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“I do?”
“Yes. I’ll go. I’ll go to—” She took a deep breath, though the air was sharp with disinfectant. “What did you say this mouse-hole you’ve found for me is called?”
“Actually, I didn’t say,” he answered politely. “You didn’t ask. But now that you have, I’m happy to tell you. This mouse-hole, as you put it, just happens to be upstate, in a rather beautiful little mountain town called Firefly Glen.”
ON THE WAY down to his veterinary clinic the next morning, Reed Fairmont looked around his quiet home, a rambling, lovingly renovated farmhouse from the 1800s, and tried to imagine strangers living here.
Frankly, he just couldn’t do it. In the two years since Melissa died, he’d come to terms with solitude. More than that—he’d come to like it. He’d come to need it.
And yet, by dinnertime today, these total strangers, this Faith Constable, who had somehow tangled with a murderer, and her nephew Spencer, who apparently was emotionally disturbed, would be here.
And then what? No more quiet dinners with the newspaper, that was for sure. No more smoky jazz on the stereo when he couldn’t sleep at three in the morning. No more burning off the day’s tension by banging weights around in the exercise room at midnight.
And lately he’d begun to start thinking about maybe dating again, just as another way to work off tension. Well, forget that, too.
Hell. Damn Parker Tremaine anyhow. Reed should never have let Parker talk him into this. That was a lawyer for you. They started talking, and before they were finished you found yourself agreeing with them.
He slammed the door that cut the rest of the house off from the clinic, something so out of character that Justine Millner, his receptionist, looked up, a line of worry marring her clear, white forehead.
“Anything wrong, boss?”
Behind her, a baby stirred and began to whimper, probably roused by the slamming door. Justine caught her lower lip prettily between her teeth.
“Sorry, Dr. Fairmont. My mom couldn’t keep Gavin this morning. My dad was home and he won’t let her, you know, so I had to bring him with me. I didn’t think you’d mind. I mean, you did say—”
“It’s fine,” he said, shaking off his bad mood long enough to bend down and let the baby wrap his fat hand around Reed’s thumb. “Everything’s fine.”
But was it? As if he didn’t have enough to worry about, he was already having second thoughts about giving Justine this job. For one thing, she was an incurable flirt. Reed had a fairly healthy ego—after all, he had won Melissa, hadn’t he? And since Melissa’s death plenty of women had shown themselves eager to help him recover.
But Justine was only nineteen. To her, a thirty-two-year-old widowed vet, however fit, however nice-looking, must seem ancient. Still she couldn’t open her mouth without flirting.
And, though she had assured him her mom would keep the baby whenever she could, whenever her father wasn’t home to forbid it, half the time Justine showed up dragging the diaper bag and baby carrier behind her.
But how could he have said no? The kid had been desperate, an exhausted former beauty queen with no husband, a hungry infant and a father who had disowned her loud enough for the whole damn Glen to hear.
The judgmental old bastard. What kind of father pinned a scarlet letter to his own daughter? Mayor Alton Millner’s kind, of course. Rumor was he’d wanted Justine to give the baby up, and he couldn’t forgive her for defying him.
That showed some serious backbone. And she clearly wasn’t stupid, in spite of the fatherless baby, the compulsive flirtation and the tight sweaters, which were probably all parts of the same self-esteem issue.
So Reed, aware that he was one of the few employers in the Glen who didn’t need to curry favor with Mayor Millner, had hired her.
The baby was sucking his finger. Reed pulled it free carefully, making a deft substitute move with the plastic pacifier. Then he straightened and headed toward the back.
“Mr. Tremaine is in room one,” Justine called after him. “He’s brought Frosty in for his shots.”
“Is that so?” Reed changed course, heading for room one with a purposeful stride. “Mr. Smooth-talking Tremaine. Just the man I want to see.”
He swung through the door with a firm push. Parker was sitting comfortably in the corner chair. Frosty, a beautiful golden retriever about a year old, stood on his hind legs beside him, paws dangling over Parker’s lap, getting a lazy ear rub that had sent the dog into sleepy-eyed ecstasy.
