of oxen and their wagons. They were top-notch blacksmiths, but there was no ironworks around here at the time. They opened Liberty Creek Forge to supply metal for themselves and other businesses that had started springing up. They built the bridge a couple years later so folks could get here easier. Some of them liked the area well enough to stick around.”
“And the rest is history,” she said, smiling at the appealing homespun story.
Having been raised in Savannah, she had a reverence for the past that had followed her throughout her life. She’d hoped to use that to create some kind of connection with this enigmatic man, but her efforts failed miserably. For some reason, the tentative light in his eyes dimmed, leaving them a flat grayish-blue that made her think of the storm clouds still hovering outside the windows.
Looking away, he pulled a pint carton of milk out of a cooler for Chase, then took two sturdy-looking mugs from a set of open shelves that ran the length of the wall opposite where they were sitting. “There’s a new pot of coffee. Would you like some?”
“Please.” One sip nearly put her on the floor, but she managed to swallow the jolt of caffeine without gagging. She reached out for a bowl of nondairy creamer and emptied a few of the thimble-sized portions into her mug.
“Too strong?”
Apparently, Sam was more observant than most, and she smiled to ease any insult she might have caused. “A little. I’m not used to coffee that’ll hold a spoon upright.”
“Sorry.”
It occurred to her that when he’d been relaying the story of his family’s legacy, Sam had seemed comfortable enough talking to her. But now that they were speaking more spontaneously, his conversational style was decidedly sparser. It reminded her of an actor who was adept at delivering his lines but stumbled while fielding questions during an interview.
She’d seen that kind of behavior many times at the veterans’ hospital, and she suspected that Sam was still waging a battle against something that had followed him home from wherever he’d been stationed. While Holly felt compassion for the former soldier, warning bells were clanging in her head so loudly, she wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Sam could hear them, too.
Still struggling to leave those horrific memories behind, she was committed to starting a new life with her son as far from the military as she could get. She was rapidly approaching thirty, and now that she’d made it through the worst storm she could imagine, it was time to make some serious plans for the future. For both her and Chase.
They’d spend their summer with Aunt Daphne, getting her back on her feet and enjoying this picturesque part of New Hampshire to the hilt. Then, in August, Holly would be ready to make some solid decisions about their futures and get Chase registered in a new school if they found themselves somewhere other than Boston. Nowhere in those plans did she have the time or the energy to take on another emotionally scarred soldier who may or may not become whole again. Chase was only six when Brady died, so he had hazy images of his father. To her mind, his ignorance was a blessing considering the tragic way Brady’s life had ended.
But now her son was old enough to get attached to people and be devastated if they were suddenly yanked out of his life. For her sake and Chase’s, Holly knew that the smartest thing she could do was keep Sam Calhoun at a nice, safe distance.
* * *
Sam had never been the chatty type.
His mother had often accused him of being a poster child for the staid New Englander who didn’t have much to say but meant every word that came out of his mouth. Still, in thirty years of living he’d never found himself tongue-tied around a woman. Until now.
Holly Andrews was more than easy on the eyes. A few blond strands had escaped her ponytail, framing her brilliant blue eyes in a halo of curls. When she’d pegged him as former military, he’d braced himself for the awkward moment when he’d have to explain where he’d served and why he was back.
To his great relief, she didn’t ask. Probably because she was familiar with veterans and could sense that he didn’t want to talk about his experience. The interesting thing was, she didn’t treat him like someone who needed to be handled with kid gloves the way so many folks did. Instead, she’d given him sympathy and understanding. For someone who’d dealt with every conceivable reaction during the past year, Sam found her matter-of-fact approach to him a refreshing change.
Realizing that her drink was nearly gone, he asked, “Would you like a refill on that?”
“That’d be great. It was a long trip, and we still have to drive to Auntie D’s and unpack.”
“Auntie D?” he echoed in disbelief as he poured coffee into her mug and added some hot water to make it more to her taste. “That’s what you call Daphne Mills, the greatest actress of her generation?”
“Oh, that’s just a bunch of hype invented by her agent.” Holly waved it off with a laugh. “She’d be the first to tell you there were actresses better than her. Not many, of course, but a few,” she added with a fond smile.
“I guess she’d know.” Then he remembered what had brought Holly into the bakery in the first place. “I think that envelope you were asking about is back here somewhere. Gimme a sec.”
“Don’t rush. If we’re not in the way, I’d rather hang out here until it quits raining, anyway.”
“According to the weatherman, this storm’s not moving off till tomorrow morning.”
“Oh, well.” Glancing at her son, she shrugged a delicate shoulder. “Them’s the breaks, right, bud?”
“We won’t melt,” he assured her brightly.
She rewarded his optimism with a proud mother’s smile and slit open the envelope Sam had given her. A pile of cash spilled onto the counter, followed by a house key.
She let out a sound that was half moan and half laugh. “Oh, Auntie, what’re you thinking?”
“Whoa,” Chase commented. “That’s a lotta money.”
“It certainly is,” Holly replied, shaking her head as if she couldn’t quite believe it herself.
Sam was trying hard not to snoop, but it was impossible to miss the large, scrawling message on the pale pink stationery.
Get whatever you want, Peaches.
Reaching back inside, Holly pulled another piece of paper from the envelope. She opened the note and studied it with a frown. When she started spinning the page, he felt compelled to ask, “Something wrong?”
“I’m assuming this is meant to be a map.”
When she turned it for him to see, he realized that even a local like him would have trouble following the vague drawing anywhere. “City folks like your aunt aren’t much for giving directions. They like their GPS.”
“It’s very helpful,” Holly informed him primly. “I managed to get all the way here from Boston using it.”
“To the town, sure, but you won’t find Daphne’s place that way. That road’s not even on a state map.”
He seldom engaged anyone so directly,
