The Cottage on Rose Lane

by Hope Ramsay

  He shook his head. “I’ve never understood karma,” he said, his amber eyes locked on her.

  “Yeah, well. I couldn’t just knock on their door and introduce myself, could I? I’d be told to leave and never come back. So, I pretended to be someone else. But you know, the funny thing is…” Suddenly, getting words out became a struggle. “I thought I didn’t care. I was prepared to fail, you know. But…” She wiped the tears that filled her eyes.

  Oh, crap. She was crying. She never cried. “I thought…you know, that my…father was a loser. Only that’s all wrong, because he was a hero. He saved your life. And that means something. It changed the course of things. Jude, don’t you see? Neither one of us would be alive today were it not for Jamie Bauman.”

  She sank her head into her hands as a huge bubble of emotion rose up in her, battering its way into the light. She sobbed, and it seemed so stupid. So after the fact. So unhelpful. But she couldn’t stop once she started.

  And then she wasn’t alone anymore. He was there, kneeling in front of her rocker, taking her into his arms, giving her a place to rest her head. He was her sanctuary in that single moment, a haven against the howling wind of her emotions. In his arms she felt a deep connection she’d never expected, almost as if he carried a flame that was big enough and strong enough to keep her warm and safe through even the worst storm.

  She should have seen this coming. She should have realized there would be pain caused by coming here looking for answers about the man who had abandoned her.

  When at last she’d drained the giant well of emotion inside her, he pushed her away a little, his warm hands still on her shoulders. “We should go inside, just in case Ashley or Patsy come searching for you,” he said, his tawny eyes so serious.

  She wanted to tell him that his logic was flawed, but she didn’t have the energy to argue. Sooner or later someone would come. But for him only.

  She would never be missed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jude had to push Jenna through the front door. She didn’t seem to care about being discovered out on the porch crying on his shoulder. So he would care for her. And care about her.

  She was the daughter of the woman Patsy and Harry hated. And she was right about one thing: If she’d knocked on their door and introduced herself, they would have sent her packing. Patsy and Harry blamed Jenna’s mother for Jamie’s death. Jude didn’t know exactly why. He’d just heard enough to know it.

  Should he tell her? Or should he let her discover the truth for herself?

  He left her standing in the open foyer while he went back to retrieve their plates. He closed and locked the door behind him. “If anyone knocks, don’t make a sound,” he said to her back.

  She turned, her face tear-ravaged, her nose blotchy and red. And yet her beauty shone through. His heart unfolded. She wasn’t a spy at all.

  Damn.

  In a weird way, Jenna belonged on this island, the way he belonged here. As if the land had claimed them in some elemental way. He couldn’t articulate this, but it resonated down in his gut. Maybe he would keep what he knew to himself. Maybe if Patsy and Harry got to know her first, they would change their minds.

  “Are we hiding?” she asked, her voice low, husky, and sore.

  He nodded. “Yes. And I promise to keep this secret until you’re ready to tell everyone.” He held out her plate. “Hungry?”

  She shook her head.

  “Neither am I.” He stepped around her and moved across the sitting room to the small kitchenette. He put the food on the counter and turned. She hadn’t moved.

  “What you said a minute ago about Jamie. It’s kind of freaky.”

  She took a deep breath and rolled her shoulders as if trying to let go of the tension. She took a step in his direction. He stayed put. “You mean the part about us both owing our lives to the same man?”

  He nodded. “Someone neither of us knew.”

  She took another step. “Remember the other day, when I told you about synchronicity? This is an example of it.”

  “Yeah, I remember. And I don’t really get all that woo-woo stuff.”

  She nodded, her mouth twitching a little. “It’s okay. I don’t always believe it myself, to tell you the truth.”

  “You don’t?”

  She shook her head. “A year ago, I ran away because inheriting a fortune cost me everything. My job, my self-esteem, my—” She stopped and shook her head before beginning again. “I thought, if I went to India and China and really worked at becoming a Buddhist, I would find some balance in my life. So I went off searching for something different to believe in, and I came back more confused than ever. There. I’ve said it out loud.” She blew out a long breath. “I need to wash my face,” she announced, and headed off into the bedroom.

  He ought to go. He needed to get back to the vicarage before he was missed. But he stood there as if his feet were superglued to the floor.

  She emerged from the bedroom after a few minutes, her nose still swollen and her eyes still red. But she’d taken her hair out of the ponytail and brushed it.

  His fingers itched to touch all that honey-gold glory. But he said nothing. The ball was in her court, and he wasn’t even sure what game they were playing now. Maybe they weren’t playing games, which was even more sobering.

