She closed the door and sagged into Abigail’s favorite chair, ignoring Conan’s interested look as she pressed a hand to her mouth.
What just happened here? She had no idea a simple kiss could be so devastatingly intense.
She had certainly kissed men before. She’d been engaged, for heaven’s sake. She had enjoyed those kisses and even the few times she and her fiancé had gone further than kisses.
But she had always thought something was a little wrong with her in that department. While she enjoyed the closeness, she had never experienced the raw, heart-pounding desire, the wild churn in her stomach, that other women talked about.
Until tonight.
Just another reason why her reaction to a wounded soldier was both unreasonable and dangerous. She wanted to throw every caution to the wind and just enjoy the moment with him.
How on earth was she going to make it through the next few months with him living just upstairs?
Julia and the twins would be back in a week. Their presence would at least provide a buffer between her and Max.
Whether she wanted it or not.
She didn’t see Max Saturday morning before she left for the store. His SUV was gone and the lights were off on the third floor, she saw with some relief as she backed her van out through a misting rain that clung to her windshield and shimmered on the boughs of the Sitka spruce around Brambleberry House.
He must have left while she was in the shower, since his vehicle had been parked in the driveway next to hers when she returned with Conan from their morning walk on the beach earlier.
She spent a moment as she drove to By-the-Wind wondering where he might have gone for the day. Maybe the Portland Saturday Market? That was one of her favorite outings when she had the time and she was almost certain this was the opening weekend of the season. But would Lieutenant Maxwell really enjoy wandering through stalls of produce and flowers and local handicrafts? She couldn’t quite imagine it.
Whatever he had chosen to do with his Saturday was none of her business, she reminded herself. She only hoped he didn’t overdo.
She had fretted half the night that he wouldn’t be able to get up and down the stairs with his ankle, that he would be trapped up on the third floor with no way of calling for help.
It was ridiculous, she knew. The man was a trained army helicopter pilot who had survived a crash, for heaven’s sake, and she had no idea what else during his service in the Middle East. A twisted ankle was probably nothing to someone who had spent several months in the hospital recovering from his injuries.
Her worry was obviously all for nothing. With no help whatsoever from her or Conan, he had managed to get down the stairs, obviously, and even behind the wheel of his vehicle.
Since he was apparently mobile, she needed to stop worrying about the man, especially since she had a million other things within her control she could be stressing over.
She barely had time to even think about Max throughout the morning. Helen Lansing, her wonderful assistant manager who led the weekly preschool story hour on Saturday mornings—complete with elaborate puppets and endless energy—called in tears, with a terrible migraine.
“Don’t worry about it,” Anna told her as she mentally reshuffled her day. “Just go lie down in a quiet, dark room until you feel better. Michael and I can handle story hour.”
The rain—or probably their parents’ cabin fever—brought a larger than average crowd to the story hour. It might have been not quite as slick and polished as Helen’s shows usually were but the children still seemed to enjoy it—and as a business owner, she certainly enjoyed the sales generated by their parents as they waited for their little ones.
By the time the last child left just before lunch, she was ready for a little quiet.
“I’ll be in the office for a few moments working on invoices,” she told Michael and Kae, her two clerks. “Yell if you need help.”
She had just settled into her desk chair when her office phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number and she answered rather impatiently.
“Sorry. Is this a bad time?”
Her mood instantly lifted at the voice on the other end of the line. “Sage! No, of course it’s not a bad time. It’s never a bad time when you call. How are you? How are Eben and Chloe?”
There was an odd delay on the line, as if the signal had to travel a long distance, though the reception was clear enough.
“Wonderful. Guess where I’m calling from?”
Eben owned a chain of hotels around the world and he and Sage frequently traveled between them, taking his daughter, Chloe.
Last month Sage had called her from Denmark and the month before had been Japan.
“Um, New York City?” she guessed.
“A little farther south. We’re in Patagonia!”
“Really? I didn’t know Spencer Hotels had a location down there.”
“We don’t. But Eben’s considering it. He wants to capitalize on the high-end ecotourism trend so we’re scouting locations. Chloe is having a blast. Just yesterday we went horseback riding through scenery so incredible, you can’t imagine. You should have seen her up on that horse, just like she’s been riding her whole life.”
Sage’s love for her stepdaughter warmed Anna’s heart. When she and Sage inherited Brambleberry House, she used to be so envious of Sage for her vivid, outgoing personality.
Sage was much like Abigail in that every time she walked into a room, she walked out of it again with several new friends.
Anna never realized until they had become close friends how Sage’s exuberance masked a deep loneliness.
That was gone now. Sage and Eben—and Chloe—were genuinely happy together.
“Sounds like you’re having a wonderful time.”
“We are. And how are things there? What’s going on with the trial? I tried to call a few times last week to check in and got your voice mail.”
“I know. I got your message. I’m sorry I haven’t called you back. I’ve just been busy…”
Her voice trailed off and she sighed, unable to lie to her friend. “Okay, truth. I purposely didn’t call you back.”
