Idiot!
Veronica paced back and forth on the enclosed rear porch of the Breckwood home, trying to decide if she wanted to lynch Caith or kiss him. It was typical of the Caith she remembered to run off and do something stupidly heroic. What she couldn’t conceive was why he hadn’t called the police when he’d arrived at the welding shop.
Maybe he’d been distracted, thinking of his son and the past. Or maybe he was just so damn cocky and self-assured, used to solving things on his own, he didn’t believe in police assistance.
A certifiable idiot!
Fuming silently, she passed an electric cauldron in the corner for the sixth time. Simulated orange flames danced across the top, sending ripples of light over the ceiling and floor. Earlier, the home had been cleared of guests, the ghoulish and fantastical landscapes now seeming out of place with only family remaining.
She’d cried herself silly when Caith brought Derry back, fussing over him like he was her own child. She’d helped Caith get him settled in bed, leaving only when Derry asked about Trask.
That was a private moment for father and son, one Veronica wasn’t sure Caith would see to conclusion. But Stuart told her Caith had promised Derry the truth. He also told her about the fight between Caith and Lance McClure. She’d seen proof of it when he’d returned to the house. Bruising on his neck, a cut above his eye, and a swollen ankle that left him hobbling.
She’d wanted him to see a doctor, but he’d shrugged it off as unnecessary.
A certifiable macho idiot!
He definitely deserved to be lynched, not kissed. She was exhausted, on the verge of tears. The entire night had been an ongoing series of traumatic events. Duke Cameron had reported back to inform them Kelly Rice was now in custody, and warrants had been issued for Galina Brady. Balin was remanded to his father’s care until the extent of his involvement could be determined. Lucy McClure was notified of her husband’s demise, gossip spreading faster than it could be manufactured.
Stuart called a friend who was a doctor, begged a favor, and asked him to visit Caith at the house. By then, Caith’s ankle had swelled to the extent the boot had to be cut from his leg. Fortunately, the doctor determined the swelling was the result of a bad sprain and it was highly unlikely anything had been broken. He suggested x-rays in the morning to be on the safe side. In the meantime, the ankle was wrapped, packed with ice, and Caith was given orders to remain off it as much as possible.
He’d used the time to stay with his son. Derry fell asleep, waking once with nightmares when she’d checked in. After an initial bout of bad dreams, he’d slept soundly.
Deciding her certifiable-macho-idiot boyfriend needed rest of his own, Veronica headed upstairs. It was still fifty minutes before midnight. Halloween’s final hour.
She found Caith as he was leaving Derry’s bedroom. He closed the door slowly, holding the knob to muffle the sound.
“Asleep?” Veronica asked.
Caith nodded. He looked haggard. He’d shed his tunic along with his remaining boot. The white shirt gaped at his throat, exposing purpling bruises on his neck. She wondered if the sight had disturbed Derry as much as it did her. Her eyes tracked to his bandaged ankle.
“You shouldn’t be standing. I thought you were supposed to stay off your feet.”
“I needed to see you. A lot’s happened tonight.” Catching her wrist, he drew her into his arms. His lips moved against her hair in a tender kiss. “God, you smell good.”
She wanted to be angry for the danger he’d placed himself in but couldn’t summon the effort. He’d reacted as she would have to protect Derry. It made her realize how much she loved them both.
“I need to talk to you.” Taking her hand, he led her down the hall to the guest room she’d been given for the night. The late hour and concern for Derry kept the family gathered downstairs, bringing a sense of security and warmth long absent from the Breckwood home.
Caith pulled her into the room and closed the door. She’d been here earlier, leaving a small hurricane lamp burning on the nightstand. It created a halo of yellow that accompanied the moonlight streaming through high, steepled windows. A Victorian four-poster bed with a lace coverlet was draped in filmy white bed curtains. Another time, Veronica might have thought the ambiance enchanting, but her mind was too occupied with Caith.
“You really should sit down.” Nervously, she moved to tuck her hair behind her ear and realized it was still caught up in combs. Clearing her throat, she motioned to the bed, hoping to mask her uneasiness. “Doctor Grossi said if you don’t keep off that ankle, you’re going to make it worse.”
He grinned. “I think you just want to get me in bed.”
His brashness took her by surprise, oddly out of place after the events of the evening. Befuddled, she fell back on sternness. “Caithelden.”
He slipped his hands onto her shoulders, using his thumbs to tip up her chin. Heat flowed from his body, warm and inviting, promising passion to come. His lips hovered just shy of her own, ghosting her skin.
