Finders Keepers (Mill Brook Book 1)

by Carla Neggers

  “Don’t feel guilty, Julian. Your sense of responsibility’s one of the qualities I most admire in you. You don’t have to apologize for not leaving your brother and sister in the lurch.”

  “It’s just that I have to plan time off...”

  “Right. I understand.”

  “Do you?”

  He looked so hopeful, and she smiled. “Yes.”

  He sighed. “Adam, Beth and I have an important meeting tomorrow about the academy property. I have to be there.”

  “You love your life in Mill Brook, don’t you?”

  He didn’t even hesitate. “Not more than I love you.”

  “But Mill Brook’s something I can’t—won’t—ask you to give up, not for me. It’s a part of you, same as story-telling’s a part of me.”

  “And wandering?”

  “Maybe. I don’t think I could give up the road altogether, but it’s not the same anymore and hasn’t been for a while, even before I met you. I’m looking into alternatives, new adventures—”

  “Not because of me, I hope.”

  “Not entirely. I’ve always wanted some roots, some stability—a sense of place. I’ve been looking for that since I was a kid, way before I met you. Now you’re in the mix, and yeah, you could affect the choices I make. Why shouldn’t you?”

  “Because they won’t last,” he said.

  “What,” she said, “you want me to be totally selfish? A relationship’s a balancing act. I’m not going to do all the giving, but I’m not going to do all the taking, either. Julian, I admit I’m new at this. A couple a years ago if somebody had told me I’d be falling in love with a mountain man from Vermont—never mind a cursed Danvers-Stiles—I’d have laughed myself into a coma. If somebody’d told me I’d ever get sick of the road, I’d have hooted.” She gave him a long look, melting with her love for him. “But things change.”

  They left it like that, unsettled, the commitment to each other apparent but not the means to make it work. There was no doubt in Holly’s mind: Julian would leave her no matter how much he loved her before he’d do anything that he felt would make her miserable, or destroy her, in the end.

  The question was, would he be willing to let her make any sacrifice at all to work things out between them?

  Would she be willing to let him change for the same reason?

  Holly refused to let Julian take a cab. She drove him to the airport, kissed him goodbye with promises of seeing him again soon and watched his plane take off before she headed back into town, feeling faintly sad and very, very lonely.

  That evening, after a barbecue with her friends, Holly contemplated her alternatives while she watched the sun set. When she went back to her van, she opened up the iron case, just to touch the silver goblets in an attempt to feel closer to Julian.

  Only the silver goblets weren’t there.

  “The bastard stole them!”

  She couldn’t have been happier. That was his challenge ... his plea. Come back to Vermont, his thievery was telling her. Come back and let’s try. We’ve got to be together. We’ve got to find a way.

  How could she resist?

  From the outside, the Danvers House had changed little since Holly had first trekked across the snowy football field. Vermont was between snowstorms; the fields were dotted with patches of bare, flattened, dead grass, a not-entirely picturesque prelude to spring. The day was overcast and drizzly, nothing approaching the sunny Florida Holly had left behind.

  She’d made Vermont in three days flat, through rain, sleet, snow, wind and attacks of doubt. What if she’d totally misjudged the situation? What if Julian hadn’t issued her a challenge with his theft of the goblets but just wanted the damned things back and an end to their relationship? He wouldn’t be the first man to avoid telling a woman straight up she wasn’t wanted. Friends she’d visited on the trip north had counseled her to call him up and ask, but she didn’t. What fun was there in a telephone call?

  And in her heart, she felt she knew one Julian Danvers Stiles. She was just being stupidly paranoid.

  Driving past the defunct academy, she had spotted his Land Rover among a quartet of trucks in front of the dilapidated Danvers House. Nothing had changed.

  Except for one small thing.

  He’d added a sign, nothing elaborate, near the front steps that read Soon to be The Silver Goblets Restaurant.

  It was as if he was expecting her.

