“I know what you need and where to get it. It won’t take any time at all. It’s no trouble.”
She nodded. “Okay, thanks.”
“You look cold,” he said.
“Warming up. I did get a bit chilled. I’m going to make tea. You’re welcome to join me.”
“I should be getting back. I wiped my feet but I still might have left a trail. If you have a mop—”
“I’ll take care of any muddy trails we left.”
“Right.”
His gaze settled on her as if he knew she was reacting to him physically—maybe was happy about it? Awkward, she thought. She spun into the kitchen, and he followed her, opening the door as she filled the kettle with water. “Call if you need anything.” He seemed to want to say something else, but he didn’t and left, shutting the door softly behind him.
He was all business. No drama. He’d stopped by because of his work. As Vic had pointed out, juggling his various projects on his own time was what Adam did.
Adrienne made tea and sat with it at the kitchen table. If anything, the rain intensified, pelting onto the stone walk and the lush, green lawn. She noticed a few spots where she and Adam had tracked mud on the floor. She’d let them dry before she swept them up.
Halfway through her tea, she was warm again, and almost back to normal after the wood, the rain, the moose and Adam Sloan.
* * *
Her mother called that night, and Adrienne told her about her little adventure earlier in the day but left out any mention of Adam’s arrival. Knowing Sophia as she did, there was no doubt in her mind her mother would ferret out the sparks between her and the local stonemason. She’d warn Adrienne not to get in over her head, remind her she’d only just arrived in Knights Bridge—and then insist she didn’t want to interfere. Now that Adrienne knew about her mother’s Paris fling with a handsome young diplomat, her cautions about keeping her wits about her with men had taken on a new meaning. She wasn’t just being controlling. She was speaking from experience.
My mom, Adrienne thought with a smile. They did know each other well.
“I’m sore from my first CrossFit classes, but I love the program,” her mother said. “I’m going to be lifting small houses before you know it.”
Adrienne laughed. “I wouldn’t put it past you. I’m gearing up for a girlfriends’ weekend. Would you ever do one?”
“A what?”
Adrienne smiled to herself. “Never mind. I’m glad you called.”
“Of course. It’s always great to talk with you. And Vic? How’s he?”
“Rohan’s still getting the better of him.”
“That’s his dog, isn’t it? A Lab or something.”
“Golden retriever.”
“Right. Well. You always wanted a puppy.”
One of the bones of contention between them over the years. And yet, somehow, they had never had a truly contentious relationship. Her mother was straightforward and didn’t leave Adrienne wondering about her opinion. She would never pretend she wanted a dog just to placate her daughter. I love dogs when they belong to someone else. I can’t take on the responsibility of having a dog of my own.
It would be our dog, Mom.
Mm. That’s what you say now. Wait until you want to go away for a weekend with your friends. Or wait until you go to college. Then it’ll be my dog.
No beating around the bush. That was her mother. Direct to a fault.
Except about Vic being her only daughter’s biological father.
Almost three decades she hadn’t been direct and straightforward about that.
“Water over the dam,” Adrienne said, checking the wood box. As Adam had observed, she had logs but not much else. She’d need tinder, kindling, matches, fire starters. The fireplace screen needed a good cleaning.
There was a fire extinguisher.
She dutifully added “fire stuff” to her to-do list. Ten to one, Carriage Hill’s autumn guests were going to want fires, and she didn’t want to leave it to Adam. If he helped, great. If not, she’d head to the country store with a list and get their advice. Done.
* * *
In the morning, Adrienne awoke to drizzly skies and an email from her mother with a recipe for hot mulled apple cider attached. From my grandmother. I haven’t made it in years. It strikes me as perfect for your new life.
Adrienne remembered the recipe but she was positive her mother had never made hot mulled cider. Her grandmother had, though, one Thanksgiving when Adrienne was ten. She’d died the following year after a stroke. Adrienne felt a wave of nostalgia for her, and then guilt at wishing, even for that brief spurt, her mother was more like her. It wasn’t fair to wish she was something she wasn’t. Adrienne typed a quick reply.
