Within Reason: Mill Brook Trilogy, Book 2

by Carla Neggers

  The rat. “Did he?”

  “Yes, but he left again this morning.”

  “Oh?”

  Ginger hesitated, and Char felt sympathy for the older woman, who obviously prided herself on her discretion. Char squelched the temptation to push, but she only felt a twinge of guilt: Harlan Rockwood had made his own bed and now he could lie in it.

  Finally Ginger said, “He’s gone to Vermont.”

  “Vermont—oh no.”

  Before Ginger could hang up, Char capitalized on the housekeeper’s sense of politeness and interrogated her with a series of rapid questions. Why Vermont? Where in Vermont? When would he be back? Did he mention Char or Beth? Did he know Char was still in Tennessee?

  Ginger said she didn’t know anything, except he was driving. “I believe Mr. Rockwood’s very confused. He’s an honest man.”

  Understanding she couldn’t expect Ginger to have any other opinion, Char thanked her profusely, promised she wouldn’t do anything rash and hung up.

  Vermont.

  That didn’t bode well for keeping Beth out of the mess Char had made out of her life, with help, of course, from Harlan Rockwood. His unscrupulous actions were one thing. Char’s own mistakes were quite another, and for those she would have to have a reckoning with herself at some point.

  What was Rockwood doing in Vermont?

  Char’s heart lurched. Adam—

  No, he wouldn’t meddle. He had promised he wouldn’t. Adam was a man of his word. I could call him and ask him to keep an eye out for Harlan.

  “Uh-uh.”

  In for a penny, in for a pound. This disaster was her responsibility. Adam would help her if she asked; there was no question of that. He would have even before they had made love. That was the kind of man he was.

  It wasn’t, however, the kind of woman Char was: she couldn’t let herself need Adam. If she had come to no other understanding with herself since his departure Sunday night, she had realized that she couldn’t allow herself to be attracted to him out of a sense of her own desperation. If she was going to fall in love with Adam Stiles, it had to be because of who and what he was— not because she was afraid and alone and desperate.

  She pushed him out of her thoughts, or at least into the back of her mind. She couldn’t push him completely out. She knew that, because she’d tried.

  It was foliage season in New England. Rich do-nothing that Harlan Rockwood was, he had probably headed to Vermont to see the pretty leaves.

  Somehow, though, that didn’t sound like him.

  By the time Emily got home from school, Char was packed up and ready to go. “You’re taking tomorrow off,” she told her daughter, “and probably Monday, as well. I hate your missing school when you’re not sick, but this is an emergency. We’ve got business up in Vermont.”

  Emily jumped up and down and hugged her mother, and jumped up and down some more, yelling, “We’re going home!”

  Char’s heart sank as she forgot about Harlan and swindles and even Adam Stiles, confronted now, for the first time, with the raw reality of just how much Em missed Mill Brook.

  “Yeah, kiddo,” Char said, her throat tightening with fear, anticipation, nostalgia... and sadness, she supposed, for the life she and her daughter had had in Vermont. Char had given it up not just for herself, but for her daughter, as well. Leaving had been Char’s choice—not a necessity, but a choice—and Emily had had little part in that decision.

  She stroked Em’s hair and held back the tears. “We’re going home.”

  A series of meetings kept Adam reasonably distracted on Friday morning, but by midafternoon he was brooding again. He had given up any lingering hope that time would make being away from Char easier. It didn’t. As the days passed, he only grew more anxious to find out what she was up to. How was her new job, whatever it was? How was her food situation holding up? Had she come up with a plan for settling her dispute with Harlan Rockwood?

  Did she ever think about coming home to Vermont?

  Did she get lonely at night?

  Did she regret the times they had made love?

  His questions accentuated how far removed he was from her day-to-day life. He was a part of her past. He was a part of the life she had abandoned. A part of Mill Brook.

  He wasn’t a part of her dreams. Was that what she was thinking now?

  They were still unsettling questions. Questions he couldn’t answer.

