Red Clover Inn

“I shall seize the moment,” Charlotte said lightly. “Leave Red Clover Inn to me. Relax and enjoy your honeymoon.”

“Ten days in Scotland. Justin’s never been. He’ll love it. We leave tonight to get a head start on the drive north.”

And no doubt to get away from lingering guests—including a slew of Sloans. As much as she and Justin loved their family and friends, it was time for each other. “We’ll have that get-together soon,” Charlotte said, hugging her cousin. “Have a great time on your honeymoon.”

She left Samantha to her packing. She ran into Justin in the lobby. He’d changed out of his tux and was as eager to be on his way to Scotland as Samantha was. “I won’t keep you,” Charlotte said cheerfully.

Isaac gave her a ride back to the pub. He was bussing tables at a London restaurant for the summer, before heading to New England for college. He hadn’t decided on a major—except that it wouldn’t be in maritime anything. “Sorry,” he said. “Whatever I end up doing, it won’t have anything to do with sunken wrecks. I’m not a big fan of the water.”

“Don’t be sorry. It’s good to keep your options open at your age.”

“Did you always want to be a marine archaeologist?”

“A diver,” she said. “I always wanted to be a diver and explore what’s under the ocean.”

He shuddered as he pulled to a stop in front of the pub. “I’d stay up in my warm ship and let a mini submarine or a robot do the exploring.”

Charlotte laughed. “You always were a smart kid. It’s still hard for me to believe you’re old enough to drive, and now you’re off to college. Stay in touch, okay?”

“You, too.”

As she headed into the pub, she noticed the sky had turned grayer, rain likely on the way. She’d checked out of her room before she’d left for the wedding but hadn’t taken her bag. Now that she was alone, she wanted to have a pint and lick her wounds. Tommy. What had she ever seen in him? A whirlwind romance, a brief engagement, a slapped-together wedding...and cold feet.

Not cold feet. She’d come to her senses.

She sat at the bar and ordered a beer. She had a few minutes before she had to get herself to the train station. She’d be back in Edinburgh tonight and would figure out when she would leave for Boston. Right now, the sooner the better worked for her, but she’d wait until she got home to decide. Samantha hadn’t had a single photo of Red Clover Inn, but she’d given Charlotte directions.

She hadn’t expected to see Tommy today. She knew Malcolm and Francesca had hired him for a few dives earlier in the year. Everyone had worked hard to wrap up the U-boat project, and Charlotte was a professional. She hated the idea that friends and family might feel they needed to keep her and her former fiancé apart. She didn’t want them tiptoeing around her. She and Tommy were grown-ups. They could manage.

But when he walked into the pub and sat on the stool next to her at the bar, her heart sank. She didn’t want today to end this way, with the man who’d once proposed to her trying to get under her skin. Because that was what Tommy did. He thrived on it.

“Well, Charlotte,” he said, cocky as ever, “I see your life hasn’t changed.”

“Work, family, fun.”

“Uptight, alone, superior.” He winked at her. “Kidding.”

“Right. Kidding. I have a cab coming. I don’t have time to chat.”

His gray eyes settled on her. Speaking of superior, she thought. “How are you?” he asked.

“Great. It was a beautiful wedding.”

“Not going to ask about me?”

“As I said—”

“No time. Thought you might like to know I’m heading home to the States to take a permanent diving job in South Florida.”

She pushed her beer glass aside. “Good luck.”

“I heard you had a close call in April. I’m sorry.”

Of course he’d heard. Theirs was a small world and Tommy had known the amateur diver she’d rescued, resulting in a dangerous bout of decompression illness that continued to haunt her. “One of those things.” Her throat was tight but she didn’t think her voice sounded strangled. “I really have to go.”

“Things will be different for you now if you can’t dive again—”

“Not your concern, Tommy.”

“There’s that barbed tongue.” He paused, staying calm. “I’m trying to be nice. I’m a concerned colleague, a fellow diver who’s had a few close calls of his own. But you can’t let bygones be bygones, can you? You’d think I wronged you, when the opposite is true. You wronged me.”

“You know why I did what I did. I understand that today probably stirred up hard feelings, but we’ve both moved on, Tommy. Don’t drag me into the past with you.”

“I’m not dragging you anywhere, Charlotte. Trust me.”

