The River House

by Carla Neggers

  “Going to see Dad while you’re here?” Mark asked.

  “I imagine so.”

  “He has a new girlfriend. She owns an old BMW he’s kept on the road.”

  Gabe grinned. “A match made in heaven.”

  “What about Gramps? Will you see him?”

  Their paternal grandfather was now in assisted living in town. Gabe nodded. “I’ll stop in before I leave on Sunday. I call them both once a week.”

  “Boston might as well be the moon as far as Dad’s concerned, but you’re never there, anyway. Any thoughts about where you’ll go after you sell the condo?”

  “Thoughts,” Gabe said. “No decision yet.”

  “Good to have choices.”

  “Yeah, it is. Thanks for the tour. I’ll see you later on.”

  Mark returned to his office, and Gabe climbed back in his car and exhaled a sigh. He’d been all-in with his work since Felicity had left his apartment and stiffed him on the brownies that cold February morning. With remote employees and contractors, he could work anywhere, and he did. Or he had. Everything was different now, and despite warnings to have a plan for what to do after selling his company, he didn’t. He’d figured that would sort itself out in time. Maybe that explained why he was here in his hometown.

  He glanced at the renovated mill, remembering how Mark had talked about what could be done with it—neither of them ever imagining he’d be the one to make it happen. But they were both doers, achievers, guys who made things happen, unlike their dreamer father, who liked to sit around and think about making things happen. Still, he’d done all right, hadn’t he? By Gabe’s standards, absolutely. By his dad’s standards for himself...he was a failure, living in a small New England town, working as a car mechanic.

  Nothing Gabe wanted to think about now. He glanced at his phone and saw he had a text from Felicity.

  I have a call at noon with your event manager.

  Gabe stared at the text. Event manager? Since when did he have an event manager? And who the hell was it? Maybe it was Felicity talk for one of the hats Shannon wore as his assistant. “You don’t want to be a control freak, Gabe,” she’d told him. “I’ve been fired by control freaks. They bulldoze everyone in their way and they’re inefficient. You want a life? Friends? A loyal staff? Delegate.”

  He’d delegated planning twice-a-year retreats to get his staff together to Shannon, but that was it. She’d have managed any contacts with the resorts. He texted her: Made it to KB. Let me know if you need anything for your call with Felicity MacGregor.

  Glad you made it. What call?

  Shannon didn’t forget calls. Gabe typed his response: Did we hire an event manager to coordinate with Felicity?

  No. No need. Do you want me to get in touch with her and sort this out?

  He read Felicity’s note again. No. TY. All okay there?

  Eating too many doughnuts. Enjoy your hometown.

  * * *

  He texted Felicity: Just got your text. Who is your call with?

  When she didn’t answer immediately, he tossed his phone onto the seat next to him. He drove out to the house, but her Land Rover wasn’t in the driveway. He wasn’t going to hunt her down over a phone call. If she needed his help, she’d be in touch.

  He backed out of the driveway, onto the narrow road and into the shade of a tall sugar maple he’d climbed as a boy. He didn’t think Felicity had ever climbed it, but maybe she had.

  “Damn,” he said under his breath.

  Being back here wasn’t easy, but it was good—and it was necessary.

  He’d head to Carriage Hill Road, check out the setup for tomorrow and say hi to Dylan and Olivia. So far, his reentry into his hometown and Felicity’s life was going just fine, despite the bursts of nostalgic memories. To be expected, and reasonably under control.

  Seven

  Felicity entered Smith’s, a house converted into a restaurant—the only restaurant—in Knights Bridge village, on a side street off the town green. After a brief conversation on the phone, she and Nadia Ainsworth had agreed to meet for lunch. Smith’s wasn’t crowded on the warm summer afternoon, and Felicity recognized the smattering of people there, except for a woman alone at a booth. The woman—in her early forties, with long, auburn-dyed hair—rose and waved. Felicity waved back and joined her. “Nadia?” she asked. “I’m Felicity MacGregor.”

  “I thought so. Thanks for coming.”

