The River House

by Carla Neggers

  “Just as well.”

  She focused on the drive out to her house. It was a beautiful evening, the sort that used to draw her and Gabe out to the river to sit on a blanket and look up at the stars.

  It was nearly dark when she arrived. She went inside, poured herself a glass of merlot and took it out to the deck. She was grateful she’d been there to help Olivia and that she’d only been a bit dehydrated. She didn’t want to imagine what would have happened if she’d left two minutes earlier and Olivia had fainted without anyone around. If she’d hit her head... But she hadn’t, and all was well.

  Felicity listened to the river as she sipped her wine and forced herself to relax, calm her thoughts. “I love it here,” she whispered. “Totally love it.”

  Gabe’s arrival in Knights Bridge and his involvement with the boot camp party were temporary distractions. Get through Saturday, and her life would return to normal.

  * * *

  Felicity refilled her wineglass, lit a citronella candle and sat with her feet up on another chair, listening to the soothing sounds of the river as dusk gave way to night. She deliberately avoided thinking about work. Her days often didn’t have hard start and stop times, and she always had eighty million things on her to-do list. All eighty million could wait until tomorrow.

  Halfway through her wine, she heard a car out front. Hers wasn’t a well-traveled road. She expected the car to continue on its way and loop back to the main river road, but instead she heard an idling engine and, in another moment, silence.

  Company?

  She set her wineglass on the table, jumped to her feet and trotted down the deck steps and out to the driveway. A gray BMW SUV was parked behind her car. A man was behind the wheel, but she couldn’t make out his face. No one else was with him. She didn’t recognize the car. Dylan McCaffrey, here to get reassurance about his pregnant wife’s fainting spell?

  Then the driver’s door opened, and Gabe Flanagan got out, stretched and looked straight at her in the shadows. “Hey, Felicity. Long time.”

  “Almost three-and-a-half years.”

  He grinned. “I knew you’d remember.”

  She’d fallen into that one, hadn’t she? Not off to a great start. What was he doing here?

  He shut the driver’s door, standing now in the light from the house. He was as strikingly good-looking and confident as ever. Visibly muscular and more obviously the successful start-up entrepreneur in his expensive, perfectly fitting clothes. Three years ago, he’d sit for hours at his laptop in a T-shirt and cargo shorts.

  “We’re all set for Saturday,” Felicity said. “We’re having the party at Olivia’s inn. I need to take a quick look at it. Everything’s well in hand, but we can talk tomorrow if you’d like.”

  “No problem. You’ll do a great job.”

  It struck her as more than an offhand comment—as if what she did was so easy anyone could pull off a one-day boot camp of hard-driving, successful entrepreneurs and their aspiring audience. It was Dylan’s first major event, too. But, sure. Anyone could do it.

  Felicity gave herself a mental shake. Gabe didn’t necessarily mean that at all. She knew better than to make assumptions. “Are you staying with Mark?” she asked. “Your dad? With Olivia and Dylan at their house? Did a room open up at Olivia’s inn?”

  “None of the above.”

  “Your grandfather at Rivendell? I don’t think that’s allowed.”

  Gabe walked to the back of the car, opened the hatch, took out a duffel bag and shut the hatch with a soft thud.

  Why would he need his duffel bag?

  He edged toward her. “Remember when you said you owed me for letting you sleep on my couch?” He hoisted his bag’s strap on one shoulder, the light from the house creating shadows on his angular face, making his expression even more difficult to read. He didn’t smile, but he didn’t not smile, either. “I’ve come to collect.”

  “You want to sleep on my couch?”

  “It’s the best option,” he said, pragmatic. “Mark says Jess has bad morning sickness. I’m not staying there. Olivia passed out this afternoon. Dylan found out when he got home. She didn’t want to tell him, but he could tell something was up.”

  “Husband’s instincts,” Felicity said.

  “New dad’s instincts, too.”

  She tried to ignore the sensitivity in Gabe’s tone. Much easier if he stayed the overbearing, mercenary jerk she’d convinced herself he was.