  Questions, he thought, that made the weekend ahead seem interminable. He couldn’t go back to Tennessee. He needed to stick around Mill Brook for a weekend, not just for his kids’ sake, but for his own. He had things to do around the house, errands to run, a life to live. Mill Brook was home, and chasing a crackpot lawyer who hated it couldn’t be all that smart.

  But smart had damn little to do with his decision to stay home, and he knew it. He cared too much about Char to put pressure on her by chasing her. For the first time in her life she was vulnerable: she had lost her great-aunt, her job, her home, her money. For years she had been known as one of Mill Brook’s sharpest, shrewdest citizens, and the prospect of coming home broke and swindled didn’t sit well with her.

  Who was he kidding? The prospect of coming home at all didn’t sit well with Charity Bradford. She was where she wanted to be.

  Nevertheless, Adam felt that what was going on between them was real and lasting and would have happened if she had stayed in Mill Brook or gone to Arizona to raise tarantulas or Saudi Arabia to raise camels or any other damn place to raise any other damn animal. It didn’t matter that it was Tennessee and horses. It only mattered that he had finally woken up and discovered this captivating woman.

  That didn’t mean Char saw their relationship in the same light. She could have concluded that what had attracted him to her wasn’t all he knew about her from having been around her a lifetime—her strength of character, her wit, her energy, her courage, her ability. Given her knack for putting words in his mouth and thoughts in his head, she could have concluded that what had attracted him to her was her present sorry state, that current, temporary vulnerability that had her broke and living in a tent just two weeks ago.

  In which case he would have to straighten her out.

  But even more worrisome, and less easily rectified, was if Char felt that her own sense of vulnerability was what had spurred her toward him. Adam hoped it wasn’t so; he didn’t believe it was. But he realized that if Char believed she had fallen for him out of her own sense of personal failure—out of fear and depression—they were in deep trouble. Ultimately she would end up resenting him for the very strength that had drawn her to him.

  He wasn’t a man who took advantage of someone’s feelings of vulnerability and desperation. Being there for a lover was one thing. Absorbing her was quite another, and something he refused to do. Playing on Char’s weaknesses had no appeal to him; that wouldn’t make him feel stronger. When he had been vulnerable after Mel’s death and his own disabling accident, Char hadn’t played on his weaknesses. She had stood back and let him get his life back in order. They hadn’t been lovers then, of course, maybe not even friends, but they had respected each other.

  He hoped they still did.

  He wanted Char to get back on her feet. If she needed his or anyone else’s help, let her asking for it be a sign of strength and hope rather than of despair.

  Adam groaned and slammed down his pen. He had analyzed all the reasons he couldn’t go to Tennessee a thousand times since Monday. The bottom line was, the ball was in Char’s court. It was her move. He was just going to have to grit his teeth and sweat it out.

  “Excuse me—Adam?”

  The voice was rich and deep, male, with the easy rhythm of the mid-South. Adam swung around and took in the tall, rangy figure, the piercing blue eyes, the tawny hair, and climbed to his feet, not bothering to hide his surprise. “You’re the last person I expected to walk in here.”

  He and Harlan Rockwood shook hands. ‘Thanks for not throwing me out,” t
he Tennessean said dryly. “I know I’m likely to be boiled in oil around here.”

  Adam grinned. “Not with all the saws we have. Have a seat.”

  ‘Thanks, but I think I’ll stay mobile.”

  “I don’t blame you. She’s not here...”

  “I know. I checked for her car.”

  The infamous 1965 Chevrolet Bel Air driven by one Beth Stiles, former wife of Harlan Rockwood, a hard-headed woman who had long promised to run her ex-husband through the nearest saw should he show his face around Mill Brook. Slow to anger and generally good-natured, Beth was known to hold a grudge once someone got on her bad side. With anyone but Harlan Rockwood, Adam would have wondered how he would have known her car. But he recalled his sister’s tales of driving her bomb of a vehicle among the Rockwoods’ sleek sports cars. They hadn’t, to put it mildly, approved of her stubborn attachment to a car that had been old and battered even then.

  “Will she be back soon?” Harlan asked.

  “I’m not sure. You want to tell me why you’re here?”

