Secret Courtship

Charity Brown had never married, but she had been a teacher for forty-five years before she’d retired, and she’d known children. She’d liked them... and they’d liked her.

Laura had loved her.

Now, as she drank in the sight of the stuccoed cottage with its weathered shake roof, she felt a growing and very deep sense of coming home. And, as she paused to inhale the perfume drifting from a bushy yellow plant, Laura felt the tension that had been with her so long begin to slacken—though the confrontation with Nicholas Diamond had, she admitted ruefully, jarred her more than a little. Especially his parting shot.

When he’d told her who he was, when he’d looked at her the way he had—so snide, so superior, so downright nasty!—she had desperately wanted to say something that would take him down a peg or three. She grimaced as she walked on. It had been unfortunate, meeting him today, but with a bit of luck she’d never bump into him again. And, though he had ruined Juniper Ridge, Sweet Briar itself was still rooted where it had always been. Only...

She halted, frowning. Though her great-aunt’s picket fence still separated her front drive from the one next door to the west, the low hedge that had divided the back gardens had been replaced by a high wall of the same creamy stone as the mansion towering beyond it. Laura raised her eyes ... and felt them widen in dismay; the second story of the monster house had huge windows-and they all looked down into Sweet Briar’s backyard.

Swiveling, Laura glanced to the east, and breathed out a sigh of relief when she saw that the forest she remembered was still intact; no looming edifice stood there, with its windows impinging on her privacy. Spruce and hemlock, fir and pine stood straight and tall, flourishing in the mild Pacific air.

Thank heavens for that. Though the new housing complex covered almost every inch of the mountain slope around her, on this one side, at least, there still remained virgin forest-thirty acres of it, if she remembered rightly. She would be able to wander in that quiet green sanctuary, as she had so often yearned to do...

Coming to Sweet Briar Cottage was the one thing that had kept her going since Jason’s death, and today was a day she had looked forward to with a feeling that had been akin to desperation. A day of new beginnings. But so much had changed. And if the forest had been gone...

But it wasn’t. So she would still have it ... and the cottage. Everything else—all the changes—she would try to ignore.

Just as she had ignored the estate lawyer’s repeated requests to have her look at the many offers he’d had on the property since her great-aunt’s death.

“I don’t want to sell,” Laura had declared, over and over and over again. “Not now, not ever.”

“But I’ve been approached by a client who is willing to pay you ten times what the place is worth!” The lawyer’s tone had indicated that he’d thought she was out of her mind. “If you agree to sell, you’ll be able to use the money to buy a very impressive house in the best area of the city!”

I already own a very impressive house in the best area of Toronto, she’d almost said. But she hadn’t. She had just repeated, firmly, that she had made up her mind.

Now, as she turned the key in the lock, opened the door, and stepped inside, she felt her heartbeats accelerate in anticipation.

The first thing she noticed was that the interior of the cottage was still as bright as she had remembered itbright and inviting, because at the end of the lobby leading to the rear of the simple house was the drawing-room, with its wall of windows overlooking the back garden.

The second thing Laura noticed was the smell—not a damp smell, as she might have expected, but a dry one, edged with the fragrance of cedar logs, pine cones and lavender. A nostalgic scent...and one that made her want to sneeze.

The first thing she must do, she decided as she moved along the lobby, was open some windows.

But as she paused in the open doorway of the living-room she felt memories come rushing back with such force that her legs threatened to give way under her. Stumbling to the nearest sofa, she sank down on the overstuffed cushions and looked around her, with tears burning her eyes. It was just as beautiful... just as perfect ... as she had remembered.

Mellow sunshine slanted through open venetian blinds, painting the room’s uneven whitewashed walls with slats of butter-gold. Dust danced and hovered in the air, and lay thick on every surface, though Laura barely saw it, or the dried leaves that had fallen from a dead plant onto the Indian rug. What she saw were the chintzcovered sofas and armchairs, the antique lamps with their pink bead-fringed shades, the silver-framed photographs, the crammed walnut bookcases, the windowseat with its cabbage rose cushions...

And beyond, outside, the garden...

Pushing herself to her feet again, Laura crossed to the French doors, and, after a struggle with the lock, managed to open them. Dropping her backpack, she stepped out onto the brick patio and, raising her face to the sun, drew in breath after breath of the richly scented, salt-laden air.

This was why she had come back—for this peace, this isolation, this close communion with nature. If any place on earth could heal her, it was this one.

