by Mae Clair
She tightened her hold on his neck. Maybe if she never let go, he’d stay with her forever. Maybe, like the fairytales of her childhood, she’d find happily-ever-after. “He wanted to hear something you liked, so I went through the old books in your room. We started reading Robin Hood together.” She raised her head to look at him. “He wants the three of us to have dinner tonight. Alone.”
“He told me.” He tipped her lips up to his and kissed her again. “My kid’s playing matchmaker, Ron. You know that, don’t you?”
She looked into his eyes, trying to decipher what she saw there, but he’d had too much practice at masking his emotions.
“What are you going to do about it?”
“Nothing.” His mouth slanted over hers, sealing them together, and his kiss took her breath away.
* * * *
Veronica grew increasingly uneasy as she read the report on Lew. She thought she knew him, but the information Caith had unearthed related to a stranger. Worse, Lew had dug into Caith’s background, running his own check for reasons she couldn’t fathom.
“How could he obtain this?” Veronica asked, returning both profiles to Caith. They’d retreated to her living room where they sat side by side on the sofa, half empty cups of coffee and Caith’s notes spread on a low rectangular table. Ash sprawled a few feet away in a bright patch of sunlight, blinking half-slit eyes, swiveling an occasional ear in their direction when some stray sound caught his attention.
Caith tossed the profiles on the table with the rest of the information. “Same as me. He has contacts, which isn’t surprising given what he used to do for a living.”
“I don’t know what to say, Caith.” He’d been right, and she’d treated him unfairly. “I shouldn’t have been so defensive. You know your job better than I do. It’s just that Lew…” She trailed off, unable to finish.
Caith squeezed her hand. “This doesn’t make him guilty, Ron.”
“But it looks bad.” She brought her coffee cup to her lips, looking at the other papers on the table. “What about these?” She motioned to the two typewritten notes Caith had received from an unidentified source. “Who’s leaving them, and what does this one mean? ‘Look closer to home?’”
“I’m not sure. I’ve got some ideas, but nothing concrete. It could even be someone’s idea of a joke. It’s no secret who I am or what I’m doing in Coldcreek.” He paused and switched tracks. “Merlin said someone offered to buy the lodge a while back.”
Veronica nodded. “Another corporation. I think they wanted to use it for the same type of retreat we have, but limit it to their employees.”
“Do you remember who it was?”
She thought a moment. “Galen took the offer. It was done verbally. He said the representative was testing the water to see if we’d be interested in a formal agreement. When BI declined, it didn’t go much further. There was a secondary, higher offer, but that was declined, too. As I recall, your father made it clear he wasn’t interested in selling at any price. Stone Willow’s always been a Breckwood family project to him.” Her brows drew together as she tried to remember details. “I think the name of the firm was Galicorp.” She looked puzzled. “But I can’t tell you anything about them or where they’re based. I don’t remember ever having anyone stay here, but if you need to know I could go back in the records.”
“That would help. As for Lew and Bowerman, let’s keep that information to ourselves for now.”
Veronica grew uneasy. “I’m not sure I’ll know how to act around Lew the next time I see him. If he’s involved—”
“You’ll act like you always do.” Caith grinned crookedly. “Haughty and annoying.”
Even though she knew he was teasing, Veronica frowned. She set her coffee aside. “Caithelden.”
Still grinning, he hooked his arm around her shoulders and dipped her onto the couch beneath him. “Have I ever told you what an incredibly sexy way you have of saying my name?” He found the pulse point in her throat and pressed his lips to the chaotic dance.
It immediately escalated, thrumming up three notches. It was nine o’clock in the morning and she had insurance claims to file, furniture layouts to ponder. “Caithelden.” She placed her hands on his shoulders, but didn’t make a strong effort to push him away.
“There you go again,” he murmured, moving his lips from her jaw to her ear. “All firm and disapproving. Caithelden.” He kissed her cheek, then found the corner of her mouth. “It makes me want to take you back in the bedroom.” He grinned against her lips. “Or maybe just take you right here.”
