarity felt like a warm embrace.

  Even merely thinking about warm embraces shifted her focus from the pastor’s words to thoughts about Reid. In the days that had passed since she’d told Reid to kiss her again in the glow of the Jeep’s headlights, it had taken all the concentration Bree had not to think about Reid every second of every day.

  After church had ended, Granny Lillian announced that she wanted to eat at the upscale restaurant in the Royal Treasure Hotel for lunch. A massive, turn-of-the-century Italianate hotel, Granny Lillian loved eating in the restaurant. She’d eaten there with her parents as a girl, and marked decades’ worth of happy occasions there since then.

  The maître d’ sat them at a table near the window where they could watch the surf roll in. The waiter came and took their drink orders and laid starched cloth napkins neatly in their laps. As soon as he walked away, Granny Lillian gave Bree a practiced stare.

  “So, what did you think of the sermon this morning?”

  Bree picked up her water and took a sip, careful to avoid her great-grandmother’s heavy look. “It was very good, as always.”

  “Mm-hmm,” Granny noted. “And what did you find the most informative part of the pastor’s word?”

  She was as stuck as a fish on a hook. “The part about Jesus?”

  “Breanna Lillian Burton. You didn’t listen to a word he said, did you?” Granny cocked one eyebrow and pursed her lips.

  Bree raised her own eyebrows and raised her hands with a shrug. “Not a single one.”

  “What has gotten into you, Bree? You’ve always been my studious note-taker.” Granny laid back the napkin that covered the top of the bread basket and took out a roll, offering it first to Bree.

  Bree placed the round, crusty bread on the small plate in front of her. “There’s just been a lot going on recently, Granny.”

  The older woman took a pat of butter and swiped it on the roll. “You’re always busy. That’s not it. You can come clean, honey. It’s a boy, isn’t it? I know you.”

  “Granny, honestly, when have I ever been boy-crazy?”

  “The summer you turned seventeen. That was the summer you noticed Josh Pickett, even though you didn’t start dating him until later.” She picked up her roll, but stopped before taking a bite. “And then, I saw it again an hour and a half ago, when you picked me up for church.”

  “I hope my memory’s as go
od as yours when I’m one hundred and two,” Bree said. “But since it’s not that good even now at twenty-eight, I don’t think there’s much hope for me.”

  Granny put down the roll and gave a small clap of her hands. “So I am right.”

  “Guilty as charged, Granny.”

  “But who? You know all the boys in town. You weren’t interested in them when you were at the right age to be hormonal and boy-crazy. I just can’t see any of them turning you on now.”

  Bree almost spit water over her normally distinguished great-grandmother. “Turning me on? Granny? Oh. My. Gosh.”

  “Oh, nothing, Breanna. I’ve been married three times. I know a thing or two about being turned on. Maybe you need a subscription to Cosmo or something, dear. We’ve got to lighten you up a little bit.”

  Bree had lived near the ocean her whole life, but never once had she gotten caught in an undertow. She now knew exactly what it must feel like.

  “Granny.” Her whisper came out as sharp as a razor’s edge. “I do not need to lighten up. I do not need a subscription to a magazine. And I cannot believe my great-grandmother is giving me tips about getting turned on.”

  She couldn’t decide if her blood pressure was rising or if it was completely bottoming out from shock.

  “Well, if you tell me who it is, I’ll stop talking, Bree, honey.”

  Granny smiled, a pure southern belle expression straight out of the Scarlett O’Hara handbook. Bree knew she was beaten.

  “His name is Reid Knight.”

  Lillian’s head perked up. “You mean the weatherman Reid Knight? Is he back in town? How did you meet him?”

  “Yes, yes, and he showed up in my office one day.”

  Like the slow creep of a sunrise, Bree realized she was going to wind up spilling all her secrets to Granny Lillian. It never failed. She’d always been able to tell her great-grandmother anything—probably because the woman was relentless about coaxing out details.

  She was also the only person who had always been there for Bree without judgment or games. Except for her years with Josh, Granny Lillian was the one constant in her life, the one person whose love she’d never doubted.

  Until Reid Knight came along, that is.

  “Why? What does a weatherman need with a history professor?”

  “Well, he’s working on a new reality-style show for the network. They are exploring stories that happen around weather events. They’re going to launch the new series with an investigation into the Burton-Callahan treasure.”

  “So he’s interviewing all the crazy treasure seekers that have flocked to town lately?”

  Bree looked left, then right, to make sure no one was within earshot, then dropped her voice. “He hasn’t needed to. We think we’ve solved the mystery. Well, we’re close, anyway.”

  “You don’t say? That was a mess two hundred years before I was born, and it’s still a mess today. How extraordinary to think it could be solved in my lifetime. You know, even though I’m your great-grandmother on your mother’s side, my first husband was a Burton. Marrying into the Burton family meant carrying around a lot of baggage related to that pirate and that star-crossed girl he married. I acquired the Burton last name for a while almost eighty years ago. I’d love to know what the real story is.”

  As Granny spoke, Bree had an idea. “Granny, you’ve spent your whole life here in Treasure Harbor. Do you know anything about the Pirate’s House at Lookout Point?”

  The waiter brought each woman a salad. Granny picked up her fork, holding it just above the croutons and shreds of parmesan. “I haven’t thought about that place in years. Of course I know it.”

  “You do?”

  “Well, naturally. My great-grandmother’s grandmother was Jenny Wharton. I know Lookout Point very well.”

