“Definitely not.”
Justin set part of his sandwich on the wrapper. “You know they’re your projects, too, don’t you? Shared. Equal.” He smiled. “Don’t worry, though. I’m not getting involved with settling the rest of Harry’s affairs. You’re on your own there.”
“Lucky me,” Samantha said with a laugh. “Harry was a larger-than-life adventurer in so many ways, but he was also just a guy—a man in love with his wife, doing his best by his sons. Family was important to him. I think Charlotte and I both have been afraid we wouldn’t measure up to Harry’s example of risk taking and adventure, but he never cared.”
“What about his brother Max?”
“They were closer than I realized. They had real respect for each other. I was worried that digging through my grandfather’s London apartment and Boston house would turn up things I didn’t want to know. The opposite’s been true.”
“Do you wish Charlotte would move to New England? Could she get a job there?”
“On the East Coast would be great, but we’ll see each other and be close wherever she is. I assume she’ll return to Edinburgh.”
“I could go back there anytime,” Justin said, tackling more of his lunch. “You Bennetts don’t think twice about getting on an airplane. I can see you have the passport applications ready for our kids before they’re even born.”
“I love that idea. I can see them here in Scotland with us, but I can also see them in Knights Bridge.” She smiled, picturing their little town. “We can take them to story hour at the library, out to the old cider mill—whether or not we get it up and running again.”
“It’s a great spot. So is this. We need to beat Heather in the baby department. She’ll never let me hear the end of it if she has the first kid.”
“You’re not serious?”
He laughed. “No, I’m not serious. When it’s right for us is when it’s right.”
Samantha let his comment and the possibilities of their life together settle in, such talk, thoughts and imaginings a part of their honeymoon—as well as being in the moment, here, with her husband at a picnic table in the Scottish Highlands. A year ago, could she have pictured this scene? Not a chance.
Finally she held up her plump apple. “I have a huge decision. Do I save my apple or do I save my shortbread for the hike back to town?”
“This is the perfect honeymoon if that’s your biggest decision of the day.”
They decided to split one apple and one shortbread now and save one each for the hike back. They poured coffee and sat next to each other with their backs against the table as they shared the last of their lunch, looking out at the woodland pass where, hundreds of years ago, a bloody battle had raged. Samantha watched a red squirrel scamper up an oak tree.
“I feel guilty not telling Charlotte that we know she’s taken a leave of absence. My father or Caleb could tell her if they get in touch with her. I don’t want her to think I’ve been spying on her.”
“You have been spying on her,” Justin said, getting to his feet.
Samantha grabbed the day pack. “You’re no help!”
He grinned. “Relax, okay? Charlotte won’t be mad you didn’t tell her. She’ll think you’re on your honeymoon and have other things on your mind. Text or call her if it will make you feel better.”
“If anyone can take care of herself, it’s Charlotte.”
“From what I’ve seen of her, I’ve no doubts.”
They gathered up their lunch wrappers and remains and tucked them into the pack, in a separate pocket from the apple and shortbread they’d saved. “Max was independent, too,” Samantha said. “He didn’t have Harry’s zest for adventure but he... I don’t know. I can’t explain it.”
“He was a Bennett.” Justin held out a hand. “I can carry the pack again.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.” He took the pack and slung it over his shoulder. “You’re preoccupied. I don’t want you tripping and losing our last apple and shortbread down the gorge.”
“Horrors,” she said, laughing. She helped him adjust the pack, feeling the firm muscles of his shoulders. “You’ve got your grandmother. I’ve got Charlotte. We’re not supposed to have anyone but each other on our minds.”
He scooped both her hands into his and pulled her to him. “You’re the most important person in the world to me, but I’m glad we have other people in our lives.”
“What would we do without family?”
“For ten days?” Justin kissed her lightly. “I think we can manage.”
Samantha smiled. “We can, indeed.”
