The Way Love Goes

by Pauline Saull

“It’s a lovely old town. You must come and see where he lived. Oh, excuse me, Mom. I just heard a vehicle. It must be my furniture.”

  “Furniture! Oh, my. I do believe you intend staying, Freya.”

  “Maybe. I don’t know yet. Must go, Mom. I do love you, you know. Give me time to adjust to all this, it’s been quite a revelation. Coming to live in his house has really made me aware of my father.”

  She closed the screen and ran through to open the front door.

  It wasn’t the furniture van in the driveway, but the silver Jaguar.

  Flynn, in tight, black jeans and a white shirt, walked toward her. Freya silently cursed her baggy trousers and scruffy T-shirt.

  “Good morning.” Flynn strode onto the porch. “Lovely day.” He smiled, causing a ridiculous fluttering in her stomach.

  Heaven’s above, he looks good enough to eat!

  She wet her lips. “Morning. Yes, it is.”

  He nodded toward her car. “I see the rental car’s gone. Neat Beetle.” He looked at her steadily. “Helluva long way to drive to Philadelphia in it though.”

  Freya held his gaze. “Mm, it is. If I decide to go that is.”

  He chuckled softly. “Aren’t you going to ask me in? I can,” he added, “smell coffee.”

  Freya stepped back. “Of course. Go into the kitchen.” She was determined not to have him walk at the back of her!

  Though walking behind him she kept her eyes on his shoulders, not allowing them to slip any lower. In the kitchen, walking past him to the machine, and very much aware of his closeness, she found herself wondering what on earth was wrong with her. She was behaving like an idiot.

  “Milk, sugar?” she asked coolly.

  “Just milk thanks.”

  Freya found his attention disturbing. It’s those darn those blue eyes. I bet they miss nothing! The machine gurgled and hissed as it poured out a perfect latte.

  “I’m impressed.” Flynn laughed. She handed it to him and he took a sip. “Superb!”

  “You haven’t,” Freya said smoothly, “called on me just in the hope of a cup of coffee, have you?” He grinned and she found herself thinking she wouldn’t have cared if he’d wanted to discuss a jock-strap itch, it felt so good to have him in her sun-drenched kitchen.

  Flynn put his cup down. “No,” he agreed. “Though it’s very good. No, I’ve dropped by because now we’re neighbors, and I was passing by, and well, there you go, it’s what we do around here.”

  “Really?” Freya smiled. “I quite like the idea of such a friendly neighborhood. This would never happen in Philly.” She lifted the hair from the back of her neck, which had become very hot.

  “Well,” Flynn said. “The other thing about living in Morvenna is that we tend to look out for each other, so I’ll be honest with you. Mom told me you called earlier, said you sounded—and this was her word—spooked.”

  Freya glanced down. “Your mom is very observant.” The silence in the kitchen was broken by the hiss of the coffee machine. “A fill-up?” she asked.

  “No, thanks. Want to talk about it?”

  Freya looked at him. “How well did you know Archie?”

  Flynn leaned back and hooked a finger into his belt. “I’d say pretty well… at least I thought I did.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Look, your…Archie agreed to something which I was foolish enough not to get legalized.”

  “I know about a verbal agreement. Is that what you’re referring to?”

  Flynn nodded. “I know that you’ve only just arrived here and all of this is a lot to take in, but I also would like to make my position clear to you. I don’t want any misunderstanding between us…”

  “Go on.”

  “You know about my business, golf courses. Well the land behind this house is ideal for one. Archie approved, seemed excited by the idea, said he’d sell to me, and well, I just thought it would happen in his own time. But,” Flynn stopped to stroke his chin, “in the last few months he seemed to change, wasn’t as outgoing or easy to talk to. He spent a lot of his time indoors. Any attempts I made to try and talk with him about the plans were met with polite but firm refusals. Mom sometimes got to see him when she made meals for him, but what was really unusual was the fact he seemed to shut out Gramps too.”

  “Have you any idea why he should have changed so dramatically?”

  “No. None at all. There didn’t seem to be any logical explanation for it.”