  The steps were slick with drizzle and melting ice. Holly had on her trusty gum shoes, but took extra care. She wouldn’t appreciate having Julian scrape her off the steps or stone walk. It was going to be difficult enough convincing him that Vermont was where she was meant to be.

  The front door was unlocked, and she went right inside. Smells of fresh sawdust, putty and turpentine greeted her. The place was a whirl of sounds and activity, with carpenters at work in virtually every corner. The Danvers House wasn’t exactly transformed yet, but it was well on the way. Everywhere were hints of its former splendor.

  Holly felt much as her great-grandfather must have felt a hundred years earlier, treading where a Wingate had no business treading.

  “Oh, what the hell.” she muttered, and proceeded.

  She found Julian in the front living room, hunched over a sawhorse table with two other men who looked just as grubby as he did. He had a big hole at the right knee of his jeans and patches on the seat; his chamois shirt was worn through at the elbows. His dark hair was covered with sawdust, and he was using a rolled up bandanna for a sweatband.

  Holly thought he looked incredibly sexy.

  Turning, he caught sight of her and smiled as if she’d been gone just ten minutes and was expected back any moment. “Hey, there.”

  “Hi.” She felt a little self-conscious, a little school-girlish. “I thought you were going to do the work on this place yourself.”

  “Changed my mind. I decided it’d take too long—and I had better things to occupy my energies.”

  “I see.” She hoped she did, anyway. “You left Orlando with something I worked very hard to get.”

  He grinned, playing the game with her; they’d gone way beyond fighting over a couple of sterling-silver goblets. “Love that slippery wording. I notice you didn’t say I left with something of yours. Like my sign out front?”

  “Gutsy.”

  “My tractor beam,” he said without regret. “I knew it’d pull you back up here.”

  “Where are the goblets?”

  “In a safe place.”

  “Ahh.” she said, “you don’t trust me.”

  He laughed. “Damn right. How long are you in town?”

  “One month, minimum.”

  His eyes narrowed and he went very still. “And where are you staying?”

  “My van.” She felt a little light-headed, remembering her last days in Mill Brook and where she’d stayed. “I was going to stay at the Windham House, but it would get too expensive.”

  “Nights are still cold up here.”

  “I figure if it gets too cold, I’ll manage somehow.”

  “You don’t have to worry,” he said in a low, deliberately sexy voice, “I won’t let you freeze.”

  She smiled. “I never thought you would.”

  “Why a month?”

  “It’s my test. Look, you’re busy. I can explain all this later. Are you—do you have any plans for dinner?”

  “I do now.”

  Then, ignoring the carpenters, he held her by the shoulders and kissed her hard, leaving her breathless and anxious for the evening.

  “You going up to the house?” he asked.

  “I thought I would.”

  ‘‘Careful of the driveway—it’s in bad shape.”

  She laughed. “What else is new?”

  TO WHILE AWAY the time, she decided she’d cook. Nothing fancy. Her life on the road didn’t leave her much time to experiment in the kitchen. She stopped at Mill Brook’s one well-stocked grocery store and loaded her carry cart with fr
esh gray sole, salad fixings, Vermont-made apple-cider vinegar for use in a homemade dressing, a concoction of wild and brown rice and a bottle of a medium-priced white wine. At the local bakery, she picked up a crusty load of French bread and indulged in two fat eclairs—and, optimist that she was, six cinnamon-covered cider doughnuts for breakfast.

  You’d better burn a lot of calories while you’re here, she thought, heading past Old Mill Brook Common and out toward the sawmill. She’d decided against stopping there, opting to straighten a few things out with Julian before she reestablished contact with his family. Just to be fair.

  As promised, his driveway proved even more miserable than last time. The drizzle had washed the sand off the icy patches, making them downright treacherous, and in other spots the snow had melted, creating deep ruts. She sat up straight and hung over her steering wheel, highly alert. After a half mile or so, she grew accustomed to the unpredictable rhythms of the road and started enjoying herself. Even if she skidded, she wasn’t going fast enough to get hurt. And if she got stuck, she got stuck. She was dressed for the weather, and in any case, it wasn’t so cold out that she was worried about walking a mile or two to the house.

