Timeless Vows: Five Tales of Love (Timeless Tales Book 4)

by Ruth A. Casie

  “Why don’t you have a young lady?” Her bluntness made him flinch. “I hear there are lots to choose around here, but watch out for the hussies after that nice sheriff, Drew.” She gave him a stern look. “Steer clear of those types of women. They’ll give you diseases.”

  He gathered his tools to avoid her pointed stare. She’d give any drill sergeant a run for their money. Yeah, poor Drew had his hands full with the women around here. Thankfully they “steered clear” of Todd. Must be his sunny personality.

  “I’m about done here.” Todd tossed the hammer from his belt into his toolbox. Agnes wasn’t only a grandmother type, but a huge gossip, too. Gabe had warned him she had the knack for butting into other people’s business.

  “The gazebo where my great-nephew and Genevieve will have their ceremony is lovely.” She gazed around with a sigh and in no hurry to leave.

  He had to agree. The Carolina rosebushes Nikki asked him to plant around the gazebo were full bloomed—a pink backdrop to the stark white of the newly painted wood.

  Agnes turned to him with a raised brow. “I understand you know my Gabe well?”

  “We went to college together,” he mumbled, hoping the answer would suffice. He and Danny both did before they enlisted together. A lump formed in his throat. He pushed his brother’s memory into a crevice way back in the recesses of his mind. It was better suited there. Otherwise he just might do something stupid like tear up like a baby in front of Agnes.

  Agnes regarded him and chewed her lip. “Ah yes, I seem to recall Gabe mentioning something about your twin brother, Daniel.”

  He closed the toolbox more forcefully than he’d realized and she flinched with a gasp.

  “Oh dear. Now I recall. How insensitive of me.” She wrung the tissue between her hands and it crumpled into pieces onto the grass.

  Aw hell. Now he’d made her feel bad, when she’d performed makeshift first aid on him and everything. But hearing Danny’s name was more than he could handle. He forced down the anguish, which throbbed worse than his thumb. “It’s fine, Agnes.”

  A vee formed in her forehead, mixing with the myriad lines on her face. “No it’s not. I’m sorry. Gabe said he was a Marine like you, wasn’t he?” At his nod, she continued, “How long has he been gone?”

  “Six months,” he answered quietly. Six months and twelve days. “I could use a strong cup of joe. Can I get you something to drink?” Anything to divert more in-depth talking and going places he didn’t want to venture.

  Agnes patted his hands and smiled. “You’re a dear, dear boy to be so kind to a witless old woman.” She pushed off from the chair and he helped her stand.

  “You don’t fool me. You’ve got more wits than all of us put together.”

  She placed a hand on his arm. “Try and make time for love. Albert and I bicker, but there’s nothing better. It will help you heal.”

  Todd peered into her wise blue eyes, with their crinkled corners, but couldn’t find any words in response. Love? No thank you. Look where it had gotten Danny—a cheating wife and a wooden box.

  * * *

  There was a moose in the middle of the road.

  A big, ugly, smelly thing the size of a bus—and it seemed in no hurry to move out of the way in this century. Its prehistoric-like antlers made it appear ancient. Tara honked the horn several times. Maybe it was old and deaf?

  It turned its backside to the car and…yes…definitely male. Holy Jesus, look at the size…

  She squeaked as his enormous head swung to face her. Would he charge the car? The compact rental wouldn’t stand a chance. Why hadn’t she taken the pickup truck when the clerk at the airport rental desk had offered?

  And where was the damn inn? Viv had given her specific instructions over the phone, but there was no sign of it. The turnoff from Moose Creek—which should have been a tip-off to the current situation—stated two miles to The Loon Lake Inn.

  “Two miles, by whose standards?” she mumbled. Living in New York City hadn’t helped her driving abilities on these bumpy back roads, especially in a five-speed. God, she hoped she wasn’t lost.

  The endless backwoods had nothing but eastern white pines and maple trees lining the narrow roadway. How she identified the varieties of trees was anyone’s guess.

  Whenever she got in a stressful situation, she recalled the least-relevant things.

