“ ‘I love a maiden fair with sunlight in her hair. Her beauty was so rare, but she did scorn me,’ ” Bryan sang as he trailed along behind Rachel and Faith Callan like a wandering troubador.
They were systematically working their way through Drake House, making an inventory. Faith, who had experience with antiques, was identifying each piece, then Rachel looked the item up in a dealer’s catalog, and they tried to arrive at a fair market value. Bryan tagged along behind them, jotting down their findings in the inventory book. Addie followed them to each room, then stood in a strategic spot and glared at them as they went about their business.
She wasn’t taking it well at all, he thought, stealing a surreptitious glance at the older woman. The peace mother and daughter had made the day before had already been wrecked. Addie was sulking in the corner of the room near the window, her mouth pinched into a line as she twisted the end of her braid. She dug a hand into the patch pocket of her cotton housedress, pulled out a long stalk of celery, and began to munch on it angrily.
Bryan knew Rachel had explained to her that the antiques would have to be inventoried and sold because they needed the money, and Addie had seemed to comprehend the situation, but that didn’t mean she had to like it. He couldn’t blame her. Her independence was being taken away from her bit by bit. A proud woman like Addie wasn’t likely to accept it with a smile.
Still, Bryan thought with a sigh, he had promised to try to ease this transition for both Addie and Rachel. Drawing in a deep breath, he broke into song again.
“ ‘She was a maiden fair with sunlight in her hair. Her name was Addie.’ ”
Addie scowled at him and gave him a loud raspberry, spraying bits of celery out at him.
“I think she likes me.” Bryan grinned, and winked at Faith. “What do you think?”
Faith giggled, dark eyes twinkling. The sun streaming in the window caught in her mop of burnished curls, turning them more red than gold. She poked Bryan in the ribs with the eraser end of her pencil. “Behave yourself, Hennessy, or we’ll send you out to do some real work.”
“You could have brought along my darling godchildren,” he said with a hint of reproach. “They would have kept an eye on me.”
“No doubt. Lindy would make you toe the line. You know how she bosses Nicholas around.”
“He’s just biding his time,” Bryan said. “In another few years he’ll be towering over her. We’ll see who the boss is then. I can give him some pointers on diabolical brother-type revenge.”
Rachel listened to their good-natured bantering. It was clear that Bryan and Faith were as close as brother and sister. There was a special understanding between them, evident when they smiled at each other. She envied them that. She had never felt that kind of kinship with anyone, not even with Terence.
As she was thinking it, Bryan turned and regarded her with the same warm expression, the same keen knowing in his blue eyes. There was an invitation in his gaze, an invitation for her to share that kind of special friendship with him.
Temptation pulled at her. A part of her wanted badly to accept. It would have been nice to have a friend to lean on, but another part of her flatly denied her that option. She had to take her responsibilities on her own shoulders, because she knew from experience she couldn’t count on a man like Bryan to give support forever.
Not that she blamed him. She couldn’t see how anyone in his right mind would want to take on the task she was facing if he didn’t have to. Why would anyone ask to share that kind of pain?
The word love passed fleetingly through her brain, but she dismissed it. She had given up on the idea of romantic love, just as she had given up on the notion of rainbows and happy endings. She couldn’t afford romantic fantasies any more than she could afford to lose sleep over the erotic dreams she’d been having lately.
Bryan Hennessy was proving to be one big distraction from the things she needed to concentrate on most. One big, handsome distraction…
She stared at him as he made a note in the book he cradled on his right arm. He wore faded jeans that hugged his lean male body in all the right places. A polo shirt clung to his strong shoulders. The color matched the blue of his eyes in a way that made Rachel’s breath catch. Glossy strands of tawny hair fell across his broad forehead.
His glasses were slipping down his nose. Without looking up from his work, he reached up and pushed at the wire bridge with the middle finger of his left hand. It was a gesture she’d seen him perform a hundred times, and yet, for some inexplicable reason, this time she thought it was curiously sweet.
Her gaze focused on his hands, and longing rippled through her. Those big hands were strong, yet so gentle, almost as gentle as his lips had been against hers. She’d dreamed of those hands caressing her every night. It seemed like eons had passed since he’d touched her, kissed her. It had been three days. She probably could have said how many hours and minutes had passed.