She laughed. “Stop it. I have work to do.”
“So do I, but it can wait. I should probably warn you, I have every intention of making love to you right now.” He kissed her softly, then trailed a finger to the hollow of her throat. “I can’t keep my hands off you.”
She didn’t want him to. Not when he said things like that. Not when he kissed her so passionately, it left her head spinning, her body tingling in anticipation of his touch. Gently, she touched the bruise on his cheek, tracing the patch of discolored skin. “I should warn you, I have every intention of letting you.”
* * * *
Later, twined together on the couch, both sated, their clothing scattered on the floor, Veronica’s gaze strayed to the bruise below Caith’s ribs. Tenderly, she traced her finger over the red-purple patch. “Is it sore?”
Caith shifted slightly, sliding his leg across her hips, trapping her beneath him. “Just stiff. My shoulder, too.” He snared her fingers with his own. “I see Lance McClure is still the resident bully. What does he do these days aside from picking fights with his wife?”
“He has a welding shop. He took over the old rendering plant on the south side of town.” Veronica turned as much as their positions allowed. Pushing on one elbow, she studied his face. “He isn’t only mean, he’s wacky, too. And in case you haven’t figured it out, he hates the Breckwoods.”
Caith smirked. “So between Lance and Kelly Rice, we have a regular fan club.” He kissed her temple and disentangled himself. “As much as I don’t want to, I should probably get dressed. You, too. I’m expecting a visitor.”
Surprised, Veronica sat straighter. “Who?”
“A journalist.” Caith grinned, the dazzling, heart-stopping smile she liked best. “I thought we should have a snoop on our side.”
Chapter 16
Veronica was at the front desk looking over furniture layouts when Dean Bowerman barreled into the lobby. BI’s design department had suggested a number of possible changes from the previous decor, still rustic and keeping with Stone Willow’s remote location, but less somber than the heavy earth tones.
It was shortly after eleven in the morning, sunny and bright. Even the empty lobby felt inviting as the sun angled higher into the sky, streaming through towering windows, splattering the bare floors with patches of marigold light. Ash sprawled in the center of one sun-brightened square, soaking up heat, totally oblivious when Bowerman stormed up to the reception desk.
“Where’s Breckwood?” he demanded.
Veronica kept her gaze unflustered and cool. “Which one?”
Before Bowerman could spit a reply, Caith appeared on the stairway. With a casual glance for his watch, he strolled down the steps. “You’re late.”
“You’re lucky I’m here at all.” Impatiently, Bowerman held out his hand, his expression flat. “I want the memory card you took from my camera.”
Caith shrugged. He passed Bowerman a small object. “I wiped it clean.”
Bowerman’s face underwent a transformation that might have been comical under other circumstances. “You had no right.”
“I had every right. You were here under false pretenses.”
“Same as you.”
“I was hired by the company that owns this lodge. But you…” Caith held out his hand and Veronica passed him a piece of paper. Looking over Bowerman’s registration, he r
ead from the sheet. “Claim to be a marketing manager with Farzfold Corporation. Isn’t that where your sister works, Mr. Porter? I wonder how the Farzfold board would feel about a tabloid reporter using their corporation for cover? Could cost your sister her job if they made the connection.”
Unable to speak, Bowerman spluttered noisily.
Caith folded the registration and passed it back to Veronica. “I don’t want to see BI or Stone Willow in the Paranormal Register,” he said, “or any other paper for that matter. You’re on private property. Being here under false pretenses makes you a trespasser. That alone gives BI the right to file a suit.”
Bowerman squared his shoulders. “Are you threatening me?”
“You’d know if I was.” Caith smiled tightly. “But I’d rather push all of this under the rug and have you on my side. I could use a good snoop.”
“What does that mean?” Bowerman narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
“It means there’s nothing paranormal going on here. It’s a simple case of someone wanting what they can’t have. That’s a better story than the one you were angling for, and a lot more credible in news journalism.”
