Always on My Mind

by Susan May Warren

  Clearly Darek had kept a few secrets from his parents.

  Amelia sighed and pushed her food away. “I . . . I’m not hungry.”

  “Amelia—”

  But she got up, shook her head, dropped her napkin on the table. “If you’ll please excuse me . . .”

  Casper had never heard her use so many manners in one sentence.

  His gaze fell on his mother, who was watching her go. He was a little surprised that Ingrid didn’t trail after her. Especially when his sister stifled a sob as she climbed the stairs.

  Casper raised an eyebrow.

  “She . . . needs some room,” John finally said.

  Casper glanced at his mother again, pushing her noodles and sauce around the plate. Right. Okay. “Hey, Dad, what do you know about Thor Wilder?”

  John glanced upstairs, toward Amelia’s room. Sighed. “Um, I don’t know. I mean, he owned the trading post for a long while. His family tree goes back to the early traders in this area. One of his ancestors—I think it might have been an uncle—owned the fish house in town. Why?”

  “Well, you remember the old Duncan Rothe mystery?”

  John chuckled low. “I know it put a lot of dreams in your head—probably what started your love of history.”

  “I’m working for the historical society now and—”

  “That’s so wonderful, honey.” Ingrid’s hand went to his arm. Squeezed. Her eyes were wet, and even as she did it, she glanced upstairs. Then back to him for a smile. Forced.

  Oh, boy. Something with Amelia had managed to tie his parents into a knot.

  “Yeah. Edith Draper is beside herself with joy.”

  His dad laughed at that.

  “So—I found this wedding dress from a collection of artifacts from Mineral Springs, and it had the initials C. A. F. on it. I did some sleuthing and found a connection to Duncan Rothe and Aggie Wilder.”

  “Really. How do you do that?” His mother looked impressed, and it sent a spark of warmth into Casper. Maybe, for the first time, his parents didn’t think him a complete dreamer.

  “Raina has this journal she got from Aggie’s estate, and it mentions Duncan in it . . .”

  The silence around the table could slice his words, leave them lying in pieces on the table.

  His father put down his fork. Exhaled.

  “Did you say Raina?” This from Ingrid. She flicked a glance at John. “She’s back in town?”

  Oops. Casper nodded. Suddenly the magnitude of Raina’s secrets—and her absence over the past six months—rolled into a smoldering, inescapable ember in his chest. What a fool to think he could somehow keep her pregnancy, their grandchild, the adoption, hidden from his parents. From Owen.

  Casper just might be walking around with the truth tattooed on his face for the way he felt himself going white.

  His father even noticed. “Casper, are you okay? You look—listen, I know you had a summer fling—”

  “It was more than a fling, Dad.”

  He didn’t know where that came from, but hearing fling on his father’s lips made what they’d had sound tawdry and trite.

  That was Owen. Not him.

  “I really cared—care about her.”

  “Oh, Casper, please tell me you’re not mixed up with her again,” his mother said.

  For a moment Casper, too, had lost his appetite. But yeah, maybe they had a right to be worried. “It’s all good. I’m over her. We’re friends—”

  “Casper,” his dad started.

  “Dad, really. Sure, I had feelings for her. I thought I loved her.” He felt his mother’s hand on his arm. Wanted to shake it away but decided not to hurt her. “But I realize that maybe I’m not supposed to be in her life like that. Maybe I’m supposed to be . . . I dunno . . . light to her.”

  “Light?”

  “You know—patience? Kindness? Prayer?”

  His dad considered him so long that Casper examined his own words to see if he meant them.

  Yes, of course he did. Friends. Light.

  His mom squeezed his arm again. “If anyone can be light to her, Son, it’s you. I like Raina; I really do. But she is a hurt and broken soul, not a little lost.”

  “I’m not trying to save her, Mom. Nor fix her, I promise.”

  She patted his arm once, then let go. “I’m so glad to have you back. I missed you.”

  “I missed you too. Now tell me about Paris.”

  GRACE WOULD BE so proud of her. Raina opened the oven, the fragrance of bubbling mozzarella, basil, and tomato sauce seasoning the kitchen. She donned hot pads and pulled out the sizzling pan of lasagna, setting it on the stovetop.

