The Cottages on Silver Beach Read online

  For his part, Elliot was quite sure he would have been better off if he had stayed holed up in his condo in Denver to finish the book, no matter how awkward things had become for him there. If he closed the blinds, ignored the doorbell and just hunkered down, he could have typed one-handed or even dictated the changes he needed to make. The whole thing would have been done in a week.

  The manuscript wasn’t the problem.

  Elliot frowned, his head pounding in rhythm to each throbbing ache of his shoulder.

  He was the problem—and he couldn’t escape the mess he had created, no matter how far away from Denver he drove.

  He struggled to unzip the duffel one-handed, then finally gave up and stuck his right arm out of the sling to help. His shoulder ached even more in response, not happy with being subjected to eight hours of driving only days post-surgery.

  How was he going to explain the shoulder injury to his mother? He couldn’t tell her he was recovering from a gunshot wound, not given his family’s history.

  Charlene had lost a son and husband in the line of duty and had seen both a daughter and her other son injured on the job.

  Nor could he tell his brother Marshall or his brother-in-law Cade about all the trouble he found himself in. He was the model FBI agent, with the unblemished record.

  Until now.

  Moving into the cottage was an easy job that took him all of five minutes, transferring the packing cubes from his duffel into drawers, setting his toiletries in the bathroom, hanging the few dress shirts he had brought along. When he was done, he wandered back into the combined living room/kitchen.

  The front wall was made almost entirely of windows, perfect for looking out and enjoying the spectacular view of Lake Haven during one of its most beautiful seasons, late spring, before the tourist horde descended.

  On impulse, Elliot opened the door and walked out onto the wide front porch. The night was chilly but the mingled scents of pine and cedar and lake intoxicated him. He drew fresh mountain air deep into his lungs.

  This.

  If he needed to look for a reason why he had been compelled to come home during his suspension and the investigation into his actions, he only had to think about what this view would look like in the morning, with the sun creeping over the mountains.

  Lake Haven called to him like nowhere else on earth—not only the stunning blue waters or the mountains that jutted out of them in jagged peaks, but the calm, rhythmic lapping of the water against the shore, the ever-changing sky, the cry of wood ducks pedaling in for a landing.

  He had spent his entire professional life digging into the worst aspects of the human condition, investigating cruelty and injustice and people with no moral conscience whatsoever. No matter what sort of muck he waded through, he had figured out early in his career at the FBI that he could keep that ugliness from touching the core of him with thoughts of Haven Point and the people he loved who called this place home.

  He didn’t visit as often as he would like. Between his job at the Denver field office and the six true-crime books he had written, he didn’t have much free time.

  That all might be about to change. He might have more free time than he knew what to do with.

  His shoulder throbbed again and he adjusted the sling, gazing out at the stars that had begun to sparkle above the lake.

  After hitting rock bottom professionally, with his entire future at the FBI in doubt, where else would he come but home?

  He sighed and turned to go back inside. As he did, he spotted the lights still gleaming at the cottage next door, with its blue trim and the porch swing facing the water.

  The swing was empty now. She wasn’t there.

  Megan Hamilton. Auburn hair, green eyes, a smile that always seemed soft and genuine to everyone else but him.

  He drew in a breath, aware of a sharp little twinge of hunger deep in his gut.

  When he booked the cottage, he hadn’t really thought things through. He should have remembered that Megan and the Inn at Haven Point were a package deal. She owned the inn along with these picturesque little guest cottages on Silver Beach.

  In his defense, he had no idea she actually lived in one herself, though. If he had ever heard that little fact, he had forgotten it. Should he have remembered, he would have looked a little harder for a short-term rental property, rather than picking the most convenient lakeshore unit he had found in his web search.

  Usually, Elliot did his best to avoid her. Megan always left him...unsettled. It had been that way for ages, since long before he learned she and his younger brother had started dating.

  He could still remember his shock when he came home for some event or other and saw her and Wyatt together. As in, together, together. Holding hands, sneaking the occasional kiss, giving each other secret smiles. Elliot had felt as if Wyatt had peppered him with buckshot.

  He had tried to be happy for his younger brother, one of the most generous, helpful, loving people he’d ever known. Wyatt had been a genuinely good person and deserved to be happy with someone special.

  Elliot had felt small and selfish for wishing that someone hadn’t been Megan Hamilton.

  Watching their glowing happiness together had been tough. He mostly had managed to stay away for the four or five months they had been dating, though he tried to convince himself it hadn’t been on purpose. Work had been demanding and he had been busy carving out his place in the Bureau. He had also started the research that would become his first book, looking into a long-forgotten Montana case from a century earlier where a man had wooed, then married, then killed three spinster schoolteachers from New England for their life insurance money before finally being apprehended by a savvy local sheriff and the sister of one of the dead women.

  The few times Elliot returned home during the time Megan had been dating his brother, he had been forced to endure family gatherings knowing she would be there, upsetting his equilibrium and stealing any peace he usually found here.

  He couldn’t let her do it to him this time.

