Hazel had been a veritable fount of information these last five days, regaling him with stories of Birch’s teenage years, including her daughter’s pet names for each of the nefarious husbands. And after asking how to spell a French word so he could try out his new translation app, Niall had found a long list of colorful curses Birch was fond of using sitting on his desk the next morning, complete with pronunciations—on the chance he wanted to use them himself, Hazel had written at the bottom.
Niall decided the woman was an organizational wonder. She was also a nester. Hoping she truly did have a gift for getting people to part with their money and not that she was using her own, Niall had noticed his police station filling up with furniture, electronic equipment, and . . . hell, this morning he’d found an area rug in the holding cell, curtains on the barred windows, and a handmade quilt on the narrow cot. He now had an even larger desk, since Hazel had commandeered his old desk and given the small one to Jake.
Niall had no idea how the woman had managed it so quickly, but Jake and Cole were strutting around in crisp blue uniforms, complete with leather belts loaded down with an impressive array of law-enforcement paraphernalia. As for their heads, Hazel had proclaimed that dark blue baseball caps embroidered with the new Bottomless Sea Police Force logo she was having professionally designed would make them appear far sexier than the deputy sheriffs and state police. Honest to God, the two men were worse than nine-year-olds, and had been asking Hazel every day for the last three days when the caps were coming in.
Cole’s truck had been delivered, and although also blue and loaded with lights, it wasn’t quite as flashy as Jake’s. But it would look just as impressive, Hazel had assured him, once the new decals arrived for the doors.
They never did find the white car that had forced Birch off the road, and there was no record of a Leonard Calvin Struthers crossing the border. And just yesterday Sam had informed them—after using his own network of sources—that Hazel’s fourth husband had likely assumed the identity of the real Leonard Struthers, who had conveniently died six years ago.
All of which left them with exactly zero to go on. And even though Birch wasn’t talking to him, she had listened when Niall explained what they’d learned so far, which he’d followed up by once again reiterating—this time nicely—that it was important she not be traveling alone until they could discover who was out to get her and why.
Aye, Birch may have a quick temper and lion-sized attitude, but she obviously also had a strong desire to stay alive. His offer to take her to a gravel pit and teach her how to shoot, however, had been answered with a haughty glare before she’d silently turned and walked away.
He’d have to ask Hazel about her daughter’s aversion to guns.
Niall eased his foot off the accelerator when he noticed a man exiting the road that led down to the Kents’ home and decided from the description Logan had given him last week that it was Silas French.
How convenient, since he’d been looking to meet Mr. French. Niall checked his rearview mirror and ordered Shep into the backseat, then lowered the passenger window as he pulled up alongside the man. “Would ye care for a ride?”
The man stopped and looked at him, then slipped off his small backpack and climbed in the truck. “Thanks,” he said, setting the pack on the floor between his feet and closing the door. He reached a hand toward Niall. “Silas French.”
“Niall MacKeage,” Niall said, shaking his hand then starting off again. “Would you be the gentleman staying with Logan Kent?”
“I am,” Silas said, glancing over his shoulder as he fastened his seatbelt. “Can I pat the dog or will I pull back a stump?”
“Your choice, Mr. French, as Shep only bites criminals.”
That got him a chuckle as Silas twisted in his seat and held out his hand to Shep. “He’s a Chessie, isn’t he?”
“So I’ve been told,” Niall said, watching in his mirror as Shep took a sniff of the offered hand, then gave a doggy sigh when Silas tickled his throat.
“I guess I’m not a criminal,” his passenger said with another chuckle, facing forward again. “And just so you know, I intended to walk to town, not hitchhike.”
“I don’t have a problem with a grown man sticking out his thumb,” Niall assured him. “Providing all he’s wanting is a ride.”
“As opposed to?” Silas said softly.
“As opposed to bumming free room and board off a lonely old man.”