  Freya frowned, walked to the sink, put her cup in, and turned to face Flynn. “With what you’ve just said, well, I, err, have found something I’m not happy with,” she said. “Did you know he kept a firearm under the sofa?”

  Flynn stared at her. “You’re joking!”

  “No, I’m not. I was moving the old furniture out. It was stuck underneath it. Come, have a look.” She led him into the lounge and pointed to the gun.

  “Holy Moses! Why would Archie want that? He wouldn’t harm a fly.” Flynn picked it up and cocked the barrel. “It’s empty thank goodness, but what the heck has been going on here?”

  Freya watched him. That Flynn should be so shocked worried her. Archie keeping a firearm under the sofa clearly went against everything he knew about him.

  “Do you want me to remove it?” Flynn asked quietly.

  “Yes, please.” Freya shivered. “Do you think…well, could he have been suffering with the start of dementia? You said his behavior had changed.”

  Flynn nodded. “I did. But he was definitely fully compos mentis, of that I’m sure. There’s only one other explanation.”

  Freya blinked, her eyes widening in alarm. “Which is?”

  “He was frightened by something.”

  “Surely not. A man like Archie? Everything I’ve been told about him says otherwise. No, I don’t believe it.” Freya walked to the French window. “I wish I’d never found it.” She shook her head and thought a moment. “No, I think he only intended shooting the squirrels. They’re in the loft space.”

  Flynn shook his head. “I’ve told you, Freya. He wouldn’t harm a fly. And where’s the ammo? You can’t frighten squirrels off by waving a gun at them.”

  “Then what …?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll ask Gramps if he knows anything. But first of all, let me get that sofa outside for you.”

  Freya watched as he pushed it out onto the patio.

  “Don’t try and shift anything else as heavy as that again,” he said. “Give me a call. Mike and I will do it. Okay?” He walked out into the hall, and about to exit the door, said quietly, “Don’t look so worried. Like you said, perhaps he probably just intended to frighten the critters, forgot to buy ammo, slid it under the sofa, and didn’t give it another thought.”

  “Well, that makes me feel a little better.”

  Flynn smiled. “Good. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  They were close. So close, looking up, Freya could see the dark, thick lashes fringing his eyes, the tiny mole to one side of his mouth, and she swayed slightly… or was it him?

  Flynn touched her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” She stepped back. “Fine. Oh, and here’s the van with my stuff. I’ve been looking forward to this.”

  Flynn looked behind him and then back to her. “You really do intend staying then?”

  “For the moment, yes. And while I’m here I might as well be comfortable. Don’t you agree?”

  He smiled slowly. The white teeth, the pink tip of his tongue drawing her eyes to his mouth. “Of course.” He slipped the gun behind his back. “I’ll get this out of the way before the delivery men get any ideas.”

  And before she had a chance to say anything else, he quickly walked to his car, slid into the driver’s seat, and without another look in her direction drove off.

  Freya watched the car disappear down the drive and felt a stab of remorse. She hadn’t even thanked him for his help.

  The next few hours kept her busy. With the new furniture and rugs i
n place in the lounge, it now looked homely and welcoming. Apart from the major plumbing and electrical work, which she’d resigned herself to having done, plus some remedial work on the outside, the house wasn’t as bad as she’d expected after Mr. Wainright’s description. It would be a pleasure slowly making each room as comfortable as this one. She glanced at the wide marble mantle. It needed something. Freya walked back to the fireplace, stood on tip toe, and saw what she hadn’t noticed before—a photo frame lying flat. Picking it up, she gasped softly.

  There he was, the tall, red-haired, bearded Scotsman, her father. Gazing into the lens, a wistful smile lighting his face as he accepted some sort of award, dated three years earlier. Freya could see immediately where her looks had come from, and it saddened her even more that she’d never known him.

  She placed it carefully upright and saw a second unframed photo that had been beneath it. This was again of Archie, undated, and beside him a small, frail, melancholy-looking woman. Archie had his arm around her waist, but the body language gave the appearance of a distance in the embrace.

  “How sad,” Freya murmured.

  She suspected there would be many more personal effects in Archie’s old bedroom, but she wasn’t ready to venture there just yet.

