The Baron (8 page)

She took his arm, and together they walked up the wide marble steps. The leaded glass doors were held open today to catch the pleasant fall breezes, and the two walked into what was once the entry hall of the Thorne’s family home. It was huge and elegant and now housed the main library desk that Leo had carefully selected. The dark, highly polished wood perfectly matched the woodwork and looked like a part of the house. Behind the desk was the door to Halley’s office, and to the right and left were warm, spacious parlors that now housed thousands of volumes of books. She led Nick through every room, explaining as she went. They toured the small rooms in the back, which were used for reading, and on the upper floors they moved in and out of bedroom suites that now hosted meetings and craft groups, art classes and reading clubs.

“Well, do you recognize it all?” Halley asked as they returned to the main entry hall.

Her expression lovingly reflected the pride she had in the library, and Nick smiled. “Strangely enough, I do. You’ve done a beautiful job.” He walked over to
the winding staircase and looked up at the glistening chandelier. When he turned back to Halley, she was standing by the huge desk, shuffling through a pile of messages the assistant librarian had handed her.

“Looks like you work hard, Ms. Librarian.”

Halley looked at him over the rim of her glasses and nodded. “It’s a Finnegan trait. A curse, my mother says. We’re not content unless we’re knee-deep in some project or another.”

“So this is your project …”

Halley didn’t answer. Her attention had shifted to a muddy-shoed, freckle-faced six-year-old who had rushed in the door and stuck his small, square body between the two of them.

“Aunt Halley?”

“Yes, Mickey?”

“It’s Archie.”

Halley sighed. “Oh, no.”

“Yep.”

“Where is he?” Halley asked.

“Back near Whisper Cloud’s grave.”

Halley was already halfway to the door. “Mickey, have Kate heat up some strong coffee and bring it out back, will you, please?”

Mickey dashed off without another word. Nick was left standing alone for a brief moment, then he turned and hurried after Halley.

“Whisper Cloud’s grave? Archie? I have a feeling I didn’t get the whole tour, Halley.”

“Well, you will now,” Halley tossed back over one shoulder as she hurried around the corner of the huge house and headed out toward a large wooded area in the distance.

Just beyond the first clump of trees was a low fence, and beyond that was a scattering of neat, well kept graves.

“A cemetery?”

“Post Civil War,” Halley called out proudly as she weaved her way expertly around grave markers. “It’s a lovely cemetery, Nick. The Thornes’ ancestors are buried here, along with other families. I grew up playing hide-and-seek here and visiting the ghosts of Indians and soldiers.” She ducked beneath the low branch of an old oak. “Whisper Cloud is buried over there, beyond those maple trees.” She pointed, then hurried along through streams of sunlight.

A low, gravelly moan met them as they wound their way between the trees. “I assumed Whisper Cloud—whoever the hell
he
is—was dead.” Nick muttered to the widening space between himself and Halley. Then, as the peculiar feeling of adventure sparked his soul, he gave pursuit and caught up with her just as the trees thinned out.

She was standing beside a small grave, her glasses pushed to the top of her head again, her small fists dug into her narrow waist.

Settled in a huge lump between the square marker and a giant maple tree was the bulbous form of a man. Nick drew closer and stared down at the still figure.

“Oh, Archie,” Halley murmured softly.

One wrinkled eyelid opened with difficulty, and through a bloodshot eye, the man peered blearily up in Nick’s direction. “Good evening, sir. Have we met?”

Nick smiled as Halley crouched down, and shook her head.

“It’s not evening, Archie, it’s late afternoon. The gentleman is Nick Harrington, and you are dangerously close to lying atop Whisper Cloud’s grave, as well as frightening the children half to death. What am I to do with you?”

A whimsical smile played across the man’s puffy face. “Lemme shleep, Finnegan.” His heavy lids closed.

“Archie, here.” Mickey appeared from behind Nick’s long legs with a cup of steaming black coffee held
tightly in his small hands. He grinned up at Halley. “Kate says it’s three days old and sure to wake him and put hair on his chest too!” He handed Halley the coffee and grinned up at Nick. “Sometimes Archie feels under the weather, you know.”

Nick nodded as if he had some understanding of what was going on here, and hunkered down next to Halley. “Here, I’ll do that.” He slipped his arm behind Archie’s wide shoulders and forced him forward while Halley lifted the cup to his lips and began forcing the black, syrupy liquid down his throat.

