Page 48 of The Secret of Emerald Cottage

Brec defoiled another kiss and peered up beneath dark lashes, his manner dubious as he commenced to slowly licking again. “But a body was never found, Molly, so I doubt that’s an option.”

She sat up, suddenly more intrigued than hungry as she angled a thumb toward the broken ledge. “But this is the spring that feeds the lake, right? What if he was pushed off and somehow ended up in the lake?”

Brec shook his head, reaching for a sandwich. “His corpse would have surfaced sooner or later, so I doubt it.” He tossed it to her, then grabbed one of his own.

She sat up on her haunches. No way was she was going to let this go. “But what if he got trapped in some brush on the way down, or lodged in a rock?”

Brec’s smile was patient. “I’m pretty sure the police would have combed the entire area, Molly, given the fact that the boy frequented Lake Loon.”

Her excitement deflated like a slow-bleed balloon as she stared out at the falls, her voice tapering off along with it. “I suppose… But I plan to ask Aunt Lilly all the same.”

“Mmm … now, there’s a shocker,” he said, fishing two bottled waters from the cooler and handing one to her with a wink. And for the hundredth time in the months she’d known him, she marveled at what a thoughtful and caring guy he’d turned out to be despite his notorious reputation.

She twisted the water cap and stopped. So, why did he stay away from Miss Lilly and Lake Loon so long?

It had been a question eating at her for a while now, and even though she’d asked him before, he’d always avoided talking about it. He dolloped a hefty portion of potato salad on both paper plates, then handed her one along with a fork, and she took it, watching as he opened the fruit container. “So, Brec …” she said carefully, “you never did tell me why you stayed away from Lake Loon so long?”

“That’s right.” He avoided her eyes as he scooped fruit onto their plates, but she didn’t miss the sudden press of his jaw, her line of questioning apparently over for him.

She tried a different tact. “I have to admit that before I met you, I thought you were some hotshot womanizer too full of himself to care about anybody else.”

He pinned her with a hooded look, one side of his mouth tipping up. “Not just before, but a good while after too, as I recall.”

“True.” She gave a slow nod as she took a bite of her sandwich, chewing while she reflected how badly she’d misjudged him. She sipped from her water bottle. “I will admit I jumped the gun”—a smile squirmed on her lips as she took another drink—“no pun intended.”

He took a bite of his own sandwich, his gaze locked on hers as he chewed. “And now?”

She shrugged as she speared some potato salad with her fork. “Now I think you’re a pretty great guy who would do anything for an aunt he dearly loves.”

“And her nurse companion?” he said, watching her as he glugged his water, eyes twinkling.

Potato salad all but melting in her mouth, she bit back a moan of pleasure, thinking if Breccan McGill ever lost his job as a soccer player, he could easily become a chef. “That appears more than obvious given the fact that you’ve made all my favorite foods for this amazing picnic. So yes, Soccer Boy, I do believe you would do most anything for me too.”

“Glad you noticed,” he said with a grin, popping a grape in his mouth.

“I most definitely did.” She rolled another forkful of potato salad across her tongue, unable to contain the moan this time. “Which begs the question,” she said after she swallowed, “why you stayed away so long from Aunt Lilly, someone you obviously love a great deal?”

It was his turn to moan, but definitely not from pleasure. “You’re a blimey bloodhound, you know that, Stewart?” He snapped at his sandwich like he probably wanted to snap at her, all but gulping it down before upending his water.

Unwilling to let him dodge again, she felt him stiffen when she laid a gentle hand on his arm, both of them suddenly as sober as the subject he refused to discuss. “Brec—we’ve become very good friends over these last many months, which means I’ve not only come to care about you a great deal, but to ache for you, too, when you ache. And something deep down tells me that you’re hurting—at least enough to keep you away from an aunt that you love.”

His chest rose and fell as he looked away, the empty water bottle now limp in his hand.

“Will you tell me? Please?” she whispered. “So I can at least know how to pray and maybe you can get it off your chest?”

A harsh grunt erupted from his mouth as he crushed the water bottle with a loud crunch. “And you off my back? Trust me, Goldie, both would be a bloomin’ miracle.”

“Well, then, this is your lucky day, Striker Boy, because I just happen to believe in miracles—whether the bloomin’ kind or not.”

He turned to study her, those striking blue eyes almost piercing her straight through, but she met them head-on without so much as a blink. A heavy sigh finally drifted from his lips as he set his plate aside to lean his head against the boulder and look at the sky. “It’s not Aunt Lilly I didn’t want to see, lass,” he said quietly, “it was my father.” All at once he seemed so very far away as he wandered off into a distant stare. “Because you see”—his Adam’s apple ducked hard as his gaze gave way to a sheen of pain from his past—“he murdered my mother.”