by Mae Clair
She could combat almost anything. The strange occurrences at the lodge, jittery guests glancing over their shoulders at every stray noise, even her staff spreading rumors about ghostly visitations and things that went bump in the night. But the one thing she couldn’t fight, the one thing from which she’d never fully recovered, was her childhood love for Caithelden Breckwood and the damage he’d done when he’d broken her heart.
* * * *
Caith pulled the blankets beneath Derrick’s chin, tucking them close. He sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress giving slightly under his weight. Beside him, the glow from a bedside light washed over the wall, illuminating a decorative paper border of freshwater fish, rods, and reels. A desk in the corner was littered with the toys his son liked best: fire trucks and police cars; yellow earthmovers with fat, oversized tires; and a drawstring pouch of colorful multi-sized marbles, a leftover of Caith’s own childhood.
“Dad?” Derrick plucked at the blanket, sending an uncertain glance to his father. “Will I get to see Grandpa when we go to Coldcreek?”
Caith wet his lips. “He’s not there right now, Derry. He’s on vacation with Grandma. I don’t think they’ll be back before we leave.”
Looking dejected, Derrick lowered his eyes and nodded.
As he’d often done in the past, Caith felt guilty over his son’s quiet acceptance. “Hey.” Leaning forward, he rested a hand on the silky crown of Derrick’s hair. “You know Grandpa loves you. He sends you gifts and cards every birthday, every Easter and Christmas, and he calls you on the phone all the time.”
“But I’ve never seen him,” Derrick protested. “He won’t visit with Grandma, and you never wanna go home.”
“I’m going home now.”
“But he won’t be there.”
Caith exhaled. A snippet of memory danced at the edge of his mind. A cold room, moldy and dark…the sharp reek of model car glue. His throat closed up.
“I know it’s difficult to understand.” He swallowed with effort, focusing on his son and the clear gaze of his eyes. The imaginary odor faded. “Grandpa and I have problems. Grownup things we need to work out.”
“Is that how come our last name’s different?”
“Is that why our last name’s different,” Caith corrected. His son groaned and rolled his eyes. Caith chuckled. “I think it’s too late to be talking about this.”
“Dad.”
“It’s past your bedtime, partner. Now give me a hug goodnight.”
As he did every night, Derrick wrapped his arms around Caith’s neck. Unwilling to let go, Caith kissed him on the temple, remembering a childhood when his father had done the same to him. When the days were filled with skipping rocks on the lake, shooting marbles after school, and climbing trees so high his mother had once grounded him for going beyond the measure of safety.
“Get some sleep.” Caith rubbed Derrick’s back. “Tomorrow, I’ll take you to school and we’ll talk to your teachers about going to Coldcreek.”
“Okay.” Derrick scrunched beneath the covers.
Caith tucked them close a final time, pausing to brush the floppy curls from his son’s forehead. He switched off the light and stepped from the darkened room into the hallway.
With his back to the wall, he drew a slow breath, forcing quiet the childhood memories he’d resurrected. When he’d collected himself, he headed down the steps and into the kitchen where he found Aren. His brother was seated at the table, bent over his iPad, a cup of black coffee at his elbow.
“Where’s Galen?”
Aren glanced up briefly before making a change to the screen. “He went back to the hotel.”
“He didn’t have to.” Caith stepped past his brother and opened the refrigerator to retrieve a bottle of beer. Discarding the cap, he joined Aren at the table. “He could have stayed here.”
“I think he’s uncomfortable around you. It’s been eight years since you’ve spoken.”
“And that’s my fault?”
Aren stared pointedly. “I’m not going to get into a debate with you, Caithelden. We’ve been down this road before.”
“You’re right.” Caith took a swig of beer. “I’m an ungrateful bastard who bailed on his family, then committed the ultimate sin when I changed my name.”
Exhaling loudly, Aren slumped in the chair. “We should probably talk about something else.” Another tap on the iPad. “Galen and I have already started working out the details to get you in place at Stone Willow. Logan airport has an eight-fifteen flight on Saturday morning, or a later one at twelve-twenty. I booked you on the early flight but if you’d rather—”
“Cancel it.”
