by Jo McNally
Owen frowned. “But...your grandmother did need you. You stayed and allowed her to live at home. You did the right thing. You’re a good person, Lucy.”
Then why was she such a mess? She’d stayed at Grandma’s double-wide in Boone. Took a job at a tourist shop there. Did what was needed. Put the wedding on hold. Put her life on hold. Just like she had with her piano lessons years before.
“Owen, just when I thought we’d get our turn at a life together, making our own decisions, you told me you’d decided to extend your service for another year. Without even discussing it with me.”
“I told you they asked for the extensions because of the pandemic. Recruitments were down. I had the experience they needed. It was only a year...”
“Another year, you mean. After I’d waited years already.” She felt that frightening surge of emotion again, and she didn’t bother fighting it anymore. The things that led to her fleeing North Carolina were all falling into place, and almost...almost making sense. “Then your mom just took over the wedding.”
She put her hand over her heart, hot tears burning her eyes. “I felt invisible. And then you came back from this tour like a completely different man. All closed up and silent. Short-tempered. Dismissive. I tried so hard to understand. Hell, I should have been good at it by then, right?”
Owen ran his fingers through his air. “I’m so sorry, Luce. I know Mom can be a bulldozer and a wrecking ball all wrapped up in a Southern bow...but you should have told me. I would have...”
She shook her head sharply, refusing to let him off the hook. “Would have what? I told you she picked out an eight thousand dollar princess bridal gown with a crystal tiara over the veil. A tiara.” Her eyes narrowed. “Do I look like a princess gown and tiara bride to you?”
A smile teased his lips, but he swallowed it fast when he saw her expression. “Well...no... But the guys all said women change when weddings are being planned. They said I should just...go along...” His voice trailed off.
“You took relationship advice from Pete and Marcus? Is that why you kept writing me over and over again that everything would be fine?” His gaze wouldn’t hold on her. “Do you not remember us talking about my dream wedding?”
He hesitated, then gave a quick nod. “You wanted to get married up on Grandfather Mountain. Barefoot, so we could feel the grass in our toes. You didn’t want strangers there, just a few people who loved us.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “Just you, me and a pastor, with maybe a few eagles flying by as witnesses. I suggested we marry on the beach, but you told me you were a mountain girl.”
“Exactly! So why did you think I’d suddenly decide I needed glitz and glam and three hundred people?” He opened his mouth to answer, but she waved him off. “Let me guess...your buddies in the foxholes.”
“They don’t call them foxholes anymore...”
“Whatever. You didn’t pay attention to what I was trying to tell you. How much I hated the dress and the club and that stupid tiara. But I figured you were distracted, being over there, dealing with combat and all. So I freakin’ understood again.” She took a ragged breath, facing up to the worst of it. “And then my parents...their marriage was the rock of our family. It was the one thing I wanted for myself someday—a partnership just like theirs. Weathering all the storms. And...and all of a sudden I didn’t understand anything anymore.” The tears overflowed now, and she didn’t bother wiping them away. “I’ve lived my entire life just stuck in the currents of what everyone else needed. What about what I need?”
His face had gone pale. He stared for a minute. “So when you left...it wasn’t just about me...”
A harsh laugh bubbled up in her throat. “And that’s good news?”
Now it was his turn to get frustrated. “Well, excuse me for not wanting to be the only reason I was left standing in the church foyer wondering where the hell my bride went!” He spread his hands wide. “I know I shut you out. I didn’t want to deal with wedding stuff. It felt so unimportant compared to...” His eyes fell closed. “I’m sorry you felt invisible. I’m sorry my mom steamrolled you. I’m damn sure sorry your parents screwed up and then thought they could keep it all some big secret.” A flicker of heat returned to his eyes. When he reached over to take her hand in his, she didn’t resist. He was hurting, too. “But if it’s not all me, if I’m not the only screwup in this, then we’ve got a chance, babe. We can fix everything else if we do it together. Just come home with me.”