  He wanted something from her. That was it. Had to be.

  “Anyway,” he said, “I’m not staying with them, either. I’d pitch a tent, but tents aren’t my thing these days.”

  “What about one of the Sloan brothers? There are five of them. They all live in town.”

  “None of the Sloans were ever down-and-out enough to knock on my door and ask to sleep on my couch.”

  “I didn’t ask. You offered. And I wasn’t down-and-out. I needed space to think.”

  “What do you call no job, drowning in debt—”

  “Reasons I needed to think. Obviously I should have done my thinking in Paris. I had enough room on my credit card for one more good trip.”

  “Felicity math.”

  There was no animosity or note of criticism in his tone. He grinned at her, as if he knew she couldn’t argue with him. Back then, she’d used time between jobs as an excuse to travel. Of course he remembered. This was miss-nothing, remember-everything, never-let-anyone-forget Gabe. He’d been that way in sixth grade. Now wasn’t the time to argue whether she’d truly been down-and-out. By her standards, no, she hadn’t been. By Gabe’s standards? She probably still was in need of intervention. But she had reined in her credit-card spending.

  He flicked vainly at a mosquito buzzing around his head. “I’m still not a fan of mosquitoes.”

  “If you think we can pick up where we left off three years ago—”

  “I don’t. I know we’re not buddies anymore.”

  There was something in his eyes. She ignored it but felt its effect in the pit of her stomach. She flashed on being out here that night at eighteen. She hadn’t noticed mosquitoes then. She hadn’t noticed anything but him. Gad. His mosquito buzzed toward her and then disappeared into the darkness.

  “We stopped being buddies when you told me I was in the wrong career.”

  “You were in the wrong career.”

  His tone was lighthearted, but she bristled. “Everything I learned as a financial analyst has helped me with event management.”

  “No doubt. I say the same thing about my failures.”

  “I wasn’t a failure—”

  “Didn’t say you were but your jobs in finance didn’t work out.”

  “Are we going to do this? I was in a tough spot when I knocked on your door. I could have used some support.”

  “I let you sleep on my couch and binge-watch Judge Judy.”

  “I do appreciate that.”

  “I also laid out the facts of your situation when you weren’t ready to listen and hadn’t asked my opinion.”

  “You told me I’d dug the hole I was in, and I needed to stop digging.”

  “Yep.” No hint of remorse. “My goal at the time was to penetrate your one-track mind and get you to consider alternatives. As your friend, I felt I needed to say something. I did, and it pissed you off. You told me I needed to work on my people skills.”

  “Well?”

  “Okay, you had a point. At least you knew I was being honest.”

  Honest? So that was it? She made no comment.

  He glanced up at the starlit sky. He looked at her again, his eyes dark, taking on none of the light from the house or the stars. “I found your note at the bottom of my note. You told me you’d made me brownies as a thank-you.”

  She felt caught, trapped by her own behavior that day—by the
memories of how she’d felt reading his note. “I did make brownies, but I ate them,” she said, defiant.

  He frowned. “All of them?”

  “They weren’t that good. I was mad. I forgot the baking powder or something.”

  “But you ate them, anyway?”

  “A bad brownie is better than no brownie. It’s one of life’s rules.”

  He smiled then, taking her by surprise. “You’re probably right about that.”

  Felicity felt the cool grass on her bare feet, let it pull her back to the present. She reined in the urge to launch herself into the emotions of the past and instead considered her current situation. There was no good option. Send him off to find other accommodations, and she risked the two of them becoming a source of gossip in town. Let him stay...same thing, but more manageable since no one had to know he was here. If not for the pregnant Frost sisters, she could at least try to persuade Gabe to bunk with the McCaffreys or his brother. She was backed into a corner. She had said she’d owed him three years ago, and Olivia and Jess needed rest.

  “Inside,” she said. “Before the mosquitoes start gnawing on us both.”

  “Ah, yes. Good to be back in Knights Bridge.”

