“They asked if we were together,” Greg said, clearly amused. “I answered that at this point, no, we are not.”
“It’s cool you’re a diver,” Andrew added.
“Thanks.” Charlotte kept her tone carefully neutral. “I enjoy diving.”
“I love the ocean,” Megan said. “I know I’m from the Midwest and I don’t get to the ocean very often, but I still love it. We’re only a couple of hours from the ocean here. Are you going to do any diving while you’re here?”
“No plans to,” Charlotte said, aware of Greg’s eyes on her.
He made no comment and shifted to Andrew and Megan. “I waited until we got here to lay the bad news on you. This place doesn’t have Wi-Fi, cable or even a working television. Cell coverage is spotty.”
Both teens moaned.
“You’ll survive,” Greg said. “There are decks of cards in the rooms and board games in the library for rainy days and quiet nights. Playing solitaire always helps me unwind.”
“I don’t know how to play solitaire,” Megan said.
“There’s an instruction book in the bookcase at the end of the first-floor hall,” Charlotte said. “I found it while looking for a book to read.”
“That’s another option,” Greg said. “Books.”
“What kind of books?” his daughter asked.
He shrugged. “All kinds, most of them published before you were born. Before I was born, even.”
Andrew grimaced. “I feel like I’m in a time-travel movie.”
“The Knights Bridge effect,” Greg said. “I’m reading a thriller set during World War II. You’d like it. Charlotte here found a book by Jane Austen. Men in tights, Megan. Can’t go wrong. Go on. Get yourselves settled. We’re invited to a cookout on a lake tomorrow at the home of a retired ambassador.”
That perked them up. They’d brought swimsuits. Greg shuddered. “Figures.”
The kids laughed, running up the stairs. Within seconds, Charlotte heard doors creak open and thud shut as they inspected all the possible rooms. “I’m in room eight,” Megan yelled cheerfully down the stairs. “It’s adorable.”
“I’m in the one that looks like it could be at Hogwarts,” Andrew called, less enthusiastic than his sister.
Greg listened to them run around upstairs. “I’ll give them a few minutes and then go and check on them,” he said.
“When was the last time you saw them?” Charlotte asked.
“March. They’ve both grown, Andrew especially. They’re good kids.”
“I’ve no doubt.”
“How was your day? Get into any trouble with our neighbor?”
“I haven’t seen her. Quiet day.”
“Mmm,” he said, then headed upstairs.
Charlotte went into the library, possibly her favorite room at the inn. She’d done a quick search of the shelves for Evelyn’s time capsule but hadn’t paid much attention to the book titles. She noticed classics—War and Peace, Moby Dick, The House of Seven Gables, The Great Gatsby—as well as a dozen mysteries by Agatha Christie, more Alistair MacLean thrillers, a shelf of romance novels, books on New England history and how-to books on everything from card games to cross-country skiing. Charlotte figured she could spend the entire summer here and never run out of things to read.
She moved to shelves stacked with board games.
“It was Charlotte in the library with the candlestick.”
She spun around as Greg came into the room. “What?”
“Clue.” He walked over to her. “It’s a board game. My grandmother loves it. Ever play?”
“Not in a long time.”
“Who’d you play it with?”
“My grandfather. My grandmother wasn’t into board games. I’d spend a week with them every summer at the family farm in New Hampshire. I think part of Max wished he’d stayed on the farm, but Harry hated it there.”
“Only grandchild?”
Charlotte nodded, sitting on a frayed love seat. Greg stayed on his feet, the evening shadows bringing out the angles in his face. He didn’t look as tired as he had when she’d first met him, but she thought he’d still appreciate a good night’s sleep. Maybe being with his kids reminded him of the life he no longer had with his family.
He sat across from her on an overstuffed chair. “Tommy a fan of board games?”
“What? Where did that come from?”
“A few hours on the road. I get twitchy. You didn’t abandon him at the altar because he didn’t play Clue or have a family farm, did you?”
She stared at him. She had no idea if he was serious and genuinely interested or just making awkward conversation while he waited for his kids to get settled. Or jerking her chain for some reason she couldn’t fathom.
“Sorry,” he said. “None of my business.”
“You’re used to everything being your business, aren’t you?”
“On the job. Not in my personal life. Doesn’t mean I’m not curious—or that you can’t tell me to go to hell.”
“Okay,” she said, tucking her feet under her on the couch. “Here goes. I decided against marrying Tommy at the eleventh hour because the morning of our wedding I discovered he was a philanderer and marriage wasn’t going to reform him, at least not marriage to me. I doubt he’d even mind my telling you. He’s rather proud of it.”
“Seriously, you discovered this tidbit the morning of your wedding?”
“Yes. I did. The woman he slept with—an amateur diver—showed me pictures from two nights before. She had no good options and neither did I.”
Greg made a face. “Ouch. She a friend?”
“No. Not before, not then, not now. She had nothing to do with the wedding. Just with Tommy.”
“American?”
Charlotte nodded. “Portland, Oregon. It was cold hard facts—not cold feet—that prompted me to ‘abandon’ Tommy at the altar.”
