A Fairytale Bride (6 page)

No, no, no.
She backed out of his embrace. “Uh, no, not Gracie’s. Let’s meet at the Old Laurel Chapel. In the parking lot. At nine o’clock.”

“The Old Laurel Chapel?”

“It’s off Morgan Avenue, just north of State Road 606. There’s a little gravel parking lot there and access to the Appalachian Trail, which connects to the trail that leads to the falls.”

“What about brunch?”

“I’ll pack a picnic.”

There was a beat of silence before he said, “Are you ashamed to be seen in public with me?”

“Oh, no, that’s not it. You see Gracie is…” Her shoulders tensed and her voice stumbled.

“Gracie’s what?”

“A busybody.” And so much more. Gracie would grill Jeff because she saw it as her purpose in life to find Melissa the right husband, and Jeff was probably not that guy even if his kisses were amazing. He was probably just a guy passing through, looking for some fun.

“Oh, I see. Good thinking. I don’t want any gossip,” he said. Which seemed odd for a guy from out of town. But she let it slide.

Chapter Six

M
elissa hardly slept a wink. She kept replaying the kiss in her mind, not to mention that moment when Jeff had scooted, butt-naked, into the back room. Hot. So hot.

She gave up trying to sleep at six a.m., when she got up and took a frigid shower, threw on some clothes, and headed to the Food Lion for the picnic stuff and a box of condoms.

Buying them was like burning the bridges to her past. Deciding to have a little fun with Jeff had become an important part of letting go of the store and moving on with her life.

A few hours later, with a backpack full of sandwiches and other goodies, she pulled off Morgan Avenue into the patchy gravel lot by the Old Laurel Chapel.

The stone ruin hadn’t seen a congregation in more than a hundred years, and it had been sadly neglected during that time. Its roof had all but fallen in, leaving behind four stone walls with empty vaulted windows. Today the mountain laurel surrounding the building was in full, glorious bloom, edging the cemetery and dotting the woods with its pale pink blossoms.

Jeff hadn’t arrived yet, so Melissa left her car and strolled through the ancient graveyard, where many of the headstones bore the surname of Lyndon or McNeil—families who had helped to found Shenandoah Falls almost three centuries ago.

The sound of tires crunching on gravel had her raising her head in time to see Jeff pull a late-model Land Rover into the lot. With a car like that, he wasn’t hurting for money. But what did he do for a living besides being an unpublished author? Where did he come from? Why was he here?

Maybe she’d learn the answers today. Or maybe not. She’d decided that it didn’t matter. Today was about not grieving, and not worrying, and just having a little bit of fun.

“Hey,” she called, and waved. “I’m over here.”

He locked his car and strolled toward her, wearing a pair of jeans and a black body-hugging T-shirt that showed off his shoulders and the wide, muscular expanse of his chest.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said. “I had a few phone calls I needed to make. One of them took a while.”

“Business?” she asked in a leading tone.

“No, just a personal call. Family stuff.” He turned away from her to inspect the church. “Wow. That looks like it’s been here three hundred years.”

“So, you have a family?” she asked, ignoring his comments about the chapel.

“Yeah. A mother in New York. She’s kind of overbearing and overprotective.”

“Ah.”

She wanted him to elaborate. Instead, he turned his gaze on her and then pulled her into a hot, sexy kiss that fogged her glasses and her brain. She wrapped her hands around the back of his head, running her fingers through his too-long hair, and tried to eat him up.

The kiss might have led to other things, but they were interrupted by a little girl who came skipping out of the woods like Little Red Riding Hood with a wicker basket on her arm. She wasn’t wearing a red cloak, but her hair was certainly red. And tangled.

The child skidded to a noisy stop before she said, “Oh!”

Jeff and Melissa jumped apart like guilty teenagers caught in the act.

“Hello,” the girl said.