Fourteen
Knights Bridge, Massachusetts
“This place doesn’t look like it burned,” Andrew said, hopping up onto a small boulder above Cider Brook, below the small cider mill where Samantha Bennett and Justin Sloan had met last fall.
“The owner’s a carpenter and volunteer firefighter,” Greg said. “He took care of it.”
“He’s the guy who got married in England last weekend?”
“That’s right.”
Greg stood on the bank of the brook above the small pond and stone dam that had been constructed to provide waterpower for the cider mill, built in the mid-nineteenth century. Cider hadn’t been made there in decades. Back then, the area, now wooded, had been farmland. Old stone walls that once marked off fields now crisscrossed the mixed hardwood forest. Samantha had ventured out here in search of pirate’s treasure and personal redemption when she’d ducked into the mill in the middle of a thunderstorm. It caught fire in a lightning strike. Justin had rescued her, a fact she disputed.
What a pair, the two of them, Greg thought.
The locals had still been talking about Samantha and Justin’s fiery—literally—meeting in the old, long-unused mill when Greg had wandered into town briefly over the winter. He didn’t think meeting the love of your life in the middle of a fire was that romantic, but as far as he’d been able to tell, he was a minority in that view.
He glanced back at Charlotte as she locked the mill’s solid wood door. Samantha had told her where to find the key to the padlock. They’d all had a look inside, but there wasn’t much to see, just a wood floor, open beams and a few antique cider barrels. Instead of driving out here with her inn mates, Charlotte had ridden a bicycle she’d found in a shed at the inn. She’d said she’d needed exercise and fresh air. Possibly the truth, Greg thought. It was a beautiful morning. She’d left ahead of them and had managed to beat them here.
“What do the Sloans plan to do with the mill?” Megan asked, stepping onto the stone dam, only a few inches above the water in the millpond.
Greg shrugged. “I don’t know. What would you do with it?”
“Turn it back into a working cider mill,” Andrew said. “Think they could use hydropower again? There must have been a waterwheel. I wonder what happened to it.”
He seemed genuinely interested. Both he and Megan had been up by seven due to their early night. They’d jumped at the chance to have breakfast at Smith’s. Charlotte, up at five, had already had breakfast—more porridge, Greg had noticed—and hadn’t joined them.
“Are there apple orchards around here?” Megan asked. “They could use local apples.”
“They could make hard cider, too,” her brother added.
“Cider and hard cider were staple drinks in New England in the nineteenth century,” Charlotte said, then smiled. “My grandfather grew up in New Hampshire.”
“Charlotte has New England roots,” Greg said, addressing Megan and Andrew.
“Strong and deep.” She peered into the clear, coppery water in the millpond. “Looks as if the water’s only a few feet deep. The brook’s probably knee-deep at most. We could jump from rock to rock to get to the other side.”
; “It’s pretty here,” Megan said. “It’s so peaceful.”
“Until the mosquitoes find us,” Andrew said. He grinned at Greg. “Good risk assessment, right, Dad?”
“You bet,” Greg said.
Charlotte stepped back from the edge of the millpond. “My cousin Samantha came out here last fall in search of evidence a notorious pirate had been this way. Captain Benjamin Farraday. Legend and fact both suggest Farraday could have headed from Boston into interior New England in the early eighteenth century.”
“With pirate treasure?” Megan asked, venturing farther out onto the dam.
“That’s one of the theories,” Charlotte said. “Samantha knows more about pirates than I do. She appreciates the popular myths about pirates but she’s a serious scholar. Treasure hunter is such a loaded term.”
Andrew toed a small stone loose from the mud by the brook. “Do you think there’s buried pirate treasure here, Dad?”
Greg watched his daughter on the dam. “That’d be something, wouldn’t it?” He kept his tone light despite Megan’s precarious balancing act on the old stone dam. “But any treasure would belong to Samantha and Justin Sloan since it’s their property. Megan...” He took a breath. “Careful, okay?”
She grinned at him. “Sure, Dad.”
