Shot Through the Hearth Read online

  Now if only Julian would lighten up about people traipsing all over his ground cover. After all, that was the whole point of the Ecosphere, wasn’t it? The conference goers were supposed to experience the green space, breathe the clean air, and make the connection that plants could be grown anyplace, no matter the climate or how small the space. And frankly, it worked. It felt like a miracle to walk those first few steps into the Ecosphere and actually feel every muscle begin to untwist. Maybe it was because the plants themselves were, according to Julian, resilient and renewable.

  Julian, on the other hand, was anything but resilient. He had grudgingly allowed me to help him work with the plants to create the atmosphere within the tower, but he had made it more than perfectly clear that others were not allowed inside. He obviously loved his plants a lot more than he loved people, and he took everything personally, especially when anyone accidentally stepped on an errant leaf that had grown along one of the pathways. How would he react when hundreds of people began to descend on his beloved Ecosphere?

  It was a mystery. Especially because, despite his curmudgeonly attitude, Julian had built dozens of these green-space environments all over the world. He knew how to behave. I wanted to believe that he would be professional at all times, but I would be watching him. I didn’t want him to start haranguing the conference goers with dire warnings of severe penalties to anyone who brushed against one of his precious, fast-growing ficus trees.

  I stopped and took a good long breath. In and out. In and out. Rolled my shoulders. Relaxed my neck. And sighed. It would all work out, I promised myself.

  With fingers crossed, I packed up my toolbox, said good-bye to my crew and my girlfriends, and trudged at last to my truck.

  * * *

  * * *

  I parked in the driveway and miraculously managed to keep upright as I slid out of the truck, grabbed my backpack, and plodded through the back gate and into the kitchen.

  “Honeys, I’m home,” I called after locking the door, and was instantly greeted by Robbie and Tiger. Robbie, a gorgeous little Westie with a huge personality, barked for joy, while Tiger, my beautiful orange and white tabby, wound her way in and out of my legs and head-bumped my ankles, possibly in hopes of tripping me so I would tumble down to her level.

  “Nice try,” I murmured, and picked her up to rub my cheek against her soft fur. Naturally, this caused Robbie to bark even more loudly. In dog talk, I figured he was saying, What am I, chopped liver?

  “Okay, okay. Equal time.” I set Tiger down on the floor and switched over to Robbie, lightly rubbing his back and scratching between his ears. After a few seconds, he rolled over so I could rub his belly.

  “You’re so accommodating,” I said with a laugh, then picked him up and snuggled for a minute.

  Setting him down, I stood up and stretched my back. “Oh. Oh. Ouch. I worked too hard. I need to take a hot bath.”

  Robbie and Tiger sat on the floor and stared up at me.

  “Right,” I said, instantly contrite. “Hot bath can wait. It’s time for dinner.”

  I prepped their meals, and while they wolfed down their food and slurped from their clean water bowls, I sat down at the kitchen table and checked off the last few items on my spreadsheet for Rafe’s house.

  “Now it’s bath time,” I murmured, and headed upstairs.

  A while later, I was halfway down the staircase when the doorbell rang. Robbie let out a happy bark and ran to the door. Who could that be? I wondered, and followed him through the living room.

  “Mac,” I said softly when I opened the door. “You’re home.”

  “Hey, Irish,” Mac said, then walked into the house and wrapped me in his arms.

  MacKintyre Sullivan, world-famous author, former Navy SEAL, all-around hero, and love of my life, had been in New York for the past ten days. I had spoken to him every night and had enjoyed hearing about his meetings with agents, dinners with editors, and parties celebrating the opening of the film based on another one of his Jake Slater books. And then there was the New York premiere of that film. He had invited me to join him, but I’d had to stay in town to finish Rafe’s house.

  “I missed you,” he murmured in my ear.

  Part of me still couldn’t quite believe that when the fancy lunches and dinners and parties were all over, he continued to come home to me. But since we’d been together now for almost two years, I guess it was about time I started to believe it.

  “I missed you, too.”

  He kissed me then and I could’ve stayed there in his arms all night.

  He cupped my cheek with his hand. “You look a little tired, but you smell great.”

  I chuckled, happy that I’d had time to take a bath. “I’m exhausted. But more than anything else, I would love to have a glass of wine. Will you join me?”

  “Absolutely.” Wrapping his arm around my waist, we walked into the kitchen, where Mac received more frenzied greetings from Robbie and lots of head butts and slinky ankle strokes from Tiger.

  I smiled at him. “Guess they missed you, too.”

  “The feeling’s mutual. Hi, guys.” He hunkered down to play with them for a few minutes while I poured two glasses of wine.

  When he stood up, I handed him a glass. “I didn’t think you’d be back until next week.”

  He shrugged. “I canceled a few lunches. A meeting or two. They weren’t important. I wanted to get back home.”

  “I’m glad.” We sat at the kitchen table and quietly sipped our wine, enjoying the moment. Finally I said, “You’re home just in time for the survival conference.”

  He said nothing, but scowled, surprising me.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m not sure I’m going to do the workshop Rafe wanted me to moderate. Just found out who else is on the panel with me.”