Thanks, Mom. I was hoping you had saved it. Fond memories.
She hit Send and took her mug of coffee outside. It was too wet to sit at the table, but the weather was starting to clear. She could hear birds twittering madly. They sounded happy to her.
She went inside and whipped up eggs and toast made with Maggie’s oatmeal bread. Adrienne loved good bread but she’d never made any from scratch in her life. But how could Maggie keep up with homemade bread for the inn on top of everything else she did? Her workload wasn’t sustainable.
“That’s why I’m here,” Adrienne said aloud, and got busy.
By noon, it was warm and sunny, and she had arranged for a local cleaning service to do a deep-clean of the entire house. Adrienne met with the owner on the terrace and started to explain about the new addition—but she already knew. Lisa Zalewski was her name. “I’m from Knights Bridge,” she said, as if that explained everything.
“Ah. I see.”
“The Sloans did the addition. I graduated high school with Christopher Sloan. He helped out when he had a free minute, but he’s a full-time firefighter. But you know that, right?”
“Yes,” Adrienne said.
Lisa squinted out at the yard from her seat at the terrace table. “Adam’s redoing the stone wall, I see. Violet’s helping?”
“She comes with him. I don’t know how much help she is.”
Lisa laughed, her eyes crinkling up. She was good-humored, with a sturdy build and a passion—her word—for her work. She promised Adrienne she wouldn’t regret “for a millisecond” hiring a cleaning service. “I quit my job at the bank and started the service two years ago. I’ve never looked back.” She grinned as she got to her feet. “What can I say? I love to clean.”
She was chuckling as she left.
Adrienne sat outside for lunch and was helping herself to a brownie she’d thawed out of the freezer—one of Maggie’s apparently famous brownies—when Olivia arrived. She’d walked down the road from her house and kept a hand on her lower back, presumably indicating discomfort. “I want to gather herbs and cut back perennials for the season,” she said.
“Could you use a hand?” Adrienne asked.
“I’d love it. My lower back’s been giving me fits. I thought a walk and a bit of work in the garden would at least be a distraction.”
She explained how she and Maggie had started making their own essential oils, but they’d put their grand plans for them aside for now, relying instead on a local source for anything they needed for their goat’s milk products. They were getting help with that venture, too, but they had enough of an inventory for now. They also loved to paint and refurbish old furniture, but Olivia was taking a break while she was pregnant.
“I’m focusing on my design work,” she added as she placed an armload of fresh basil into a basket. “Maggie and I love having a variety of things to do. I used to worry I wouldn’t be good at anything because I like to do so many things, but then I realized most of them fall under the same umbrella.”
Adrienne added sprigs of parsley to the basket. “You make life more pleasant. Attractiv
e designs, lovely goat’s milk soaps and bath salts and such, a comfy inn in a beautiful setting where people can relax and enjoy themselves. The adventure travel and entrepreneurial boot camps fit in with what you started here. They all mesh.”
“Maggie and I both just dived in with dreams more than specific goals.”
“You’re figuring things out as you go along, adjusting based on experience. It works. I’ve met people who have thick notebooks and extensive spreadsheets of plans that gather dust.”
“Better to take action sometimes than to plan.”
“How’s Maggie doing?”
“Much better,” Olivia said, pausing to stretch her lower back, then moving to the parsley patch. “She and Brandon are getting the boys ready to start school tomorrow.”
They picked more herbs and then took their baskets to the terrace. Olivia left half for Adrienne to do with as she pleased. “Including turn them into compost. I’ll never know.”
Adrienne laughed, but she loved the idea of making pesto. She’d done it once somewhere she’d lived. Provence, she thought. She’d stayed with friends in the wine business and she’d gotten into cooking for a bit.
