“That’s tomorrow, is it?” He seemed to respond automatically while scanning Laura’s face, perhaps gauging her emotional temperature. “Yes, I’m sure we’d be happy to do so. Anything for a good cause.” He edged around her to take Laura’s arm, patting it. “Isn’t that right, Laura?”
“That’s right,” Laura parroted, her expression blank.
Meredith’s stomach gave a decided wrench. Definitely time to beat a retreat. Laura wouldn’t say anything else with Victor there, and judging by the way he grasped her arm, he had no intention of leaving Meredith alone with her.
“I’ll stop by in the morning to pick them up,” she said.
“No need.” Victor waved his hand in dismissal. “I’ll have the gardener drop them off first thing. Down at the fire hall grounds, right?”
“Right.” Most outdoor events of any size were held there, and the twice-yearly auctions to support the local Amish schools were a fixture.
“Good, good.” His attention on Laura, Victor began nudging her toward the house. “Time you were having a rest, dear. You know you’ll get a headache if you stay out in the sun for very long.”
Laura nodded, face empty. She walked toward the house next to him, as docile as a doll.
Poor Laura. Everyone in town knew about what Victor called “her visits to a spa.” The kind murmured of a nervous breakdown, while others speculated on rehab, drugs, alcohol. No one knew for sure, but the woman was clearly hurting, lost in one tragic event in her past.
Meredith hurried to the gate. She’d made a mistake in coming here. Anything she did to uncover the events of that summer was bound to cause pain to someone. She should never have gotten into this.
CHAPTER THREE
ZACH HAD COME to the conclusion that being back in Deer Run had turned him into a coward. He’d tried to walk over to the old house after his meeting with Jake Evans, but he’d wimped out. Twice.
Too many bad memories—memories he’d effectively buried for years but never quite gotten rid of. His boss had been right. He should have come back years ago to settle up with Deer Run once and for all.
He walked down Main Street, not sure where he was going but knowing he didn’t want to go back to the bed-and-breakfast. He couldn’t leave, and he wasn’t ready to face the house yet. The tiny post office, its flag fluttering in the breeze, sat where it always had, and the imposing red brick of the bank still stood on the corner. There was a bench between them where a guy loitering to meet the girl he was forbidden to see could spot her coming out of her house.
He’d imagined that the years would make it easier—that he’d have forgotten Meredith and that he’d have come to terms with his father. Instead, the shadow of his old man could still turn his spine to spaghetti. And as for Meredith...
When he’d seen her, the years had telescoped and he’d been a love-struck seventeen-year-old again. At least he hadn’t let her see that, he trusted.
Neither of them was the same person now, and imagining anything else could lead to disaster. He had to figure out how to make peace with his memories, and he’d better do it fast, because Meredith was walking down Main Street toward him.
He sucked in a breath, telling himself to play it cool. She hadn’t seen him yet. Her gaze was fixed on the sidewalk, and something had upset her usual equilibrium, setting a frown on her forehead and anxiety in the set of her jaw. It struck him that he might have been the cause, given how he’d spoken to her yesterday.
There was a difference between being cool and being cruel. He didn’t have the right to hurt her for decisions they’d made when they were seventeen.
He stepped into her path and she looked up, startled. Color flooded her cheeks.
“Zach. I—I didn’t see you.”
“What’s wrong?” They’d always been able to go to the heart of things with each other, and he didn’t figure he’d start making polite conversation now.
“Nothing,” she said quickly and then shook her head. “Well, nothing I can do anything about, in any event.” She seemed to brush aside whatever it was, or at least table it until later. “Have you taken care of the business you had to deal with?”
“I’ve made a start.” He shrugged. “According to Jake Evans, you can’t just toss a house in the trash if you don’t want it.”
Meredith studied his face, and he had the sense that she was seeing beneath the surface, just like she used to do. She’d always been able to glimpse the person behind the tough-guy façade.
“The house where you grew up, you mean?”
He couldn’t keep from grimacing. “It came to me after my stepmother died, it seems. I don’t want it.”
“You don’t want it because the property is a tie to Deer Run, I guess.” Her direct gaze wanted the truth.
“Maybe.” But that was putting too much of the burden on her. “But mostly because the place holds a lot of bad memories. My childhood isn’t something I care to be reminded of.”
That had been one of the best things about starting a new life in a different place. He hadn’t had to deal with the constant reminders.
“What are you planning to do with it, since throwing it away isn’t an option?” The curve of her lips invited him to see the humor in the situation.
He didn’t. “I figured I’d put it on the market cheap and get rid of it, but according to Evans, it won’t sell in the shape it’s in.”
Meredith nodded, the tiny frown line back between her brows, for his problem this time. She shoved a strand of hair behind her ear, and his heart jolted. She’d always done that when she concentrated on something.
“You can trust Jake to give you an honest opinion, I’m sure. Everyone says he’s become a good attorney.”
“He claims his father is the exception to that opinion,” he said, just to see her face lighten.
Her smile flickered. “Jacob Senior is proud of his son, but of course he can’t admit such a thing. His gruff predictions of imminent disaster when Jake takes over are just a smoke screen, and everyone knows it.”
“Must be nice to have a father like that.” His old man had meant every word of the things he’d said to him, most of it stuff he certainly couldn’t repeat to Meredith, of all people.
As always, she saw behind his words to the meaning. Her hand moved tentatively, as if she wanted to reach out to him.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice was soft.
“Yeah. Well, it’s over and done with. I don’t suppose there were many people who thought Wally Randal was much of a loss when he died.”
“You didn’t come back for the funeral,” she observed.
“You were there?” That shocked