“Nish.” Archie winked at Halley.

“Very,” Halley said. “But you’re not. Drink this, my friend. You know such celebrating is taboo on library grounds.”

“Shorry, Finnegan.” His head rolled forward, and Nick had to bite back a grin at the man’s solemn contriteness.

“I mean it, Archie.” Halley sat back on her legs and tried to look stern.

The deep belching sounds Archie made in response brought a huge grin to Mickey’s face, but it was wiped away by one look from Halley.

“Mickey, maybe you can talk Kate into fixing Archie some soup. Nick can help me get him over to the stable.”

“Okay. See ya in a minute, Arch.”

Mickey flew off again, and Halley rose. “Archie has a room in the stable. Do you mind, Nick?”

“Certainly not.”

In seconds he had Archie to his feet and had hoisted a limp arm around his own shoulder, the other around Halley’s. “Most interesting Monday I’ve spent in some time,” he said as they made their way along the path.

“This isn’t how barons usually start their week?” Halley nudged Archie to take another step.

“Ah, it’s confession time, Contessa …”

“You’re really a library inspector of some sort, and we’re about to lose our status.”

Nick grinned. “That’s not exactly what I’ve come to inspect.”

“I, sir, am a gentleman bum,” Archie interjected with a crooked grin, his words slurring together. “Try it, you’ll like it.”

“From baron to bum. Hmm, it has possibilities, especially if it means having the Contessa so close.”

“Contesh …?” Archie tried to hold his head straight.

“Ms. Finnegan.”

“Finnegan. Ah, she’s a queen, a woman of beauty, a—”

“Hush, Archie. You’re drunk.”

“Merely tipsy, my lovely.…”

“He makes sense to me.” Nick pushed open the stable door with his hip and helped Archie through. “Where to?”

“The back room. There’s a cot there,” Halley directed, and in minutes Nick had the hobo situated in the small room that was filled with colorful children’s drawings, a small table and chair, and a cot.

“Home shweet home.” Archie sank back on the cot, and his eyelids lowered immediately.

Halley took Nick’s arm and drew him out of the room and back outdoors. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure.” He looked down at Halley.
She
was his pleasure, a
great
pleasure, and he set his jaw, fighting the urge to wrap her in his arms. “Who
is
he?”

“He’s Archie, that’s all. Friend, hobo, teacher of life.” She smiled softly. “He likes it here, and we’ve become attached to him. So he stays. He spends a lot of time in the gazebo holding court with the kids. But every now and then—”

“I see.” Nick shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his tailored pants and fell in step beside her as
they walked slowly back to the library. “And the little boy?”

“My sister Bridget’s son. He and Archie are good buddies.”

“And last but not least …”

“Whisper Cloud is an Indian girl buried in the cemetery. Archie weaves tales about her and her tribe for the kids.” She laughed and tilted her head back to let the late-afternoon sun warm her face. “All of us have gotten attached to Whisper Cloud.…”

Nick didn’t hear the last sentence. When she tilted her head back like that and he fell into the clear, green sea of her eyes, all resolve melted. He touched the back of her neck and lifted his fingers into her hair. “Oh, Tessa—”

“
Halley
, Nick. You’re confusing—”

But all confusion was blotted out when his lips covered hers, softly at first, then with a crush of familiarity. He’d know his Contessa blindfolded, Nick thought vaguely. No one else in the universe could taste this sweet, feel this soft and tender beneath his touch. His kiss turned greedy, and his tongue slipped between her lips.
His
Contessa … yes, it made an irrational kind of sense.…

It was Halley who finally pulled away. “You don’t step out of character easily, do you, Nicholas the third?”

“And you fall into it quite readily, Contessa.”

Halley nodded, and a small smile touched her lips. “I guess I do. But I know deep down that Irish librarians make terrible contessas in real life. Do you know that?”

Nick couldn’t imagine her ever backing away from the truth. Not with those eyes. He nodded slowly. “Contessas are a dime a dozen, but Irish librarians—now there’s a find.”

“Who are
you
, anyway?” Halley asked. Nick’s arm had gone around her, and they started to walk again,
their hips gently touching as they moved along the leaf-covered path.

