Page 11 of The Secret of Emerald Cottage

Chapter Six

“You’ve been awfully quiet.”

“Have I?” Brec glanced over at Molly as her car exited the highway on their way back to Lake Loon. He suddenly realized she was right, her soft-spoken revelation taking him by surprise. There were few people in his life with which silence was comfortable, but it shocked him that Molly was apparently one. He’d only known her all of what—sixteen hours?—and yet he felt like he’d known her for years. Like somehow she was a safe niche in which he could hide from his shallow existence and discover who he really was. Not a celebrity or player or athlete, but a lost soul in search of sanctuary. And deep down, something whispered to his soul that he’d found it at Lake Loon with his aunt.

And the woman beside him?

“Just thinking,” he said, offering a faint smile before he returned his gaze to the road, wondering how that could be. Women usually fawned over him, be it his money, his celebrity status, or his looks, but Molly seemed immune to all of that, imparting a sense of freedom he’d never felt before. Almost like rebirth from a lifetime of mistakes. A do-over, if you will, on the other side of the globe, where he could start over with a clean slate. With a woman as a friend instead of a lover, who had no inclination to write her name on that very slate.

Lana had told him once that women were drawn to the ‘bad boy’ in him, but Molly seemed to disdain it, not only exposing the lonely little boy inside of him, but liberating him from all romantic expectations. A quirk of a smile lifted the edge of his lips. Of course, the gun sure hadn’t hurt.

They’d spent all day and early evening laughing and chatting it up with Aunt Lilly in between her naps and meals—mostly him filling her in on his career and life minus the scandal—before Cat and Chase came in to shoo them both out. It was then he’d keyed into his aunt’s droopy eyelids and sweet features sagging from fatigue, constricting his stomach with the painful reality that his invincible Aunt Lilly was now a shell of her former self. The thought wiped the smile clean off his face with a sharp slash of pain, dredging up all the guilt and shame that came along with it.

“I know this has been a shock for you,” Molly said quietly as she turned onto the gravel road that led to Lake Loon, “but Miss Lilly is a dynamo who will bounce back, you’ll see.”

A weary sigh expanded his chest before it drifted out in one long, wavering breath. “Yeah. But I didn’t expect her to look so …”—a knot ducked in his throat— “frail and weak, you know?” His words trailed into a whisper, unwilling to speak it any louder.

He glanced out the window into the dark forest that surrounded Lake Loon, feeling as if he’d been gut punched. The cafeteria lunch and dinner they’d eaten at the hospital soured in his stomach, giving him a queasy feeling. Like an alarm had been set, and he was running out of time.

“The years have a way of doing that,” she said softly, and although he didn’t hear any judgment in her tone, he felt a twinge in his gut nonetheless as she continued on. “I’ve only known Miss Lilly for a few months now, but Chase and Cat have told me so many incredible stories about her strength and character, that I feel like I’ve known her forever, you know?”

Yeah, he knew. That’s how he’d felt the first time his parents had dropped him off with her and Uncle Hal for the summer when he was six. It hadn’t taken him but one afternoon of fishing and ice pops to convince him Aunt Lilly was the mother he’d always longed to have. From octopus hot dogs—six legs cut and curled up in boiling water and decorated with mustard tentacles, catsup mouth, and Dorito hat, all swimming on a plate of goldfish crackers, half grapes, and kiwi starfish—to games of go fish, dots, and hangman, Aunt Lilly had been a master at making him feel loved.

From six on, he’d spent every summer with her and Uncle Hal until his mid-teens, when rebellion had promptly settled in. Before that, he’d loved spending time with them both, and even enjoyed the faith they always spouted and the church services he’d attended. He’d actually bought into the whole Christianity thing back then, even inviting Jesus into his heart at the wide-eyed age of eight.

His mouth compressed as Molly pulled into Aunt Lilly’s driveway, parking next to his Lincoln Navigator rental. But Jesus hadn’t been around for a long time now, kind of like Brec, completely avoiding Lake Loon, the U.S., and all it represented. Removing him from the past except for Uncle Hal’s funeral and then his dad’s, and someday—his Adam’s apple hitched in his throat—Miss Lilly’s too. A dull ache surprised him when it cramped in his chest, reminding him he wasn’t as removed as he thought.

“Can I … fix you anything? Coffee? Tea?” Molly asked as she opened the wood-carved front door with her key, flipping a light on that illuminated the familiar rustic great room with its floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace that Uncle Hal had built so many years ago. Massive paned windows flanked either side while rich mahogany beams graced a vaulted plank ceiling that boasted a massive mule deer antler as a chandelier.

Locking the door behind, he followed her into the kitchen, where she plopped her leather handbag on the oak kitchen island with a loud clunk. Its massive chain strap was so thick and threatening, it could have been a weapon, reinforcing his commitment to keep his distance. Easing the spindle-back stool out farthest away from the purse, he plopped down like his bones were made of champ—Irish potatoes whipped to a pulp—as exhausted as Aunt Lilly. Stretching out with legs crossed at the ankles, he peered up with a lackluster smile. “Don’t suppose you have anything harder?”