“I make a better lover than a highwayman.” Bending forward, he moved his mouth gently over hers, sending sun-soaked warmth shooting through her veins. When the kiss ended, he looked intently into her eyes. “But I’d be a better husband than a lover.”
Veronica’s heart thudded against her ribs. “What?”
He cupped her face. “I love you.”
Awestruck, Veronica watched a grin spread across his lips. Bright and dazzling, it was the smile she loved best.
“I’ve loved you since we were kids, but I couldn’t tell you. I didn’t want anything to happen to you.” The smile faltered along with his words. Something clouded his eyes. “I’ve been an idiot, Veronica. I wasted years we could have been together. I wouldn’t blame you if you hated me.”
“Hate you?” It was happening too fast. Her head reeled as she tried to make the moment last. He’d said it, really said it: I love you. Words she’d thought him incapable of uttering.
“You need to know the truth.” Anxiety crackled through him. She felt it as strongly as she’d felt his pleasure a moment ago. Taking her hand, he drew her to a seat on the bed. His thumb tracked over her knuckles, but the gesture was more likely meant to calm him rather than her.
“When we were together that first time at the lake…I loved you so much it scared me. I thought something would happen to you. Like Trask. That being with me could get you killed.” Releasing her, he lurched from the bed and prowled a short distance away. “I know it’s stupid, Ron, but I couldn’t make it go away. So I wrote you that letter.” He hobbled back and stood staring down at her. “There never was anyone else. It was always you. Only you. I made the damn thing up.”
She shook her head, disbelieving. “Why, Caith?” Confusion, betrayal, and hurt rushed together, resurrecting the pain she’d felt when she’d received the letter. She’d carried that scar for years. Even now, as much as she loved him, the wound was bitter. To know he’d inflicted it deliberately…
“Why didn’t you talk to me? Tell me what you were feeling?”
“I couldn’t. Don’t you get it?” Anguish flared in his eyes. “You would have wanted to stay with me. I couldn’t have that. I couldn’t live with the possibility of something happening to you because of who I am.”
“The heir to a fortune.” She said it bitterly.
“Yes.”
Veronica stood. “And now?”
Caith lowered his eyes. “Now I know I’ve been a complete ass. To you, my father, my family, even my kid. I’m my own person with or without the Breckwood name.” He drew a breath, meeting her gaze squarely. “I told Derry about Trask tonight. I told him everything. I don’t want my son growing up with the same fears I had. Ten years from now he could meet someone and make the same stupid mistake. It might be too late for us, but I’m going to work like hell to make sure that never happens to Derry.”
Veronica’s heart sank to her stomach. “Do you think it’s too late for us?”
“You need to decide that.” Caith moved forward. She saw fear in his eyes. Not the obsessive fear that had controlled his life, but fear he would lose her. Fear she would turn and walk away now that he was ready to make a commitment.
“I love you, Veronica. I couldn’t say it before, but if you give me the chance, I promise to tell you for the rest of your life.”
Hot tears flooded her eyes. When he took her hands, her whole body trembled. She tried to blink past the watery haze, but her vision only blurred further. Still holding her hands, he crouched awkwardly on one knee.
“Your ankle.”
“My mother will skin me alive if I don’t do this right. One knee. It’s in all of the books.”
“Caith.”
“We’ve played at myth all of our lives.” He looked into her eyes. The smile was back. Not as self-assured as before, but full of love nonetheless. “I don’t want what-ifs or make-believes. I want you, Ronnie. I’m sorry I don’t have a ring for you. I didn’t plan on proposing tonight. After what’s happened, I just know I don’t want to spend another day without you.” He drew a breath, tightening his grip on her hands. “Veronica Kent, will you marry me?”
Tears crested her eyes and flowed down her face. Her throat closed up but she managed a pitiful squeak.
Looking worried, Caith tilted his head. “Is that a yes?”
“Yes!” She flung herself into his arms, remembering his ankle too late. Off balance he reeled backward, taking them both to the floor. Veronica laughed. “I’m sorry. Your ankle.”
Grinning, he rolled on top of her, tucking his knee between her legs. “I’d rather have the bed, but this will do.” His mouth closed on hers, warm and giving, sealing his promise.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back. Only then did she realize he’d proposed on Halloween. Perhaps somewhere in a realm where myth and magic combined, a blond-haired boy in a green baseball cap watched and smiled.