Bowerman appeared to consider. He glanced between Veronica and Caith as if weighing the options. In her opinion, he had very little wiggle room.
It didn’t take him long to realize the same. “I’m listening.”
“Good.” Caith sounded like he’d expected no less. “You help me out, check what I need looked into, and if I’m right—if the whole thing’s a hoax—BI gives you an exclusive. But it doesn’t end up in the Paranormal Register, agreed?”
“What if you’re wrong? What if there really is something paranormal taking place?”
Caith flashed a tight grin. “Then you can call me a narrow-minded idiot in print, but BI and Stone Willow stay out of the Register. If I’m wrong, and there is something paranormal, you find yourself a credible science journal, and we’ll talk possibilities. Fair enough?” Caith extended his hand.
Bowerman’s grin was on the slippery side, but he gave a firm nod. “Deal.”
“Perfect.” Caith shook his hand. “This is what I want you to do….”
* * * *
Veronica watched Derry dig into his bowl of chocolate ice cream. He’d eaten most of his dinner, a hamburger and french fries, dousing the fries with an ample glob of yellow mustard instead of ketchup. Recognizing it as one of Caith’s peculiar quirks, she found it comical to see Derry mimic the habit with no thought for its oddness. At five-thirty in the evening, Bristlecone Tavern was only partially full, the perfect place for their dinner together. She’d already fallen in love with Derry, who made that deep affection so easy.
Not for the first time, she wondered what his mother had been like. Had she possessed the same outgoing, effervescent personality as her son? Derry certainly hadn’t inherited his chatty openness from his father. What an odd pair Caith and his college sweetheart must have been.
Troubled by the thought, she glanced at her hands.
“What’s wrong?” Caith sensed the shift in her mood.
“Nothing.” From the corner of her eye, Veronica caught Derry watching her. She flashed a smile. “We should do this again sometime. Just the three of us.”
“Yeah.” Grinning, Derry dug into the ice cream. “It’s fun.”
Caith reached across the table, covering her hand with his. “I could get used to it. The three of us together.”
Her heart thrummed a little faster, spurred by the underlying meaning in his words. Had she read too much into the simple statement? At her side, Derry grinned ear-to-ear, watching as Caith brought her fingers to his lips. “I’d like to show you Boston sometime. Maybe you’d like it there.”
Her throat was tight. “Maybe I would.” The waitress arrived with their check and he released her. Dry-mouthed, she watched as he searched his wallet for his credit card.
“Dad?”
“Yeah, partner?”
“I like Coldcreek better than home.”
Caith pulled the card from his wallet. Surprised, he looked at Veronica, then at his son. “Well…that’s good Derry, but I have a job at home. And you have friends. There’s the house and—”
“But we could have all of that here,” Derry objected. “And you could get a job with BI. Grandpa would give you one anytime you wanted.”
“Oh, dear.” Veronica couldn’t halt her muttered dismay. Forcing a staged smile, she tried to overlook how still Caith had become. “You know, Derry, I think I’d like a taste of that ice cream.” Picking up her spoon, she dipped it in the mound of melting chocolate. “Mmm.” Her stomach felt abruptly tight and queasy, but she made a face that said the ice cream was pure heaven.
Derry laughed. “You didn’t even get any of the chocolate sauce.”
“Okay, where’s that?” She dipped her spoon again, forcing him to focus on what she was doing.
“Excuse me.” Caith collected the bill and stood. “I’m going to take care of this.”
Veronica nodded, still talking to Derry. “I like the whipped cream best.”
Derry watched his father leave. Veronica’s heart went out to him as his eyes tracked Caith’s every movement across the room. “I upset Dad, huh? I shouldn’t have said that thing about Grandpa.”
Veronica dragged her spoon through the sauce. “Your Dad’s just a little touchy about your grandfather, Derry.”
“I know.” He sounded depressed. “Why can’t they make up? I want to have a family like Matt and Noah with grandparents, and—and…” He looked at her awkwardly, then blurted the words in a rush. “I want to stay here. I want you, Dad, and me to be a family. I want you to be my mom, Ron.”