  Just before her Grammy Awards performance, she’d recited all forty-three presidents in order to the sound guy. He’d thought she was nuts.

  Way back in grammar school, Jane did one of her many science fair projects on tree species or something. “Stop it, Tara. Random memories are not helping your current situation.”

  She was literally in the middle of nowhere, talking to herself, and it wasn’t as if she could ask Bullwinkle for directions.

  He’d been chomping on disgusting bits of leaves and grass for the past twenty minutes. Tara swallowed hard. Waiting for him to finish his lunch wasn’t on her agenda.

  Time to take action.

  She’d performed at Madison Square Garden without breaking a sweat, for Pete’s sake. She could shoo one moose out of her path, right?

  “Buck up, Graham,” she muttered and cracked her knuckles. Slowly, she rolled down the window and stuck her head out a bit. Getting out of the car was not going to happen. “Mr. Moose…shoo. Move. Go away! I think I hear Mrs. Moose calling.”

  His ears flattened against his skull. Maybe he could hear, after all? “Go. Adios. Vamoose.” She honked again, and this time pressed her hand against the horn for a few long seconds.

  He turned around, and a long strand of gooey dirt and twigs hung from his lips. His giant nostrils flared. Eww… In the blink of an eye he was headed straight for the car! How in the world could one big lug move so fast?

  Frantically, she tried to put the gearshift into Reverse, but her hands were shaking so badly they slipped off the stick. Whack! The blow against the front of the car caused her head to jolt forward. Tara squeezed her eyes shut, covered her head, and waited for the next blow. Wouldn’t the gossip rags love this: Grammy Award winner and husband stealer killed by angry moose in backwoods Maine. Did she have it coming?

  Todd slammed on his brakes around the bend in the road. “What in the hell…” A full-grown bull was about to charge a tin can of a car.

  The bull’s hooves came down on the hood with such force Todd flinched. Inside the vehicle, a lone woman covered her dark hair with both arms. A loud pop followed by the hiss of steam came from the broken radiator under the hood. It must have spooked the animal since he lumbered off into the woods without a backward glance.

  Todd inched his truck forward and stopped in back of the car. He grabbed the ten-gauge from the rack, opened his door, and jumped down. Moose usually didn’t come back for round two, but if there was a cow with her calves nearby, there might be more trouble.

  The lady didn’t move.

  Aw hell.

  The banging stopped. Was the moose gone, or ramping up for another go at her poor bumper? Tara gradually opened her eyes and wiggled her toes. No paralysis. Then she flexed her fingers and let out a breath she’d been holding for what seemed like forever. Nothing broken.

  “Ma’am, are you all right?” A muffled voice came from outside the window and she jerked up her head—and immediately regretted the action. A stab of pain hit her neck muscles like they were on fire. Gingerly, she turned her head and squinted out the driver’s-side window.

  He was tall, with muscles clearly defined on his biceps and chest beneath his black-and-tan clothing. He was also holding a long gun.

  One glance at his face and Tara felt the color drain from her own. The only thing visible was a pair of blue-gray eyes under all that dirt and green-and-brown camouflage paint.

  He tried the door handle, then pointed to the lock.

  Yeah right, like she was going to open the door.

  “Your radiator is steaming. You’d better get out.”

  A peek o
ver the dashboard showed the rental had turned into a mangled mess thanks to that stupid moose. She had no choice. Tara clicked the lock and the man yanked the door with a screech of metal on metal.

  “Is it gone?” Her voice came out in a shaky whisper.

  “I think so.” A deep, rich baritone voice penetrated through the haze of her panic. It was a nice sound. Soothing. The pounding of her heartbeat in her ears started to subside.

  He surveyed the woods then propped his gun against what remained of the front bumper.

  “Did you shoot it?” she asked, hesitantly.

  His eyes swung back to her face and he frowned. “No,” he replied like her question was absurd. “It ran off on its own.”

  He glanced at his watch. Guess he had someplace to be? From the way he examined the rental’s front and rear before looking back down the road, Tara felt like she should apologize for being in his way. Maybe he was one of those loner guys who cared about nothing but nature and lived in some decrepit old cabin—like the Unabomber? Great. A moose, and now some crazy guy in camouflage.