  Nadia was dressed professionally in slim black pants, a white blouse and a lightweight camel-colored jacket. A bit formal for Knights Bridge, maybe, but Felicity tended to go in the opposite direction and sometimes felt she should be less casual. She sat across from Nadia, who already had a glass of iced tea in front of her.

  “What a great place,” Nadia said, returning to her seat. “I’ve heard the turkey clubs are to die for and the pies are not to be resisted—although I’m not sure pie is ever to be resisted. You got here quickly. I thought you lived farther from the village. I hope you didn’t run any red lights.”

  “There are no lights,” Felicity said with a smile. “I’m out on the river. It’s not that far. How can I help you?”

  “Please, order something to drink first. I took the liberty of ordering us each a turkey club. I have a feeling we could have split one. I’ve been watching plates get delivered to various tables. They do believe in big portions out here in the country. I guess a gigantic sandwich makes sense if you plan to run ten miles or chop a cord of wood or something this afternoon.” She smiled, her tone cheerful and casual without any overt condescension. “I like to walk.”

  “You’re from California?”

  “Mmm. Malibu. I’m out here on family business. Did you tell Gabe I was calling you?”

  That struck Felicity as an odd question. Wouldn’t he know? The waiter arrived, and she ordered iced tea.

  Nadia lifted her glass of iced tea. “This entire boot camp event is very last minute, as you know. Sorry if we’re cutting any corners.”

  “Happy to help if I can.”

  “I hear your hesitancy,” Nadia said. “I don’t blame you. This party’s a big deal, and you don’t know me from a fence post, as they say. That’s why I suggested we meet in person.”

  “When did you get in?”

  “I arrived in Boston late yesterday and drove out here this morning. Gabe’s here, too, isn’t he? I spoke to his assistant. Shannon Rivera. She’s incredible, but she’s very protective—you’d think she was with the Secret Service sometimes. We’ve both worked with Gabe since the early days. But you’ve known him forever, haven’t you?”

  “We both grew up here.”

  “This is my first time in Knights Bridge. It’s adorable.”

  Felicity smiled. “It has its charms.”

  Her iced tea and the two club sandwiches arrived, made with Smith’s signature roast turkey. Nadia’s eyes widened. “I see I was right about the portion, but I bet I eat every bite. At least I didn’t order fries, and I did skip breakfast this morning.” She picked up a triangle of her sandwich. “I’d like to start by going over the boot camp guest list and schedule with you. You can email me the guest list if that’s easier for you.”

  Felicity tried a bite of her sandwich, giving herself time to respond. An experienced event planner would know she couldn’t provide access to the guest list without first clearing it with her client. “I’m not sure of your role here,” she said finally.

  Nadia shrugged. “Friend more than anything else, I guess. I specialize in customer development, but I helped plan retreats for Gabe when he had his company. I’m familiar with his preferences.”

  It was an admission, more-or-less, that she wasn’t particularly experienced. She’d likely worked with the event planners on staff at the various retreat venues. “I can’t send you the guest list,” Felicity said. “If there’s anything y
ou think Gabe needs, just let me know, and I’ll see what I can do.”

  “What’s the final head count for tomorrow?” Nadia asked. “Can you tell me that much?”

  “Around fifty.”

  “Is that inclusive of workshop leaders and staff?”

  Felicity nodded. She pried loose another triangle of her sandwich. If this meeting was heading south, she wanted to get some food in her.

  “Gabe’s a great public speaker, but he doesn’t like it,” Nadia said. “He doesn’t have a phobia or anything, although a lot of people do. I might be one of them. Given the choice between speaking in front of fifty people or getting a root canal, I’d pick the root canal.”

  Felicity took a break from her turkey club and drank some of her iced tea. Nadia was nibbling at her lunch. She wasn’t the sort of liaison Felicity usually dealt with. She often coordinated with venue and client staff, but she wasn’t even sure Nadia actually worked for Gabe. She seemed anxious and uptight, brimming with nervous energy.

