Chapter 4

“So she’s healing? No long-term bone worries or…anything?” Maureen flicked her hand in the air a few times.

“Fit as a fiddle, to quote her.”

Maureen nodded, her messy bun bouncing as she flitted around her kitchen. The youngest of my sisters was many things. Caring, smart, business savvy, an incredible baker and cook. One thing she wasn’t, though, was ever worried about her appearance. While Colleen wouldn’t leave the house unless she was camera ready with makeup, hair, and clothing choice perfect, and I dressed in feminine business attire, knowing clients expected their lawyer to appear professional and polished without being prissy, the baby sister in our family went for comfort over fashion every time.

Standing in her designer kitchen spooning her mouthwatering beef stew into bowls for her dining room filled with guests, Maureen resembled a sixties love child throwback, not the owner of an award-winning New England bed and breakfast.

Over the years, I’d been a witness to more debates than I could count between Colleen and Mo about their footwear choices. Colleen didn’t own a shoe without a three-inch heel or higher. Maureen would go perpetually barefoot if health-code violations weren’t a worry in a business possessing a commercial kitchen.

As usual, an apron covered her from chest to knees. Today’s was black with white lettering and Get your fat pants ready splayed across the bodice.

“And she wants to stay at Angelica Arms? Indefinitely?”

“She does.” I spooned in some of the delectable, steamy stew, my insides sighing with appreciation. “God, Mo, this is insane.”

“Word,” Colleen said. “I’m glad I happened to drop by. I didn’t even realize it was close to lunchtime.”

Maureen slanted our sister a glance, her lips pressed together in a smirk. “Yeah, it’s funny how often you lose track of time when it’s mealtime.”

Colleen stuck out her tongue.

“How old are you?” I asked.

“Younger than you.” She slid the spoon into her mouth and shot me a grin.

Maureen shook her head, her lips clamping together, the hint of a dimple appearing on each cheek.

Of the three of us, Maureen was the one who kept her feelings closest to the vest. I knew the tiny smile she tossed me over her shoulder meant she was pleased to have family in her kitchen.

“Hey, who’s the new guest with the puppy-dog eyes?” Colleen asked, after finishing her stew. “I spotted him in the dining room when I got here. About six two, needs a haircut? Looks like a runner, and he’s got the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen.”

I knew exactly who she was referring to.

“Mac Frayne,” Maureen said. “He’s writing a book about Josiah.”

“Good Lord, who would want to read about him?”

“Apparently, Frayne’s publishers,” I told her. “He’s been given access to the personal archives by the historical society.”

“Sucks, for you,” she said, her lips dipping into a frown. “Aren’t you supposed to babysit him when he’s doing his research since Leigh’s out on maternity leave? Isn’t that one of the dumb society rules you have to follow?”

I told her it was.

“What’s up with him?” Colleen asked. “He looks like the weight of the world is on his shoulders.”

“He’s had a pretty rough couple of years,” Maureen, a faithful fan of internet research, said.

“He looks it,” Colleen said. Before she could add anything else, her cell phone chirped. “It’s tomorrow’s groom.” She rose from her chair and handed Maureen her bowl. As she left the kitchen for privacy, she connected the call and put on her best wedding-planner-in-crisis-control voice. “Caleb, what can I do for you on this lovely day?”

“It’s eerie how fast she can switch to professional mode, isn’t it?” Maureen said.

“Scary, too. What did you mean Frayne’s had a rough couple of years?”

Maureen was the one of us who resembled Nanny the most and in more than her physical appearance. When she shot me a familiar raised eyebrow and inquisitive glare, I could imagine what Nanny had looked like back in the day when she’d scolded our father for a boyhood malfeasance.

“Don’t you ever research anyone?”

“When it’s for a court-case background check, yeah, of course I do. Frayne’s not a case.”

“Still, I’d think since you’re gonna be working together you’d like to know a little about him.”

“First of all, I’m not working with him. I’m merely, as Colleen so aptly put it, babysitting him. Second, I prefer to find out about people the old-fashioned way, by engaging in conversation face to face, instead of stalking their profiles on social media.”

