long ago.
Andrea frowned. Their hard-earned money was a misnomer, since her mother hadn’t done the actual earning. With a father who was a senior partner in a huge personal-injury law firm, Margaret Cunningham-Wheaton had grown up spending money without having to worry about where it came from. And her family had made sure she could continue the habit. Going to college and falling in love with an accounting major hadn’t been in anybody’s plans.
Andrea paced the floor while she waited. Her one-minute estimate was overly optimistic. One minute stretched into two, then three and eventually ten. What were they doing, waiting till the movie was over?
When someone finally knocked on the back door, she flipped the exterior light on and looked out the dining room window. Instead of two men on her deck, three were lined up side by side. She swung open the door.
Bryce and a man she didn’t know kept a tight grip on the one in the center. Although she hadn’t recognized Bryce, Matt Langman, her other neighbor, was easily identifiable.
His face had aged, more than it should have in the past twelve years. He’d lived a rough life. According to her father, he spent half his time in jail and the other half hatching up new ways to get into trouble. There was likely plenty of drug use involved, too.
But a lot hadn’t changed. He still wore his hair in the same shaggy style and maintained that signature air of indifference. The cockiness hadn’t lessened one iota. He was too thin to be the one who’d slammed her into the doorjamb. But the accomplice could have been Matt. Their sizes were similar.
“What are you doing on my property?”
“Being held against my will by your boyfriend and his goon.” His eyes narrowed in the same malicious glare he’d always given her.
She crossed her arms. She’d never done anything to him, had hardly spoken to him over the years. But he’d always hated her. He despised her for her privileged upbringing and the fact that Bryce’s relationship with her and her father had ended his friendship with Matt.
But the bad blood went back further than that. Three generations, actually. Their great-grandfathers had been in business together and ended up with some irresolvable differences. Her great-grandfather had bought Matt’s out at a price the Wheaton clan insisted was generous and the Langman clan swore was highway robbery. The Langmans were still holding a grudge.
“What were you doing on my property?”
He tried to jerk away, but Bryce and his friend tightened their hold. “Going for a walk.”
“At nine thirty at night?”
He lifted his chin. “Cherokee County doesn’t have a curfew.”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re trespassing.”
“Not if there aren’t any signs.”
Maybe he had her there. Before heading back to Atlanta, she’d stop by Tractor Supply and pick up a couple, along with a handheld staple gun. “I’ll have that remedied tomorrow.” Whatever Matt’s reasons, he was up to no good. “In the meantime, I’m giving you verbal warning. Stay off my property, or I’ll have you arrested.”
“It’s not yours. It’s your dad’s.”
“Since my dad’s dead, it’s mine.”
For a brief moment, the cockiness fell away and his eyes widened. “Are you going to live here?”
“I haven’t decided what I’m doing with the place yet.”
His lips curled back in a sneer. “You need to take that snooty car of yours and go back to your fancy place in Atlanta. You don’t belong here.”
Fire sparked inside and spread. Before she could formulate a response, Bryce gave him a shake.
“That’s not for you to decide. You heard what Andi said. If you step foot on this property again, I’ll arrest you myself.”
Matt opened his mouth but then apparently thought better of it. Instead, he shook off the hands that held him and sauntered toward the trees separating their two properties.
Before leaving the circle of light emanating from the deck, he cast a glance over his shoulder. Even with the shadows, the hatred Andrea saw there sent a chill down her spine.
When listing the pros and cons of keeping the property, Matt definitely belonged on the con side. She wasn’t about to let him push her around. But having to deal with an antagonistic neighbor needed to be a consideration in her decision. Especially when her safety was at stake.
As for Bryce, she hadn’t decided whether his presence was a pro or a con.
* * *
“Stay.”
Bryce extended his arm, palm angled toward Cooper. “You can’t go with me this time.”
He moved down the porch steps, leaving behind a pouting dog, then headed across the yard under a steel-gray sky. A cold front was moving their direction. It probably wouldn’t bring snow. Murphy saw snow only a handful of times each year. November was a little early.
Today Andrea was returning to Atlanta. She’d finished the funeral arrangements before coming to Murphy but still had a lot of paperwork to get through in the Wheatons’ Atlanta house.
Tomorrow he’d make the two-hour drive himself. No way was he going to pass up the opportunity to pay his final respects to the man who’d made more difference in his life than anyone else on the planet.
He stepped onto the trail that separated his property from Andi’s. He’d see if Andi needed help with anything before she headed out. After the funeral tomorrow, he had no idea when he’d see her again. If ever.
Disappointment settled over him. Two days hadn’t been enough time to iron out everything that was wrong between them. He wasn’t sure what changes he’d expected in so short a time, but they hadn’t happened.
When he reached her yard, movement drew his attention to the right. He looked that way as Andi disappeared into the woods. Where was she going?
He jogged along the side of her house and to the back. The small yard sloped down toward woods that stretched all the way to a creek at the rear edge of the ten acres. Ahead, patches of red flashed between almost bare trees. He followed, now knowing her destination.
When he reached her, she stood outside a small circular stone wall. Four posts held up a weathered roof. The crank that had at one time wound the rope to raise the bucket had frozen up years ago. He’d been there with her before. Many times.
She glanced over one shoulder before turning back to stare into the dark depths. “This was one of his favorite places.” Her tone held wistfulness. “He used to say that most wells collect wishes, but this one collects burdens. Anytime something was bothering me, we would pretend to ball it up and throw it into the well.”
The sadness radiating from her was almost palpable. But there was something else, too. She seemed tormented in more than a grieving sense. Her turmoil wove a path straight to his heart.
He put a hand on her shoulder,
