Myth and Magic

by Mae Clair

  So the three of them continued to drift apart, year after year. Even as her feelings for Caith grew stronger, she felt him slipping away, locking his emotions in a place no one could touch. Rather than face the wrong in his life, he’d taken from her, used her, then let her go. Without a second thought.

  He’d let her go.

  Chapter 7

  Caith returned to his suite, more on edge than he’d been since he’d arrived. Working with Veronica was damn near impossible. In Boston, she’d only haunted his dreams. Now she was under his skin like an itch he couldn’t reach. The more he thought about her, the more he wanted to right his wrongs. A hidden, unreasonable voice insisted she could end up like Trask, but the fear of living without her was stronger still. Seeing her again awakened feelings he’d unsuccessfully tried to suppress most of his life.

  He didn’t deserve her. Of that he was positive. If there was any chance of them together, it had to be on her terms. He didn’t believe she was serious about his brother, or Merlin about her. It was more like a friendship with benefits, of that he was certain. He’d treat her far better than Merlin ever could, the way he’d always wanted to cherish her. But she had to make the next move. He had to know she wanted him as much as he wanted her. That meant patience, understanding, and the willingness to listen and concede mistakes. It meant old-fashioned courtship.

  He was woefully out of practice with dating. Derrick had seen to that. He tried to remember the last time he’d been intimate with a woman, and found it required a stretch of the imagination. A friend from the police force had set him up a few times. He’d done the dinner and dancing routine, occasionally winding up in bed at the woman’s apartment. Thankfully, those incidents were rare. They always ended in awkwardness the morning after when regret replaced the heat of passion. The last true relationship he’d had was with Derrick’s mother, a bond of convenience far more than love.

  So, he’d do the dating thing…wine, dinner, whatever passed for entertainment in Coldcreek these days. Veronica was worth the effort. Eventually, he’d have to introduce her to Derrick.

  He stopped abruptly, struck by an unpleasant thought. What if Veronica didn’t like children? What if Derrick resented her?

  Dropping into a chair, he fished Kay Porter’s phone number from his pocket. He was being an ass. Veronica had always adored children, and he’d never seen his kid react badly to any of the women he’d introduced. Well, maybe the red-haired stockbroker, but he’d reacted badly, too.

  With a tight grin, he punched Kay’s number on his cell. Tonight he’d drive into town and spend time with Derrick. Placing daily phone calls had made him feel better, but four days without seeing his kid was too long.

  Kay Porter answered on the third ring and Caith tried to concentrate on the matter for which he’d been hired. Earlier, before going to see Veronica, he’d left the bait container with the white-flecked soil on his desk. He bumped it now, locating a pad and pencil.

  “Ms. Porter, my name is Conner Lairen. I’m a private consultant for Breckwood Industries, and I’d like to ask you a few questions about your stay at Stone Willow Lodge.”

  As Aren indicated, cell reception was limited. Coupled with Kay Porter’s hesitation, Caith had his hands full trying to piece together the conversation.

  Reluctant to talk at first, the woman eased under prodding. She’d taken a hike near dusk, skirting the lake. She’d been preparing to head back when a woman emerged from the trees on the opposite side of the bank.

  “She just stood there staring at me.” Kay’s voice crackled through the spotty reception. “She had a weird white glow about her and was dressed in some kind of flowing gown. It looked vintage. You know…old-fashioned like something from another century. It might sound crazy, but with all that glowing white, I was sure she was a ghost.”

  “What did you do?” Caith asked.

  “Nothing. I was too afraid to move, so I stayed where I was.”

  “Did she threaten you?”

  “No. After a while she walked down the bank and disappeared into the trees. I went back to the lodge and told Miss Kent about it. Later, when I got back to Wilmington, I told my brother what happened. He did some research and discovered there was a religious sect associated with the house a long time ago. I think it had to do with the man who built it—Warren Barrister. My brother said Barrister’s wife wasn’t killed in the house. She drowned in the lake. He chased her there when she tried to escape. Do you think it could have been her?”