“Noooo …” Chewing on her lip, she glanced at the counter where Miss Lilly’s pig cookie jar had sat as long as Brec could remember. “Unless you count the chocolate chip cookies I attempted to make, which might be considered a weapon in some states. But I do have a chisel.” She offered an awkward scrunch of shoulders, looking far fresher with her adorable messy ponytail and creamy skin void of makeup than she had a right to after almost twelve hours at a hospital. “Unfortunately for Miss Lilly, I’m not much of a cook, although I do make up for it with microwave magic.”

He grinned, thinking that if it weren’t for the gun, he might find himself uncontrollably attracted to this woman.

Especially after that kiss.

He kneaded the bridge of his nose. No, strike that thought …

“Then both you and Aunt Lilly are in luck, Miss Stewart,” he said, rising with a heavy sigh. He ambled over to pluck a cookie from his aunt’s cookie jar, the action jarring loose memories that threatened to prick at his eyes. “Because I’m not only mean on the soccer field, but I’m mean in the kitchen as well.”

He bit down on the cookie, teeth set hard against what tasted like rock, barely making a dent. He arched a brow. “But not as mean as this biscuit, I’m afraid.” Grabbing a saucer from the cupboard, he dropped the cookie with a clank and moved to the table. “So, tea sounds stellar, as long as it’s chamomile and hot enough to dissolve stone.”

Laughing, Molly practically bounced over to the teapot, making Brec wonder how she could be such a ball of energy at—he glanced at his watch and cringed—eight o’clock, suddenly aware he hadn’t slept in over thirty-four hours. “So, Miss Lilly says you’re a big soccer star in Ireland,” she said, tossing a smile over her shoulder as she filled the teapot and set it to boil.

He grimaced, not thrilled to be reminded of a past he wanted to forget, at least for the next twelve months. “Was a soccer star,” he bit out with a cautious gnaw of the cookie, scrunching his nose at the lack of taste of both it and his life. “But if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not talk about it right now.”

“Okay.” She rifled through a box of teabags before slipping it back into the cabinet. Steam rose from the kettle as she reached for two mugs off the mug tree, dropping a tea bag into each. “Cream or sugar?”

“No, straight up, please.”

Smiling, she brought both mugs to the table, setting one before him and the other at the opposite end, where she slid into her own chair. She idly grazed the sides of the empty cup with her thumbs, peeking up with a shy grate of her lip. “I loved what Miss Lilly said to you in Gaelic at the hospital, and then you did the same. Can you repeat it?”

Her comment prompted a gentle smile to his lips as his gaze veered into a faraway stare over her shoulder. “Gaelic endearments we used to call each other,” he said softly, remembering just how much those words had once meant to him. “She called me ‘mac mo chroí,’ which means ‘son of my heart,’ and then taught me to call her ‘máthair mo chroí,’ which means ‘mother of my heart.’”

Molly’s thumbs stilled on the cup as a sheen glazed her eyes. “That’s beautiful,” she whispered. “Especially since Chase told me once that Miss Lilly’s biggest regret in life was not having children.”

His body froze to the chair as he met her gaze with a soggy one of his own. Yeah, and I was another. He looked away, unable to face the compassion in her eyes, as if she understood that something much deeper, much darker than a wayward lifestyle, had kept him away.

“It’s pretty obvious from the conversations we’ve had that she adores you, Brec,” she said carefully, gaze glued to her cup while she slowly traced the rim with a finger. “And something in my spirit tells me you adored her too, which begs the question …” His pulse slowed when she paused, her eyes lifting to meet his in question while her voice faded to a whisper. “Why did you stay away?”

Shreeeeeeeeeeeeeeet!

Ah … saved by the teapot! Brec jumped up to retrieve the kettle, turning the stove off before pouring steaming cups for them both. “Cream or sugar?” he asked, hoping to divert her attention from a question he did not want to answer.

“No, thanks, but I will take a cookie if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t if you don’t.” He grinned as he plucked one of the concrete discs from the pig and plunked it on a plate, setting it before her with a squirm of a smile. “But I sure hope you have a good dental plan.”

“Don’t need one,” she said with a smirk, biting into the biscuit with a gaze as hard and narrow as the bloomin’ cookie. “As a softie once engaged to a hardcore ex-Navy-SEAL police detective, I’ve learned to toughen up considerably—both me and my teeth, Striker Boy—able to take a bite out of any hard cases, be they chocolate chip cookies or cocky soccer players.”

“Wait.” He did an about face halfway back to his chair, jaw gaping and kettle limp in his hand. “You were engaged to an ex-Navy SEAL??” His gaze narrowed. “You’re not talkin’ Chase Griffin, I hope?”

Dunking her tea bag while she chewed, her smile was so smug and the crunching so loud, she could have been grinding chicken bones. “Nope, but they were in the same platoon, although Chase did warn me he had a gut feeling he wouldn’t be good for me. But of course I didn’t listen, so if it’s all the same to you,” she mimicked, matching his prior tone and statement perfectly, “I’d rather not dig into my past right now.” She grinned as she took a quick slug of her tea. “Unless you want to go first?”

“No, thanks.” With a shake of his head, he filled his mug to the brim, tone as dry as the blasted biscuit while he returned the kettle to the stove. “When it comes to my life,” he said, dropping back into his chair with a slant of a smile, “some things are better left unsaid.”