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Authors: Carla Neggers
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sneak onto his property."
Benjamin hissed through clenched teeth, and Andrew glared at her. Piper took their irritation in stride. At least Hannah hadn't blabbed about her buried treasure. Her brothers would have been even more insufferable. They'd never sympathize with the poignant emotions, the tantalizing mystery of what had happened to their great-grandparents eighty years ago.
Their father held up a hand. "All right, all right. The boys have a point, Piper. I'm not sure I like the idea of you out on that road with just this guy for a neighbor. It probably makes sense for you not to go digging up herbs for Hannah in the middle of the night."
What about digging under his wisteria for treasure? But Piper had been dealing with her father and brothers' protectiveness since she was a tot. She smiled. "That's just what I told her."
Benjamin wiped his hands with a dirty rag. "Hannah could have stayed put if she'd wanted to keep her herb garden."
Piper resisted comment. She didn't know for sure if anyone in town had dared relay to her brothers the rumors about Hannah's efforts to lure a man to Cape Cod for her niece. She was betting not. Andrew and Benjamin would have mentioned it by now, even if they wouldn't want to do anything to encourage their sister to think about Clate Jackson in romantic terms.
"I don't trust Jackson," Andrew said. "Guys like that don't sit around on their back porches watching the tide roll in. They thrive on the next deal."
"Well, I only met the man for two seconds." Not counting yesterday on her bicycle and that morning while picking berries, and never mind her reaction to him.
"Point is, you should watch yourself with this guy."
As far as her brothers were concerned, there wasn't a man alive she shouldn't watch herself with. She'd heard that advice from high school on. When she returned to Frye's Cove after college, she'd taken great pains to fashion an independent life for herself. To a large degree, she'd succeeded. Still, her social life largely consisted of dates that didn't go anywhere.
Tuck O'Rourke was one example. Two movies with her, and the prospect of dealing with her brothers if he tried anything they didn't like inhibited him to the point that he simply didn't call again. Andrew and Benjamin Macintosh cast long shadows. They knew too much about the men in town.
Of course, so did Piper. Sometimes it was convenient to use her brothers and even her father as an excuse, thus enhancing their reputations for being overprotective. Her last real relationship was with an oceanographer in Falmouth, with whom she shared a love of Cape Cod but little else. She couldn't have said what was missing and sometimes wondered if what she wanted in a relationship, in a man, was unrealistic, unattainable, ridiculous.
Hannah said she just hadn't met the right man.
Piper groaned to herself and changed the subject, allowing her father and brothers to show her their work on the Macintosh Inn. Whatever project they were involved in captured their full attention, no detail too small for their notice. When she said goodbye, their talk was of floorboards and plaster, not stolen valerian root and cranky Tennesseans.
Once home, Piper checked the answering machine in her borning room office. There was just one message. "Piper, it's Hannah. I understand Clate's out of town. It's a perfect night to dig under the wisteria. Call if you need my help."
Piper sank into a chair at her worktable. A small window looked out onto a sunny garden of pink and blue bachelor buttons, old-fashioned white nicotiana, a half-dozen kinds of poppies. She'd scattered the seeds herself in early spring.
So, Hannah didn't mind her digging when Clate wasn't around. Did that mean her tales of buried treasure weren't meant to force another encounter between him and her niece? Or were Hannah's tactics more labyrinthine than usual?
Piper just couldn't see how she could trust a suddenly resurrected memory of a night eighty years
Benjamin hissed through clenched teeth, and Andrew glared at her. Piper took their irritation in stride. At least Hannah hadn't blabbed about her buried treasure. Her brothers would have been even more insufferable. They'd never sympathize with the poignant emotions, the tantalizing mystery of what had happened to their great-grandparents eighty years ago.
Their father held up a hand. "All right, all right. The boys have a point, Piper. I'm not sure I like the idea of you out on that road with just this guy for a neighbor. It probably makes sense for you not to go digging up herbs for Hannah in the middle of the night."
What about digging under his wisteria for treasure? But Piper had been dealing with her father and brothers' protectiveness since she was a tot. She smiled. "That's just what I told her."
Benjamin wiped his hands with a dirty rag. "Hannah could have stayed put if she'd wanted to keep her herb garden."
Piper resisted comment. She didn't know for sure if anyone in town had dared relay to her brothers the rumors about Hannah's efforts to lure a man to Cape Cod for her niece. She was betting not. Andrew and Benjamin would have mentioned it by now, even if they wouldn't want to do anything to encourage their sister to think about Clate Jackson in romantic terms.
"I don't trust Jackson," Andrew said. "Guys like that don't sit around on their back porches watching the tide roll in. They thrive on the next deal."
"Well, I only met the man for two seconds." Not counting yesterday on her bicycle and that morning while picking berries, and never mind her reaction to him.
"Point is, you should watch yourself with this guy."
As far as her brothers were concerned, there wasn't a man alive she shouldn't watch herself with. She'd heard that advice from high school on. When she returned to Frye's Cove after college, she'd taken great pains to fashion an independent life for herself. To a large degree, she'd succeeded. Still, her social life largely consisted of dates that didn't go anywhere.
Tuck O'Rourke was one example. Two movies with her, and the prospect of dealing with her brothers if he tried anything they didn't like inhibited him to the point that he simply didn't call again. Andrew and Benjamin Macintosh cast long shadows. They knew too much about the men in town.
Of course, so did Piper. Sometimes it was convenient to use her brothers and even her father as an excuse, thus enhancing their reputations for being overprotective. Her last real relationship was with an oceanographer in Falmouth, with whom she shared a love of Cape Cod but little else. She couldn't have said what was missing and sometimes wondered if what she wanted in a relationship, in a man, was unrealistic, unattainable, ridiculous.
Hannah said she just hadn't met the right man.
Piper groaned to herself and changed the subject, allowing her father and brothers to show her their work on the Macintosh Inn. Whatever project they were involved in captured their full attention, no detail too small for their notice. When she said goodbye, their talk was of floorboards and plaster, not stolen valerian root and cranky Tennesseans.
Once home, Piper checked the answering machine in her borning room office. There was just one message. "Piper, it's Hannah. I understand Clate's out of town. It's a perfect night to dig under the wisteria. Call if you need my help."
Piper sank into a chair at her worktable. A small window looked out onto a sunny garden of pink and blue bachelor buttons, old-fashioned white nicotiana, a half-dozen kinds of poppies. She'd scattered the seeds herself in early spring.
So, Hannah didn't mind her digging when Clate wasn't around. Did that mean her tales of buried treasure weren't meant to force another encounter between him and her niece? Or were Hannah's tactics more labyrinthine than usual?
Piper just couldn't see how she could trust a suddenly resurrected memory of a night eighty years
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