by Tracy March
After their pros-and-cons debate, Lindsey had dug in on the pro side, urging Holly to “go for it”—easy for Lindsey to do since things had worked out so well for her and Carden.
But they’d had their challenges, too.
Holly pulled off the gloves Bryce had bought her and stared at them, lost in thought. She drew in a deep breath and blew it out with a sigh.
“Everything okay?”
Snapping to attention, she jerked her head up to see Bryce leaning against the doorjamb, his strong shoulders silhouetted against the blue sky. He’d removed the plywood from both of the large windows flanking the sliding glass door. “Um, sure,” she said, not even convincing herself. “Much brighter. I was just wondering if you were thinking about taking things of interest with us, just snapping photos and leaving the stuff here, or what?”
He stepped in front of the stone fireplace, came to her side, and sank down on one knee, wincing. “Knees are still kinda sore.”
“I was surprised you could even walk right after that fall you took.”
“Hurt like hell, but I was trying to impress you.” He winked.
Holly’s heart fluttered. He’d managed the perfect mix of flirty and sincere. “You did,” she said in a breathy voice that she barely recognized.
Bryce raised his eyebrows. His gaze shifted from her eyes to her lips, and he leaned toward her. Holly would swear he was about to kiss her again, and this time she might not find the discipline to stop whatever he started. Her pulse swished faster.
But the picture on the lower shelf of the end table caught Bryce’s attention. “What the…” He drew his head back, his brow furrowed. “Looks like we have an audience.”
Holly recalibrated herself, blinking away her disappointment. She’d been so ready for that kiss. Adrenaline seeped from her system, the battle between her body and her emotions wearing her out. She absently licked her lips as Bryce grabbed the frame, took a closer look at the photograph, and shook his head.
“Got any ideas who this guy might be?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I’m nearly certain I’ve seen that picture somewhere before—probably in the Thistle Bend Museum. Lindsey would probably know.” Holly decided not to tell him that she’d gone to the museum that morning intending to identify the man, yet she’d spent her time telling the sad story of her family and the lodge, and discussing Bryce instead. She pulled her phone from her pocket, tapped her way to the last item in her photo album, and showed it to him. “I took this picture yesterday, hoping it would spark a clearer memory when I looked at it again.”
“Wanna send it to Lindsey and see if she can identify him?”
Holly bunched her lips and set her gaze on his. “She’s going pull out all the W’s on me. Are you ready for that?”
A crease formed between his eyebrows. “The W’s?”
“Who, what, where, when, why?” Holly held up her balled hand and lifted a finger for each W. “She’ll want all the details because she’s totally into all this historic stuff. They sure got the right girl for the job when they hired her to curate the museum.”
Bryce studied the picture that he held, running his thumb along the grain of the dark wooden frame. “Can we trust her?”
Holly’s stomach clenched at the depth of worry in his tone. “Yes. I’ve never met anyone who can keep secrets like Lindsey. She and I had been friends for months before I found out about her relationship with Carden—the superhero guy she dates. By then they had been together, broken up, and gotten back together again. Any girl who can keep guy stories like that secret can certainly stay quiet about this.”
He put the picture back on the lower shelf of the table, nodded slowly, and gave her a loaded sidelong glance. “What about your guy stories? I’d be interested in those.”
Holly’s adrenaline returned with a surge. Heat radiated in her face. She lifted one shoulder in an effort to appear unaffected. “There aren’t many—none current—and they’re not that interesting.” Her heart tumbled at the thought of Max.
Gray clouds scudded across the blue sky outside, dimming the brightness in the room.
Bryce reached out, skimmed his fingertips beneath her chin, and guided her head until she faced him. “Something in your eyes tells me that one of them is still haunting you.”
Holly swallowed hard. She thought she’d been cleverly hiding her secrets from him. What else had her eyes betrayed? She grasped his hand and pulled it away from her chin, yet kept hold of it. “Don’t we all have a story like that?” she asked, hoping she’d dodged his query. But how long could she stay guarded with him, especially with the warmth and strength of his hand in hers?