“Uh-oh.” Parker smiled, obviously recognizing Reed’s foul mood and deducing the cause. “I hope we’re not having second thoughts about our new housekeeper and her nephew.”
Frosty bounded over to greet Reed, whom he adored. Of course, Frosty adored everyone, so Reed didn’t let it go to his head.
“No,” he said, petting Frosty but glaring at Parker over the dog’s head. “We’re not having second thoughts. I am. You’re not involved in this. You’re not the one whose house is being invaded.”
Parker returned his glare with complete innocence. But Reed wasn’t buying it. He straightened and narrowed his eyes. At six-three, he was a full inch taller than Parker, which drove his friend crazy.
“And I have to ask myself, why is that? If this Good Samaritan deed is so important, why isn’t Parker Tremaine the one doing it?”
Parker stretched out his long legs and put his hands behind his head, the picture of ease and a perfectly clean conscience. “We went over this, Reed. I’m not the one with a huge house and a million extra bedrooms—”
“Two,” Reed corrected, lifting Frosty up onto the table and checking his ears, which were spotless, of course. This was one well cared-for animal. “Two extra bedrooms.”
“Right. Two,” Parker agreed pleasantly. “Which is the perfect number for two people. And I’m not the one who needed a housekeeper, which is the perfect cover for a woman in hiding. I’m not the one with fifteen open acres for a kid and his dog to play in. In fact, I’ve got a relatively small house, a new wife, a new baby and two dogs tearing up the place already.”
Reed checked Frosty’s teeth, which were fine, and began clipping the dog’s toenails.
“Yeah, but you’re the superhero with all those years in the Secret Service, and a stint as sheriff, to boot. You’re the one who’s trained to protect and defend. If a murderer shows up here, what am I going to do, neuter him and give him a rabies booster?”
Parker laughed. “With this guy, that might be the best approach. But he’s not going to show up here, unless he’s a mind reader. There’s not a single thing to tie Faith Constable to you or Autumn House. Jim Bentley and I did Secret Service duty together five years ago, and he asked a favor. I suggested you. That’s a convoluted path not even a lunatic could trace.”
Reed’s assistant brought in the inoculations and stayed to help Reed hold Frosty in place while he administered them. Not that Frosty was wriggling. It was actually unnatural, this dog was so well behaved. Must be the result of living with a teacher and a lawyer. If Sarah, the teacher, couldn’t make Frosty behave, Parker could talk him into it.
While the assistant was in the room, Parker kept quiet, but as soon as they were alone, he started in again.
“So what’s really bugging you, Reed?” Frosty was back on the ground, and Parker stroked the dog’s head absently, his intense blue gaze fixed on Reed.
Reed turned to wash his hands, buying time.
“I’m not believing that the bad guy makes you nervous,” Parker said. “I’ve seen you bring down a charging bear with one well-placed tranquilizer dart. I’ve seen you rope a crazed bull and wrestle it to the ground. That’s one reason I thought of you. You’re young, you’re fit and you’re not afraid of a damn thing.”
Reed flicked a glance over his shoulder, just in time to see Parker grinning.
“Hell,” Parker added, “I’ve even heard it said that you’re a whole inch taller than I am, although that part’s a dirty lie.”
Reed dried his hands, then turned around slowly.
“Okay,” he said. “You’re right. I don’t give a damn about this Lambert character. A guy who sneaks up on women and breaks their necks is clearly a coward. I suspect I could handle him if I have to. My real problem is that—”
He paused. Like most men, he and Parker didn’t discuss their emotions much. They’d known each other so long they really didn’t have to.
“What?”
Reed took a deep breath.
“I guess I’m just hoping you don’t have some hidden agenda here. I hope you’re not thinking that, because of Melissa, I’ll be able to relate to these people in some special way. I hope you don’t think I have some gem of wisdom to offer them about surviving the loss of a loved one.”
Parker smiled. “Sorry. Frankly, ‘wisdom’ isn’t the first word that comes to mind when I think of you, old buddy.”