Melissa adjusted her glasses. Oh, great. Nothing like being caught in the clinches by a Lyndon. The girl was Natalie, David Lyndon’s daughter. A moment later Natalie’s grandmother, Poppy Marchand, appeared at the forest’s edge. Poppy was in her sixties, and Laurel Chapel was on the grounds of Eagle Hill Manor, which Poppy owned. Technically, Melissa and Jeff were trespassing.

Poppy eyed Melissa and then shifted her gaze to Jeff, where it remained for a long moment. “Hello,” she said.

“Uh, hi, Mrs. Marchand. Good morning,” Melissa said in a rush. “We’re taking the shortcut to the Appalachian Trail. Is it okay to leave our cars in the lot?” She pointed with her thumb over her shoulder.

“You hiking up to the falls?” Poppy asked.

“Yeah.”

“Nice day for it. The laurel is lovely this time of year. It’s no problem about the cars. No one ever comes up here anymore.” Poppy paused for a moment as she continued to study Jeff. “Do I know you? Have you visited Eagle Hill Manor before?”

“No. I’m sure we’ve never met.”

Poppy nodded. “I guess not. But you look very familiar for some reason.”

Natalie tugged at Poppy’s hand. “C’mon, Grammy, let’s go.” She pulled Poppy toward the old church. “Let’s play princess, ’kay?”

“Y’all have a nice hike,” Poppy said as the girl pulled her up the steps and into the ruined chapel.

“Let’s go,” Melissa said, pulling Jeff in the opposite direction. “There’s a short path here that connects with the Appalachian Trail. We’ll walk that for a couple of miles and then take the turnoff for the falls.”

They found the main trail without much trouble, and Jeff took the lead as the ground began to rise. About half a mile before they reached the turnoff for the falls, they came to a break in the forest’s cover that provided a view up a rise to a grand Georgian-style brick mansion. The house stood atop the hill, with the Blue Ridge Mountains at its back and its grand portico facing the Shenandoah Valley.

Jeff stopped in his tracks and stared at the house for a long, silent moment.

Melissa played tour guide. “That’s Charlotte’s Grove,” she said. “The house you see was built after the Revolution. But the original cabin—”

“Save the history lesson. I know all about Charlotte’s Grove.”

“You do?”

“That’s where the Lyndons live. The people who want to buy your store.” There was no mistaking the enmity in his voice.

The big concrete bunker she’d built around her heart cracked a little bit. Jeff Talbert was on her side. She had an ally. “Yeah, they are. But the store has to be sold, you know.”

He turned on her, his dark eyes suddenly intense. “No, it doesn’t.”

She laughed. “Jeff, it does. And I’ve finally made up my mind about it. So let’s not talk about the store. Let’s just have a fun day in the woods, okay?”

*  *  *

The sky got into Melissa’s blue eyes somehow, and for a moment Jeff lost himself in that deep, limitless color. Looking into her eyes was almost like free-falling. He took her shoulders and drew her forward for another hard, needy kiss on her soft, open lips.

She tasted like the outdoors. Like springtime. He should have planned this better. He should have brought a couple of blankets. Maybe some condoms. She was sending up all kinds of signals that he was receiving loud and clear.

No. Just. No.

Not here, within sight of Charlotte’s Grove. And not with her wearing that T-shirt with a truly gruesome illustration of innocent Little Red Riding Hood and a menacing wolf. Where did she get these T-shirts anyway?  From the Brothers Grimm Department Store?

He broke the kiss. He owed her the truth about his background or he was no better than that ogling wolf on her T-shirt. He ought to say something right now, but that would ruin everything he’d put in motion yesterday afternoon. He needed one more day before he told her the truth. Once his plans were fully in place, he could tell her about his father, and she’d know right away whose side he was on.

She gazed up at him as wide-eyed as ever, even behind those glasses of hers, so innocent, so beautiful. She’d certainly found a place in his heart.

“Okay, you’ve got it. Today we’ll pretend the Lyndons don’t exist,” he said.

“That sounds like the perfect plan,” she said.