  But when Tara swung her legs outside the open door she didn’t mistake his abrupt stop and eyebrow raise at her short sundress as anything but blatant interest.

  Her new gold-and-pink high-heeled strappy Jimmy Choo sandals perfectly complemented the off-the-shoulder dress. But next to his serviceable and well-worn clothes she felt like a fish out of water…and practically naked.

  Who knew she’d be accosted by a rogue moose on the way to a wedding weekend, for crying out loud. She should’ve worn combat boots and overalls, not that she owned any.

  He reached out a hand to help her, but retracted it quickly to wipe the dirt onto his pant leg. At least he showed some courtesy for a guy who smelled like…what was that smell, anyway? Don’t judge, Tara, he may have just saved your patootie.

  “Moose one, car zero?” She pointed to the wreck with a laugh.

  No reaction other than a blink at her lousy attempt at a joke. His eyebrows were dark brown under the edge of the knit skullcap. Wonder if his hair was the same color? With a clenched jaw, he hadn’t cracked the slightest hint of a smile. Whoever said Mainers were a friendly bunch was sadly mistaken.

  Tara took a step back and landed on a rock under the thin sole of her shoe. Her ankle buckled and she shot out a hand to steady herself at the same time he gripped her elbow. Even with the five-inch heels, he towered over her.

  “Um…thanks. I guess it’s safe to assume this isn’t drivable.” Mr. Friendly, here, would have to give her a ride. Wonderful. It was the only other option to being stranded in the woods without a car. Double wonderful. For the umpteenth time since she’d left New York, she wanted to kill Ben Pratt, who, as it happened, was still MIA.

  Mr. Friendly had popped the trunk and retrieved her bags by the time she’d snapped out of her own misery.

  “I could’ve gotten those…” He heaved—literally threw—her set of Louis Vuitton bags over his shoulder and into the dusty bed of his pickup truck. At least there weren’t any dead animals keeping her expensive luggage company. Grabbing her handbag and phone charger from the front passenger seat, Tara carefully made her way around the ruts in the road to his truck. “I’m going to The Loon Lake Inn, in case you’re wondering.”

  “Figured.” He opened the passenger-side door, then walked around to his side.

  Wow, wasn’t he the chatterbox?

  She reached for the grab handle on the door and hoisted herself into the seat. Her dress rode up her thighs and she caught his glance zero in on the spot. She yanked it down then tried to pull the seat belt across her chest but couldn’t manage it. “Ouch.” God, that moose had done some type of damage to her neck. It hurt like mad.

  Suddenly, his sweaty face appeared right next to hers and she reared back.

  “Are you injured?”

  Now he asks? He hadn’t offered up his name. Guess manners weren’t abundant here in Maine, either. “My neck wrenched when Bullwinkle decided to try and punt my rental.”

  He laughed out loud—the last sound she’d expected to hear—and she turned to face him like a deer in headlights. Pearly white and perfectly straight teeth gleamed against the black of the paint when he smiled and she almost died right there on the spot. He was freaking gorgeous. Damn, even wearing the war paint, he’d put any movie star to shame. Too bad he didn’t smell or act as nice as he looked.

  “Bullwinkle?” He smirked.

  “We didn’t exactly exchange names,” she mumbled, smoothed out her skirt, and tried to get a grip on her racing pulse and the clench in her stomach muscles.

  She nearly jumped out of her own skin when his arm swung over the seat back and his hand grazed her shoulder. Jeez, what was wrong with her? Her nerves were shot.

  As he turned to glance over his shoulder and back up the vehicle, his shirt stretched to the limit across his defined abs. The man probably had less than ten percent body fat. Must be all that hunting and traipsing around the woods. He and his cut muscles were a far cry from the skinny musicians she dated on rare occasion. How long had it been since she’d been this close to someone so…male? He positively oozed testosterone.

  She cleared her throat to change the direction of those types of thoughts. “What should I do about the car?” Tow trucks were probably not in abundance around here.

  “I’ll call the sheriff and have it moved,” he replied matter-of-factly.

  Guess he knew the sheriff?

