Autumn Skies: 3 (A Bluebell Inn Romance) Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Epilogue

  Discussion Questions

  Acknowledgments

  An Excerpt from Summer by the Tides Chapter 1

  About the Author

  Praise for Denise Hunter

  Also by Denise Hunter

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Secret Service Field Office

  Charlotte, NC

  Reading people was part of Wyatt Jennings’s job, and judging by the look on his boss’s face, the news wasn’t good. Wyatt forced himself to sit still as the special agent in charge lowered his considerable weight into the chair behind his battle-scarred desk.

  In his midforties the SAIC’s bull-like build matched his no-nonsense demeanor. He intimidated the tar out of Wyatt. The fluorescent lights gleamed off his bald head and did nothing to soften his nearly black eyes. He shuffled some papers, his lips set in a firm line. Did a soft side exist beneath that stone-cold facade?

  “What’s going on with you, Jennings?” Burke’s gruff voice boomed across the small space. He folded his beefy arms and propped them on the desk. “Talk to me.”

  What was going on? Plenty, if Wyatt was honest. But he thought he’d done a stellar job of hiding his issues from Burke’s eagle eyes.

  Wyatt cleared his throat. “Well, sir, I took a bullet in defense of Senator Edwards.”

  “Bull hockey. Don’t pull that with me. You’ve worked under me four years with never a problem. First to step up, no matter the job. Work tirelessly like some kind of robot, not a word of complaint. And now this.”

  “Now what, sir?” Wyatt eyed him despite the way his heart knocked against his ribs.

  “I’m not blind, Jennings. You’ve been slipping the last few weeks. Ever since the incident. You’re distracted, short-tempered with your coworkers, zoned out on the job.” His boss pinned him with a look. “And I found you asleep at your desk yesterday.”

  Wyatt hid a wince. That wasn’t the half of what was going on inside. He’d always been an expert at managing his emotions, but the disquiet roiling inside since the shooting had taken on a life of its own.

  “I apologize, sir. It won’t happen again.”

  “You’re right, it won’t. That last assignment messed you up a little. Seen it before.”

  “I got shot, sir.” He didn’t know what else to say. He’d do it again, throw himself in front of a bullet to save a protectee. It was his job. His calling. And he was good at it.

  “Surface wound. It’s not the physical damage I’m concerned with. You need to take some time, get yourself together. I’m talking about a leave of absence.”

  White speckles danced in Wyatt’s vision, from lack of sleep and desperation. “All due respect, sir, I don’t need a leave. I have an exemplary record with the Service.”

  “No question. Let’s keep it that way.”

  “I’ll be fine. I just need a decent night’s sleep.”

  “No doubt. Question is, why aren’t you getting that? I know you have higher aspirations, and I aim to see you reach them.”

  It was true he was gunning for Presidential Protective Detail. But a leave wouldn’t get him closer to that goal. Wyatt opened his mouth, searching for some explanation for his recent behavior. Some excuse that would make Burke reverse his decision.

  “I’ll leave you with this, Jennings. After your performance on the Edwards assignment, the higher-ups have you in their sights.” His gaze sharpened. “You’ll be moving up soon.”

  Wyatt straightened in his chair. “To PPD, sir?”

  Burke gave a sharp nod. “You don’t want anything to mess that up.”

  “No, sir.”

  “Four weeks,” his boss said firmly.

  “Four weeks, sir!”

  “For starters. Then we’ll reassess. Do a psych eval.” Burke gave him that hard-eyed stare that had earned him a nickname no one said to his face. “I suggest you use the time wisely. A little counseling wouldn’t be out of order. We got people for that.” He shuffled some papers and rolled back from his desk. “Effective immediately, Jennings.”

  There was so much Wyatt wanted to say. Was desperate to say. But the Academy had trained him better. Like it or not, he was on a four-week leave. And even then he wasn’t guaranteed reentry. A psychiatric evaluation. The thought brought bile into his esophagus. But then he’d be called up. Wyatt would finally get what he’d been working so hard for.

  In the meantime, where he’d go or what he’d do, Wyatt had no idea. He’d been training for the Service one way or another since he’d studied criminal justice at Northeastern. Before that even, in high school—Hargrave Military Academy.

  He couldn’t even remember who Wyatt Jennings was outside of the Service.

  But he was about to find out.

  “You’re dismissed, Jennings.” Burke frowned at him.

  He’d zoned out again. Wyatt rose to his feet with reluctance and said the only thing he could. “Yes, sir.”

  The familiar road twisted and turned around the Blue Ridge Mountains, following the shoreline of Bluebell Lake. Sunlight flashed on the water’s surface, making Wyatt squint behind his sunglasses.

  It had only taken twenty-four hours to realize he’d better tackle this problem like a foreign threat to one of his protectees. The Secret Service was all he had, all he wanted, so he’d better get his act together and quick. A few nights’ sleep would be helpful, but the nightmares had been relentless.

