Probably not, since she’d fantasized about something along these lines on her long flight across the Atlantic.
And it didn’t matter, anyway, because there was no denying she’d just had breakfast with him. Now that the reality was upon her, did she want to stay, or did she want to turn around and go back to Harry’s house? She could amuse herself in Boston for a few days and then head to Washington. It was the smart option, wasn’t it?
Not asking Greg Rawlings if he was armed or accusing him of having had too much to drink, not helping him upstairs to his room, not dancing with him at the wedding—those would have been smart options, too.
Charlotte groaned to herself and walked down the street, passing a handful of small, widely spaced homes before arriving at Red Clover Inn. Although it was within walking distance of the village, it felt out of the way, but Knights Bridge itself felt out of the way—part of its attraction. She took in the rambling inn’s classic New England lines with its white clapboards, black shutters and front porch, shaded by twin maple trees. She’d been up for hours but the morning dew still glistened on the lush grass. From what she could tell, the property consisted of the inn itself, a detached garage, a shed, stone walks and an adjoining field dotted with—no surprise—clover.
“How can I leave now?” she asked herself aloud.
She dreaded the idea of driving any distance after so much traveling the past few days. Down to England for the wedding, back to Edinburgh, on to Boston and finally on to Knights Bridge. It was a lot, even by her standards.
She went in through the back door. From what little she’d seen so far, the inn was a bit faded and in need of updating but it had loads of character and potential. She continued down a hall to the front entry, where she’d left her suitcase. She’d thought she’d get settled before going to breakfast but the need for coffee even more than her hunger had won out. She remembered plopping her suitcase on the floor and stretching and yawning before heading back outside and over to Smith’s. Had Greg heard her yawn?
He was right. He would have scared the hell out of her if he’d appeared at the top of the stairs. For sure she’d have thought he was a figment of her imagination.
She grabbed her suitcase and started up the carpeted stairs. It was just nine o’clock in the morning, but it felt later, she knew, because of the time change—it was already two in the afternoon at home in Scotland. She was relieved she didn’t get winded or spike a headache climbing the stairs and yet also frustrated that it had even entered her mind. Just because you’ve been cautioned against diving doesn’t mean anything is wrong with you. It was an ongoing argument she’d had with herself since her recovery from her April accident.
She set her suitcase on the floor at the top of the stairs. She felt a pang of loneliness and wished Samantha were in town, but she knew not to drag herself into the past or leap into the future. Best, for now, to stay firmly in the present.
The long hall was carpeted with a well-worn runner. She observed doors with traditional gold numbers on them. She checked the one closest to her. It was unlocked. Good, she thought. She didn’t want to have to go downstairs and rummage around for a key. She peeked inside—small, tidy, a view of the backyard. Not bad but she’d prefer a room with more windows. Since, except for Greg’s room, she had her pick, she kept going. She’d investigate the end rooms first.
She came to an open door down the hall. Sunlight streamed through the windows, the curtains billowing in the spring breeze. The bed was unmade, a towel thrown on the back of a chair, a duffel bag open on a luggage stand. It wasn’t as if there were a housekeeping staff to clean the room while Greg was at breakfast. He must have made a quick exit when he’d guessed she’d gone to Smith’s and decided pancakes and coffee were in order.
Charlotte pictured him in his threadbare towel.
“Gad.”
She exhaled, about-faced and hurried back down the hall, as if Greg might return and catch her checking out his room. She stopped at an end room on the opposite side of the building. Its door was unlocked, any key presumably at the reception desk she’d passed downstairs. Not a problem right now. She went in, and she immediately knew she’d found her room. It had simple furnishings and smelled fresh and clean. Anything fussy and musty and she’d have given up and bolted.
She retrieved her bag and set it on a luggage stand. She didn’t feel like unpacking just yet. Instead she walked over to the windows, one with a view of the adjoining field, the other overlooking the backyard with its shade trees, shrubs and perennial flower garden.
Charlotte smiled, pulling back a sheer curtain as she watched a robin perch on a birch branch below her. She didn’t need to leave in the morning. She’d be fine here for a few days. It had to be impossible not to relax in such surroundings—even with a sexy DS agent down the hall.
* * *
Greg was on his third cup of coffee and doing fine now that the caffeine was kicking in. The pancake-and-syrup buzz was taking effect, too. The Sloans were fighting jet lag, as well, but they figured they’d snap back quickly because they’d never really gone fully on UK time. They both had to be back at work today. Christopher in particular looked bleary-eyed, but he didn’t complain as he sucked down coffee.
But there was only so much to say about jet lag, and the conversation shifted to Red Clover Inn. “Things okay at the inn?” Eric asked.
Greg nodded. “Yes, thanks. I was sort of expecting Charlotte but she wasn’t expecting me. It’s okay. We’ll work it out.”
“We didn’t know she was on her way until last night,” Christopher said. “Justin texted us from his honeymoon that Charlotte had been in touch with Sam and was en route.”
Eric slathered a triangle of toast with homemade strawberry jam. “Sam figured Charlotte would spend the night in Boston or we’d have warned you. When did she get in?”