  The dogs were inside on the rainy day, but they greeted Holly warmly, remembering her. She found some dog biscuits in the cupboard and gave them a couple, glad for their company, their welcome... the sense they gave her that she belonged there. Within minutes she had a fire going in the fireplace, Miles Davis on the stereo and a start on dinner.

  By the time Julian rolled in, she was humming to herself and thoroughly indulging her domestic mood. “It must be months.” she told him, “since I last set a table. Everything’s ready to go, but there’s no hurry.”

  “Good, I’d like to take a shower first.”

  “By all means.”

  The bathroom was downstairs, just off the kitchen. He peeled off his chamois shirt, leaving a sweaty T-shirt underneath, and headed down the short hall.

  “I searched the place for the goblets, you know,” Holly called to him.

  His broad back to her, he laughed. “Didn’t find them, either, did you?”

  “Nope. Got 'em stashed in a bank vault?”

  “Better than that. They’re with a friend of mine.”

  “Oh?”

  “An expert in New England history named Felix Reichman.” Off came the T-shirt. “You’ll meet him sometime.”

  “Is he writing up the blurb for the back of your restaurant menus?”

  “He’s providing the facts, but he won’t do the actual writing—he’s not one to limit himself to five hundred words or less.”

  Holly scoffed. “Facts, huh?”

  “That’s right: the whole truth and nothing but the truth.”

  He turned around, facing her, and unable to stop herself, her gaze drifted over his strong shoulders and flat, muscled abdomen. It was enough to make her forget what they were talking about.

  “Nothing more complicated than the truth,” he said.

  “Or more subjective,” she added, her mouth gone dry, her skin suddenly highly sensitized. She’d never get enough of this man. Never.

  Apparently unaware of the state she was in, he disappeared into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. Even the short time she’d spent in Vermont had taught her that primary lesson of northern winters: keeping the door shut cuts down on drafts and makes the bathroom warmer upon exiting the shower.

  She heard the water come on. Imagined it streaming down his back. Felt her mouth on his, her breasts pressed against the slick wetness of his chest... I can’t stand this. Dinner would keep, she decided, already in the hall and heading for the bathroom.

  “I feel a draft,” Julian said, teasing, when she opened the bathroom door.

  She shut the door quickly and pulled back the shower curtain. “Just me.”

  Lathering up his hair, he grinned at her. “Better than one of the dogs. You’re going to get wet standing there.”

  He leaned back into the shower to rinse his hair; she watched the suds melt into the water and stream down his back and front, down to his toes. “Unless you want to come in with me.”

  “That’s sort of what I was thinking.”

  He grinned. “Sort of?”

  “Exactly, then.” she admitted, grinning back.

  Pulling shut the shower curtain, she quickly slipped out of her clothes and left them in a heap alongside his. The bathroom had already steamed up; she could feel the warm moisture on her skin. She stepped into the shower, at the end of the tub, the hot spray catching her on her breasts, further sensitizing them. The smoky look in Julian’s eyes told her he’d noticed. He took his natural sponge, held it just under her chin and squeezed, the warm, soapy water trailing down her front. He pulled back and wetted the sponge again, squirted on a dollop of shower gel and worked it in. Then slowly, exquisitely, he massaged her body with the sponge, from her neck to the very tips of her toes.

  “I’ve imagined doing this to you,” he said. “It’s gotten so I can’t take a shower without getting all fired up.”

  “Fine by me.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t think I heard you protesting.”

  When he finally finished, she was burning with desire, her skin so sensitized the tiniest drop of water seemed to sizzle when it touched her, like on a hot griddle. And she still had to rinse off.

  “Shall I help?” Julian asked.

