“I found one.” He got to his feet. “You can help me hang it after lunch.”
* * *
Lunch was canned soup and fruit. Greg couldn’t have handled anything else, what with his big breakfast and messed-up internal clock, and Charlotte seemed to be on the same wavelength. After they ate and cleaned up the dishes, he led her out to the side yard.
He had discovered a rope hammock in the shed out back and dragged it between two shade trees, where he’d left it in a heap in the grass. The trees had hooks where presumably this very hammock had hung in the not-too-distant past. He’d brushed off dirt, dust, cobwebs and a few dead spiders from the knots and twists, but the hammock was in good shape. Heavier than he’d expected but he’d managed. Now he had Charlotte’s help.
Life could be worse.
“Did you ever have a hammock growing up?” he asked her.
“On visits to the family farm in New Hampshire. My cousin runs it. He’s the older son of Harry and Max’s youngest brother, who stayed home on the farm while they went to college. They never came back, except to visit. It was a hardscrabble farm in those days but it’s doing well now.” She dragged one end of the hammock toward one of the trees. “All more than you wanted to know. I’m wired and tired. What about you—did you ever have a hammock as a kid?”
“We had a hammock at a lakeside cabin my family rented a week one summer when I was about twelve. I sneaked up on my brother and dumped him out of it. Dumb move. He’s older.”
“He had his revenge?”
“He pushed me into the lake first chance he got. It was dusk and I was in my pj’s. The water was cold. I can still see him on the dock, laughing his ass off.”
“Served you right,” Charlotte said. “Where was the cabin?”
“Adirondacks.”
“Beautiful country. I don’t know it well but I went there with friends during college.”
“My brother goes hiking up there every fall. I haven’t been back in a long time.” Greg pulled his end of the hammock toward his tree. He didn’t notice any tears or weak spots in the twists of old rope. “I’ve never been to Scotland. I hear it’s beautiful.”
“It is. I love it there.”
“When do you go back?”
She shrugged, maybe taking a bit too much interest in her hammock hook. “I booked a return flight in ten days,” she said without looking at him. “I figure I can eat the fees and change it if need be.”
“Are you on vacation?”
She hoisted her end of the hammock up toward the hook. “Seems stable. Feels like the hammock might have shrunk, though, in which case we’re out of luck because it’d be hard to move the tree. What did you ask me?”
“Vacation. Are you on vacation?”
“Hanging a hammock is not working, that’s for sure.”
Greg watched her fool with the hook, then the hammock. She clearly didn’t want to give a direct answer to his question. Now, why, he wondered, was that? He got the loop on his side onto the hook. “Do you have a lot of freedom with this maritime archaeology institute you work for?”
“I do, yes. It’s great. Right now I’m between projects.”
“Could they give you the ax if you don’t come up with a new project?”
“You’re blunt, aren’t you? No, the ‘ax’ hasn’t been mentioned. No reason for that kind of talk. Shall we get this hammock up? I can hear it calling to me to lie in it.”
Greg was 90 percent certain she was skirting the truth—or at least not telling him the whole story—but he let it go. “Funny, it’s calling to me, too.”
“Don’t even think about dumping me out of it.”
“Could be fun.” He noticed her cheeks turned pink. It could have been from exertion, but he didn’t think so. “Let’s see if we can get this thing up.”
Hitching the hammock to the hooks turned out to be easy enough. It hadn’t shrunk, and it was in great shape. Greg enjoyed the work. His first day in Knights Bridge, even with Charlotte Bennett turning up in a forty-year-old Mercedes-Benz, was going just fine, the polar opposite of almost every day of the past year, whether he’d been recovering from a gunshot wound or on the job in places far from his family in New York and his kids in Minnesota. Of course, there’d been no hammocks and no pancakes at Smith’s. Also no pretty marine archaeologist with secrets.
“I think we’ve got this just right,” she said. “Too tight, we’ll fall out of it. Too loose, our butts will hit the ground when we climb in. Sorry. I’m sure you know that.”