  Caith made a note to check into the Barrister legend. Despite growing up in Coldcreek, he’d forgotten most of the details. “Legends have a way of getting out of hand. Myth, folklore. They get passed around so long, told and retold, the story gets distorted. If I asked three different people in Coldcreek about Warren Barrister and what he did that night, I guarantee I’d get three different versions.”

  “My brother is an expert in paranormal research.” She was suddenly defensive. “What did you say your name was?”

  He knew when it was time to back off so he thanked her for the information, apologized if he’d offended her, and ended the call amicably.

  He glanced at his watch. Alma would be making dinner. The staff would avoid him, but he could probably coerce a few of the guests into telling him how their stay was progressing. Later tonight he’d give Aren the soil sample and tell his brother to use his BI influence to get it analyzed.

  And then he would decide how best to go about softening up Veronica.

  * * * *

  Veronica passed the activity schedule to the nervous looking systems manager from BI’s Boston office. “Ben Dunning is taking everyone horseback riding after breakfast tomorrow,” she said with a bolstering smile. The physical awkwardness of some of the employees who enrolled for the retreat often surprised her. Wayne Hollis looked like a man most comfortable pushing papers behind a desk. A higher up in the corporate chain had probably encouraged him to complete the program.

  “Yes, uh…thank you.” He accepted the printed sheet of paper with a fidgety smile. “I think I’ll go read now. Maybe find a quiet spot on the porch.”

  As he hurried from the lobby, Caith strolled down the steps. “You’re lucky he didn’t pass out. Horseback riding? Come on, Ron. The closest that guy wants to come to a four-legged animal is the computer mouse on his desk.”

  She ignored him, organizing a display of brochures on the reception counter. His manner was breezy, too confident. He’d certainly have no problems on a horse. She wondered what he would look like riding bareback, all that lean muscle moving in rhythm, thick hair flying in the wind. Abruptly warm, she bit her lip.

  The front door opened before either of them could speak. “Delivery for Caithelden Lairen,” Aren said, stepping inside.

  Veronica turned in time to see a black-haired rocket streak across the floor. “Dad!”

  Her breath caught in her throat when Caith snagged his son, still at full run, spun him around, and dangled him upside down. She’d only seen pictures of Derrick at Melanie’s house, but he’d been much younger, and the amazing resemblance to his father hadn’t been evident.

  Caith grinned extravagantly. “Aren, why are you bringing me strange kids? I’m not sure who this is, it’s been so long since I’ve seen him. Kind of a scrawny thing.”

  “Dad.” Laughing, Derrick tried to claw right-side up. “Dad, put me down. There’s a girl.”

  “A girl?” With a strong arm to his son’s waist, Caith flipped him to his feet and set him on the floor. Aren joined them at the reception desk, a copy of the Coldcreek Herald tucked under his arm. “Derrick, this is Veronica Kent.”

  Derrick’s eyes went wide at the name. “You’re the one in the picture. The one my Dad keeps on the mantel. You, Dad, Uncle Merlin, and Trask.” He puffed up a little straighter. “Dad says I’m named for Trask.”

  Surprised that Caith kept the picture, but more surprised that he’d told his son about Trask, Veronic
a offered a faltering smile. “It’s good to meet you, Derrick. You look like your father.”

  “Everyone says that. And I like Derry better.”

  “Okay, you can call me Ron.”

  “Ron’s a guy’s name.”

  “When we were kids, she was like a guy.” Caith sent her a lopsided smile. “She climbed trees, had mud battles, and even beat me in a sword fight.”

  Derrick’s eyes grew round as he looked at Veronica. It was clear she’d soared three notches in his esteem. “Cool!”

  Caith ruffled his hair. “Miss me?”

  Derrick grinned at him, making Veronica’s heart melt. He was such a good-looking kid, all curly black hair and wide blue eyes, and he obviously adored Caith. “You won’t believe what Matt, Noah, and I did today.”

  Caith looked at his brother. “Where are Matt and Noah?”

  “Melanie has them. Back-to-back dentist appointments.”

  “Uncle Merlin took us on this really cool hay ride after school.”

  Caith’s brows drew into a hostile crease. “Merlin?”

