The Cahills of North Carolina

“I haven’t accused anyone, Miranda,” Carter said.

“It’s just a matter of time, like always,” she responded.

Carter flinched. She wasn’t being fair.

“Lawton paid his debt to this town,” she said. “Now he’s trying to make a clean start, and I’m here to see that he gets all the support he needs.” She reached in her purse and drew out a business card. “I’m not here just as his cousin.” Handing the card to Carter, she said, “I’m an official representative of the North Carolina social services department. We help ex-convicts start over, providing them with housing if necessary, assisting in finding a job, offering moral support.”

“That’s fine,” Carter said. “I hope Lawton is completely rehabilitated.” Turning to Lawton, Carter added, “I wish you the best, Lawton.” He stuck out his hand. After a moment Lawton shook it and mumbled a halfhearted thank-you.

“How long are you staying?” Carter asked Miranda.

“As long as I need to before getting Emily back to Durham in time for school in the fall. I’m on paid leave.”

“I’m sure Lawton appreciates your help.” There being nothing left to say and certainly no evidence upon which to accuse either Jefferson man, Carter turned to leave.

He was almost to his patrol car when Miranda caught up to him. “Carter, wait.”

He stopped, crossed his arms over his chest. When he turned back to Miranda, she looked more like the girl he’d known. Young and hopeful, and ready to stand up for anyone who needed it. He steeled himself to accept more criticism from her. “You don’t have to caution me about Lawton, Miranda. I realize I was the one who arrested him eight years ago, but that doesn’t mean I’m out to get him now.”

She nodded. “I know that. I’m sorry if I seemed defensive back there, but Lawton’s having a hard time.”

Carter sighed with relief. At least Miranda wasn’t going to continue her attack on his motives for coming out here.

“The people in this town don’t want him here, and they’ve made that perfectly clear,” she added. “But he has no place else to go. This is his home...” She paused and stared forlornly at the run-down cabin. “...such as it is.”

“He’ll be fine,” Carter said. “As long as he stays out of trouble. But it might be a good idea if he kept a low profile for a while. People in this town don’t easily forget.”

“I know that’s true,” she said, giving him a look that was suddenly sad and somehow personal at the same time. “You’ve got to understand, Carter, I can’t forget what Law and I were to each other growing up. Sometimes I felt he was the only friend I had...until high school anyway. And I know he felt the same about me. He’s my cousin, but back then he was more like a brother to me.” The sadness left her eyes, replaced by the same determination he’d seen in the backyard. “I’m going to do all I can for him. I owe him, Carter.”

“That’s fine, Miranda,” Carter said. “You help him all you can, but take one word of advice. Keep your distance from Dale.”

“I’m not afraid of Dale,” she said. “He’s family. I know he’s crossed the line a few times, but he’s also had some bad luck.”

Carter didn’t want to argue, although he didn’t blame Dale’s choices on bad luck. Dale’s life now was a result of bad decisions, greed and resentment. He touched the brim of his hat. “Whatever you say. I suppose we might run into each other while you’re here. Small town, you know.”

“Yeah, we probably will.” She looked down at the gravel under her shoes, then raised her gaze to meet his and said, “I heard about your wife, the miscarriages she had, Carter. I’m so sorry. I wanted to reach out to you, but, you understand...”

“Sure. She left me five years ago. I like to think of it as history.” He attempted a smile but knew he failed at the effort. “I’ve got to go, Miranda. There’s somebody around here who has a shed full of items that should go back to the hardware store outside of town, and I’ve got to find him.” He got into the car, but before rolling up the window, he said, “Nice seeing you again.” He left the Jefferson property without even glancing in his rearview mirror. Seeing Miranda again had been like a knife slicing into his gut. He’d do well to think about the day ahead of him, not the years in his past.

CHAPTER TWO

DRIVING THE NARROW roads of Liggett Mountain was difficult anytime but seemed especially more so when Miranda left her cousin’s place. Her hands, tight on the steering wheel, still trembled. Her head felt dizzy, her senses alert to any unusual stimuli. Was it the elevation? Five thousand feet into the clouds could alter anyone’s well-being, but Miranda was a mountain girl, so she knew the height wasn’t to blame for how she was feeling.