“What?”
Caith set the beer on the table. Stifling a yawn, he rubbed his eyes. “I’ll drive. I’d rather have my own vehicle.”
“Caith, that’s going to take you close to eight hours.”
“Good. It’ll give me time to clear my head.” Reclaiming the beer, he rubbed his thumb over the label, more focused on the black and silver foil than his brother’s frustrated stare. In the living room, the grandfather clock struck the hour, sending chimes like magic bells bouncing through the house. He smiled faintly. “When we were kids, Mom used to tell us every time a clock chimed, something magical happened.”
“Mom used to tell us a lot of things. She named her kids for knights and a wizard.”
“And a raven who collects souls of the dead,” Caith added softly, thinking of his name and its dark association. “Why didn’t you tell me about Ronnie and Merlin?”
Aren shook his head. “Does it matter?”
“We were friends once…Ron, Merlin, Trask, and me.”
“You were. But that was before Trask died, before you left. I don’t know what happened between you and Merlin, and I don’t want to know. But I do need to know if you can work with Veronica. She’s an integral part of Stone Willow. If you can’t function with her there, we have a problem.”
“Why would I have a problem with Ron?”
“Because of the way you left things.” Aren leaned forward, folding his arms on the table. “I know what happened between you before you left for college.”
Caith frowned. “There’s a surprise.”
Aren shrugged. “Veronica let it slip one night when she was visiting. She’d been having problems with Merlin and was talking to Melanie. I happened to be there.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Look, there’s no sense dancing around the issue. You slept with her, then bolted. You slept with a lot of girls back then. I just want to make sure Veronica won’t be a problem.”
“That was a long time ago.” Caith didn’t want to remember that night by the lake, his confusion afterward, or the mucked-up way he’d left things. “Let’s get something straight, Aren. I’m going to Coldcreek to do a job and get paid. It’s about money. Not about family, friends, or going home.”
Aren scowled. “I’m disappointed in you, Caithelden. I didn’t think it was ever about money. I thought it was about saving the world.” Standing, he collected his iPad and coffee. “I think I’ll finish this in my room. We can work out the details of the trip tomorrow. When you aren’t being a jackass.”
Not bothering to acknowledge the comment, Caith downed his beer. It wasn’t his fault Derrick didn’t know his grandfather or that Ron and Merlin had problems. They’d all made their choices long ago. Hadn’t he done the same?
Like an idiot, he’d walked away from Veronica after their night at Stone Willow Lake. She’d twisted his heart, leaving him gasping and foolish, so head-over-heels in love it scared the hell out of him. People who got close to him ran the risk of ending up dead. It was why he’d ditched the Breckwood name. What happened to Trask would never happen to Derrick.
It was why he’d lied when he’d written that damn heartless letter to Veronica. There’d never been anyone else. His heart had belonged to her from the moment he’d given it that moon-drenched night at the lake, but he
’d known it couldn’t be. He wouldn’t be responsible for getting her killed. It was better she found someone safe. Someone who didn’t have a family with a multi-million dollar business, who wasn’t a target for kidnappers, extortionists, and killers.
Trask had learned the cost of that friendship when the two of them sat hunched shoulder-to-shoulder in the damp basement of the old farmhouse. When he’d crouched in fear, certain he was going to die.
It should have been me. Stupid, fucking Trask, getting in the way like some kind of asshole hero.
Lurching from his chair, Caith snatched the empty bottle from the table and began to pace. He was going home…to Veronica and the guilt he’d left in Coldcreek. Like fog rolling across a hillside, the imagined taint of model glue returned. Was he out of his freaking mind?
But there was no turning back. He’d already promised Derrick, and the one thing Caithelden Lairen would never do was go back on a promise he’d made to his son.
Lies had consequences.
He wouldn’t make the same mistakes as his father.
