Red Clover Inn--A Romance Novel Read online

  New York Times bestselling author Carla Neggers delivers an irresistible story about love, family and finding a place to call home..

  Marine archaeologist Charlotte Bennett is no stranger to risk, but her dives into sunken wreckage are always meticulously planned. However, being the maid of honor in her cousin Samantha’s English wedding gives her a new perspective on her life as a nomad who’s given up on romance altogether. Though an encounter with roguish wedding guest Greg Rawlings leaves her unsettled, the other people she meets make a trip to the tranquil town of Knights Bridge, Massachusetts, enticing. Acting on impulse, Charlotte offers to house-sit at Red Clover Inn while Sam and Justin Sloan are away on their honeymoon.

  The quaint inn isn’t open to the public yet and Charlotte will have quiet time to plan her next project. It might also give her a chance to see how her cousin found love and a sense of family. But the peace is immediately disrupted when Greg shows up at the inn. The Diplomatic Security Service agent lives a dangerous life, and he, too, wants to clear his head before his next assignment. Juggling work, raising his two teenage children and nursing a wounded heart has left him jaded, and the last thing he expects is to find himself falling for the willful Charlotte. As the attraction between them flares, Charlotte realizes she might be in too deep. And each of them must decide if they can put love first before it’s too late.

  Praise for Carla Neggers’ New York Times bestselling Swift River Valley novels

  “Masterful attention to detail, conversational dialogue and past-character catch-up expertly draw readers into her potent mix of romance, mystery and small-town drama.”

  —RT Book Reviews on The Spring at Moss Hill

  “Appealing protagonists, good neighbors, small-town Christmas traditions, and Neggers’ own recipes make for a fine romance.”

  —Publishers Weekly on A Knights Bridge Christmas

  “A heady mix of romance, mystery and genuine Quabbin history packaged in an enchanting holiday tale.”

  —RT Book Reviews on A Knights Bridge Christmas

  “Neggers does the near impossible: she brings a small-town, family-loving heroine and a footloose hero together in an engaging romance that has its fair share of surprises.”

  —Library Journal on Echo Lake

  “Her people, places and things are colorfully and expertly rendered in this compelling work of fiction.”

  —RT Book Reviews on Cider Brook

  “Neggers captures readers’ attention with her usual flair and brilliance and gives us a romance, a mystery and a lesson in history.”

  —RT Book Reviews, Top Pick, on Secrets of the Lost Summer

  Also by Carla Neggers

  Swift River Valley

  THE SPRING AT MOSS HILL

  A KNIGHTS BRIDGE CHRISTMAS

  ECHO LAKE

  CHRISTMAS AT CARRIAGE HILL (novella)

  CIDER BROOK

  THAT NIGHT ON THISTLE LANE

  SECRETS OF THE LOST SUMMER

  Sharpe & Donovan

  LIAR’S KEY

  KEEPER’S REACH

  HARBOR ISLAND

  DECLAN’S CROSS

  ROCK POINT (novella)

  HERON’S COVE

  SAINT’S GATE

  BPD/FBI Series

  THE WHISPER

  THE MIST

  THE ANGEL

  THE WIDOW

  Black Falls

  COLD DAWN

  COLD RIVER

  COLD PURSUIT

  Cold Ridge/U.S. Marshals

  ABANDON

  BREAKWATER

  DARK SKY

  THE RAPIDS

  NIGHT’S LANDING

  COLD RIDGE

  Carriage House

  THE HARBOR

  STONEBROOK COTTAGE

  THE CABIN

  THE CARRIAGE HOUSE

  Stand-Alone Novels

  THE WATERFALL

  ON FIRE

  KISS THE MOON

  TEMPTING FATE

  CUT AND RUN

  BETRAYALS

  CLAIM THE CROWN

  Look for Carla Neggers’ next novel

  in the Sharpe & Donovan series

  THIEF’S MARK

  available soon from MIRA Books.

  CARLA NEGGERS

  Red Clover Inn

  To Niamh Amalia, daughter of my daughter

  Contents

  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

  Author’s Note

  Excerpt from Spring at Moss Hill by Carla Neggers

  One

  The Cotswolds, England

  Charlotte Bennett was no stranger to trouble but never had she encountered it in the form of a US federal agent who was exhausted, somewhat inebriated or both. “Agent Rawlings.” She paused, debating the wisdom of continuing. “Are you by any chance armed?”

  “Armed with a smile.”

  And smile he did, as if to prove his point. It was a casually sexy smile, his turquoise eyes crinkling at the corners. Charlotte didn’t know when and where a federal agent was supposed to carry a weapon, but certainly not while drinking beer at a party the night before her cousin’s wedding in a quiet village in England. She couldn’t see a weapon but he could easily have one under the jacket he wore over a charcoal-gray lightweight sweater. He had ultrashort-cropped dark auburn hair and looked as if he knew his way around weapons of all kinds.

  “No worries, okay? I’m not in the UK on official business. You’re safe with me.”

