by Gina Wilkins
To his chagrin, Donovan felt a wave of heat rise from the collar of his crisp white shirt. He looked away quickly, pretending interest in a silicone-busted blonde who was mincing past them, making an obvious play to get their attention. “As you said,” he muttered, “Chloe deserves the best.”
He was aware that Bryan was watching him closely, but he refused to look around. “We’d better get moving again,” he said, pushing himself off the sofa. “We don’t want to be late for the meeting.”
Feeling like a complete idiot, he headed toward the elevators.
This was what he got for trying to do something nice for two people he cared about, he thought irritably. He’d made such a botch of it that he had been left looking like a fool. God only knew what Bryan was thinking right now. He should have just stayed out of it—but he’d had an irrational hope that getting Bryan and Chloe back together might help him get her out of his mind. Out of his dreams.
Out of his heart, damn it.
He should have known better.
Bryan was sitting in his Little Rock office a couple of days later when the intercom on his desk buzzed. “Mr. Falcon? Ms. Pennington is on line two. Are you available to take her call?”
He looked up from the paperwork in front of him. “Yes, thanks, Marta.”
He picked up the receiver. “Good morning, Chloe. Is everything all right?”
“It isn’t Chloe, it’s Grace.”
That made him sit back in his chair, his eyebrows rising sharply. “Grace? What is it? What’s happened?”
He couldn’t imagine that Chloe’s sister would be calling him unless something was terribly wrong.
“No, everything’s okay. I just need to ask you a question.”
He relaxed—a little. A call from Grace Pennington was still fraught with peril. “What question do you want to ask me?”
“How’s Donovan?”
This call was becoming more intriguing all the time, Bryan thought, settling more comfortably into his chair. Perhaps he and Grace had been on the same wavelength recently—definitely an astonishing thought. “Why do you ask?”
“I still don’t know why you were so insistent that we needed to spend the day at the river house,” Chloe announced as she sat in her sister’s car one Wednesday morning in early June, watching Grace drive. “I really had quite a few things to do today.”
“I told you,” Grace replied, “I just needed to get away for a day and I didn’t want to come by myself.”
Grace had been working awfully hard lately, Chloe conceded. And she did seem in need of a vacation; she had been so tense and stressed.
“I’m surprised Mom and Dad didn’t want to come, too. They love to spend the day with us at the river.”
“Mom had that garden club thing this afternoon,” Grace reminded her.
Chloe sat back in the leather bucket seat of Grace’s two-seater, which bumped a bit roughly over the rural roads that led to their parents’ vacation cabin on the Little Red River. It had been quite a while since she’d made this trip. She’d been too busy before the kidnapping, and since then she’d been avoiding any reminders of vacation homes and woods and lakes and rivers—anything that made her think of the time she had spent with Donovan.
But she couldn’t spend the rest of her days hiding from her memories. She had to get on with her life—and she supposed this was as good a time as any to get started.
It was obvious that their parents had been to the river house recently, she noted when Grace drove onto the long gravel driveway. Their mother’s flower beds had been watered and weeded, and the many windows in the two-story log cabin had been washed until they sparkled in the bright sunlight. A large porch lined with swings and rockers and cooled by old-fashioned ceiling fans hinted of lazy summer days spent relaxing and watching the river roll by.
She smiled at the memory of cookouts with her family, trout-fishing with her dad and sleepovers with her sister and their friends in the loft bedroom. She’d spent a lot of happy times here; why had she been so reluctant to come today?
“Maybe this was a good idea,” she admitted.
Grace flashed her a smile. “Didn’t I tell you so? It’s our slowest day at work, so Bob and Justin can handle everything there. You and I can just chill out.”
“I can’t wait to get into my waders. It’s been so long since I’ve had a fly rod in my hands I’ve probably forgotten how to cast.”
“Oh, I doubt that. I have a feeling you’ll definitely catch something today.”
Chloe had to smile at Grace’s wording. “A cold, probably.”
“Cute.” Grace parked the car and opened her door. “Grab the groceries, will you? I’ll carry the drinks.”
They had come prepared to grill hamburgers later. Grace had brought so much food that Chloe had accused her of buying enough for half a dozen people instead of just two. Grace had merely shrugged and claimed she’d gotten carried away.
The inside of the house had not changed since Chloe had last visited. They entered into a two-story-high main room with a large rock fireplace and a ceiling fan with a light fixture overhead. To the back of the main room, separated by a low dining bar, was the kitchen and dining room combination. The master bedroom opened off the other side of the living room, beneath the stairs. Upstairs, a loft sitting room overlooked the living room, and two small bedrooms shared another bath. One entire side of the house consisted of large windows that overlooked the river.
The log walls were hung with duck prints and primitive art, the furnishing were worn and comfortable, the wooden floors warmed by thick braided rugs. Chloe always thought of her parents’ weekend hide-away as a nap waiting to happen.
She carried the groceries into the kitchen and deposited them on a tile countertop, stowing perishables in the refrigerator. Returning to the main room, she found Grace peering out a window toward the driveway. “Expecting someone?”
Grace jumped, looking almost comically guilty. “Of course not,” she said, her voice oddly breathless. “Why do you ask?”
