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Jo surprised herself by saying, “This isn’t my first visit to the valley.” When it seemed as if Kendra was waiting for her to elaborate, Jo added, “But I was here so long ago everything seems brand-new.”
Kendra put down the flowered pillow she’d been plumping. “White Oak Valley seems stuck in slow motion to me. But given the changes we’ve made to this house, it probably looks a lot different from when you were last here. Well, I’ll let you get settled in. If you need anything, just let me know.”
“Thanks, but I’ll be fine. I may hike into town for dinner and make it an early night. The mountain air has sapped my energy.”
Kendra nodded. “If you’d rather not walk to town, Jim can fix you a sandwich. We have lemonade or iced tea. You can eat on the veranda, in the breakfast room or up here. Our hope is that guests will consider Buttercup Cottage a temporary home.”
“No need to put your husband out. I know there’s a café on Main Street. Is that the extent of places to eat in White Oak Valley?” Jo hoped not. She wasn’t looking forward to a second encounter with Mildred.
“There’s Logan’s Pub, but you’d have to drive there. It’s at the opposite end of town from us. They serve steak, chicken and great burgers, which all come with their signature coleslaw and steak fries.”
Wasn’t that just her luck? “That seems like more food than I had in mind. I think I’ll accept your offer of a sandwich and iced tea. I’ll bring in my suitcase and then come down and enjoy a peaceful evening on the veranda.”
Kendra beamed. “Jim will be thrilled to serve our first customer. Anytime you want breakfast tomorrow, poke your head in the kitchen. Once we get full up we’ll set more structured meal times. Until then, we’ll operate on a looser schedule. I’ll hear if you go out. I’ll freshen your towels and make up your room then. Eventually we’ll hire staff, but for now it’s just us.”
“That sounds fine to me.” Jo left to collect her things from her car. Two vehicles, a car and a pickup, passed as she retrieved her bag and her violin from the trunk. It seemed to her that both drivers slowed and were staring at her. But maybe she was paranoid. Buttercup Cottage did sit on a sharp curve. It was why she’d slowed for a closer look. Yep, she was paranoid.
Kendra met her at the door and held it open for her. “Let me run your things upstairs. Jim said if you’ll take a seat at the wicker table, he’ll bring a tray right out. Ohh, do you play the fiddle?” Kendra asked excitedly when Jo passed her the case. “Logan’s Pub features a bluegrass band on weekends.We go every chance we get.”
“I play violin,” Jo corrected. “I’m a concert violinist. As a matter of fact, if it won’t disturb you, I should do a little practicing. I won’t if other guests check in.”
“You go right ahead. Practice to your heart’s content. Did you notice the piano in the sitting room? Jim plays when I beg him. We want guests to feel free to use it, too. Maybe you guys could knock out a duet while you’re here.”
Jo smiled, thinking how much more appealing that sounded than Jerrold’s proposed solo European tour. In the past her practice schedule hadn’t allowed her to cultivate friendships. She almost wished she could stay in White Oak Valley and be friends with Kendra Rowan. Then Jo remembered the stir she’d caused at Logan’s Pub. That put a damper on any thoughts of staying.
Jim Rowan wheeled onto the porch through a sliding door Jo hadn’t noticed when she sat down. “Kendra didn’t ask if you preferred roast beef or a tuna sandwich,” he said. “So I made you a half of each.”
“I like both. Thank you so much,” Jo said, watching him unload the metal tray neatly clamped over the arms of his wheelchair. “It’s a lovely place you have here.”
“Yeah. There were times I didn’t think it would ever come to pass. I’m happy to break in easy with one guest to start. Don’t know how you feel about being my guinea pig.” He grinned and his white teeth flashed in his freckled face. His sandy hair was still cut military short, giving him a boyish look. In reality he was probably a few years older than Jo’s twenty-five, she thought as she joined in his laughter.
“If this is homemade bread, I’ll gladly be your guinea pig,” she said, taking her first bite.