She looked at him, wanting so much to believe. And knowing she didn’t dare. Greensboro was where their families were waiting. Where his career was waiting. She shook her head sadly.
“I don’t think so, Owen. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I don’t see returning to North Carolina in the picture. Not for a while anyway.” She squeezed his fingers and pulled her hand back. “You should head back tomorrow, after you’ve rested. Don’t stay here and get your hopes up. You know me—the more you push, the further away I’ll be.”
“That sounds like a challenge.” He gestured down at himself. “I’ve already shown you how determined I can be. Besides, you said you’d give me a month.”
She stood and looked down at him, feeling a stab of pity.
...you were ready to marry the man...
She blinked, surprised how much this hurt. She’d loved him. In many ways, she still did. But going back home was not her future. So what was the point?
“Do what you want, Owen. But the sooner you go back and start your life without me, the better off you’ll be.”
* * *
OWEN DIDN’T REALIZE how far he’d walked until the sun dipped behind the hills above Rendezvous Falls, casting long shadows. He had no idea where he was. Hardly surprising, since he’d only been in town for twelve hours—and he’d slept for six of them. He’d been crisscrossing back and forth across town, trying to think through this mess he was in. The streets here were laid out in a neat grid around Main Street, lined with sidewalks, with tall trees arching overhead. In a way, it reminded him of some historic little towns in North Carolina, which might explain why Lucy was so comfortable here. He’d never seen so many Victorian homes in one place before now, though. Certainly never so many in such brilliant colors—too bright for genteel Carolina. Purple, green, orange, blue...often all on the same house. They almost looked like cartoons, or fanciful pastries or candies. Too sweet for his taste, that’s for sure.
He stopped and looked around, trying to assess his position. He’d gone past the campus of Brady College a little while ago, with the low stone buildings hugging the shore of Seneca Lake. There was a tall conical roof ahead. It was the tower of the dark purple house at the upper end of Main Street. The whole town ran gently uphill from the lake. The town was above the college. Above that the grape vineyards ran to the top of the large hill the sun had fallen behind. He’d come north of town on this final pass, staying closer to the lake, but beyond the town far enough to have left the sidewalks behind. Large houses were on one side, along the water. Some of them were near-mansions. A few were newer, but most were older Victorians, just on a grander scale than in town.
He headed back toward downtown, picking up his pace without breaking a sweat. If he’d been overseas, he’d be carrying fifty pounds or more of weapons and gear right now. This walk, even if it had been a few hours long, was a piece of cake. He groaned. The last thing he needed to be thinking about right now was cake. As much as he was used to walking, he was also used to eating. He hadn’t had anything since the bagel and egg sandwich he’d had at the Spot Diner that morning. The Army made him hike, but they at least handed out MREs for sustenance.
Sidewalks reappeared in a few minutes, and he made it to Main Street in another ten. It was a weeknight, and most businesses were closed up tight, including the Spot. Great. No fast-food restaurants here—probably against zoning rules in order to keep the town’s gingerbread aesthetic un
tarnished. Great. He’d noticed a small grocery store up on Route 12. That was probably his only available option for dinner. Maybe they had an in-store deli or something.
He sensed a car slowing behind him and forced his pace to remain the same. It was instinct to scope out the surrounding area for an escape route or hiding place. In Kabul, you never knew which vehicles were friendlies and which might be carrying the enemy, or worse...the enemy’s explosives. Part of his brain was very aware that he was taking an evening stroll in a town proudly declaring it was one of “America’s Prettiest Small Towns.” But self-preservation wasn’t something you just turned off after so much time in dangerous territory.
“Owen? Is that you, man?” Logan Taggart’s voice called out. Stand down, soldier. Lucy’s words came back to him as he took a steadying breath. He turned, then almost stumbled at the sight of Logan in a gigantic old car. Like...an old lady car. A long dark green coupe. Definitely not what he expected from a guy who’d been willing to throw Owen out of the Taggart Inn that morning.
