the view of the barn, chicken coop, pigsties and paddocks behind the main building that made the school a working ranch. The small caretaker’s cottage where she and her father had made their own home was also to the rear of the main house and out of sight from the front approach.
Clair stopped between two matching white rail fences that bordered the drive on both sides. Within the confines of those fenced pastures there were horses to her right and dairy cows to her left. The fence gave way to a circular drive, and a lush green lawn carpeted the ground to the flower beds that decorated the space immediately in front of the house.
Those who didn’t know what the place was or didn’t get close enough to read the small brass plaque that announced it was the Northbridge School for Boys would never guess it wasn’t merely the pastoral estate of a gentleman farmer.
But that had suited her father. He’d always said that even though it might be an institutional facility, he wanted it to be homey and welcoming and something the boys would learn to take pride in. And because that wasn’t always a simple task with troubled kids, his tool-box had been at the ready to make repairs—always assisted by whoever had wreaked the damage.
This was the first time Clair had been to the school since her father’s untimely death from a sudden heart attack. She hadn’t been able to face staying there alone when she’d come to the reunion, but she’d planned to at least drive out and have a look at things.
Instead she’d made her abrupt departure from the bed-and-breakfast, from Northbridge—and from Ben Walker—without ever doing that.
But now that she was there she was pleased to see that the place the Realtor had said was beginning to show some signs of neglect over the past year, looked as well tended as it had when her father had been at the helm.
No doubt that was thanks to Ben Walker. The Realtor had told Clair that as soon as the sale had closed he’d begun to work on the place so he could open this month.
He’d also moved in—again, according to the Realtor who had told her that Ben Walker would be living on-site just as she and her father had. But the Realtor had also said that Ben Walker would give up the cottage to Clair while she was there, to spare her the expense of the bed-and-breakfast. During that time, he would stay in the main building.
So there she was.
Inside, Ben Walker was waiting for her.
She couldn’t imagine what he must think of her. She was just reasonably sure it couldn’t be anything good. But there was nothing she could do about that now so she decided she might as well get this show on the road.
Take a deep breath and blow it out.
Clair took her own silent advice again.
Then she drove the rest of the way to the building.
Apparently Ben Walker wasn’t watching for her because the big mahogany door remained closed as she parked, turned off the engine and got out of the car with her suitcase.
When she reached the front door she automatically put her hand on the knob to open it before it occurred to her that the place didn’t belong to her—or to her father—any longer and that she couldn’t just go in.
So she pulled her hand away and rang the bell instead, feeling a whole new layer of awkwardness.
But when the door opened it wasn’t Ben Walker on the other side of it. It was Cassie Walker.
“Hey there, stranger!” Clair’s old friend greeted her with a smile and a big hug. “I was hoping you’d get here before I left, and you just barely made it.”
“Cassie!” Clair responded with a full measure of relief echoing in her voice. She hadn’t expected her friend to be there but the fact that Cassie was helped immensely.
“Come in, come in,” Cassie encouraged. But despite the invitation, she didn’t make way for Clair because, as if the change in Clair had just registered, she said, “You cut your hair.”
“I did,” Clair confirmed, self-consciously fingering the short curls at her nape.
“It’s so cute. I love it on you. Even though I’m still mad at you.”
“You’re mad at me?”
“For the reunion. I can’t believe you left that night without telling me you were going and then didn’t even call before going back to Denver the next day. I don’t care if you were in a hurry to escape before you had to see Rob again.”
A second wave of relief washed through Clair. She’d called her friend a few days after the reunion, worrying that Cassie’s twin might have told her that he’d spent the night with Clair. But when it had become clear that Ben hadn’t said anything about it, Clair had given her friend the likeliest excuse—not wanting to see Rob again—to explain her hasty departure both from the reunion and from Northbridge the following morning. But for just a moment, Clair thought maybe Ben had told Cassie belatedly and her friend was genuinely angry. It was good that that didn’t seem to be the truth.
“Maybe we’ll have time to visit and catch up while I’m here now,” Clair said to appease her friend.
“I’m counting on it,” Cassie said. Then she obviously recalled that they were still standing in the doorway and said, “Oh, look at me—I told you to come in and then went right on blocking the door.” But this time she stepped out of the way.
Clair took her suitcase with her into the foyer and while Cassie closed the door behind her, Clair glanced around.
From what she could see, Ben Walker had left the lower level of the house just as her father had—just as it had been when the building had served as a private home. The large foyer had a hardwood floor and paneled walls with archways cut out of them to connect a living room to the right and a recreation room that housed a reproduction of an antique pool table to the left.
There was also a broad staircase directly across from the door, with hallways leading to the rear of the house on both sides of it. The space above the foyer was open to the second level where the staircase branched off in both directions to rise to the third floor.
Cassie aimed her chin up the stairs then and shouted, “Ben! Are you coming down? Clair’s here.”
He must have already been on his way before that because no sooner were the words out than his voice came in answer from the left branch of the staircase.
“On my way,” he said as work-booted feet and long, jean-clad legs with impressively muscular thighs came into view, followed by a leather tool belt slung low on a pair of narrow hips, a V-shaped torso with muscular chest, mile-wide shoulders and bulging biceps that were all barely contained in a plain white T-shirt.
“It was you who said you heard a car on the drive and then what do you do but disappear,” Cassie said to him as he reached the second-floor landing.
But not even that brought his gaze to them. Instead, stalled on the upper landing, he was so intent on replacing tools in the loops of his tool belt it was as if Cassie and Clair were only incidental.
“I wanted to close that paint can before I forgot,” he muttered.
Both Cassie and Clair stood there watching him, and as she did it