It irked her that she’d spent so much time thinking about it. She had told herself she couldn’t get involved with Bryan Hennessy. That should have been the end of the longing. Since their argument, she had avoided him as best she could, considering they were living in the same house. She had been as cool toward him as possible without being out and out rude.
And still he was sweet to her. The growing bouquet of roses on her dresser was testimony to that. There was one waiting for her on her pillow every night when she went up to bed. It seemed only a sweeter gesture when he denied knowledge of it.
She couldn’t stop thinking about him. If she had been the fanciful sort, she might have thought he’d cast some kind of magic spell on her. Instead, she blamed it on the flowers. She had always been a sucker for roses.
“Rachel?” Faith asked for the third time
Rachel snapped out of her musings with a start. “I’m sorry. What?”
A gentle smile turned the corners of Faith’s mouth, setting her heartshaped face aglow. “I was just going to suggest a coffee break.”
“Oh, yes, of course,” Rachel stammered, embarrassment heating her face. She stifled the urge to rub at the spots of color blooming on her cheekbones, winding her hands more firmly around the book she clutched against the front of her baggy pink T-shirt.
Suddenly Addie stamped her booted foot. “You’re thieves, the lot of you! You’re going to steal my bird cages. I won’t stand for it, I tell you. I’m going to call the police!”
“Mother!” Rachel wailed, at the end of her emotional rope. She had been over this with Addie a half dozen times. It was difficult to tell herself that Addie had undoubtedly forgotten every one of those conversations, that she wasn’t being difficult deliberately. “Don’t go dragging that horrid deputy out here again.”
“He’ll get to the bottom of this business,” Addie said. “He can find that ugly ghost while he’s out here, too, and haul you all away together.”
“If he hauls anyone away, it’ll be you, Mother. He’s angry enough with you as it is.”
Addie tossed the last of her celery stalk at her daughter and stomped toward the door. Bryan headed her off.
“Hennessy, get out of my way,” Addie commanded.
“Not a chance, beautiful,” he said with an amicable grin. “You know you have the most lovely complexion, Addie. How do you keep it that way?”
Addie blushed like a schoolgirl. She had always been vain about her flawless skin. Bryan’s compliment bolstered her flagging ego and easily derailed her thoughts from calling the police.
“All the Gunther women have beautiful skin,” she said coyly, patting a hand to her pale cheek. “It’s an old family secret.”
“Ah, a secret,” Bryan said with great relish. He took her arm and tucked it in his. “I’ve got one too. I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours. Then we’ll dance the tango on the lawn.”
Rachel watched, bemused by the strange mix of feelings inside her as Bryan led her mother away. “Is he ever serious about anything?”
“Oh, yes,” Faith said on a long sigh of remembrance. Heedless of the layer of dust, she settled herself on an old desk and folded her hands in the lap of her worn jeans. “We went for a long time without seeing Bryan smile after he lost Serena.”
“Serena?”
“His wife,” Faith said gently. She paused then to let Rachel absorb the information, compassion welling inside her at the look of shock on the woman’s face. “She passed away about a year and half ago. Cancer.”
“I-I didn’t know.” Rachel felt as if she’d been hit by a truck. Her knees wobbled, and she sat down on a huge square iron bird cage.
Bryan had been married. He had been in love with a woman who had died. Oh, Lord, she thought, unable to stop the tears that flooded her eyes, what a disservice she’d done him, thinking he had never had to endure pain or accept responsibility.
“So if we seem a little overindulgent of his silliness,” Faith went on, “it’s only because we missed it so much. Besides,” she added, summoning up one of her sunny smiles, “there’s a lot more to Bryan than meets the eye.”
“I’d already guessed that,” Rachel mumbled.
Dammit, she thought, she felt completely off balance. She felt utterly guilty and mean and self-centered. Anger struggled to life inside her. She didn’t need this. She had enough emotional baggage to deal with. She couldn’t afford to spend her energy on dealing with Bryan’s as well. It was just one more reason she shouldn’t get more deeply involved with him.
