by Jenn Bennett
A strange heat washed over her skin. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to cry or run.
“We brought someone to see you,” Bo said to Lowe. “Astrid, why don’t we take Stella outside and see if we can find another parrot.”
Hadley concentrated on breathing as they led the girl outside. Lowe stood where he was, several feet away. His umber suit was the same shade as the new wood stain on the staircase, and he wore his brown leather riding boots. A memory of her crouching to untie those crisscrossing laces added more kindling to the emotional chaos threatening to burn down her heart.
“Hello, Hadley.”
“Hello, Lowe.”
Her mouth went dry. There were too many things she wanted to say at once, but she couldn’t remember what any of them were. A month without him, and it was as if her dumb heart didn’t care about all the pain he’d caused. She had to fight the urge to run to him and press herself against his solid chest so that she could feel his arms around her, his steady heartbeat under her cheek. She finally pretended to look around the room in order to gather her wits about her. “You bought Gloom Manor,” she finally managed, trying to sound normal.
“I did,” he answered. “My brother helped to rush the sale through the bank. They were eager to get rid of it. Haunted houses aren’t desirable properties, apparently.”
She tried to force a casual smile, but her mouth was having trouble remembering how. “You don’t say.”
“It’s not actually haunted, in case you were wondering.” He shoved his hands in his pants pockets and took a few lazy steps in her direction. “Aida has given it her all-clear approval. So I suppose all that ghost graffiti was wishful thinking.”
A part of her wanted to smile, but she quickly sobered up and remembered the panic that had brought her to him today. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she said in a near whisper.
His head dropped, and he looked down at her with bright blue eyes. Two deep lines crossed his forehead. “Hadley . . .”
“You should’ve told me. I didn’t know.” The words tumbled out so fast. She blinked away tears. “I went to the florist in Fillmore and she told me Adam was dead and I couldn’t believe it. I went straight to your house—”
“Hey, hey,” he said softly. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay. It’s terrible. Don’t you see? I went to Adam’s shop. I went to talk with him because I was angry at you for lying to me, and I wanted to know the truth. I thought I was being careful—”
“Noel Irving followed you,” he said in a cracking voice. He blinked several times and cleared his throat. “He was looking for the amulet, and I guess when he didn’t find it, he went to your father’s house and found you outside.”
A terrible hollowness stretched inside Hadley’s chest. “You should’ve told me.”
“I thought you knew.”
“My God, Lowe. If I had known, I would’ve . . .”
“What?” he challenged. “What could you have done? He’s gone, and unlike your father, I didn’t know any dark magic to bring him back.”
“That’s not fair,” she whispered, tears stinging her eyes.
“None of it’s fair. Do you know how many people I’ve grieved for over the last few years? First Miriam, then my parents—both at the same time, Hadley. And now Adam.”
“And I’m so sorry for that. It wrecks me to imagine how much you’ve been hurting, but you didn’t have to go through it alone. All you had to do was talk to me.”
“Why would I have any reason to believe you wanted me to? I lied and you walked away.”
“You better believe I did,” she said, blinking away angry tears. “I’ve been betrayed by a lot of people in my life, but I never saw it coming from you. You might as well have stuck that dagger of yours in my belly, because I think that would’ve hurt less.”
Lowe’s eyes brimmed with emotion. “I truly never meant to hurt you.”
“But you did, and you should’ve at least tried to talk to me—if not about us, then about Adam. After what we’d been through together, I would think you owed me that much. Or did you . . .” She waited for her throat to stop clenching, but when she spoke, her voice still sounded rough and torn. “Do you blame me for what happened to him?”
His gaze dropped to the floorboards. “I wanted to blame you, believe me. But I’m the one who found the damned amulet and brought it here. I’m the one who asked Adam to duplicate it. So in the end, it was easier to blame myself.”
“Lowe—”
“When I botch things up, I do it spectacularly. I lost you and Adam the same day, all because I wasn’t man enough to own up to my lies. It’s impressive, really, how far I had to fall to realize that.”