Seeing Carter had unnerved her. The road twisted and curved, and Miranda followed it, mindful of the rocky shoulder that didn’t do much to prevent an unwary motorist from going off the road and plunging straight down. Still, sharp in her mind was the image of Carter’s face, now even stronger and more self-assured than when he’d played fullback on the high school football team. Then his boyish face and mussed brown hair had turned lots of heads. His shoulders were still as broad, his back still straight. He’d been a hero back then to the folks who followed high school football. As a police officer, he probably was now, too.

“Does Daddy know that Carter man?”

Miranda pulled her thoughts into the present moment and turned toward her daughter. “What? Yes, Daddy knew Carter. We were all friends in high school.”

“Daddy thinks he’s dead.”

Miranda narrowed her eyes at Emily. “No, honey, he couldn’t think that.” But she knew her daughter well enough to understand that when she said something, even something that didn’t seem to make sense, the idea came from a place deep in her overactive and clever brain. “Why would you say that, Em?”

Emily slid her finger across the screen of her smartphone, looking at pictures she’d taken at Lawton’s cabin. “We were at Grandma June’s one time and Daddy said that you guys would still be married if it hadn’t been for the ghost of Carter Cahill.” She looked over at Miranda. “I don’t believe in ghosts, but I guess Daddy does. Anyway, I’ll tell him that Carter isn’t dead.”

Miranda’s first inclination was to be angry with Donny for speaking so carelessly, but then she remembered Emily’s recent habit of listening at keyholes. “Did Daddy say that when you were in the room with him and Grandma?”

“No, I just heard it, that’s all.” She returned to staring at the pictures, enlarging each one on the screen. “He’ll be happy that Carter isn’t dead, won’t he?”

“What you heard about the ghost is an expression that people use sometimes to talk about another person. Daddy didn’t think Carter was dead. He was just making a point.”

“What point? Does he think Carter is scary? I didn’t think he was very friendly, but he’s not scary.”

“No, Daddy didn’t think that either.” Miranda sighed. “I told you we were all good friends at one time. It’s complicated, honey.”

“I get it. You’re not going to tell me.”

“Not right now. All you need to know is that Daddy and Carter used to be on the football team together, but they had a falling-out. You know what that means?”

Emily nodded. “Like LeeAnn and me do sometimes.”

“Exactly.”

“Was it over you?”

Oh, boy. “It was over several different things,” Miranda evaded. “Men argue just like everyone else, like you and I do sometimes. But deep down I think they could be friends again.”

“They should have a sit-down like you and I do when we argue. Then it would all be over.”

Nearing the bottom of the mountain, Miranda changed the subject. “Did you get any good pictures?”

“Yes. One I want to print out and put in a frame. There’s a bunny in it. I wish you had brought our printer.”

Thank goodness they were back to minor complaints and a world of bunnies. “We can go to Boone and stop at the office supply store. They can print the photo for you.”

Satisfied for the moment, Emily put her head back and watched the town out her window. Miranda wondered what she thought of the quaint beauty of the mostly century-old buildings, the green area where concerts were held in the summer, the vibrant green holly that dripped from nearly every hanging pot on the sidewalk lights.

Though she’d been glad to get away from Liggett Mountain, Miranda missed the town, the security of it, the sameness, the way a teenage girl could walk among the large oaks and maple trees and imagine a better life for herself. And while she walked, she pictured herself in love for the rest of her life with the hero of the football team.

But so much had happened. Miranda’s father, who, like many men in the area, worked at the Cahill paper mill, had died as a result of it. Carter’s father, Raymond Cahill, had influenced everyone’s lives. Miranda had used a sudden influx of guilt money from Raymond’s payout to enroll in a university. Now she’d been gone fourteen years and the town belonged to those who’d stayed behind, like Carter. This was his town. He protected it and guarded it, but even amid the soothing comfort of home, tragedy had found him, not once but three times with a series of miscarriages, and he’d suffered. In their own ways, they all had.

* * *

BETSY GREETED CARTER when he walked into police headquarters. “Did you find the missing stuff from the hardware store?” she asked. “And did Dale Jefferson behave himself?”

“No, I didn’t find it, and considering it’s Dale we’re talking about, I’d say he was mostly civil.”