She dug cash out of her bag and left it for the beer she’d ordered. She didn’t look at Tommy as she jumped off the stool and reached for her suitcase at her feet.

“Here,” he said, getting to his feet. “Let me get that for you. You don’t want to do anything to impede your recovery. I know how much diving means to you.”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

He put his hand over hers on the suitcase handle. “Don’t let stubbornness and pride get in the way of common sense.”

She stiffened. “Let go, Tommy.”

“Independent Charlotte. You don’t need anyone’s help, do you?”

Before she could react, Greg Rawlings materialized at her side. “Time to order a pint and relax, Tommy,” Greg said in a steady, low voice.

Tommy shrugged. “Not interested in a pint.” He let go of the suitcase and Charlotte’s hand and smiled at her, unapologetic. “See you around, Charlotte.”

Greg leaned against the bar and watched her ex-fiancé head out through the main pub door. Then he shook his head and sighed. “Nothing takes that swagger down a notch, does it?”

Charlotte rubbed her hand. “Not much.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“No.” She shook out her hand. “It’s tension more than anything else. Thanks.”

“First time you’ve seen him since you left him at the altar?”

“I suppose I’m not surprised you know about that. Yes. First time. Getting stood up on his wedding day didn’t take his swagger down a notch, either.”

“An interesting life you lead, Charlotte Bennett.”

“It’s a Bennett rule. Can’t be boring. Are you heading back to London?”

“I’ll hang out here another night. I don’t know about London. Heather and Brody are expecting an assortment of Sloans in to see the sights.” He sat on her vacated stool. “I assume that’s your suitcase and you’re leaving.”

“I’m taking a late train to Edinburgh.”

“Guess I’ll have to put myself to bed tonight.”

Charlotte smiled. “I have a feeling you’ll manage just fine. When do you have to be back at work?”

“I’m starting a new position. No firm start date.”

“Can you say where it is?”

“Washington. DSS Command Center.”

She waited for him to elaborate but he didn’t. “My grandparents’ house is in the DC area. Well, it’s my house now that they’re gone. I rent it out. Max loved living in the city but I think my grandmother missed New Hampshire. They both grew up there.” Charlotte waved a hand. “I’m talking too much. Today was my first wedding since Tommy and I...” She took a deep breath. “Have you ever been posted in London?”

Greg didn’t answer at once, looking at her as if he wanted to say something besides what he knew he would end up saying. “I worked in London for two years when my kids were small. It was good. I haven’t always been able to have my family with me.”

“Your family—”

“Andrew is fifteen and Megan is thirteen. Laura—my ex—and I had an amicable divorce. We got married young, had a couple of kids and drifted apart given my job and life in general. We’re okay with each other and we share two great kids. That’s it.”

“Your life in a tidy paragraph?”

“Yep.”

It was how Greg Rawlings thought, Charlotte realized. He didn’t dwell on details and things he couldn’t control. “Tommy and I wouldn’t have had an amicable divorce,” she said lightly.

“You figured him out in the nick of time.”

“Yes, I did. Tommy Ferguson was never going to be the love of my life.”

“Is that what you want, someone who’ll be the love of your life?”

“Don’t we all?” She took in a sharp breath. “I must have had too much champagne at the wedding. I’m saying too much. I need to get going or I’ll miss my train.”

“No problem,” Greg said. “If I can’t manage to get myself up to my room without you, I’ll just sleep in a booth.”

“You aren’t embarrassed about last night, are you?”

“Should I be?”

Charlotte laughed, shaking her head. “Sometimes I wish I could be as oblivious as you are at least pretending to be right now. Thanks for intervening with Tommy. He wouldn’t have gone too far, and I’d have handled him if he’d tried, but I appreciate the help.”

“You could have flipped him on his ass?”

“More likely I’d have called the barman.”

“Smarter, I guess. Not as much fun.”

“You’re an interesting man, Agent Rawlings. Best of luck with whatever’s next for you.”

She lifted her bag and started out the door, glancing back at Greg Rawlings, trying to ignore a pang of regret that she wouldn’t see him again. She couldn’t explain it but it was there. Maybe he’d find a way? Maybe he was feeling the same thing?

What was she thinking?