  Everything in Bree’s mind ground to a complete halt. She felt like her brain was going to short circuit. Her heart started to pound and she took a deep breath to try and contain the adrenaline surge.

  “But how? I never knew that. How did I not know?”

  “Treasure Harbor isn’t that big, dearest. Everyone whose family has been here as long as our family has is basically related to everyone else somehow—unless you’re talking about Burtons and Callahans. Those lines just don’t cross.”

  “So what do you know about Jenny Wharton and the Pirate’s House? Is there a connection?”

  “Of course there is. It was Jenny’s house. She was the pirate.”

  Reid couldn’t drive fast enough out to Lookout Point. Bree had called, saying she needed him to come, but not offering any details as to why.

  The last light on the highway out to the edge of the island turned green and Reid pushed the skinny pedal down as far as it would go. The Jeep’s tires squealed, giving voice to the fear in his heart. Bree had sounded so rushed on the phone. He’d never heard that tone before.

  When he finally got to the Pirate’s House, Bree’s red car was parked in the same spot where the Jeep had been parked when she’d told him everything had changed. Silently, Reid offered a short prayer that things hadn’t changed this time, that Bree was safe.

  “Bree? Where are you?” Reid shouted before he even turned off the ignition.

  “Back here, Reid! We’ve found something!”

  We?

  An older woman in a denim skirt with white tennis shoes stood next to an archway that flanked the stairs leading to the top of the slab.

  “She’s in there,” the woman said, pointing through the archway.

  The centuries-old storage area smelled of mold and salt. Bree stood in the back corner of the room, directing the light of a flashlight into a hole she’d created in the wall. The stones that had once filled in in were on the floor at her feet.

  “Bree? What’s going on? I’m glad you’re okay.”

  Her brows squished together and she gave him a look that was slightly askew. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  He wanted to explain what he thought he’d heard in her tone of voice on her recent call, but thought better of it.

  “Never mind. So what’s going on?”

  “These.” She held up two thin gold bands. “They’re engraved, just like the belt buckle. Granny said she’d always thought something was funny about the back wall here, and she was right.”

  Reid looked over his shoulder. “That’s your grandmother?”

  The small-framed woman gave a wave from her spot just outside the arch. “Great-grandmother.”

  “Lillian St. Martin, Reid Knight.” Bree gave the briefest of introductions. “Look what it says, Reid.”

  She handed the golden circles to him. Just the slight brush of her hand made him think back to how he’d stayed up past sunrise, thinking of her and trying to figure out how to reconcile his career in New York and his promises to Mandy with his growing need to have the history professor from the Outer Banks in his life.

  “BSB JWB JAN 1714.” The elegantly curved script was faint and worn, but it was clear each ring had the same letters and numbers engraved inside. “You think they’re wedding bands?”

  “I do.” She nodded. “And I know whose.”

  “BSB. The same initials from the buckle. But the other initials are different. Those were DSW. This says JWB.”

  “Jenny Wharton.” Bree said the name with conviction.

  “Could be. But how do you know?”

  The answer came from the voice behind them. “It’s her house.”

  “But legend says this is The Pirate’s House,” Reid said.

  “Girls can be pirates too.” Reid turned around just in time to see a shadow darken the ground through the archway. Miles Wharton gave a smile as sharp as the crossed swords on a Jolly Roger flag. “Surely you’ve heard of Jamaica Jenny.”

  This time, it was Bree’s turn to speak in tones of disbelief. “Jenny Wharton is Jamaica Jenny? She’s legendary.”

  “Aye.” The recluse nodded at the woman next to him. “Lillian.”

  “Miles. It’s be
en a while. Your grandfather’s funeral, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “Yes.” He nodded. “Come with me.”

  As suddenly as Miles Wharton had appeared, he turned and set off in the direction of his home. Reid was surprised to see Bree’s great-grandmother match him step for step.

  Reid put the two antique rings in a small pocket just under a belt loop on his cargo shorts, then he securely buttoned it to make sure he wouldn’t lose the heirlooms. He placed a hand behind Bree’s elbow and guided her out of the dark under the ruined house.

  From the porch of Wharton’s porch, Reid could see the gray outlines of the Pirate’s House, partially hidden by the tall seagrass between the two locations.

  “Wait here,” Miles said, and disappeared inside.

  “Granny—you said that you’re related to Jenny Wharton. So you have to be related to Miles too.”

  She sat on a wooden bench that had long ago faded to a silvery-gray. “That’s right. We’re second cousins. But he’s the last male in the Wharton line.”

  “But how come I’ve never known?”

  Reid tucked an arm around Bree’s shoulder, cupping the curve with the palm of his hand. It felt right to hold her close.

  “You know how small towns are. And you also know your mother. Being identified with the black sheep of the town would have ruined all her beauty pageant dreams—or so she thought. She created a sanitized version of her family history that fit the lofty position she felt she deserved.”

  The front door creaked loudly on the rusty hinge. Miles handed a worn wooden box to Reid.

  “Can I trust you?” he asked.

  Reid had no idea what was in the box. But he’d told Bree she could trust him, and however distantly, Miles Wharton was Bree’s family. Miles’ secrets were Bree’s secrets.

  He lifted his arm off of Bree’s shoulder, trying to hold the heavy box steady with both hands. Bree moved to sit next to her great-grandmother on the bench. Reid sat next to Bree. Only Miles Wharton remained standing, watching the scene warily from near the doorway.