He walked over to the open passenger window, leaning over to look in at Logan. “Uh...is this your car?”
“Seriously?” Logan gestured to himself. “Do I look like a ’95 Buick Riviera guy to you? It’s my grandmother’s, but she hasn’t driven it in a few weeks, so I told her I’d give it a run. Where are you headed on foot at this hour?”
Owen looked at his watch. “It’s nine o’clock. Do the sidewalks always roll up this early in this town?” He straightened with a groan. “I’m just lookin’ for some food.”
Logan chuckled. “Get in. I’m headed to the local pub. I’m friends with the owner, so even if the kitchen is closed, I’m sure I can get you a hot meal.” He hadn’t finished the word meal before Owen had the car door open. They pulled into the Purple Shamrock five minutes later. The building was long and low, right off the highway above town. Behind it was an impressive outdoor patio that looked down over the town and Seneca Lake. That’s where Logan headed.
As usual, Owen scanned and cataloged his surroundings. There were a few customers out there. Three older women were laughing together by the firepit, drinking wine. A couple sat at a small table, sipping coffee, heads close together. Another couple stood at the back edge of the patio, looking down over the lake. The man stood behind the woman, his arms around her waist and their fingers interlocked over her stomach. Her head was resting back against his chest, her red hair pulled up into some sort of knot.
Cute, but Owen was more concerned that there was no food in sight.
He stopped by the back door to the pub, thinking maybe he’d find some food there. His stomach was growling so loud he was afraid people would hear it. Logan walked over to the standing couple, and they greeted him with smiles. There was a brief conversation, and the redhead leaned back to look in Owen’s direction. He had the strange feeling he was being evaluated. Then the three of them walked his way. The woman patted his arm and kept going, heading inside. Her voice was low and friendly.
“Have a seat. The grill’s still hot, so I’ll put a plate together for you.”
The other man extended a hand. “Finn O’Hearn.” There was no mistaking his Irish accent. “Come over and sit. Bridget’ll only be a minute. Can’t have you starvin’ on your first night in town.”
Owen introduced himself and sat with Finn and Logan, who was looking amused.
“So it turns out you two have something in common.” Logan gestured between Owen and Finn. He directed his explanation to Finn. “Owen here has come to town to grovel and get his girl back. I think you have some experience at that, don’t you, Finn?”
Finn smirked and nodded. “More than I’d like, and thanks for reminding me of those dark days, you twat.” He looked at Owen. “What did you do to screw up? And who are we talking about? A local lass?”
“No! That’s the best part,” Logan laughed. “She came here to get away from him, and he’s come after her to get her back.”
Bridget arrived at the table as those words were spoken. She’d been putting the plate in front of Owen, and holy hell it smelled good. But at Logan’s comment, her eyes narrowed dangerously and she pulled the plate back.
“Excuse me?” She glared at Owen. “A woman came here to get away from you and you followed her?” She shared her glare with the other two men. “And you idiots think that’s a good thing?”
Owen wasn’t the only one intimidated by this woman with the sharp green eyes and copper hair. Logan started to stammer. “Bridget, it’s not like that. Lucy’s staying at the inn, and she assured me she’s okay with Owen staying. I saw them talking together on the porch this afternoon.”
He winced. That conversation was when Lucy made it clear that in her mind, he was wasting his time. Bridget studied him, then set the plate back down. She stepped away, tapping on her phone. She clearly hadn’t absolved him yet, but that juicy burger was calling his name. He took a large bite of it and moaned, making Finn laugh.
“Best burger ever, right? She’s a treasure.”
The treasure came back and sat down, seeming a lot less stressed. She slid her phone into her back pocket. “Piper said she thinks you’re okay.”
Logan sat back in his chair and clutched his hands to his heart. “You didn’t believe me?”
“I wanted a woman’s sense of things.” She accepted a dark beer from a woman waiting tables. “No offense, but...”