Pesto, however, entailed a trip to the village for everything but the fresh basil.
She had work to do this afternoon. She’d make a list of what she needed in town and go in the morning. A good excuse, she decided, for indulging in pancakes at the village’s only restaurant.
* * *
Naturally three Sloan brothers were at a table when Adrienne entered Smith’s at eight the next morning. Justin, Eric and Adam. The restaurant was located in a converted house off Main Street, with bright mums in pots on its small front porch. She sat at the counter and acknowledged the brothers with a quick wave. Justin and Eric finished before she put in her order and said hello as they headed out. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Adam leave a few bills on the table and get to his feet.
He stopped at the counter on his way out. “I’ll be at Carriage Hill later this morning and will stay the rest of the day. I should be able to wrap up work there by tomorrow at the latest.”
“Great. It’ll be nice to have the wall finished before weekend guests arrive. Thanks for letting me know.”
His gaze settled on her. “Enjoy breakfast.”
“They don’t have avocado toast, so I’m having pancakes.”
He grinned. “That’s one of the better excuses I’ve heard for having pancakes. Do you actually like avocado toast?”
“I do. I thought about adding it to the inn’s breakfast menu but decided to stick to a New England theme.” She pointed at her menu, flat on the counter in front of her. “I can still change my mind and skip the pancakes.”
“Go for it.”
“I suppose I have all day to burn them off.”
“Yeah,” Adam said, clearly amused. “There’s that.”
Only after he left did Adrienne realize the sexy nature of his remark. She felt heat in her face, her neck—she had to be beet red. She quickly ordered coffee but talked herself out of pancakes. Instead she ordered scrambled eggs and sliced tomatoes. Local eggs, local tomatoes. She liked that. She’d indulge in pancakes another time. She didn’t need to have burning them off on her mind. She skipped toast but couldn’t resist a house-made apple-streusel muffin when the waiter brought out a batch and set them not a foot from her.
A warm muffin slathered in butter...
She’d have to burn it off, too, but she didn’t care. She ate every crumb.
After breakfast, she decided to walk down the street to take a look at Red Clover Inn. The Sloans had bought it after she’d left Knights Bridge for Kendrick Winery. It was a rambling, empty old place in desperate need of renovation or a bulldozer.
“Enter the Sloans,” she whispered to herself.
Vic had explained that Justin and Samantha were living at the inn while they organized and supervised its major overhaul. Built in 1900 as a classic New England inn, the building had narrow white clapboards and black shutters, many with peeling paint and cracked or missing sections. The property bordered a field dotted with wildflowers, including—of course—red clover. The lawn was dotted with beautiful shade trees and stone walks. There was a detached garage, and a rope hammock was tied between two trees in the side yard.
Adrienne noticed Justin’s truck and Samantha’s car in the driveway.
And then she spotted Adam on the front porch.
For no good reason, she felt as if she’d been caught spying on him. She started to about-face and bolt back to her car, but he waved to her. “Come on up. I’ll show you around the place.”
Samantha came through the screen door onto the porch. She, too, waved and invited Adrienne inside. Short of being rude or saying she had to keep moving to burn off the streusel muffin, she had no graceful way out. But she realized she didn’t want one. She wanted to see Red Clover Inn, and to be a part of this small town.
She also had time to kill until the country store was open for her pesto ingredients.
Eleven
Adrienne followed Adam and Samantha through the entry and down a hall past a large living room, library and reception area. They entered a country kitchen with an adjoining pantry. Samantha explained that she and Justin lived in a suite in back. There were a few other rooms on the first floor. It was a sprawling place that hadn’t been updated in decades—perfect for the Sloans to take on. From what Adrienne had learned from Vic at dinner on Saturday, Adam handled the “big picture” finances for his family’s business rather than day-to-day bookkeeping. His father and Justin oversaw the day-to-day construction work and crews. Brandon preferred to stick to carpentry and his occasional guide work. Heather, the youngest, was studying interior design while she was in London and as much a part of the family business as her brothers.