She didn’t know what to say. All the fight drained away from her.
“So, yes. I blamed myself,” he finished in a softer voice. “But after a few days passed, I started thinking about your father.”
“My father,” she repeated in bewilderment.
He jiggled the change in his pocket and exhaled heavily. “When your mother got eight extra years from that spell, instead of your father spending that time trying to fix what was broken between them, he spent a fortune traveling the globe, trying to find a three-thousand-year-old object to kill his best friend. Granted, his friend was a monster, and the complete opposite of Adam in every way.”
“Oh, Lowe.”
He shook his head, as if it was over and done, and he wasn’t interested in rehashing it. Then he returned to his explanation. “But see, it didn’t even stop there. After your mother was gone, your father spent decades more clinging to this idea of revenge. Decades. That’s a damn long time to be angry. Maybe all of this could’ve been avoided if he’d just accepted that he was partly to blame. Perhaps he should’ve asked himself if your mother turned to Noel because your father forgot that a relationship needs tending.”
A long pause hung between them.
“The same thing happened to you and Adam,” she murmured, suddenly realizing. “When you and Miriam . . .”
“Everyone makes mistakes. Forgiving yourself for making them is much easier when the people you surround yourself with are willing to give you the same consideration.”
She quickly swiped away tears with gloved fingers. “You got Stella?”
“Yes and no.” He looked toward the back hallway, where Astrid and Bo had taken her outside. “The court doesn’t like to give guardianship to single men who aren’t family. Especially ones who don’t own property and spend half their year in other countries. They also frown on having a police record. Apparently you need high morals to raise a child these days.”
“Hard to believe,” she said with a wry smile.
“Lucky for me, it turns out the judge owns stock in one of the hotels that the Magnussons supply with booze.”
“Ah.” She nodded. “Very convenient.”
“Indeed. So he granted temporary guardianship to Winter and Aida. We got her released from the orphanage about ten days ago. She was a little shell-shocked at first, but she warmed up to the household pretty fast. Turns out a girl’s fancy can be swayed with large amounts of sponge cake and shiny toys.”
Hadley murmured her agreement, low and softly. “I seem to remember you swaying me with lemon pie.”
“And I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
Warmth bloomed across her chest. She looked away. “So you bought Gloom Manor to get guardianship of Stella?”
“Partly. The family house is crowded, what with Winter and Aida having a baby. Stella’s a little intimidated by Aida’s mastiff. And I’ve wanted my own place for a while. Your father’s money made that possible.”
“He told me about that this afternoon. He also mentioned you’d squared things up with Levin?”
“Your father helped me with that. He gave Levin the forged amulet base with the real pap
erwork. If it had come from me, Levin would’ve sensed something was up. But your father was able to convince him that he was trading Levin’s silence about the crocodile forgery for a real artifact.”
“Dear God,” she mumbled. “He tricked Levin?”
“Dr. Bacall is quite the actor.”
“I didn’t know he had it in him.”
“Now everyone’s happy—Levin thinks he owns a rare piece of history, your reputation remains intact, and Monk is satisfied. And I think Adam would be pleased to know that his last masterpiece went to righting a wrong. He would definitely approve.”
They looked at each other for a moment, and a terrible shyness crept over her. She looked away and fidgeted with the cuff of her coat. “I don’t know what to say. I feel like I’ve been living in another world while all of this was going on.”
“You’ve been busy. Congratulations on the department head position. Well deserved.”
She thanked him as loud hammering on the floor above them drew their attention. Lowe gestured further into the house. She nodded and walked with him, leaving the noise behind. “And what will you do?” she asked, matching her steps to his. “Now that you have Stella, will you go back to digging for treasure?”
“Actually, I somehow snagged a job at UC Berkeley. I’ll be teaching fieldwork in the anthropology department and overseeing small digs in the area for graduate students.”
“A teacher?” Another surprise.