  Five

  Felicity switched on the lights in her living room, but it didn’t change anything. Gabe had followed her inside and stood by the glass doors that opened onto the deck above the river. The man was as sexy and maddening as ever.

  Sexier, maybe.

  This wasn’t a welcome thought as he turned from the view and set his duffel bag on the floor by her IKEA couch. It probably had cost her less than his pants. Less than his shoes. Maybe even less than his haircut.

  She stopped herself. She didn’t care if he had money. She never had.

  He glanced around the living room. It had a woodstove and glass doors that opened onto the main deck. Felicity hadn’t left too much party-planning paraphernalia laying about, but she did have printouts of various badgers spread out on the coffee table. Gabe looked at them without comment.

  “Different from the world of financial spreadsheets and such,” she said.

  “At least these woodchucks don’t bite.”

  “They’re badgers.”

  He raised his eyes to her and smiled. “I know. It was a joke.”

  “Ah. Right. You’re still a New England country boy at heart. You know your badgers from your woodchucks. You just don’t run into them often in your line of work.”

  “One hopes you don’t run into them in your work, either. Badgers and woodchucks don’t mix with parties.”

  “Morwenna Mills’s badgers do. Have you met her yet? Her real name is Kylie Shaw.”

  “I haven’t met her, no. I met her husband last night. He and Dylan flew from California together.”

  “Russ and I have discussed security for Saturday’s boot camp,” Felicity said, hating her awkwardness. “I’ll go over the details of your party with him.”

  “It’s not really my party.” Gabe stifled a yawn and shuddered. “I’m still readjusting to East Coast time. I was in California for two months. Doesn’t seem to matter it’s three hours earlier there.”

  “Feel free to crash, but you don’t need to sleep on the couch. I have a guest room. It’s not fully set up for company yet, but it’s got a bed.”

  “Thanks.” His gaze settled on her, his eyes half closed. “It’s good to see you, Felicity.”

  “You, too.” She waved a hand vaguely. “I’ll see to the guest room.”

  She was aware of Gabe watching her as she went down the hall to the linen closet. She dug out a stack of twin-size sheets and took them into the guest room, more or less where Gabe’s grandfather would pitch his tent before the house was built. The windows looked out on the side yard, with a glimpse of the river down through the woods.

  Gabe stood in the doorway. “I stayed here once while the house was being built and a few times after Mark moved in. He’s good at what he does.”

  Felicity set the linens on the floor by the bed. “I didn’t know until tonight you’d gone in together on this place. Maggie and Olivia knew, but they would—I’ve hardly seen Mark in the past few years, never mind you. I didn’t buy the house because of the past.”

  “Mark and I were helping my grandfather.”

  “That was a decent thing to do.” She lifted a box of party supplies off the bed and set it on the floor. “I weighed the pros and cons before I made an offer.”

  “Was I a pro or a con?”

  She glanced back at him, slouched against the doorjamb. “Maybe I didn’t consider you at all,” she said lightly. “It’s a little stuffy in here. Feel free to open the windows.”

  He stood straight. “I can make up the bed.”

  “I don’t mind. You’re my first company. It’ll be good practice.”

  She didn’t need to tell him that the guest room shared a bathroom with the house’s third bedroom, which she used as her office—when she wasn’t working in the living room, out on the deck or in the town library. The master bedroom had its own bathroom. Mercifully, Felicity thought.

  He stepped into the room and peered out a window. “The trees are bigger now. Mark and I planted the apple tree out front when we were in high school. We promised each other we’d be out of here before it was big enough to climb.”

  “And now it is,” Felicity said.

  “The apples will be ripe soon. My mother talked about making pie with apples from that tree, once it was big enough. She didn’t get that chance, but she liked coming out here when she was sick.”

  “I remember.” Felicity could see it wasn’t a subject he wanted to pursue. She pointed at the single blanket on her stack of linens. “There are more blankets in the closet. I’ve never lived anywhere but New England. I have lots of blankets.”