If they’d met at some other place and time in their lives, things might have been different. But the facts remained: she had her mother to take care of, Bryan had his own wounded heart to heal, and they wanted to deal with those issues in two completely different ways. She could see no answer other than practicality, no matter how unpleasant it might be. He chose to gloss everything over with magic and foolishness.
Rachel looked up suddenly, and in the next instant Bryan danced through the door with Addie in his arms. Her mother’s cheeks were flushed, and she held a rose between her teeth. He deposited her in a high-backed chair and strode toward Rachel purposefully, stopping before her with an earnest look on his face.
“Dorothy,” he said. “I believe the munchkins have arrived.”
“The what?” Faith asked.
Rachel, however, knew exactly what he was referring to. She had spoken of this place as Oz. But who exactly the munchkins were, she didn’t know. Her eyebrows lifted in question.
Bryan glanced back over his shoulder to make sure Addie wasn’t listening. She was twirling her rose by its stem and softly singing a snatch of something from Aida. He turned back to Rachel. “There are two rather remarkable-looking gentlemen at the front door, asking to speak to you about purchasing Drake House.”
“But I haven’t put it on the market yet,” Rachel said. “How did they know it was for sale?”
“I wonder,” Bryan said, stroking a hand back through his sandy hair. Behind his glasses his eyes took on a faraway look. “I wonder.”
Rachel excused herself and went out into the hall, wondering why she wasn’t eager to meet these prospective buyers. She’d been worried that they would have trouble unloading the house, it was in such a sad state of disrepair. She should have been bubbling over about this turn of events, but she wasn’t.
Swinging the heavy front door back, she immediately saw what Bryan had meant by “remarkable-looking.” One of the men was about five feet tall and nearly as wide. His head was as round and bald as a bowling ball. His companion was a few inches taller, built like a rail, and had a face with sharp, sly features and deepset eyes. There was a fading blue bruise on his left cheek.
Rachel cleared her throat delicately and offered her visitors a polite smile. “Can I help you? I’m Rachel Lindquist.”
The rotund one stuck out a dimpled hand. “Miles Porchind, Miss Lindquist,” he said with a smile, “and my partner, Felix Rasmussen. May we take a few moments of your time to discuss some business?”
Her immediate reaction to the men was dislike, but she reminded herself beggars couldn’t be choosers, and invited the prospective buyers inside. She led the way to the study, the skin on her back prickling as she felt their gazes on her.
Once in the room, Porchind and Rasmussen looked around with hungry eyes, taking in the paneling, the old furniture, the bookshelves-particularly the bookshelves, with their dusty old tomes. Their expressions were like those of starving men who had stumbled into a bakery. Rachel half expected them to start salivating. Grimacing in distaste at the thought, she seated herself behind the desk and motioned the men to help themselves to seats. Oddly, they chose to sit side by side on the leather love seat, with Porchind taking up more than half of it.
Bryan wandered in then, jugging two apples and an orange. “Hello again,” he said, sending the men his most innocuous grin. He caught two pieces of fruit against his chest with his right arm, caught the remaining apple in his left hand, and promptly took a bite out of it.
“We’re here to discuss business with Miss Lindquist,” Porchind said with a trace of annoyance.
“So you said. Care for a piece of fruit?”
They merely stared at him, then turned to Rachel, clearly hoping she would toss Bryan out on his ear.
“It’s all right,” Rachel said. “Mr. Hennessy is the family retainer.”
She supposed she shouldn’t have, but she wanted Bryan there with her, and, for once, she gave in to her desire. He shot her a wink that seemed inappropriately intimate, and immediately heat streaked through her body. She had to force her mind back to the business at hand.
“Bryan tells me you’re interested in purchasing the house,” she said. “May I ask where you heard it was for sale?”
The men glanced sharply at each other and answered simultaneously. “In town.”
Porchind went on. “We heard you had come back to settle your mother’s affairs and close up the house. Perhaps it was nothing more than small-town gossip.”
“Gossip, perhaps,” Rasmussen echoed.
“No, I have been considering it,” Rachel said cautiously.
“But it’s nothing definite, by any means,” Bryan interrupted.
Rachel scowled up at him. “I thought you wanted to help,” she muttered between her teeth.