  “So, um, anyway,” she said, “I went to the town council hearing because I found out that Harry was a council member. I went there just to get a look at him. I didn’t know you had anything to do with the hearing. And then afterward, Harry came over to you and patted you on the back as if you were old friends. That was an example of synchronicity, or if you prefer you can call it a coincidence or a sign from heaven. I realized that I had to continue with sailing lessons because you knew Harry and would lead me to him eventually. And you did.”

  “So that’s why you agreed to the outrageous fees for those lessons?”

  She nodded. “But you should know that it didn’t start that way. On the first day I arrived, I saw you sailing out on the bay, and I knew I needed to learn what it felt like to be in a small boat. Because when I first arrived, that was all I knew about my father. That he was a sailor. And not just any kind of sailor. He raced small boats, the way you do.”

  She took another step closer. If he wanted, he could reach out and touch that golden hair of hers. “So, this thing you said. This synchronicity?” His words came out as a whisper.

  The corner of her mouth twitched upward, revealing the laugh line that was almost a dimple. Man, that little expression was so damn kissable. Desire, hot and liquid, flowed through him.

  “According to Eastern philosophies,” she said, “we make our own universe. There’s no such thing as coincidence. Coincidences are signs that pop up because of the paths we’ve taken. Our path creates the connections in front of us. I came here. I made this connection. You are the big surprise…” She paused a moment before continuing, “You and my father, whom I never knew. But in any event, these connections aren’t random. They were created by my father’s actions before he died. He conceived me; he saved you. We’re here because of him. And I came to make a connection, and you were the first person I connected with.”

  He stepped closer and brought his hand up to caress her cheek. “Kind of freaky,” he murmured.

  She leaned into his touch, sending sweet, hot sparks up his arm. He tugged at her, and she came to him willingly. When their lips met, the reaction was instantaneous and deep.

  Jude. His lips. His tongue. His scent, like an exotic spice from some far-off land. The bite of his beard against her cheek. And his taste…so sweet and so carnal.

  She spiked her fingers up into his hair, reveling in its slightly coarse texture. She pulled him deeper into the kiss, her whole body melting. She opened him like a cosmic present, as if he were her heart’s unspoken and unknown desire.

  He tangled his big hands in her hair, unleashing sensation down to the tip of each split end. His kiss breathed life into her.<
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  Where there was fear, he brought strength. Where there was uncertainty, he brought clarity. Where there was disquiet, he brought peace.

  Whoa, wait. Scary.

  The inner alarms began to sound right on cue. Why was it that she could never quite get out of her own way? A whole raft of what-ifs lined up and flooded her head. What if she let herself go? What if she allowed this connection to blossom? What if Harry and Patsy never accepted her? What if Jude’s family hated her? What if…?

  The possibilities were endless, and they all ended in disaster.

  This. This had always been her problem. Being unable to accept the impermanence of everything. Wanting to hold on too hard to whatever she wanted or desired. Buddhists called this suffering. They had a point.

  She put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him away a little. “Wait,” she whispered out of her kiss-swollen lips.

  He backed up like a gentleman, and when she gazed up into his amazing amber eyes, made dark by passion, she felt a tug deep in her belly. Yes, they were connected in some strange way.

  “What?” he murmured.

  “I…” She didn’t know where to begin.

  “Look,” he said. “I get it. You’re a Bauman, and I’m a St. Pierre. That’s going to cause problems.”

  “I don’t care about your last name,” she said, instead of telling him the real reason she hesitated. It was one thing to fall in love, whatever that was, but this need she felt for him…It was frightening.

  “Then you’re a remarkable woman. But I knew that already. But if you’re not sure…”

  She shook her head, deciding to ignore the doubts. She could stand there thinking about this for a thousand years and be no closer to understanding herself. Maybe it was better to go with the lust that had seized every cell in her body.

  So she lied. “No doubts. Just insecurities. The truth is, I’ve never been any good at sex.” Well, that last part was true. She hadn’t had a lot of practice at sex.

  This half-truth earned her the sweetest smile. “I find that hard to believe,” he said, right before he moved in again. His lips met hers, and her body exploded with the same deep need that had so frightened her.

  But he was strong and unafraid. She could shelter in his arms, and maybe that was enough. Besides, they were connected. They had synchronicity, whatever that truly meant.

  She let go and fell into his kiss, and his touch, and the wonders of his beautiful body.

  Much later, when he’d undressed her and laid her out on the handmade quilt in the bedroom, she allowed herself to experience the true wonder of the strange and unexpected connection between them. A connection she’d felt from the first moment she’d seen him, out in Bonney Rose, the sun on his brown skin, the wind in his dark, curly hair.