Fortunately, her cab was waiting. Next stop was the Oxford train station. She’d be in Edinburgh tonight and on her way to Boston and Knights Bridge in a day or two.

Samantha and Justin were a special, wonderful couple, but Charlotte’s opinion of weddings hadn’t changed in the past twenty-four hours.

Best to avoid them.

* * *

An hour after Charlotte left for Edinburgh, Greg stood on a footbridge on a marked trail that had taken him through the village, down a twisting lane and into woods. The wooden bridge spanned a shallow stream, the coppery water coursing over rocks and mud. He’d changed out of his wedding clothes into khakis and a polo shirt and jacket but he hadn’t bothered with rain gear. Might prove to be a mistake given the darkening clouds.

He dug out his phone and called his son in Minnesota. Fifteen and he had his own phone. Not unusual these days.

“Hey, Dad,” Andrew said. “What’s up? How was the wedding? Are you still in England?”

“Still in England. Wedding was good. Nice setting, great food, great people.”

“Did you dance?”

Greg heard the teasing note in his son’s voice. “As a matter of fact, I did.”

“Wish I’d been there to see that. Did you dance by yourself or with someone?”

“I don’t dance by myself. What are you up to?”

“Nothing.”

“Whenever I said I wasn’t up to anything as a kid, my mother handed me a broom.”

His son chuckled. “Good thing you’re in England, then.”

“What’s your sister up to?”

“Nothing much.”

“I bet your mom has two brooms.”

“She’s not here. She’s at a movie with...” Andrew stopped abruptly. “Never mind.”

“With Richard,” Greg said. “I know. I texted her earlier. I hope they’re having a good time. Listen, I’m on my way to Washington via New England. What if you and Megan join me for a few days? It’s okay with your mom. I have some time off before I start my new job. New England would be different. I’ll be staying at a small-town inn that’s being renovated.”

“I’ve never been to New England,” Andrew said.

“We’d have the place to ourselves. You and Megan can each have your own room.”

“Sounds cool. What’s there to do there?”

“Beats me.”

His son laughed. “Good thing you’re not a salesman, Dad.”

“I was there for a few days in the winter. It’s a pretty town. We can hike, go fishing—swim if you’re brave since it’s only June and the ice just melted.”

“Ha. This the town where Ambassador Scarlatti lives?”

“Yes, it is.”

Greg was impressed his son remembered the retired ambassador, a smart, interesting if also occasionally overdramatic man who owned a house on the same Knights Bridge lake where Brody Hancock had grown up. Vic had encouraged Brody to join the Diplomatic Security Service. They were the reason for Greg’s wintry visit to the small New England town.

“Ambassador Scarlatti lives on a lake, doesn’t he?” Andrew asked.

“Echo Lake,” Greg said.

“He’d let us go swimming and kayaking?”

“Probably. Brody owns the land where he grew up. We can go out there, too.”

“This is sounding better and better,” his son said.

“I can teach you how to fly-fish.”

“Do you know how to fly-fish?”

“Yeah. You bet.” He had no idea how to fly-fish, but how hard could it be? “We could ride bikes, too. This inn must have bikes, or we can borrow some. I know people in town.”

“That’d be good,” Andrew said, sounding more enthusiastic.

Greg didn’t mention he hadn’t been on a bike in years. They chatted a few more minutes. Megan was out with friends, so Greg postponed calling her. She had her own phone, too. Laura had been amenable to them flying to Boston. He’d pick them up at the airport and they’d hang out together for a few days. Going to Minnesota himself was less and less an option. Laura needed space, and he didn’t live with her anymore. The kids were old enough to come to him or he could pick them up at home and take them somewhere. No staying on the sleeper sofa. He and Laura weren’t going to have that kind of postdivorce arrangement.

“Okay,” Greg said. “Let’s make Knights Bridge happen.”

“Knights Bridge?”

“That’s the town where we’ll be staying. It’s west of Boston. Look it up. It’s small but it’s got to be on the map.” He paused. “I think.”

“Great, Dad.”

Greg heard the sarcasm in his son’s voice and grinned. “I’ll get back to you with details.”

When he disconnected, Greg felt both a sense of satisfaction and a sense of loss. He wished Andrew and Megan were with him now, in the quiet English countryside. He was accustomed to being apart from his kids but that didn’t mean it was easy. In some ways, they were better at dealing with his absences than he was. It was the life they knew.