“I am helping,” he said, ignoring the anger he felt rolling off her in waves. He turned back to their visitors. “There are so many things to consider. The ghosts, for example. You must have heard by now, the house is haunted.”
The strangers exchanged another glance. “We’re not put off by ghost stories,” Porchind said.
His partner shook his head. “Don’t believe in ghosts.”
Immediately, two huge drops of water fell from the ceiling-one landing squarely on the head of each man. Before they had a chance to recover from the surprise, two more drops fell, followed by two more. Porchind looked up and caught one in the eye.
“And then there’s the plumbing,” Bryan said. It was almost impossible to contain his excitement. It churned inside him as he looked up at the ceiling, which showed no evidence of a water spot. Wimsey. He knew it. He could sense it. This was his first physical sign of Addie’s ghost.
“The plumbing is fine,” Rachel insisted. “That’s just humidity.”
“Humidity from hell,” Bryan said dramatically.
Porchind looked past him to Rachel. “My partner and I are interested in the house, Miss Lindquist. Have you set a price yet?”
“No, I haven’t,” Rachel said, trying to keep her anger out of her voice. She was going to skin Bryan Hennessy alive when this was over. “I need to discuss the matter with my mother,”
“Mrs. Lindquist doesn’t want to move, you see,” Bryan explained cheerfully. “She’s attached to the place. Hard to figure, isn’t it? But you know how elderly people are. They get something in their heads and there’s no telling them otherwise. She wants to stay here forever.”
Bryan tossed his apple core into the wastebasket beside the desk, then resumed his juggling, adding a paperweight to the apple and orange. From beneath lowered lashes he watched the two men scowl at him.
“Perhaps we should come back at a more convenient time,” Porchind said, heaving himself to his feet.
“When it’s more convenient,” Rasmussen muttered, rising and trying to straighten his suit over his bony frame.
“Once you’ve had a chance to speak with your mother and determine a price,” the round man said as he and his partner moved toward the door. “We only thought it prudent to let you know of our interest.”
“Interest.” Rasmussen nodded, smiling at Rachel in a way that made her skin crawl.
She managed a thank-you as she walked them to the door. When she returned to the study, she was seething. Bryan had seated himself behind the desk and was absorbed in one of his history books.
“How dare you interfere!” she snapped, releasing the pent-up anger not only over the house issue, but the anger and frustration that had been building inside her for days. She kicked a sneakered foot against the handsome walnut desk. “How dare you! Those men may be the only people in the free world strange enough to buy this house, and you practically chased them away! And even if they do come back, I’ll be lucky to get enough out of them to pay off the mortgage, thanks to you and your infernal ghost stories and your candor about the plumbing.”
“Addie isn’t going to want to move,” Bryan said calmly.
“It isn’t a question of whether or not Addie wants to move,” Rachel said, planting her fists on the desktop. “It’s the way it has to be. Will you face reality for once? I have a job waiting for me in San Francisco. I’m going to have to support my mother. Her medical bills alone will probably put me in debt for the rest of my life. Insurance would be a great help, but Addie doesn’t have any because she lined a bird cage with her premium notice and let the policy lapse. Are you comprehending any of this, Bryan?” She snatched up a pen and pad of paper and thrust them at him. “Maybe you should write yourself a note. I have to sell this house!”
Bryan looked up at her and sighed. “I know it’s a cliché, but you’re beautiful when you’re angry.”
Rachel clamped her hands to her head as if to keep the top of it from exploding off. She counted to ten and took deep breaths. Blessed, infuriating man! He could be every bit as impossible to deal with as her mother.
“I don’t think you should be too hasty about selling, Rachel.”
“Bryan, this house is as expensive to keep as a herd of elephants, and there’s no chance of me finding a job around here that would pay more than peanuts. You’re allegedly an intelligent man-you do the math. I have to sell this house. I haven’t got a choice.”
“We always have at least two choices, angel. You’re just too stubborn to look for yours.”
“I’m stubborn?” Rachel went red in the face as a hundred scathing retorts clogged her throat and cut off her air supply.
Bryan had turned back to his book. “I’ve got a bad feeling about Messieurs Porkrind and Rasputin. I think they’re up to something.”
