His fingers tightened on the steering wheel, and he gave her a full dose of the famous Bradford political smile. But she wasn’t sucked in by it. She’d seen that same expression many times on the face of Dylan’s unacknowledged half-brother and Gracie’s sort-of-step-brother-slash-best-friend Clay Harris.

“My mother left me the Bradford camp. I want to look it over before deciding what to do with it.”

Simple explanation, plausible, but she didn’t believe evaluating this insignificant portion of his inheritance was the reason for his visit.

If she inherited property in France, Fiji, and East Langden, as the papers reported Dylan had, which one would she visit first? All right, unfair question. She was prejudiced in favor of East Langden, but doubted that it held the same appeal to this spoiled political brat.

Did he know that area teens used the secluded cabin as Party Central? “It’s in pretty bad shape.”

“How do you know?”

“Sometimes I’m in that area picking blueberries.” She winced as the words came out of her mouth. The admission made her sound about as sophisticated as Little Red Riding Hood. Considering Dylan’s lady-killer reputation, he could easily fill the role of Big Bad Wolf.

He eyed her curiously for a moment. “You grew up around here?”

“Yep. Why?”

“Do you know a guy named Clayton Harris?”

“You mean Doctor Harris?” She stressed Clay’s professional title. Her interrogation skills clearly left something to be desired since Richie Rich had taken control of the questioning so easily. “Sure, I know him.”

“What’s he like?”

“Nice guy, good friend.” She couldn’t possibly sum up what Clay meant to her in a few words. Thinking of his struggle to find out who he was and where he belonged, she couldn’t resist the temptation to try and shake Dylan Bradford’s rock-solid self-assurance. “He looks a lot like you actually.”

Chapter Three

“No.” The single syllable response sliced through the air like a scalpel while Dylan stopped the car with robotic precision at the fork in the road. Only the rain on the car roof and the whap-whap of the windshield wipers interrupted the silence. “Which way?”

Well, he hadn’t fallen apart from her needling, but she’d obviously hit a sore spot. “Right,” Gracie directed. “About another quarter of a mile. There’s a sign at the end of a little lane.”

Once he’d reached the destination, his headlights picked up the script lettering and he turned onto the driveway. “Liberty House? What’s that? A hotel?”

“A B&B.” She unbuckled her seatbelt and prepared to make a dash through the rain.

Gran had turned on the exterior lights. The soft glow of Liberty House welcomed Gracie home with the guest wings stretched out like giant arms. Small lights along the walk revealed sprouts of pink phlox. Spiky delphinium stalked among the boxwoods edging the front porch. The building exuded a charm that combined the solid structure of days gone by, her grandfather’s expert carpentry, and her grandmother’s loving care.

The unpleasantness of the past few weeks dissolved. Tears Gracie had kept frozen inside threatened to melt under the onslaught of warmth and comfort that gushed through her. She bent her head to hide any betraying emotion and hugged MacDuff close.

“Thanks for the ride.” Her fingers groped for the handle. “Turn right at the end of the drive, go about a mile, and look for a dilapidated school house with a caved in roof.” She lifted her eyebrows to ask if he got that, and he nodded. “Turn left onto Cleveland Road.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope, but the road’s narrow and overgrown. The sign’s been missing for years.” She smirked. “See you around, Dylan Bradford.”

“Wait,” he commanded. “I don’t know your name.”

“It’s Gracie.” Impatient to see Gran and be out of the presence of another difficult man, she prepared to jump and make a dash through the rain. “Gracie O’Donnell.”

The tail of her jacket hooked on the door handle, halting her exit. He leaned forward to assist her, but she jerked free, slammed the door, and didn’t look back. Entering the house, she heaved a sigh. Home at last.

“Gran!” She set MacDuff on the parquet floor and sniffed the familiar lemon furniture polish and lavender potpourri. Those heavenly aromas mingled with Gran’s cooking, stirring up a treasure-trove of childhood memories.

“Finally!” Her white-haired grandmother’s sweet voice that had soothed countless fears and read thousands of bedtime stories floated to her. Emerging from the kitchen at the end of the hall, Gran dried her hands on her apron. “I didn’t hear your car. Why did you come in through the front? Looks like you got caught in the rain. What’s that on your face? Is Baxter with you?”

She opened her arms, but Gracie stepped back. “No, wait. I’m all wet.”

“A bit of damp doesn’t matter, not when it’s been a month since I’ve seen you.”

Gracie hugged the little woman whose fragile exterior hid the emotional strength and sturdiness of Maine granite. She held onto the embrace longer than a casual homecoming warranted. After she’d soaked up all the emotional reassurance she could without alarming her grandmother, Gracie straightened and fielded the questions.

“No, I’m alone. Sorry, I’m late. I got caught in the rain, had some car trouble, and had to hitch a ride.”

Over her grandmother’s shoulder, Gracie glanced at her reflection in the mirrored umbrella stand. She rubbed a finger over a black streak smudged across her nose. “Darn. Grease from the car.” With an arm around Gran’s shoulders, Gracie headed toward the kitchen, her favorite room in the house. “How’s Granddad today?”

“Feeling guilty because you’ve had to come and help out and grumpy about being laid up due to his own foolishness. He knew he shouldn’t have tried to paint the Colony Room by himself, but Edgar called in sick that day and your grandfather didn’t want to wait.”

“That’s Granddad, all over. Be back in a sec.” Dropping a quick kiss on Gran’s cheek, Gracie ducked into the laundry room to change into a dry flannel shirt she found hanging on a peg and a pair of warm gray socks she fished out of the dryer. Running a comb through the Medusa curls did nothing to control the chaos. She abandoned the task with a shrug. No one but Gran around anyway.

Gracie raised her voice over the gush of running water while she washed up. “Except for the fact that he’s hurt, I’m glad I had an excuse to get out of Hartford for a while. With two new pediatricians at the clinic, it wasn’t any trouble to take a short leave.”

“Probably more trouble than you’re admitting, but I’m happy you’re here. It would’ve been a challenge to get the place ready for the season’s first guests if you hadn’t been able to come.”

When Gracie paused in the kitchen door, Gran turned away from the stove and fixed her with a measuring eye. “Will Baxter be arriving tomorrow? Or later in the week?”

“No.” She’d hoped to avoid the subject of her ex-boyfriend a little longer. Retrieving dog food from the cupboard, she filled MacDuff’s bowl. “He won’t be arriving at all. Ever again.”

“Is it over between you? I’m sorry.” Gran’s hug made Gracie feel better than the pound of Godiva chocolate she’d consumed in the past week. “Are you all right?”

“I’m okay.” She didn’t want too much sympathy or she’d dissolve into another futile puddle of tears. “At first I was mad. And then sad, and now, like Granddad, I’m mostly annoyed that I got hurt because of my own foolishness.”

Gran shook her head. “Loving someone isn’t foolish.”

“No, but loving someone who isn’t trustworthy is.” Gracie turned away to lift the lid on the kettle of simmering clam chowder. “At least I’ve learned that lesson.”

“Did you really love him?” Gran scooted her over to stir the award-winning recipe. “The times I saw you together, you coddled him more like he was a child or a patient than your sweetheart. It seemed like he expected to be the center of your world and his and everyone else’s, too.”