Owen nodded, his mouth full of burger.“No offense taken. It’s complicated.” He looked at Finn. “As for what I did wrong... I have no idea.” He had some idea, of course. She’d been pestering him about sharing his feelings since he got back to the States. How could he talk about something he couldn’t define? Couldn’t even face without shuddering?
Bridget’s phone buzzed in her pocket, and she pulled it out, then grinned at Owen.
“Piper says your girl is the one who’s been working at Connie’s florist shop. She’s made a big impression already. My grandmother says the arrangements at church the past few weeks have been fantastic. My cousin, Timothy, bought an anniversary bouquet for his wife, and she’s been raving about it all week. And my other cousin, Mary, told her husband he’d better order her birthday bouquet from Connie next year.”
Owen had no idea who any of those people were. But now he knew where Lucy was working. A flower shop. Of course. Finn put his hand over Bridget’s, then smiled in his direction.
“Small town plus a big Irish family equals no secrets stay secret for long around here.”
He nodded, swallowing another bite of the burger. “Not that different from small southern towns, believe me. Bridget, this burger is fantastic. Thank you.”
She gave him a bright grin. “Glad you like it. It’s a new one on the menu—angus burger made with sundried tomato paste and special seasonings.”
They all had another beer, except Logan, who said he wouldn’t manage driving his grandmother’s barge of a Buick home with alcohol in his system. Owen did more listening than talking, trying to figure out where everyone fit in the town. Logan’s grandmother owned the inn, and he promised to introduce Owen to her. It sounded like she was quite a character. Logan and Piper had been married only a year or so. He’d come here to help his grandmother after she broke her hip, and Piper lived right next door. She’d been running the inn and raising her two kids on her own when she and Logan fell in love.
Finn and Bridget were engaged, with their wedding coming up in the fall. He was a history professor at Brady College, and she owned the pub, which had been in her family for a couple generations. Their wedding was originally planned for the previous year, but they wanted Finn’s family from Ireland to attend. The health crisis had made that impossible, so they’d rescheduled. In the meantime, they were remodeling Bridget’s Victorian house located across the parking lot—changing it from apartment units back into a single family home.
Owen lost tra
ck of the conversation after that. He was glad to have met some people on his first day here, but the person who mattered most wanted nothing to do with him. If Lucy was sitting here right now—if she hadn’t dumped him—she’d be laughing along with Bridget and telling her own funny stories. She’d tease Owen about something silly he’d done. He frowned. Something as silly as losing her. Maybe for good.
“I’d better get this guy back to the inn before he starts crying in his beer.” Logan pushed his chair back and stood, grinning at Owen. “You need a good night’s sleep, pal. Things will look better in the morning when you have a clear head.”
Owen wasn’t so sure. A clear head might just tell him that Lucy was right. That he should go home without her. And he wasn’t ready to do that. Not yet. Not with trying to fix things.
CHAPTER EIGHT
A GOOD NIGHT’S sleep did clear Owen’s head, but things did not look any better the next morning. When he went down for breakfast, Lucy was just finishing. She hurriedly put her dishes in the tray on the sideboard, then scooted past him with a mumbled “Good morning.” Piper was watching, and gave him a pitying smile when he sat at a small table in the corner of the spacious room. It was bright and cheery in there, with three large windows. The curtain fabric sported large hydrangea blossoms. Lucy’s favorite.
“Our special this morning is Logan’s roustabout scramble.” Piper set a mug of coffee in front of him and put the carafe on the table. She gestured to the chalkboard on the wall, where scrolling cursive letters described the breakfast as having eggs, cheese, sausage, bacon and chopped veggies. “He learned the recipe when he was on the oil rigs. It’s definitely hearty, and will get you off to a good start. Or I can make pancakes...”
He shook his head. “The special sounds fine.”
“I’ll let Logan know—the only time he gets to run the kitchen is when that’s on the menu.” She was gone and back in a minute. She cleared a table where it looked as though a group of four had eaten.