Rachel didn’t like them either, but she was too angry to agree with him about anything. She regarded him with narrowed eyes. “I suppose now you’re going to tell me you’re a mind reader.”
“Not precisely.” Bryan pressed his lips together to fight off the smile that threatened.
He studiously avoided looking at Rachel, concentrating instead on his book. His eyes brightened suddenly, and he tapped a finger to the page before him. “Edmund Porchind, alias Pig Porchind, alleged bootlegger during the Prohibition era, resided in Anastasia until 1931.” He pushed his glasses up and stared across the room. “I wonder what one of the late Mr. Pig’s long-lost relatives wants with Drake House.”
“I’m sure I don’t care,” Rachel said crossly. She turned to start for the door, but Bryan caught her wrist, and with one deft tug pulled her into his lap.
“Bryan!” she squealed. Her fury was instantly overrun by surprise and a giddy kind of desire that kept her from trying too hard to get away. She squirmed just enough so Bryan had to wrap his arms around her.
“Don’t you know when a woman is furious with you?” she asked, fighting to maintain her scowl.
“Yes, but I also know when she’s having to work at it.” A wicked grin split his features. Rachel was angry with him, but she would recover. In the span of a few short minutes he had had a bounty of clues dropped in his lap. It was as intoxicating for him as was any liquor.
“Look sharp, Watson!” he said merrily. “The game is afoot!”
He covered her frown with an exuberant kiss. He had meant only to give her a quick smack on the lips, but as soon as he tasted her, his intentions melted away on a groan of pure male need. She tasted so sweet. Even angry she tasted sweeter than anything he’d had in his life for a long time. And beneath her initial resistance he could taste a dozen other emotions-longing, hesitancy. He could taste a woman who wanted to believe in his brand of magic but wasn’t going to allow herself to.
He slanted his mouth across hers in warm invitation as his left hand slid up the supple lines of her back to tangle in her hair. Pins slipped their moorings and dropped to the floor as the mass of pale silk tumbled loose. Her lips softened beneath his, and she yielded to temptation with a moan.
She shouldn’t have been giving in to him this way, Rachel thought dimly. But she didn’t seem to have the will to pull away. She felt safe in Bryan’s arms. She felt womanly in a way she hadn’t experienced in ages. She felt her troubles drift to the back of her mind. That alone was worth the lapse in behavior. What would it hurt to let go of reality for just a moment or two, she rationalized as desire surged through her veins in a hot stream. What would it hurt to take what Bryan was offering, so long as she realized it couldn’t be permanent?
His tongue gently traced the line of her lips, and she invited him inside before her brain could summon an objection. She framed his face with her hands as she took his tongue into her mouth, and reveled in the textures her heightened senses experienced-the softness of his lean, clean-shaven cheeks against her palms, the velvet rasp of his tongue against her own. She could feel his arousal press against her thigh, and an answering heat pulsed between her legs. She twisted in his embrace to press closer, flattening her breasts against the solid wall of his chest.
She slid her hands up the sides of his face, hooking her thumbs under his glasses and sliding them up out of the way, so she could kiss him even harder. At the same time, Bryan traced a line around her rib cage, down to the point of her hip. His fingers snuck under the bottom of her T-shirt and slid up to cup a small, full breast. Rachel’s breath caught in her throat at the feel of his thumb rubbing back and forth across her hardened nipple.
Bryan drew back a little, planting tiny kisses along the line of Rachel’s jaw, then drew back a little farther so he could look at her face. Fresh air rushed in and out of his lungs, bringing with it a measure of sanity. It seemed an eternity had passed since he’d wanted a woman this badly. His hormones were screaming for him to press his advantage and take Rachel right there and then, but as he looked into her violet eyes he saw not only desire, but vulnerability and uncertainty.
She might want him, but she wasn’t clear on the reasons why, and for him it had to be something more than an act to obliterate the present and push away the specter of a lonely future. He’d been down that road himself. He wasn’t willing to go down it again, even with Rachel. When they made love, it would be just that-love.
He smoothed down the hem of her soft pink shirt and gave her a gentle smile as he dropped his glasses back into place. “For someone who doesn’t believe in magic, you do a pretty good job of weaving a spell,” he said.