“I’m earning my keep doing repairs on the house,” Silas said, bending to unzip the front pouch on his backpack. “Logan’s too stiff to be climbing a ladder, and his roof was letting in more rain than it was repelling.” He pulled out a classified ads magazine. “I’m heading in town to see about buying a motorcycle from someone named Titus Oceanus.” Silas pointed to a circled ad on one of the pages. “When I called, he told me he lives on Whisper Cove Road. Do you know Mr. Oceanus, and can you tell me where Whisper Cove Road is?”
“Aye. Titus lives about two miles down the first camp road after the church. So he’s selling his bike, is he?” Niall chuckled. “I imagine his wife put him up to it.” Now that her husband is mortal, he refrained from adding. He looked over at Silas. “It’s one of the more expensive models.”
“That won’t be a problem,” his passenger said, shoving the book in his pack. “As a matter of fact, I came here hoping to buy a large tract of land right on Bottomless.”
“Came here from where?”
“From all over, actually, but most recently from Newfoundland.”
“Can I ask why ye chose Maine to settle down in, and this area in particular?”
“Despite all the wonders of this vast world, I guess I’m American at heart. I chose Maine because your state allows charter schools and this area in particular because I can’t imagine a better place to establish a school that focuses on ecology. Maine already has the College of the Atlantic and Unity College, but no high schools with curriculums aimed at students wanting to move straight into self-employment. And in my opinion, developing cottage industries that cater to environmentally concerned consumers is a good way to grow a sustainable economy.”
“Like raising bees,” Niall said. “Logan told me ye feel he can nicely supplement his income by selling honey.”
Silas nodded. “And beeswax and even the bees themselves, all with only a nominal investment and no more physical effort than his aging joints can handle. And since Maine is teeming with pine trees and Logan seems to have an affinity for working with wood, I suggested he could also manufacture hive kits to sell on the Internet.”
Niall remembered thinking he’d pulled up to the wrong house the last time he’d visited Logan, as the man showing him around his workshop had had a decided spring in his step, his eyes lit with excitement and purpose.
“Can you imagine,” Silas continued, “what Logan and Noreen’s marriage would be like today if they’d been raising bees for the last forty years alongside his logging business? Logan wouldn’t have any money worries, and Noreen would feel more like his partner than his housekeeper. But even starting this late in their lives, they’ll have something they can continue doing together well into old age.”
“Aye,” Niall murmured. “From what Logan told me, beekeeping seems to require more vigilance than hard labor.”
Silas gestured out his window. “Selling honey is only one of any number of opportunities around here. This entire area, from its unique inland sea to its vast timberland, is overflowing with resources. That’s why I want to open a school here. Tangible, hands-on experience is far more effective in firing a teenager’s passion than sitting in a stagnant room all day and only studying the world from a distance.”
“You’re a teacher, then?” Niall asked, intrigued as well as surprised. Although the man was well-spoken and his clothes were clean and of high quality, he appeared to be nothing more than a carefree vagab
ond.
Silas gave a soft chuckle. “I didn’t have the patience to get a formal education, preferring instead to let the world be my teacher.” He gestured out his window again. “I want to give kids the same experience, and encourage them to work with Mother Nature rather than exploit her. The school I’m envisioning will be based here, but the students will travel the globe—first as explorers and then hopefully as teachers.”
“A tract of land right on the shore of Bottomless, especially one large enough to build what would have to be a campus, won’t come cheap.”
“That won’t be a problem,” Silas softly repeated.
“Other than finding the land, how close are ye to making it happen?”
“I’ve already visited the Oceanographic and Geological Centers, and the lead scientists have agreed to let my students collaborate on their studies of Bottomless and the surrounding mountains.” Niall heard his passenger sigh. “My only real worry is finding teachers willing to live this far out. Especially,” Silas said dryly, “after they hear the campus will function completely off the grid.”
