Summer on Honeysuckle Ridge (Highland Falls Book 1)

by Debbie Mason

  Hunter strode across the lot and through the sliding doors, getting hit by a blast of cool air and the smell of fruit when he entered the store. Above the sound of pop rock playing over the speakers, he heard a familiar laugh. He followed the sound to the deli, where Abby was talking to an attractive black woman with vibrant blue shoulder-length hair.

  If Hunter wasn’t mistaken, the woman had bought the local beauty salon a few years back. And since she was a local, he didn’t understand why Abby was acting like they were lifelong friends.

  “Abby, we’ve gotta get going. Hey.” He lifted his chin at the other woman, relieved that he didn’t know her well enough that she reacted to his presence like it was the Second Coming. He took Abby by the arm to drag her away but she shook him off and did the air-kiss-cheek thing with the woman, whose name he learned was Josie. Abby promised to call her and meet for coffee before returning to his side.

  “Hunter, that was so rude. Josie was just telling me the latest gossip about my ex’s cosmetics company. She attended a beauty conference in New York last month.” She touched her hair. “Which reminds me, I have to book an appointment before I go back to LA. Anyhoo, Chandler’s company’s latest shampoo is frying customers’ hair. It’s true,” she said, obviously mistaking his stare as disbelief instead of what it was—a bleed in his brain.

  He needed to get her out of there and back to the farm before he lost his mind.

  A couple with a little boy walked by, and Abby smiled. “Hi. I love your hair,” she said to the woman. “Do you go to Josie’s?”

  “Thanks. Yeah, I do. Your hair is great too.”

  “You’re so sweet, thank you. I—”

  She looked like she was settling in to have herself another twenty-minute chat so Hunter took her by the arm and dragged her toward the cash register. “You folks have a good night.”

  “Hunter! I’m not finished.” She showed him her basket, which held a raw meat bone the size of her arm, a package of cold meat, and a brick of cheese.

  “You’re not finished because—” He broke off when a man wearing coke-bottle glasses walked over with a bag of dog food in his hand.

  He greeted Hunter with a nod—someone else he didn’t know, thank God—and greeted Abby with a hundred-watt smile. “The manager said it’ll take him about a week to get the brand you want, but he called his sister—she’s a vet—and she said this one is almost as good, Abby.”

  “Really? That was so sweet of him to go to all that trouble. Make sure you thank him for me, Walter.” She gave the fiftysomething man’s arm a friendly squeeze. “And don’t forget”—she leaned in to him and whispered—“no more black hair dye. Silver is where it’s at, Walter. Trust me, the ladies won’t be able to resist you.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so.” She winked, then looked at Hunter and sighed. “I better go. Hangry man.”

  “Would you stop calling me hangry,” Hunter said when the other man was out of hearing range.

  “Stop acting like one. Now, I just need a few more things, and we’ll be on our way.” She looked at her phone. “Do you know where—”

  “Give me your phone. It’ll be faster if I do it.” When she shook her head, he plucked it from her hand.

  “Hunter! Give me my phone. That’s private.”

  He held the phone out of her reach as he tried to read her grocery list. He frowned, unable to make out half the words on her list. He looked at her. Her cheeks matched her cherry-red lips, and he figured that was as good an answer to the question he wanted to ask as any. Still, he wanted to know for sure, which should concern him. “Are you dyslexic?”

  “Something like that,” she murmured, taking her phone back.

  “What do you mean?” He followed her down the bread aisle, thinking about her creative cursing the other night and earlier today at the hardware store when she called him a flerk. “Abby?”

  She stopped to peruse the bread, then glanced at him. “If you tell me why everyone, well, everyone who knows you, acts like it’s a miracle you came to town. What happened two years ago, Hunter? Why do you hide away at Honeysuckle Farm?”

  Someone would tell her if she stuck around long enough. But none of them knew the whole story. “I’ll get the flour, eggs, ice cream, milk, and butter.” Those were easy enough to figure out. “You get the rest.”