He appeared more than satisfied with her response, and whistled as he motored off, leaving Jo to eat in solitude. She lingered over a refill of tea, watching fireflies dance above a gurgling creek that flowed past the side of the cottage. When mosquitoes found her, she carried her empty plate and glass into the kitchen. She retreated to her room, where the unfamiliar silence threatened to overwhelm her. Taking Kendra at her word, Jo pulled out her violin and tuned the strings. Her mother said this well-used instrument had been Joe Drake’s sixteenth-birthday gift to his daughter. It bothered Jo that she had no recollection of that birthday or any other. No holidays or special events before coming to in the hospital. She’d missed celebrating her nineteenth birthday because she’d been in the coma.
Settling the violin under her chin, Jo tested the bow, tightened it, then plunged into Tchaikovsky’s “Serenade for Strings.”When life got too complicated, she tended to lose herself in the mellow, flowing sounds. Still, she was shocked to see the bedside clock showing midnight when she stopped playing because of aching wrists. Jo couldn’t have named all of the pieces she played after Tchaikovsky’s “Serenade.” One had blurred into another. However, she felt calmer and knew she would sleep.
The next morning, Kendra glanced up shyly when Jo peered into the kitchen as instructed.
“You play like an angel,” Kendra said with awe. “I’m not well versed in chamber music, but I cried listening to you play. You make your violin weep.”
She ushered Jo to a table in the dining room set for one. Gleaming white china and polished silver graced snowy linens. A single red rose in a slender bud vase added formality to the setting.
“You should have said you were famous,” Kendra went on. “After we heard you play, Jim searched your name on the Internet. Mercy, you let me go on and on about Jim’s injury, when you had your own recent tragedy…losing your mother so suddenly.”
Jo’s stomach tumbled. “Where did you read about me?”
“An article in yesterday’s Boston Globe had an interview with a patron of the philharmonic orchestra, Jerrold somebody, who called you the best violinist of this decade. He said you’re touring with a prestigious European orchestra this summer, but you’ve taken time off from performing in Boston to grieve for your mother. Shut me up, but why White Oak Valley? We’re so the back of beyond.” Kendra dropped her voice. “Is it a man? Has to be, to make you play such heartstopping songs. Your music last night sounded sadder than sad.”
Her host’s fluttering about made Jo nervous. “My coming to Tennessee is nothing so cloak-and-dagger. And I’m not that famous,” she added dryly.
Jim Rowan motored out of the kitchen. He slid two delicious-looking strawberry crêpes onto Jo’s plate. From his tray, he unloaded a small bowl of whipped cream and a steaming pot of tea. “Pay Kendra no mind. My wife has a vivid imagination. She’s hooked on romantic suspense novels, so she’s always looking for love and intrigue. We’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything,” he said, pointedly grabbing his wife’s hand to drag her away.
Jo let them go before she tucked into the rich breakfast. She could strangle Jerrold. She’d dumped dozens of his calls from her cell last night. Her story was newsworthy and might make a good book, she conceded, but he had no right to speak about her without permission. Kendra would be disappointed that there was no romance involved. Jo’d never had time to cultivate a man’s friendship, let alone think of romance.
The front door opened as she sipped her tea. Her seat gave her an unobstructed view of the woman who entered the foyer. She was of medium height and her light brown hair curved artfully around her narrow face. Jo noticed the dour expression, because the woman’s hazel eyes narrowed on her. Feeling a bit as if she’d been caught with food on her face, Jo reached for the napkin she’d had draped across the knees of her oldest jeans. Another reason to feel uneasy. The woman studying her like a bug under a microscope was impeccably dressed in heels and a flowery spring dress.
Gripping an envelope purse, the newcomer hurried across the floor until she stood in front of Jo. “So the rumor’s true. You are back. There’s a lot of speculation as to why, Colleen. I’m happy to see you didn’t die, but if you’ve had second thoughts about dumping Garret, forget it. You had your chance with him, and you screwed up. Now it’s my turn. In fact—” she wiggled her left hand “—I intend to be wearing Garret’s ring by the end of the arts and crafts fair. We’ll be on our honeymoon by the start of the Mountain Music Festival—if that’s what’s brought you back to the valley.”
