Chapter Six
For Larkin, the two-hour workshop went by much too quickly. She had so much fun. Carson hadn’t been much help, but he’d definitely kept her entertained, much the way he’d wisecracked his way through high school. How he’d managed to also make the honor roll in those days had always astounded her.
At the end of the event, Austin handed out pretty copper-colored boxes for them to package their chocolates in. Sage walked around adding assorted shop favorites to the boxes.
“Isn’t this fun?” Marjorie’s eyes were sparkling, cheeks rosy. “Maybe I should retire from speech therapy and become a chocolatier.”
Peter smiled at his wife, then turned to Larkin and Carson. “Would you guys like a ride back to Bramble House? It’s probably a lot colder out now than when you walked here earlier.”
“After that chocolate and wine tasting at the end, I think I’m happy walking,” Larkin said. She cocked a questioning brow at Carson.
“Me too.”
So, they layered up in their outdoor gear and thanked their hosts. As they stepped out into the cold, Larkin zipped her coat as high as it would go, then wrapped her scarf close to her face. “Brr. It has gotten chilly.”
“Want to change your mind and grab a ride?” Carson asked.
“No.” If she was honest with herself, she didn’t just want some fresh air and exercise. She wanted a few moments alone with him.
“Good.”
When Carson took her hand, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.
She leaned closer to him as they started along the sidewalk toward home.
As the Kettles drove past, she spotted a man in the back seat.
Gibson must have accepted their offer of a ride.
They’d sure seen another side to the man tonight.
“I wonder if Gibson will be a bit more pleasant at breakfast tomorrow?”
“Let’s hope he doesn’t find another dead mouse.”
“Carson!” She tried not to laugh. “Your sister would be devastated if he did.”
“Look up. Can you see Orion’s Belt?”
She stopped to look, and there in the starry sky was the familiar pattern. It had always been their touchstone as kids. The one constellation—besides the Big and Small Dippers—that they could always recognize.
“It’s nice that some things never change, huh?”
She knew what he meant. Being back in Montana was reminding her of other touchstones in her life. Her grandmother and her cozy little bungalow, the beauty of Paradise Valley, and even Carson himself.
Being with him felt so natural and familiar on the one hand, and yet exciting and new on the other. She’d been so guarded in her relationships for so long, she didn’t know what to make of any of these feelings.
“Thanks for being a good sport about the chocolate workshop. It really wasn’t your thing, was it?”
“Hey. I got to be with you. And I’m bringing home a box of chocolates.” He raised the bag that Sage had given them to carry their treats.
“Win-win.”
“Exactly.”
They walked by a house with a big picture window and no curtains.
It’s a Wonderful Life was playing on a big-screen TV.
As they passed the next house, they could hear an unknown pianist playing “Christmas Time Is Here.” Before Larkin knew it, they were standing in front of Bramble House.
Awash in golden lights, with cedar garland covering the porch railings and a ball of mistletoe over the front door, it couldn’t have looked more welcoming.
But she wasn’t in a hurry to go inside. And it seemed Carson wasn’t either.
“I’ve got a nice bottle of Orphan Girl cream brandy at my place.” He nodded at the stairs leading to the suite over the garage. “Interested in a nightcap?”
She was tempted. But also nervous. She’d made it a policy to never go to a man’s house, ever.
Until she knew a man really well, all her dates were in public places.
The few times she’d been intimate with a man over the past few years had always been at her place, where she’d made sure to keep her phone within easy reach.
But this was Carson.
“Okay,” she said.
He smiled and she felt a delicious shiver of anticipation, and only the slightest tinge of fear. One drink couldn’t hurt. Larkin wondered how many women had thought that, only to be proved wrong.
*
It had been a long day, and as Amy made her way up the stairs to the third floor, she could feel her left leg aching. She’d injured it in the car accident that had killed her mother, and while she’d learned to live with her slight limp, the pain was always a reminder when she was overdoing things.