  See, she could open the fridge and concoct something wonderful too. Just like Grace Christiansen.

  And just like Grace, she had a beautiful man to cook for. She peeked toward the door, then the clock. Maybe she’d misheard Monte.

  She covered the casserole with tinfoil to retain the heat, then walked over to the kitchen table and blew out the flickering taper candles. The smoke twined into the family room, leaving behind an acrid scent.

  Outside, night bled through the windows, her porch light glowing like a beacon against the swirling snow.

  Maybe she should cover the Caesar salad—

  Footsteps outside; then the door handle turned. Monte came charging in, closing the door behind him, stamping his feet on the mat. “The cold will take a man’s skin off.” He turned and smiled at her, chasing away the knot in her gut.

  “Hi. You’re late.” She didn’t mean for it to come out that way—an accusation—but clearly he read into her words because he frowned as he shrugged off his jacket.

  “Yeah, and—? I was working, Raina. A man has to do that.” He hung the coat on the rack behind the door.

  “I’m sorry. I just meant I was worried.”

  “Don’t worry about me, sugar.” He winked at her, his scowl gone. “You just worry about supper. Wow, that smells good.”

  She grinned as he crossed the room.

  How had she landed such a handsome gentleman? Wide shoulders under a cream sweater tapering down to a thin waist, a pair of crisp jeans. He came up to her, caught her face in his cold hands, lifted it to his. His hazel eyes held hers. “Miss me?”

  She nodded, and he pressed a kiss to her lips, something solid and urgent as if he’d been waiting all day to kiss her.

  She kissed him back and tasted the faintest hint of something tangy—beer?—on his breath. But his eyes seemed clear and she guessed she’d imagined it.

  “You are so pretty when you’re wearing an apron.” He winked again, then moved past her into the kitchen.

  “Lasagna.”

  “I love lasagna.” He leaned over the stove, lifting one edge of the tinfoil. “My mother used to make us lasagna. Never did meet a woman who could compare.” He smiled, a hint of challenge, maybe even delight, in his expression. “Until now, hopefully.”

  Her heartbeat quickened. “I didn’t follow a recipe—it’s something I learned from Grace Christiansen. She has this ability to open a refrigerator and just . . . cook something. I’ve always wanted to do that.”

  “Let’s hope it tastes good.” He laughed and tweaked her cheek as he walked into the other room. “By the way, I know about you and Casper.”

  She was lifting the casserole dish with the hot pads when he said it and didn’t know why the comment strummed unease in her. She brought the casserole to the table.

  Monte was looking through the mail at Liza’s rolltop desk, his back to her.

  She frowned at him, trying to shrug away the invasion of her privacy. Probably he was just killing time. “That was a long time ago.”

  He didn’t look at her.

  “Really, Monte. Casper is . . . he’s just a friend now.”

  He put the mail down, came up to her. “I know.” He looked at her, his eyes calm, cool. She felt his hands at her waist and realized he was untying her apron. Then he tugged it over her head and tossed it to the floor
near the stove.

  She went to retrieve it, but his hand on her arm guided her to the chair he’d pulled out for her. “Sit. I’ll get it. Do you want a Coke?”

  She nodded. “But I can get it—”

  “Sit.” He moved toward the fridge. “I got it.”

  She sat, her hands folded in her lap, watching as he picked up the apron, wadded it onto the counter, then retrieved two cans from the refrigerator. He stopped as he closed it to consider the pictures tacked under magnets—pictures of Liza and Raina and one of the dragon boat team from last summer. She’d forgotten about that.

  They wore matching lime-green shirts, grinned at the camera, paddles in hand. In the picture, Casper’s hand touched her shoulder, a shine in his eyes under his crazy red bandanna.

  If she wanted to, she could too easily return to the smells of summer, the triumphant warmth of the sun, the moment before everything dissolved with a positive pregnancy test.

  Monte returned and set a can in front of her. Sat down and smiled. “So what have you been up to today?”

  Raina picked up the knife and drew it through the casserole, then reached for the flat spatula. “I cleaned Aggie’s house, then went over to the store and helped your grandpa clean and package a wire basket filled with old milk jugs he sold on eBay.”