“Early. Ninety minutes ago. She did spend the night in Boston but she got on the road before dawn.”
“I didn’t think about the time change,” Eric said.
“No problem.” Greg meant it. How could Charlotte be a problem? “We’ll be fine. It’s a big place. I appreciate the chance to kick back here for a bit.”
Christopher pushed aside his plate, not a bite of his full breakfast left. “The inn’s great, isn’t it? Sam’s as excited about its possibilities as Justin is.”
“I think she has fantasies of becoming an innkeeper,” Eric added.
“Probably easier to hunt for pirate treasure,” Greg said.
The eldest Sloan nodded. “Yeah, no kidding. It’s weird having just Christopher and me in town. The rest of the family’s still in England—except for our grandmother. She’s your next-door neighbor, Greg. She didn’t make it to the wedding.”
“She claims she has a bum knee,” Christopher said, picking up his coffee mug. “It’s not enough to keep her off a plane, but it’s her call. She got some of her friends together and we did live video from the wedding. I think we caught some of you and Charlotte dancing.”
“Blackmail material,” Greg said with a grin.
Eric laughed. “Neither one of you looks like the type that can dance, but you did just fine.”
“I don’t think I met your grandmother when I was in town last winter.” Greg knew how perilous it could be to get into discussions about grandmothers. “She’s in good shape except for her knee?”
“She’s not climbing trees anymore but she’s still sharp as a tack,” Christopher said. “She and the previous owners of the inn were friends. I think their deaths and then the fights between their kids got to her, but that’s life, right?”
“True enough,” Greg said.
“Let us know if Gran bugs you and you need us to intervene,” Eric said.
“No worries. An eighty-year-old grandmother isn’t a problem.”
“Eighty-thre
e,” Christopher said. “Ask her. She’ll tell you.”
Eric nodded. “Gran’s a tough old bird. Have to watch her getting into trouble while Pop’s out of town. He thinks she’s up to something. I promised him we’d look out for her and he and Mom should enjoy their trip.”
The two Sloans both obviously had great affection for their grandmother. They paid their tab and left, and Greg returned to his table. The waiter had cleared Charlotte’s dishes. Greg eyed his plate. A few more bites of pancakes had soaked in the pure maple syrup, but they were cold now and he was so full he swore he wouldn’t eat for another month.
He paid up and went out into the New England morning. A fine New England morning it was, too. He decided to take a walk and get some sunlight in his eyes and burn off his pancakes, and also to let Charlotte have time to settle in. He wouldn’t mind being in the inn alone—he could handle the mice and bats without her help—but he had to admit he’d hate to see her leave. He’d really hate to be the one to drive her out.
Probably should tell her that his kids were coming, though.
Greg put that thought aside. All he needed was to trip over a curb or run into a tree because he had his mind on Charlotte Bennett instead of where he was going.
Seven
Edinburgh, Scotland
Samantha pushed ahead of Justin when they reached the cobblestone courtyard where Charlotte’s apartment was located in a quiet section of New Town with its eighteenth-century-planned streets and large parks. It wasn’t far from the Edinburgh Royal Botanic Garden, their actual destination.
“I have a key,” Samantha said, trying not to rush.
If Justin considered their detour an intrusion on their honeymoon or the act of a meddlesome cousin on her part, he hadn’t said. They had taken their time driving the rest of the way to Scotland, arriving at their hotel late yesterday, in time to check in, wander through Old Town and have a quiet dinner. They’d had a leisurely morning, enjoying each other and their surroundings. They had only one full day in Edinburgh and Justin had let her decide on their itinerary. Samantha doubted he’d had a visit to Charlotte’s apartment in mind.
He eased in next to her. “You live in New England, Sam. What good does having a key to your cousin’s apartment in Edinburgh do you?”
“You never know.”
He smiled. “As good an answer as any.”
“I’ve always had a key. Charlotte gave me one when she moved in. She’d just started at the institute. They contracted her to work with my parents on the sunken U-boat project. I was working with Duncan McCaffrey at the time.”
“So it was before he fired you.”
She glanced back at her husband, realized how much she loved thinking of him that way. “Right before, yes.” And then Duncan, a respected treasure hunter in his early seventies, had died in a tragic accident, before she’d had a chance to prove herself to him. “Not the best period of my life.”
“If Duncan hadn’t fired you, you’d have continued treasure hunting with him and his crew and ended up marrying some adrenaline-junkie diver.”
“Not answering.”
But it was true. Because of Duncan and her need to prove she hadn’t betrayed him, she’d ended up in Knights Bridge and had met Justin.
“Ah. Here we go.” Samantha paused as they came to the right apartment, tucked off the courtyard. It had its own entrance in the narrow gray-stone building. She unlocked the door and pushed it open. “Cousin Charlotte’s home, sweet home, as much as any place is or ever has been home for her.”
“It’s not what I expected,” Justin said as they entered the small apartment.
“What were you expecting?”
“I don’t know but not pink walls.”
“She’d say they’re rose-colored.”
He glanced at her. “They’re pink.”