“He says women flock to him and he can’t help himself?”
“Exactly. Maybe they do, and maybe he can’t, but that’s not what I want in a relationship. Philandering is such an old-fashioned word, isn’t it? Maybe it’s being here that has me using it. Reading Jane Austen.”
“It fits the situation,” Greg said.
“Being engaged didn’t change Tommy. He’d have had more one-night stands after we were married. Maybe another woman will take that risk one day or simply not care, or maybe he’ll find his soul mate and not be tempted to stray again. I don’t know and I don’t care. I figured out what I was in for late but not too late.”
“Good for you. I didn’t step out on Laura, if that’s on your mind.”
“It’s none of my business,” she said quickly.
“Doesn’t mean it’s not on your mind.” His tone was matter-of-fact, casual, but his eyes were warm as he settled his gaze on her. “Sorry if I spoiled your evening bringing this up, or if I overstepped sticking my nose into your past.”
“But I answered willingly. I didn’t tell you to go to hell.”
“So you did. I figure it’s as good a time as any to get the facts out on the table, since we’re here together and thinking about kissing each other and such.” He smiled knowingly. “Am I right?”
She sat up straight, dropping her feet to the floor, pushing back her hair with her hands—anything to give herself something to do besides melt. She pointed to the shelf of board games. “Clue’s tough to play with just two people. Maybe we can get a game going one night while your kids are here.”
“Sure thing,” Greg said, a touch of amusement in his voice. “It’ll help with their screen withdrawal.”
“There’s a Monopoly game, too. Samantha and I played with Max and Harry once when we were teenagers. Max won. Harry burned out early. Samantha and I hung in until the bi
tter end.”
“Max didn’t have mercy on you?”
She grinned. “None.”
“Good. Then you’ll be up for a game with the Rawlings clan.”
* * *
Andrew and Megan were done for the night. They wanted to stay up in their rooms and would be down in the morning. They both said they liked the inn—it was an adventure—and Greg decided not to mention bats and mice.
When he returned to the library, Charlotte had disappeared. He’d thought he’d heard her on the stairs when he was saying good-night to Megan but had talked himself into thinking it was Andrew. She could still be on Scotland time but he wondered if she was upset about something. He felt bad for bringing up the jackass ex-fiancé.
“Not that bad,” he muttered, heading out to the front porch.
He’d wanted to know if Charlotte was over the guy—if there was baggage she was still carrying about their relationship and that was what he’d been sensing was up with her. In which case he’d back off and give her more space. He’d needed space after his split with Laura, both before and after the actual divorce. It had been a tumultuous time in his life. Any attempt at a serious relationship would have been doomed from the start.
He could see that Charlotte, although not necessarily fully trusting herself when it came to men, wasn’t carrying a torch for the philandering SOB she’d left at the altar.
She was over Tommy Ferguson.
For reasons Greg wasn’t about to examine after a long day driving to and from Boston, still tired, jet-lagged, with his kids here, he was having a difficult time not thinking about her. In fact, he liked thinking about her. He liked trying to figure her out.
He walked down the porch steps out into the yard. A few stars were overhead. With little ambient light given the reservoir and the small towns that encircled it, the night sky was spectacular out here. He noticed Megan’s window was dark. He couldn’t see Andrew’s since it was around back but expected it was dark, too. They’d both been tired and they didn’t have the distraction of social media, texting friends, playing games on their phones. Greg had debated confiscating their phones altogether to help them relax and focus on other things, but he hadn’t had to make the decision. Knights Bridge had made it for him, at least in their corner of the small town.
He appreciated having his kids under the same roof with him but hated that it was unusual rather than normal. Why couldn’t he have a normal life? Ambassador Scarlatti liked to tell him that he wasn’t wired for normal. Vic wasn’t, either.
Greg wanted Andrew and Megan to have a good time together while they were here, together.
He would focus on that, he decided, heading back inside the inn when the mosquitoes found him.
Thirteen
Killiecrankie Pass, Scotland
Samantha looked down at the rocky river quietly coursing through the base of a wooded gorge known as the Pass of Killiecrankie. Justin stood close to her on the dirt trail. They’d stopped at the visitor center and absorbed the information about the pass’s history and environment. It was almost noon, sunny and relatively warm for a Scottish late-spring morning. They’d awakened early at their guesthouse in the village of Pitlochry north of Edinburgh and had decided to take advantage of the clear skies and Perthshire Highlands scenery with a hike.
That didn’t mean Knights Bridge was far from their minds.
“The Garry River is different from Cider Brook, where we met,” Samantha said.
“That was a day to remember.” Justin put an arm around her, drawing her close. “But so is this.”
She thought she could feel the cold of the river rising up to her, but it could just be the woods and being still after the first leg of their hike. The guesthouse had packed them a lunch, which Justin carried in a day pack. She’d offered to carry it but he’d teased her about keeping her energy for other “activities.” They’d hike back up to the visitor center to eat before their trek back to the village.
“You got a text message before we left this morning. Do you want to talk about it?” Samantha asked.