Andrew tossed his stone into the millpond. Megan held her arms out at her sides, balancing herself as she came within a few inches of where the water flowed over the dam. Greg was about to remind her wet rocks could be slippery, but she stopped short of the water and looked back at him. “Now I have to turn around.”
“If you slip, fall into the pond, not the brook,” Greg said. “Fewer rocks.”
“I’ll do that, Dad,” she said with a sputter of laughter. She spun around and leaped back onto dry ground. “Easy.”
“Good job.” Greg turned to Charlotte, who’d squatted down and was dipping her hand into the cold brook water. “Your cousin was out here by herself hunting pirates in a thunderstorm. That’s how you Bennetts do things?”
Charlotte shook off her hand and rose. “We’re not reckless.”
“But you’re daredevils, starting with your grandfathers.”
“With Samantha’s grandfather. Harry was the daredevil. My grandfather wasn’t. Max helped organize Harry’s adventures and kept him afloat financially.”
“And you’re following in Harry’s footsteps?”
Charlotte nodded at Megan, who’d jumped onto a partially immersed rock in the middle of the brook. “Your daughter’s quite the daredevil herself.”
“Megan,” Greg said. “Get out of the brook.”
“I’m fine.” She righted herself as the rock teetered. “It’ll be okay if I fall in. The water’s no colder than it is in Minnesota.”
Greg sighed and turned to Charlotte. “Does she not listen because I’m not there all the time or does she not listen because she’s thirteen?”
“Could be a bit of both, or could be because she knows she’s fine.”
“If she falls in, you can pluck her out. I don’t like cold water.”
But Megan didn’t fall into the cold, rushing brook. Andrew made his way down the bank, searching for frogs. Greg found a flat boulder above the brook and had a seat. Megan jumped into the muck on the opposite bank, her right foot sinking up to her ankle in the mud. She laughed and yelled, kicking muck off her shoe. Then she pulled off both shoes, held one in each hand and stood in the brook, the water flowing fast over the tops of her feet.
She shuddered. “It is cold. You’d hate it, Dad. What about you, Charlotte? Do you want to take off your shoes and walk in the brook with me?”
Charlotte laughed, shaking her head. “Thanks, but I’ll keep my feet dry for my bike ride back to town.”
Megan shifted her attention to Andrew, but he was more interested in his frog hunting. He was almost out of sight among ferns, skunk cabbage and small trees. His sister jumped onto a dry rock in the middle of the brook. Her toes were bright red from the freezing water, but Greg knew she’d never complain, since it’d been her idea to get wet. He observed Charlotte, noticing something different about her as she watched his daughter. It was as if she’d gone inside herself. She was somewhere else, lost in a place that wasn’t here, now, at an old cider mill in rural New England.
Megan hopped onto their side of the brook and gave an exaggerated shiver. “I feel the cold more now that my feet aren’t in the water than when they were.” She sat next to Greg on his boulder and shook out her socks. “I wish I’d brought a towel.”
Charlotte pointed up the bank to the dirt driveway. “I’ll start back on my bike. Have fun, guys.”
It was clearly a strain for her to be cheerful. Thinking about the philandering ex-fiancé? Greg didn’t think so. She hadn’t struck him as having any regrets about moving on from Tommy Ferguson. Something else had her in its clutches. He knew the signs from tough personal experience. He watched her put on her helmet and push off on her bicycle.
Andrew worked his way through ferns back to the cider mill. Megan put on her socks and shoes. “We won’t run out of things to do here in three days, will we, Dad?” she asked.
Greg smiled. “Not a chance.”
* * *
The ride back to Red Clover Inn was pleasant and didn’t take long, and it helped Charlotte get her bearings. She returned the bike to the shed and decided to take the opportunity to check it for the missing time capsule. If not for her promise to keep the search to herself, she’d have enlisted the help of Greg’s kids. She’d enjoyed being out at the cider mill with them. Their presence, alas, hadn’t stopped her from being hyperaware of their father and his muscular body, his deep turquoise eyes—his knowing looks. He’d guessed something was off with her. She was grateful he hadn’t pushed her for an explanation.