  Chapter Eight

  The morning of the barbeque held the promise of another beautiful California day. The palest, clear blue sky, already starting to deepen, was vast and cloudless. Freya stretched and yawned, feeling delighted that so close to the end of the year it could still be warm. She smiled as she heard the daily to and froing of the squirrels. Did they nest up there, she wondered.

  Hands behind her head, she gazed out the window and deliberated on the coming afternoon, aware that the excitement at seeing Flynn again was uppermost in her mind.

  That she had found him so highly attractive on their first meeting concerned her. It hadn’t happened to her before, this crazy, whirling feeling, racing pulse, a feeling of being almost out of control. That moment in the hallway yesterday… If he’d have reached for her, what would she have done, grabbed him? The thought made her squirm. Oh, God, it would have been so embarrassing, not just for him but herself too. The tension she’d felt had been incredible, thrilling, and highly arousing, though the aftermath of those emotions now only made her feel foolish and annoyed with herself. I have, she resolved firmly, to keep myself in check this afternoon. I’m acting like a love-sick schoolgirl!

  Under the drizzling cool shower, her thoughts strayed back to her father, the gun, and the reason for it being in the house. Had someone or something worried him enough for him to arm himself? She soaped her body thoroughly, her mind racing.

  But who would do that?

  The possible shocking answer which sidled into her mind took her breath away. Turning off the shower, she stepped out, grabbed a towel, and wrapped it around herself. She was shivering.

  Flynn O’Neill?

  Freya sank onto the bed, horrified by the idea. Had he, she wondered, wanted Archie’s land so badly that he’d tried to frighten him…an elderly man? The idea being that her father, eager to be away from the place, would willingly sell to the only man who it appeared wanted it, Flynn O’Neill, the kindly neighbor there waiting to take it off his hands?

  Freya stared at a spot on the floor where the sun hit the floorboards. She did not want to believe such madness, but who else wanted that piece of land so desperately? Who else had such easy access to the house?

  She shivered and hugged herself as another thought struck. Here she was now, living in Byron House, and Flynn still wanted the land.

  What he had done to frighten Archie he could just as easily do to her—and yet, surely, when he’d seen the gun, his reaction had appeared to be as genuinely concerned as her own?

  “Stop it, stop it!” she admonished loudly, flinging the towel on the bed, determined to put all such thoughts out of her mind. Flynn would not stoop so low. There must be another explanation.

  And besides, Freya reminded herself, I am my father’s daughter and don’t scare easy, nor do I believe he did. He was a Scot!

  »»•««

  From his house set high on the hillside, Flynn had a fantastic view across the wide, lush valley, which he now stared at, a cup of tea balanced on his knee. He’d awoken early, the caterers had delivered the food, and everything was all neatly stowed in the fridge on covered platters ready to be set out. Marinated meats and a whole Atlantic salmon were also ready, white wines were in the cooler, and trestle tables laid on the terrace by the pool. With everything in place, he’d showered, wrapped himself in a towel, and made a cup of tea. He had the morning to himself. Tipping back in his chair he recalled the moment in the hallway with Freya the previous day.

  “Freya.”

  He ran a hand through his wet hair. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. Where it would have led if instead of steadying her as she swayed, he’d embraced her, had constantly been on his mind. His gaze moved down to the rooftop of Byron House, the wild back garden, and beyond that the two hundred unspoiled acres he so wanted. He started and dropped the chair upright as the door at the rear of the house opened and she came out. From where he sat on the veranda she looked tiny. He carried on watching her wander through the tangled growth, stopping to inspect plants. She appeared to be wearing a short wraparound garment, and he caught a brief glimpse of a slender, long leg as she leaned over to the back of the border. Even from afar he could see how the sun picked out the reds and gold of her amazing hair. Her body would be pale, he thought, pale and very beautiful. He groaned, tightened the towel around his waist, and rose to his feet. At that moment, Freya turned, glancing up in his direction. He saw her shading her eyes against the bright, low sun and felt a jolt in his stomach. Satisfied she hadn’t seen him, Flynn went indoors.