Rachel stared at him as if he had just materialized before her, taking in his tousled tawny hair, the gleam of residual desire in his blue eyes, the slight puffiness of his sexy lower lip. She could still feel him, rigid and ready against her thigh, and a bolt of heat shot through her.
Magic, he’d said. Illusion. That was all this was, she told herself, her heart sinking. She could lose herself to the illusion she found in Bryan’s arms, but the reality of her life would still be there waiting for her when the smoke cleared.
She tried to bolt off his lap, but he held her there, his hands firm but unyielding.
“Love isn’t the trick, Rachel,” he said softly, his earnest gaze holding hers, “believing is.”
Awareness shivered through her. Almost immediately panic closed her throat. She couldn’t be in love with Bryan Hennessy. She just couldn’t be. Fate couldn’t be that cruel to her again, to make her fall in love with a man who believed in magic. Love would make her weak when she most needed her strength. It would hand her disappointment when she already had a wagonload of it.
This time when she tried to extricate herself from Bryan’s hold, he let her go. She straightened her clothes and pressed a hand to her mouth as she looked away from him. Her lips were hot and sensitive and still tasted of him, of apples and man. Longing ribboned through her again, and she squelched it, wincing as she ground out the fragile emotion.
Bryan watched her, hurting for her as he sensed her inner struggle, hurting for himself as she denied them both. But despite the mild setback, optimism brimmed to life inside him, and he smiled. Things were looking up. There was a mystery to unravel, and Rachel Lindquist had just kissed him silly. What more could a man ask for?
“We’d better get back to work,” she said, her voice remote. “Faith will be wondering what happened to us.”
“You might be wondering that yourself,” Bryan murmured as Rachel walked away. He took one last look at the history book open on the desk, then focused his gaze on Rachel’s delectable derriere as he pushed himself out of his chair and followed her into the hall.
“Faith, thanks for all your help,” Rachel said. She stood on the porch with her arms wrapped around herself as the fog bank rolled in for the evening, obliterating what was left of the sunlight. “Are you sure you won’t take anything for your time?”
“Absolutely not.” Faith shook her head, her curls bouncing. “I was just lending a hand. That’s what friends do. If you’re a friend of Bryan’s, you’re a friend of mine. Remember that.” She skipped down the sagging steps and turned around at the bottom with a sunny smile. “Ill expect to see you at the inn one day soon for tea.”
“All right.”
Rachel couldn’t help but smile in return. It would have been nice to nurture a friendship with Faith Callan. For a moment she let herself think of what it would be like to settle there and have the kind of friends she could call simply to chat with or meet for tea. Another thing she wanted but could never have, she told herself as she watched Bryan walk his friend to her station wagon.
“Dear Miss Lindquist,” Bryan said as he ambled along with his hands in his pockets, “you are cordially invited to an interrogation at Keepsake Inn, Anastasia-by-the-Sea. Thumbscrews optional.”
Faith frowned at him in disappointment. “I like her, Bryan. She probably deserves better than a man who questions the motives of his dearest friends. Besides,” she added, “Alaina and Jayne and I are only looking out for you the same way you look out for us.”
“Yes,” Bryan agreed, “and I love you for it. But I’m a big boy, now; I can take care of myself-more or less”
Faith didn’t look the least bit convinced as she opened the door and slid behind the wheel of her car. “You need a haircut, big boy.”
A wry grin twisted Bryan’s mouth as he ran a hand back through his hair. He was going to have to write himself another note. He bent and kissed Faith’s cheek through the open window, then handed her a little blue flower he had produced from thin air. Faith tucked it into a buttonhole on her white oxford shirt and looked at him with an expression as earnest as any he could have mustered.
“Please be careful with your heart, Bryan. You give it so easily. I’m not saying Rachel isn’t worthy of it. I’m just afraid that maybe you’re falling in love with her because she needs someone to take care of her and you’ve run out of people to look after.”
“That’s not it,” he said evenly, though he suspected he was fibbing a bit. He did want to look after Rachel, but caring was a part of love. Besides, kissing her this morning had had little to do with her plight and everything to do with the way she felt in his arms.