  Since he wasn’t one to spill his guts to a stranger, he’d packed a bag, hopped in his Audi, and pointed it toward the place where his problems had begun. Probably should’ve booked a hotel, if there was such a thing around here. But it was September, off-season, so he should be all right.

  The road curved to the left, and he passed the sign for the state park. Back in the early nineties, his father had set aside this piece of land. Before this place had been spoiled for him, Wyatt had fond memories of hiking and camping in those woods, thick with evergreen trees and night sounds. Bluebell had always felt more like home than Raleigh had.

  After a few more curves he emerged from the mountains and into the town proper. Bluebell hadn’t changed much. Someone had turned the fire statio
n into a coffeehouse, and a few stores had sprouted up. He had fond memories of walking these streets, making ice cream runs to the Dairy Bar, fishing off the pier in Pawley Park with his dad. He didn’t remember the colorful canopies or the tidy row of trees lining the streets, but he’d only been twelve his last summer here.

  His respiration grew quick and shallow at the thought of that summer, his mouth going dry. He wiped a palm down the leg of his jeans. Out of habit he pushed back the memory. But he would have to stop doing that. It wasn’t working anymore, not since the shooting. It was as if everything he pushed down during the day bubbled to the surface as soon as sleep left him unguarded and vulnerable.

  His phone buzzed with a call. Ethan. He took it on his Bluetooth. “Hey, what’s up, man?”

  “You left Charlotte? You’re on leave? What happened?”

  “Wasn’t my choice, believe me. Burke called me into his office yesterday.”

  “And I have to hear about this from Drewsky?”

  Ethan had been Wyatt’s best friend since they’d gone through twenty-eight weeks of intense training. You didn’t make it through that hellish experience without forming lifelong bonds.

  “Sorry, should’ve called.” Wyatt progressed through town. He almost mentioned the promotion, then held back for some reason. “How’d your last assignment go?” Ethan had a temporary assignment protecting the pope during his stateside visit.

  “Uneventful. You doing all right? I hate to tell you, but word around the office is you’re losing it.”

  “Just a little trouble sleeping is all. I think I need to take a break from my routines. Chill out. I’ll get it settled and be back before you know it.”

  Ethan knew better than to suggest sleep aids. Men who were trained to be on constant alert weren’t about to render themselves helpless. At least Wyatt wasn’t.

  “Where’d you go?”

  “Not far. A little lake town called Bluebell, tucked away in the Blue Ridge Mountains.”

  “Sounds quaint.”

  “Used to spend summers here with the folks when I was a kid.”

  “Ah. Does the Gov still summer there?”

  “Not anymore. He stays in Raleigh year-round.” The trauma of that last summer had spoiled the place for both of them.

  “Maybe this is just what you need. A little R & R. Come back refreshed. You’ve been hitting it pretty hard for a long time. And that shooting . . .”

  “It’s what we’re trained for.”

  “Sure, but not many agents actually find themselves taking a bullet. You did good, Jennings.”

  “Thanks, man.” He rolled his left shoulder, the pain more a nuisance than a worry.

  He was almost to the end of town when his family’s old summer home came into view. It was as big and white as he remembered with a wide, welcoming front porch and neat lawn.

  Only one thing was different: a sign reading Bluebell Inn. His eyes lingered on the words for several seconds before he pulled into one of the diagonal slots in front of the building.

  “Listen, Ethan, I gotta run. I’ll call you in a few days.”

  He ended the call, unable to take his eyes off the familiar sight. It appeared he’d get to see the inside of his old summer home. But did he really want to face the memories it might dredge up?

  Chapter Two

  Would this meeting ever end? Grace Bennett stifled a yawn as her brother, Levi, droned on about the inn’s finances. Beside her, Molly’s phone buzzed. Her sister tucked a strand of her long dark hair behind her ear and sneaked a peek. Probably her husband, Adam. The two had been married in June and moved into Adam’s beautiful lake home and were pretty much joined at the hip.

  The siblings gathered in the inn’s library as they always did for Death by Numbers. These days money wasn’t so much a worry, but spreadsheets still weren’t Grace’s sweet spot. So she humored Levi while he did his thing.

  “And that about covers it.” Levi’s blue eyes narrowed on them. “Now if you could both just pull your heads out of the clouds for a minute, I think it’s time we talk about the inn’s future.”

  They’d gotten the place up and running after their parents had passed away unexpectedly four years ago. It had been their retirement dream to turn their historic home back into an inn, and the siblings came together to fulfill that dream. At the time Grace was heading into her junior year of high school, Molly was almost finished with her hospitality degree, and Levi was putting his degree to work in Denver with a commercial construction company. Their parents’ death had changed everything.

  “What do you mean?” Molly asked.

  “I mean, it’s time we put the inn on the market.”