Something flickered in his eyes, as if she’d hit on a sensitive subject herself.
“Maybe we do.” He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it softly. “But I’m most interested in yours.”
The contrast of his masculine ruggedness and that gentle kiss nearly undid her. Desire to get closer to him threatened to undermine her caution. She swept her gaze over his tousled hair, his sincere green eyes, his taut quads straining beneath the faded denim of his jeans.
But I’m most interested in yours.
Right now, she was nearly willing to give up, to give in, to reveal some of herself to him. Ironically, it was a “Max” moment, which could start a similar chain of events that might again leave her hurt and empty. She bolstered herself with a deep breath and said, “There was a guy a couple of years ago—someone who was visiting here that I met and fell pretty hard for.” There was no need to tell Bryce how quickly it had happened, how she swore she’d never do that again, and how every second she spent with him chipped away at her promise.
“We did the long-distance thing for a little while and got closer—even met each other’s families. Things were good…until he asked me to move to Charlotte.” She bowed her head and shook it. “As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t do it. I was too rooted in Thistle Bend with my law practice, my family, my home. The same was true for him in Charlotte, only with his family’s business, seventeen hundred and fifty miles away—but who’s counting?” She gave Bryce a rueful smile. “I thought I’d found the one. But it wasn’t meant to be.”
No sooner was the story out of Holly’s mouth than she regretted telling it. As vague as she’d been with the details, it revealed things about her that she wasn’t sure she wanted Bryce to know. But if she was going to risk getting involved with him, at least she’d been up front about what was really important to her. Whatever happened, he couldn’t claim that she hadn’t made it clear.
Bryce met her gaze. “I’m sorry.” He leaned in at an angle that kept the bills of their caps from colliding, and touched his lips to hers. Warmth swirled through her as the tender kiss tugged at her heart. It wasn’t a come-on, or a prelude to more, just a sweet reminder that someone better suited might be out there for her.
Him.
He pulled away, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “But that gives me a chance to be the superhero you date.”
Man, this guy had the lines and, boy, were they believable. His kisses were pretty convincing, too. Holly glanced at him demurely. “You’re off to a decent start.”
His smile broadened, his eyes glimmering with possibility.
She held his gaze a moment, feeling lighter. Glancing at the picture Bryce had replaced on the shelf, she said, “About our distinguished gentleman over there.” She pressed her finger over the power button of her phone, brought his photo back to her screen, and tipped it toward Bryce. “Should I send this to Lindsey?”
“Fire away.”
Appreciating that he trusted her judgment, Holly typed a text to Lindsey and attached the picture.
Recognize this guy?
She pressed send, and hoped Lindsey would respond quickly.
“While we’re waiting,” Bryce said, “let’s see what we can figure out about this bizarre time capsule we’ve discovered.” His tone was casual, yet Holly could tell he was
forcing it.
Since they were getting things out in the open, she asked, “What do you think happened here? Why was this suite left like this and hidden away?”
He stood, wincing again, and sat at the end of the couch, his elbows propped on his knees. “I don’t have a solid guess. But the rumor you mentioned yesterday has got me a little spooked. If a woman really did disappear from here right before the place closed, then it makes sense that someone would want to hide evidence that would prove it.” He lifted his cap, swiped his hair back beneath it, and put it back on snugly. “But why not just clear this suite out like the rest of the lodge? Who would’ve known any different?”
“I’ve been wondering the same thing.”
Bryce picked up the short stack of tabloid-sized Thistle Bend weekly newspapers from the end table next to him—the ones that Holly had seen yesterday. “Come check these out with me.” He extended his hand, helping her up, and she joined him on the couch.
Holly sat close and he fanned the newspapers across their laps.
“These are all dated about five years ago, during the last months the lodge was open.” She focused on the headlines of the articles circled in that awful reddish-brown color, and figured he was doing the same.
Lodge Employees Receive Partial Pay and IOUs.