“Figured I’d give it a try. I’ve been known to tell an entertaining tale or two. Might come in handy in a classroom.”
“Yes, I think it might.”
“Winter’s letting me keep a runabout boat at the Magnusson pier. Saves me from having to take the ferry to Berkeley. And it’ll make it easier to get back home to Stella. I’ll have to hire a staff and a nanny, of course. Find her a tutor, so she can learn to sign properly. But I don’t start teaching at Berkeley until August, so I’ve got plenty of time to get things settled.”
They stopped in the doorway of the kitchen, which had been freshly painted and tiled. A new icebox and washing machine were waiting to be installed, and a long table sat in the middle of the space.
“Sounds like you’ve thought of everything,” she said. “And the house looks like it might be ready for you to move in soon.”
“In a couple of weeks. Still a lot of work to be done, but Winter’s pulled in some favors to get extra workers.”
Hadley’s gaze dropped to the table legs. She leaned forward and looked again, not believing her eyes.
“Talented crew of men,” he continued. “They figured out how to bolt the table to the subfloor before they laid tile. But they’re having the damnedest time figuring out a way to bolt the icebox down. Perhaps the men who did yours can let them know how they managed it?”
“Lowe?”
“Yes?
“I don’t—Why . . . ?” She tried again. “What are you doing?”
He turned to face her and spoke in a soft voice. “I hadn’t worked out all the details yet. I know it’s a hell of a thing to hope you’d forgive me, but it was more that I was confident in your capacity to do so than whether I deserved it. And I know it’s a lot to ask that you’d have to accept not just me, but Stella, too. It’s an enormous request. But I’m not expecting you to waltz in here and play her mother. I’m sticking with Uncle, myself. Keeps things simple.”
“Lowe.” She shook her head several times in disbelief, stuttered a nonsensical response, and then realized she didn’t even know what she thinking, much less saying. Her heart was beating so fast, she feared he might hear it. “I thought you’d given up on us. I thought . . .”
“Like I said, I botched things up spectacularly, and I worried if I showed up on your doorstep with nothing but an apology, you might tell me to go to hell. So I’d planned on getting this all fixed up first, you see. Then I thought I’d try to win you back through sympathy. Pretend to have a crippling disease that gave me six weeks to live, perhaps.” His words were lighthearted, but his voice was rough with restrained emotion. He hesitantly lifted a hand and traced a lock of her hair, a barely-there touch that sent goose bumps over her arms. “And if that didn’t work, I was prepared to disguise myself as someone different. Dye my hair, affect a limp. Maybe introduce myself as someone impressive—a duke, perhaps, or a wealthy heir who hunts wild game in Africa. Sweep you off your feet with my charming conversation and a big, fancy ring, then wait until we were married to reveal my identity and pray you didn’t divorce me.”
She choked out a gravelly laugh. “And if that didn’t work?”
“If you want me on my knees, I’m prepared to grovel. I’ve spent most of my life making mistakes, but if it takes me the rest of it to prove to you that I can be a better man, I’ll gladly die trying.”
He was very close now. So close, she could smell his hair and clothes, and the achingly familiar scent of his skin. She kept her eyes on his shirt collar and tried to keep her heart from racing ahead of her scattered thoughts. “It’s a long drive to the museum from here.”
“Plenty of room in the staff quarters for a full-time driver.”
“I don’t have much luck with staff.”
“That’s where my family name comes in handy.”
A funny sort of euphoria made her legs feel weak. “And I don’t know how Number Four will feel about country living.”
Slowly, he reached for her hand and began removing one of her gloves as he spoke in a low murmur. “This isn’t the country, min kära, but Stella loves cats, so at least he’ll have a partner in crime if he finds himself longing to chase parrots.”
“Lowe,” she said, grasping his fingers to still them.
“Yes, Hadley?”
“I can forgive mistakes. And I don’t care about all the cons and rackets. If you want to tell the president that you’re the Pope, it makes no difference. All I ask is that you refrain from lying to two people.”