  “It’s the humidity that gets to me compared to Southern California.” He drew away from the window. “I’ll take a walk. Don’t let me keep you from anything.”

  “No problem.”

  “And, really, leave the bed to me—I still know how to make up a bed.”

  But he didn’t, she realized. He had household help. She didn’t. Every chore at her house had her name on it. “Enjoy your walk.”

  “I will, thanks.”

  He headed back down the hall. Felicity heard the front door open and shut. She made up the bed, fluffed the pillows and checked the towels and basic supplies in the bathroom. All set for a guest, if not for one accustomed to five-star accommodations. But he’d known what to expect. He’d been here before. He’d been a part owner of the place.

  She went into the kitchen and pulled open her baking cupboard. She scanned the shelves and saw she had the ingredients for brownies. She could have taken some of Maggie’s brownies home with her, but she’d been thinking of her waistline, not Gabe showing up in her driveway. She grabbed the ingredients she needed—flour, sugar, baking chocolate, vanilla—and set them on the counter, then collected eggs and butter from the refrigerator. She got out a bowl, measuring spoons and cups, turned on the oven to preheat and went to work.

  She hadn’t really made brownies that February morning. She didn’t know why she’d lied, probably just an impulse after the shock of seeing him. What did the truth matter, anyway? She hadn’t stuck around that morning, but she hadn’t acted out of spite about the brownies. If she’d taken the time to make brownies, she could have cooled off, vacated the premises for the evening and come back for more pizza deliveries and Judge Judy. She’d have prolonged the inevitable, and so she’d skipped the brownies and left.

  When she’d knocked on Gabe’s door after losing her latest job as a financial analyst, she hadn’t expected to stay for more than a day or two. She’d been broke, in debt, kicked out of her apartment, desperate not to go crawling to her parents for help. She’d turned to Gabe, then living in
the smaller of two apartments in a house he owned on the Charles River in Watertown, just outside Boston. They’d known each other since nursery school. He’d taken her in, but he hadn’t been that excited to see her. “Again, Felicity? Wasn’t this job supposed to last three years?”

  “It didn’t.”

  “Did you quit or get fired?”

  “I was outsourced.”

  “Fired, then.”

  He’d let her sleep on his couch and take as many hot showers as she’d wanted. It had been winter. The showers helped with her perpetually cold feet. After five days of putting up with her camped out in his living room, he’d read her the riot act. It couldn’t have been more than an hour before he’d written his fateful note. Maybe he’d already had it written, because he’d started his speech while she’d been getting out of the shower.

  “You need a career change,” he’d told her. “You’re a lousy financial analyst.”

  “How would you know? You quit college. I have an MBA.”

  “Your MBA isn’t doing you any good, is it? You get jobs, but you don’t keep them. Why is that?”

  “Bad luck.”

  “Bad career choice. Do something else. You’re hacking away in the wrong jungle.”

  She’d been incensed. How could he be so blunt? How could he not get how terrible she felt about herself?

  She’d shouted through the bathroom door about his lousy people skills.

  He hadn’t responded, and she’d stared at her reflection in the mirror above the sink. She’d seen the truth of what he said in the dark circles under her eyes, the lines of fatigue at her mouth, the puffiness of her skin. Brown hair dripping, eyes somewhat bloodshot from too much television and last night’s bottle of wine, full lips, high cheeks, a strong chin. In high school, Gabe had said she reminded him of Maureen O’Hara in The Quiet Man. Felicity had taken that to mean he’d wanted to spank her and told him as much, thinking it was funny—but he’d found it sexy, provocative.

  She’d loved Gabe Flanagan then, as a teenager, before college and graduate school. Her first jobs after getting her degrees hadn’t worked out, but she’d had high hopes when she’d landed a job at a large insurance firm in Boston’s financial district. She hadn’t known many people in Boston, and she’d been so busy keeping her nose above water, scrambling to learn the job, that she hadn’t made many new friends. Certainly none who would take her in after she’d been fired.