The Lodge at Wild Rose Ridge Defaults on Loan Payments.
Lodge Slated for Foreclosure.
The last paper in the stack featured the boldest headline, printed just below the masthead.
FORECLOSED—The Saga of the Lodge at Wild Rose Ridge Ends.
Beneath the headline was a grainy picture of Adam Evanston, standing in front of the lodge. As Holly leaned in for a closer look, Bryce slid the papers from his lap onto hers and stood.
“There’s a drawer full of newspapers in the bureau in the bedroom,” he said, “with the same kind of circles around articles about this place.”
Holly narrowed her eyes. “A whole drawer full? That would have to be several years of newspapers.”
Bryce strode into the bedroom. Wood squealed against wood, and he returned to the living area carrying a drawer filled with yellowed newspapers, with similar creepy reddish circles surrounding select articles, just as he’d said. He set the drawer on the large, rectangular ottoman in front of the couch.
Holly pushed aside the papers in her lap, scooted to the edge of her seat, and got a good look at the newspaper collection. Bryce settled on the ottoman and they sorted through the stacks.
“These go all the way back to the days when Adam Evanston first came to town.” The time line was fresh in her mind since she’d just shared her family’s story with Lindsey this morning. “When he was courting the town council—or, most would say, bribing—trying to get the loan from the bank, and lobbying to win the tiebreaking vote from the bank’s president.” Her heart plodded from beat to beat as she assessed what she’d just said. She wasn’t about to fake ignorance about the history of it all—or about anything, for that matter. But she didn’t want to reveal the extent of her family’s involvement. She’d already spilled her story about Max, and that was enough personal information for one day.
“Sounds like you know a lot about what was going on back then.” Bryce dropped the newspaper he was holding on top of a stack. “I could really use your help understanding it all, since a lot of it’s liable to get thrown in my face when people find out I’m reopening this place.”
Holly tensed. She hadn’t forgotten that he was trying to change her opinion about the lodge. No doubt he wondered if it was simply a general dislike of the place, or if a specific incident had fostered her negative feelings. “I was only seventeen when it all started. Mostly interested in high school, and college applications. That was eleven years ago.” She handed him one of the oldest newspapers in the stack to verify her time line. “I wasn’t around for a lot of the conflict.”
Although it tore through my family constantly.
“I’ll fill in the blanks when I can,” she said. “But your best source is all the articles circled in those papers.” Holly tipped her head toward the drawer. “From what I can remember, they reported about the lodge objectively. It’s a fair historic account.” She’d started to sound like a lawyer—a reliable defense mechanism—and she worried she might be giving herself away. Even if she was, there was no way she was going to tell her family’s gut-wrenching story twice in one day. Her head was still fuzzy from getting all weepy this morning. It would take a good night’s sleep before she’d feel like herself again.
If Bryce took her advice and read the articles, there’d be much less for her to tell. He’d easily make the connection between her and her grandfather—Birdsong wasn’t the most common name in these parts. Bryce seemed perceptive enough to realize the ramifications of her grandpa’s no-win decision. By then, Holly might be more open to sharing the rest of her family’s story, if things were still moving forward with Bryce.
The thought stuttered in Holly’s mind. Had she decided to move forward with him? Her body had always screamed yes, and now her heart had made it to maybe.
Just say maybe, and see where things go.
“That’s good advice,” Bryce said about reading the newspaper articles, not seeming put off by Holly’s reluctance to offer her historical account. He got up, grabbed his backpack from the side chair, and pulled out several plastic garbage bags. “Guess I’ll load up, because I’m not walking out of here with a bureau drawer, even though I’ll own the thing soon enough.”
Working to keep them in some semblance of order, Holly helped him bag the newspapers. About halfway through the first stack, a circled article caught her attention.
Birdsong Votes YES. Construction to Begin on Controversial Lodge.