“It was nothing.”
“Justin.”
He stared down at the river, the steep hillsides covered in oaks and evergreens. Large boulders and rock outcroppings dotted the riverbank and the river itself. A historic Jacobite battle had taken place here in 1689, but it was peaceful now, a popular spot with hikers and tourists.
Finally Justin sighed. “Eric texted me about Gran. Did she say anything to you when we bought Red Clover Inn? Did she express any reservations?”
“Nothing that would prompt a text. She said she’d been friends with the previous owners. Not the quarreling offspring but the couple who died and left the inn to them.”
“And her knee? Anything about her knee?”
“Just that it was acting up. She backed out of coming to the wedding but she assured me she was fine—she’d never really expected to go. Do you think she feels left out?”
Justin shook his head. “Not Gran. She’s not the type. I don’t think her knee kept her from coming to the wedding, or her health in general.”
“Maybe she was nervous about being too far from home.”
“Maybe, but she says she’s planning a trip this fall to see Heather in London. I don’t see her going alone, but I’m not interfering as long as she’s of sound mind. She’s with us all the time. I can see her not wanting to travel with us and having us worry about her and telling her what to do.”
“Now, why would she would think you all would do such a thing?” Samantha asked with a smile.
Justin grinned. “As if she’s ever paid attention. She could have decided she didn’t want to risk jet lag making it harder for her to tell us to go to hell.”
“What’s on Eric’s mind?”
“He says Gran is acting weird. Sneaky, which isn’t like her. He’s concerned enough to check in with me but not enough to confront her and risk upsetting her over nothing. He apologized for disturbing our honeymoon. He thinks whatever Gran is up to has something to do with the inn. That’s why he got in touch.”
“Do you know anything?” Samantha asked.
“No,” Justin said, shaking his head. “My grandfather and Gran met at the inn. He was on a carpentry job. Gran’s family knew the Parkers, the family who owned the inn. She and Betsy Parker were the same age. Betsy married a businessman from Amherst and inherited the inn from her folks when they died. She and her husband ran it for a while but eventually hired an innkeeper and moved to Myrtle Beach. Betsy and Gran stayed friends until Betsy’s death.”
“Were your grandparents a good match?”
“Yeah, they were. My grandfather died five years ago. He was sick for a while. Heart failure. It was a tough time. We were there for him and Gran as best we could be, but...”
He didn’t finish and Samantha took his hand. “It was their journey to take as a couple.”
“They had a good run together. That’s what they said in those last months.” Justin paused, clearing his throat. “It helped but it didn’t make it easy.”
“She must miss him,” Samantha said. “Heather and Brody had a small wedding, with little fanfare. Ours was the first big Sloan family wedding. It’s possible Evelyn was worried she’d be reminded of her own wedding and she didn’t want to risk getting upset and spoiling things for your family.”
“Maybe, but I don’t think so. Well, Eric’s on the case. He’s the eldest grandchild. He and Gran have a special relationship. They’re blunt with each other and he sees right through her. She knows she can’t manipulate him but that doesn’t mean she will tell him what’s going on.”
“If Eric senses something’s up, something’s up. Do you want me to get in touch with Charlotte?”
“I want us to have a good lunch and leave Gran to Eric and Christop
her.”
They walked up to the rustic visitor center and set out their lunch at a picnic table. Last night they’d lingered over a three-course dinner and then a smoky Scotch by the fire, the flames just enough to take the damp chill out of the air. Now it was warm enough that they didn’t need jackets or sweaters. Their long-sleeve shirts would do. They would stay another night at their guesthouse and then continue to their next stop, heading north and west toward the Isle of Skye, one of Samantha’s favorite stops in Scotland. But she loved this part of Perthshire with its woodlands and hills broken up by quaint villages, isolated lochs and twisting rivers.
Lunch consisted of ham sandwiches on thick brown bread, apples, buttery shortbread made at the guesthouse and a small insulated container of coffee. Justin unwrapped his sandwich. A hungry man, Samantha thought, although she was probably almost as hungry. “Do you think Charlotte is disappointed you’re staying in Knights Bridge?” he asked, lifting half his sandwich.
“She’s been nothing but supportive, but we had been talking about doing a maritime project together.”
“I can see marine archaeology and pirates going hand in hand.”
“They do. We’re learning so much about seventeenth-and eighteenth-century ship life as well as the lives of individual pirates through sunken ships that have been discovered. It’s not all about gold, you know.” She took a bite of her sandwich, enjoying their surroundings. Justin hadn’t been easy to talk to in the early days of their relationship. Sexy, intriguing, a man she’d wanted to know better, but not Mr. Conversation. But all that had changed as they’d come to love and trust each other. “If Charlotte’s on indefinite leave from the institute, she might be relieved we aren’t planning on working together.”
“She wants you to be happy,” Justin said.
“And I am happy. I have my pirate research. I don’t miss the complexities that historic sunken wrecks involve—all the technical, logistical and legal ins and outs.”
“You don’t feel you’ve taken on too many Sloan projects?”
Red Clover Inn--A Romance Novel Page 16