Standing by the rock-strewn New England brook, she’d found herself reliving her diving accident. She’d been deep underwater off the coast of Scotland, fighting for her life—for the life of another diver. It had been all she could do not to hyperventilate and pass out in front of Greg and his kids. She’d never expected Cider Brook to trigger such a strong reaction.
Her search of the shed produced nothing but cobwebs, garden tools, a push mower, golf clubs and a few fishing rods. Everything was dusty and not new if not old. A more exhaustive search would take time, but she didn’t want to further arouse Greg’s suspicions or distract him from his visit with Andrew and Megan should they arrive and catch her digging through the shed.
She locked up, planning to head straight to the shower. When she turned around, Evelyn Sloan was emerging from the hedges. No cane today. “You look chipper,” the older woman said. “Adjusting to the time change?”
“I must be. Olivia McCaffrey gave me some lavender oil on Monday. I think it’s helping.”
“I love lavender. It smells so nice, better than some essential oils I’ve tried. I’ve been Olivia and Maggie’s guinea pig a few times. They probably have their fingers in too many pies right now, but they’ll get it sorted out.” Evelyn put a hand on her hip and stretched her lower back. “I just finished working in my garden. I’m most energetic in the morning. Where’s Agent Rawlings?”
Charlotte told her.
“He has teenagers? That’s a surprise. Well, I hope they enjoy Knights Bridge.” She gave a furtive glance behind her before shifting back to Charlotte. “No luck with the time capsule yet, I take it?”
“Not yet. I search when I can. Are you sure you want me to keep this a secret? I can’t imagine anyone would open it if you said not to. I could move faster if I didn’t have to sneak around.”
Evelyn didn’t hesitate. “Yes. I’m sure. It has to stay between us.”
“All right. No worries. I’ll keep my promise.”
“Thank you. I checked the internet this morning and the w
eather in Scotland looks good today. I imagine Samantha and Justin are enjoying their honeymoon. I told them not to send me a postcard. I feel like you’re family now, too, since Samantha’s your cousin.”
“That’s sweet.”
“I love being called sweet. It doesn’t happen every day, I can tell you that.”
“Would you like to come inside?” Charlotte asked, motioning toward the back porch.
Evelyn waved a hand. “No, no. I’ve got my Fitbit steps in for the day. Are you starting to catch on to who is related to whom around here?”
“Getting there.”
“Clare Morgan told me she met you at the library yesterday. Kylie Shaw was doing story hour. She’s quite a character. She’s engaged to a former navy security consultant who’s doing some work now for Dylan McCaffrey and Noah Kendrick, his business partner, who’s engaged to my grandson Brandon’s wife Maggie’s older sister, Phoebe.” Evelyn smiled. “Did you follow that?”
Charlotte laughed, Evelyn’s cheerful, convoluted explanation helping her to let go of the last of her flashback at the brook. “I think so.”
Evelyn plucked a dead leaf off an overgrown shrub at the corner of the shed. “Clare replaced Phoebe last fall as library director. Russ Colton—the security consultant marrying Kylie, a.k.a. Morwenna—would get along with your Agent Rawlings, I’m sure, but Russ is in California right now. Los Angeles. He has a brother there.”
“Clare, Kylie-slash-Morwenna, Russ, LA. Got it.”
“You’re confused,” Evelyn said with certainty.
Charlotte smiled. “Not hopelessly.”
“Clare and her new husband live on South Main in the big Victorian past the library. He didn’t grow up in Knights Bridge but he has family here. His grandmother is an old friend. She moved into the local assisted-living facility, but I’d rather—Well, never mind. She loves it there, and that’s what counts. Clare was widowed—she has a son by her first marriage.”
“She mentioned a son.”
Evelyn smiled. “I haven’t confused you more, have I?”
Red Clover Inn--A Romance Novel Page 17