Trask would approve.
* * * *
Veronica gave Dean Porter a quick once-over as she passed him the key to his suite. It was amazing the difference a few months had made in the scrawny writer. He hadn’t gained weight as much as confidence. His suit was immaculate and his thinning hair styled for distinction. Going from hack tabloid writer to respected journalist with a major newspaper had done miracles for his self-esteem. Wanting to keep Roth-Deckman out of the press, the CEO had been more than willing to listen when Caith suggested an introduction to Porter. While the tabloid writer flourished in his new position, Galina Brady had been stripped of hers. Both she and Kelly were disgraced but free on bail, pending trial.
“Third floor,” Veronica told Porter, with a nod for the steps. “But we don’t call it the Hummingbird Suite anymore.”
Porter read the engraved name on the old-fashioned key tag with a shrug. “Camelot?”
Veronica smiled. “Fit for a king. Or in this case, a journalist.”
The observation made him puff up with pride. Preening, he headed for the stairs.
Veronica sighed, satisfied to have the lodge full again. There was no longer a need for anti-stress sessions, or bans on cell phones and laptops. The lodge was open to the public, replacing its corporate theme with one of myth and romance. It had been Morgana’s idea, changing the theme and the name.
Myth and Magic had replaced Stone Willow Lodge in mid-November. Veronica still had occasional single guests like Porter, but more often, couples came to celebrate anniversaries, honeymoons, and romantic holidays. The rustic decor had been replaced with soft pastels, romantic lace, and antique furnishings. Theme suites, meals, and events were built around famous couples from folklore—Arthur and Guinevere, Tristan and Isolde, Robin Hood and Marian. At first she feared the idea wouldn’t take, but the lodge had received favorable write-ups in countless magazines and online sites, most courtesy of Roth-Deckman.
Veronica grinned. Sometimes there were benefits to having a private investigator for a husband. Abandoning the registration counter, she walked to the rear of the lobby, then stood staring out over Stone Willow Lake.
When Caith proposed, she’d never expected him to stay in Coldcreek. But a week later he’d made arrangements to sell the house in Boston. They’d bought a two-story Colonial not far from Aren’s farm. The wedding had been small, family and a few friends. Jake and Connie from Boston and Nick Fontaine, with whom Caith had developed an amazing, if unusual, rapport.
Her parents flew in from Florida with Melanie acting as matron of honor and Aren standing as Caith’s best man. The wedding was simple, an evening candlelight ceremony at the Breckwood mansion. Afterward, they’d taken an island honeymoon, enjoying sun-drenched afternoons surrounded by sparkling water and lazy nights of making love sheltered by palm trees. They returned in time for the opening of the new lodge and for Veronica to assume her place as manager.
Content, she folded her arms over her chest.
Beyond the windows, the ground was covered with snow, tumbling to the edges of the lake. Christmas was three weeks away, the first with her new husband and son. A time for rejoicing and love. As she watched the play of sunlight on water, she thought back to the first time she’d made love with Caith on the bank. They’d been children really, seventeen and eighteen, but the water had turned to fire, resurrecting buried myth.
Magic, Morgana had insisted when she’d told her mother-in-law about the experience a few short days ago. The assurance of true love.
Veronica still wasn’t certain she believed in the legend of Stone Willow, but she believed in Caith. He’d changed. He was mellower since Derry’s abduction, smiling more often and wanting to spend time with his family. It was as if in saving Derry, he’d finally made peace with Trask.
Derry was a little less open with strangers, but his natural exuberance and curiosity hadn’t suffered from his experience. Veronica credited a good portion of his recovery to Caith’s frank discussions about his own kidnapping. Their marriage brought additional stability and, within two days of the wedding, Derry began calling her “Mom,” a name she found simultaneously thrilling and terrifying.
Balin suffered the most, working hard to convince his family he’d learned a valuable lesson and would never make such a dreadful mistake again. A light jail sentence was later suspended in favor of community service. Two nights a week he helped at a center for homeless children in a neighboring town. Veronica had no doubt Caith would eventually come around and ease up on his nephew. He’d even hinted as much to Merlin on the phone.
High-profile and fashionable, Merlin had decided it was time to leave Coldcreek. After several discussions with Stuart, he’d finally convinced his father to give him BI’s Balitmore office, the golden carrot he’d coveted all along. Shortly after, Lew Walden left Stone Willow to stand by his daughter. While his wife’s death had propelled him to wander, Galina’s incarceration motivated him to consider law again.
