Chapter 11 #2
There was no way she could ever go back to the way it was before, not bloody likely, he thought fiercely. They were going back and he could not help but feel a twinge of misgiving and, yes, fear.
They would be living with his grandfather and there were bound to be arguments and incidents.
But by God, he would lay down some rules. He was not going to tolerate the highhandedness or the interferences.
He would see to that as well. They were going back and he was going to make their last day memorable.
He would see to that as well.
With that in mind, he took her driving the day before they left.
With the top down, the wind cruising on their flesh, she enjoyed the outing. There were quaint little cottages, with livestock, mostly cows grazing in the incredibly green fields, and hundreds of flowers blooming everywhere.
He slowed down enough for her to see colored bikes strewn in the various yards. There were also horses, a few goats, and several chicken coops.
"What is this place?"
"The country." He flashed her a grin as he made the turn into what was the town center.
Her delight tripled. It was like a Norman Rockwell painting.
The place was sleepy; the storefronts quaint and cozy. There was a neatness, a cleanness to the place that had her sucking in her breath.
And the air was surprisingly clean. Traffic was light, even though it was a Saturday.
"Let's stop here." She pointed to the gaily painted little café with the handmade board sign.
"Hungry?"
"I am. And I want to walk from here. Is there a parking-"
"We can park at the library." He made the turn into a small parking lot that housed a wooden structure.
Parking under the shade of a flowering hibiscus bush, he came around to open her door. Locking up, he took her hand as they made their way out.
The people were friendly. The ones they met during the short walk towards the café waved at them cheerfully as they went on about their business.
It amused and amazed her. Where she came from, people didn't even want to look you in the eye.
And the minute they stepped inside the café, the scent of baking and coffee hit them head on.
The beaming owner, with a soiled apron around her ample waist, came towards them and greeted Craig by name.
"Well, as I live and breathe!" She opened her arms and embraced him.
"If it isn't Master Craig." Stepping back, she studied him and nodded approvingly.
"Well, aren't you the handsome one?"
"Maeve." He grinned at her.
"I can't believe you're still here."
"Where else would I be?" She turned curious light green eyes on Regina.
"Who's this lovely young woman?"
"Maeve, this is Regina, my wife."
He said it with such ease that it had Regina's heart spiking.
"Oh, my goodness!" Maeve clapped her hands in delight, and before Regina could react, was embracing her as well.
"It's a pleasure to meet you. Sit."
She guided them over to a table in the corner.
"Coffee and my famous beignet. Freshly baked. Scrambled eggs with ham and cheese."
She clapped her hands again, her face wreathed in smiles. "I'll serve you myself."
"Thanks, Maeve."
"It's the least I can do, and the meal is on the house."
"No- I"
She waved away his protest. "I insist."
Before he could say anything else, she bustled away, stopping at a few tables along the way.
"I think she has a crush on you."
Craig glanced over at her as he settled back against the padded seat. From where they were sitting, they could see the roadway and the traffic crawling by.
"She knew my parents. This place was slated for demolition, in fact most of the buildings were. Serenity Place, as it's called, was going to be swallowed up by a conglomerate. They wanted-" he paused when Maeve came back with a pot of coffee and freshly baked soda bread.
"To tide you over while you wait."
"You're spoiling us."
"You deserve it."
"You were saying?" Regina had a pretty good idea where he was going, but she wanted to hear it from him.
Pouring the coffee, she took a slice of the bread and spread marmalade on it. The first bite had her eyes widening.
"Wow."
"She's good. Anyway, they wanted to buy out the owners and level the buildings.
They had the idea of turning it into a resort area.
Which was a good business plan, because as you can see, the area is quaint and relaxed.
People who can afford it would love to come here and chill.
But the townspeople, ones who have been here for years, this was not just business for them; it's their home. "
"And your dad stepped in."
He smiled in memory as he picked up his cup.
"My mother. She was wealthy in her own right and decided she was going to save the town. She bought a few of the buildings and loaned money to the rest of the residents and owners who couldn't afford to hold onto their businesses. She took an interest in it and made an outcry."
He grinned. "Rosalind Muldoon was a force to be reckoned with when it counts."
He paused again when Maeve came back with their meal.
"I also have pecan pie, with homemade vanilla ice cream."
"Maeve, you're killing me here."
"You can always take it with you." She patted his shoulder before whisking away.
"Your mother bought this place?"
"She made an investment. Eat up."
Picking up her fork, she did so automatically, her thoughts whirling. The more she heard about the family, his parents, and the more time she spent with him, the more she was getting drawn in.
"They saved the town."
"They did. There's an ice cream parlor that makes homemade ice cream from scratch. It's bloody delicious. The town is run by people who have been here for decades. People who're second- and third-generation owners.
"Maeve took over from her mother, who took over from her mother, and so on. It's family owned, and the people look out for each other. It's an amazing place."
Regina could see that. As she looked around, she noticed the friendly atmosphere, people hailing each other.
The ambiance was relaxed and laid back, the conversation friendly. A woman pushing a stroller smiled at the man who jumped from his chair to open the door for her.
Two teenagers rushed in, with smiles on their faces. An old woman who looked like she had reached her hundredth birthday toddled in.
Someone opened the door for her and found her a seat. She wasn't used to that kind of thing.
"How's the meal?"
His deep voice jarred her back from her musings.
"The best beignets I've ever tasted. And I've been to New Orleans."
"So have I. Maeve will be pleased to hear."
He placed a hand over hers. "I wanted you to have the ultimate experience before we returned."
She stirred a little restlessly, but to his relief, did not move her hand.
"Thanks," she said quietly.
"And it's not over yet," he told her with a smile.
After they had polished off the delicious meal, with Maeve pressing a hand-woven basket with her pie and a container of vanilla ice cream as well as her soda bread and homemade strawberry jam, he took her to 'Relic,' a store run and operated by a grizzled-looking Indian, with a long tail of salt-and-pepper hair and skin as weathered as the bark of a tree.
Old John Run, as he was called, knew Craig by name.
As soon as they stepped inside, the man hurried to greet them, pumping Craig's hand and then lifting hers to his lips, coal-black eyes glowing.
She found earrings, beautiful, handcrafted ones, made mostly from materials found outdoors. Shimmering necklaces, whimsical bracelets: she went crazy there, buying almost the entire collection!
Then there was the most unusual-looking lamp she had ever seen, as well as a vanity stool, a delicately carved table made from redwood, and some headbands and beads.
Craig insisted on paying for everything, and after a struggle with her sense of independence, she let him.
They strolled through the park after he went to get the car so that she could put away her stuff. Flowers bloomed in riotous colors, and the water from the natural stream gurgled happily over smooth stones.
She took lots of pictures with the camera he had bought her at the photography place. She decided that this was even more picturesque and amazing than Paris in the spring, and told him so.
They had a couple of fish left over, and he put them on the grill, along with some baby potatoes. She did her part by tossing a salad.
They had the meal right there on the deck with the wind whistling through the trees.
Regina had to admit that it was the best week of her life, and she was dreading going back to the real world.
As if sensing her misgivings, he made love to her that night with a tenderness that drove her to tears, laboring over her body with ruthless intensity. Afterwards, he held her against him, his arms possessive, heart beating unsteadily against her cheek.
She couldn't say the words; she had no idea when that would be, but she could feel everything. And she had an idea that he knew exactly what was happening to her