It would be easy to go overboard with renovations, but Adrienne doubted the Sloans were wired that way. They’d stay within reasonable boundaries. Samantha was a big thinker. She was the granddaughter of renowned explorer and adventurer Harry Bennett, whose death was one reason she’d ended up venturing to Knights Bridge last fall. She fantasized about staying on as the innkeeper after renovations were completed, but as far as Adrienne could tell, no one believed that would happen.
Samantha leaned against a kitchen counter, its worn top cracked but spotless. “We’re only just getting started with renovations. We’ll be lucky to have figured out what windows to replace by Thanksgiving, but my cousin Charlotte still wants to have her wedding here.”
Justin shrugged. “Everything works. It’s just old.”
“Charlotte and Greg have an emotional attachment to this place,” Samantha said. “They stayed here together by accident when Justin and I were on our honeymoon. One of those right hand, left hand situations. You remember Greg, don’t you, Adrienne?”
“Definitely.”
She left it at that. Greg Rawlings, a senior Diplomatic Security agent, hadn’t been her biggest fan. He’d turned up at Vic’s last winter when she hadn’t exactly been on her best behavior. Vic had included him on his Knights Bridge cheat sheet because of the upcoming wedding. Charlotte Bennett was a marine archaeologist, in true Bennett family tradition. She’d recently moved from Scotland to Washington, DC, to open an office there for a marine archaeology institute, and to be close to Greg, who’d taken a position at DSS headquarters.
“All’s forgiven,” Justin said. “Greg said to tell you good luck up here in the sticks.”
She laughed, relaxing. That sounded like Greg. “This is a wonderful spot for a wedding. Let me know if I can help in any way.”
An elderly woman appeared on the back steps, but Adam had spotted her and opened the door. She had her cane poised to knock. “I see you have company,” she said, returning the cane to her side. “Mind if I come in?”
She entered the kitchen before getting
an answer. “Good morning, Gran,” Justin said.
“Good morning.” She paused and peered at Adrienne. “You’re Vic Scarlatti’s daughter, aren’t you?”
Before Adrienne could answer, Adam jumped in. “That’s right, Gran. This is Adrienne Portale, the new innkeeper at Carriage Hill. Adrienne, this is my grandmother, Evelyn Sloan. She lives next door. She knows everything that goes on in town.”
She eased onto a chair at the large pine table. She was in her eighties, with snow-white hair and the lines and sags that came with her advanced age. She wore a tunic, wide-legged pants and sturdy walking shoes. “Lovely to meet you, Adrienne. I didn’t speak out of turn, did I?”
Obviously she wasn’t concerned if she had. “Not at all,” Adrienne said. “Yes, I’m Vic’s daughter.”
“He’s a good man. I hope my boys are treating you well. They can be a rough bunch.”
“We learned at your knee,” Justin said with a wink, turning to Adrienne. “Don’t think Gran’s a sweet little old lady. She ran a nursery school in town for forty years. She’s tough as nails.”
Adrienne laughed at the banter between the Sloans. Samantha smiled, too. “You’ll get used to them,” she said.
“I lost my husband a few years ago,” Evelyn said. “I still live on my own but most of my friends are in assisted living here in town. I walked over—I take a shortcut through the yard.” She leaned her cane against the table. “I keep it in case my knee acts up. I don’t need it.”
Justin started to argue with her but instead filled a glass with water from the faucet. “You know one of us would walk over here with you, Gran. Just call.”
“I know how to text.”
“Text, then. And drink up,” he said, setting the water glass in front of her.
“I will, I will.” She picked up the glass and addressed Adrienne. “When one gets older, one doesn’t always feel thirst the same way one used to.”
Justin grinned at her. “One. I like that, Gran. As if we’re not talking about you.”
Stone Bridges Page 14