“And those people would be . . . ?”
“You and me.”
With a final tug, he removed her glove and enfolded her bare hand in both of his. “Miss Bacall,” he said, kissing her knuckles. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”
EPILOGUE
JANUARY 1929, ONE YEAR LATER
HADLEY SQUINTED INTO THE morning sun as she approached the porter loading their luggage onto the waiting train. The Twin Peaks station was bustling with travelers going to and from San Francisco, and she was both ecstatic and nervous to be one of them. She’d dreamed of this trip since she was a small child. Her stomach was a riot of butterflies and she couldn’t stop smiling.
“It’s just that I also noticed two last names, sir,” the porter was saying to the unusually tall man with wheat-blond hair. Hadley stopped behind him, out of sight, and listened for his answer.
“You’re a perceptive fellow,” Lowe told the porter conspiratorially. “Yes, it’s true. We’re bound for an Atlantic-crossing steamer ship, see. And Miss Bacall is a famous newspaper journalist who’s been sent along with me as a traveling companion to write my memoirs. Distant lands, exciting adventures. That sort of thing.”
“Oh,” the porter said, eyes wide. “Well, forgive me for being blunt, sir, but her luggage is tagged with your compartment number. Should I put it in the neighboring compartment with the child and her caretaker—Mrs. Geller?”
Arms crossed, Lowe rocked on the heels of his riding boots before leaning closer to the attendant. “No, the luggage is marked correctly. Miss Bacall’s should go to my compartment. She’ll be taking a lot of notes, if you catch my drift.”
The porter slowly raised his brows. “I do, indeed. And is there—Mrs. Geller and the child, and Miss Bacall and you . . . Is there a Mrs. Magnusson making the trip as well?”
“Just the four of us.”
“I see,” the porter said, looking positively shock
ed. “Not to worry. I’m discreet.”
Hadley stepped to Lowe’s side and gave him a sidelong frown.
“Ah, here she is now,” Lowe said, placing a firm hand on her back.
“Yes, it’s me. Your traveling companion,” she said dryly. “I’m afraid I’ve forgotten to pack a typewriter, Mr. Magnusson.”
“I hope your longhand’s good,” he said as his warm palm slid down to cup her rear.
“Did I hear you mention an extra sleeping bunk in Mrs. Geller’s compartment?” she asked the porter, struggling to pry away his hand without drawing attention.
“He said it would be far too crowded in there,” Lowe said quickly and let go of her to fish out a ridiculously large bill for the porter. “Keep the assignments as they are. And if you could personally ensure our service is top-notch all the way to New York, there’s more where that came from.”
“Yes, sir. Anything you need, I’m your man,” he said before carting the luggage away.
“So it’s ‘Miss’ Bacall, and we aren’t married now?” Hadley said when the man was out of earshot.
“He noticed you weren’t wearing a ring—”
She couldn’t travel with it. The thing was so big and showy, they’d be robbed before they made it out of the state. It was currently hidden in a panel inside their bedroom closet.
“—and our last names.”
For professional reasons. She’d kept Bacall for her career, nothing more. Explaining this to strangers was almost more trouble than it was worth. For her, at least. For Lowe, it was an opportunity to invent a new madcap story at every dinner party they attended. God only knew what he’d told his fellow professors at Berkeley. Their staff at home had believed Hadley to be some sort of royal princess when she’d first moved in after the wedding.
“You know that’s going to spread through the train like wildfire,” she said.
He waggled his brows. “Nothing more exciting than salacious gossip.”
Before she could decide if she wanted to wallop him on the arm with her handbag or lean into the kiss he was pressing to her temple, the rest of their party appeared: the entire Magnusson clan, her father, Mrs. Geller, and Stella—who dropped Mrs. Geller’s hand and bounded for them, slinging her arms around Hadley and Lowe’s legs like they were a jungle gym. She gave a little squeal of excitement into Hadley’s skirt before grinning up at both of them.