“I’ve never hung a hammock,” Greg said.
“Sam and I pretended we were pirates once and hung sheet hammocks, as if we were on a pirate ship.”
“Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum.”
Charlotte laughed. “That’s what we sang.” She yanked on her end. “Hook’s holding.”
She was no slouch when it came to physical work. She was strong, fit and sexy, but Greg tried not to think about the sexy part. He was a guest in Knights Bridge and she was related to a woman who’d just married a Sloan. The Sloan boys had pretty much run Brody Hancock out of town on a rail when he’d gotten crossways of them in their late teens. All was forgiven now, years later, seeing how he’d just married their only sister. Greg didn’t need to stir the calm Hancock-Sloan waters by misbehaving.
Besides, he was in Knights Bridge to relax, and he wouldn’t relax if he kept noticing Charlotte’s dark eyes and slender curves—or trying not to notice, not to think about all the possibilities. He also didn’t want to cause friction or complicate her life, or his own life. He doubted she needed a fling with a DS agent on his way to a new job in Washington.
She beat him to the hammock and flopped into it with a satisfied sigh. “It’s perfect. Oh, my. It is so perfect.”
“No argument from me.”
He didn’t tell her he wasn’t looking at the hammock. He was looking at her. She wriggled out of her shoes and kicked them into the grass. The hammock swung gently in the shade. She shut her eyes and sighed with undeniable satisfaction. “I can sense you watching me, Agent Rawlings,” she said, her hands folded on her stomach. “Is a spider about to drop onto me?”
“No spider. Just making sure the hammock held.”
“Right. Thanks.” She opened one eye. “Don’t get any ideas about dumping me out of here.”
He smiled. “No, ma’am.”
She shut her eyes again. “You can have a turn after me. It’s great. Peaceful.”
“Enjoy.”
Greg left her to her nap or meditation or whatever she planned to do in the hammock. Stare up at the leaves, maybe. Look for a bird’s nest in the branches. She was down-to-earth, comfortable around intense guys like him but also intense in her own way. He had no doubt she’d put up a good defense if he tried to upend her in the hammock.
He also recognized the signs that she needed this time in Knights Bridge to relax, unwind and deal with whatever it was she had on her mind that she wasn’t sharing—not just with him, either. With anyone. He’d been like that when his marriage had started to fail and even when it was clear there was no saving it. He hadn’t talked to anyone. He’d just buried himself in work.
He hadn’t talked to anyone when he’d been shot, either. He had a tendency to muscle through things. Talking only made him focus more on what was wrong, or so he kept telling himself. Being closemouthed was one of Laura’s gripes about him. It wasn’t just because she’d believed talking would help him. It was a way for her to feel a part of his life, especially when he was away. A way for him to show he cared about her and trusted her. She’d tried to convince him that being open demonstrated he had the strength and integrity to admit vulnerability and he wasn’t simply a gritty, tough SOB with no self-awareness. He figured either way he lost.
After being shot, he’d doubled
down on his no-sharing ways. He hadn’t wanted to talk. He’d wanted to recover and get back on the job. That was where he’d put his energy. He’d joked and teased and told everyone he was fine, and soon it was so.
He had a feeling Charlotte was a little bit like that right now.
On the other hand, she could just be tired from her trip and sorting through options for her next project. Since he wasn’t on the job, he could read into her behavior and speculate.
He glanced back at her as he started toward the front porch.
No. She was tamping down emotions, frustrations, realities she didn’t want to face.
Something, anyway.
He went back inside. He escorted a few spiders out of the entry and then headed to the inn’s library in search of a book. He’d have his turn in the hammock soon enough.
Nine
Charlotte dozed off and awoke with a start, forgetting where she was. She almost dumped herself out of the hammock, but the June breeze and the smell of flowers helped reorient her. Heart racing, she planted her feet in the grass and sat up. A few yards away, a robin hopped on the lawn. It paused, stared at her a half beat and then flew off to the hedges between the inn and Evelyn Sloan’s yard.
Her reaction hadn’t been due only to being disoriented awakening from her nap. She’d been dreaming.