  He held up his plate for her. “This looks perfect. I’m so hungry. I drove from Duluth today, after spending the day at an estate sale.”

  “How was it?”

  “Fantastic. I sold a walnut dining room set for twice what it was worth, and—what is this stuff?”

  He had cut a piece of the lasagna and put it in his mouth. Now he grabbed a napkin and emptied the bite into it. “That’s horrible.”

  “It is?” She took a bite. The basil and tomato sauce sank into her tongue, perfectly seasoned, the eggplant decadent and rich.

  She swallowed, not sure . . . “Did you get a bad piece?”

  He made a face. “What kind of lasagna is this?”

  “Eggplant.”

  “Seriously?” He drank his Coke down. “Wow. Maybe we should just leave the cooking for the local pizza joint, huh?” He rested his hand on her arm, his eyes soft. “Nice try, though. Next time you decide to root around in the fridge, look for the peanut butter and jelly, okay?” He laughed. “How about if I order us a pizza while you throw this out.”

  Raina watched him, her chest hollow, as he stood, pulled out his cell phone. She retrieved her hot pads and brought the dinner to the kitchen. Debated throwing it in the trash.

  Glancing over her shoulder, she saw him in the next room, pacing, ordering.

  Tucking the tinfoil around the pan, she opened the fridge and set it inside.

  Not everyone liked eggplant, no big deal.

  By the time she’d returned, Monte had dished himself a Caesar salad. “This is fantastic.”

  Raina decided not to mention that it had come from a prepackaged bag. “Thanks for ordering pizza,” she said quietly.

  “No problem, sweetie. That’s what I’m here for—glad to save the day.” He gave her a warm grin. “So what’s the latest on your search through Aggie’s things? Any more connections to Duncan Rothe?”

  At her silence, he looked at her. “Raina?”

  But she had tucked herself back in her moment with Casper, seeing his blue eyes, hearing his voice calling her brilliant.

  “Raina?” Monte put down his fork. “You do know that anything you find at Aggie’s belongs to me.” He wiped his mouth.

  She came back to herself, looked at him. “I . . . I haven’t found anything.”

  He sighed. “Good. You’ll let me know if you do, right?”

  For some reason, her upcoming trip with Casper suddenly felt . . . deceitful. “I did find a connection to Aggie and Naniboujou . . .”

  “Really?” He leaned forward, touching her hand. “What kind of connection?”

  Why had she said that? She tried to shrug it away. “I don’t know; I just . . .” She watched his fingers tracing her knuckles.

  “Listen. I’m not stupid. I know Casper has some kind of reputation as a treasure hunter—the rumor around town is that he was trying to find Blackbeard’s gold or something down in the Caribbean. Now he’s back and he’s stirred up this Duncan Rothe garbage.” He took her hand. “You know it’s not true, right?”

  She frowned at him, nodded fast because his eyes told her to.

  “Good. I just don’t want Casper finding a reason to spend any time with you.” He squeezed her hand, maybe a little harder than he’d intended. “Not with my girl.”

  The doorbell rang and he got up, met the pizza delivery, paid. Raina cleared a space at the table, his words sinking in.

  His girl.

  Monte’s girl.

  He opened the pizza box on the table. “I’ll get us clean plates.”

  Maybe she shouldn’t jeopardize anything with Monte by chasing after a silly rumor with Casper. After all, was his friendship so important that she needed to mend it? And what happened when he left on another adventure? She’d be here, building a life with Monte.

  He returned to the table, set the plates on it. “Now this is dinner.” Scooping up a piece, he handed her the plate. “I’ll take you up on that movie tonight.” He put his arm around her and kissed her forehead. “Is that slow enough for you?”

  She laughed, her voice just a little uneasy. “Yeah, perfect.”

  A movie. A pizza. The perfect date.

  Monte sat on the sofa and patted the spot next to him. Raina settled in, drew her legs up. He smelled good—sandalwood and a hint of vanilla in his cologne. He reached around her, put his arm across her shoulders, pulling her to himself as he turned on the television and clicked on the pay-per-view movie choices.