Eyes still blurred, she gazed around the garden, with the eglantine hedge at the bottom—the sweet briar from which the cottage had got its name—the burbling creek behind it, and the sloping lawn with its beds of flowers. The azaleas were just beginning to bloom, as was the clematis climbing over the weathered trellis by the patio...

And weeds, Laura noticed, flourished everywhere. She would begin tackling them tomorrow, if the weather stayed nice. Wet days would be for working indoors, sunny days would be devoted to the garden. She hugged her arms around herself with a feeling of joyful anticipation—and noticed, with vague surprise, how thin she had become.

She would start looking after herself, she promised. Surely her appetite would begin to pick up, and she would start eating regularly again, start exercising again.

The very notion seemed to charge her with energy. She moved around the house, her steps suddenly so light she was almost dancing, and as she touched one familiar object after another she found herself smiling through her tears. It was so good, so very good to be here.

But a few minutes later, as she threw herself down on one of the sofas, she noticed that the surge of energy had burned itself out, leaving her utterly drained. Kicking off her sandals, she tucked her legs under her, and, reaching for the crocheted afghan draped over the back of the couch, she pulled it loosely over herself.

She wouldn’t sleep, she knew that—she was far too excited. But she’d rest awhile, and then she’d get up, take some food from her backpack and have a snack.

In the meantime ...

CHAPTER TWO

“NICK...?”

“Mmm?” Nicholas Diamond looked up from his desk as his sister, tying the belt of her maternity dressing-gown around her bulky waist, came into his study. “Good lord, Sally—” he glanced at his watch “—I thought you went to bed ages ago. It’s after midnight, honey—should you be—?”

“I was in bed. I woke up a few minutes ago and had to go to the bathroom...” Sally Peterson paused, nibbling her lower lip worriedly, and Nick raised his eyebrows.

“Not edgy, are you, without James? But that’s why I suggested you come and stay here while he’s away! I know what a Nervous Nellie you are—”

“I think someone has broken in next door.”

“At Sweet Briar?” Nick frowned. “Who on earth would want to break in there? Surely there’d be nothing worth stealing in that old cottage.”

“Nevertheless, when I passed by my bedroom window the moon slipped out from behind the clouds for just a moment, and when I looked into the back garden I could have sworn the patio doors were open. Wide open.”

“Probably a trick of the light.” Nick glanced at the work on his desk. He really had to get these figures worked out before the meeting with his lawyer in the morning. “Don’t you think you should just go back to bed and-?”

“Nicholas, if—as you suggest—there’s nothing worth stealing there, won’t the burglar decide to try somewhere else?” She stared at him meaningfully. Like here, was the implication.

With a resigned sigh, Nicholas pushed back his chair. “Okay. James has left you in my care, so I’ll go and scout around.” He glowered at her teasingly. “But if I’m not back in half an hour, phone 911.”

“Thanks, Nicky.”

“Now, you scoot off to bed. The babes asleep?”

“Mmm, sound. Lucky, aren’t they, to be too young to worry about burglars and break-ins and murders and—?”

Nicholas touched a finger to her lips. “Enough,” he said softly. “This house, as you well know, has a very sophisticated alarm system. I’m going to investigate only to put your mind at rest.” He put his hands on her shoulders and guided her from the room. “Off you go to bed now, and stop worrying. I’ve got everything under control.”

Good Lord, Nick thought a few minutes later, Sally was right.

Stealthily he moved across Sweet Briar’s back patio toward the cottage’s French doors—which were, indeed, open. Just as he got there, however, a cloud floated over the moon, plunging him into darkness. Cursing under his breath, he glided through the doorway, straining to pick up any sounds, but the only noises came from outside—the rustle of the breeze in the bushes, the hum of traffic from the highway below, the distant bark of a dog.

So intent was he in his listening that he stepped forward too carelessly, and his foot caught against a soft, bulky object on the floor. With a startled exclamation he pitched forward, to sprawl over a heavy, upholstered piece of furniture.. In all probability, he decided, a couch. The sound had jerked from his throat before he could stifle it, and as it echoed in the night-hush he grimaced.

At that moment the moon slid from behind the cloud, and as he straightened he saw, on the couch, hiding beneath an afghan, the figure of a youth. Sally’s burglar. He must, Nick surmised, have heard him coming and darted for cover... And the object he, Nick, had tripped over in the doorway was probably the bag used for the booty.

Thieving little punk!

“Get up!” Nick’s snarled command reverberated back from the walls of the room, and as it did the figure jerked spasmodically, a white face appeared above the blanket, and a pair of dark eyes gleamed up at him in fright.