Chet, following behind her, noticed. “Your leg is bothering you, isn’t it? Take a soak in a hot bath. Maybe this summer we should finally install that hot tub in the backyard.”
It had been on their wish list of home improvements since they were married, and Amy had been saving for it in a separate account. “After Christmas we should have enough money. Assuming this week doesn’t do us in.”
“Aw, babe, it hasn’t been that bad.”
Amy didn’t bother listing all the things that had gone wrong.
She knew Chet would tell her they were all trifles not worth bothering about.
But the problem was that all the small things were happening in the same week, and a bunch of unhappy guests and bad reviews would be a terrible way to end the year.
As she checked on Robin, fast asleep in his sleep sack, clutching his favorite fuzzy sloth, she could hear Chet running the water for her bath. She stroked the soft hair off Robin’s forehead, then followed the aroma of lavender into the bathroom.
“That smells heavenly.”
He kissed the top of her head. “Enjoy.”
And she tried. But while her body appreciated the relaxing soak, her mind would not turn off. Half an hour later, as she climbed into bed with her husband, she couldn’t help but bring up the subject again.
“Do you think it’s a coincidence that all the bad things seem to happen when Gibson is around?”
Chet pulled her close beside him. “What do you know about the man?”
“Not a lot. Usually I chat with my guests when they’re checking in. I ask questions like, ‘What brings you to Marietta?’ and that sort of thing. But Gibson would not be drawn out.” Amy shifted, so her head was resting on Chet’s chest.
“Mmm…your hair smells nice. He must have given a home address?”
“He’s from New York City. Which I thought would give us something to talk about. But when I told him I was born and raised there, all he did was raise his eyebrows and look bored.”
“He’s very good at looking bored.”
“Isn’t he?” She snuggled closer, feeling comforted by this contact with her husband. “There must be a reason he left his home to spend the week leading up to Christmas—including Christmas Eve and morning—in Marietta. All by himself I might add.”
“It does seem peculiar. Do you know where he’s going after he checks out?”
“Flying back to New York.”
“Does he know anyone in Marietta?”
“Not as far as I can tell. He’s spending most of his time at the library or walking our winter hiking trails. Though he did go to Sage’s chocolate-making event tonight.”
“I wonder what he’ll find to criticize there?”
“Nothing, I’m sure. Sage’s classes are always so great. But usually, so are we. I just can’t figure out why so many weird things have been happening lately. I did have a bad feeling at the beginning of the week…”
“Moving on to potentially happier topics—what do you think of your brother and Larkin?”
“It seems pretty obvious that Larkin is the real reason he wanted to spend Christmas with us.”
His chest rumbled as he gave a short laugh. “No doubt about that. But how did he know she had booked into Bramble House?”
“I wondered the same thing. Then I remembered that Larkin called with questions about the Mable Bramble room on the Thanksgiving weekend.”
“When we were at Whispering Pines…”
“Yes. Carson must have heard me say Larkin’s name or seen her name on my phone screen.”
“They clearly have some sort of past. Do you know details?”
“Uh-uh. I could phone Mary Beth and ask her. But that seems underhanded. I guess I could try talking to Carson again. But he’s been pretty cagey when I’ve tried to raise the subject.”
Chet sighed. “I always look forward to getting our house to ourselves after our Christmas guests leave. This year more than ever.”
“I hear you. I just hope we survive until then.”
*
Carson let go of Larkin’s hand in order to open the door and let her in. The spacious loft above the Bramble House garage had been cordoned off into a sitting area and a bedroom, with only a low shelving unit dividing the two. With the flick of a switch, Carson turned on the cozy gas fireplace.
“You scored a great room from your sister.”
“Yeah, I feel guilty about that, especially since she won’t let me pay.” He went to the small bar area and poured two inches of bourbon cream into a couple of glasses. He handed her one. “To old friends.”