  “Who?”

  His lips tightened. “Have you heard of Sketch Horn?”

  “Sure. He’s a writer.”

  “If you want to call him that,” he grumbled.

  “What do you mean?”

  He breathed heavily through his nose, clearly annoyed. “He’s a blowhard and a liar. He claims to have been an Army Ranger. Did a bunch of black ops missions, he says. But I don’t believe a word of it.”

  “Seriously? You think he’s lying about something like that?”

  “No doubt in my mind.”

  “So I take it you’ve met him.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Mac said. “I’ve met him plenty of times at writers’ conferences and book events.” He stood and began to pace the room “You know, I don’t even think Sketch Horn is his real name.”

  “Oh?” I smiled weakly. “Well, but a lot of writers use pseudonyms, right?”

  He brushed aside my logic and muttered, “Pretentious jerk.”

  I almost laughed. “You really don’t like this guy.”

  He glared at me. “You think?”

  “Just a feeling I’m getting.”

  He gave me a reluctant half smile and sat back down to finish his wine. “Sorry. Can you tell that I just can’t stand him?”

  “But why? I mean, besides the fact that he’s apparently a liar and a blowhard and a pretentious jerk?”

  “He cheats on his wife. Blatantly. And he’s just not very smart. He says stupid things, interrupts conversations, talks out of school.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “He once revealed to a room full of readers that his agent got a nose job.”

  “Ew. That’s not good.”

  “Right? And another time, he was drinking with some other writers and he started whining about his wife. Said some horrible things about her that I won’t repeat here.”

  “That’s just stupid. And awful.” I reached out and touched his hand. “Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry you’re stuck with him.”

 
“Ah, but I’m not.” His eyes narrowed as he seemed to map out a plan. “I have a few alternatives. I’ll propose them to Rafe tomorrow.”

  “Good.” I stared at my wineglass and wondered. “I’ve never read a Sketch Horn book, but I guess he’s pretty popular. Is he a good writer?”

  He hesitated. “I wouldn’t say he’s a bad writer, but that’s only because I’m certain that his wife writes his books for him.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “It’s been a rumor for years, but I know it’s true.” He frowned. “His wife knows a lot more about the books than he does.”

  I frowned. “It must be weird to do all the work and have someone else take all the credit.”

  “I’m surprised she hasn’t strangled him in his sleep,” he grumbled.

  I would’ve laughed if he didn’t sound so miserable. “I’m sorry you have to deal with this.”

  “I’m the one who’s sorry.” Frustrated, he raked his fingers through his thick, dark hair. “I really hate to hear myself whining.”

  I grabbed the wine bottle and poured us both another half glass. “As soon as you talk to Rafe, you’ll feel better. I’m sure he can switch things around for you.”

  But I had to wonder why Rafe had invited the other man to speak at his conference in the first place. If all those rumors were out there, Rafe had to know about them. He made a point of researching anything that touched his life, plus he was aboveboard and earnest about everything else. Why would he have invited someone like Sketch Horn to his conference?

  “I don’t want to make trouble for Rafe,” Mac said, “but you know, I spend a lot of time writing out questions and working on notes before I show up for a panel or a workshop. I don’t want to expend all that energy and then wind up dealing with someone I don’t respect.” He took a slow sip of wine, then set the glass down and shook his head in disgust. “And now I sound like a sanctimonious toad.”

  “No, you don’t. I think you’re being perfectly reasonable. Your panel will be discussing a really serious subject. How can you expect the audience to trust your words if you can’t even trust the other people on the panel?”

  “Good point,” he murmured. He leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Thank you.”

  Mac’s presentation was centered on worst-case scenarios and ways to overcome them. The subject fit perfectly with Rafe’s overall conference theme of survival, but it would also be entertaining—because it was Mac, who always made things more interesting and fun. Or maybe I was just biased.

  A while back, Mac had told me that because we lived so close to the ocean, he wanted the panel to explore topics like flooding and tidal waves and boating accidents. Serious stuff. And who knew more about overcoming disasters than someone famous for writing those very scenarios for their characters? But again, knowing Mac, he would have fun with it because that was how he lived his life. He was a really wonderful speaker so I had a feeling his workshop would be one of the highlights of the conference.

  But having to work with Sketch Horn would take all the fun out of it for everyone. I couldn’t blame Mac for wanting to get rid of the guy.

  Sketch Horn was turning out to be the actual living embodiment of a worst-case scenario. How weirdly ironic was that?

  Chapter Three

  “I didn’t think this day would ever arrive,” Marigold said, grabbing my hands and squeezing them excitedly.

  “It feels like it took forever,” I admitted.

  “Rafe is just thrilled. I’m so happy for him.”

  “I am, too.” But mostly I was nervous. Tonight my work would be on display for hundreds of people to admire—or pick apart. I was so pleased with the way Rafe’s house had turned out and I was pretty certain everyone else would be impressed, too. But still, I was feeling my nerves as I dressed for the party in black pants, a fancy white tuxedo-style shirt, and a trim black velvet jacket.

