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Meet Me Where the Windrush Flows

By Valerie Massey Goree

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CHAPTER 1
Bourton-on-the-Water, Gloucestershire, England
Autumn
With the small bag of groceries casually slung over his shoulder, Logan Quinn strode across one of the stone footbridges spanning the River Windrush. The gentle waterway meandered through Bourton in no hurry to join the Dikler River south of the village. Since it was a beautiful, cool day and the fall colors were magnificent, he took his time returning to the cottage. However, the peaceful setting had been marred by three teenagers who rode bicycles up and down High Street and seemed intent on crossing all five bridges, none of which had handrails. He kept a wary eye on them as they rode along the paved area beside the river. They swerved, crossed the vehicular bridge, and zig-zagged around pedestrians on the sidewalk.
As Logan passed the outdoor seating area of The Corner Inn, a young man seated at one of the tables yelled, “Grace, your order’s ready.” The man looked toward the footbridge on the right of the main crossing, then turned to his companions. “Did she find her other hearing aid?”
Logan slowed his steps and noticed the woman standing on the bridge. She examined her cell phone, head down, and didn’t respond to her friend. Raucous conversation alerted Logan to the teens approaching that bridge. If the young woman had lost a hearing aid, she probably wouldn’t hear the oncoming assault. His frantic gaze flew from the approaching bikers to Grace. They weren’t paying any attention to their surroundings and probably wouldn’t consider the fate of anyone in their way.
He dropped the grocery bag, hurried toward Grace, waved, and shouted a warning, but she didn’t react. He reached her, and her head jerked up as she shoved her phone into the pocket of her jeans. No sense trying to explain what he was about to do. He picked her up and carried her off the bridge just as the trio of bikers rushed across. Two even had their legs sticking out as if to knock a pedestrian into the river.
Although the Windrush meandering through the village was only a foot deep, a fall could result in injury. At first, Grace pummeled Logan with her tiny fists, then when she noticed the danger he’d spared her, she stopped and mumbled, “Thank you.”
Logan made sure to face her when he replied, “You’re welcome. Your friends over there say your order is ready.” He couldn’t help but notice sparkling dark eyes and her refined features in a pale, oval face, black hair in a ponytail, and wide bangs covering her forehead. She was five feet tall at the most, and on closer inspection, he realized she was not as young as he’d initially thought.
Grace walked over to the table where her four friends sat. They had witnessed Logan’s actions. One of the party, a black man with a distinct haircut—shaved back and sides, but long curls on top—stood and held out his hand. “Brilliant save back there.” They shook hands while Grace settled into the empty chair and zipped up her puffy pink jacket.
Color had returned to her cheeks. “Thank you again. Would you like to join us?” An unmistakable American accent.
Although interested in his fellow countryman…woman, he had to decline. “Thanks, but no.” He pointed to his discarded bag. “I need to get the groceries back to the cottage.” Just then, his phone beeped. “Sorry. This might be important.” He stepped away then removed the phone from his jacket pocket and checked the text. Nothing serious. Just Mother asking when he’d be home. About to leave, he couldn’t help but overhear the conversation at the table behind him.
“Do you think the bones I found might be Roman?”
Intrigue stopped him in his tracks. Roman as in Roman ruins? He had to ask. “Excuse me. I heard your question. What…where are these bones? I’m interested in Roman ruins of any kind. While we’ve been in England, I’ve visited many sites. Maybe I can help?”
“Are you an archeologist?” Grace asked.
“No, a doctor, a pediatric surgeon, but I’m taking a break to help my mother.”
“Why?”
If anyone but Grace had asked, he would have responded only with a shrug. “Staying in Bourton-on-the-Water is on her bucket list.”
“What a nice son.”
Debatable. Grace’s reply ruffled his usual calm. His trip to the UK and away from Texas was as much for his benefit as Mother’s. To hide his discomfort, he focused on the petite member of the diverse group. Not young enough to be an archeology student but he couldn’t decide if Grace was the leader. To continue the conversation, he asked, “Did you locate the bones here in Bourton?”
She nodded. “I’m Dr. Grace Gentry, a visiting professor at the University of Oxford. These are my students. We’ve been excavating a site close to the Roman camp at Salmonsbury, and just this morning, we unearthed more skeletal remains, but none were in usual burial sites.”
“What’s the difference?”
Leaning over her plate, Grace forked a piece of chicken into her mouth and didn’t act as if she heard him.
The black man responded. “The finds at this site haven’t been officially authenticated yet, so I’d better not say.”