  She gave a self-conscious laugh. “As I said, my main job isn’t event planning, in case you couldn’t tell. You have to stay nimble and versatile these days. I’m sorry Gabe’s involvement in Dylan McCaffrey’s boot camp came at the eleventh hour.”

  “It’s all in hand,” Felicity said.

  “That’s great. No surprise, now that I’ve met you. The retreats we did were planned months in advance. That was very manageable, although it would get intense the closer we got to the actual date. The last one was in Aspen. Ever been?”

  “Once, when I was between jobs.”

  “Take those vacations when you can, I guess. I’d probably have been afraid to spend the money.” Nadia sank against the cushioned back of the bench. “I’ll miss the retreats. I imagine everyone who worked for Gabe will. He’s an important client, and he’s a dream to work with. We’re all waiting to see what he does next, I’m sure.”

  “Did you come out here to meet with him?” Felicity asked.

  “I’m settling my grandmother’s estate. She died over the winter. She lived in Groton. That’s not that far from here. I figured I might as well stop in town and meet you, take a look at this barn where the boot camp’s being held. It’s on Carriage Hill Road. I think I’ll be able to find my way there. I plugged the address into my rental car’s GPS.”

  “The road dead-ends. You’ll know if you’ve gone too far.”

  “Nothing subtle about a dead end.”

  Felicity laughed, finding herself less suspicious of Nadia’s involvement. Maybe she was overstepping, but that was Gabe’s problem—and possibly a result of miscommunications. “We have a few dead ends around here,” she said.

  “It must be nice to be able to work in your hometown. I lived within walking distance when I was a kid. Then my parents up and moved my two younger brothers and me to California. My dad had a new job in LA. We all hated leaving Grandma behind.”

  “Was she ever tempted to move to California with you?”

  Nadia shook her head, her affection for her grandmother evident. “She said she didn’t want to get settled in California and have my dad get a job in Chicago or somewhere else. I visited as often as I could. She was eighty-seven when she died. The last time I saw her, she told me she’d had a good run. I think she knew we wouldn’t see each other again. Anyway.” Nadia sat up straight, obviously making an effort to stay cheerful. “Did you always want to move back to Knights Bridge?”

  “Yes and yes-and-no.” Felicity debated how forthcoming to be with a woman she’d only just met. “I’m glad I made the decision to move back, though. My parents love having me here, so I can feed the cats while they travel.”

  Nadia laughed. “Life could be worse.”

  “Look, there’s nothing to worry about with the boot camp. You can leave it to me and focus on your personal reasons for being on the East Coast.” Felicity got her wallet out of her handbag and left enough cash to cover lunch. “My treat. I hope everything goes well with your grandmother’s estate. Sorry I have to run, but it’s been nice to meet you.”

  “What, you’re skipping pie?”

  “I recommend the peach pie this time of year. They get peaches from Elly O’Dunn’s farm. Take your time so you have enough room after the club to enjoy every morsel.” Felicity slid out of the booth and got to her feet. “I’ll let Gabe know we chatted.”

  Felicity left Nadia in the booth, looking a bit stunned—but better to be abrupt to the point of rude than to get in too deep with this situation. Whatever was going on, it clearly had to do with Nadia and Gabe and nothing to do with her, the party, the boot camp or his presence in her guest room. Whether he or his assistant had anything to do with Nadia coming to Knights Bridge or she was acting entirely on her own initiative, she was on a find-out-about-Gabe-and-Felicity-MacGregor mission. She hadn’t even been that subtle.

  Felicity jumped back in her Land Rover and checked her phone, saw the text from Gabe about her noon call, now in the past along with lunch. She debated what to do next, but, really, there was no debate. She grabbed her phone and texted Gabe: Where are you?

  Carriage Hill barn.

  Felicity didn’t hesitate before she typed her response: On my way. We need to talk.

  I’ll be here.

  * * *

  Felicity didn’t charge off to find Gabe. She needed to get her bearings first. It wasn’t just Nadia Ainsworth and whatever was going on with her—and between her and Gabe—but being around him, his energy and drive. She didn’t want to get sucked in and lose herself, or at least her focus. She had a high-profile event coming up in her hometown. She was working. She had a job to do.