Eyeing her twin curiously, Chloe shook her head. “You do need a day off, don’t you? You’re as jumpy as a cat.”
“I told you, I’ve been working too hard.”
“Apparently. So, what do you want to do first? It’s too early to start the grill. We could fish.”
“You know, I think I’d rather just rest for a while. I brought a new mystery, so I think I’ll curl up in a rocker and read for a couple hours.”
“Okay. I’ll go fish by myself. You always scare the trout away, anyway.”
“I don’t always scare them away. I just get mad sometimes when I hook one and then lose it.”
Chloe grinned as she pictured Grace stamping her feet in the water and throwing rocks at the fish that got away. She never actually hit one of them, of course, but she guaranteed that no one else would catch any, either. “Enjoy your book. I’ll see you later.”
“Mm,” Grace murmured behind her. “Much later.”
Deciding she would never figure out her twin’s odd mood, Chloe headed out to the storeroom where her father kept the fishing gear.
“Tell me again why you want to buy another vacation cabin?” Donovan asked Bryan quizzically, watching cornfields, cow pastures and mobile homes pass by outside the passenger window of Bryan’s car.
Sitting behind the wheel, Bryan glanced away from the road ahead to reply, “I’ve gotten tired of the place in Missouri. Bad memories there now. I’d like to find someplace smaller and easier to get to. The cabin you and I are visiting sounds ideal.”
“So why do you need me here? You don’t require my approval to buy anything.”
“I just wanted company, okay? And I do value your opinion.”
Donovan shrugged. “Then I’m happy to oblige.”
A small red sports car passed them going the opposite direction. It was driven by a woman in large sunglasses and a floppy hat, both of which concealed her face. Donovan told himself it was a depressing clu
e to his state of mind that the woman still looked like Chloe to him.
Sometimes he saw her everywhere he looked.
Bryan’s cell phone buzzed. He sighed heavily, reached into his pocket, and held the small device to his ear. “Falcon.”
Donovan gazed out the window as Bryan carried on a brief, monosyllabic conversation. And then Bryan disconnected the call and brought Donovan out of his morose musings with an exclamation of satisfaction. “Ah. This is the cabin, I think. Nice, isn’t it?”
Donovan studied the neat log cabin in front of them. A pleasant place—well-tended flower beds, a big, inviting porch, nice river view—but it was hardly as luxurious as Bryan’s vacation home in Missouri. That one obviously belonged to a very wealthy man; this one looked like a middle-class weekend cottage. There wasn’t even a security system, as far as he could tell.
“It has potential, I guess,” he said to Bryan. “You could probably put a gate at the end of this driveway, maybe fence the boundaries of the lot.”
“Turn this pretty place into a fortress? That would be a shame, don’t you think?”
“I think a man in your position has to be more concerned about security than the average fisherman—as you should know very well by now,” Donovan retorted.
“Ever since Childers went nuts and implemented that crazy kidnapping plan, you’ve been more protective than an old nanny,” Bryan scolded indulgently. “Might I remind you that Jason is my security chief, not you?”
“So why isn’t he with you today?”
“Because I want the opinion of a friend, not a paid advisor.”
Though this whole plan still seemed impulsive and illogical to Donovan, he decided to humor his friend for now. “Okay, let’s go check the place out. You have a key?”
“Of course.”
As Donovan followed Bryan into the cabin, he was reminded again of middle-income suburbia. No professional decorator had stepped foot through these doors. The furnishings and decor looked as though they’d been assembled during years of family vacations and long weekends. Some of his and Bryan’s wealthy friends would have turned up their noses in scorn at what they would have considered such primitive accommodations—but Donovan rather liked it. It was…comfortable. Inviting. Homey.
Bryan rubbed the back of his neck as he looked around. “Nice,” he murmured, “but I don’t know if it’s exactly what I have in mind.”
If Bryan decided he didn’t want the place, Donovan thought he might consider buying it himself. He didn’t have to worry about security as much as Bryan—not usually, anyway. And while he hadn’t been in the habit of taking leisurely weekends away from work before now, he’d been considering making some changes in his routines. A man needed something besides work in his life, he had recently concluded. Maybe he should take up fishing.
He wandered to the far side of the room, looking out through the wall of glass there. “There’s a rock walkway that leads down to the river.”
“Why don’t you check it out while I look around a bit more in here?” Bryan suggested. “I’ll join you down by the river shortly.”
Bryan must have sensed that he was feeling drawn to the river. He nodded and reached for the handle of the French doors that led out onto a big wooden deck.
“Donovan.”
He paused and looked over his shoulder. “Yes?”
“Sometimes decisions have to be made with the heart, not the head, to be right. Keep that in mind, will you?”
Frowning, Donovan blurted, “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Just remember what I said.” Bryan’s smile looked a little smug and just a bit wistful. “Go on down to the river. I’ll see you later.”
Closing the door behind him, Donovan shook his head as he carefully descended the steps to the rock walkway. He still wore a walking cast, but it was hidden beneath his loose slacks and he’d gotten used to getting around in it.