  Her porch light switched off a moment later and Elliot finally breathed a sigh of relief.

  He would only be here three weeks. Twenty-one days. Despite the proximity of his cabin to hers, he likely wouldn’t even see her much, other than at Katrina’s reception.

  She would be busy with the inn, with her photography, with her wide circle of friends, while he should be focused on finishing his manuscript and allowing his shoulder to heal—not to mention figuring out whether he would still have a career at the end of that time.

  CHAPTER TWO

  LATE-SPRING MORNINGS on Lake Haven were the very definition of heaven on earth.

  Megan stood outside the three-story inn inhaling the most perfect combination of scents she could imagine. Freshly turned earth, lilac shrubs and silver-green lavender plants, still several weeks away from blooming but still sending out their luscious aroma from the greenery alone.

  If she could bottle that scent, she would make a fortune.

  Late spring or not, the early hours before the sun climbed the top of the mountains were still cool. She wore her favorite sweatshirt as she worked on the flower beds around the entrance to the inn. Even in July and August, visitors invariably needed sweaters and jackets in the mornings and evenings, especially at this altitude. Still, the possibility of warmer days was just around the corner.

  She had about a million and one things to do this morning but couldn’t resist standing here a little longer so she could embrace this particular moment that would never come again.

  Lately, Megan had tried to make a conscious effort to focus on living in the moment, savoring the joy of the now instead of worrying about that to-do list or about the latest crisis among her staff or guests or about the photography exhibit that consumed every waking moment.

  To that end, she lifted her face to the sunshine
, trying to focus on the warmth on her skin, the music of birds greeting the day in the treetops around the inn, the fragile perfection of a May morning on the shores of a stunning mountain lake.

  “You look like you’re either trying to pass a kidney stone or solve the world’s problems. Which is it?”

  Megan tried not to sigh as the familiar voice intruded into her moment.

  “Good morning, Verla,” she greeted the longtime head housekeeper at the inn, who had been with them for years.

  Verla McCracken was in her early seventies but refused to retire. During the year the inn shut its doors to rebuild after a disastrous fire, Verla had busied herself traveling the region and visiting with her grandchildren, but had begged for her job back the moment the inn was ready to reopen.

  She was thin and wiry and could probably bench-press a camel.

  “Beautiful day, isn’t it?” Megan said conversationally, turning back to the weeding.

  “Sure is. The kind of day that makes me want to jump into the lake in my skivvies.”

  She did not need that image in her head. Before she could scrub it clean, Verla went on.

  “I saw a car parked at Cedarwood Cottage. Our favorite author must have turned up in the night. Should I add the cottage to the cleaning schedule?” Verla asked eagerly.

  Though Megan didn’t think she and the other woman had all that many things in common, they both, oddly, found Elliot’s books fascinating. Unlike Megan, Verla had been thrilled that Elliot had decided to make the Silver Beach cottage his temporary home for a few weeks.

  Almost against her will, Megan looked past the line of pine and spruce toward Elliot’s place. He wasn’t anywhere in sight, and she couldn’t immediately ascertain whether that feeling in her chest was relief or disappointment.

  “I don’t know. His rental contract only calls for twice-weekly housekeeping service, but I can ask if he would like that expanded to daily service.”

  “Have you talked to him yet?”

  Megan tried not to think about that strange, awkward interaction in the moonlight—or about the bizarre, heated dreams that had kept her tossing and turning all night.

  She needed a social life.

  “Briefly. He came in last night just before I went to bed.”

  “He still as hot as ever?”

  Ew. Verla was old enough to be Elliot’s grandmother.

  “I can’t say I really noticed,” she lied. “He’s a guest here. That’s all that matters.”

  Verla snorted, clearly not impressed by Megan’s somewhat pious response.

  As if on cue, Elliot chose that particular moment to come jogging into view along the pathway around the lake. He wore shorts and an FBI T-shirt that clearly showed the man had serious muscles and was, indeed, as hot as ever. He ran with an odd, stiff sort of gait and it took her a moment to realize the cause was likely because his shoulder was still in a sling and he was bracing it somewhat as he moved.

  What had he done to hurt himself? She found it surprising that neither of his normally chatty sisters had mentioned anything about an injury. They usually delighted in telling the group about whatever Elliot was doing—his latest book award or FBI commendation. None of the Baileys had said anything about an injury.

  She had to wonder again why he had chosen to pay the rental fee to stay here rather than with his mother or one of his siblings.

  “Hey, Elliot.” Verla waved at him eagerly. He paused, turning toward them. Then he trotted in their direction.

  “That is one fine-looking man,” Verla murmured as he approached them.

  On closer inspection, Megan could see pain lines bracketing his mouth, and his right hand below the sling was clenched into a fist. None of that took away from the impact of him, lean and hard and dangerous.

  “Nice morning for a run,” she said, though she wouldn’t know. She hated running. She didn’t mind walking or hiking or riding her bike but would rather scrub all the inn’s toilets than throw on running shoes.

  Okay, that might be a slight exaggeration. Anything was better than scrubbing the hotel toilets.