  He didn’t know whether she was relieved to be let off the hook or not. He knew he was. He hit the dairy aisle, picked up what he wanted, grabbed a bag of flour, and went back to find her talking to Walter in the same aisle where he’d left her.

  “What? There’s too many to choose from.” She glanced down as he placed the dairy items in her basket. “Umm, chocolate ice cream. Nice.”

  He took her by the arm. “Read the rest of your list to me,” he said, then proceeded to move her up and down the aisles at a more reasonable pace.

  “Oh my gosh, you’re going so fast, you’d think I was an A-list celebrity and you’d spotted my stalker on aisle five.”

  “Six. Walter is following us.”

  “He’s pretty protective of me, and you’re acting—”

  “You met him twenty minutes ago!” He raised a finger when she opened her mouth. He couldn’t take another one of her long-winded, convoluted explanations. “Are we done now?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s about time.” He’d never been happier to reach the checkout line.

  “You act like I’ve been in here an hour when I’ve hardly taken any time at all. In LA, it would’ve taken me longer to find a parking spot than it’s taken me to shop today,” she said, digging around in her oversized pink purse. “Sorry, it’ll just take me a minute,” she told the cashier, who’d rung her purchases through.

  Five minutes later, his patience completely gone, Hunter pulled his wallet from his back pocket. He handed the cashier the money, gathered up the bags, and headed for the door.

  Behind him, he heard Abby thanking the cashier and apologizing for him being so cranky. At the sound of her heels clicking on the tiles as she hurried to catch up to him, he said, “Slow down.” He put his back against the door to hold it open for her. His eyes went over her head, and he groaned. He thought his day had been bad, but it had just taken a turn for the worse.

  “What did I do now?”

  “Nothing. Just avoid eye contact with the Betty White look-alike coming our way, and whatever you do, don’t let her touch you.”

  Chapter Nine

  Abby frowned at Hunter as she stepped out of the grocery store. Watch out for Betty White look-alikes? She must’ve heard him wrong. Maybe the embarrassment caused by Hunter asking if she was dyslexic had messed with her hearing. It was definitely messing with her head. She kept replaying the moment in her mind, wishing she’d handled it differently.

  She could’ve said Darn that auto correct or that it was her version of shorthand. But she found it hard to lie or think up a believable excuse when she felt like a deer frozen in the middle of the road, headlights burning into her retinas as a car barreled toward her. Splat. Just like that, her secret was exposed.

  The only consolation was that, other than Hunter, no one here knew her secret, or at least part of it. But really, in the whole scheme of things, what could it hurt? Hunter had already seen her at her worst—over and over again—and he avoided people as though his life depended on it, so it wasn’t like he’d tell anyone.

  Hunter’s face appeared in her line of vision. It was a very handsome face, even though, the majority of the time, when those crystal-blue eyes looked at her, they were filled with irritation or frustration. Except that one time in the truck when he’d looked like he’d wanted to kiss her.

  “Abby, snap out of it. We’ve gotta go.”

  He definitely didn’t want to kiss her now, she thought at the irritation in his gruff command.

  “Sorry, your talk about a Betty White look-alike threw me.” If she’d heard him right, that was a pretty good comeback. She glanced across
the parking lot, relieved to see a white-haired woman who did indeed look like the actress. Beside her, a twentysomething woman with amazing chestnut-colored hair tucked the older woman’s arm through hers.

  “You’re right,” Abby said. “She does look like Betty White, and the woman beside her looks like Nina Dobrev’s twin. Elena on The Vampire Diaries,” she explained at Hunter’s blank look.

  Well, it was either a blank look or he’d gone from irritated to angry. She’d noticed that his whole demeanor took on a glacial aspect when he was angry. It was crazy how well she’d come to read this man in such a short time. His eyes—wow, she hadn’t noticed until just then how long and lush his lashes were. But his eyes still had that blank thing going on so she added, “It’s another television series that the Bel Air Bs were obsessed with. It was before my time though. And I’m not into any of that supernatural stuff like time travel and vampires. You have to believe it to be able to—”

  “You think I’m joking about not making eye contact with her, don’t you?” he interrupted, and she now knew why she’d just then noticed his eyelashes. He was totally in her space. “You’ll find out soon enough. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He strode off, lifting the bags higher as if to hide his face.