As he walked, he wondered if Bryan could be going through some sort of midlife crisis, though thirty-eight seemed a bit early for midlife. He had done and said some strange things lately, leaving Donovan struggling to keep up. What was that stuff about making decisions with the heart? Was he talking about this place? Pointing out that sometimes a decision felt right even when it didn’t seem logical? If Bryan wanted to buy this cabin despite the drawbacks, Donovan certainly wouldn’t try to stop him.
Someone was standing beside the river on the other side of a stand of trees that had blocked the view from the cabin. It was a woman, dressed in a pink tank top beneath suspendered fishing waders, standing with her back to him. A floppy hat covered her short hair, and a fly rod lay on the ground beside her, although she wasn’t fishing at the moment. She was just standing there, looking out at the water, seemingly lost in her thoughts.
She, too, looked like Chloe, he thought with a scowl. He really was seeing her everywhere.
He was just about to turn around and leave her to her privacy when she suddenly knelt down, picked up a stone and threw it at the water. It was an obvious attempt to skip the rock across the water—but the angle was all wrong. The rock sank with a splash.
The woman’s exasperated mutter carried on a soft breeze to where he stood.
His hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Chloe,” he said, hardly aware that he’d said her name aloud.
She froze, then jerked around to face him, her eyes wide beneath the brim of her floppy fishing hat. “Donovan! What are you doing here?”
Chapter Fifteen
Chloe couldn’t believe Donovan was standing there on her parents’ walkway, looking at her as though she had materialized from thin air in front of him. Her first instinct was to run toward him, to throw herself into his arms. But he looked so stern and stiff that she wasn’t entirely sure he would catch her if she did.
“What are you doing here?” she asked again when he didn’t answer the first time.
“I was just about to ask you the same question.”
She tilted her head curiously. “You didn’t know I was here?”
“I had no idea.”
He looked wonderful, she couldn’t help noticing as she tried to process his words. His hair looked freshly cut—though that recalcitrant lock still fell forward on his forehead—and the dark hollows of pain were gone from his clean-shaven face. His left foot was encased in a leather slip-on shoe, and his right foot was wrapped in a cast designed for walking. He wore a designer shirt and crisply tailored chinos, but he had looked just as good to her in the ill-fitting garments he’d borrowed from that trailer. “I still don’t understand why you’re here.”
“I came with Bryan. He’s thinking about buying this place.”
That made her frown deepen. “This place isn’t for sale. It belongs to my parents.”
“Your parents?” Donovan looked as confused as she was now. “Are you sure they don’t want to sell it?”
“I’m positive. They would have told me if they were. They knew Grace and I were coming here today—they certainly would have mentioned if it was for sale.”
“Grace is here, too?” Donovan looked around as if he expected to see her twin lurking behind a tree nearby.
“She’s in the house. Didn’t you see her?”
“No. Bryan and I were just in the house. Bryan let us in with a key. No one was there.”
“Bryan has a key to my parents’ vacation house?” This situation was getting stranger by the minute. “I think we’d better go find out what’s going on.”
Donovan nodded. “I think you’re right.”
She bent to pick up her fly rod. She hadn’t been in the mood to fish, anyway. She’d spent the time since she’d walked down here gazing at the water and thinking about Donovan. And then to turn and see him standing there—as if her thoughts had conjured him—well, she was still half in shock.
He waited for her to pass him. She noticed as he followed her that he was walking well, hardly limping at all despite the cast. She couldn’t stop look
ing at him, though she tried to be subtle about it. Yet every time she shot a glance at him, she found him looking back at her as if he was also having trouble looking away.
Reaching the back deck of the house, she propped her rod against the railing, then unlaced and removed her waterproof boots. She unbuckled the belt and suspenders of her stocking-foot waders, and peeled off the shapeless garment to reveal the pink tank top and denim shorts. She was entirely too aware of Donovan watching her every move. She felt as self-conscious as if she were doing a striptease for him, though fishing waders and denim shorts hardly qualified as sexy clothing.
She’d left a pair of pink flip-flops lying beside a chair on the deck; she slipped her feet into them and opened the French doors that led into the house. “Grace?” she called out as she entered with Donovan on her heels.
The house was eerily quiet. Obviously empty. She frowned. “That’s odd. Maybe they’re on the front porch.”
She crossed the main room rapidly and opened the front door. Not only were there no people on the porch, but there were no cars in the driveway. No sign of Grace’s two-seater. “Where in the world—?”
“Does Grace drive a red sports car, by any chance?” Donovan asked as she slowly closed the front door and turned to face him.
“Yes. Why?”
“Damn. That’s who called him.”
“Called who?”
“Bryan.” Placing a hand to the back of his neck, he rested his other hand on his hip and gave her a faint, wry smile. “I hate to tell you this, Chloe, but I think we’ve been kidnapped again.”
She gaped at him for a moment, then ran a hand through her disheveled hair, dislodging the fishing hat she was still wearing. She hardly even noticed as it fell to the floor at her feet. “Either my brain isn’t working very well today, or everyone is behaving very strangely. I don’t understand what’s going on.”
“You’ve cut your hair.”
She dropped her hand in response to his unexpected comment. “Yes. Grace says I chopped it off.”