“Old friends.” She took a sip of her drink. “Oh, that’s good.”
“Right?” The rich cream blended perfectly with the oaky caramel of the bourbon. “It’s made at a distillery in Butte and has become a real family favorite.”
He’d been hoping she would sit. Instead she went to the wall where Amy had framed some Bramble House memorabilia, including excerpts from the book on the Bramble family’s history.
“This suite was named after the third-generation twins, Pearl and Dorothy Bramble,” Larkin said, reading from one of the pages.
“Yes.” He didn’t know much about the Brambles, but he’d read the excerpts too.
She moved to the black-and-white portraits of Pearl and Dorothy.
“There’s an entire chapter about the twins in the book I just read.
Neither of them married, so once they were adults, their parents built them this apartment over the garage.
They lived here until they died, when they were just thirty-five years old. ”
“Which is kind of gruesome, if you ask me,” Carson said.
“I agree. The family always felt the circumstances were suspicious, though being as the twins lived over a garage, carbon monoxide poisoning seems a probable cause. But I suppose every historic house needs a mystery.”
She stopped talking abruptly. “I’m babbling.”
“You’re nervous.”
“Yes.”
“Sit down,” he urged. “And relax.”
“Okay.”
She settled into a corner of the sofa, grabbing one of the overstuffed pillows and hugging it to her chest. Did she realize how defensive that looked? It killed him to see that she didn’t feel safe, not even with him.
He took the other corner of the sofa, wanting to give her as much space as she needed. “I would never hurt a woman. Especially you.”
“I know. At least my brain knows. I went to therapy a few months after I moved to Colorado. My therapist warned me that the part of the body that regulates fear isn’t always rational.”
Carson leaned toward her. “You could still press charges against the bastard.”
“I’ve thought about it,” she admitted. “But I never went to the doctor after. Never did the rape kit thing.”
“A lot of women don’t. They’re too traumatized. You still have recourse.”
“When I picture going through the process of having him charged and going to court, I feel absolutely sick. It’s much more satisfying to imagine looking him in the eyes and calling him out. We simulated that in my counseling sessions, and I found it very cathartic.”
“Maybe it would help even more if you did it for real.” It sure would help him. But it wouldn’t be words he’d throw in Andrew’s face. It would be his fist.
She shook her head. “It’s too late for that. And I’m over it. Mostly.”
She was clenching her glass so tightly her fingers were turning white. She wasn’t over it. And it was so damn unfair that such a strong and capable woman had been scarred, not by some faceless bad guy, but by someone Carson had once considered a friend.
“You were in such a good mood after the workshop. Now I’ve gotten you upset. I shouldn’t have asked you to come up here.”
“You’re wrong. This is good for me.” Larkin put down her glass.
“I need to let go of the past. And who better to do it with than my oldest friend?” She held out her hand and he moved closer to take it.
She had beautiful, slender hands. Long fingers, nails trimmed to a practical length.
Larkin had never been an excessively girly girl.
She’d been too busy having adventures for that.
“Do you still ski?”
“Of course. And I still ride horses and mountain bike.”
All the things they used to have so much fun doing.
And yet, sitting next to her right now, it was some of the romantic things they used to do together that Carson missed most. Carson turned to study her face and was relieved that she looked more relaxed.
The lines between her eyebrows had vanished. Her lovely mouth had softened.
He wished he could kiss her. Every cell in his body wanted to be closer to her, to be connected, even with a simple kiss. But he was afraid of pushing too fast. They were sitting side by side and he was holding her hand. For tonight maybe that was enough.
He was rewarded when Larkin leaned her head against his shoulder.
“This is nice,” she said.
“It is.” He ran his thumb gently over the top of her hand, loving the feel of her skin. He wouldn’t push. He would take his cues from her.
But he was going to have to figure out how to deal with his growing fury toward Andrew. Larkin may not want to face her rapist again.
But he did.