The Chesapeake Diaries Series 7-Book Bundle: Coming HOme, Home Again, Almost Home, Hometown Girl, Home for the Summer, The Long Way Home, At the River's Edge

by Stewart, Mariah

It came just before midnight. Cameron had gotten into a conversation about flavored beer with Clay and Wade and Ellie had wandered out onto the inn’s lovely front porch. She’d been standing near one of the fireplaces and had absorbed more than her share of heat from the blaze. The air outside was cool but was welcome on her skin—for about the first two minutes. She wasn’t dressed for the evening’s chill, having splurged on a pretty but thin metallic tank top and wrap from Vanessa’s shop. She turned to go back inside when she felt a warm jacket slip over her shoulders.

  “You’re shivering,” Cameron said as he wrapped his arms around her from behind.

  “Thanks. I was just thinking I should probably go inside. It’s cooler than I thought.”

  “Pretty night,” he said, making no effort to move.

  “It’s a beautiful night. It was a beautiful wedding. I can’t remember ever attending a wedding where I felt so much love in the room. It really was extraordinary.” Ellie sighed. The wedding she would have had with Henry would have been nothing like Clay and Lucy’s. Thank God she’d not married that man. For one thing, she’d never have come here, never have met Cameron.

  “It was that. Beautiful bride. Handsome groom.” Cam kissed the tip of her ear. “Not to mention the best man.”

  Ellie turned to face him. “You are the best man, Cam. You’re the best man I’ve ever known. It seems that the worst time in my life has brought me to the best. The best place and the best man.” She touched the side of his face. “I have something to say to you, and I hope you understand.”

  “Uh-oh. Is this where you tell me that Carly sold all those paintings for millions and you don’t need the money from the sale of the house, so you can just leave now?”

  Ellie felt him tense in her arms.

  “Because I need you to know that I’d give up buying the house if you’d stay.”

  “You love that house.”

  “I love you more.”

  “Do you?” Her eyes searched his face.

  “I do.”

  “Then that makes this easier.” She took a deep breath. “I have decided to stay in the house. I really feel that I’m meant to be there, that St. Dennis is where I’m meant to be. That house … it’s been a sanctuary to so many troubled souls over the years. My mother. You and Wendy. Gabi. Me. We’ve all been affected by it. When I came here, I didn’t expect to be healed of the pain of the last year, but I have been. I’ve realized that the past just doesn’t hurt as much, it doesn’t matter so much anymore. I don’t want to leave.”

  “I’m so glad that you’re staying.” He lifted her in his arms and swung her around, his mouth finding hers in the process. When he set her down on her feet again, he said, “You know, I never believed that someone could sweep into your life and that you’d know that that person would change your life. That’s what I felt when I first saw you. It scared the crap out of me—I saw what that kind of love did to my father—but there wasn’t much I could do about it. I guess it happens that way sometimes. The fact that you were living in ‘my house’ did complicate things a bit. I wanted the house, but the more time we spent together, the more I realized that it was you I wanted most.”

  “Then you’ll like the rest of it.”

  “The rest of what?”

  A cheer went up from inside the inn as the countdown to midnight began.

  Ten.

  “The rest of what I have to say.” Ellie took a deep breath. “I am planning on staying in St. Dennis, making this my home. But I feel a little guilty about having made a promise to you. I mean, I gave you my word, to sell the house to you.”

  Nine.

  “So I tried to come up with some way to ease my conscience. So while I can’t sell it to you, I am willing to share it with you.”

  “Share it? Share the house?”

  Eight.

  “Yes.” She nodded. “But then it occurred to me that you moving in … living with me … would not send a very good message to Gabi. She’s at an impressionable age.…”

  Seven.

  “As much as I hate to say it, you’re right. You wouldn’t be much of a role model for her.”

  “So I’m thinking if we’re going to live together, we should get married.”

  Six.

  “Do you realize what you just said?”

  “I do.” She laughed nervously. “Oh. I guess that’s a line for another time, right? I do?”

  Five.

  “Ellie … you just proposed to me.” Cameron seemed stunned.

  “I did, didn’t I? I know it’s a lot to take on, I mean, Gabi and I are a package deal now—and the house, too, of course.” Ellie sighed. “I can’t imagine my life without you, Cam. I can’t imagine being with anyone but you, spending the rest of my life with anyone but you.”

  Four.

  “I never expected to find a real home here, but I did. I never thought I’d find what I’d lost of my mother here, but I did.”

  Three.

  “I never thought I’d find my heart, but …” She gestured, hands up. “But here you are. You’re the love of my life, Cam, pure and simple. So what do you say?”

  Two.

  “What do you think?” He swept her up in his arms and kissed her mouth as the cheers were raised inside.

  One.

  “Happy New Year!”

  “The happiest year yet,” Cam whispered in her ear.

  “The happiest year ever,” she agreed.

