Bolted (11 page)

“And the Wampanoags were…”

“The principal Native American group living in this area.”

“That’s cool.” She smiled up at him. “Spending your time solving a puzzle that’s maybe several thousand years old. That’s very cool.”

Her eyes were dark in the moonlight, her lips curving up as she smiled. He smelled lemon and lavender again, and something like roses but not exactly. Suddenly he felt a little dizzy.

If he’d thought too much about what he was going to do next, he’d never have been able to go through with it, but irresistible impulse took over. He lowered his mouth to hers, running his tongue tentatively along the line of her lips until she opened for him, then giving himself time to taste and savor. There was a hint of sweetness mixing with the scent of rose geranium and mint, sending his head swimming. She made a sound low in her throat, a faint hum of pleasure, and then her hands looped around his neck, pulling her body against his.

Soft breasts pressed against his chest, and he touched warm skin as he slid his hands down her sides to rest finally on the jut of her hipbones. She seemed right at home in a garden full of sweetness.

After another moment reveling in the taste of her, he raised his head again, trying to think of something unfoolish to say.
So who are you exactly, and what the hell are you doing here in my arms?

“Maybe we should go in,” Greta murmured. “I need to put together some cinnamon rolls for tomorrow morning. And I’ve got to do the butter and sugar for the cake.”

He sighed. “Okay.”

If she was true to her word, they had the rest of the week for more conversation. He figured sometime during those six days, he’d find out all he needed to know about Greta Brewster. And maybe a bit more.

Chapter Eight

“I don’t understand.”

Sophie gritted her teeth to keep from growling with frustration. She knew Owen wasn’t trying to be difficult. Ever since his accident and the brain damage, it took him a little longer to put ideas together. It wasn’t that he couldn’t understand. It just took some time. And patience.

And the most important thing was that he was here. He’d come over from the greenhouse as soon as she’d called him first thing in the morning after she’d spent a night worrying. Which was more than she could say for either of her children, who still weren’t answering their respective phones.

Owen Ralston was nothing if not dependable. Too bad his daughter Allie didn’t share that trait.

She’d tried to send Greta her own text message, but had given up in disgust after five minutes of typos. How did they expect you to fit your fingers on those tiny keys? And that screen was much too small for the message Sophie wanted to send.

It was at times like these that she missed her friend Lily so much it was almost painful. But Owen had been such a help yesterday when the town gossips had descended en masse. When she’d been almost at the end of her rope, he’d taken her hand in his and given her a smile that somehow made her shoulders relax a little. If anyone could help her work her way through this problem with Greta, she thought Owen was the one most likely.

She took a steadying breath and began to explain the facts again. “Greta drove off right after the wedding without telling anyone. She left all her things here. The only word I’ve had from her is a two-sentence text message: ‘I’m all right. Don’t worry’.” Her lips began to tremble “I’m really afraid she’s been kidnapped.”

Owen nodded slowly. “Okay, so why?”

Sophie sank onto the couch beside him. “Because… I guess because I haven’t heard anything else from her. And then I called her husband. Her
ex-
husband.” She paused trying to put her thoughts together.

“
Ex-
husband?” Owen raised a questioning eyebrow.

Sophie rubbed a hand across her eyes. “She didn’t tell me, Owen. She didn’t even hint about it. He said they’d been separated for months, but she never mentioned it. Why wouldn’t she even hint?”

“You were busy. Maybe she was afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

He shrugged. “Bothering you maybe.”

Sophie managed not to let her expression slide to a grimace. She
had
been busy. She’d been working so hard to get Josh and Allie married and settled in Promise Harbor. She fumbled for her handkerchief, pressing it to her lips.

“Sophie, I’m sorry.” Owen turned toward her, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Please don’t.”

She took a shuddering breath, shaking her head. “I’m all right. I really am. And you’ve got a point—she probably didn’t want to bring it up in the middle of the wedding preparations. But why didn’t she tell me afterward? Why did she just take off like that? It’s not like her.”

Actually, of course, that was a screaming fib. It was just like Greta to do something like this. To run away rather than facing up to something that would make other people unhappy with her. She’d never been able to take criticism, even when she deserved it. Maybe especially when she deserved it.

“She’s still afraid,” he said gently. “Afraid of what you’d think.”

