Donovan gazed out the window as Bryan carried on a brief, monosyllabic conversation. And then Bryan disconnected the call and brought Donovan out of his morose musings with an exclamation of satisfaction. “Ah. This is the cabin, I think. Nice, isn’t it?”
Donovan studied the neat log cabin in front of them. A pleasant place—well-tended flower beds, a big, inviting porch, nice river view—but it was hardly as luxurious as Bryan’s vacation home in Missouri. That one obviously belonged to a very wealthy man; this one looked like a middle-class weekend cottage. There wasn’t even a security system, as far as he could tell.
“It has potential, I guess,” he said to Bryan. “You could probably put a gate at the end of this driveway, maybe fence the boundaries of the lot.”
“Turn this pretty place into a fortress? That would be a shame, don’t you think?”
“I think a man in your position has to be more concerned about security than the average fisherman—as you should know very well by now,” Donovan retorted.
“Ever since Childers went nuts and implemented that crazy kidnapping plan, you’ve been more protective than an old nanny,” Bryan scolded indulgently. “Might I remind you that Jason is my security chief, not you?”
“So why isn’t he with you today?”
“Because I want the opinion of a friend, not a paid advisor.”
Though this whole plan still seemed impulsive and illogical to Donovan, he decided to humor his friend for now. “Okay, let’s go check the place out. You have a key?”
“Of course.”
As Donovan followed Bryan into the cabin, he was reminded again of middle-income suburbia. No professional decorator had stepped foot through these doors. The furnishings and decor looked as though they’d been assembled during years of family vacations and long weekends. Some of his and Bryan’s wealthy friends would have turned up their noses in scorn at what they would have considered such primitive accommodations—but Donovan rather liked it. It was…comfortable. Inviting. Homey.
Bryan rubbed the back of his neck as he looked around. “Nice,” he murmured, “but I don’t know if it’s exactly what I have in mind.”
If Bryan decided he didn’t want the place, Donovan thought he might consider buying it himself. He didn’t have to worry about security as much as Bryan—not usually, anyway. And while he hadn’t been in the habit of taking leisurely weekends away from work before now, he’d been considering making some changes in his routines. A man needed something besides work in his life, he had recently concluded. Maybe he should take up fishing.
He wandered to the far side of the room, looking out through the wall of glass there. “There’s a rock walkway that leads down to the river.”
“Why don’t you check it out while I look around a bit more in here?” Bryan suggested. “I’ll join you down by the river shortly.”
Bryan must have sensed that he was feeling drawn to the river. He nodded and reached for the handle of the French doors that led out onto a big wooden deck.
“Donovan.”
He paused and looked over his shoulder. “Yes?”
“Sometimes decisions have to be made with the heart, not the head, to be right. Keep that in mind, will you?”
Frowning, Donovan blurted, “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Just remember what I said.” Bryan’s smile looked a little smug and just a bit wistful. “Go on down to the river. I’ll see you later.”
Closing the door behind him, Donovan shook his head as he carefully descended the steps to the rock walkway. He still wore a walking cast, but it was hidden beneath his loose slacks and he’d gotten used to getting around in it.
As he walked, he wondered if Bryan could be going through some sort of midlife crisis, though thirty-eight seemed a bit early for midlife. He had done and said some strange things lately, leaving Donovan struggling to keep up. What was that stuff about making decisions with the heart? Was he talking about this place? Pointing out that sometimes a decision felt right even when it didn’t seem logical? If Bryan wanted to buy this cabin despite the drawbacks, Donovan certainly wouldn’t try to stop him.
Someone was standing beside the river on the other side of a stand of trees that had blocked the view from the cabin. It was a woman, dressed in a pink tank top beneath suspendered fishing waders, standing with her back to him. A floppy hat covered her short hair, and a fly rod lay on the ground beside her, although she wasn’t fishing at the moment. She was just standing there, looking out at the water, seemingly lost in her thoughts.
She, too, looked like Chloe, he thought with a scowl. He really was seeing her everywhere.
He was just about to turn around and leave her to her privacy when she suddenly knelt down, picked up a stone and threw it at the water. It was an obvious attempt to skip the rock across the water—but the angle was all wrong. The rock sank with a splash.
The woman’s exasperated mutter carried on a soft breeze to where he stood.
His hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Chloe,” he said, hardly aware that he’d said her name aloud.
She froze, then jerked around to face him, her eyes wide beneath the brim of her floppy fishing hat. “Donovan! What are you doing here?”
Chapter Fifteen