“Ouch. Screening my calls now?”
“Of course not. You know I love you. I just…I didn’t really want to talk about the trial,” she finally admitted.
“That bad?”
The sympathy in Sage’s voice traveled all the way across the phone line from Patagonia and tears stung behind her eyes.
“Not at all, if you enjoy public humiliation.”
“Oh, honey. I’m so sorry. I should have been there. I’ve been thinking all week that I should have just ignored you when you said you didn’t want either Julia or me to come with you. You’re always so blasted independent but sometimes you need to have a friend in your corner. I should have been there.”
“Completely not necessary. We’re on the homestretch now. The defense should wrap up Monday, with closing arguments Tuesday, and a verdict sometime after that.”
“I’m coming home,” she said after that short delay. “I should be there with you, at least for the verdict.”
“You absolutely are not!”
“You’re my friend. I can’t let you go through this on your own, Anna.”
“I can handle it.”
She would rather have her tongue chopped into little pieces than admit to Sage how very much she longed for her friends to lean on right now.
“You handle everything. I know. And usually you do a marvelous job at it. But you shouldn’t have to bear this burden by yourself.”
“If you cut short your dream trip to Patagonia with your family on my account, I will never forgive you, Sage Benedetto-Spencer. I mean it. You and Eben have already done more than enough.”
“I should be there.”
“You should be exactly where you are, horseback riding through incredible scenery with your husband and daughter.”
Sage was silent for a moment and Anna thought perhaps the
tenuous connection had been severed. “And you have to deal with a new tenant in the middle of all this, too. He’s arriving any day now, isn’t he?”
She rolled a pencil between her fingers. “Actually, he showed up a few days ago.”
“And…?” Sage prompted.
“And what?” she said, stalling.
“What’s he like?”
She had a wild, visceral image of his mouth on hers, of those strong muscles surrounding her, of his skin, warm and hard beneath her exploring fingertips.
How should she answer that? He was gorgeous and stubborn and infuriating and his kiss was magic.
“I don’t really know. He’s only been there a few days. So far everything has been…fine.”
It was a vast understatement and she could only be grateful Sage was thousands of miles away and not watching her out of those knowing eyes of hers that missed nothing.
“Any sign of Abigail since your wounded soldier showed up or is she giving him a wide berth?”
“No ghostly manifestations, no. Everything has been quiet on the paranormal front.”
“What about Conan? Does he like him?”
“Well, he did try to attack him last night in my apartment, but other than that, they get along fine.”
“Excuse me? He attacked him? Our fierce and mighty watchdog Conan, who would probably lick an intruder to death?”
She sighed, wishing she’d kept her big mouth shut. Sage was far too perceptive and Anna had a sudden suspicion she would read far more into the situation.
“He and Conan went hiking yesterday on Neah-Kah-Nie Mountain and Lieutenant Maxwell fell and was scraped up a bit. He’s already got an injury from a helicopter crash so it was hard for him to tend his wounds by himself but he’s the, uh, prickly, independent type. He wasn’t thrilled about me having to bandage his cuts. But Conan and I can both be persuasive.”
“Okay, now things are getting interesting. Forget some stupid old trial. Now I want to know everything about the new tenant. Tell me more.”
“There’s nothing to tell, Sage. I promise.”
Other than that she had kissed him and made of fool of herself over him and then spent the night wrapped in feverish dreams that left her achy and restless.
“What does he look like?”
Anna closed her eyes and was chagrined when his image appeared, hazel eyes and dark hair and too-serious mouth.
“He looks like he’s been in a hospital too long and is hungry for fresh air and sunlight. Conan adores him and is already extremely protective of him. That’s what last night was about. Conan didn’t want him to go up the stairs until I’d taken a look at his swollen ankle.”
“And did you? Get a good look, I mean?”
Better than she should have. “Sage, drop it. There’s nothing between me and Lieutenant Maxwell. I’m not interested in a relationship right now. I can’t afford to be. When would I have the time, for heaven’s sake, even if I had the energy? Besides, I obviously can’t be trusted to pick out a decent man for myself since my judgment is so abysmal.”
“That’s why you need to let Abigail and Conan do it for you. Look how well things turned out for Julia and for me?”
Anna laughed, feeling immeasurably better about life, as she always did after talking to Sage. “So what you’re saying is that a fictitious octogenarian spirit and a mixed-breed mutt have better taste in men than I do. Okay. Good to know. If I ever decide to date again—highly doubtful at this point in my life—I’ll bring every man home to Brambleberry House before the second date.”
They talked a few moments longer, then she heard Chloe calling Sage’s name. “You’d better go. Thanks for calling, Sage. I promise, I’ll call you as soon as I know anything about the verdict.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me there?”
“Absolutely positive. When you and Eben and Chloe come back to Cannon Beach at Easter, we’ll have an all-nighter and we can read the court transcripts together.”