“Off grid doesn’t necessarily mean primitive living,” Niall said. “Nova Mare is a world-class resort on top of Whisper Mountain that isn’t lacking for luxury, as it makes its own wind and solar power and is heated using geothermal wells. In fact, the woman who designed those systems spends her summers here.” He nodded at Silas’s backpack. “If you’re interested, ye might want to mention your project to Titus when ye see him about his bike, as Carolina MacKeage is his daughter.”
“And your wife, Chief MacKeage?”
“Nay,” Niall said with a chuckle. “Ye might say my cousin stole the lady right out from under my nose. Alec and Carolina are spending the summer camped out at the north end of the fiord, where they’re building their summer home.” A thought came to him. “Ye might also mention to Titus that you’re looking for teachers, as I believe he knows several families that have suddenly found themselves needing to relocate.”
“Teachers,” Silas asked, his tone hopeful, “who would share my vision?”
“Aye, they would be keen on passing their substantial knowledge of Mother Nature on to future generations. Titus can tell ye more about them,” Niall added, not knowing how the magic-maker intended to explain the Atlanteans arriving next week.
“Well,” Silas said, rubbing his hands together, “I guess my heading to town just as you happened along has proven mutually beneficial for us both.”
“You gained a ride and some contacts,” Niall agreed, slowing down when he reached the old railroad bed. “And I benefited . . . how?”
Silas shot him a grin. “You no longer have to worry that a mysterious vagrant is taking advantage of Logan Kent.”
Niall gave a quiet chuckle, deciding the man was as astute as he was candid. “Aye, ye appear to be just what Logan is needing right now.” He pulled into the parking slot in front of the Trading Post marked with the Reserved for Chief of Police sign Hazel had put up, and shut off the engine. “Whisper Cove Road is right after the church,” he said, nodding in that direction. “Titus lives just two miles down in a small, unpainted house that sits across from a large garage.”
“I appreciate the ride. And with luck, I’ll be leaving on a motorcycle rather than on foot.” Silas unfastened his seat belt and reached for his pack—only to stop in mid-reach as he looked out the windshield. “Well now, that’s another thing I’ve discovered this area has to offer—plenty of beautiful women.”
Niall looked at where he was looking. “That particular beautiful woman is taken.”
“I don’t see a ring on her finger,” his passenger said, watching the woman under discussion get out of the little red cart and rush into the Bottoms Up.
“Nevertheless,” Niall said quietly, “Birch is already spoken for.”
Silas finished picking up his backpack and straightened. “Birch, as in the shelter director who suggested Noreen should leave Logan?” he asked, grinning when Niall nodded. “I’d like to meet the man who has the courage to date Warden Callahan.”
“You just spent the last ten minutes talking to him,” Niall said, opening his door and getting out. He waited for Shep to scramble over the console and jump down, then closed the door and looked across the hood of the truck as his passenger also got out. “As ye said, Mr. French, there are plenty of beautiful women in the area.”
Silas studied him in silence for several heartbeats, then nodded. “Duly noted,” he said, hefting his pack onto his shoulder and heading down the sidewalk in the direction of the church.
• • •
Birch had always considered her decisiveness to be her greatest strength; the one fail-safe trait she could rely on to keep her moving in the right direction. So where had that wonderful quality been the last five mornings when she’d stood in front of her closet trying to decide what to wear? And three days ago, when Cassandra had asked if she could go live with a foster family that actually liked kids? Or two days ago, when Olivia had stopped in with some furniture brochures, asking which desk Birch preferred.
She seriously hadn’t been able to choose a stupid desk? What—was she hoping the freaking Special Delivery Fairy would magically plop one down in her office?
And where had her reliable decisiveness been yesterday, when she’d spotted the perfect leather purse in one of the artisan shops in town? She specifically had been shopping for a purse and had found exactly what she wanted, and yet here she was still lugging around the leather tote she’d dug out of a box after her accident—not that anyone in Spellbound Falls had noticed it was six years out of fashion.
