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Jenny turned on the sofa. “Not too loud?”
“Extremely.” Pippa folded her arms over her chest. “But in a good way. Like a rugby team on a pitch, all working together.”
“All worrying together, clearly. I’m not sure why they all dropped everything and took off for Europe. Like it might be a road trip to Florida or something. Europe! And yes, Iris calls me nearly every day, but…she’s busy.”
“How many days has it been since you last heard from her?”
“Five. I mean, please. Five. I don’t know—”
“I’m sure they’re just worried. Especially after what happened to Shae.”
Jenny stilled, looked at Pippa. “What happened to Shae?”
Pippa had frozen like a deer, wide eyes. “Oh. Um. She got into a bit of a fray, I believe, but I’m afraid I’m not the one to ask, ma’am.”
A fray. How she hated it when her boys kept things from her.
But perhaps turnabout was fair play.
Jenny got up, draping the afghan around her shoulders. Went to the window. Outside, the big barn where the Marshall Fields wine sat in barrels loomed dark against the night. The vineyard lay barren, the vines gnarled and bare.
“I hope we have snow before Thanksgiving.”
“That’s right—the American escape-from-England holiday. When is that?”
“The end of the month. I was hoping…” She forced a smile. “Nothing.”
A beat. “They’ll find her, ma’am. Fraser says that he got a lead from a woman his friend Ham works with. Or maybe Logan Thorne. Fraser says he’s a former SEAL, from your hometown. Fraser says he doesn’t remember him, though.”
“He went missing for a few years. Everyone thought he was dead. Showed up in town one Christmas a few years later. Funny to think he’s the head of some government special ops agency.”
“I don’t think we’re supposed to know that.” The water had started to boil on the stove, and Pippa took it off. Jenny turned back to the window. The wind tossed a few curled, dead leaves across the patio.
Please, let her live until spring. She loved the spring, with the budding of the vines and Garrett’s excitement for a new varietal. He’d hauled her out to the barn a few days ago just to smell the must of the fermenting La Crescent Gold, his newest creation.
“Here you go.”
Jenny turned around, and Pippa held a cup of tea, doctored with milk.
“It’s chamomile with a touch of cream, just like my mother used to make it.”
Jenny determined to enjoy it, regardless of what it tasted like. She sat again on the sofa, crossed her legs. Sipped.
Tangy, the bitterness softened by the cream. Could use sweetener, but she didn’t need any more toxins in her body. “Delicious. Thank you.”
Pippa nodded. “I’m just going to check the security system in the den.” She headed over to Garrett’s office, where she and Fraser had set up shop.
More creaking on the stairs, and this time she spotted Creed descending, his leg still in a brace. Her youngest wore his dark hair tousled, a pair of pajama bottoms, and a T-shirt. He moved his bad leg down, then his good leg, one step at a time.
She got up, unable to stop herself, and went over to the stairs. “What are you doing up?”
“I couldn’t sleep.” He glanced at her cup of tea. “Pippa’s brew?”
“Yes.”
“She made it for me a few times after we got back from Europe.”
“You had trouble sleeping? Pain?” She helped him over to the sofa, then covered him with the afghan. Poor boy. He’d been through so much in his young life. Of course, he’d turned into a hero, rescuing Princess Imani from some murderer—at least, that was the sketchy story she’d gotten that went along with the explanation of the security perimeter. That and the fact that her oldest and youngest sons had been shot at and injured by said murderer.