  That had always been the plan. With the influx of money they’d had two years ago, running this place had gotten easier. The restaurant was now full menu, much to Molly’s delight, and they’d employed a few part-time employees to help manage it.

  Molly cleared her throat. “Do you think we’ve been profitable long enough to appeal to buyers?”

  “I think so.” Levi started talking numbers but stopped when he must’ve realized he was losing them again. “So now’s as good a time as any. What do you think?”

  Grace smirked. “Someone’s missing his honey bunch.”

  Levi’s fiancée was the popular actress Mia Emerson—Grace still wasn’t sure how he’d managed that—and they’d been together two years now.

  “I understand completely,” Molly said. “And I think putting the inn on the market now makes sense.”

  “But what about my business?” Grace had started Blue Ridge Outfitters last year at age twenty, running it out of the inn and storing her equipment in the shed out back.

  Levi hitched a shoulder. “You always knew you’d have to move it eventually.”

  “But I won’t be able to afford rent yet. I’m still building.” Plus whoever was running the front desk also handled the rentals. In a retail space she’d need to hire extra staff.

  “By the time the inn sells, it’ll probably be next spring or even summer. And we should all come away nicely from the sale.”

  “That’s true.”

  Technically Grace’s outfitter business was already turning a profit, but that was because her overhead was almost nil. She was using her profits to purchase equipment: kayaks, tents, climbing gear, paddleboards, bikes. They weren’t cheap. But the influx from the inn’s sale would be a nice cushion.

  “If you’re both on board,” Levi said, “I’ll have Pamela Bleeker come out and appraise it, then she can list it.”

  Molly frowned. “Why can’t we sell it ourselves and save the Realtor fee?”

  “It’ll take a lot of time and effort since our market reach needs to be national or at least regional,” Levi said.

  “Well, Grace is good with online stuff, and I can handle the showings.” Molly blinked dramatically. “Some say I have amazing social skills.”

  Levi rolled his eyes. “That’s up to you two. My plate’s full with wedding stuff.”

  With Levi’s wedding here at the inn less than three weeks away and Mia filming in LA, he’d had no choice but to step up to the plate.

  Molly looked at Grace. “We’ve got this covered, right, Sis?”

  “Sure, I’m game.”

  The chime on the front door alerted them to an arrival.

  “Meeting adjourned. You’re on deck.” Levi nodded to Grace as he stood and gathered his papers. “I have errands to run.”

  Molly rose, addressing Grace. “I’ll be out back weeding if you need me. Try not to.”

  Her siblings slipped out the back door, and Grace made her way down the hall. They weren’t exactly booming with business, it being a weekday and off-season. In fact, they had only three rooms full at the—

  Her thoughts halted at the sight of the man in the lobby. Though her approach had been silent, he was already staring at her as she came into view.

  It wasn’t his good looks that arrested her attention—though he had those i
n abundance—but his air of intensity.

  “Hi there. I’m Grace, one of the innkeepers.” Her words wobbled. She slipped behind the desk, glad for the buffer. “How can I help you?”

  “Saw your sign as I was passing by. Looking for a place to stay.” His voice was low and pleasantly rumbly.

  He appeared to be in his thirties. She scanned his face and altered her opinion. Midtwenties with the confidence of someone older.

  “I think we can help you out.” Grace opened the appropriate window on the computer.

  “It’s probably too early to check in.”

  “The rooms have already been cleaned, so it’s no problem. How long will you be staying?”

  “Not sure. A few days, maybe a few weeks if possible.”

  She tried to act unaffected, but it was hard when he was sizing her up with emotionless eyes. She was suddenly conscious of her messy ponytail and freshly scrubbed face.

  “We’re all clear except the weekend of October third. We have a private wedding scheduled.”

  “If I’m here that long, I’ll figure something out.”

  “Great.” She quoted the weekday and weekend rates.

  “That’s fine.”

  Grace took his card and information. Wyatt Jennings—nice name. She tried to keep her eyes on the screen, tapping the keys with fingers that were oddly clumsy. Her heart, too, seemed to be doing some weird kind of flutter, and the discomfort left her hoping Wyatt Jennings might limit his stay to a few days.

  He stood a few feet from the desk, hands at his sides, posture rigid, gray duffel bag at his feet. He was dressed casually, but his clothes were crisp and neat, not a wrinkle in sight. He wore that tucked-in black T-shirt like a second skin, the short sleeves hugging an impressive pair of biceps. A tattoo peeked out from beneath one of the sleeves.

  Stop staring.

  “What brings you to the area?” she asked, by way of making conversation.

  He ran his fingers through his short, almost-black hair. “A little R & R.”

  She paused a moment, waiting for him to expound, but he didn’t. If she were Molly she’d keep at it until she knew the man’s city of origin, marital status, and social security number. But she wasn’t Molly.

  “Well, this is a great place to rest up, especially this time of year. The weather’s still nice, but the trails and lake aren’t swamped with tourists.”