  I was dressing up because Rafe had asked me to give a short presentation about the green aspects of the barn and the house tonight as part of the opening introductions. I had agreed to do it, of course. It was hard to say no to Rafe.

  Under ordinary circumstances I would have no problem talking to anyone about, well, almost anything. I liked people and I really enjoyed talking about my work. But the majority of conference attendees were scientists, biologists, and serious educators and experts, and I had to admit that I felt a little intimidated.

  “You look pale, Shannon,” Marigold said.

  “She just needs some extra blusher,” Jane said, giving me a conspiratorial wink. She knew me too well, could recognize the signs of apprehension setting in.

  The three of us were in Marigold and Rafe’s lovely new bedroom suite, getting ready for the cocktail party. I was pleased with the size of the room, which was basically massive. The king-sized bed sat on a platform beneath a domed ceiling that opened to the sky when the weather was good. Opposite the bed was a sitting area with a comfortable loveseat, a matching chair, and a table, the perfect space to enjoy a morning coffee and read the paper. Wide windows on either side of the room looked out onto the woods and surrounding green hillside.

  Marigold had popped open a bottle of champagne to enjoy while we dressed.

  “I think she’s nervous,” Marigold murmured as she fastened dangly gold earrings to her ears.

  “I think you’re right,” Jane agreed.

  Yes, they were both right, but I wasn’t going to say so. Instead, I waved away their concern. “I’m fine. Just going over tomorrow’s program in my head. I’ve still got a lot of work to do. I probably shouldn’t drink tonight.”

  “Too late for that,” Jane said with a smile, and raised her champagne glass in a toast.

  “You deserve to celebrate, Shannon,” Marigold insisted as she sipped her drink. “You accomplished a miracle here. Rafe is thrilled with the work you did on the house. So am I, just so you know. And because you were so awesome and totally in charge with getting the house done, Rafe was able to concentrate on the conference.”

  “That’s nice to hear,” I said as I slipped my feet into short black boots. “But I’m not exactly finished with the job.”

  “What do you mean?” Marigold wondered. “The house is completely finished.”

  “Besides, you deserve one night off,” Jane said.

  “The barn,” I repeated for emphasis. “My work is not completed until the barn is raised.”

  “But you told me that Wade and Sean were the point men on the barn raising.” Jane spoke while staring in the mirror and fussing with her necklace. “And they know exactly what they’re doing, right?”

  “But I’m the boss,” I muttered.

  “She’s so stubborn,” Jane said to Marigold.

  “I know,” Marigold said, shaking her head. “I guess it’s part of her charm.”

  “Hmm.” Jane smirked. “I suppose charm is one way to put it.”

  “I’m standing right here,” I reminded them.

  They both grinned, and after a moment, I joined them. Two of my best friends in the world were here with me. Mac and other friends would arrive in just a short while. I would have all the support in the world with me tonight. I mentally shook myself, knowing there was no reason to feel intimidated. Instead I should’ve been jumping for joy.

  And why not? The house was finished. Niall’s beautiful stone fireplace and hearth were finished. Firewood was already stacked inside the firebox, ready to be lit and enjoyed by Rafe and Marigold on some cool fall evening very soon.

  My crew had spent all morning putting last-minute touches on the yard, patching up a few interior spots where the furniture movers had made marks, and adding the final bits of décor to the porch. And now we were essentially done—except for that pesky barn.

  Other than a few small private tours given by Rafe or Marigold, none of the guests would be allowed in
side the house during the opening cocktail party. But Rafe still wanted the outside to look beautiful, especially for tonight’s party. And it did look fantastic, thanks to all the friends and helpers we’d called in to lend a hand. There were twinkling lights in all the trees and colorful lanterns placed strategically around the property.

  And the house itself was amazing. Honestly, it was one of the best rehab jobs my company had ever done and that was saying a lot. And, I had to wonder, how many more jobs might come from people attending this conference? Attendees would be milling around, strolling Rafe’s acres of property, and enjoying the venues and the events. But the centerpiece was Rafe’s new home. If even one or two of those attending were to hire my company to work on their homes, I would be thrilled.

  Rafe had realized there might be prospective clients here tonight and had given me permission to show the house to anyone who was serious about hiring my company. And his confidence thrilled me almost as much as his generous paycheck had done.

  * * *

  * * *

  Emily’s catering staff had set up four separate cocktail bars at opposite corners of the outdoor conference area. In the middle of the big space were a few dozen bar-height tables and chairs where people could sit and chat while enjoying the food and drinks. Each of the tables had a cluster of candles in the center to add sparkle to the scene.

  Along with all of the conference attendees and speakers, many of our town’s luminaries would be in attendance tonight. And everyone from Rafe’s old company would be here, too.

  I gulped down another glass of champagne and forced myself to lighten up. After all, tonight promised to be a party for the ages.

  * * *

  * * *

  Rafe took to the stage to welcome everyone to the conference and then said a few words about the Marigold Foundation. “The focus of our foundation is basic: food, shelter, clothing, and survival. How do we sustain our own quality of life and how do we help others who are suffering? I hope that the speakers and events will begin to address this massive question.