Her spoon clattered to the table.
Looking sullen, Derry slouched in his seat. “Great. Now I said something else I shouldn’t have. Dad’s gonna be mad if I upset you.”
“No!” She didn’t know what to say. She wanted to laugh, cry, to marvel at the amazing thing that had just happened. “Derry…”A prickle of tears stung her eyes. Laughing, she hugged him close. “You’re incredible, you know that? So incredible, I love you.” She kissed the top of his head. Most eight-year-old boys would have fussed over the public spectacle, but Derry didn’t have a mother and she imagined that made everything different.
The moodiness went out of his posture immediately. Beaming, he hugged her back.
“Hey. What’s going on?” Caith slid into his seat.
Still smiling, Veronica brushed a finger beneath her eyelashes. She drew back, shaking her head. “Nothing. Did you pay the bill?”
“Yeah.” Caith looked at his son who had his head lowered, a silly expression on his face. He picked up his spoon and dug into Derry’s ice cream. “Well, if you two aren’t going to eat this.”
“Hey!” Derry sprang to life, suddenly animated.
Caith laughed.
Veronica watched as they finished the ice cream together. Caith stole only three bites, but made a game of each swipe. Derry glowed, the awkwardness of a moment ago already past. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if they became a family someday? Her husband and her son. To say those words aloud and know they were true.
It would be like myth.
And magic.
* * * *
Caith stood in the doorway of the family room watching as Veronica and Derry told Morgana about their dinner at Bristlecone Tavern. A few minutes earlier his father had excused himself to take a call in his study. Deciding he needed more information about the offer from Galicorp, Caith roamed down the hall.
He felt edgy, crowded by memories. As a kid, he’d often gone to his father’s study, perching on the edge of the wide window seat, swinging his legs as he talked with his dad. Not like Derry talked to him. Not endless ramblings about anything and everything, but only what mattered most. He’d talked about Veronica, Merlin, and Trask. About some accomplishment he’d been particularly proud of in school, or the latest t
est he’d aced. He’d routinely passed tests with ease and knew his father was proud of that. Once, when he was twelve, Caith had flunked a test just to see what it felt like. His teacher had phoned his parents upset, and his parents had grounded him for a week when they’d found out what he’d done. Even then his father had used words like Harvard and Yale. He’d wanted to put Caith in a private school, an accelerated school, but his mother wouldn’t hear of it.
“Let him grow up with kids his own age,” she’d said. “He’s already younger than most of the kids in his class. It’s why he’s in the same grade as Merlin. Let him enjoy that. There’s time enough for pressure later.”
And because his father doted on his mother, Morgana had won. Still, Caith knew how much it pleased his father when he scored an A+ on a particularly hard test, so he always stopped by his dad’s study to show him the results. His father would beam ear-to-ear, tell him how proud he was, and how they were going to accomplish great things together at BI one day.
And then Trask died and the world changed.
His father promised to be there in that horrible, harsh new world. Not just for a while until the bumps and pain passed, but forever.
“Shit.” Caith dragged a hand over his face. Now wasn’t the time to dredge up bitter memories. He needed to separate the past and his profession. Drawing a breath, he knocked on the door.
“Come in,” his father called.
His dad had finished his phone conversation, and glanced up as Caith entered the room, surprise flickering through his eyes. Standing behind a massive mahogany desk, surrounded by towering bookshelves and soaring windows with diamond-paned glass, he looked every inch a wealthy and intimidating man.
The room was much as Caith remembered, furnished in deep shades of hunter green and rich crimson. A masculine room with leather chairs and gleaming woodwork, it contained row upon row of books stamped in gold leaf, a massive, antique globe that opened into a bar, and a couch that had once smelled sweetly of pipe tobacco. Had his father maintained his smoking habit, or given it up in favor of the health consciousness that generally comes with age? As a child, Caith had been reminded of Sherlock Holmes whenever he’d seen his father with his pipe.