“I don’t stalk.” She stirred the stew. “I simply like knowing a little something about the people who stay here for more than a night.”

“Call it whatever you like. Now, what do you know?”

“I thought you wanted to get to know him yourself.”

“That snotty voice didn’t work when you were a kid, little sister, and it doesn’t now.”

She had the grace to pout.

“Frayne’s not exactly a talker,” I said. “So, spill.”

With a sigh deep with resignation, she began adding water to the sink to wash the dishes. “His wife and daughter were killed in a car accident.”

“Oh, how horrible. What happened?”

“Distracted driver rear-ended them, sending their car off an elevated road and into a stream.”

I shook my head, sickened at the thought.

She turned from the sink, drying her hands on a dishtowel. “Apparently, the teenager who hit them got off. The road was icy and hadn’t been sanded. The defense lawyer argued about culpability. You can read about it online. You’ll understand it more. The end result was Frayne’s family was killed. There was another adult in the car with them, too. A man.” Her delicate eyebrows rose.

“Was he identified?”

“Just by name.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Three years. Frayne was interviewed after the trial by a local reporter. That’s online, too. There’s nothing about him anywhere after the interview, though. It’s like he disappeared off the planet.”

Until he showed up in, of all places, Heaven. We were both silent for a few moments.

“So sad,” I said.

“Yeah. It is.” She heaved a big sigh and then leaned against the kitchen counter. “I’m sure there’s a story there with the other man in the car, though.”

“Why?”

Her shrug spoke volumes. “Gut feeling.”

I let that thought settle for a moment. Maureen was very intuitive—our grandmother would say fey. And she was usually correct when she had a hunch about something.

“So, what’s up with you for the rest of the day?” she asked.

“I’ve got a couple client meets this afternoon.” I did a quick sweep of my cell phone, pleased to find no emergency texts or missed calls. “An evening full of prep for tomorrow’s wedding, a long hot bath, and then a hot date with George.”

“How’s he doing?”

“The same. He’s stiff when he moves, but once he gets going, he’s able to get around okay for a few minutes. I wish I could ease his pain a little.”

“Aren’t you allowed to give him over-the-counter stuff? When I was trolling around for therapeutic foods, I saw it mentioned once or twice. Some OTC pain relievers are okay in moderation.”

I stood with my empty bowl in my hand and walked toward the sink. “Shelby said I could try something, but it might do more harm than good in the long run. His kidneys and liver are failing, which means the meds might get clogged in them and cause him more problems. I don’t want that. He’s suffering enough as it is.” I sighed. “This is way more difficult than I expected.”

Maureen wrapped her arms around my waist from behind me and laid her head on my shoulder. “You’ve been together a long time.” Her warm, comforting breath wafted across my neck.

“Most of my adult life. I don’t know what I’ll do when he dies. The house is going to be so…empty and cold. God, I hate this.”

“Excuse me.” McLachlan Frayne stood in the doorway, a bowl and a glass in his hands. “I’m sorry to interrupt. I didn’t know if I should leave these”—he held up his hands—“on the table or bring them here.”

Mo unwove her hands from around me, and, with a smile, moved to him, saying, “You can leave them on the table in the future. No need to bus your own.”

Her easy smile drew one from him as his gaze went from her face to mine. His lips took their time going back to their normal, full line. “Mrs. Mulvaney.”

“Cathy’s fine.” I swiped at an errant tear, took a composing breath, and tried to place a smile on my face. “Taking a break from your research?”

I cringed on the inside. Duh! Of course he was. Talk about stating the obvious.

“Just for lunch. I need to get back to the museum in a bit.”

Maureen placed a hand at my back and then kissed my cheek. “I’ve got work to do. I’ll see you when I see you,” she said.

“Love you.” I pursed my lips and blew her a kiss.

“Love you more,” she tossed over her shoulder as she made her way to the dining room. She bobbed Frayne a quick nod.

“Are you finding everything you need at the museum?” I asked him when we were alone. “You haven’t texted me, so I figured you were occupying your time with the public records.”