  Diary

  Oh, my, what a week we have had here in St. Dennis! First and most important, of course, was Lucy and Clay’s wedding. What a beautiful affair that was! I’ve seen Lucy’s work before, of course—the double wedding that we had here last year for Dallas and Grant, Steffie and Wade, and then Robert and Susanna Magellan’s wedding last summer—but oh, that anyone could pull off such a production in so short a time! The church had already been decorated by the ladies there, so other than adding some flowers to the end of the pews, there was nothing much for her to do. Which was a good thing, after all, because it gave her more time to focus on the reception here at the inn. In anticipation of the wedding—and her silver-and-pale-pink color scheme—we decorated the inn’s trees with a predominantly silver theme this year (Lucy’s idea, of course). Everything was sparkly and silvery and just so festive and beautiful—“ethereal,” my dear friend Trula called it.

  And it was. I can’t imagine a more beautiful wedding or a more beautiful bride … yes, I say that even though she is my daughter. She looked so … so grown up and sophisticated, so unlike my little Lucy and yet so perfectly her. I would have given anything for her father to have seen her. Oh, I know he was looking down from whatever cloud he was assigned to, and he was probably as teary-eyed and proud as I was. But it would have been so much better if he’d been here, flesh and blood, to hold my hand and walk his girl down the aisle. Though I have to say, Daniel did us proud. If only Ford had been able to make it home. He did try, he said when he called, but the plane that was supposed to pick him up never arrived. Which, of course, has me worried about where that boy is and what he’s really doing.

  But back to the happy time … my daughter’s wedding. We’re so happy to welcome Clay to the family. He’s always been the one for her. We’ve always known it, even when she fought against it—moved clear across the country to keep it from happening, but there it is. Lucy and Clay are married, and all’s right in my world.

  Except for Ford … but hopefully, his dad is watching over him, too.

  And other big news! Ellie Ryder—Ellie Chapman, now that she’s come to terms with her family issues—and Cameron O’Connor will be the next to walk down the aisle! I have it on very good authority that the wedding will take place at the house on Bay View Road—Lilly’s house—this spring.

  Ellie’s hoping to have the entire first floor of the place painted and fixed up by then, though I don’t know when she’ll have time to do much work there since she’s working full-time for Cameron now. I ran into her this morning at
Cuppachino and she told me that Cam’s teaching her how to use all sorts of power tools. She said that next she wants him to teach her how to build tables like the one he made her for Christmas out of reclaimed oak boards from the Madisons’ old barn that came down last year. She said it’s the most beautiful table she ever saw—and that she’s never been happier. I’m betting that before long, the sign on the side of Cameron’s truck will read O’CONNOR AND O’CONNOR.

  I’m sure Lilly is dancing with delight, to have her boy—the boy she rescued—and her girl—the one who’d been kept from her for so long—together under her roof—and I’m sure she and Lynley are both proud as peacocks that Ellie took in Gabi and is being the big sister the girl needs. It was a tough situation to put Ellie in—only a fool as big as Clifford Chapman would ask his daughter to take in a child he fathered by his mistress—but Ellie has stepped up and seems to genuinely love Gabi.

  I’m betting Lilly has plenty to say about all that—as a matter of fact, I’m off to pull out the Ouija board right now!

  Grace

  For Chery Griffin.

  She knows why—

  At the River’s Edge is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Ballantine Books eBook Edition

  Copyright © 2014 by Marti Robb

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of Random House, a division of Random House LLC, a Penguin Random House Company, New York.

  BALLANTINE and the HOUSE colophon are registered trademarks of Random House LLC.

  ISBN 978-0-345-53842-0

  eBook ISBN 978-0-345-54559-6

  Cover design: Scott Biel

  Cover image: Britt Erlanson/Cultura/Getty Images

  www.ballantinebooks.com

  Ballantine Books mass market edition: February 2014

  v3.1_r1

  Contents

  Master - Table of Contents

  At the River’s Edge

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Recipes

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Other Books by This Author

  Diary ~

  I keep thinking about that expression, “bucket list.” It seems that, these days, everyone has one—present company excluded. My, the things people want to do before they die … well, let’s just say, to each his own.

  Now, I have to admit that I’ve never really thought about it—my life is full and I’ve done pretty much everything I’ve wanted to do. I married my soul mate, had three terrific kids, and raised them in this wonderful town surrounded by love and family and friends in abundance. I have my work—my newspaper, passed down through several generations and entrusted to my care. I’ve been to Paris and Rome, and Dan and I celebrated our twentieth anniversary in Egypt, before travel there became so dicey. I’ve seen pretty much what I wanted to see and done most of what I wanted to do. So no bungee jumping from the Eiffel Tower or scuba diving with sharks for me, thank you. Someone in my circle of friends actually has those two on her list—not for me to say who, of course, but it’s got me wondering if that person wishes to meet her maker sooner rather than later. If she passes anytime soon, you can be sure I’ll be asking those who have already passed if Bungee Jumper a/k/a Swims with Sharks arrived banged and bruised or missing a limb or two.

  That Ouija board does come in handy at times.