  When he maneuvered around the wreck, his truck dipped into a valley in the road. Without her seat belt attached she lurched to the side. Tara’s hand shot out to balance herself and her palm smacked on top of his thigh…a very rock-hard, warm thigh covered in cargo pants.

  She snatched her hand away. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

  He didn’t say a word, just kept his eyes on the road. Tara scooted as far away from him as possible. She leaned against the passenger door and considered throwing herself from the vehicle. The tension in the air was stifling. She cracked open her window even though his air conditioner blew full blast.

  The late-afternoon sun reflected off the truck’s windshield as he drove silently. It seemed like an awful long way to the inn.

  Tara reached for her sunglasses atop her head and found nothing. Damn. She must’ve dropped them in the car.

  The glare of the sun made her eyes water so she pulled down the visor and a picture fell onto her lap. Two Marines in full dress uniforms smiled at the camera in an easy, laid-back pose. One had his arm around the other’s shoulder.

  Wait, she knew them.

  Todd and Danny Mitchell? The gorgeous twins from college?

  Why would Mr. Friendly have a picture of…no, it couldn’t be. She peered at Mr. Friendly’s profile. “Todd?”

  “Yeah?” he asked suspiciously, glancing at her for a split second.

  Tara almost laughed out loud at the irony. Mr. Friendly equaled none other than Todd Mitchell. No wonder her girlie parts were all tingly. She’d had the worst crush on him back in the day.

  And he apparently still brooded as much as he did in college. Not much had changed there, either.

  But the rest of him…wow!

  And, oh no…he probably thought she was just some airhead in high heels needing rescuing. Way to make an impression. She had hoped to appear the cool and successful Tara Graham when she reacquainted with her college friends, not act like the music geek she used to be.

  “I’m Tara,” she finally said, after wishing the last half hour of her life could be a do-over.

  He shrugged one shoulder. “Hi, Tara.”

  He didn’t remember her? Well, that sucked.

  “Tara Graham,” she tried again, waiting for signs of recognition.

  Still nothing.

  College wasn’t that long ago. “We went to college together. I used to be…err…still am friends with Viv and Gabe—which makes sense that you’re here, too, since I’m also here for their wedding.” Keep blabbering, Tara, real a
ttractive. “How’s your brother, Danny? He used to throw wild parties back then.” She smiled as the memories surfaced. For the first time since she’d gotten into his truck, Tara felt a bit more relaxed.

  Except then his whole body tensed and he gripped the steering wheel.

  Uh-oh. Her face fell. Had she said something wrong?

  He turned the truck at the entrance to The Loon Lake Inn in tense silence. Whatever had crawled up his butt was his problem.

  She’d just enjoy the weekend catching up with old friends, and try to be civil to Todd, or better yet, steer clear of him altogether. Looks weren’t everything. A good personality, which he hadn’t grown much of since college, mattered more than a hot bod.

  The sight of the lovely building with its Old World style took her breath away, and she almost forgot about brooding Todd. The large log cabin structure included a glass elevator on the outer wall up to the second story. What a cozy, yet elegant place.

  Todd put the truck in Park and opened his door to get out, but then he turned and stared straight into her eyes. The anguish on his face made her suck in a breath.

  “Danny’s dead.” He slammed the door and walked away.

  * * *

  Todd strode away from his truck in a tunnel-vision haze. He marched through the inn’s doors and bypassed guests milling in the lobby with the blood pumping through his system pounding loudly in his head. Someone said hi but he couldn’t respond. He knew leaving Tara Graham alone in his truck wasn’t the most honorable thing to do, but saying those two simple words—“Danny’s dead”—out loud made it hard to breathe. And hyperventilating in front of a drop-dead-gorgeous woman wasn’t on his bucket list.

  Christ. The grief continued to eat him up inside. How long until it let up? How long until he could say Danny’s name without falling apart?

  Nikki manned the front desk and glanced up at him with a funny look. “Todd, you okay?”

  It didn’t help that he sported camo face and smelled like deer piss. “There’s a guest in my truck named Tara Graham whose car had a run-in with a bull.” He barely made out the words through gritted teeth.