  She looked up the street to Smith’s, with its hanging baskets and pots of summer flowers on its front porch. A turkey club and peach pie could defuse a determined troublemaker, if that was what Nadia was. Let her take some time to calm down. Maybe their chat had helped her stop herself from spooling up further, whatever her true agenda for being in Knights Bridge.

  Go back and join her for pie, after all?

  Felicity shook her head. As tempting as Smith’s peach pie was, she wasn’t going back there. She spotted Christopher Sloan walking toward the popular restaurant from Main Street. He was the youngest of the five Sloan brothers, a firefighter in town. Heather, the only sister and the youngest of all six siblings, was in London for a year with her husband, a Diplomatic Security Service agent. Felicity remembered Brody Hancock from high school. He’d had a run-in with the Sloan boys back then. All in the past now. She’d never known what the fight was about. She hadn’t been part of that crowd. She’d always stood a bit apart, the banker’s daughter with good grades and a natural aversion to trouble.

  Mark and Gabe had always been tight with the Sloans. Really, why couldn’t Gabe have stayed with one of them? Christopher was on his own and lived in the village. Surely he had space.

  Of course, a Sloan hadn’t bought the old Flanagan place.

  Gabe would be gone in a few days, and if his stay helped him get over any emotions about the property being out of Flanagan hands, that wasn’t a bad thing.

  Felicity noticed her Rover was getting warm. She turned on the engine and rolled down the windows just as Evelyn Sloan walked up the street from her house. She was in her eighties, using a cane these days but otherwise in good shape. She was the widowed grandmother of the six Sloan siblings, still living on her own. She paused at Felicity’s old Land Rover. “I thought that was you. How are you, Felicity?”

  “Doing well, Mrs. Sloan, thanks.”

  “You can call me Evelyn. I don’t mind. I understand your parents are traveling a lot these days. Good for them. Go while you can.”

  Felicity smiled. “They’re enjoying retirement.”

  “They’ve earned it.” She leaned in closer, as if she had a secret to share. “I heard Gabe Flanagan is staying at your house on the riv
er. Are you two back together?”

  “We’ve always just been friends.” And for a while, not even that.

  Evelyn frowned. “Just friends? Okay.” She straightened, adjusting her cane. “Have a nice afternoon. I don’t care for this hot weather, but it does feel nice on my old bones today. Back in the day I’d be tempted to take a dip in the river myself. Gabe stopped at the farm for a rope. I understand he plans to go out to your swimming hole on the river. You kids used to have a blast out there. It’s a lovely spot. Still, it’s never a good idea to swim alone.”

  The “farm” wasn’t a working farm these days, its old barn instead the offices for Sloan & Sons, a respected, busy construction company in town owned and run by Evelyn’s son and his wife and grandchildren. Gabe had worked for them through high school and until he dropped out of college.

  Felicity started to say something about swimming holes, but Evelyn was already on her way up the street. “A rope,” she said, rolling up her window. “Leave it to Gabe.”

  Eight

  On Wednesday, Gabe sat on the stone steps outside the spacious, airy, contemporary “barn” where he’d be speaking tomorrow. It was an impressive place, but he was more impressed with how happy, content and comfortable in her own skin Olivia Frost—now McCaffrey—was. She sat on the steps next to him. He hadn’t seen her since Mark and Jess’s wedding almost a year ago. Olivia had left Knights Bridge for Boston and a career in graphic design, but she’d always wanted to return home. From what Gabe had heard from Mark, she’d had a few knocks and kicks along the way, but she was here now, married, expecting a baby, enjoying her and Dylan’s new home and business ventures. Olivia and Jess’s parents owned a small sawmill on the other side of town that specialized in custom woodwork. Need a twelve-by-twelve late-eighteenth-century window replaced, the Frosts could do it. Mark often used or recommended them. Jess still worked with her parents. Gabe hadn’t stepped foot at the Frosts’ sawmill since he’d gone swimming in its small, frigid millpond as a kid, never expecting Jess would marry his big brother.