in her presence a moment longer, Garret stiff-armed his way through a door marked Private at the back of the bar.
“Who are you? And who’s Brian?” she asked, raising her voice.
The door swung shut behind him on silent hinges, leaving Jo gaping at the rude man who hadn’t felt the need to share his name.
Chapter Two
GARRET SHOVED THE DOOR OPEN so forcefully he nearly hit his brother Brian, who was toting two trays of clean glasses into the main bar. “Whoa, dude!” His brother jumped aside in the nick of time. “What’s your rush?” Only Brian’s agility saved them from having to clean up even more broken glass.
“She’s back. She’s out there.” Garret jerked a thumb at the still-swinging door.
“Who? Are you all right?”
“Colleen. Colleen Drake is back. She sashayed right up to the bar, cool as you please, asking for sarsaparilla like she used to. Remember how Mom stocked sarsaparilla at home for her?And Dad had it here because it was all Colleen liked, but her mother nixed soda pop. Sharon said sugar made Colleen too high-strung to play her violin.”
“Slow down. You’re babbling, my man. Take a deep breath. Colleen’s been dead for seven years. You’ve probably gone and scared off a customer, Garret.” Brian set the heavy trays on the kitchen island that held a six-burner stove and a well-used grill.
Garret was ready to yell at his older brother, but with a backward glance at the door, kept his voice low. “It’s her, I tell you.” It was true he hadn’t set eyes on Colleen Drake since her whole family left town while he escorted his mother to Ireland for her family reunion. But Harvey Bolton, the real estate agent who sold the Drakes’ house, told everyone Joe and Colleen had died in a car accident.
Brian laid a hand on Garret’s shoulder. “Garret, maybe you should go home and let me handle the bar. Sean showed you the newspaper article about the accident. You must be mistaken. They say we all have a twin somewhere in the world.”
“Right, and Colleen’s twin happens to love sarsaparilla? I’m telling you, Brian, it’s her.” Garret shook off his brother’s hand. “I can’t deal with her right now. Do me a favor. Ask her how long she’s going to be in town and where I can find her when I calm down some.” Garret’s voice cracked. Elbowing his brother aside, he pulled a set of keys from his jeans pocket. “Sorry to leave you shorthanded. Oh, yeah—I dropped a full glass of Sam Adams. There’s glass and beer all over behind the bar.”He hesitated, as if wanting to say more, but instead, yanked open the pantry and hauled out a fifth of Bushmills Irish whiskey, then left by the back door.
Brian Logan chased after his brother. “On second thought, Garret, if you’re right and it is Colleen Drake, I probably won’t be very nice to her. How could I after what you’ve been through? Give me the whiskey. Go back and talk to her yourself. Don’t let that woman drive you back into the bottle.”
“I won’t. I need a little liquid courage, is all, before I tell her exactly what I think.” Garret wagged the bottle.
“Dammit, you’ve been back to your old self this year.”
Garret didn’t respond. He brushed past Sean, his brother closest in age, who was returning from a run to the bank. Along with Garret and Brian, Sean was part-owner of the pub.
Without a word to Sean, Garret climbed into his Suzuki Grand Vitara and sent up a spray of gravel as he tore out of the lot.
“What’s got his tail in a twist?” Sean gestured with an empty bank deposit bag toward the rapidly receding vehicle.
Brian took the bag from Sean. “I need to attend to business inside. Go after Garret. Make sure he’s okay. He’s just had the shock of his life. I’m guessing he’s headed to his house.”
“What kind of shock?”
Brian glared angrily back at the pub. “I haven’t seen her yet, but apparently, Colleen Drake has returned from the dead. From hell, if you ask me, considering the basket case she left Garret.”
“But…we all saw the news photo of Joe Drake’s car being loaded onto a flatbed truck. The article said the driver and passenger were pronounced dead at the scene. There’s no way anyone could have survived that wreck.”
“Yeah, well, either Garret’s suddenly lost his mind, or the reporter got his facts wrong. Go. Make sure Garret doesn’t polish off too much of that bottle. And if he’s too rattled to come back and handle the afterwork crowd, see if Molly can come in,” Brian instructed, referring to their only sister.
Sean struck out for his pickup. “I’ll phone Mom. Then Trish and Jaclyn,” he said, looking relieved that Brian would be the one dealing with their surprise visitor.
Brian nodded. “I’ll see if I can find out why she’s here, and how long she plans to stick around. I wonder where she’s staying.”
“Not too many choices. Trish is working the desk at the resort this afternoon. When I phone her, I can ask if Colleen checked in. If not, maybe it wouldn’t hurt for Trish to tell her they’re full up. She might just decide to move on.”
“She’s Garret’s business, Sean, not ours. Maybe she has a good reason for being gone so long.”
“What good reason could there be for letting Garret dangle for seven damn years? He bought land to build her a house, for cripe’s sake. He deserves an explanation at least, Brian.”
“Right. You’re right. Our folks always treated Colleen like a second daughter. Like they treat my wife and Galen’s and now your fiancée. I can’t think of any excuse that’s strong enough for us to forgive how badly she hurt Garret. Go, do what you have to, Sean. I’ll see if it’s really Colleen at the bar, and not some figment of Garret’s imagination.” Brian returned to the pub’s kitchen where he grabbed a broom, bucket and mop and went to tackle his brother’s mess.
A FEW TIMES on the drive home Garret considered turning back. Part of him knew Brian was right in saying he’d come a long way this past year. He was also right that Garret shouldn’t let Colleen send him into a tailspin again. But he couldn’t help it.
There was the note she’d left with his dad shortly after he accompanied his mom on the trip to Ireland. In it she said she was going to Boston with her parents for a few days—strictly to pacify her mother. She said her mom had arranged for an audition at some highbrow music conservatory. But Colleen assured Garret that she had no intention of attending anymusic school so far away.
Today she’d looked spiffy enough to have become one of the highbrows. What the hell had happened to her resolve?
Garret pulled into his driveway but he didn’t get out. He gripped the steering wheel with both hands. A few weeks before Garret, and his mom, Clare, arrived home from three months abroad, the top real estate agent in White Oak Valley sold the Drake house, which sat next to the Logan family homestead. The story that circulated and had been accepted as truth was that Harvey Bolton had been contacted by a grief-stricken Sharon Drake and told to sell. Well, jeez, Garret had been grief stricken, too. And inconsolable, even though his family had banded together to try to ease his pain. Dropping his head briefly on the steering wheel between his two clenched hands, he realized the story could only have
