Share the Moon. Sharon Struth
tucked the dirty wipe in his jacket pocket. “My family came here for a couple of summers. Close to thirty years ago.”
Sophie studied him again. Summer vacationers passed through here with the blur of a relay race.
He brushed a dead leaf off the knee of his faded, well-pressed jeans. “Such a great little town.” He scanned the main street, unhurried and relaxed, then took a deep breath, as if to savor a nostalgic moment. “Quintessential New England.”
Although she’d lived all her forty-four years in Northbridge, she looked around with him. A few cars parked on the road near a long row of pre-WWI buildings, now housing retailers who had serviced the town’s residents for countless decades, such as Handyman Hardware and Walker’s Drugs. The retail stretch was sandwiched between her favorite place to eat, Sunny Side Up, a metal-sided, trolley car-shaped diner and the weathered façade of Griswold’s Café. The popular hangout for waterfront meals had a karaoke night the locals rarely missed.
She examined his profile again. Surely she hadn’t forgotten someone with such a sexy full lower lip and strong chin?
“I can’t imagine anybody being unhappy here,” he said, his tone quiet.
She held in the urge to retort with a cynical remark. Every time she stuck a foot out of town, circumstances jerked her back. “Too bad you picked today to return. Most of our visitors enjoy the warmer weather.”
“I’m house hunting.”
“Oh. Well, we have a lot of summer residents.”
“I want a year-round place.”
The absent wedding ring held renewed interest. “Where are you from?”
“Manhattan.”
She adjusted her crooked scarf. “Living here will be a big change.”
“I know. I’ve always loved this place, though.” He reached out and tenderly brushed a leaf off Sophie’s shoulder. His gaze flowed down her body like a slow trickle of water.
An unexpected burn raced up her cheeks.
He lifted his brows. “Hey, I never knew the lake went by another name. The town website said the original name came from an old Native American word.”
She nodded. “Puttacawmaumschuckmaug Lake.” The long name rolled off her tongue with ease, the pronunciation a rite of passage for anyone born and raised around the body of water. “It either means ‘at the large fishing place near the rock’ or ‘huge rock on the border.’”
“What?” He chuckled. “Puttamaum…”
She shook her head and repeated the difficult word.
“Puttacawsch—”
“Nope. It’s a toughie. That’s why a reporter who visited here at the turn of the century suggested in his column we change the name. He said the water’s beauty was as rare as a blue moon, and the phrase stuck.”
He grinned, easy and confident. “My kids will love this place.”
Kids? Sophie buried her disappointment. “Are you and your wife looking at the other towns bordering the water?”
“No. I like Northbridge. Oh, and I’m not married,” he said matter-of-factly. His gaze arm-twisted her for a response.
She wanted to fan her hot cheeks but instead regrouped while pointing across the lake. “If you have a spare few hundred thousand and want to help the town out, take a look at Tate Farm. A developer wants to buy it to put up a large resort. Maybe you can outbid the guy.”
“Oh?”
“Uh-huh. There’s a public hearing tonight.”
The hearing would be her first chance to meet the corporate vipers from Resort Group International face-to-face and she couldn’t wait to hammer firm president, Duncan Jamieson, with some tough questions. With any luck the zoning board would vote down their request so the offer she’d made, along with her dad and brother, would be back in play.
The stranger’s brows furrowed and he stroked his chin.
“Don’t worry. I’m confident our zoning board will vote no on their proposal and keep the nasty developer away. By the way, I’m Sophie.”
He dropped his gaze to the ground for a millisecond then looked back up. “I’m Carter.”
If Nana were still alive, she’d have said in her thick Scottish brogue, “Verra good sign, Sophie. Carter comes from the word cart: someone who moves things.” Nana held great stock in the art of name meanings.
He’d certainly moved Sophie.
Matt’s rusty sedan whipped into the lot, ending the lusty thoughts. Her son hurried over, unease covering every corner of his face. “Sorry I’m late.”
“What took you so long?”
“Grandpa called to make sure I helped you.” He dragged his hand through his messy dirty-blond hair. “We were talkin’.”
She had her suspicions about the topic but rather than ask, she introduced him to Carter.
He turned to Matt. “What do you say we let your mom take it easy and we’ll finish this job?”
Matt nodded and trotted to the boats.
At her car, Carter opened the driver’s door. “Better hop in.” His tone lowered. “Your hands were cold before.”
Sophie’s knees softened and she tried to speak, but no sound came out. Turmoil reigned inside her body as he jogged away from her and caught up with Matt.
She tried to shake off the lost control caused by this stranger. This little incident had stolen some of her strength and lately every morsel was necessary to stay afloat. On the roller coaster of life, she had been taking a wild ride. First due to a chance to own the vineyards, giving her a helping hand from her inner grief and fulfilling a life-long dream. Then two weeks ago, RGI had barged into town and yanked her offer from the table.
Carter pointed to a kayak and said something. Matt laughed. The scene made her miss having a man in their household. Her heart softened, awed by the way this knight who’d arrived in a shiny white Camry galloped in and took charge…and how she’d simply let him. Was something good finally stepping into her life?
Disappointment skimmed her chest. Who was she kidding? Nothing would come of this.
Her cynical nature hadn’t developed overnight. Rather, she had soured over time. Lost opportunities, gone due to circumstances beyond her control: Mom’s cancer, Sophie’s unplanned pregnancy, her subsequent marriage to Mike, even her lost bid on the land RGI now wanted.
Time to forget this guy and concentrate on her job. She’d have to work harder than ever to stick to her journalistic creed, but any teeny, albeit truthful, crumb of negative news about RGI or its president, Duncan Jamieson, could sway the scale on the zoning board vote. Then the greedy developer would disappear from Northbridge forever.
Her family wanted that land. Land their ancestors were the first to settle back in 1789. Land where the winery plans of their dreams could come to life. The most important reason, though, was protecting the sacred place where her firstborn son, Henry, had died.
Chapter 2
A long line of cars pulled into the well-lit high school parking lot, higher than usual volume for a public hearing. Sophie grabbed her bag and hurried toward the entrance, hoping she could still get a seat up front.
As she neared the large regional high school, she passed a noisy group standing in a circle at the front of the building, chanting the plea “Save our Lake.” Their signs bore the acronym “S.O.L.E.” stacked on the left and the words, “Save Our Lake’s Environment” extending from each corresponding letter. Protestors weren’t the norm at these types of events and their presence