Faith sighed and told him good-bye. He stood in the yard, watching as she drove down the long driveway, a pensive mood settling over him. He had a lot to think about tonight-Rachel, Porchind and Rasmussen, the possibility that Wimsey had showered those two with disapproval over their opinion of ghosts.
A mournful wail drifted to him on the cooling breeze. He snapped himself out of his musings and listened, holding his breath. The sound came again, faint but real, and he turned and jogged off across the lawn toward it, not at all sure of what he might find.
Addie wandered through the maze with no idea of where she was. All around her were high wild bushes, their branches tangled into an angry mass with leaves that rattled at her in the wind. They towered over her, casting a sinister shadow across the narrow, weed-choked path.
She had left the house because she was angry and frightened and she had thought the fresh air might clear her head, but she had promptly become lost. She had no idea how long she had been gone. It seemed like hours had passed. She had no idea of how far she had wandered. All she knew for sure was that she was cold and that Rachel was going to sell her home and make her move to a place where nothing would be familiar.
She had overheard her daughter’s conversation with those strange little men and her argument with Hennessy afterward. She had thought about confronting Rachel, but fear of the future had overwhelmed her, and she had run away instead. Her forgetfulness wasn’t such a terrible thing here in Anastasia, where people knew her, and in Drake House, where things were usually familiar. But to go to a place where everything would be strange, where there would be no memories at all to draw on, where she would have to learn new faces and new ways of doing things…
Tears welled up in her eyes and in her throat, choking her as she stumbled along the path, her garden boots catching on the rough ground. How could Rachel betray her this way? How could the daughter she had sacrificed so much for treat her so badly?
Addie stopped and looked around her, her eyes wide with fright. No matter which way she turned, everything looked the same. She pressed her bony hands to her cheeks and sobbed aloud as she sank down on a cracked stone bench.
Suddenly a man burst through the shrubbery. She looked up at him, terrified, and sobbed again.
“Addie,” he said, stopping in his tracks. He was out of breath and his hair was disheveled. “Are you all right?”
“Who are you?” she demanded.
“It’s me, Addie. Bryan Hennessy.”
“I don’t know you,” she said vehemently, swatting at him as he came nearer and knelt down at her feet. “I don’t know you. Go away! Go away or I’ll scream!”
“It’s all right, Addie,” Bryan said in a soft voice. He never broke eye contact with her as he reached out and captured one of her frail hands in his. “It’s all right. It’s me, Hennessy.”
“I don’t know you!” she shouted, panic rolling through her like a tidal wave as she stared at him. She fought the horrible fog that clouded her mind, searching for a memory of this man’s face. A part of her thought she should know him, which only made her more desperate to find something there that she couldn’t quite grasp. Tears spilled down her cheeks, and she slumped on the bench in abject misery, mumbling, “I don’t know you. I don’t know you.”
Bryan settled himself on the bench beside Addie and pulled her thin, trembling body into his arms. Cradling her against him, he stroked a big hand over her hair, and, rocking her gently back and forth, he began singing to her. It was a soft, sweet song he’d learned in Scotland about a girl named Annie Laurie, who was fair and lovely with a voice like a summer wind’s sigh. His voice rose and fell with the melody, and trembled a bit as he ached with Addie’s pain and confusion. But he sang on, the gentle notes coming from his heart, just as they had when he’d held Serena and sung to her.
Rachel stood at the edge of the clearing in the maze, her body shaking. She had gone into the house, intending to speak with Addie about selling the place, but her mother had been nowhere around. She’d run out into the yard to get Bryan to help her look for Addie, and the sound of crying had drawn her to the overgrown maze.
She stood there now, unable to move or breathe. She stared at the scene before her: Bryan, his eyes closed, but a lone pair of tears escaping the outer corners, holding her mother and singing to her; and Addie rocking back and forth within the embrace of his strong arms, crying.
“It’s all right, Addie,” Bryan murmured, kissing the old woman’s temple. “It’s all right if you don’t know me. I’ll still help you.”
It struck Rachel then. As she stood there with her defenses stripped away by raw emotion, with her heart laid bare and the truth confronting her with nowhere for her to hide. She was in love with Bryan Hennessy. And it wasn’t a question of whether or not he was the kind of man she needed, it was a question of whether or not she deserved to have the kind of man he was.