Although he’d suspected her involvement, he’d convinced himself someone in the Breckwood family was at fault. Pegging Caith as a private investigator from the start, he’d run a background check, and then left anonymous notes hoping to steer Caith away from Galina. He’d prayed his suspicions about her weren’t true, but in the end, she’d only dug herself deeper.
Because of the Tolars, Veronica marveled silently. It reaffirmed the staggering thought that even people in high-ranking positions could fall prey to cult propaganda. Lew had apologized profusely, as he was the one who’d first sparked Galina’s interest in the Tolars. After starting work at Stone Willow, he’d learned the history of the property and shared the information with his daughter. According to him, Galina had long held a fascination with old world religions, but he’d never expected her to embrace the cult and lose perspective.
Veronica assured him she held no animosity toward him. It certainly wasn’t his fault his grown daughter had taken it upon herself to spin a complicated web of deceit and criminal behavior.
“Enjoying the view?”
Caith appeared behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. He dropped a kiss on her neck. “Our son wants to go to the movies tonight. Since it’s Friday, I told him we’d go for dinner, too.”
“Mmm. Sounds good.” She leaned against him, hugging his arms close. He wore a long, black wool coat over a bone-colored turtleneck and faded jeans. The scent of wood-smoke and wet winter grasses clung to his clothing.
“You’re cold,” she noted. “Where have you been?”
“The cemetery.”
Stunned, Veronica turned. Ruddy color was high on his face, brightening the arctic spark of his eyes. In all the years she’d known him, he’d never visited Trask’s grave.
As if sensing her shock, Caith shrugged. “I owed Trask a visit. It was overdue.”
He kept the words light, but she could tell by the look in his eyes, he didn’t want her to make a fuss. He’d simply wanted her to know. After years of torturing himself, he could walk into the cemetery without guilt, without fear.
Veronica touched his cheek. “I’m glad.”
Caith caught her hand and kissed her fingertips. “I’ve got something to show you.” Grinning, he slipped a business card from his coat pocket, flashing it between two fingers. “Dad thought it was time I made it official. You should have seen him when these arrived. He was like a kid at Christmas, passing them out to anyone who came within five feet.”
Veronica took the card, immediately recognizing the BI logo. She’d seen it displayed countless times on everything from letterhead and presentation folders to pens and corporate signs. Never, though, in conjunction with the name emblazoned in black script beneath it: Caithelden Breckwood, Investigative Services.
Breckwood. Not Lairen.
He’d made the name change legal before their marriage, giving his father an early Christmas present. Now after years of estrangement, he was on BI’s payroll.
Something warm and tingly spread through her stomach. “It’s beautiful. I don’t know why the two of you didn’t think of it before.”
Caith chuckled. “Stubborn, I guess.”
She was surprised to hear him admit it. “No argument there.” Smiling, she slipped the card into her pocket and wrapped her arms around his neck. She knew he’d already hired Nick Fontaine as a field assistant. “But are you going to like corporate investigative work? It’s not what you set out to do.”
He kissed her forehead. “It made up sixty-five percent of my clientele in Boston. And Force, one of the guys who kidnapped me and Trask, was mid-management in BI. He just hired two thugs to help him pull off the kidnapping. Yeah, they were eventually caught and ended up with life sentences, but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten where they came from. Besides, being on retainer for BI doesn’t mean I won’t take cases outside of the business. Only now my motivation is different.” He trailed a thumb over her cheek. “I don’t want to wage a private battle in Trask’s memory any longer. I have a family to think about.”
His touch sent a shiver racing down her spine.
Family.
It was a beautiful word. Resting her head on his shoulder, she leaned against him. “I’ll love you whatever you do.”
He chucked a knuckle beneath her chin. “You love me because I’m good looking and rich.”
“I thought you were brainy and gifted.”
“That, too. You just want to hear me say I’m madly in love with you.”
“Well?” She drew back, arching a brow.
He traced his thumb down her jaw, and feathered it across her lip. When he spoke, his voice was husky and low, his eyes the deep blue of twilight seas. The humor melted from his gaze, replaced by something warm and giving. “I always will be.”
Pulling her close, he covered her mouth with his, sweeping her into a dizzying kaleidoscope of emotion. His kiss filled her with the promise of eternity, sealing what she’d known since they were children.
All the myths in the world couldn’t compete with the magic of true love. She didn’t have to look outside to know Stone Willow Lake burned with fire.