“What…who…?” Jo was too stunned to do more than croak. A tiny window in her brain cracked open long enough for her to know this wasn’t the first time she’d met the brunette. Then the window closed with a snap, leaving Jo gaping after a total stranger. A stranger who departed as quickly as she’d come.
Jo half rose, but the screen door shut before she could get to her feet. She sat again and heard an expulsion of breath that she knew hadn’t come from her. Glancing up, Jo saw Kendra and Jim hovering in the kitchen doorway.
“Who…was that?” Jo asked.
“Jaclyn Richmond,” Kendra said. “A local artist. She came by the day Jim’s dad put up our outdoor sign, asking if we’d display some of her paintings in our rooms. I guess she wanted us to sell them. But her work was too modern for our Victorian decor. Mrs. Applegate at the corner grocery store said Jaclyn used to be married to a football player, but the marriage fell apart. Now I hear she’s running after Garret Logan.”
“She seemed to know you,” Jim said, interrupting Kendra’s prattle.
Kendra wasn’t done, however. “Why did she call you Colleen? You signed our register as Jo Carroll, and that’s the name we used to find you on the Internet.”
Sighing, Jo folded her napkin, and decided it was time to trust them. “It’s a long story, or a short one, depending on how you view it. I can’t answer your question, Kendra.” Jo stood up. “I was in an auto accident seven years ago and have holes in my memory. Jaclyn Richmond and others in town may know more about me than I do. I came here hoping to learn about my past. It seems not everyone seems happy to see me.”
Kendra slid a hand onto her husband’s shoulder and studied their guest with troubled eyes. “If you need friends you can count on Jim and me. This is a very tight community and it can be hard to break in. There are somewho consider us outsiders even though Jim’s grandparents lived here a long time and his dadwas born here.”
“Thanks. But I should probably check out and find a room somewhere outside White Oak Valley.”
“We want you to stay, don’t we, Jim?” Kendra nudged him.
The man in the wheelchair caught and kissed his wife’s hand. “Kendra’s very stubborn when it comes to getting through tough times. She says stay, and I agree with her.”
“I will, then,” Jo said. “I appreciate your generosity. I really hope to straighten everything out in a day or two. With your blessing, I’ll get right to it.”
Chapter Three
ON THE OTHER SIDE of town from the Rowans’ B and B, Clare Logan knocked on her son Garret’s kitchen door. His dog, Domino, a black-and-white spotted hound, barked and jumped up to bat the glass, but there was no response from Garret. Clare shifted the load she carried and, after a sharp command for the dog to sit, let herself in. “There’s a good boy,” she murmured as the hound sniffed her shoes, whined, then padded over to his empty food dish and gave her a pathetic look. “I see your master has fallen down on the job this morning. Let me check on him, then I’ll get you some kibble.”
“Garret,” she called again, “it’s Mom. I’ve brought homemade breakfast rolls and black coffee.” Clare set the still-warm rolls and the thermos on the granite counter. She tsked over the lack of any sign that Garret had eaten the night before.
Making her way to the living room, she wasn’t surprised to find her youngest son passed out on his leather couch, still wearing yesterday’s clothes. His left hand was wrapped limply around a half-empty bottle of Bushmills that rested on the floor. Grimacing, she took away the bottle, capped it and unceremoniously rolled Garret off the couch onto the hardwood floor.
“Cripes,” he yelped, coming alive. “Can’t a man get peace and quiet in his own home?” He tried levering himself up on both elbows, but groaned and fell back flat. He flung an arm over his eyes to protect them from the bright morning sunlight as his mother threw open his drapes.
“Dad and I heard from all three of your brothers last night. They said you tossed them out of here so you could wallow in self-pity. I was willing to let you mope for one night. Now it’s time to buck up and display a little Logan pride.”