He crossed the stream and continued on the dirt trail through the woods to a grassy field and finally onto a paved lane. Enjoying the quiet, the mystery of where he’d end up since he hadn’t consulted a map, he followed the lane toward the village, past fenced fields dotted with sheep and a large stone farmhouse. Dusk came late this time of year. He wasn’t concerned about getting caught in the dark too far out in the countryside.

Charlotte would be on her train by now. It would take five or six hours to get to Edinburgh. Greg supposed he could have told her about his plan to head to Knights Bridge. Maybe he should have told her, considering what he’d learned about her plans, but she’d been preoccupied with her encounter with swaggering Tommy and in a hurry to get out of there.

A rationalization for his silence, maybe, but why get her worked up? Let her get home and figure out if she wanted to change her mind about Knights Bridge. Why influence her decision?

And if she did change her mind?

Greg tried to ignore the tug of regret he felt. He was looking forward to staying with her at the abandoned inn in the same little New England town. From what he’d gathered, there was plenty of room.

“Could be fun,” he said half-aloud as the lane curved into the quaint, pretty village.

He hopped onto a low stone wall and admired the view of rolling farmland and traditional Cotswolds yellow-stone houses, breathed in the fragrant June air. He thought he smelled rain. He didn’t mind. He welcomed the prospect of rain after months in a hot, dry climate.

When he reached the pub, it was filling up with locals. Greg could have gone back to London with Brody and Heather, but he was content to sit at the bar and order a beer.

Ian Mabry drew the pint himself. “You don’t look as tired as you did last night,” the former RAF pilot said.

“Not saying much. How’s life after the military?”

“It’s grand. I’m marrying the woman of my dreams and I’m back home, here, running this place. I was ready to move on to something else.” He set the beer in front of Greg. “You’re a Foreign Service officer, aren’t you? Diplomatic Security?”

Greg nodded. “Just wrapped up an overseas assignment. I’m taking a desk in DC next.”

“Not enthusiastic?”

“I never saw it coming.”

Mabry grinned. “A promotion, then?”

Greg raised his beer. “You got it.”

“From what I hear, you’ve done everything as a DS agent. You know the ropes. You have credibility.” Ian Mabry looked as if he’d considered similar options in his day as an RAF pilot. “A promotion was inevitable, wasn’t it?”

“That’s what they say.”

“You believe you can do more good staying in the field.”

“It’s what I know.”

“You’ll bring that experience to your new job.”

“Does your background as a fighter pilot help with running a pub?”

“You’ve no idea,” Mabry said with a laugh.

Greg tried his pint, savoring the first swallow after his walk. Mabry’s upcoming marriage no doubt was making his transition from active duty to civilian life easier. Greg didn’t have family in Washington. A handful of DSS colleagues he considered friends and a few he planned to avoid or tolerate. He’d never been good playing bureaucratic games but it wasn’t that kind of desk job.

“It’s a promotion, pal,” he muttered. “Be happy.”

He finished his beer, realized he wasn’t hungry after all the wedding food and headed up to his room. As he shut the door, he heard raindrops slapping his window and then a rush of rain. He walked over to the window and opened it, welcoming the smell of the rain and the cool breeze. Rain sprayed him in the face. He smiled.

His peaceful interlude was interrupted with a text from Brody.

Back in London. You?

Chasing raindrops.

Greg?

I’m good. Quiet here. I like the rain.

Don’t agree to anything else and then forget.

Will do. Hi to Heather.

She says hi back.

That was it. The check-in to make sure he wasn’t dancing on the tables or passed out behind the bar. Greg understood. He’d arrived in England clinically exhausted, and he hadn’t covered himself in glory with his behavior last night.

Tonight would be different. He’d read a book in his room, listen to the rain and hit the sack early—and, once again, alone.

Four

Edinburgh, Scotland

Charlotte awoke early given her late bedtime, walked to a tea shop near her apartment and indulged in fresh scones, jam and cream. She’d arrived home at midnight and fallen into bed, more agitated than tired. She’d slept little on the long train north, instead reading and contemplating her life—a consequence of seeing her family, being at a wedding and the long train ride itself.

