Match Me If You Can (Chicago Stars #6)(55)

“No wonder Kevin likes it here so much,” Heath said.

“It’s exactly like Nightingale Woods in Molly’s Daphne books. I’m so glad she talked Kevin out of selling it.” The campground had been in Kevin’s family since his great-grandfather, an itinerant Methodist minister, had founded it for summer religious revivals. Eventually, it had passed to Kevin’s father, then Kevin’s aunt, and finally to Kevin.

“The upkeep on the place is unbelievable,” Heath said. “I’ve always wondered why he kept it.”

“Now you know.”

“Now I know.” He slipped off his sunglasses. “I miss not being outdoors more. I grew up banging around in the woods.”

“Huntin’ and trappin’?”

“Not too much. I never got into killing things.”

“Preferring slow torture.”

“You know me so well.”

They followed the road that looped around the common. Each cottage bore a neatly painted sign over the door: GREEN

PASTURES, MILK AND HONEY, LAMB OF GOD, JACOB’S LADDER. She slowed to admire the bed-and-breakfast, a stately, turreted Queen Anne with sweeping porches; lush, hanging ferns; and wooden rockers where two women sat chatting. Heath checked the directions and pointed toward a narrow lane that ran parallel to the lake. “Take a left.”

She did as he said. They passed an elderly woman with binoculars and a walking stick, then two teenagers on bikes. Finally, they reached the end of the lane, and she pulled up in front of the last of the cottages, a doll’s house with a sign above the door that read LILIES OF THE FIELD. Painted a creamy yellow with dusty pink and pale blue accents, the house looked as though it had tumbled out of a child’s nursery tale. Annabelle was captivated. At the same time, she found herself wishing it weren’t quite so isolated from the other cottages.

Heath bounded from the car and unloaded their suitcases. The screen door squeaked as she followed him into the cottage’s main living area. Everything was worn, chipped, and homey, authentic shabby chic instead of the overpriced decorator variety. Off-white walls, a cozy couch with a faded floral print, battered brass lamps, a scrubbed pine chest…She poked her head into a tiny kitchen with an old-fashioned gas stove. A door next to the refrigerator led to a shady, screened-in porch. She walked outside and saw a glider, bent willow chairs, and an ancient drop-leaf table with two painted wooden chairs.

Heath came up behind her. “No sirens, no garbage trucks, no car alarms. I’ve forgotten what real quiet sounds like.”

She drew in the damp, cool smell of vegetation. “It’s so private. It feels like a nest.”

“It’s nice.”

This was too much coziness for her, and she slipped back inside. The rest of the cottage consisted of an old-fashioned bathroom along with two bedrooms, the largest of which held a double bed with an iron headboard. And two suitcases…“Heath?”

He poked his head through the door. “Yeah?”

She gestured toward his suitcase. “You left something in here.”

“Just until we flip for the big bed.”

“Nice try. It’s my party. You get the kiddy bedroom.”

“I’m the client, and this one looks more comfortable.”

“I know. Which is why I’m taking it.”

“Fine,” he said with a surprising display of good humor. “I’ll drag that other mattress onto the porch. I can’t remember the last time I slept outside.” He tossed her suitcase up on the bed then handed her an envelope with her name on it in Molly’s handwriting. “I found this in the kitchen.”

She pulled out a note written on Molly’s new line of Nightingale Woods stationery. “Molly says this is one of her favorite cottages and she hopes we like it. The refrigerator’s stocked with necessities, and there’s a cookout on the beach at six o’clock.” The P.S. Annabelle kept to herself.



Do not do anything stupid!



“Fill me in on this book club.” He moved his suitcase out of the way and set a shoulder against the doorjamb as she slipped the note inside the pocket of her slacks. “How did you get involved?”

“Through Molly.” She unzipped her suitcase. “We’ve been meeting once a month for the past two years. Last year Phoebe said she thought it would be fun if we all went away for a weekend. I think she had a spa in mind, but Janine and I couldn’t afford it—Janine writes young adult books—so Molly jumped in and said we should all come to the campground. Before long, the men were involved.”

Annabelle and Janine were two of only three book club members not directly associated with the Stars. The other was Heath’s dream woman, Gwen. Fortunately, she and Ian were closing on their new house this weekend and couldn’t come.

Heath gave a soft whistle. “This is one hell of a book club. Phoebe and Molly. Didn’t you mention Ron McDermitt’s wife?”

She nodded and flipped open her suitcase. “Sharon used to teach nursery school. She keeps us in line.”

“And now she’s married to the Stars’ general manager. I’ve met her.” He gazed directly at the bras and panties lying on top, but his mind was on business, not underwear. “At the party, Phoebe mentioned Darnell. That can only be Darnell Pruitt.”