Clare stowed the whiskey bottle in an otherwise empty portable bar, spun back toward her son and settled her hands on her hips.
“Go away,” he groaned. “Can’t you all see I just want to be left alone?”
A petite woman whose head barely reached the shoulders of her husband, Donovan, or any of her four sons, Clare Logan was nevertheless no weakling. She proved it now by hooking Garret under his arms and muscling him to his feet. He swayed unsteadily, but with his mother’s assistance, managed to stumble toward the downstairs bathroom. “Time for a shower,” Clare announced. “You smell worse than the pub after a bachelor party. I’ll fetch you some clean clothes, then I’ll feed Domino. A chore you should have handled hours ago.”
“Jeez, take it easy, okay? My head feels like I got kicked by a mule.” Garret leaned both palms on the sink and peered into the mirror before passing a shaky hand over his stubbled jaw. “I’m entitled to tie one on, Ma. Or didn’t Brian tell you who showed up at the pub yesterday afternoon?”
Clare crossed her arms, but her expression became a shade more sympathetic. “Sean phoned first, then Brian. Honey, we’ve all watched you be depressed over that girl for too long. We grieved with you in the beginning. Back then we loved her, too. Now I’m mad as hell. She couldn’t have phoned or written to you once in all that time? You know she could have.”
Garret’s jaw twitched as he gritted his teeth.
“Oh, son, it’s been so good this past year to see you getting back to the Garret we all know and love. None of us are willing to stand idly by and let Colleen Drake send you into another black hole.”
Garret winced as his mother rolled Colleen’s name bitterly off her tongue. “Men don’t get depressed,” he argued. “I missed her and floundered for a while is all.”
“That’s the kind of stubborn thinking that kept you from enjoying life. You found out whiskey didn’t help before. It won’t do anything now.”
Garret sagged and his chin hit his chest. “I did try drowning my sorrows in booze. Luckily I hate hangovers.” And after several stiff drinks last night, Garret convinced himself he’d been mistaken yesterday at the pub. Now he wasn’t sure. “So,” he said, heaving a sigh. “She’s really alive? I started to hope, as Brian suggested, that it was her double.”
“Don’t we wish? No, she tried to book a room at the resort. Sean figured she’d stop there, and he called Trish to warn her. She made up a story about all the area hotels being full from now through the Mountain Music Festival. Sean and Brian hoped Colleen would leave and go on her merry way. Unfortunately, no one told the Californian couple who opened that new B and B in the south end. Galen was driving home from work and saw Colleen hauling her luggage into the old Rowan house.” Galen was the eldest of Clare’s four sons, and the only one not involved in Logan’s pub.
“Why do you suppose she came back after all this time?” Garret muttered half to himself as he turned on the shower. “At first, I could have sworn she didn’t recognize me. Then she hiked herself onto a bar stool and ordered sarsaparilla like she always did. I, uh, yelled at her in front of customers—a couple of salesmen traveling through White Oak Valley who’d stopped in for a beer. I realized what I’d done, and told her to meet me outside. But I just couldn’t face her. Seeing her was like an electric shock, Ma.”
“I’m disappointed in her. She doesn’t seem the least bit fazed by how she treated you, Garret. Brian said he told her she was wasting her time sticking around. This morning Jaclyn paid her a visit. She told Colleen that you and she are dating. I detoured past the B and B on my way here, thinking she’d have taken the hint to go. I assume it’s her car with Massachusetts license plates still parked in their lot.”
“Jackie should’ve stayed out of this. If there’s fighting to be done, it’s between me and Colleen.”
“Jaclyn’s seen you at your worst. She cares about you, Garret.You two have more in common than you’ll admit. She knows what it’s like to have your heart broken.”
“Yeah, but even so…”
“This room’s steaming up.” Clare reached inside the door and turned on the noisy exhaust fan.