  If his arms weren’t full of her groceries—groceries that he was not only carrying but that he’d paid for—she had no doubt he’d be dragging her to his truck just like he’d dragged her up and down the aisles. Despite her curiosity about Betty White’s look-alike, she hurried after him. “Okay, okay. I’m coming. Thanks for paying for my groceries, by the way,” she said when she reached his side. “I must’ve left my wallet at the farmhouse. I’ll pay you back though.”

  He glanced to his left, muttered what sounded like a not-so-nice word, then said, “You can pay me back by getting in the truck without saying one word to—”

  “Hunter Mackenzie, is that really you?”

  He dragged a deep breath through his nostrils before turning with what he probably meant to be a smile but looked more like a pained grimace. “Hey, Granny MacLeod. It’s good to see you.”

  Abby gasped. “That’s your granny and you were trying to sneak away from her without saying hello? Hunter Mackenzie, you should be ashamed of yourself. I don’t know what your problem is with—” She gave the older woman an apologetic smile for her grandson’s anti-social behavior.

  “She’s not my granny,” he said through what sounded like clenched teeth.

  The older woman smiled at Abby and lifted a crooked finger. “I ken that face and those witchy green-gold eyes. You’d be a Findlay, wouldn’t you, lass?”

  Betty White with a Scottish accent threw her as much as her comment did, but Abby regained her composure and smiled, offering her hand. “Yes, I’m Abby Everhart.”

  Hunter’s sharp intake of breath had her glancing his way. Oh crap, he’d warned her not to let the older woman touch her. But just as Abby remembered his warning, a blue-veined hand with dry, crepe-paper-thin skin closed around hers. And while the hand looked and felt delicate, Granny MacLeod’s grip certainly wasn’t.

  “A month from now, in the forest deep, you’ll die as you came into this world—alone. The fear and shame that led you on the path will die as well. This I see, so it will be.”

  Abby stared at the woman, who’d had a vacant expression on her face only seconds before and was now smiling.

  Granny MacLeod released Abby’s hand and glanced from her to Hunter. The older woman’s smile faded, no doubt in reaction to the glacial expression on Hunter’s face and the shocked-spitless one on Abby’s.

  “I did it again, didn’t I?” She gave Abby an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry if I frightened you. It’s beyond my control. I have the second sight, you see. A gift passed down to the eldest female MacLeod of every generation.” She looked at Hunter with compassion in her kind, wise eyes. “I’d not have you hurt again, lad. I hope whatever I’ve prophesied won’t cause you more pain.”

  “I’m sure it won’t. He’ll be only too happy to get rid of me, although dying seems a little extreme.” Abby forced a laugh that sounded completely fake.

  Hunter turned away to load the groceries in the back of the truck.

  “Granny, you promised you wouldn’t touch anyone today,” the younger woman said as she reached them. She made a face, then offered her hand, laughing when Abby stared down at it. “It’s okay, I don’t have the gift. My older cousin is supposedly in line for the honor. Bless her. I’m Sadie Gray, by the way,” she introduced herself when Abby shook her hand. “And don’t let Granny’s prophecies freak you out. Yesterday, she told me I was pregnant and that I was going to be arrested on suspicion of kidnapping, if you can believe it.”

  “I wouldna be so quick to make fun of your granny’s gift,” Betty White’s look-alike said with a pointed glance at Sadie’s stomach.

  The younger woman’s jaw dropped. “Gran!” Then she looked down at her tight white T-shirt and denim shorts and grimaced. “Have you never heard of stress eating? I’m entitled to gain a few pounds after what I’ve been through.”

  “Hey, Sadie. Everything okay?” Hunter asked.

  “Hey, Hunter. It’s been awhile.” She looked like she wanted to hug him but held herself back, raising a shoulder instead. “You know my brother. He’s off to make his fortune and left me holding the bag. Again. This time he left me to run Highland Tours, his latest get-rich scheme that’s barely breaking even. But who knows, I might sell out this weekend’s farm tours.” She held up a stack of flyers. “Walter called and said they need more. That’s a good sign, right?”