  He was amused. She could tell. She’d arrived at the party late and had chosen a small table by a window slightly open to the damp June evening. She’d had exactly two sips of her wine, a lovely, chilled white, when he sat next to her on the cushioned bench, placed his near-empty beer glass on the small table and introduced himself as Greg Rawlings. Charlotte had recognized his name as the federal agent Samantha, her cousin whose wedding was tomorrow, had mentioned was a last-minute guest.

  Charlotte took her third sip of her wine. “You know, I didn’t invite you to join me.”

  “You can kick me out if you want,” he said with a yawn. “I’ll go quietly.”

  He didn’t look as if he did anything quietly unless it suited him. “Agent Rawlings—”

  “Call me Greg. What’s your name?”

  “Charlotte. Charlotte Bennett.”

  “Ah. Another Bennett. Live here or in the US?”

  “I’m American but I live in Scotland.” For now, she added silently.

  “Well, Lottie, you need to kick back and relax.”

  He was having fun. Definitely. She wanted to have fun but she wasn’t in the mood, at least not yet. Once she saw Samantha and got
into the spirit of the wedding festivities, maybe. But she didn’t like weddings.

  “It’s Charlotte,” she said. “Don’t call me Lottie again.”

  Greg Rawlings smiled, his eyes half-closed. “Or...what?”

  He knew he was sexy. Totally knew it. She returned his smile. “I promised my family I wouldn’t get in a bar fight tonight.”

  “You’ve been in bar fights, Char?”

  “Not in a while. And Char isn’t going to work, either. Charlotte. That’s it.”

  “As in Charlotte’s Web?”

  “No. As in my parents liked the name.”

  “Is Charlotte the spider? I don’t remember. I guess it makes sense she’d be the spider, or why would it be her web?”

  Charlotte didn’t respond. She watched him fight back another yawn. Maybe he wasn’t inebriated—maybe he was just tired. He’d sat at her table without invitation, but there weren’t enough tables for the number of guests, deliberately so, she knew, because the idea behind the party was for guests to mingle ahead of tomorrow’s wedding. She’d assumed he’d had too much to drink and had picked an argument with him.

  Maybe argument was too strong. She’d walked into the Cotswolds pub and found her way to the private-function room intensely aware she needed a distraction. She’d hoped a glass of white wine would do the trick. Then enter a fit, muscular federal agent with attitude.

  Maybe he needed a distraction, too. Sparring with her certainly didn’t intimidate him or even seem to bother him. One of those guys who always thought he had the upper hand. She supposed it was a strength in a federal agent, if not necessarily in a drinking mate.

  “What are you drinking?” he asked her.

  “Chardonnay. What about you?” Charlotte nodded to his almost-drained pint glass. “What were you drinking?”

  “Implying I’m done for the night?”

  “You should be.”

  He grinned. “You’re blunt.” He sat up straighter. “Okay. I was drinking Heineken, the last of which is in the bottom of my glass and warm. My buddy Brody is supposed to be fetching me another pint.”

  “Brody being...”

  “Brody Hancock. He’s the tall guy who isn’t bringing me my beer.”

  Charlotte drew a blank but had a feeling she should know the name Brody Hancock. “Is Brody a federal agent, too?”

  “He’s a London-based Diplomatic Security Service agent for the US State Department recently married to the only sister of tomorrow’s groom. You know about that, right? The wedding tomorrow? You’re not a gate-crasher, are you?”

  “I know about the wedding. I’m not a gate-crasher.” More like the opposite, she thought. The one who ran from weddings. “Are you a DS agent, too?”

  He frowned. “Didn’t I say that?”

  “You acknowledged you were a federal agent when I recognized your name. I didn’t know what kind of federal agent. We didn’t get to the details once I realized you might be armed.” She had a feeling she was digging a deep, deep hole for herself. “Why don’t I find Agent Hancock for you?”

  Greg sank against the back of the bench they shared. “That’s okay. He’ll find me.”

  “I hope so,” she said half under her breath.

  “You’re blunt, Charlotte. Relax. It’s the night before a quiet English wedding.”

  As if that should reassure her. “Bad things often happen the night before weddings.”

  “That’s a dark view,” he said, clearly amused. “Let’s start over. I will call you Charlotte and you will quit worrying about whether I’m armed and inebriated. Okay? Hitting the reset button...” He paused to shake off a yawn. “What do you do for a living, Charlotte?”

  “I’m a marine archaeologist. I’m Samantha Bennett’s cousin.”

  “Our bride-to-be. Blood relative, then?”

  “She’s my second cousin, actually. Our grandfathers were brothers.”

  “Both gone now?”

  Charlotte nodded. “They died within eighteen months of each other, my grandfather Max first, then Harry. They were both predeceased by their wives. Harry was an explorer and adventurer. Max—well, Max wasn’t an explorer and adventurer. He managed Harry’s expeditions and such.”

  “Younger brother?”