“Carl Harker has called three times this morning to see how you’re coming with the case.”

Carter strode by the counter where Betsy acted as receptionist and dispatcher for the department, picked up his messages and said, “Tell Carl not to call again. We’ll call him when we know anything.”

She snickered. “Like he’ll pay attention to that... Did you see Lawton?”

“He was there. He claimed he didn’t know anything about the break-in, and I believe him.” Carter debated telling Betsy about the other person who was at the Jefferson cabin. Mentioning Miranda might cause a stir in town, but he had to tell someone, and Betsy had known Miranda when she lived here. “You’ll never guess who was at the Jefferson place when I got there,” he said, thinking he sounded casual enough.

Betsy shuffled some papers that probably didn’t need shuffling. “Miranda Jefferson, now Larson, is my guess,” she said.

So much for remaining casual. “How did you know that? Miranda just got to town this morning.”

“I ran into Lucy Dillingham at the grocery store. As you know, she runs the new B&B. She told me that this nice young lady and her daughter had checked in and then took off to go somewhere. When she said the lady’s name was Miranda, I assumed her destination was Liggett Mountain.”

Carter tucked his messages into his shirt pocket. “Well, you’re right. It was Miranda. She works for the department of social services, and I suppose now she’s helping to acclimate our town’s latest ex-con.”

“You can’t say Lawton doesn’t need the help,” Betsy said. “It’s not like anybody welcomed him back with open arms.” She shook her head. “I always say we have the nicest people in Holly River, and it’s basically true, but you throw one poor soul into the mix that folks don’t want here, and their claim to kindness seems to fly out the window.”

“Lawton went to prison because he deserved to,” Carter said, sounding a bit too defensive. “I caught him destroying property at the mayor’s office. Good grief, Betsy, he burned down the wooden sculpture of the river elk that had been in front of city hall for fifty years. And that doesn’t even take into account the illegal rifle and twenty pounds of methamphetamine in his trunk—drugs he manufactured in his own shed.”

“I know all that,” Betsy said. “But I still have a soft spot in my heart for that boy.” Betsy had known many of the young folks in town back then, and Carter suspected she had a soft spot for most of them. “I don’t think he would have turned out so bad if he hadn’t been under Dale’s influence. When their momma and daddy up and left them, Lawton was just a lost soul. He had no one to follow besides Dale.”

“A lost soul who was going to sell meth to our high school kids.” Carter sighed. “And who knows what he’d planned to do with that weapon. I agree with you about one thing, Betsy. Dale was always the instigator. You know I’ve investigated him several times, but he’s always managed to weasel out of every jam...weasel being the operative word.”

Betsy smiled, tapped a pencil on her desk blotter. “I see you managed to change the subject, Chief.”

“What subject? We were talking about the Jeffersons.”

“True enough, but we started out talking about Miranda Jefferson and we got sidetracked.”

“Miranda Larson, remember?” Carter said, disliking the bitterness in his voice.

“How was it seeing her again?”

There weren’t many relationships in Holly River that Betsy Moynahan didn’t know about. Before she became dispatcher for the police department, she worked as a secretary in the high school’s administrative office. She knew when anyone was absent and why, when anyone skipped school and what kids were on a path to matrimony. She always said she believed Carter Cahill and Miranda Jefferson were on a fast track to a wedding march.

“It was fine,” Carter said. “No problem.” He paused, knowing he couldn’t lie to Betsy. “It was strange, actually. She’s changed. More sophisticated, sure of herself. I guess life with Donny is working out for her.”

Betsy peered up at him over her glasses. “Don’t you keep up with the goings-on in people’s lives, Carter?”

“Not if I don’t have to.”

“Miranda and Donny are divorced.”

“They are?” Carter grabbed hold of the edge of the counter to steady himself against what seemed like a tilting office floor.

“About three years now. I thought I told you.”

“Well, you didn’t.”

“Wouldn’t have mattered anyway. You’ve said often enough that you don’t like gossip in the office, and you especially don’t want to hear about a certain high school sweetheart.”

“How come you know this and my mother doesn’t?” Carter asked.