“Nicholas Harrington, Philadelphia—”

“Main Line.”

“Sh. You asked the question, I answer. I own banks and live alone. I like to travel, don’t cook, and drive too fast. I’m moody and a little spoiled by people who worry too much about me, but beneath it all I’m not too bad a guy.”

Halley poked him in the ribs, and her burst of laughter caught on the breeze. Nick drew her closer. Halley Finnegan. Librarian. Crazy …

“I guess that’s it, then.” Halley moved out of his embrace as they neared the sprawling house.

“That’s it?”

“The Cook’s tour. Except for the cottage where I live, and the garages, you’ve seen it all.”

“Are you free for dinner?”

Halley paused for a moment, then regretfully shook her head. She’d promised Rosie, and besides, Nick might still be living in the fantasy of the weekend. Now that he’d seen her as she really was, a plain, blue-collar neighborhood librarian, he might need to think about that.… “I … I’m sorry, Nick. I already have plans.”

“Is there a man in your life?” he asked bluntly.

“No, no, it’s not that. I promised a good friend—”

Nick watched her closely as she took one step up toward the library entrance. She paused, then turned back to him, the soft denim of her skirt flapping soundlessly against her ankles. She pulled her glasses off her head and slipped them on her nose. “There. Now you’re in focus again. It
was
good to see you again, Nick. Thank you for coming, and for the invitation. Good-bye.”

Nick shook his head, and the smile that softened his face was more natural than anything he’d felt in
a long, long time. “No, Contessa Finnegan. Not goodbye …”

She smiled at him and turned away. His words warmed her back as she continued up the wide steps, and then the warmth spread to other places.

All right, fine. Her practical mind took over as she reached the cool entry hall. It would be nice to have the Baron come back. But she knew, even if he didn’t, that he’d linger in her world of dusty books and the Dewey decimal system about as long as she would in the jet-setting world of murder-mystery weekends.

“Halley, what I wouldn’t give to read minds right now!” Elderly Kate Willows, her assistant, stood behind the desk with a wide smile on her face.

Halley tossed her hair and laughed. “I was simply speculating on the overused aphorism that some spots are very nice to visit, but, as they say …”

“Hmm.” Kate frowned skeptically. “If you say so. But judging by that dreamy expression I’d swear vacations weren’t on your mind.”

Halley only sighed.

Outside, Nick watched her for a moment, then walked slowly back to his car. A librarian, of all the incredible things. He shook his head and saw Mickey dashing away from the house, a wrapped basket held tightly in his hands, Archie’s sobering-up food, Nick guessed.

Suddenly Nick stiffened.

The cemetery.

He had stood in a cemetery, and the air had not been squeezed from his lungs; icy fingers hadn’t prodded him, stung him, numbed him. He rubbed the car keys between his fingers and drew his eyebrows together.

Fading sunlight through the distant tree branches directed his thoughts from one unseen grave to the
next: to Whisper Cloud’s … to the Thorne ancestors … to other graves in other cemeteries … and inevitably to Anne’s. But he had done it; he had stood beside Halley in a cemetery, and memory had not cut into his life.

As he shielded his eyes and looked off into the distance, Nick felt a lifting sensation, a sweet wash of comfort. It didn’t make sense, but it was there.

In the four years since he’d buried Anne Melrose Harrington, Nick hadn’t been able to pass a cemetery without feeling her loss with a pain that reached to the deepest part of him and left him lifeless. He had vowed on the day of his wife’s burial never to set foot in a cemetery again. They housed too much anguish, too many memories. Nick felt the sting of pain now as he stood alone, staring off toward the sunset. But the sting was manageable, and the burning glow of the setting sun was still there when he looked again.

And it was lovely.

Halley walked slowly through the tiny living room of her cottage, enjoying the play of sunlight on the braided rug her grandmother had given her. The rich reds, oranges, and blues of thick wool scraps were a vibrant match for the trees outside her window. Even the dancing dust motes looked good in the golden light, Halley decided, so she’d be generous and not disturb them today.

“Halley, are you in there?”

“Patience, my dear Rosie, patience.”

Rosie tumbled through the door when Halley finally unlocked it. Her cheeks were as pink as the warm-up clothes she wore. “It took you ages to get to the door, Finnegan. Was I … ah, interrupting anything?”