Reed knew what he meant. If anything, he had handled Melissa’s death with a spectacular lack of good judgment. In fact, he’d been a mess. He’d refused to see anyone except his patients. He’d barely left the house. He had drunk himself to sleep for a full year.
But damn it, he had been married only two years. Two years. Melissa had been only twenty-seven. And to see all that beauty, all that life, eaten away by cancer…
Well, it didn’t really surprise him that he’d drunk himself to sleep. It only surprised him that he hadn’t somehow managed to drink himself to death.
“Yeah, but I know you, Parker. You probably think that, because I did survive, I learned something.”
He wiped his hands on the paper towels so hard his skin burned. “But I didn’t. The only thing I learned is that eventually time will put enough distance between you and the pain, and you’ll be able to go on. I can’t help these people, Parker. Just because I came out of it, that doesn’t mean I can help them out of it, too.”
Parker leaned over to clip the leash back onto Frosty’s collar. When he stood, his face was somber.
“I never for a minute thought you could,” he said. “If anything, it might be the other way around. Maybe I thought they could help you. Truth is, you’re not as far out of it as you like people to think.”
Reed shook his head. “You’re wrong,” he said.
He wanted to be angry, wanted to dispute the implication that he wasn’t fully recovered. But the look on Parker’s face stopped him. “You’re completely wrong,” he repeated dully.
“Could be,” Parker agreed, shrugging as he headed toward the door. “It wouldn’t be the first time. Just ask Sarah.”
But that was nonsense. Parker’s beautiful new bride didn’t think a single word Parker had ever uttered was wrong. If he said day was night, Sarah would kiss him sweetly and obediently go to sleep. And it went both ways. If she said jump, Parker would soar right over the moon.
Reed remembered what that had been like. A good marriage—two people cocooned in love. It had been soft and easy, exciting and alive, real and profound and achingly brief.
He had to fight hard against the bitter envy that welled up in him whenever he saw the blissful Tremaines. But damn it, Parker didn’t know what he was talking about here. Reed didn’t need a distraction. He didn’t need a Good Samaritan mission. He didn’t even need a housekeeper.
And he damn sure didn’t need Faith Constable and her troubled nephew, with a murderer nipping at their heels.
What he needed was Melissa. Or, failing that, someone to drill into his brain and surgically remove all memories of being in love.
CHAPTER TWO
FAITH CHECKED HER WATCH in the bright mountain sunlight. She had checked her watch about ten times in the past half hour. She didn’t really care what time it was. She just needed something to do, something to fidget away the anxiety that was threatening to overtake her.
At four-seventeen, just two minutes behind schedule, Detective Bentley stopped his car at a deserted mountain pass called Vanity Gap. It was time to turn them over.
His friend Parker Tremaine was waiting at the mouth of the gap, ready to receive them. It was a strange, complicated transaction, designed to make it difficult for anyone to follow them without being seen. Faith felt a little like a ransomed hostage. Or perhaps just a parcel of smuggled goods.
Parker looked very nice, and was in fact startlingly handsome. Still, as Faith watched Detective Bentley transferring their suitcases from the unmarked cop car into Parker’s expensive luxury sedan, she felt a clutch of fear.
At least she knew the detective. After the past intense weeks, he seemed to have become a real ally. A friend. Besides, he was her tie to the city, to her sister, to her real life, which for the past three hours had been rapidly receding in the rear window.
Getting into this new car with this stranger, however handsome, would be like sailing into darkness, and she was suddenly washed with uncertainty.
Somehow she had to hide it, though, for Spencer’s sake. The little boy stood beside her, still as a statue. The only movement came from his Sheltie puppy, Tigger.
Tigger, whose boundless energy had earned him his name, was struggling to reconcile his excitement about the trip with his innate urge to stay close to his little master. Consequently, though he whined and writhed in place, he never got more than two inches from Spencer’s left foot.
Faith patted the puppy, then took Spencer’s hand and smiled down at him reassuringly.
“Okay, sweetie, here we go,” she said with an attempt at brightness.
Spencer just stared at her, his brown eyes so like his mother’s that Faith almost couldn’t bear to look into them.