“Oh, Cora knows. I suppose she kept it to herself because she didn’t want to bring up old hurts. But now that Miranda’s back...”

“She’s not back,” Carter said more forcefully than he’d intended. “She’s here to help Lawton, and then I figure she’ll go home to Durham. There’s no reason to get all riled up.”

“I’m not riled up. I was just doing some simple math. You’re single. Miranda’s single. Why, anyone can put one and one together.”

“Don’t you have some work to do?” He nodded at the papers on her counter. “Shouldn’t those be filed or something?” He started to walk away but stopped and turned back to her. “And where’s Sam McCall?”

“He’s out on patrol,” Betsy said with a grin. “I’ll get him for you if you want.”

“I’ll get him myself.” Carter went into his office and called Sam’s cell phone number. He just might need a beer tonight with his newest friend—the rookie cop who didn’t know anything about his history with Miranda Jefferson.

* * *

CARTER HAD WORKED long and hard to forget Miranda, to never again think of her ready natural smile—a smile that warmed a room in the dead of winter. He steeled himself over the years to never think of her glossy brown hair and the ponytail that trailed down her back. And he tried most of all to forget the way he felt when she touched him, the way she made his senses tingle, his heartbeat race. Sure, he’d been just a kid, but what they’d had seemed so real. Until the day everything changed. Carter lay his head back against his office chair and closed his eyes. There was no fighting it today. He was going to remember all of it.

Fourteen years earlier...

“CARTER, I NEED TO talk to you.”

Miranda hadn’t even come to the front door of his house. She’d stood outside in the yard until someone noticed her and told Carter she was there. He’d come out right away, reminded her that they were going to a movie later, but sure, if she wanted to talk now, that was okay with him.

They’d sat on a bench in his mother’s yellow daisy garden. He’d taken her hand as he’d done since their second date, two years before. “You didn’t need to come all the way out here,” he said. “You could have called.”

“No. This can’t be said over the phone.”

That was the first inkling he’d had that something was wrong, that his life might be about to change forever. The summer sun was bright and warm, and their future had seemed so perfect that day. Carter was going off to college on a full football scholarship. Miranda was getting a job and staying home, waiting for him to return for vacations. He’d promised her that if she wanted to go to college when he graduated and they were married, they’d find a way. She wasn’t overjoyed with the decision but had agreed to wait.

“I’ve made a decision,” she said.

“Okay, but why so serious?”

“I’m using part of the money from the paper mill to enroll in NC State. I requested a fast admission report, and I got it. I’m accepted for the fall term.”

That damn money. From the moment his father had issued the check to the Jefferson family, it had felt like a barrier between him and Miranda. Not that Miranda’s mother didn’t deserve it. Warren Jefferson had died six months ago from a lung disease associated with his work around the chloride tanks at the paper mill Carter’s father owned. Warren had known the risks, signed a release of liability and taken the position because it paid more. Other men had done the same thing with no ill effects. But Warren had gotten sick, could no longer work, and the family had lived on disability for years. Raymond Cahill’s “blood money,” as Miranda called it, had avoided a long and costly lawsuit—and probably helped Raymond sleep at night.

Carter tried to remain calm as Miranda gathered her thoughts for what she was about to say. This didn’t have to be bad news. He’d known Miranda wanted to go to college. Why shouldn’t she use some of the money to accomplish her goal? They could still make it work.

“My mother is moving to Hickory to be near her sister,” Miranda said. “We’ve found her a condominium there where she’ll be comfortable.”

“You’re moving?” Carter had said. It was only a couple of hours away, but the barrier kept growing.

“Mama wants to leave Holly River,” Miranda said. “And the truth is, I do, too. It was okay when Daddy was still alive, but now... Both Mama and I need a fresh start away from the memories.” Her voice shook. “There has been so much grieving, and Mama doesn’t seem to be snapping out of it. She sits in a chair all day long just looking out a window. I think in some part of her mind she believes Daddy is coming home.

“In her lucid moments, she’s bitter, Carter. She blames your father even though Daddy signed that release form. Legal papers don’t take away my mama’s sadness. She hates the Cahills. I know it doesn’t make sense...”