  “By two years. They both lived into their nineties. They would be at the wedding if they were alive.” Charlotte picked up her wineglass, taking the opportunity to lower her gaze subtly to Greg’s middle. She still couldn’t see any evidence of a weapon. “The Bennetts will be well represented tomorrow.”

  Greg leaned toward her. “I don’t mind you staring at me, but you can throttle back on the suspicions. I’m not going to shoot anyone and I’m not drunk.”

  “The last words of countless drunks as they pass out under the table.”

  He grinned, not the reaction she’d expected to her frank comment. “I knew I did right sitting next to you,” he said. “I saw you come in and decided you’re the prettiest, most uptight person here and needed cheering up.”

  It was distraction she’d needed, not cheering up. “I only just arrived from Edinburgh.”

  “Any idea why it’s pronounced Edinboro? Why isn’t burgh pronounced like it is in Pittsburgh?” He didn’t wait for an answer, instead grabbing his glass and polishing off his last sip of beer. He made a face. “I let it get warm. That’s bad. I’m off my game. Where do you suppose my fresh pint is?”

  “Still in the tap, I hope,” Charlotte said.

  “Going to tell me why you’re so uptight? Did you run into trouble getting here from Edinburgh?”

  “No trouble. It was a long train ride.” She’d constantly fought the urge to jump off her train and return to Edinburgh. But she hadn’t, and now she was here, going tit-for-tat with Greg Rawlings. “I’m relaxing with a glass of wine and going to bed early.”

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know how that’s your business.”

  He shrugged. “It’s not. Just making friendly conversation. I’m staying here at the pub. My room’s right up the stairs. Brody and Heather—that’s his wife—are staying at the wedding hotel. She’s in the wedding party tomorrow. But you know that, right?”

  Wedding party. Charlotte inhaled, pushing back a surge of panic. “I haven’t met Heather, but yes, I know who she is, and that she’s one of Samantha’s bridesmaids.”

  “You’re not in the wedding yourself, are you?”

  She didn’t answer at once. She scanned the private-function room but didn’t see anyone she knew. The party was winding down now, only a handful of guests at the dozen tables and standing around with drinks. Samantha had assured her it would be a simple, informal gathering of friends and family who’d arrived for the destination wedding from New England, Florida, Scotland and London. There was no actual rehearsal. It wasn’t critical that Charlotte arrive early, or at all, provided she was on time for the wedding preparations and service tomorrow. She’d texted Samantha from the Oxford train station to let her know she’d arrived. She’d sensed her cousin’s relief. Charlotte understood. She didn’t have a good track record when it came to weddings.

  Samantha had already gone back to the wedding hotel for an early night by the time Charlotte had arrived at the party. She shifted back to the man next to her at her table. “I’m Samantha’s maid of honor,” she said, hoping she sounded relaxed, matter-of-fact.

  “There you go. Being in the wedding explains why you’re so uptight.”

  “Actually, no, it doesn’t, because I’m not uptight.”

  “Nervous? Being in front of a crowd can make people nervous.”

  “I’m not nervous or uptight. But never mind.”

  He eyed her as if he was debating asking a follow-up question. “Samantha’s a pirate expert and treasure hunter,” he said instead. “I�
��m going to guess that you’re not.”

  “Marine archaeologists are sometimes involved in exploring sunken pirate ships, but you are right, I’m not.” She used a tone that she hoped signaled she didn’t want to answer more questions about herself. “I’ll go find your friend.”

  “Don’t bother. I see him. He’s chatting up one of the groom’s brothers. Am I starting to annoy you, Charlotte?”

  “Let’s say initially I felt somewhat protective of you but now I don’t.”

  “Protective of me?” Another wide, amused grin. “I like that.”

  “Protective only in the sense that I don’t want you to do anything to get yourself in trouble with your superiors or to cause trouble for anyone else, especially Samantha, since it’s her wedding tomorrow.”

  “And you? Are you being protective of yourself? You don’t want me to cause trouble for you, right?” He leaned back on the bench. “Or do you?”

  “I assure you, Agent Rawlings, I can handle whatever trouble you have in mind for me.”

  He gave her a slow, easy, impossibly sexy grin. “I’ll bet you can.”

  “I walked into that one, didn’t I?”

  “No comment.” He blinked, plainly having difficulty keeping his eyes open. “So. You haven’t told me to shove off, because you’re protecting me and your cousin but not yourself. Got it.”

  Charlotte didn’t quibble. Greg Rawlings was muscular and broad-shouldered but he wasn’t what she would call handsome. Instead he had a magnetic, arresting appeal that worked well with her need for a distraction and probably was a factor in her not sending him on his way.

  “You are pretty, you know,” he said, catching her off guard. “Your brown eyes remind me of a golden retriever I had as a kid.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Did I just say you have eyes like a dog? Damn, I did. He was a great dog, if that helps.”

  “I love dogs,” Charlotte said, keeping her tone neutral.

  “Me, too. And you do have pretty eyes.”

  “Do you always dig holes this deep with people you’ve just met?”

  “Usually deeper.”

  She didn’t doubt him.

  “And you?” he asked.