He slid his hands into his well-worn jeans pockets and rocked back a bit on his sneakered feet. Today’s pullover was a deep blue V-neck, a swatch of white peeking up along the collar. He and Maureen could have been cut from the same bolt of comfort-wear fabric. Dark, purple splotches sat under his bottom lashes.

“I have been. There’s a great deal of info in those files, some of which I haven’t seen published elsewhere. It’s been beneficial to help me detail a historical timeline.”

“I meant to ask you yesterday—why Josiah Heaven?” I tugged my coat from the back of Maureen’s kitchen chair and slipped it on. “Why did you choose him to write about? He’s not exactly an important historical figure, or even well known. How did you discover him?”

A tiny lift of his lips, and his entire expression changed. Softened. The clouds in his eyes billowed away, replaced by something an awful lot like subdued animation. “I have my agent to thank for that. She attended a wedding here a few months ago. Stayed here at the inn, in fact. Marci—Marci Edgerton’s her name—fell in love with the town and asked about its history. When she heard about the founder, she thought he might be someone I’d like to write about. She knows I tend to gravitate toward historical figures. Plus, I’ve been searching for a new project. After looking into him, I told her she was right.”

“And you got the commission to do so?”

He nodded.

“Well, I know the members of the historical society are giddy you’re here. They love talking up old Josiah to anyone, anytime. And those public files are interesting reading, a fact I have personal knowledge of. I had to do enough book reports and papers on our town when I was in school. Lots of small-town snippets about the people who came before us and how they lived and survived day to day. You’ll get lots of info from the records. While it all looks mundane, it’s actually a fairly accurate portrayal of a small, tightly knit New England community.”

Frayne nodded. “I think I’ll be bothering you for access to the personal files soon, though.”

For the second time in as many minutes, I cringed. With two court dates and a custody trial set to start next week, my available free time was going to be severely limited. For the hundredth time, I cursed my role as keeper of the key. It would be rude to tell Frayne that, though. It wasn’t his fault I’d been put in the position.

He cocked his head to one side, those pale, haunted eyes regarding me with a questioning stare. “What?” he asked.

“I’m sorry?”

“What’s wrong?”

“What do you mean?”

He took a few steps closer, his gaze trained on my face. The feeling of being a gazelle with a hungry lion stalking me crashed across my brain, which was—of course—a ridiculous analogy.

“You seem a little…troubled, by my saying that.”

“Not troubled, no.”

“But something?”

He stopped less than a foot in front of me, his entire stance radiating a calm and unthreatening attitude. His breathing was soft and steady and slow. But his eyes, his eyes were another story entirely. Inquisitive. Searching. Perceptive. He’d been able to read my expression perfectly, and I knew I had a great poker face.

The lawyer in my DNA wanted to redirect or deflect the conversation. “It’s nothing. I just have a great deal of work-related things in the next few weeks I’m unable to move around. They’ve been scheduled for some time and can’t be changed. It would help if we had an appointed time for me to let you into the personal archives. A time I’m not needed elsewhere.”

“Makes sense. I can imagine how busy your days are between your work and your family. What’s your schedule look like this weekend? Are you free at all?”

“I’ve got a wedding on Saturday.”

Maureen strode back into the kitchen, a tray laden with empty bowls gripped in her hands.

“Mo, what time’s Colleen’s wedding tomorrow? I forget.”

“Ceremony at one, reception right after.” She zoomed back out of the room after placing the tray on a counter.

“I’ll be free after two, then,” I told Frayne.

“You’re not staying for the party?” A tiny groove settled between his eyebrows.

“Sometimes I do, but not tomorrow. Will the time work for you?”

His questioning stare deepened. “Yeah, it’s…it’s fine.”

I got the distinct impression he wanted to press me. For whatever reason, he decided not to. I checked my watch and said, “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon, then, when I’m done. Now, I’m sorry, but I’ve gotta run. I have clients this afternoon, and I need a few minutes to prep.” I put out my hand to shake his goodbye.

Frayne studied it for a moment, shot his gaze back up to my eyes, and then back down to my hand. With a tiny shake of his head, which made his shaggy hair sway, he took it. Like mine had the day before, his body stilled as soon as we touched.