Grimacing at the stab of pain in his head, Garret quickly shut the fan off. “Ma, I’ve told you—told the whole family—I’m simply not in the market for a wife. I wish you’d all listen.”
Clare held up a hand. “Take your shower, Garret. Domino’s been waiting long enough for his breakfast, so I’ll take care of that after I drop some clean jeans and a shirt outside your door. Once you feel yourself again, we can hash this out over coffee and rolls.”
“No food, Ma. Coffee, black and plenty of it, will do me. Thanks for sobering me up, but there’s nothing to talk about.” He meant that, too, as he shut the bathroom door and stripped out of clothes that did smell like swill. Garret loved his family, but at times they could be too interfering.
Stepping under the pelting spray, he tried to force his thoughts to focus. Not that he wanted to revisit the pain he’d suffered in the years after his return from Ireland. He’d brought home a wedding ring he’d intended to put on Colleen’s finger. So many times, he’d imagined how the stones would flash under the pub’s stage lighting whenever her talented fingers worked their magic on her fiddle strings. What would his family say if they knew how often, when he was alone, he took out the ring and the fiddle Colleen had played at the pub whenever he could talk her into it? She’d played there in spite of her mother’s vehement objection.
There was one thing Garret knew to be true. Sharon Drake had never liked him. She’d chased him back through the hole in the hedge between the Drake and Logan houses too often to count.
Over the years he and Colleen had gotten good at finding ways to steal time together. There’d never been anyone else for either of them. After they were old enough to realize they were in love, they swore they’d move heaven and earth to be together forever.
Colleen had broken that promise in the worst possible way, and it had nearly killed him.
Turning off the spray of water that had grown considerably cooler, Garret buried his face in a navy-blue towel. If only he could shut off the vivid memories as easily. He thought he’d succeeded in filing them out of reach this past year—until yesterday when he glanced up and saw Colleen standing there. She’d displayed all the poise and sophistication her mother had insisted she could have if Garret was out of the picture.
Garret wrestled with a million questions only Colleen could answer. One in particular haunted him. But he didn’t know if he was strong enough to hear the blunt truth.
Deciding to get answers one way or another, he retrieved the clothes his mom had left outside the bathroom door and got dressed. Garret hoped his mother had taken the hint that he preferred to be left alone. He should’ve known better. Meddling was a family art. Indeed, Clare Logan bustled about, bringing order to his kitchen.
“Hey, boy.” He bent slowly to keep the lingering dizziness at bay, and scrubbed Domino’s head and patted his wiggling backside. “No run today,” Garret said when the dog sat and stared longingly at the leash hanging next to the back door.
Crossing to the sink, Garret washed his hands before accepting the steaming mug Clare held out to him.
“I must say you look a lot more presentable than you did when I got here.”
“I feel fine. You don’t need to babysit me, Ma. I’m going to work as soon as I finish this coffee. It’s good, by the way.”
She snorted. “Don’t you know by now that flattery won’t get you anywhere with me? You’d say it was good if it was sludge, hoping I’ll hush up and make myself scarce. And I will—eventually. I have chores to do before I join Kellee at our pottery booth,” Clare said, referring to Brian’s wife. Clare, Kellee and Galen’s wife, Sheila, met throughout the year to mix, pour, fire and glaze unique pottery pieces they sold in local stores once a year during the arts and crafts fair. Garret remembered Colleen used to love to help, but her mother constantly complained that the chemicals in the clay would make her fingers too rough for playing her violin.
Clare broke into Garret’s silent musing. “Your dad is driving to Knoxville today to pick up supplies the community club ordered for the Art Association’s barbecue dance. Ride home with me. You can go along to see he doesn’t overdo the heavy lifting.”
Garret studied her through the steam rising from his mug. “This is Sean’s morning to volunteer at the firehouse. I can’t leave Brian to handle the pub by himself.”
“Brian suggested I ask you. He phoned while you were in the shower.”
“The way he bitches if he’s ever left alone to tend bar and cook for the lunch crowd? What are you guys not telling me, Ma?”