  “It’s beautiful,” Elliot agreed, though he said this with all the enthusiasm of a man selecting among brands of dental floss. “I’m having a little trouble with the desk lamp in the second bedroom. I tried swapping out light bulbs with the bedside lamp and that didn’t do the trick. The cord appeared a little frayed, which leads me to the assumption that the malfunction is somehow related to that.”

  Why couldn’t he just say the lamp had a bad cord? “Right. I forgot about that. A previous guest brought it to my attention and I meant to switch it out before renting the cottage again but the matter completely slipped my mind. I’ll be sure to send another one over today.” She would take the one off her own desk if she had to, but hopefully it wouldn’t come to that.

  “Thank you,” he said, as formally as if they were discussing international trade treaties among countries. “At your earliest convenience would be fine. I’m not in a big rush, though I do see myself working there when possible. I just wanted you to know. Any frayed cord could pose a fire hazard.”

  Thank you, Safety Patrol Leader.

  She forced a smile, trying not to be snarky. “I appreciate the notice and will take care of it this morning.”

  He nodded and turned toward the direction of Cedarwood Cottage but Verla waylaid him.

  “Hey, Elliot. You might not remember me. Verla McCracken. You played baseball with my son Cort.”

  He shifted and gazed down at her diminutive form, then offered Verla a smile much warmer than anything he had yet to bestow on Megan.

  “Oh, yes. I remember. You always brought the best treats after games for Cort to share with the rest of us. My favorites were your sweet rolls with the maple frosting. I’ve had dreams about your sweet rolls.”

  She laughed, looking pleased and completely charmed. “I’ll be sure to make you some while you’re back in town.”

  “I would never refuse your sweet rolls, Ms. McCracken. How is Cort these days?”

  “Good. He works for the car dealership in Shelter Springs. You need a new Toyota, he can hook you up.”

  His teeth gleamed in the sunlight as he smiled again. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “He’s got the three cutest kids in the world. A boy and two girls. Oldest is six and the youngest is only a few months. Want to see a picture?”

  Before he could answer, Verla whipped out her phone and scrolled through until she found a picture Megan had taken of her grandchildren, all sitting together on a bench with the oldest girl holding the youngest girl and a little towheaded, grinning boy in the middle.

  Megan had to admit, they were pretty darn cute.

  “Beautiful,” Elliot replied dutifully.

  “I’m sure he’d love to see you while you’re in town. His wife is a big fan of your books. Megan and me are, too.”

  His gaze shifted to Megan, brows lifted slightly. “Is that right?”

  “Oh, yes. She got me hooked on them and I passed them along to Marie. That’s my daughter-in-law. You’ve got a way of telling a story that just hooks a person in.”

  “Uh, thanks,” he said.

  Verla launched into a review of his latest book. Elliot listened, nodding in all the right places, though he looked uncomfortable, and Megan had the distinct impression his attention wasn’t wholly focused on the other woman’s words.

  She was trying to figure out a way to step in and distract Verla when a familiar pickup turned in to the parking lot and pulled up next to them.

  Megan swore under her breath, wanting to kick herself. She’d never told her brother Elliot was renting a cottage at the inn. She had meant to the moment she realized who had made the reservation, but somehow she could never quite bring herself to raise the subject, knowing it would lead to an uncomfortable discu
ssion.

  She should have. She should have called him right away. If she had, she might have avoided what was bound to be an awkward confrontation now.

  Elliot spotted the pickup truck almost as soon as she did. He tensed slightly, a reaction she had a feeling he would have had regardless of who was driving, until he could establish there was no threat.

  He didn’t know her brother was driving. He couldn’t, she realized, her mind quickly racing for the best way to avert a scene between two men who had become outright hostile to each other after Elizabeth disappeared.

  The moment Luke parked the pickup, Cassie jumped out and rushed over to her, full of energy and excitement and life.

  “Aunt Meg, guess who gets to be the starting pitcher at tonight’s game?”

  As always, her heart overflowed with love for this girl. She couldn’t imagine ever loving a child of her own womb as much as she did her niece and nephew.

  “Um, Miranda.”

  “As if! She’s too busy making sure she doesn’t break a nail. No! It’s me. Last night at practice, Coach Hunter says I did such a good job as the relief pitcher that she’s willing to take a chance. Are you coming to watch?”

  “Of course. You know I wouldn’t miss it.”

  She loved small-town ball games. It was one of her favorite aspects of living in Haven Point.

  “What about you, Bridger?” she asked her nephew as he and Luke approached them. “Are you playing tonight, too?”

  “Sore subject,” Luke said, with a warning look.

  Because of the angle of the shrubs, he couldn’t see Elliot yet, she realized. If only she could keep the two men apart.

  “It’s not fair.” Her nephew pouted. “I’m ready. My arm doesn’t even hurt much anymore. The cast has been off for two weeks.”

  Bridger had broken his arm a few months earlier in a bad tumble while spring skiing at the end of the season. He wasn’t handling being benched very well.