  It would be nice if the weather this year would make up its mind—winter or spring? Cold enough to freeze your Winnebago one day, melting all over the place the next. At the risk of sounding like an old fogey (someone called me that just the other day. Cheeky little bugger!), I miss the old days when winter meant three months of cold weather that gradually gave way to spring. This warm-cold-warm-cold nonsense has the trees and the spring bulbs not knowing if they’re coming or going. Clay—that would be my son-in-law—said last week he’s covering his peach trees at night because he’s afraid the buds will pop too soon and he’ll end up losing his entire crop to a freeze. Some say it’s global warming; others insist it’s just nature following an age-old pattern. Either way, it’s annoying the devil out of me. Now, I’m not one to wish away my life, but I could happily skip right through February and March and get right to April.

  And of course, this year spring will bring a wedding many of us have been looking forward to. Jesse Enright and Brooke Bowers are tying the knot in April. Poor Brooke was widowed far too young—these recent wars have been devastating to our young generation. For her to have found love again—and with such a wonderful young man—well, I couldn’t be happier for them. Our invitation arrived yesterday and I was delighted to be included in their big day. Of course, I will cover the wedding for the newspaper. Some think it’s old-fashioned, but the St. Dennis Gazette has been covering weddings in this town for over one hundred years, and I’m going to keep that tradition alive for as long as I own the paper. Which will be until I leave this world, because I’ll never sell it. I was hoping that one of my children would take it over someday, but I’m not holding my breath. Daniel is perfectly happy running the inn, and Lucy’s event planning business is going great guns. Yes, of course, there’s always Ford, but I can’t see my youngest settling down to run a small-town newspaper. I’ll even go out on a limb here and predict that, after years spent living in all manner of places as a UN Peacekeeper, chances are that running the St. Dennis Gazette is not on Ford’s bucket list.

  ~ Grace ~

  Chapter 1

  Sophie Enright stared at the two flat tires on the driver’s side of her car and wondered if she’d ever had a worse day in all her thirty-two years.

  It started when both the victim and the star witnesses for the assault case she was prosecuting failed to appear in court and were nowhere to be found. The judge had given her until four o’clock to produce them, and when she couldn’t, he dismissed the case.

  It was never a good day when that happened.

  She opened the trunk of her car and peered inside. One spare, two flats. She slammed the lid, got into the car, called her boyfriend, Christopher, and listened while the phone rang, then went to voice mail.

  “I’m on the fourth level of the parking garage with not one, but two flat tires. My case went into the tank after my victim and my witnesses failed to show and I was forced to endure a blistering tirade from Judge Palmer. I’m parked in my usual spot. Bring food.”

  She disconnected the call, then dialed for roadside assistance.

  “I’ll need your guy to bring a spare,” she said after being told that they had someone on the road in her area.

  “Not a problem,” the dispatcher assured her. “Hang tight right there and we’ll have you fixed up in no time.”

  Sophie sighed and searched her bag for the paperback novel she’d started over the weekend, grateful that she had enough gas in the tank to keep the heater running. She opened one window for a little fresh air, then settled back into her heated seat to read. After twenty minutes, she tried Christopher again. Still no answer. Thirty more minutes passed, and she called the dispatcher once more.

  “He’s on his way,” she was promised. “He’ll be the
re any minute.”

  “Any minute” turned out to be fifteen, but once help arrived, both spares—hers and the one the driver brought with him—were changed and she was free to go.

  She glanced at her watch: seven twenty. Cursing softly under her breath, Sophie turned the key in the ignition and started out of the parking lot. She drove down to the second level, which was now empty except for a black BMW sedan off by itself on the far side of the garage.

  A black BMW sedan that looked uncannily like Christopher’s.

  She drove slowly around one concrete post, then another, and stopped in front of the car. How many black BMW sedans—complete with a UPenn sticker on the right rear bumper—could there be in the courthouse lot at this hour?

  Sophie figured that Christopher—also an assistant district attorney—must be working late. She started to dial his number once again, then decided to surprise him in the office. She parked next to him and got out, slammed her car door, and had taken three steps in the direction of the stairwell when she heard voices coming from the BMW. Without thinking, she walked around the car and looked into the backseat.

  “Oh, crap.” Christopher’s voice.

  “What?” a woman asked. “What is it? Chris, where are you going?”

  The back passenger-side door opened and Christopher—her Christopher—emerged, his shirt unbuttoned, one hand zipping his pants and the other slamming the door to keep whoever was inside, inside.

  “Sophie, I … I can explain …,” he stammered.

  “No, actually, you can’t.” Sophie’s stomach knotted and her mind went blank. She took several steps back, then got into her car and poked the key into the ignition with shaking hands.

  “Sophie, wait … wait …” Christopher’s voice trailed behind her as she pulled away.

  “You asshole!” Tears rolling down her face, she yelled as loudly as she could, even though he couldn’t have heard. “You are a total and complete asshole.”

  She slammed a hand on her steering wheel for emphasis. Her phone began to ring and she knew who it was without looking at the caller ID.