  Veronica sensed alarms going off. If there was one person who got under Caith’s skin nearly as much as his father, it was his brother. The transformation on his face alerted her he was close to losing his temper. Derrick didn’t need to witness a scene between his father and uncle. Snatching up his hand, she smiled encouragingly. “Derry, do you want to see the rest of the lodge? I think Alma has some chocolate cake in the kitchen.”

  He nodded eagerly.

  Ushering him around the reception counter, she led him down the hall. Even then, she heard Caith’s voice rise in anger behind her.

  * * * *

  “You let Merlin take my kid?” Caith felt like he’d been gut-punched.

  Heaving a sigh, Aren set his copy of the Coldcreek Herald on the reception counter. “Why do we have to do this? It’s not as bad as it sounds.” Still dressed for the office, his charcoal suit and pin-striped tie made a sharp contrast to Caith’s navy Dockers and stone-washed denim shirt. “Melanie was with them. I told you about the hay ride we’re planning for Friday. They were with the farmer who’s arranging it for us. He’s a friend of Merlin’s.”

  “Since when does Merlin have friends who don’t wear imported suits and drive Porsches?”

  Aren shot him an ugly frown. “You can be downright nasty when you want.”

  “I left my kid in your care.”

  “So I let him go on a hay ride. What’s the problem? He was with his cousins and his aunt.”

  “And an uncle he’s never met before.”

  “Is that what’s bothering you?” Aren shook his head. “You’ve gone off the deep end. Derrick never met Galen either, but I didn’t see you acting like a jerk when he showed up at your house.” Smiling tightly, he held up his hand. “Uh, wait a minute. Maybe you did. It’s hard for me to tell anymore, since you’ve been a general ass for the last twelve years.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Ditch the nastiness, Caithelden. The only reason you don’t want Merlin near Derrick is because you have a problem with him.”

  Caith ground his teeth, turning away. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Let me take a wild stab at it.” Aren snagged his arm, holding him in place. “Your problem with Merlin is about Trask. And your problem with Trask is he got killed saving your life.”

  “Shut up!” Caith flung off his grip. Before he could think it through, he drew his fist back and popped Aren in the jaw.

  “Hell, Caith!” Staggering, his brother shrugged off the blow. In the next instant, he had Caith by the collar and slammed him into the wall.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you? You think conking me is going to change what happened to Trask? I brought Derrick here because it doesn’t matter anymore. Read page two of the Herald and you’ll see what I mean.”

  Giving Caith a violent shove, he started for the door.

  “Wait.” Caith dragged a hand over the back of his neck. “I, uh…I didn’t handle that very well.”

  Aren paused halfway across the lobby. “If that’s your way of saying you’re a fucking ass, we’ll call it even.”

  The hint of a smile ghosted over Caith’s lips. “You know, Aren, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you lose your temper, and I know I’ve never heard you swear.” Looking away, he thumbed open the Herald. “How about if I let you take a whack at me later and we call it even?”

  Frowning, Aren rubbed the corner of his mouth. He loosened his tie and joined Caith at the counter.

  “So is this more bad news or the usual Herald drivel to make me feel at home?” Caith asked, thumbing open the paper.

  “Someone’s been talking to your old girlfriend, Kelly Rice.” Calmer now, Aren rifled a hand through his sandy hair, tidying his appearance. “And don’t think I’m going to forget I owe you a cheap shot.”

  “Not anytime soon, huh? Ron tells me there’s a line for that.” Caith flipped to page two. He gave a low whistle as his eyes hit the headline. “‘BI’s Private Lies’ by Kelly Rice.”

  Veronica returned to the lobby with Derrick in time to hear his comment. “Another stinging article?” she asked, joining them at the desk.

  “More like an obituary,” Aren countered. “I get the feeling she wants to bury BI.”

  “Her family owns the paper,” Veronica pointed out. “She can say what she wants.”

  Derrick tugged at Caith’s sleeve. “Dad, what’s an obit…bit… “

  “Obituary,” Caith said for him. “It’s something I have to discuss with Uncle Aren and Veronica. How about giving us a few minutes, partner?”