  Besides thinking about Freya, there were other urgent matters on his mind.

  The gun!

  What was that about? He hadn’t said so to Freya, but if Archie had been worried enough to buy one, something had definitely scared him. And knowing Archie’s aversion to the things, Flynn was at a loss to understand what had made him do it.

  Now, the thought of Freya in the house alone concerned him.

  There were idiots in every town, no matter how nicely cultured the majority of the occupants were.

  He didn’t need this angst. He had enough on his plate. Picking up his cell, he started to dial Rochelle’s number. He’d invite her over for breakfast, just the two of them, and let the situation develop, take his mind off Freya. But just as quickly, he clicked it shut.

  It was not at all what he wanted.

  »»•««

  By the time she’d dressed for the barbeque, Freya’s excitement had mounted, but it was mixed with a high dose of trepidation.

  She wanted to see him. Badly. And such intense feelings surely only spelled…danger? Finding someone so physically arousing could most likely make her end up looking like a complete idiot.

  Get a grip, Freya!

  She brushed her hair vigorously. A glance in the mirror showed the anticipatory glitter in her eyes, an undeniable sheen to her skin, and the fullness of her mouth. After carefully applying a touch of coral lipstick, she stood, turning sideways, liking the way the soft turquoise skirt clung, and felt empowered, on the verge of something wild.

  She checked the clock. Ten minutes to go. Just at that moment the hallway phone rang, and she ran to answer it.

  “Honey, it’s me.”

  “Lucy? You sound… Lucy are you crying?”

  “Oh, Freya. The Doc’s told me he’s married. I can’t believe it. How could he?”

  “Luce, oh, Lucy. Honey, that’s just awful. I don’t know what else to say except, damn him.”

  The crying had stopped.

  “That’s not the worst of it. He has two children and another on the way,” Lucy said tonelessly. “Well, at least I know what all the dithering was about now, the pathetic excuses about wanting a break. Good ridd
ance to him.”

  Freya heard in those few brave words Lucy’s true desperation, and her heart ached for her friend.

  “Oh, Luce! Now I really don’t know what to say.”

  “I know. There’s nothing anyone can say that will make me feel any better. I just had to speak to you.” She sighed. “Honey, I’m so sorry, the first week in your new home an’ all, but I feel as though I’ve been kicked in the stomach.”

  “I bet you do. Look, could you get time off, come to me?” Freya asked.

  “Not right now I can’t. But I’ll have a word at work. In fact, I’m thinking of leaving. I can’t see any reason for staying now. I’ll see what I can do in a few weeks when I’m feeling a little more grounded, okay? And thanks for listening, dear friend.”

  The call ended, and collecting her bag, Freya locked the house and set off for the barbeque in a more somber mood.

  Who needs love?

  Flynn’s home was easy to find. At the end of the road, gates opened to a private driveway that wound upward, finally stopping before the lovely white house. Long, low, and very modern, Freya could see what a great view it had over the valley and, she noted getting out of her car, there was her own house down below. She thought back to the morning, the figure she’d seen disappearing from this very terrace, and knew it had been him. She smiled, recalling wandering around the garden in the skimpy pink wrap.

  The forecourt was packed with expensive-looking vehicles, and as Freya locked hers she heard Flynn’s voice. Her stomach flipped.

  “Hey, Freya! You found it okay?”

  He ambled down the few steps from the front veranda looking fantastic in black, well-cut trousers and a cream linen shirt.

  “Easy,” she said lightly. “Great place you have. Amazing views.”

  “Yeah.” He pointed to the chair on the veranda. “My favorite place at the end of the day. Sunsets are spectacular.”

  “I can imagine. And mornings…sunrise?”

  He looked at her. “Yup. Those too. Come on, everyone’s dying to meet you.” He took her elbow lightly, but Freya moved away as they walked onto the veranda through open French doors into a stunning, simply furnished black-and-white modern lounge. Shots of hot color in throws and cushions stood out brazenly, but with taste. Directly opposite the front French windows, another set of doors led out onto the back terrace, which was crowded with people. The large, turquoise swimming pool glittered in the afternoon sun with only a few people in it.