“Having a nightmare is more like it.”
She leaned against the hammock, swinging in it sideways, keeping her feet planted in the cool grass. She breathed slowly, deeply. In her nightmare, she’d been fighting for air, caught in debris deep underwater with no good options.
She shook off the images—the awful, claustrophobic, panicky feelings that had followed her as she’d awakened. It wasn’t the first time she’d done so. She had experience with shaking off nightmares.
She put on her shoes and walked to the front porch but didn’t go up the steps when she saw Greg sprawling on the wicker settee with a book. “I’m going for a walk,” she said. “Hammock’s all yours.”
“Great. I think this cushion has fleas.”
“Seriously?”
He grinned. “No. Just getting into my book.”
“What are you reading?”
He flipped the paperback over so that she could see the cover. “Guns of Navarone by Alistair MacLean. I saw the movie but have never read the book. World War II thriller.”
“I gather you didn’t bring it with you to Knights Bridge.”
He nodded behind him. “Library.”
“I’ll check it out,” Charlotte said. “Are you bored?”
“Nope. I don’t get bored.” He sat up, his turquoise eyes connecting with her in such a way she felt a rush of heat. He smiled. “I always find something to do.”
“You twitch instead of getting bored. I’ll keep that in mind.” She motioned to the field next to the inn. “I’m going that way to see where the road leads. Don’t tell me if you know.”
“A Bennett off exploring. Have fun.”
Charlotte left him to his book and whatever was next for him and headed across the lawn. When she reached the street, she turned right, away from the village. Why couldn’t she have dreamed about her housemate instead of suffocating on a dive? A sexy alpha, alone and bored. Imagine the dreams she could have had.
Except she believed Greg that he wasn’t bored.
He was an alpha in search of things to do.
She laughed to herself, glad to be rid of her claustrophobic nightmare. She walked past the field, cheerful wildflowers dotting the tall grass under the midday sun. A shallow, rocky stream bordered the field, running between it and a grove of young deciduous trees on its opposite bank, then through a culvert under the road. She wondered if it was the same stream Samantha had been following when she’d met Justin last fall. Cider Brook. That was its name. It ran past the old cider mill where she’d taken shelter in an unexpected thunderstorm.
Charlotte remembered the texts they’d exchanged a few weeks later.
I’m not coming to Edinburgh, Charlotte. I’m staying in Knights Bridge.
Because of your pirate research?
Because of a man I met.
Samantha had taken a break from sorting through her grandfather’s Boston house to head to Knights Bridge and test her theories about Captain Benjamin Farraday, an infamous eighteenth-century New England pirate. She and Charlotte had been talking informally about her coming to Edinburgh once she’d finally closed out Harry’s affairs. Given her background and expertise, Samantha had a number of options—joining Charlotte on a new underwater research project, teaching, researching—but Edinburgh hadn’t happened.
Charlotte passed a small apple orchard and another house before the street curved back into the village, intersecting with Main Street. She continued past the country store to her street. It made for a nice walking loop.
She was almost past Evelyn Sloan’s house when her neighbor intercepted her on the sidewalk. “I stopped by the inn a little while ago, but I saw that federal agent in the hammock,” Evelyn said in a conspiratorial whisper. “I think he’s faking being asleep.”
“It’s a comfortable hammock. I dozed off in there myself before my walk.”
“I suppose.” She didn’t sound convinced. “My grandson Christopher was just here. He said you’re a diver. I hate even having my face in the water. I know you use equipment for deep-sea diving, but that makes me hyperventilate, too.”
“Do any of your grandchildren dive?”
“Christopher knows how. I don’t ask questions about it. I never was one for the water. Ralph would take the grandkids to the lake. Sometimes I’d sit on a rock and watch, but usually I’d stay home and cook dinner for everyone. Samantha dives, too, doesn’t she? She must, given her interest in pirates.”
“She’s an experienced deep-sea diver, yes.”