Carter released her hand. He’d stared for long moments at the tree line at the perimeter of his mother’s garden where the apple orchard started. “I guess I understand that,” he’d finally said. “But Miranda, you know I’m not my father.” How many times had he said that over the years? He was so sick of apologizing for Raymond. “I suffered with you when your father died.”

“I know that, but it’s not just Mama’s feelings about your family. Your father doesn’t approve of me, of us. You know it’s true. I’m a Jefferson from Liggett Mountain. You’re a Cahill. Your ancestors built this town.”

Carter couldn’t deny the differences between them, but to him, the differences didn’t matter. “Do you think I give a darn about my father’s narrow-minded prejudice?”

“I know you don’t, but the animosity is there, thick as mountain fog. It’s only going to get worse. What kind of a future could you and I build together if your daddy was constantly sabotaging us?”

“I wouldn’t let him do that,” Carter had said.

“I know you would try, but Carter, your father is a strong and determined man.” She paused, and he tried to think of something to counter what he’d known to be true. After a moment she said, “And Carter, this is a chance for me. I didn’t want to take money from your father from the beginning, but that check is giving my mama and me a new start. I need to get away from Holly River, the memories of my daddy’s illness. It’s so connected with your family, with...you. I can’t see any better use for it than as an investment in my future.”

“Funny,” he’d snapped at her. “I thought I was your future.” She hadn’t said anything to that.

“So, what are you saying, Miranda? You want us to break up?”

“I think we need some time away from each other to let the feelings heal. I love you, but every time I look at you, I remember the way my family was torn apart. Maybe sometime if we want to try to make a go of it again...”

“No.” He’d been hurting, and the hurt was quickly turning to anger. “I’m not going away to college hanging on to the memory of a girl who might want to see me again. This is it, Miranda. It’s either over or it isn’t, from this moment.” He’d taken a chance that day by calling her bluff, but he wasn’t going to give her an escape.

She’d stood, moved away from the bench. “I’m sorry, Carter, but we’re not kids anymore. We have to face the reality of who we are, the responsibilities we have. I’m so grateful for everything you’ve meant to me, but...”

“I get it, Miranda. It’s fine. Just go.”

She’d gotten in her car and driven away.

Carter remembered not eating or sleeping for days, but then he took an accounting of his life and made some changes. Two months after the breakup, he met Lainey Roberts at college. She was sweet and understanding, and he’d fallen hard for her. Maybe he wasn’t emotionally ready for that kind of commitment again, but he committed himself to Lainey anyway because that’s the kind of guy he’d always been—steady, faithful, needing to be needed by someone he could love. They made plans, decided to marry and have children. For a while his future seemed bright.

And then he lost her, too, and Carter had to take another accounting of his life. This time he accepted that he wasn’t going to dive into another relationship again. He wouldn’t risk that kind of hurt a third time. He would dedicate himself to his work and living down the unsavory reputation Raymond Cahill had left in the town of Holly River when he died. It was enough for Carter.

CHAPTER THREE

BY THE TIME Miranda pulled into the parking lot for the Hummingbird Inn, she had calmed enough to think about the duties that lay ahead of her. She had to unpack two suitcases, prepare a lunch for her and Emily and talk to Mrs. Dillingham about a reasonable rate for renting the guest cottage behind the bed-and-breakfast, rather than just a room.

Miranda had learned a great deal about the inn in just the few minutes she’d taken to register. The bed-and-breakfast had been open only a year. The Dillinghams had purchased an old wooden dormitory once used by a local college and turned it into a cozy and warm space for Holly River tourists. The cottage where Miranda was staying was a separate building that had recently been renovated from the original gardening shed. The colors of the cottage matched the crisp white-and-black exterior of the main building. Emily had fallen in love with the small porch with a swing hanging from the ceiling.

“I want to stay here, Mom,” Emily had said when she first saw the cottage.

Miranda found Mrs. Dillingham in the living room arranging a bouquet of fresh flowers.

“Hello, dear,” Mrs. Dillingham said. “How was your morning?”

“Fine, thanks. I’m going to be staying in Holly River for as much as a few weeks,” she said. “I like your cottage, and I’m wondering what weekly rate we might agree upon.”

“Let’s see.” Mrs. Dillingham smiled down at Emily. “How do you like it here?”