Guilt pinched Clare’s features as she avoided her son’s dark brown eyes, so like her own. Inspecting her lightly polished nails, she finally caved in. “It’s for your own good, Garret. On her way to work, Trish saw Colleen turning into the high-school parking lot. For whatever reason, it seems she’s determined to poke around town. Maybe she’ll find whatever she’s after and leave at the end of the day.”
Garret took a swallow of his coffee, which gave him time to process the new information. “She left White Oak Valley before she graduated. Do you think her visit has to do with that?” he muttered, finally setting his mug down. “Nah, any information she needed from the school she could get by phone.”
“Garret, we were discussing you helping your dad.”
Yeah, and he’d never hear the end of it if he turned her down. Not that he would. His dad had undergone a triple bypass the previous year, and the boys pitched in with heavy chores whenever possible. “Sure, I’ll go with Dad.” Besides, Garret figured it’d be smart to clear his mind before he talked to Colleen. “Give me a minute to let Domino run around the backyard first. Oh, and top off my coffee, will you? Then we can take off.”
“Really? Fantastic.” Clare sprang from her chair to get the coffee. “Do you feel like a breakfast roll yet? I used almond flavoring in the glaze just for you.”
He opened his mouth to refuse, then decided to save his arguments for the battle that was sure to come when his family learned about his plans to confront Colleen—even if he had to follow her to Boston. One way or another, he’d made up his mind that they were going to meet again. Today, he wasn’t up to a skirmish with her or his family, especially considering the way his head split when he whistled Domino back into the house.
But Garret knew he’d have it out with any or all of the Logans if they interfered with his seeing Colleen. He’d wasted one night trying to numb the shock of learning she was very much alive. Now it was time, as his mother had said earlier, to act like a man. A Logan. Surely she hadn’t forgotten what set Logan men apart from others. They believed in love at first sight and were loyal to that one woman forever.
There wasn’t much point in inviting another lecture by reminding his mom of that fact, Garret thought as they drove into town. When they arrived, he glanced over at the house where Colleen Drake had once lived.
So many memories had been woven between them over the years, until his life had been shattered by the news of her death. Only, she hadn’t died, and now she was back. Garret kept circling back to why.
JO RECOGNIZED the White Oak Valley High School building from the yearbooks she’d found. Hope had faded that she and Colleen weren’t one and the same person. And still it bothered her that driving up to the school evoked no memories beyond the photographs. While she had begun to accept that it was her picture in the yearbooks, and those were her talent awards, she wasn’t able to fathom that she’d hurt Garret Logan. She’d never been close enough to anyone to hurt them.
Kendra Rowan had volunteered to accompany Jo to the high school. It was only after she walked through the doors and didn’t know where to start asking questions, that Jo wished she had accepted the offer.
City schools had security guards at the entrances. Here, a person could wander at will. Jo stopped to study trophies in a case that ran the length of the main hall. There were awards for soccer, wrestling, basketball and 4-H ribbons. She looked for Colleen Drake’s name but didn’t find it. The name Logan figured prominently on a number of plaques and trophies. Jo concluded it was a big family.
In the office she was greeted by a woman working at a computer. “I came across some old yearbooks from this school when I was cleaning out a closet after my mother died. I just wondered if there are any teachers who would’ve taught here eight or nine years ago still on staff. I’d be willing to make an appointment to see someone after school or during a break. I’d really like to talk to them.”
“Eight or nine years ago? The board offered a really great retirement package four years ago. Most people who were eligible took the offer.”
“That’s disappointing, but I’m not surprised. Thank you anyway.” Jo had nearly reached the door, when the woman called her back. “Wait. Mr. Rice, our music instructor, came out of retirement at our new principal’s request. I don’t know if he’d be of any help, but he has a prep period that runs for another fifteen minutes. You’re welcome to see if he’s in the music room.”
Jo’s heart beat faster at that news. “I’ll go straight there. Where is the music room?”