This was all Niall’s fault. The man couldn’t make passionate, playful love to her all night long and then turn into a Neanderthal the next morning, thus ending what could have been a really fun affair before it had barely gotten started. Yes, her wishy-washiness had started the morning Niall had threatened to hunt her down if she left town alone, because instead of letting loose a blistering tirade pointing out his incredible arrogance, she had stood there like some clueless damsel listening to him drive away and feeling . . . well . . . cherished.
Then again, that warm and fuzzy feeling could have been nothing more than the lingering glow of a night of passionate, playful sex.
Seriously; she had to have been insane to consider having an affair with a cop.
Which was why, while staring into her closet this morning and realizing she once again couldn’t decide what to wear, Birch had decisively decided she had to get a grip. Who needed to sleep wrapped up in all those stupid amazing muscles, anyway? So she’d pulled out a pair of white linen slacks and a purple sleeveless top, gotten dressed while giving herself a blistering tirade on the foibles of lusting after mountains of testosterone, and gone in search of her beachcombing, sand-digging pet.
Mon Dieu, she hoped that had been a harbor seal or whale bone Mimi had proudly dragged up from the beach yesterday and not a human femur. Apparently reading her mistress’s mood, Mighty Mimi had endured her bath with minimal grumbling, then curled up in a sunbeam with a doggy treat to dry off while Birch had marched into the once formal parlor she’d converted into an office. After ten minutes of sitting at the rickety old table and studying furniture brochures, she’d called Olivia and decisively ordered the walnut reproduction desk—even though she preferred the modern design—because it better matched the stately old house.
Birch had then softly knocked on Cassandra’s door, entered once a sleepy voice had invited her in, and sat down on the bed. She’d then told the semi-orphaned teenager that if after one more meeting she truly didn’t want to live with her aunt anymore, they would start searching for a local family who, instead of throwing her sketch pad and charcoals in the trash, would encourage her artistic talent.
And now, armed with a healthy dose of righteous indignation aimed solely at herself—even though it was all Niall’s fault
she’d been wishy-washy for five freaking days—Birch was zooming out the camp road in one of the red carts, heading to that pretty little artisan shop to buy that perfect leather purse. And the next damsel-rescuing idiot who said he had a powerful desire to kiss her was getting a mouthful of bear spray.
Birch darted into the newly vacated parking slot in front of the Bottoms Up, rushed inside and hopped up on the large pine bar’s footrail, and stretched to give Macie the key. “I left one of the carts out front for you to drive home tonight.”
“But then how will you get home?” Macie asked, also having to stretch past her growing belly. She shot Birch a smile. “I’m not afraid of walking home in the dark.”
“Or of dodging raccoons and skunks?” Birch said with a laugh, hopping down. “Don’t worry about it; I’ve got errands to run in town and will hitch a ride with Mom,” she explained, weaving through tables filled with patrons as she backed away. “But if you’re not home by ten-fifteen, I’m going to—” Birch spun around when she bumped into a warm, solid object. “Oh, sorry, Officer Sheppard.”
“Miss Callahan,” he drawled, rubbing his belly where she’d poked him with her tote. He cocked his head. “Should I hazard a guess as to which one of your residents has you hitting the bar in the middle of the afternoon? Because my money’s on Noreen Kent, since I wrote her a warning this morning for nearly mowing down a family in the crosswalk when she left the bank.”
“Yeah, she told me. But in her defense, Noreen had just found out her husband had made a sizable withdrawal from their savings account a few days ago.” Birch started backing away again. “I told her she can’t use the carts for a whole week. Thanks for just giving her a warning,” she finished before turning and rushing outside—only to step into the path of a man on the sidewalk, her momentum forcing her to grab his arm to keep from falling.
Birch looked up, her apology catching in her throat when she found herself staring into arresting blue eyes set in a sun-bronzed face, the man’s hair pulled back in a tail at the nape of his neck and the humor tugging at his mouth only amplifying his handsome features. Birch immediately let go before she made even more of a fool of herself, and crouched down and began shoving things back in her fallen bag.
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