“Ooh, can we do parts? I’ve got the perfect voice for that weasel Grayson Fletcher.”
She pitched her voice high and nasal, not at all like Gray’s smooth baritone, but it still made Anna laugh. “Deal. I’ll see you then.”
She hung up the phone a few moments later, her heart much lighter as she focused on all the wonderful ways her life had changed in the last year.
Yes, she’d had a rough few months and the trial was excruciatingly humiliating.
But she had many more blessings than hardships. She considered Sage the very best gift Abigail had bequeathed to her after her death. Better than the house or the garden or all the antique furniture in the world.
The two of them had always had a cool relationship while Abigail was alive, perhaps afflicted by a little subtle rivalry. Both of them had loved Abigail and perhaps had wanted her affection for themselves.
Being forced to live together in Brambleberry House had brought them closer and they had found much common ground in their shared grief for their friend. She now considered Sage and Julia Blair her richest blessings, the two best friends she’d ever known.
She had a beautiful home on the coast, she had close friends who loved and supported her, she had two businesses she was working to rebuild.
The last thing she needed was a wounded soldier to complicate things and leave her aching for all she didn’t have.
Chapter Eight
Few things could send his blood pumping like a heavy storm roiling in off the ocean.
Max walked along the wide sandy beach with Conan on his leash, watching the churn of black-edged clouds way out on the far horizon. Even from here, he could see the froth of the sea, a writhing mass of deep, angry green.
It wouldn’t be here for some time yet but the air had that expectant quality to it, as if everything along the coast was just waiting. Already the wind had picked up and the gulls seemed frantic as they soared and dived through the sky, driven by an urgency to fill their stomachs and head for shelter somewhere.
At moments like this, Max sometimes wondered if he should have picked a career in the coast guard.
He could have flown helicopters there, swift, agile little Sikorsky Jayhawks, flying daredevil rescues on the ocean while waves buffeted the belly of his bird.
He had always loved the ocean, especially this ocean—its moods and its piques and the sheer magnificence of it.
Conan sniffed at a clump of seaweed and Max paused to let him take his time at it. Though he didn’t want to admit it, he was grateful for the chance to rest for a moment.
Considering his body felt as if it had been smashed against the rocks at the headland, he figured he was doing pretty well. A run had been out of the question, with his ankle still on the swollen side, but a walk had helped loosen everything up and he felt much better.
The ocean always seemed to calm him. He used to love to race down from the house the moment Abigail returned to Brambleberry House from picking him up at the airport in Portland. She would follow after him, laughing as he would shuck off his shoes and socks for that first frigid dip of his toes in the water.
Max couldn’t explain it, but some part of him was connected to this part of the planet, by some invisible tie binding him to this particular meshing of land and sea and sky.
He had traveled extensively around the world during his youth as his mother moved from social scene to social scene—in the days before Meredith sent him to military school. He had served tours of duty in far-flung spots from Latin America to Germany to the gulf and had seen many gorgeous places in every corner of the planet.
But no place else ever filled him with this deep sense of homecoming as he found here on the Oregon coast.
He didn’t quite understand it, especially since he had spent much longer stretches of time in other locations. When people in social or professional situations asked him where he was from, as Anna had done at breakfast the other day, he always gave some vague answer about moving around a lot when he was kid.
But in his heart, when he thought about home, he thought of Brambleberry House and Cannon Beach.
He sighed. Ridiculous. It wasn’t his. Abigail had decided two strangers deserved the place more and at this point he didn’t think he could do a damn thing about it.
If his military career was indeed over, he was going to have to consider his options. Maybe he would just buy a fishing boat and a little house near Yachats or Newport and spend his days out on the water.
It wasn’t a bad scenario. So why couldn’t he drum up a little more enthusiasm for it, or for any of the other possibilities he’d been trying to come up with since doctors first dared suggest he might not ever regain full use of his arm?
He flexed his shoulder as he watched the gulls struggle against the increasing wind. They ought to just give up now, he thought, before the wind made it impossible for them to fly. But they kept at it. Indeed, they seemed to revel in the challenge.
He sighed as his ankle throbbed from being in one place too long. He felt weaker than a damn seagull in that headwind right now.
“Come on, Conan. We’d better head back.”
The dog made a definite face at him but gave one last sniff in the sand and followed as Max led the way back up the beach toward Brambleberry House.
The storm clouds were edging closer and he figured they had maybe an hour before the real fun started.
Good. Maybe a hard thunder-bumper would drive this restlessness out of him.
He was grateful for his fleece jacket now as the temperature already seemed to have dropped a dozen degrees or more, just in the time since they set off.
The moment he opened the beach access gate at Brambleberry House, Conan bounded inside, barking like crazy as if he had been gone for months.
Max managed to control him enough to get the leash off and the dog jumped around with excitement.
“You like storms, too, don’t you? I bet they remind you of Aunt Abigail, right?”
The dog barked in that spooky way he had of acting as if he understood every word, then he took off around a corner of the house.
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