He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and headed up the trail at a brisk pace, even though the path began to ascend steeply. By the time they arrived at the turnoff for the falls trail, Melissa was wheezing behind him. He turned. “I’m sorry. You should have told me to slow down.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m out of shape,” she said on a puff of air. “This is what happens when you spend too much time in a beanbag chair reading genre fiction.”

He laughed. “So you admit that you read genre fiction?”

She shrugged. “Yeah.”

“So, what were you reading that day when I first came into the store and bought the Thoreau?”

She eyed him warily. “I’m not telling.”

“Afraid to lose your credentials as a discerning reader?”

She laughed. “You’re funny.” She pointed to the trail that led off to the right. “C’mon. Let’s go, but maybe a little slower. The falls are only two more miles.”

The trail went up sharply for more than a mile, while the rushing sound of a fast-moving stream met their ears. Then, abruptly, the path narrowed and headed downhill through lichen-covered rocks to a patch of sandy beach at the edge of a fast-moving freestone creek—Liberty Run.

Upstream, the run cascaded down a twenty-five-foot fall, sending water droplets into the air and filling the forest with its powerful roar. Eons of flowing water had cut a plunge pool at the base of the waterfall surrounded by tumbled rocks of various sizes.

They stood for a moment, under a canopy of red oaks and yellow poplars, interspersed with the occasional hemlock. It was green here. Green rocks, green canopy. Even the run had a brown-green tinge to it, created by the tannins in the water.

“It’s magical here, isn’t it?” he said.

“Magical?” Melissa stepped up onto the first stone of a rocky staircase that led to the top of the falls. She didn’t climb all the way. Instead she sat down and started taking off her hiking shoes.

“Look around. Can’t you imagine wood elves living here? Or maybe fairies?” he asked.

She cocked her head. “Have you been reading Tolkien on the sly?”

He laughed. “No. I haven’t. I don’t even like fantasy. It’s just that this place seems enchanted somehow.”

“Well, I’ve been up here to the falls at least a hundred times, and it’s usually just like this. No fairies or elves. But you will encounter snakes and bugs. I can also attest that the falls are ghost-free. I know this because I spent one cold, wet night up here hoping to see Elakala’s ghost.”

“Who’s Elakala?”

“She’s supposed to have been an Iroquois princess whose father insisted that she marry the wealthy son of a rival chieftain. But Elakala loved a poor brave who didn’t have much in the way of worldly goods. So on her wedding day she sneaked away and threw herself off the falls.” Melissa gazed up at the cascades. “I find it hard to believe that she could actually accomplish that feat, to tell you the truth, since the water doesn’t drop straight down. Some have speculated that she drowned herself in the plunge pool, which is also unlikely.

“Of course, you know how these Native American legends go. Every waterfall has a similar legend, and wherever there’s a story of tragic death, there’s also a ghost. And the legend grows bigger every time some foolish boy dives into the pool and comes up with a Native American relic.”

“People dive for relics? Really?”

She stood up and scrunched her toes in the sand by the river’s edge. “You’d be surprised by some of the stuff people have brought up from the bottom of the pool. Mostly junk, but every once in a while you find something cool.”

“Oh.” He took off the backpack and set it down on one of the rocks by the pool.

“To tell you the truth, teenage boys dive in the pool because it has the reputation of being dangerous. And also boys will be boys,” she said, rolling her eyes in a way that was clearly a challenge.

“And that means…?”

“Every girl who grew up here in Jefferson County knows a boy who tried to impress her by diving into the pool, looking for Native American relics. It’s a macho thing.”

“Are you daring me to dive in the pool?”

“No. I wouldn’t do any such thing,” she said. He didn’t believe her for one minute. Like every female, she gave off two messages at the same time. One with her words and another one with her gaze and her body.

Oh, yeah, her body. He hadn’t forgotten about the feel of her hips beneath his hands or the pleasure of standing that close to her. Yeah, he had designs on her body, but he wanted her admiration, too.

Just then a purely adolescent idea popped into his brain. He didn’t stop to think it through. He simply shucked his shoes, pulled his T-shirt over his head, and dropped trou. He streaked across the sandy beach and took a deep breath.