Chapter 4
Sunlight danced on the hood of the SUV, sending leaf-shaped patterns scampering across the windshield. Caith gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckle force, quelling a surge of panic. As the tree-lined streets of Coldcreek unfurled before him, a suffocating tightness grew in his chest, resurrecting the painful memories of a cold autumn day when he was thirteen.
Caith pedaled hard, racing down the hillside, head bent close to the handlebars as the wind whipped hair from his face. It was too cold to be biking. His lungs burned with frigid air, and his fingers were chapped where they gripped the handlebars. But none of that mattered in the race to reach the bottom of Spoon Hill first. Behind him, Trask pedaled for all he was worth but his shorter stature was no match for Caith’s long-legged speed. Clamping down on the brake, Caith spun the back tire out behind him, doing a half donut when he reached the bottom of the hill.
“No fair!” Trask arrived a few seconds behind. “You had a head start.”
Both boys laughed, flushed with excitement and the adrenalin of the race. Trask pedaled to his friend’s side then stood balancing his bike, one foot braced against the asphalt. Traffic was non-existent, and the few homes scattered nearby were separated from the roadway by rolling fields and pastureland. It was the perfect place to race.
“Ron should have seen you,” Trask said with a sly grin. “She likes you, you know.”
Caith made a face. “That’s stupid. She’s just a friend.” He stomped his foot on the left pedal and it spun in a frenzied circle as his heel slipped off.
Trask grinned as if sensing he’d struck a nerve. “She told Becky Kessler she’d like to be your girlfriend.”
Before Caith could reply, a car rounded the bend behind them. With a glance over his shoulder, Caith moved his bike off the road along with Trask. He had dismounted, squatting to check the pedal, when he heard the car slow. Gravel crunched beneath the tires as it rolled to a halt directly beside them. The hum of an electric window lowering into the door panel made Caith turn around. The car was sleek and shiny, a four-door black sedan.
“Hello, boys.” A blond-haired man smiled from inside the passenger’s side of the vehicle. He had a broad face, pockmarked on the right side. “Do either of you know where Candlestick Road is?”
Deciding they were out-of-towners, Caith stepped closer. There was another man on the driver’s side, a shadowy figure he couldn’t quite see, and another in the rear seat. “That way.” He pointed to the right. “Past the cemetery at the end of Chapel Road.” The moment he looked away from the man, he heard a metallic click. The hair prickled on the back of his neck, and the wind blew cold across his face. His gaze returned to the car, and his eyes widened when he saw the barrel of an automatic pistol pointed at his chest.
Trask made a strangled sound.
“Get in the car,” the man with the pockmarked face ordered.
The back door popped open. A large dark-haired man reached forward and grabbed Trask by the wrist. Caith’s eyes remained frozen on the barrel of the gun, his heart pounding wildly.
Sensing his fear, the man with the yellow hair sneered. “You’re worth a lot of money to me Caithelden Breckwood. Now get in the car before we hurt your friend.”
“Dad, it sort of looks like home.”
Caith flinched, jarred by his son’s innocent voice. Derrick sat in the back of the Ford Explorer, straining against the seat belt, engrossed in watching storybook homes and farmland roll past. Too tense to speak, Caith nodded. He inhaled raggedly as they passed the corner where Bidder farm once stood. The imagined taint of model glue tickled the back of his nostrils and, for one horrid moment, he thought he was going to puke.
Breaking out in a cold sweat, he dragged a hand over his face. Eventually the Quik-Mart dwindled from sight and he veered left, continuing into town.
It hadn’t changed much. Some storefronts had been remodeled, and there were a few new businesses clustered near the center of town. The post office had received a face-lift but remained firmly entrenched on the corner of Sickle and Rosewood. The family-owned pharmacy where he, Trask, Ron, and Merlin had stopped after school each day to get sodas and licorice whips had been replaced by a coffee shop. A new McDonald’s sprouted off the square and, farther from town, the community park had expanded to include a new ball field and swim club. Caith could just decipher the soaring roof peaks of the private, gated residence that had been his childhood home set back in the hills, overlooking the town.