  “Desperation,” Harlan said with a deep sigh, sinking into the leather chair by his ex-brother-in-law’s desk. “You heard Char Bradford bought into a Thoroughbred I own?”

  Adam quickly decided to maintain an air of neutrality, if not outright ignorance, on the subject of Charity Bradford’s business dealings. He said carefully, “I heard.”

  “I’ll spare you the details, but things didn’t work out. The horse didn’t perform as expected and I had to pull him. It was a major disappointment for me—and for Char, as well, I’m sure.”

  An understatement to say the least, Adam thought. He sat at his desk and kept his eyes on Harlan Rockwood, unable to figure out what the man was up to. Why come to him? Had he seen him with Char in Nashville?

  One thing was certain, Harlan Rockwood didn’t look like a swindler.

  The wealthy Tennessean went on his always well-bred way, ‘The horse’s decline was incredibly sudden and quite unpredicted. Well, one thing led to another, and I decided I had better investigate further.” He leaned back in the chair and sighed heavily, looking tired and older than the boy who had swept Beth Stiles off her feet more than a decade ago. “Again, I’ll spare you the details. Suffice to say, the horse I sidelined isn’t the same horse I started racing a year ago.”

  Adam narrowed his eyes, just barely hanging on to his neutrality. “What are you saying?”

  Harlan clenched his fists at his side, for him a major display of emotion. “I’m saying the horse I have in my pasture and have lost a considerable sum on is a ringer for the horse in which Char bought a share. My horse was stolen, apparently switched with this inferior one.” The clear, deep blue eyes that fastened on Adam were enough to tell him of Harlan Rockwood’s incisiveness—and his anger. For all his Southern charm and aristocratic breeding, this wasn’t a man Adam would want to cross. His sister, of course, wouldn’t think twice about it. Harlan added, “I came here in an effort to figure out what the hell’s going on.”

  Adam paused, digesting this new information—or this new twist on old information. He wasn’t sure which. “Then you’re saying,” he began judiciously, “that you didn’t swindle Char?”

  Harlan nearly choked. “Good Lord, of course I didn’t swindle her! If anyone’s been swindled, it’s me. I’ve lost a fortune, not to mention a terrific horse.”

  “Have you called the police?”

  “That was my first inclination, to be honest.”

  Adam nodded, having a fair idea of what was coming next. “But you didn’t.”

  “No.”

  “Instead you came to Vermont.”

  Harlan hesitated. “Yes. I—” He sighed, looking awkward, a rarity for him. “This is tricky.”

  It sure as hell was, Adam thought. “You remembered that Char and Beth are friends.”

  “Well, I’ve never had anything like this happen to me before.”

  “So, in retrospect, Char’s popping up all at once and investing in this particular horse looks pretty damn suspicious.”

  Harlan merely shrugged, saying nothing.

  “Do you think Char switched horses on you?” Adam asked.

  “I don’t know what to think, frankly. Look, Adam, I’m trying very hard not to jump to conclusions, but...” He paused, but Adam didn’t miss the flash of pain in his face. Looking away, he said, “I don’t know what Beth thinks of me. For all I know this is some elaborate scheme to get back at me for the misery I caused her.”

  “That would be criminal.”

  “Maybe things got out of hand and she and Char got in over their heads. They had to have help to pull off something like this. The horse business is crawling with unscrupulous people. It’s difficult to know who to trust, particularly for a newcomer.”

  Which, Adam thought, was no doubt why Char had chosen to go into business with Harlan in the first place. Whatever his and Beth’s problems had been, none had indicated Harlan Rockwood was anything but a wealthy, honest, intelligent Southern gentleman.

  “Maybe you should talk to Char,” Adam said. If she had swindled Harlan, she was going to unbelievable lengths to cover her tracks. Char did have a labyrinthine mind, but such deceit on her part seemed unlikely.

  ‘That’s why I’m here. I went by her office, but I gather she’s moved to another location since returning to Vermont.”

  “What do you mean? Harlan, Char isn’t in Vermont. She stayed in Tennessee.”