Sophie sighed. “I might have been upset. I am upset, in fact.” She stood up, pacing toward the windows on the far side of the room. “I can think of a half-dozen examples right off the bat—things she jumped into without thinking. She painted her bedroom black without asking. She took my car and then got stranded on the cape. She dropped off the tennis team so that she could work at the Bistro. And then the job only lasted a month. She was supposed to graduate from college and she dropped out to go to cooking school. Cooking school, for heaven’s sake!”

“She finished cooking school,” Owen said slowly. “And she’s good.”

“Yes she is, but what did she do with it? She got married and never cooked at all. And now this marriage she rushed into falls apart. She doesn’t think things through, Owen. She just doesn’t.” Sophie pressed her knuckles against her lips. It probably wasn’t fair to charge that last disaster to Greta just yet. It might not have been her fault. And maybe she’d been right to think Sophie wouldn’t have been all that supportive.

Owen apparently agreed. “Two people in the marriage, Sophie,” he said quietly. “Maybe it wasn’t her fault. Not all of it, anyway.”

Sophie gritted her teeth. Somehow the fact that he was right made it worse. Greta should have been willing to give her a chance, damn it! “Then why didn’t she stick around to tell me her side of it? Why did she take off like that?”

“She’s afraid you’ll be angry with her.” He shrugged. “Maybe.”

“I would have understood,” she said softly. “I would have, Owen. She’s my child.”

“Of course you would. She knows that.” He nodded, coming to stand beside her. “She’ll be back.”

Sophie took a deep breath, trying to fight down the panic she felt building again. “But what if she’s hurt? What if she had an accident? What if she hit her head and she doesn’t remember who she is? Owen, what’s happened to her?”

He put his hand on her shoulder, turning her slightly so that she could look at him. “Maybe you should talk to the police. Hayley Stone works there. Remember Hayley Stone?”

Remember?
Sophie grimaced. Oh yes. How could she forget? Hayley Stone had been one of the thorns in her side during Hayley’s years as a Promise Harbor High School student. The girl had never made it to the criminal level, but she certainly fit into the wild crowd. And Sophie was pretty sure Hayley had been friends with Gavin Montgomery. The same Gavin Montgomery who’d broken up her son’s wedding and absconded with his fiancée. She wasn’t at all sure she could talk to Hayley Stone without snarling.

“I don’t think…” she began.

“She’s good at her job,” Owen cut in. “Allie trusted her.”

Which might or might not be much of a recommendation. Sophie wasn’t feeling too charitable toward Allie either just then.

But she did feel charitable toward Owen. More than charitable, in fact. “All right. If you think it’s a good idea, I’ll go ahead and call her.”

He nodded. “Maybe she could come by and talk later.”

“Maybe.” But Sophie found herself hoping once again that Greta would come to her senses and give her a call before she had to talk to the Promise Harbor Police Department.

Greta made two and a half dozen cinnamon rolls, give or take, letting them rise overnight and then baking them first thing in the morning. Hank ate three and looked as if he was considering three more. Hyacinth had two and said she’d decided she couldn’t do without butter so she wasn’t going vegan after all. Alice and Nadia each had one with coffee.

Alice gave her a tight smile. “Any way we can wrap those up individually?”

Greta shrugged. “Sure, I guess. Assuming plastic wrap is okay.”

“Plastic wrap is fine.”

Nadia, perhaps anticipating what was to come, had already made her exit, and Hank was long gone to the dig. Hyacinth and Greta wrapped the remaining rolls and took them to the store.

As stores went, it reminded Greta of a cross between a 7-Eleven and one of those general stores in western movies. Long shelves stretched from one end of the room to the other, holding canned goods and bags of flour, along with cartons of motor oil and WD-40.

It was hard to see the shelves at the moment, however, given that at least ten men in Carhartts and baseball caps were crowded around the front counter, where Alice had installed an ancient coffee urn.

Ten pairs of hungry eyes watched Greta and Hyacinth approach with their plates of rolls.

“How did they know about the buns?” Greta muttered.

Alice shrugged. “Turned on the exhaust fans while you were baking. Whole town’s been smelling them for an hour.”

“Devious.”

“Inspired.”