And Tommy.

She added a dollop of clotted cream to her scone. He’d had some nerve showing up at the wedding and then confronting her, but he’d never been good at reading social cues. She remained convinced he’d sought her out at the pub deliberately to get under her skin. Even if it hadn’t been his intent when he’d stopped at the wedding, he hadn’t been able to resist the temptation.

The scone was perfect, just what she needed. The nightmare that had been her brief, volatile relationship with Tommy Ferguson was behind her, and good riddance to it. She drank some of her tea. Still no hint of a headache. If her encounter with Tommy hadn’t triggered one, then maybe she was done with that particular fallout from her diving accident.

Weddings being what they were for her these days, she felt unsettled, self-conscious and slightly awkward, as if she’d done something wrong. She wasn’t usually introspective. If she had to have dreams tonight, she preferred them to be about Greg Rawlings and his taut abs, but she’d thought about him enough in the past thirty-six hours.

She’d booked her flights while on the train. She’d leave tomorrow for a two-week stay in the United States. She’d arrive in and leave from Boston but could easily change her return date or departure city and absorb any penalties. In addition to spending time in Knights Bridge, she’d fit in a trip to Washington to see about Max’s house. She had no firm schedule. That was new to her, but she tried to think of it as liberating rather than unnerving.

She took a meandering route back to her New Town apartment. A Samantha Bennett–Justin Sloan kind of love wasn’t in the cards for everyone. Any uncertainty she’d had about their relationship had evaporated yesterday. Unexpected and unconventional they might be, but Charlotte didn’t doubt that she’d be congratulating her cousin and her husband on their anniversary for decades to come. She didn’t want to believe she’d had her one chance at true love and had blown it by picking the wrong man, but she knew, deep down, that was exactly what she believed.

“Doesn’t matter,” she whispered to herself.

She had a good life in a beautiful city. That was what counted.

But if you can’t dive, Charlotte? Then what?

She shook off the question, as she had dozens of times since April. In the months since she and Tommy had parted ways, she’d focused on her work, letting it take over her life, and now she didn’t even have it, at least not in the same way. She’d spent a semester in Edinburgh as a graduate student and then returned three years ago when she started her job at the institute as a marine archaeologist and diver. The submarine project with Malcolm and Francesca Bennett had been exciting and all-consuming, and even before her accident, Charlotte had wondered what was next for her.

It had been such a stupid accident. A private excursion, not part of her job. If only she’d stayed home that weekend...

She swept her fingertips across a black iron fence, touching raindrops. Would Greg Rawlings like Edinburgh? Had he ever been here? She pictured herself walking hand in hand with him on a quiet, gray Sunday morning. It was a fun image, but she suspected her reaction to him had been sparked more by the romance in the air than anything they had in common.

Weddings, she thought with a shudder.

She didn’t want to stereotype him, but she had experience with his type. DS Agent Rawlings was a rough-and-tumble sort. He had an irreverent sense of humor, an obvious penchant for risk and, no doubt, considerable experience in dangerous conditions. The man was sexy as hell, but they had very little in common. Just as well she’d likely never see him again. The only scenario she could think of was if she happened to visit Samantha and Justin in Knights Bridge at the same time Brody and Heather were in town and Greg stopped to see them.

“Not likely,” Charlotte said, surprised at how much the improbability bothered her.

The drizzle turned to a gentle, persistent rain. She kept an umbrella in her tote bag but didn’t bother with it since she was only a block from her apartment. She picked up her pace and ran up the steps to her front door. Once inside, she hung her jacket on a hook where it could drip into her copper boot pan, shook the rain off her hair and went into her tiny bedroom, if not in a great mood at least less off balance than when she’d left for her scones—and decidedly more awake.

She unpacked her suitcase from the wedding and set it on her bed to pack again, but she was drawn to the window that looked out on her cobblestone courtyard. Her throat tightened with unexpected emotion as she took in the window boxes bursting with late-spring flowers, glistening as a ray of sunlight broke through the gray and chased off the drizzle. Edinburgh was so different from what she’d known growing up in the Washington suburbs, with summers on the Bennett family farm in rural New Hampshire. She loved her work with the institute.

You are at high risk for a recurrence of decompression illness if you dive again.

How high?