  Harlan’s surprise seemed genuine. “I had no idea. Where’s she living? When I’d thought we’d gotten into a bum deal together, I realized she’d lost more than she could afford to lose. She was trying to ride it out—she’s as stubborn about that sort of thing as Beth—but obviously getting deeper into debt. There was nothing I could do about the horse and, well, she blamed me, naturally. I understood at the time, but I didn’t want to be responsible for her losing even more than she already had. So I had her evicted from the house she was renting from me. The rent was fairly high,” he said, adding dryly, “not that she was paying it.”

  Even if she had had the money, Adam knew, Char wouldn’t have given Harlan another cent. “What a hellish mess,” he said under his breath.

  “I assumed she came back home and resumed her practice,” Harlan said.

  “Not a chance.”

  “Then what is she doing in Tennessee?”

  “Regrouping. She lost a lot on that horse deal, Harlan.”

  “How much?”

  Adam sighed, his instincts telling him not to meddle, his sense of honor telling him he had damn little choice. “Everything she had, just about.”

  Harlan paled. “I had no idea.”

  “Look, you and Char need to talk. I really don’t want to get in the middle here.”

  “I understand, but, Adam, I need a handle on what’s going on. Please...”

  Before Adam could give into his all-too-human urge to blab everything, he heard the familiar roar of Beth’s old Chevy outside. It needed a new muffler. If nothing else would get his sister to give up her bomb, it would be her contribution to acid rain and other air pollution problems.

  Harlan recognized the distinct sounds of a Chevrolet of another generation and jumped to his feet. Adam noted with interest, and surprise, the jumble of emotions that crossed the man’s face: fear, anger, excitement, reluctance, hurt. Mostly hurt, he decided. And swore silently. Adam now realized what before he only had suspected.

  The poor bastard hadn’t gotten over having lost Beth.

  Whether the breakup of their marriage had been more her fault or Harlan’s, Adam never knew and didn’t care. It didn’t matter. What had happened between them still pained his sister, although she would never admit as much. Now he knew it also pained his ex-brother-in-law.

  “You can slip out the lower level,” Adam said, pointing to the stairs.

  Harlan didn’t move. His eyes were locked on the front entrance.

  “You’d better hurry,” Adam said gently.
>
  “Of course.”

  He disappeared within seconds of Beth bursting through the door, all hair and flailing arms and leather portfolio. “I know he’s here,” she yelled. “Tennessee license plate, fancy car. Where is the bum?”

  “Beth—”

  “Adam, if you cover for him, I swear I’ll—”

  “He was here. He just left through the lower level. If he’s smart, he’s moving fast.”

  Beth didn’t listen further. She bounded back to the front door, tore it open and leaped outside. “Coward!” she yelled, and slammed the door, breathing hard.

  “Missed him?” Adam asked mildly.

  She gave her older brother a sheepish grin. “Didn’t you hear the screech? Hope he doesn’t take the signpost with him.”

  “Well, you can hardly blame the guy.”

  “I’d have been civilized,” she said airily, but hoarsely, and she had to cough to get her voice back after so much yelling.

  “Right.”

  “You want to tell me what’s going on? First Char’s spotted in town, now Harlan—”

  Adam went rigid. “Char?”

  “Yeah. As in Charity Winnifred Bradford. Hank spotted her car in the village. Adam, you okay? I doubt Char’s after your hide unless—what’d you do to her in Tennessee?”

  Ignoring his sister’s probing look, Adam grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair. “Damned if I know what’s going on,” he told Beth. “But it’s time I found out.”

  “I’m going with you.”

  “No.” He had to think on his feet: “Look, I need you to cover for me with a client in twenty minutes. The file’s right there on my desk.”

  “Adam—”

  “Beth, please. I’ll give you a full report.”

  “When?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “I don’t like this, Adam,” his sister said.

  Adam didn’t respond. Whatever her reasons, Char was in Vermont. In Mill Brook.

  She was home.

  It wasn’t much, but it was more than he’d had an hour ago. “I guess I’ll get back when I get back.”

  “You do that,” Beth said, and plunked herself down at his desk to look for his mythical file.