She quickly buried the issue beneath another handful of papers that she piled on top. When the bag was filled, she hitched her chin toward the end table. “Should we put the picture of that guy in here, too?” she asked, hesitant about the idea of removing things from the suite.
Bryce pressed his lips into a frown. “I’ve already done more damage than I should have—kicking a hole through the paneling, busting plywood with a maul. I’m keeping a list of everything I’ve torn up, and I’ll do the same for anything we remove. If something unforeseen puts a snag in the sale, I’ll return the items we take and reimburse the bank for the damage I caused.” He stepped over to the end table and picked up the picture of the man from the 1800s. “So I think this guy should come with us. I’ll put him in my backpack.”
He left the bag of newspapers on the ottoman, turned to the console below the television, and opened each of its three cabinets one by one. Inside was a hodgepodge of things like candles, thriller novels, DVDs, and seasonal decorations—a miniature Christmas tree made of pinecones covered in silver glitter, a small American flag wrapped around a dowel with a pointed gold tip, and a Halloween diorama of a graveyard with sinister skeletons and ghosts lurking among the tombstones. It was particularly creepy, considering the circumstances, but Holly decided not to say so.
“Clearly some woman lived in this suite,” she said. “Unless I’m totally clueless about the hospitality industry and you guys provide in-room holiday decorations to enhance the guest experience.”
Bryce shook his head, his hair skimming the base of his shirt collar. “As much as I want my guests to have a memorable stay, Christmas trees and skeletons aren’t included. So I’m with you on the woman living here, considering all the clothes and jewelry she left in the bedroom.”
“I can think of several women who’d love to have some of the more casual clothes in there,” Holly said. “They’re not my style, but a couple pairs of her boots caught my eye. I’m not saying I want to take anything, I’m saying it’s curious that she’d leave all that nice stuff behind.”
Bryce nodded as he closed the door of the last cabinet in the console halfway, then hesitated. He stepped over, grabbed his flashlight from the floor in front of the sliding glass door, flick
ed it on, and aimed it toward the back corner of the cabinet. Leaning down, he reached inside, pushed the diorama out of the way, and pulled out a small box with a flap lid, made of thin cardboard. A brand name was printed in red on the light brown cardboard, the labeling and the lid done in black.
Bryce shot her a disturbed look and shook the box. Weighty metal clattered inside.
Having trouble reading the smaller print, and not recognizing the brand, Holly narrowed her eyes. “What is it?”
He handed her the heavy little box. “Bullets for a .38 Special.”
Chapter 10
Bryce clenched his jaw as Holly read the copy on the box, opened the top, and looked inside. His heart ticked off a couple beats per second. The rumor about the woman disappearing from the lodge had bothered him plenty—especially since he’d found that picture of his father with the woman who’d likely lived in a suite that had been intentionally hidden. Add to that the fact that her bedroom was full of belongings that a person operating under free will wasn’t likely to leave behind, and the sum of things was looking awfully suspicious.
But finding a box of bullets had him second-guessing his decision to play amateur sleuth. He should have told George about the suite, and let him and Thistle Bend Bank decide what to do about it. The bank still owned the lodge, after all. This wasn’t his business or his problem.
But you can’t walk away from it.
The lodge was going to be his—with all its background and baggage. He was there to try to make good on all the bad it had wrought in the past, no matter what that entailed. And now he was also there for Holly, whom he hadn’t expected to meet, much less become drawn to so quickly. From the moment he’d heard her voice, she’d been magnetic and elusive all at the same time. He’d had no idea how alone he would feel when he came here to buy the lodge, as if, by association, he were a dubious interloper suspected of no good.
With Holly by his side, he was less tense. She gave him a sense of comfort, diverting his attention away from the lodge’s checkered past and toward its potential. He wanted to see where things might go with her, and involving her in this might not have been the best start. Or maybe it was. Right now, only circumstantial evidence hinted at foul play. He’d do his best not to get too amped, connecting dots that weren’t necessarily on the same page. Maybe Holly would help him keep his head straight, since she wasn’t so personally invested in the situation.