  “Then what?”

  Derrick was the picture of hope and eagerness. Feeling a protective tug on his heart, Caith dropped a hand on his shoulder. Four days in Coldcreek and he hadn’t spent a single moment with his kid. His brothers had been with Derrick more than he had.

  “We’ll drive into town and stop wherever you want. Deal?”

  Derrick grinned ear-to-ear. “Deal.” He wandered away to explore the rest of the lobby and Caith returned his attention to the paper. He read the article aloud.

  “Breckwood Industries has been hiding more than corporate failures at Stone Willow Lodge. The anti-stress retreat recently welcomed a new guest in the guise of Conner Lairen, a corporate evaluator assessing the program for continued longevity. Despite BI’s attempts to deceive employees and guests, Lairen’s true identity is Caithelden Breckwood, a private investigator and the youngest son of Stuart Breckwood, owner and president of Breckwood Industries. Lairen was hired by his family to probe the recent rash of unexplained occurrences at the lodge.

  “Born and raised in Coldcreek, Lairen left the area twelve years ago after a well-publicized falling out with his father. Since then, he has served on the Boston police force as a homicide detective, retiring after seven years to begin a private investigation firm. He dropped the Breckwood name shortly after leaving Coldcreek, apparently finding a life of anonymity preferable to the undeserved and excessive awe surrounding his family.

  “Left to wonder why BI has resorted to underhanded snooping, one can only assume there is something to hide at Stone Willow. Perhaps Caithelden Lairen, nee Breckwood, should stop to consider why he left Coldcreek in the first place, and he might recall a kidnapping-murder that scarred this community far deeper than anything that goes bump in the night.

  “Reputed to be in town with his eight-year-old son, Lairen is making a name for himself and BI in ways he never intended.”

  “Damn her!” Caith sent the paper soaring over the counter. “She’s got no business putting Derry in the news. She can drag my name and BI through the headlines all she wants, but she leaves Derrick out of it!”

  Looking puzzled, Veronica retrieved the paper. “How did she know you were here? As a private investigator, I mean? No one at the lodge knows who you are except for your family and me. And even if the staf
f or one of the guests suspected you were an investigator, they wouldn’t know you’re a Breckwood.”

  “Someone told her,” Aren said darkly. “Someone made sure she knows. She’s never been kind to BI in her column, but she’s downright vindictive when it comes to Stone Willow.” He studied Caith thoughtfully. “Throwing you into the mix seems to have kicked her grudge-holding into high gear.”

  Caith scowled. “There’s nothing personal if that’s what you’re driving at. I haven’t spoken to her since high school.”

  “Maybe that’s the problem,” Veronica ventured. “You might have forgotten Kelly, but she’s never gotten beyond Coldcreek where you can’t turn a corner without being reminded BI and the Breckwoods support the town. You’re salt in an open wound.”

  “She dumped me, Ron, and it’s been twelve years. There was never anything exceptional between us.”

  “Except Breckwood money. She missed out on a joint bank account.”

  Surprised, Caith laughed. “When did you get so cynical?”

  “Not long after someone sent me a letter.”

  Unprepared for the verbal slap, Caith eyed her sharply. Before he could say anything, Derrick wandered to his side. Having exhausted all of five minutes exploring the lobby, he was clearly bored. “Dad, are you done yet? You said we’d go where I want.”

  “Yeah, Derry, we’re done.” Caith folded the paper Veronica had set on the counter. With a smile for his son, he shoved aside the recent unpleasantness. “So, what do you want to do, partner? Ice cream, video games, or just stay here and check out the lake?”

  “I want to go with Uncle Aren, and I want you to come, too.”

  “Back to the house?”

  Aren exhaled loudly. “Not exactly. Galen’s stuck at the office handling a crisis with Boston Corporate. He wants me to stop and pick up some paperwork for him.”

  Suspicious, Caith frowned. “Pick up paperwork where?”

  “At Dad’s.”

  “Forget it.”

  “But you promised!” Derrick tugged on his hand. “Grandma and Grandpa aren’t even home.”