Page 47 of The Secret of Emerald Cottage

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“Uh, I’m real proud how well you mastered shooting, Beck,” Molly said a few weeks later, stepping over roots and brush as she followed Brec along one of the few Lake Loon hiking trails that wasn’t well-traveled. “And getting your weapons-carry license so quickly, too, especially for someone who despises guns. But seriously, isn’t this a wee bit far to go for a celebratory picnic?”

She swatted at a fly as she picked her way up a forested slope, stomach rumbling from hunger. “I mean for pity’s sake, Striker Boy, where on earth are you taking me?” There was a bare hint of humor in her tone, the use of her “annoyed nickname” for him evidence enough that she thought he was crazy. “Because I think I may die of starvation before we get there.”

“I told you, it’s a surprise, Princess,” he called over his shoulder while he toted their lunch in a bulging backpack, “so you’re just going to have to trust me.”

“Easier said than done,” she muttered under her breath.

“I heard that.” He slapped a limb out of his way, holding it for Molly to pass. “Stop ‘belly-achin’,’ Goldie, as Aunt Lilly would say. It’ll be worth it, I promise. Besides, I figured I owe you an unforgettable lunch for all the time you’ve invested in teaching me to shoot, so consider it both a thank you and a celebration of my weapons-carry license.”

She scrunched her nose at him as he shimmied by to take the lead again. “Celebration, maybe, but I’ll reserve judgement on the ‘thank you,’ if you don’t mind.”

“Suit yourself.” Although she couldn’t see his face, the grin in his tone was unmistakable.

And then … halfway up the forested slope, she heard it—the distant sound of rushing water, rising in volume with every step they took. But when they crested the hill, nothing prepared her for the sight before her. “Sweet Southern tea,” she whispered, borrowing a phrase of Miss Lilly’s as she gaped at tall stepping-stone bluffs in the midst of the forest, each glistening in the sun while curtains of water danced from ledge to ledge. White-water foam billowed into a bubbling spring below, as blinding blue as the sky above.

“So … worth a few hunger pangs, lass?”

“Are you kidding? It’s worth not eating at all,” she said softly, her tone tinged with a reverence she usually reserved for chapels and churches. “Sweet pearly gates—it’s the bloomin’ Garden of Eden!”

He chuckled as he scanned the bluffs, giving her neck a little tweak. “Well, one of my middle names is Adam, so if yours is Eve, Princess, we could be in a world of trouble.”

Ignoring the rise of heat in her cheeks, Molly batted his hand away as she took in the smooth, large sandstone ledge upon which they stood, butted up against a boulder hedged by trees. Truly a piece of heaven in the midst of a cool, dark forest. Warm. Welcoming. And worlds apart from the Lake Loon she’d come to know.

Secluded.

Surreal.

And so very intimate.

She cleared her throat as she waved a hand at all the majesty, moving toward the edge of the shelf. “How on earth have I been at Lake Loon for almost six months and never seen this?”

Hooking her arm, he carefully steered her away from the jagged edge of the large flat rock shelf that jutted over the water. “It’s best to stay away from the edge, Molly, because it’s beautiful, yes, but dangerous too.” He tugged her toward the boulder at the back of the ledge, which was now comfortably shaded by a leafy oak and several thick Georgia pines. “Few people at Lake Loon know about this place, which is a good thing, I suppose, because kids have no business here. Not after one almost died.”

Molly spun around in shock. “What? Who almost died? How? When?”

Shuffling the backpack off his shoulders, he offered a faint smile, nodding behind her to a jagged edge of the cliff about twenty feet beyond the main ledge area. “I don’t know any details, just that my dad told me a boy stood too close to the ledge once back in the day, and it broke off, almost plummeting him to his death. Apparently he was able to grab on to a tree limb a foot or so down, which saved him, but it put the fear of God into Uncle Hal and Aunt Lilly, I can tell you that. Since then, they kept this cliff and the falls a secret to most of the residents except for a select few, and I was one. And now you are too.”

“Woooooow,” Molly said with a true touch of awe, dragging the word out as she turned to survey the entire shelf and waterfall beyond. “I feel truly honored, Brec, and also a tiny bit”—she hunched her shoulders with a squeamish grin—“nervous?”

He dropped his backpack on the ground and squatted to tug their lunch out. “What are you nervous about?” he said with a wink, “I’m the one who’s had a gun pulled on him and almost sustained a concussion being flipped off a couch. If anybody needs to worry, Beauty, it’s me.”

He carefully laid out a daisy tablecloth she’d seen in Miss Lilly’s kitchen drawer, along with a small soft cooler. Unzipping it, he drew out two of his famous “killer gourmet” club sandwiches, his moan-worthy potato salad, and a container of fresh-cut fruit. And then—be still, my heart—he produced a bag of Hershey caramel kisses, one of her secret addictions she’d told him about in a moment of weakness.

Molly issued a silent sigh when he set a small Tupperware container of his famous peach cobbler out—her favorite dessert in the whole wide world!—and immediately envied the girl that ended up marrying Breccan Adam Fabian McGill.

Plopping down at the edge of the tablecloth, she immediately plucked a Hershey kiss from the bag. “You have absolutely nothing to worry about, Strike-out Man, as long as the kisses are chocolate.”

“Mmmm,” he said with a half-lidded smile that tumbled her stomach, “what if the kisses taste like chocolate?” He peeled a kiss and popped it into his mouth, his gaze fused to hers.

Peeling her own golden striped wrapper, she slid the chocolate across her tongue with a teasing thrust of her chin, sucking on it for several moments before swallowing it whole. “Let’s just say any kiss you give me, Strike-Out Boy, darn well better be wrapped in foil or you’ll be ‘a-swimmin’ with the fishes,’” she said with a smirk, borrowing Miss Lilly’s version of the phrase.

“Loud and clear,” he said, palms raised while he sucked air through his teeth. He inched back to lean against the boulder and plucked another kiss from the bag. “We shouldn’t be eating chocolate before our lunch.” Unwrapping the foil, he slowly licked the bottom of the kiss before easing it into his mouth with a shuttered look. “It’s almost decadent.”

No, Striker Boy, she thought with a quick look away, “decadent” is watching you eat it ...

“Hey!” She whirled back to probe him with a wide-eyed look, mouth dropping open. “What if that’s what happened to the missing Lake Loon Lad?” she said, her curiosity suddenly aroused, “because in my dream, the boy was thrashing about in the water, remember? So maybe it was him?”