Evelyn shuddered. “I suppose when she and Justin have kids, they’ll have them diving. Scares me to think about, so I won’t. What about your FBI agent? Does he dive?”
“I don’t think so, but he’s not—”
“He’s not an FBI agent. I know. Whatever.”
“We only just met. We’re not here together.”
“That’s what Christopher said.” Evelyn pulled off a pair of bright pink garden gloves. “Well, he looks as if he’s seen it all and done it all. Jaded. I think he knew I was peeking through the hedges just now. I’d be careful searching for my time capsule with him around.”
“I’ll be discreet,” Charlotte said, keeping her tone neutral.
“Any luck yet?”
Charlotte shook her head. “I haven’t had a chance to look. It might take more time since I’m not alone at the inn and you don’t want Greg to know.”
“I definitely don’t want him to know. He’s used to keeping state secrets. This is different. He’ll be amused. He’ll tell his friend Brody and Brody will tell my granddaughter, Heather, and then I’m sunk. My whole gang will know. It’s hard to keep a secret with the Sloans.”
“You can trust me.”
“I’m sure I can.” She tucked her gloves into the front pocket of her baggy sweatshirt. “Thank you for taking this on. I was just in my garden. I’ve got peas that need picking. I’ll bring some by tomorrow.”
“I’d love that, Evelyn. Thank you.”
She stretched her lower back. She didn’t have her cane but her knee didn’t seem to be bothering her. “I’m not senile. There’s a time capsule somewhere in that inn. Don’t do anything to alert my grandsons, either. I dodged Eric in the village this morning. I can tell he’s suspicious.” She straightened. “I should get moving. Heather gave me a Fitbit for my birthday.” She pointed to her wrist, complete with a turquoise Fitbit. “I need to get in my quota of steps.”
Charlotte wished her well and cont
inued on to the inn. The hammock was empty. She found Eric Sloan and Greg seated on the front porch, each with a glass of iced tea. “Hey, Charlotte,” Eric said. “How was your walk?”
“Lovely. I just ran into your grandmother. She’d been working in her garden.”
“Guess her knee’s better. Greg says she slipped through the hedges earlier. I have to remind her cat burglars work at night.” He set his tea glass on a side table that needed painting. “I hope she’s not bothering you.”
“Not at all,” Charlotte said. “She plans to bring us peas from her garden tomorrow. I don’t want her going to any trouble, especially if her knee acts up again.”
“Gran doesn’t do much she doesn’t want to do these days.” Eric’s tone was amiable, his affection for his grandmother obvious even if he had his suspicions about her recent behavior. “You watch. She never looks caught or guilty. My grandfather used to say it was why she could handle nursery-school children. You need a poker face dealing with four-year-olds.”
Greg grinned. “That’s for sure.”
Eric got to his feet. “Thanks for the tea. I saw Dylan McCaffrey at the country store and mentioned I was headed this way. He asked the three of us to lunch tomorrow. I can’t make it, but you two are welcome to go without me. Samantha used to work for his dad.”
“Duncan McCaffrey,” Charlotte said. “He fired Samantha. She says it was over a misunderstanding.”
“It helped bring her and Justin together.” Eric turned to Greg. “Dylan’s father was a respected treasure hunter. He died shortly after firing Samantha, and she came here in part to set the record straight. It’s all these Knights Bridge connections. Don’t try to figure them out. You’ll tie yourself in knots.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Greg said. “Lunch is at Dylan and Olivia’s place?”
Eric nodded. “Dylan wasn’t sure if you two would be dead on your feet.”
“Not by tomorrow,” Charlotte said. “Lunch sounds great. I hope you can make it after all.”
“Olivia’s expecting. That’s why she and Dylan couldn’t get to the wedding. She’s doing well. It was too much traveling for her.” Eric motioned toward the porch steps. “I should get rolling. If Gran...” He hesitated. “She’s always been independent, but she’s in her eighties. If she’s starting to slip, we want to know. We all care about her, but sometimes it’s easier for outsiders to see that something’s not quite right with a loved one. Don’t hesitate to tell me, okay?”
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