planned to wear her jacket on the plane but decided to pack it instead. She didn’t want to risk
anything
interfering with her getting home to Nashville tonight.
She wished she had time for another shower but washed up at the sink, making sure there wasn’t so much as a speck of mud on her. She didn’t know if the dovecote counted as being on a farm—a definite red flag at customs—but better safe than having to explain.
Did Hambly really not remember what had happened to him?
Should
she have rung the police?
Her reaction had been normal, nothing any other tourist out for a walk wouldn’t have done. Probably countless people had a peek at the dovecote. Nothing provocative in doing that, and, in any case, the injured Hambly might think she’d ventured off the public track because she’d heard him.
Her new clothes weren’t as comfortable as the ones heaped in the trash, but they would do. She zipped up her suitcase, scanned the room for anything she might have missed and headed out, shutting the door behind her.
She debated mentioning her encounter at the York farm at checkout but only for a fleeting moment. It was madness, really, to say a word about it.
She was fast coming to regret her detour to the Cotswolds.
When she emerged from the pub and saw Reed Cooper leaning against the hood of a sleek, dove-gray car, there was no question anymore. Kavanagh, Hambly and now Cooper?
She should have stayed in London.
“Hello, Naomi,” Reed said, his middle Tennessee accent not as pronounced as hers. “I’m your ride to Heathrow.”
“You canceled my car?”
“I didn’t think you’d mind.”
That was Reed. “You’re presumptuous,” she said.
He stood straight, wearing an expensive suit with no overcoat despite the cool temperature. “Hop in or you’ll miss your flight.”
He went around to the passenger side of the car and opened the door. Naomi eased past him. He took her suitcase, and she slid into the car. What other choice did she have? The bus? Hitchhiking?
Reed shoved the suitcase into the backseat. She watched him circle around to the driver’s side. She had bonded with him in Afghanistan because they were both Tennesseans and Vanderbilt graduates. He was from a prominent old-money Nashville family who had expected him to go into business, and she was from a small town east of Nashville, the older daughter of an army reservist killed in Iraq her freshman year in college and a seamstress who had loved and hated him and still missed him terribly. Reed was seven years older than Naomi—he had graduated by the time she stepped onto the beautiful Vanderbilt campus, dreaming of a life very different from the one she was leading.
She wondered what Reed’s hopes and dreams had been as a college freshman, but she had never asked. He had risen to captain in the army and now was launching his own small team of private operators to provide security for people like her volunteer medical professionals.
On paper, maybe, she and Reed should have been romantically involved, but they never had been—despite Mike Donovan’s suspicions. Mike wasn’t jealous and possessive. To the contrary. He’d just drawn the same erroneous conclusions about her and Reed that others had.
She needed to put
that
out of her mind.
“You’re still presumptuous,” she told Reed.
“You left a trail.”
“I haven’t been trying to cover my tracks.”
“That’s good. Relax, Naomi. I’m saving you money.”
“You’re not here to save me money.”
“That’s true.” Reed leveled his gray eyes on her. “We need to talk.”
“About what? English chickens?”
He didn’t look amused. “About your plans for the weekend.”
“Barbecue and bourbon at my favorite Nashville bar. Beyond that, I don’t know yet. It’s been a busy couple weeks.”
“How would you like to come to Maine?”
She wasn’t as taken aback as she could have been. “Maine is Donovan country,” she said, as if he didn’t know.
Reed
anything
interfering with her getting home to Nashville tonight.
She wished she had time for another shower but washed up at the sink, making sure there wasn’t so much as a speck of mud on her. She didn’t know if the dovecote counted as being on a farm—a definite red flag at customs—but better safe than having to explain.
Did Hambly really not remember what had happened to him?
Should
she have rung the police?
Her reaction had been normal, nothing any other tourist out for a walk wouldn’t have done. Probably countless people had a peek at the dovecote. Nothing provocative in doing that, and, in any case, the injured Hambly might think she’d ventured off the public track because she’d heard him.
Her new clothes weren’t as comfortable as the ones heaped in the trash, but they would do. She zipped up her suitcase, scanned the room for anything she might have missed and headed out, shutting the door behind her.
She debated mentioning her encounter at the York farm at checkout but only for a fleeting moment. It was madness, really, to say a word about it.
She was fast coming to regret her detour to the Cotswolds.
When she emerged from the pub and saw Reed Cooper leaning against the hood of a sleek, dove-gray car, there was no question anymore. Kavanagh, Hambly and now Cooper?
She should have stayed in London.
“Hello, Naomi,” Reed said, his middle Tennessee accent not as pronounced as hers. “I’m your ride to Heathrow.”
“You canceled my car?”
“I didn’t think you’d mind.”
That was Reed. “You’re presumptuous,” she said.
He stood straight, wearing an expensive suit with no overcoat despite the cool temperature. “Hop in or you’ll miss your flight.”
He went around to the passenger side of the car and opened the door. Naomi eased past him. He took her suitcase, and she slid into the car. What other choice did she have? The bus? Hitchhiking?
Reed shoved the suitcase into the backseat. She watched him circle around to the driver’s side. She had bonded with him in Afghanistan because they were both Tennesseans and Vanderbilt graduates. He was from a prominent old-money Nashville family who had expected him to go into business, and she was from a small town east of Nashville, the older daughter of an army reservist killed in Iraq her freshman year in college and a seamstress who had loved and hated him and still missed him terribly. Reed was seven years older than Naomi—he had graduated by the time she stepped onto the beautiful Vanderbilt campus, dreaming of a life very different from the one she was leading.
She wondered what Reed’s hopes and dreams had been as a college freshman, but she had never asked. He had risen to captain in the army and now was launching his own small team of private operators to provide security for people like her volunteer medical professionals.
On paper, maybe, she and Reed should have been romantically involved, but they never had been—despite Mike Donovan’s suspicions. Mike wasn’t jealous and possessive. To the contrary. He’d just drawn the same erroneous conclusions about her and Reed that others had.
She needed to put
that
out of her mind.
“You’re still presumptuous,” she told Reed.
“You left a trail.”
“I haven’t been trying to cover my tracks.”
“That’s good. Relax, Naomi. I’m saving you money.”
“You’re not here to save me money.”
“That’s true.” Reed leveled his gray eyes on her. “We need to talk.”
“About what? English chickens?”
He didn’t look amused. “About your plans for the weekend.”
“Barbecue and bourbon at my favorite Nashville bar. Beyond that, I don’t know yet. It’s been a busy couple weeks.”
“How would you like to come to Maine?”
She wasn’t as taken aback as she could have been. “Maine is Donovan country,” she said, as if he didn’t know.
Reed
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