People had been wrong. So had he.
He set down the photograph of the picturesque Greek Revival house, put the car in park and switched off the ignition. He opened the door on the driver’s side with the hook that was now his left hand—when he chose to wear it. Often he didn’t, having found he could get along just fine without it. As his attorney, Char had helped him sort through the legal and insurance nightmares in the aftermath of his wife’s death and his own crippling accident, coming so quickly on the heels of each other. Char had been briskly professional and efficient, he recalled, if not particularly sensitive. “Losing a hand’s pretty bad,” she’d told him, “but you’d get more for a foot.”
He’d remarked he’d keep that in mind should any of his three remaining appendages get near a Mill Brook
Post and Beam saw. Instead of having the grace to flush, Char had looked at him with those doe-brown eyes of hers and burst out laughing at her own insensitivity. “Am I jerk or what?” she’d asked rhetorically, her self-deprecation underlined with a healthy self-confidence.
Adam had found himself laughing, too. Thinking back, he couldn’t recall why: Char wasn’t a funny woman. But he had laughed, and it had felt good. For the first time in many months he had felt wholly human again.
He headed up the walk, wishing he had left his hook back at the hotel and worn a short-sleeved shirt. The combination of the hook apparatus, his long-sleeved work shirt and the oppressive humidity had him feeling damn uncomfortable. The prospect of barging in on sweet Charity Bradford unannounced didn’t help. If she were playing games with her family and friends about where she lived, she wouldn’t want any spies poking around, then heading back home and countering her claims. Adam felt for all her faults, he did know Char. Even at her sweetest the woman could make a rattlesnake sweat.
A breeze stirred the humid air as he followed the signs to the gift shop adjoining the mansion. Once there, he scanned a brochure that explained Belle Meade was formerly a fifty-three-hundred-acre plantation that, in the nineteenth century, had been a world-famous Thoroughbred nursery and stud. Twenty-four acres of the original plantation remained. It was owned by the Association for the Preservation of Tennessee Antiquities, not by a prickly ex-Yankee Adam had known all her thirty-three years.
He wandered around the gift shop while debating his next move. He didn’t have his kids with him. His daughter, Abby, and son, David, were having a grand time for themselves with their Uncle Julian and new Aunt Holly. Adam had never gone in for mixing business and family vacations. Even this short side trip violated his normal operating procedure, but he consoled himself with a reminder that although stopping in to see Char might not be business, it certainly wasn’t pleasure. It was a favor to his sister. Period.
Finally he left the gift shop and headed back into the warm Tennessee afternoon.
Whatever pot Charity Bradford had boiling, Adam decided he wasn’t going to jump into it. Char was Beth’s friend. He’d let Beth find her.
He walked back to his car, wishing he felt more relieved.
Read all three books in the Mill Brook Trilogy!
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Finders Keepers (Book 1)
Within Reason, (Book 2)
That Stubborn Yankee (Book 3)
Books by Carla Neggers
For a complete, printable list of Carla’s books and to sign up for her newsletter, visit her website www.carlaneggers.com
About the Author
Carla Neggers is the New York Times bestselling author of more than 75 novels, including her popular Sharpe & Donovan and Swift River Valley series. Her books have been translated into dozens of languages and sold in over 35 countries. Whether creating stories of friendship, family and love or razor-sharp suspense, Carla always takes readers on a captivating journey.
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Learn more at https://www.carlaneggers.com/
Finders Keepers (Mill Brook Book 1) Page 18