“Maybe the place came that way. I don’t remember.”
“You’d remember if Charlotte’s Scotland apartment had pink walls.” Justin surveyed the cheerful, feminine furnishings. “I think your cousin’s a secret romantic.”
“I never would have put these colors together,” Samantha said, noting the cream-colored shelves and coffee table, green sofa, and accents of yellow and other shades of pink, all the colors showing up in the area rugs and window treatments. “But they work, don’t you think?”
“Yep. Sure. They work.”
“You don’t care.”
He shrugged. “I expected more blues since she’s a marine archaeologist.”
“Now that you think about it,” Samantha said with a smile.
“I admit I never considered how Charlotte might decorate her apartment.”
“I wish you two had had more of a chance to get to know each other, but there’ll be time. My family might not all live in the same town, but we see each other regularly. She’s really great.”
“Like a sister to you,” Justin said.
Samantha brightened. “Yes. Just so.” She started toward the adjoining kitchen. “Charlotte might have some good ideas for the inn. And—look, bird prints on the wall. I’d never have expected that. Fish, maybe.”
“I’m a carpenter. Doesn’t mean I want pictures of hammers and screwdrivers on the walls.”
“Good to know. If the prints were marine birds, they might not be such a surprise.” Samantha paused in the doorway between the living room and kitchen. “I don’t feel sneaky coming in here, you know. Charlotte said we could stay at her place while we were in town.”
“Decent of her.”
“You’d already booked us at the Waldorf. It’s the perfect start to our Scottish honeymoon. It’s so elegant.”
“Historic, too.”
“You don’t care if it’s elegant or historic provided it has a bed.”
“As if elegant and historic matter to you, Mrs. Sloan.”
“Not on this trip,” she said, smiling. “I used to sleep on the sofa when I visited Charlotte. I haven’t visited in a while. Too long. Maybe I should have been more attentive to her after she dumped Tommy.”
“But you were happy she dumped him,” Justin said.
“Yes, but it was a difficult time for her. She was embarrassed because she waited until the absolute last second, but no one cared about that. It wasn’t a big wedding and even Tommy’s family seemed as relieved as we Bennetts were.”
“The two weren’t meant to be.”
“That’s the bottom line. It was something Charlotte had to see for herself. I think Tommy saw it, too, if not when he was waiting for her to walk down the aisle, at least eventually. He told my parents he has no hard feelings. Just one of those things.”
“Yeah.”
Justin sounded dubious, but Samantha took his hand and gave it a squeeze. “Unlike us. The universe threw us together and after a wild start, here we are on our honeymoon.”
“In your cousin’s apartment,” he said with a wink.
She laughed and cut through Charlotte’s tiny, efficient kitchen into the bedroom. It was half the size of the living room, with cream walls and a duvet cover in a mix of cream, dusty purple and rose, the colors coordinating with those in the living room. Samantha hadn’t had any idea Charlotte had such color sense. She’d expected utilitarian beige, gray or white.
“Why are we here again?” Justin asked behind her.
“We’re trying to find out what’s up with her.”
“With Charlotte,” he said, as if he needed clarification.
“Yes. Something’s not right with her.”
“If she wanted you to know, don’t you think she’d tell you?”
“Sometimes people want you to make an effort and find out what’s going on with them. Need you to, anyway.”
“You two are close.”
“If thi
s was one of your brothers—”
“There wouldn’t be pink walls.”
Samantha appreciated his humor—needed it, as he’d obviously realized, as she checked her cousin’s apartment for signs she was going off the deep end. “I had visions of arriving and discovering she’d moved out weeks ago and someone else was living here.”
“She wouldn’t have told you?”
“A year ago, I’d have said yes, even after Tommy. Now? I don’t know. I asked her to be my maid of honor in April. She said yes right away. No hesitation. But something was off then, too. I was just so busy with the wedding and my work and then the inn that I didn’t push her for an explanation.”
“Ever think whatever’s up with her is none of your business?”
“No.”
Justin grinned. “Didn’t think so.”
“You don’t see any sign she has a stalker or someone’s blackmailing her—anything like that—do you?”
He shook his head. “No, but Eric’s the police officer in the family.”
“But he’s back in Massachusetts and you two have a similar nature.”
“What would that be?”
“Rock-solid, hardheaded, suspicious Sloan.”
“Don’t forget blue eyes. Eric and I both have blue eyes.”
“You are the perfect man for me, Justin Sloan,” Samantha said. “You have been since you think you rescued me from that fire in your abandoned cider mill.”
“I did rescue you.”
She waved a hand. “A matter of interpretation.”
It was a familiar discussion, one they both enjoyed and would likely have for decades. Now his nineteenth-century cider mill was their abandoned cider mill. The prospect of transforming it filled Samantha with genuine excitement, something she couldn’t have imagined a year ago. But then lightning—literally—had struck, bringing Justin Sloan to her.
What did Charlotte think of Knights Bridge now that she’d arrived?
She’d scowl at Samantha for thinking about her on her honeymoon.
“You can’t break into Charlotte’s medical records,” Justin said.
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