  Switching places with her, he adjusted the shower head so the flow hit her full force. It was all she could do to remain standing. Then, in a further delicious assault on her nerve endings, he used his palms and splayed fingers to smooth away the last of the suds. He began with the flesh just under her ears and worked his way down, over her shoulders and collarbone, lingering on her breasts until she moaned. Then his hands moved over her stomach, her hips and bottom, to the soft flesh between her thighs.

  “I can’t stand much more.” she whispered.

  “Neither can I...”

  But his fingers didn’t stop and her moans of pleasure and longing increased, until at last...finally...she brought herself to switch off the shower. The bathroom was just too small for what they had in mind. They grabbed towels, huge, soft ones, and she shook her head at his offer to dry her off, knowing she was beyond that. Together they ran out into the hall, the cooler air a surprisingly erotic shock.

  They got as far as the fireplace. Julian shooed away the dogs and lay back on his towel, bringing her onto him, her knees straddling his hips. His skin was still damp, but he was as ready as she was. They came together quickly, in a single, beautiful movement. Holly shut her eyes, aware of nothing but their love-making. .. the sheer infinity of her love for Julian. They would find a way to be together. They had no other choice.

  A long time later, dressed and satiated, they had their dinner and talked about anything that came to mind— the weather, Groundhog Day, renovations on the Danvers House, family, stories, favorite movies.

  Finally, over coffee, Julian asked, ‘‘What’s this about a month in Mill Brook?”

  “You’re convinced I’m an incurable wanderer, correct?”

  “You make it sound like a disease. I simply believe you’re happiest when you’re able to pick up and go as you please.”

  “And that’s something you can’t do, given your responsibilities here and your tendency to be a bit of a stick-in-the-mud. You might loosen up a little, but basically, you’re not going to change. I’m not saying I can hang out in one place the rest of my life. Travel’s a necessary part of my job—of who I am. But I’m looking for someplace I can feel a part of, Julian. Somewhere I belong. I think that’s here, with you. And I aim to prove it.”

  “You don’t have to prove anything to me—”

  “It’s not just you, Julian. It’s me as well. You’re right. I haven’t stayed in one place for more than a few weeks in years. I need to know I can. Wanting to is different than being able to.”

  He looked at her over the flickering candle
light, his expression a mix of surprise and sympathy. “You’re scared, aren’t you?”

  Her small laugh wasn’t very convincing, and she abandoned it. “Yeah, I guess—a little. If I can’t do it...if I start getting itchy for the road after just a week or two...” She paused, reining in her thoughts. “I just don’t want to lose what we have together. I want to find a way for us to work without destroying who we are as individuals.”

  “We will.” he said, leaning toward her, his face lost in the shadows.

  “You sound so confident.”

  “I am. The way I see it, we don’t have any other choice.”

  Chapter Eleven

  One month.

  It wasn’t going to be nearly enough. Julian wanted Holly Paynter in his life forever. With very little effort on his part, he’d convinced her to abandon her van for his house. Living in her van, after all, was too much like being on the road. She could get confused. If Mill Brook was to be her “test,” she should live like a Vermonter.

  He had her out cross-country skiing one weekend, sledding with Abby and David another, wandering around town and out to the restaurant in the converted mill another. She would show up at Mill Brook Post and Beam on weekdays and poke around, soaking up atmosphere, she’d tell anyone who’d ask, never explaining precisely to what end. Sometimes she’d meet Julian at the Danvers House, and they’d check up on the plumbers, electricians and carpenters together, or do a little work, or argue about the name he and his friends had chosen for the restaurant. When they discovered his sign had been spray painted, she denied she was the vandal. He believed her. Her tactics were seldom so direct.

  She had lunch a couple of times with his sister, Beth, tea with Aunt Doe, and Adam and the kids invited them over for dinner. Julian introduced Holly to his friends, who quickly became her friends as well, and to the neighbors at the end of his driveway, not that far away, he explained, not even two-and-a-half miles.

  But even as busy as they were, there were seemingly endless hours when they couldn’t be together. Holly would stay up at the house alone or head into Mill Brook and do whatever she felt like doing. That was the deal she’d made with herself.