then the Wendells wouldn’t socialize with people like the McCabes in the first place. Unless she missed her guess, they weren’t blue-blooded snobs who sat around at dry dinner parties discussing investment strategies, mutual funds and which couples in their social class had failed to make a killing in the stock market.
The McCabes, she realized, were more like her parents had been, down-to-earth folks who valued family, God and country.
The old ache throbbed to life a second time, a little more pronounced. She wrapped her arms about herself, seeking comfort she knew from experience wouldn’t come.
“Good heavens, child! You’re shaking. Get closer to the fire,” Doreen instructed.
“I’m fine,” Caro began. Her protest was lost as the older woman began issuing orders.
“Martin, throw another log on the fire. Dean, give the poor girl the afghan from the couch.” She eyed Caro a moment before continuing. “Bonnie should have something to fit you even though you’re a bit taller.” The older woman’s lips pursed. “And a little on the thin side.”
“Oh, that’s all right. I don’t want to be a bother.”
“Then what were you thinking heading out in a snowstorm?” Jake demanded.
His mother gasped, presumably at his rude question and not-so-nice tone. It was his tone, as much as his words, that caused Caro’s spine to straighten. Her hands dropped to her sides where her hands fisted.
“I have somewhere I need to be.”
“Not in a storm, you don’t.”
“Jacob!”
They both ignored Doreen’s shout.
“Storm or no storm, it’s important.”
“Nothing is that important,” he drawled. “Trust me.”
“This is.” Thinking of Cabot and Truman’s stipulations, Caro swallowed a sob. It wouldn’t do to fall apart now. “I have … a deadline to meet.”
“Work?” He snorted in disgust. “You risked your life for work?”
Let him think what he would. “Unlike you, I wasn’t out in a blizzard to ride a horse.”
She felt exhilarated, having given as good as she’d got. Meekness no longer suited her. In truth, it never had. But numb as she’d been for four years, first from grief and later from disbelief, she’d fallen into the ill-fitting role. God help her, she would don it again if need be.
That thought had her sobering.
Jake gaped at her, his wide mouth going slack for just a second before his lips pressed together in a flat line. She heard Dean’s muffled laughter and a glance around confirmed that the rest of the McCabe clan found her dressing-down of one of their members amusing rather than in poor taste. Even so, Caro was appalled. Whether the man had it coming or not, she was being unforgivably rude.
“I’m sorry. I … I …”
Jake unclamped his jaw just enough to say, “You mentioned something earlier about needing to make a phone call.”
“Yes. My cell’s not picking up a signal.”
“Follow me.”
Doreen settled the afghan around Caro’s shoulders. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “My son’s bark is a lot worse than his bite.”
Not quite sure what to make of that assessment, Caro offered a weak smile.
Jake was waiting for her at the tall reception desk near the front entrance. A small brass lamp with an oblong shade lit a guest book that was yellowed from age. The telephone, an ancient-looking thing with a twisted cord, rotary dial and clunky black receiver, was next to it.
“It’s not a local call,” she said.
“Fine.” He pushed the telephone toward her.
“I’ll reimburse you for the charges.” It looked as if he could use the money, given the state of the inn. It was a shame, too. The place had such great potential. That much was obvious despite its disrepair.
“Just make your call.”
Jake stomped away. He was angry, but not at Caro, even if he thought she should have stayed tucked safe in her home rather than venturing out in foul weather.
For work!
But the person he was good and angry at was himself. He was angry with the way he was acting. Angry with Dean that his younger brother had called him out on his self-prescribed isolation and stirred up emotions that had only recently begun to settle.
“You’re being selfish,” Dean had said earlier that day.
Jake’s family had arrived en masse the evening before, showing up at his doorstep, all grins and giggles, in an SUV they’d rented after touching down at the airport in Montpelier.
“I just want to be left alone.”
“No, you just want to stew. You got screwed, bro. No two ways about it. They set you up to take a fall. You took it.” The younger man set his hands on his hips and shook his head. “I never understood that.”
“A woman was dead. Her child, too. A colleague killed himself afterward.”
And then, Miranda.
“But it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t get the address wrong,” Dean had insisted. “Someone as anal as you doesn’t get stuff like that wrong.”
Jake wanted to believe it, but he couldn’t be sure. Not anymore. Not without proof. “I was in charge. It happened on my watch, which makes it my fault.”
All of it.
“So you keep saying. But it’s been more than a year. When are you going to cut yourself some slack and rejoin the land of the living?”
The woman and her child didn’t have that luxury. Nor did the rookie cop. Those were facts he couldn’t move beyond. Between them and the media scrutiny his family had endured, and his wife’s decision not only to divorce him but to abort their child, going into exile had seemed the only solution.
“There’s nothing for me back there.”
“Except your family.”
The words hit with the impact of flaming arrows, which was Dean’s intention. Jake missed his parents. As annoying as Dean could be, he missed his brother, too. And then there were Bonnie and the kids. They were a tight-knit family.
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah. I know.” His brother had snorted. “So, you’re in Vermont to make a fresh start?”
Jake had said nothing.
“That’s what I thought. If I believed you really wanted to be here, that would be different. But you’re here basically hiding out,” he accused a second time. “And while you’re busy with your pity party, Mom and Dad are left hurting, and my kids are left to wonder why their uncle moved to another state and is living like a hermit.”
“You don’t get it,” Jake had snapped. “I did this for you. I did this for all of you.”
“No, bro. We can take care of ourselves. You did this for yourself. You did this because, in addition to the nasty fallout from that unfortunate police raid, you can’t face what Miranda did.”
Jake had grabbed his brother by the shirt. The old rage boiled inside him, tempting him to take a swing. Instead, he’d let Dean loose, found his coat and headed out into the storm. His temper had yet to subside when he’d spied Caro through the falling snow.
He glanced at her now from the door that led to the kitchen. He couldn’t hear what she was saying into the telephone receiver, but she wasn’t happy. The rigid set of her