I was raised to be a practical, commonsense, logical New England woman. I didn’t believe in fairies, mesmerism, or magic. I wasn’t given to flights of fancy, I didn’t read stuff about the paranormal, and I thought scary movies were a silly waste of time, better spent on reading a good book or playing the piano. But I swore on Nanny’s 120-year-old Bible, Frayne had somehow cast a spell of immobility on me. I knew—knew—I had to move, to get back to work. The message wasn’t making its way from my brain to my feet, though, and the only reason I could give was Frayne somehow had entranced me with his warm touch and sad, haunted, questioning eyes.

Maureen’s helper, Sarah, burst into the kitchen laughing at someone she was talking to on her cell phone. The abrupt sound sparked a few of my muscles back to life, and with a little more vigor than I’d intended, I tugged my hand back, blinked a few times to focus, then turned and left him standing there.

I chose to ignore the fact my legs were shaking and my armpits were stress-sweating enough to require a blouse change. What I couldn’t disregard was the sight of my hands trembling as I put my car into gear and peeled out of the inn’s driveway. Nor could I discount the surge of heat coiled in my belly like a live, splayed wire when Frayne’s hand circled mine, or the way his troubled eyes made me want to hug him close and give comfort of some kind. Any kind.

Ridiculous. It was simply ridiculous to feel this emotionally off kilter and discombobulated about a man I’d met barely a day ago.

Why then, I asked myself as I drove to my office, was I?

****

“Cassidy and Caleb, you two have weathered many storms, both legal and emotional, and have managed to survive by the sheer will of your love for one another.” I smiled at them. “Lesser individuals would have gone their separate ways long before now. Not you two. To see you both here today, surrounded by the people who love and support you the most, I know your love can withstand anything life throws at you. As your futures unfold and you’re tested again and again, as you will be, remember the strength of the love you’ve pledged to one another here today to help see you through whatever comes at you.”

“We will,” they vowed.

“I know you will. Well, then, by the legal power vested in me by the wonderful State of New Hampshire, I now pronounce you married for life, partners for eternity. Please seal your vows with your first married kiss. And make it a good one,” I added in a very loud stage whisper.

The audience filling the inn’s ballroom burst into laughter as the two handholding grooms grinned at one another. In a smooth motion I swear they’d rehearsed, Caleb grabbed his new husband and bent him backward over his arm, kissing him soundly amid the claps, whistles, and cheers of their guests.

Twenty minutes later, Maureen handed me my coat and a heavy shopping bag.

“What’s this?”

“Leftover stew for you and ground prime rib with rice, carrots, kale, and spinach for George. I figured he might be getting sick of chicken.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.” I pulled her into a hug, disregarding the flour-streaked apron adorning her trim frame. Today’s was a pink affair with an embroidered wedding cake on the bottom befitting the celebration going on in her ballroom, and the message Cake is my happy place written in Victorian script above it.

“You’d survive.” She chuckled as she patted my back. “But you’d be seriously food deprived.”

“Truth. I’ve got to get over to the museum. Frayne wants access to the subbasement, so there goes the rest of my afternoon.”

“Can’t one of the docents let him in and”—she shrugged—“babysit?”

“Unfortunately, no.” I sighed and buttoned up my coat. “There are times I really wish Daddy hadn’t advocated for me to take over his position. Plus, it would have been nice to have been asked if I even wanted it. But, no. He simply made another unilateral decision without telling anyone, like him and Mom moving and not letting us know until the last minute. And God, I hate how bitter I sound.”

Maureen’s gaze dropped to her hands. “I think we all deserve to be a little bitter, maybe you most of all, since you’re the one who was left holding all the pieces, and us, together.”

“I think Nanny was more responsible for that, than me.”

“She’s a rock, to be sure. A slightly kooky and theatrical one”—she rolled her eyes and grinned—“but she’s rock solid in the family glue department. And we’re lucky to have her in our lives, no matter how much trouble she gets into.”

“Less now, since she’s living at the home. At least I know I won’t be getting calls from Lucas informing me he’s holding her down at the police station on another civil disobedience charge.”

“There’s that.”

“I’d better get going. Thanks for this.” I lifted the bag and gave her cheek a kiss.