Alice propped a sign next to the plate:
Cinnamon buns, $3.00
.

Greta blinked. “You’re kidding.”

Alice shrugged. “They’d sell ’em for twice that at Starbucks.”

“This isn’t Starbucks.”

“Trust me. They’ll still move.”

And they did, or at least they were being grabbed up quickly when Greta headed back toward the kitchen.

She was still cleaning up from breakfast when Nadia came back, carrying a bag of lavender buds and flowers. “Good morning, dear,” she trilled. “Don’t mind me. I’m just going to put these flowers out to dry and then make some more essential oil.”

Greta leaned back against the counter, watching Nadia lay out a double layer of paper towels. “I saw the hand creams in the general store. Do you sell many?”

“Enough.” Nadia shrugged. “Tourists love to buy locally made things. Of course, we don’t get too many tourists, but there are always some people looking for undiscovered jewels. I like to think I can provide a moonstone or two.”

“Do you have any problems with shelf life? Natural stuff isn’t all that stable, is it?”

Nadia shrugged again. “I use grapefruit-seed oil to stabilize it. And it’s only small jars. It may not last as long as Jergens lotion, but it lasts long enough for people to enjoy it.”

“Oh.” Greta went on with what she’d been doing, which was to get a start on her cake. “I helped myself to some of your rose geranium leaves last night. I hope you don’t mind.”

Nadia narrowed her eyes, running a sprig of lavender between her finger and thumb to pop off the buds. “For what purpose?”

“Cake. I needed to infuse the butter and the sugar last night.” She lifted the leaf-wrapped stick of butter out of the refrigerator. “The sugar’s on the counter.”

Nadia looked intrigued. “So you don’t actually put the leaves in the cake?”

Greta shook her head. “God, no—you’d probably end up with a cake that tasted like spinach. It’s the fragrance you want, not the taste. You put some around the bottom of the pan too, but you peel them off before you frost the cake.”

“Hmm.”

They worked side by side for a few minutes, Greta buttering the pans and laying out the rose geranium leaves, Nadia deflowering stalks of lavender, then smoothing the pile of buds onto the paper toweling. She smiled. “So I’ve been thinking about your divorce, dear, and I have a few observations. We’re about a third of the way through the week, you know. This may be the best chance to discuss it. Also, I have a few questions.”

Greta stiffened, running her buttered fingers across the pan.
Trust Nadia.
“I already explained what happened.”

Nadia nodded. “You did. But you didn’t really talk about what happened afterward. And why you haven’t yet told your mother. I understand that you had both the divorce and then your brother’s wedding problems to deal with. That must have been painful.”

Greta blew out a breath, pulling the mixing bowls out of the cabinet. “I don’t know what more to say about it. The wedding foofaraw plus the divorce just sort of…freaked me out. I wanted some time to think.”

Nadia nodded again. “Quite understandable. But you’ve had a couple of days now. And you still need to talk to your mother.”

Greta set the bowls out on the counter, carefully not looking at Nadia. “I will. Eventually. I mean, it’s really not such a big deal. People get divorced all the time.”

Nadia frowned, adding more flowers to the pile. “Divorces would most probably qualify for what most people think of as a big deal. And your mother may very well share that opinion, particularly when the divorce in question involves her daughter.”

Greta paused for a long moment, staring down at the pile of rose geranium leaves. “I know. That’s one of the reasons I haven’t told her yet. I just couldn’t think what to say to her after the whole mess with Josh’s wedding. She’s going to see me and Ryan as another example of my tendency to screw things up.”

“I’m not sure I follow your reasoning here.” Nadia raised an eyebrow. “Your husband was the one who had an affair, not you. How does that become your failure?”

Greta shrugged. “My mother thought I rushed into the whole thing. Marrying Ryan, that is. She didn’t believe I thought it through.”

“Was she right?”

“Maybe.” Greta turned to the bowl of dry ingredients. She picked up her whisk, trying not to be too energetic about mixing them but still managing to send up a small cloud of dust. Probably not the best thing to be doing while she was thinking about Ryan and Dorothy. “I guess I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did when we got married. I didn’t realize he was the kind of man who’d have an affair with his secretary, that’s for sure. I mean, it’s such a cliché. Then again, Ryan’s a busy man and his secretary was right there.”