  My girl.

  He pressed a kiss to the back of her head, then picked up his piece of pizza.

  No, she didn’t need Casper or a silly adventure. Not when she had the amazing Monte Riggs.

  Casper deliberately took the main road home from the Wild Harbor. Deliberately did not drive by Raina’s house. Deliberately did not wonder if she was spending her Friday evening with Monte Riggs.

  And deliberately did not wish that instead, Casper and Raina might spend the evening bent over a game of Sorry!

  Most of all, he deliberately kept his thoughts from straying too far ahead, to tomorrow, when he would show Raina that they could be friends.

  To prove it, he prayed that tonight, as the temperature dropped to negative ten, she would be safe and warm. And find a measure of happiness.

  He pulled up to the lodge, got out, and ducked against the bracing wind churning off the lake. Overhead, the night turned to pitch, and he smelled a storm in the air.

  He stamped his feet in the entryway, then toed off his boots and headed upstairs to wrestle off his dress clothes.

  What he wouldn’t give for summer—his cargo shorts, a T-shirt, and the feel of sand mortared between his toes. He put on said cargo shorts, adding a sweatshirt, and went back down to the kitchen.

  The light of the refrigerator creased the wood floor as he searched for sustenance. With his mother home, he’d never have to tote home a cold, greasy burger again. He found a container of wild rice soup, heated it in the microwave, then plated it and headed to the den, where he heard the low tones of the television.

  The paneled room, once his father’s resort office, had become the family retreat when his parents banished the television from the family room. At least they’d upgraded to a flat-screen; it hung on the wall surrounded by an assortment of hand-me-down furniture—a denim sofa, an oversize green velvet chair, a suede recliner. Magazines and newspapers were scattered across the top of a faded, dinged oak coffee table. The room smelled of popcorn and laughter, the family pictures on the far wall a history of their legacy.

  Dressed in leggings and an oversize flannel shirt, her hair braided down one side, Amelia sat on the sofa with her legs stretched out, eating a bowl of dry Cap’n
Crunch. Now this kid sister he recognized.

  She glanced at Casper and moved her legs, making room for him on the sofa. “Hey.”

  At closer inspection, it seemed red rimmed her eyes. He sat, picked up her feet, and put them on his lap. “Where’re Mom and Dad?”

  “A hot date. Snowshoeing.”

  Yeah, that would be a hot date to his parents. “Have you been crying?”

  She ran her hand across her chapped, reddened cheek. Her smile appeared, wet and unsteady. “It’s just the movie.”

  He glanced at the television. “Yeah, Transformers always gets to me too. So sad, the destruction of all those machines.”

  A bare smile, then it vanished. She stared into her Cap’n Crunch. Sighed.

  “I’m a pretty good listener.”

  “I know. It’s just . . . it’s so embarrassing.”

  He lifted one eyebrow.

  She swirled her finger around in the cereal. “I fell in love with the wrong guy.”

  A darkness stirred in him. “What kind of guy?”

  “The kind of guy you think is perfect until you find out he was using you. Making a fool out of you.”

  He kept his voice low, tamed. “What . . . kind of fool? What happened?”

  She closed her eyes, bit her lip, looked away. Her voice emerged shaky. “It’s just . . . it’s so awful, Casper. I just want to forget it.”

  He took her hand, a fist tightening in his chest. “Amelia, help a brother out here. What kind of awful? You didn’t . . . do anything you’d regret?”

  “I regret everything!”

  He sucked in a breath. “Do I need to track down this guy who hurt you and take him apart?”

  Amelia looked at him, startled. Then a smile edged up one side of her mouth. “No. I mean . . . I only regret how stupid I was to believe that anyone like him could fall for me.”

  A tear dripped off her chin.

  “Aw, Sis.” Casper reached out, thumbed it away. “Listen, this guy’s an idiot if he didn’t realize how amazing you are. Beautiful and smart—it’s his loss.”

  She wiped her chin with her arm. Shook her head. “No, you don’t understand. He’s a really nice guy. I just . . . I read into everything. He didn’t lead me on or promise me anything. I just thought that I meant something to him. But he walked away from me as if I were . . . junk.”