Mike broke the silence. “Is the old summerhouse still standing? I didn’t see it on the day I was dodging Lang’s weapons.”
Sara’s face brightened. “You know about that place? I remember seeing it when I was a child. It’s truly lovely; the walls are made of lattice.”
“Grans told us she used to go there when this town got to be too much for her.”
“That sounds sad.”
“If I know her, whatever chaos she was in, she caused it. Think you can find it again?”
She pulled a piece of paper that looked to be a map from her pocket. “Another advantage of dresses is that you can have pockets. Jeans don’t.”
“Jeans have lots of pockets.”
“And they’re all packed full of the body parts women want to show off.”
Mike laughed. “That is wonderfully true. So where’s the summerhouse?”
When Mike reached for the map she pulled it away. “No, you don’t. I like it when you follow me.”
“I certainly do like the view.”
Ten minutes later they were at the old summerhouse, and it was prettier than Sara remembered. Mike hadn’t seen it on his earlier trip because it was set behind shrubs that had been allowed to grow eight feet tall. From the side of the path, the area looked to be impenetrable, but Sara knew just where to look for the hidden opening.
Inside, they didn’t have to worry about trampling weeds because Mr. Lang had trimmed around the old place until it looked like something on a garden tour. Overhead was a beautiful copper beech tree with low-hanging branches, the ground under it carpeted with moss.
The summerhouse was an octagon, only big enough inside for two people, and its latticework walls had been recently painted a greenish blue. The building and the setting were as secluded and as romantic as Mike’s grandmother had described.
While Mike explored the little building, Sara sat under the big shade tree and watched him. He climbed onto the bell-shaped roof and when he finished with that, he checked every inch of the concrete foundation. She guessed that Mike’s interest in the pretty little building was more than just about the case, but she also knew he’d not tell her directly. She’d have to wheedle it out of him, or do something devious to find out. It was a sport she was beginning to enjoy.
When Mike finished his inspection, she was sure he’d say they had to leave—no doubt for her “safety”—but he surprised her by stretching out beside her on the soft, fragrant undergrowth of the tree and putting his hands behind his head. His elbow was inches from her hip, almost touching but not quite.
She leaned back against the tree. She didn’t want to leave this place. Ever.
“The house needs a complete overhaul,” he said into the silence.
“Mmmm, that it does.”
“You sound like that makes you happy.”
“I helped Luke remodel Edilean Manor and I had a good time.”
“And you’d like to tear into this place. I’ll tell you what, you design and I’ll saw the boards.”
Sara wanted to laugh but she couldn’t. She still hadn’t come to terms with the fact that Merlin’s Farm would never be hers. “Your wife will want to do that.”
“I’m a long way from marriage. With my job, I might not live until tomorrow.”
“From what I hear, I could go with you,” Sara said lightly.
“Not if I have any breath left,” Mike said softly.
There was an awkward silence between them, so Sara got them back on the house. “At least most of the paneling put in by the first Merlin is still there.”
“And who was that?”
“My guess is Alexander McDowell.” She was smiling. “Sorry, that’s an inside joke. All first McDowell sons are named Alexander. The family line goes back to Scotland and Angus McTern Harcourt. He’s the man who settled our little town and named it after his wife.”
“Yet another name I’ve heard often.”