Derrick bounced on the seat, grinning ear-to-ear. “When will we get to Uncle Aren’s, Dad?”
Caith recovered his composure. His kid didn’t seem to realize anything was wrong, and he wanted to keep it that way. “Soon.” He shot Derrick a glance in the rearview mirror. “You know once I drop you off and go to the lodge, I won’t see you every night?”
“I know.” Derrick was looking out the window again, seemingly unaffected by the thought, his eyes glowing with eagerness. The trip had been long, and though Derrick had slept the first few hours, he’d eventually had to amuse himself. Too excited to read or watch a DVD, he’d asked endless questions about Coldcreek. Where did Uncle Aren live? Where did Matt and Noah go to school? When was trick-or-treat? Would he be able to go? The list went on and on. Caith had distracted him enough to play some travel games and they’d counted license plates from different states until it was time to stop for lunch. That had been nearly four hours ago, and Derrick was growing antsy again, eager to reach their destination.
“Will I get to see Grandma and Grandpa’s house, too?”
Caith clenched his jaw. The roof peaks of the mansion rolled behind a crest of trees and were blocked from view. “They’re not home, Derry.”
“But we could still see where they live. Uncle Aren could take us.”
“No.”
“Dad.”
“I said no.” Caith flicked another glance in the mirror. “Derrick, this is work for me, do you understand? I’m here because Uncle Galen and Uncle Aren hired me to do a job, just like the people who come to see me at home. I’m not going to have time for anything else.”
“You just don’t wanna see Grandpa,” Derrick muttered, slumping in the seat.
Caith exhaled, silently counting to ten. There was no easy way to explain what had happened so many years ago to alienate him from his father. Without delving into Trask’s murder, something he wouldn’t subject Derrick to, there was no magical answer to explain why he wouldn’t see Stuart Breckwood. Perhaps he should let Aren take the boy to the house. What harm would there be if Derrick went to see the place without him? His parents were in Canada. For that matter, he could go himself, without fear of encountering his father.
“Derrick, we’ll talk about this later.” The tone of his voice indicated the discussion was over.
Still sulky, Derrick went back to looking out the window, and for a while they drove in si
lence. Ten minutes later, they reached Aren’s home, a renovated farmhouse six miles from the fringe of town. The property included an old barn, converted to a fort-playhouse for the boys, and a pond that promised excellent ice skating in the winter. Their collie-shepherd mix, Domino, and family cats, Biscuit and Charm, added to the warmth Caith always felt in Aren’s home.
Melanie greeted him with a kiss, while the boys danced around hooting and hollering. The exuberant greeting was enough to make him momentarily forget his discomfort. Dinner followed almost immediately, pot roast with potatoes and corn, and Melanie’s homemade deep-dish apple pie. Afterward, the boys disappeared, Noah and Matt eager to show Derrick their new home. While Melanie tinkered in the kitchen, making sure Domino stayed clear of Biscuit and Charm while they ate, Aren led Caith onto the back porch.
“I have most of the ground leased to a farmer,” he explained, nodding off toward tall stalks of corn in the distance. “He rotates crops, but it’s written into the lease he plants one field of corn every year for my use.”
Caith raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you wanted to be a farmer, Aren.”
His brother chuckled. “Not even close. We just want to do something for the kids around here. I’ve hired people to help out. Remember those great hayrides we used to go on? They’re few and far between these days. Farmers can’t afford the expense or the time, and anyone who can isn’t interested in making it happen.” Aren shrugged. He scuffed a shoe against the plank floorboards. “Guess I want to change that. My wife and kids grew up in a city, Caith. Noah and Matt never saw farmland until we moved here. It’s important they experience some of the things I did. I don’t want them growing up with the corporate world as the only choice they have.”
Caith studied his brother. “You’re serious about this?”
Aren grinned. Dressed in jeans and a green pull-over sweatshirt rather than his usual suit and tie, he looked relaxed. “I know you don’t like Halloween, but there used to be a time when you did. Before Trask.”