Logan’s phone buzzed again. “Sorry, that will be Mother wondering where I am. Can I um, get your names or something? I’m very interested in your find.” Not to say your professor.
“Sure.” The man handed him a card. “I’m Marcus Reid, Dr. Gentry’s assistant. We’ll be here a while. The find is on private land so we have no time constraints.”
“Thank you. May I stop by?”
“As long as you don’t interfere. We are not equipped for amateurs.”
Whew. Grace’s words and the scowl she gave him put him in his place.
“Great. Thanks. Um, where are you working?”
After getting a nod from Grace, Marcus said, “Take Station Road to Cemetery Lane. Pass the carp fishing camp. Keep left. Go to the end of the lane and you’ll see a parking area on your right. Walk east between the lakes. Our tent and pop-up canopy are at the far end.”
“Thanks.” With a bounce in his step, he walked up Victoria Street toward the cottage. Aware a man wearing a pale green jacket had been following him, Logan stopped at the corner and glanced over his shoulder. The man slipped down the walkway between the buildings. Hmm. If interested in Logan, the stalker probably knew where he lived. The unsettling feeling of being followed couldn’t dampen his euphoria concerning recent events. His time in Bourton might not be as dull as he’d expected.
Opening the front door, he called, “Sorry it took me so long.”
Mother set a platter of sandwich ingredients on the kitchen table. The stilton cheese had a distinctive aroma. “I was afraid the store didn’t have my baps and you had to go someplace else.”
“Nope.” Logan deposited the contents of the cloth grocery bag onto the table. “Here are the buns and a bottle of mayonnaise.” He had to agree with Mother. Baps made the best sandwiches he’d tasted in a long time. “Where’s Reggie?”
“Upstairs.”
Logan stepped into the foyer and hollered up the stairs. “Lunch is ready, Reg.”
Mother’s good friend and traveling companion easily negotiated the steep staircase. Although stooped and silver-haired, she had more energy than Logan and Mother combined.
While assembling her sandwich, Reggie asked, “Want to eat in the conservatory?”
“Sure. The sunshine will be most welcome.” Mother carried her plate out and settled at the large refectory table.
During the meal, Logan related his eventful excursion, including every sight and sound, and described the people in as much detail as he could remember. He wanted to be sure to share everything with Mother before she forgot who he was. Early onset Alzheimer’s was the worst way to go.
She dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. “I’m glad you found a Roman interest in the village. That will keep you busy while I finish my crocheting. I love sitting out here. The garden is delightful. So peaceful.” She gazed out the large windows and then sighed. “Just remember you don’t have a stellar track record with women.”
You don’t have to remind me. Not married to the mother of his son. Two broken engagements. Logan hung his head as he gathered the plates and retreated to the kitchen.
Reggie carried her laptop to the conservatory along with Mother’s crocheting bag. The blanket for a friend’s grandbaby was about half complete. Logan hoped Mother’s motor memory would allow her to finish it.
After cleaning the kitchen, he ran up the two flights of stairs to his attic bedroom. The open windows, although small, allowed the cool air to circulate. He flopped onto the single bed, his feet hanging off the bottom. He folded his hands behind his head and stared at the beams in the A-shaped ceiling. As soon as he’d seen Grace on the bridge and became aware of her predicament, he had the instant desire to protect her. When he gazed at her pale face and felt her small fists on his chest, he wanted so much more. He was more than ready to describe his encounter as an attraction at first sight.
Aware of his awful track record and the possibility he’d never see Grace again once he left Bourton, Logan still grinned. His third day in the village had turned out to be positive.
He didn’t regret taking Mother on her bucket list tour of Scotland and England, but he often craved the company of people closer to his age. Voila. Four students and their intriguing professor. He’d rented the cottage for two weeks—Mother’s insistence—so he had time to get to know Grace.
Swinging his legs off the bed, he set his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands. Although he’d love to follow Grace back to Oxford when she and her team completed their excavation, Mother’s needs came first. She had several places in London she wanted to visit, and then Dover and Brighton. They had open return tickets, and drawing on his professional skills, he’d gauge when to return home.
Return to what? He stood and paced to the doorway and back. His career and reputation were ruined when a colleague blamed him for his fatal misdiagnosis. Logan was not looking forward to the arduous task of clearing his name.
In the meantime, he would ask Reggie to take Mother to the Model Village tomorrow so he could visit the dig site and get to know little Dr. Gentry.

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