  “Do you mind?” Abby asked, holding out her hand for a flyer.

  “Not at all. It’s a shame Honeysuckle Farm can’t be on the tour this year. It was always a popular stop.”

  “Really? Do people pay admission?” Abby asked, thinking this might be the answer to her money problems. At least enough to cover everyday expenses like food and cell phone bills.

  * * *

  Hunter leaned against the headrest of the driver’s seat before starting the truck. He needed a minute to regroup. Granny MacLeod’s prophecy had shaken him. As much as he’d like to follow Sadie’s lead and brush it off as nothing, he couldn’t.

  Three years ago this past April, there’d been a party at Highland Brew before they’d headed to Fort Bragg to prepare for their upcoming tour. It had been loud, the beer flowing and music playing. They were all on a high. They were adrenaline junkies, addicted to the adventure, to making a difference. He’d been steering Sloane into a quiet corner to get five minutes alone with her when he’d felt a tug on his hand. It was Granny MacLeod, come to wish him well.

  Every word of the chilling prophecy she’d uttered that night had come true.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Abby went to buckle up. She stopped, her hand frozen in midair with the seat belt hanging from it, her eyes going wide.

  Here it comes, he thought. He’d been wondering how long it would take once they were in the privacy of the truck for her to break down. He was surprised she’d held it together this long.

  “My ice cream!” she cried. “It’ll be melted. Would you mind if I went in and got another carton? Please.” She made prayer hands. “I promise I won’t be long. I’ll even share it with you.”

  “Not five minutes ago you were told you have one month to live, and you’re worried about your ice cream?”

  “I wanted my ice cream before, but because of Granny MacLeod’s prophecy, now I need it. Not that I really believe in that sort of thing. It’s like I said earlier—I don’t buy into the whole supernatural, vampire, time-travel kind of deal.”

  “She didn’t say anything about time travel or vampires. She said you were going to die in the woods.”

  She stared at him.

  “Sorry, that was stupid. The last thing you need is to be reminded of what she said. But you’re right, you know. It’s pseudo-science. There’s no evidence that supports it. Scots are su
perstitious, especially the older generation who didn’t grow up here.”

  He’d said the same to Sloane that night three years ago. He’d believed it then but he didn’t now. He had to get Abby out of Highland Falls before the month was up. “Don’t worry about your ice cream. I put it in a cooler. You’re good.”

  “That’s great, thank you,” she said as she snapped her seat belt into place. “And there’s no need to apologize. It probably looked like I was going to freak out because you brought up Granny MacLeod’s prophecy, but it was actually the exact opposite. By repeating it the way you did, in that lovely blunt manner you have”—she grinned at him—“I figured it out. She wasn’t seeing my future. She saw my past. I already died in the woods.”

  “Say what?”

  “Okay, you’ll have a hard time believing this, but I used to love the great outdoors. Maybe not as much as you, because you’re extreme, but I really did enjoy traipsing through the woods. My dad and I used to hike every weekend. It didn’t matter what the weather was like. We’d head out at first light and wouldn’t make it home until the sun had disappeared on the horizon.”

  She looked out the passenger-side window as though remembering. “I was twelve. It was late September, and time had gotten away from us. It was getting dark when we began heading back down the trail. I’m not sure how it happened. I’d run ahead of my dad, and then, all of a sudden, the ground gave way beneath me. I don’t remember anything after that. I was told I hit my head on the rockface before my twenty-foot free fall was broken by a tree. I had a stroke when search-and-rescue were carrying me down the trail. For a few minutes, my heart stopped. I slipped into a coma and didn’t regain consciousness for two weeks.”

  The clumsiness, the spelling, the times where she rambled and lost focus all began to make sense.

  She glanced at him. “You’re putting it together now, aren’t you?” She lifted a shoulder. “It took a lot of doctors and nurses to put me back together again. A lot of money and time too.”