He didn’t speak, of course. Spencer hadn’t spoken a word since Grace’s death. “Conversion reaction,” the psychiatrists had called it. Or perhaps “selective mutism.” But she called it something simpler—and yet far more tragic. She called it unbearable pain.
He was only six years old, and already the world had hurt him so much he no longer had the power to express it.
No, she corrected herself. The world hadn’t done that. Doug Lambert had done it.
“We’re going with Mr. Tremaine now. He’s taking us to Autumn House. That’s where you and Tigger and I will be living for a little while, remember?”
“Please. Call me Parker.” The tall, blue-eyed man came over and squatted down to get at eye level with Spencer. “Autumn House belongs to a friend of mine. It’s very big and very pretty. And it has a huge yard that puppies like to run around in. I think Tigger will have a great time there.”
Faith noticed that Parker didn’t phrase anything as a question. So he must already know about Spencer. Detective Bentley had probably filled him in on all the pitiful details. Which was only natural, of course. Only fair. These people were doing her a huge favor, and they deserved to know exactly what they were getting into.
It was ungrateful of her to mind. And yet the idea of these strangers discussing her personal tragedies was oddly distressing. Intrusive, as if she really were just that troublesome parcel of handle-with-care cargo.
She felt a new stab of hatred toward Doug Lambert as she added this to his list. He had stolen their basic right to privacy. A small loss, compared to the loss of Grace, or the loss of Spencer’s emotional peace, but another black mark on the board nonetheless.
When the bags were all transferred, Detective Brantley came over to say goodbye. His kind eyes sent courage into hers as he wished her well, and assured her that he’d keep in touch frequently through Parker, making sure she was always updated on the search for Doug Lambert.
Faith allowed herself one long hug. She had to pull herself away, finally, for fear she might dissolve into tears, which would be embarrassing. Besides, it would frighten Spencer, who needed to believe that his aunt, at least, had a firm grip on the reins of their changing, unpredictable world.
“Thanks for everything, Detective,” she managed to say before her voice gave out. And then, without looking back, she took Spencer’s hand and led him into the soft, leather-upholstered interior of Parker Tremaine’s waiting car.
Parker and the detective must have said their goodbyes very quickly, because in less than a minute Parker joined them.
He slipped his key in the ignition, using the mirror to check Spencer and Tigger, who were huddled together in the back seat.
“Everybody buckled in?”
Spencer pretended he hadn’t heard him, but Faith could see that the seat belt was already carefully pulled over both boy and dog. Spencer was so cautious now, she realized with a pang. It was unnatural to see any little boy sitting so still. Like someone frozen in the middle of a minefield.
Once Spencer would have fussed and giggled and played stalling games, pretending he couldn’t find the dreaded lap restraint. But not now. Now he obviously clung to any illusion of safety he could find.
“We’re all ready,” she said, turning to Parker with her best attempt at a smile. He was an innocent bystander in this drama. No need to make him any more uncomfortable than was absolutely necessary.
But as they drove down the winding road that led to Firefly Glen, she gradually realized that Parker wasn’t the uncomfortable type. His conversation was easy, wry and interesting. He avoided anything personal, instead amusing them with stories of how Vanity Gap got its name, and the history of the four “season” houses of Firefly Glen.
They would be staying in one of those special mansions—the Autumn House. Parker spent a lot of time describing the place, somehow making it sound both cozy and grand. Out of the corner of her eye, Faith could see that Spencer had tilted forward slightly, so that he wouldn’t miss a word.
Parker was very smooth. By the time they reached the bottom of the mountain, Faith had relaxed considerably, and she could see that even Spencer’s knuckles were no longer clenched white and bloodless.
“This is Main Street,” Parker said as they turned into a shopping area so quaint it might have been in a picture book of charming European villages.
Faith’s first impression was of clean, sparkling color. It had rained earlier, and gleaming cobblestones wound their way through storefronts decorated with garlands of autumn leaves. Golden chrysanthemums frothed out of pots at every door and late-season daisies flowered in a hundred hanging planters.
“It’s very pretty,” she said inadequately. Actually, it was far more than that. It was like the schoolbook illustration for Our Happy Hometown.