  Jenna’s caress was like the bay on a warm summer day. It flowed over his skin, touching the guarded place deep within. And when he lost it, when, at the moment of climax his eyes filled with tears, it knocked him for a loop.

  He knew something had changed when they were coming down from the high, when she spotted the water in his eyes and seemed to see right into him.

  Damn.

  The sex had been great, but…it didn’t explain why they were tangled up. Like that word she used—synchro-whatever.

  That connection made this more than a casual hook-up. And no matter what he might have told himself, he’d known it before he’d come into this room. He opened his eyes, her golden hair a tangled mess across the pillow.

  Damn.

  Was he making the same mistake his father had made? It frightened him. The idea that one day he might end up like Daddy scared the crap out of him. He’d never seen himself settling down with a golden-haired Boston Yankee. His dream had been so much simpler. A nice island girl from a good family, maybe with some connection to the Gullah culture.

  Jenna lifted her hand and gave him a wide-eyed stare as she ran her fingers over his brow and down the side of his face. “You’re beautiful,” she whispered.

  Not really. But he didn’t argue. Instead, he rolled away and headed to the bathroom. He needed a moment to regain perspective.

  She was Harry’s niece. She was a Bauman, whether she used that name or not. She belonged to the people on this side of the divide. And even if he and Harry had a friendship of sorts, the fact remained that Jude was not a member of the yacht club. Although he could probably join now if he wanted to. Twenty years ago, when he’d worked there mowing the lawn and trimming the hedges, the club had been “private.” A code word for segregated.

  And even if she was blind to the racial divide, there was the money. He leaned against the sink as a strange, uncanny tremor rippled down his back, sending gooseflesh prickling along his skin. For an instant it felt as if someone were watching him. Judging him.

  He straightened and glanced over his shoulder. He was alone.

  Maybe those stories about Rose Cottage were true. In which case, the spirit of Captain Teel was checking him out. An ironic thought, given the island’s myths and the role his ancestor Henri St. Pierre played in that story of love gained and lost. Captain Teel was either an idiot or so blind in love that he’d tried to sail a ship overloaded with stolen gold through the inlet in the middle of a hurricane.

  Yeah. Sometimes treasure was a big problem. And Jenna…Bauman was a woman who’d inherited treasure in dispute. Never a good thing.

  He should go. He straightened his shoulders and mentally prepared himself for a difficult scene before he opened the door. But the laugh was on him. The bed was empty. She hadn’t been waiting for him.

  He found his clothes, dressed, and then strolled out onto the porch, where she sat on her yoga mat in the classic Buddha pose. “I have to go,” he said.

  “I know.”

  He wanted to confront her, but for what reason? She could do the relationship math as well as he could.

  “I want you to know that I’ll keep your secret.”

  She blew out a long breath and broke her pose, drawing her legs up to her chest and hugging her knees. The posture was defensive. He understood why. Like her, he was an abandoned child. Trusting was difficult. And in this case, she was wise not to trust, not to fall. And so was he.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jude was avoiding her, and Jenna could understand why. The sex had been amazing. So amazing that they’d both retreated into their separate corners. But she missed him almost as soon as he walked through the garden gate. So she texted him a couple of times on Tuesday, trying to schedule the sailing lesson they’d discussed. But he didn’t reply.

  Not having anything else to do, she ended up sitting on the porch, finishing the Sue Grafton novel. Later in the afternoon, she went downtown and bought the dress at Daffy Down Dilly and then went to Rafferty’s, hoping to see Jude sailing out on the bay with the rest of the Buccaneers. He wasn’t there, and Bonney Rose remained in the parking lot while Jude’s friends headed out for practice races.

  On Wednesday morning, she drove onto the mainland and visited a couple of the historic plantations. It was interesting, but she wasn’t making any headway in connecting with Patsy or Harry, and all she could think about was Jude St. Pierre.

  By the afternoon, sitting on Rafferty’s deck drinking a glass of chardonnay, she felt exactly like a sailboat in calm waters. Just sitting there bobbing on the water while the sun beat down on her. Stuck. Unable to move.

  And then she remembered what Harry had said the other day. She fired up her cell phone, went onto the Magnolia Harbor town web page, and confirmed that the council was holding a meeting this afternoon. Since the zoning petition was up for discussion, Jenna was pretty sure Jude would be there. She could kill two birds with one stone.

  An hour later, she entered Magnolia Harbor’s town council chamber. The room was tiny, which explained why they’d borrowed space from the Methodists for their hearing last week. The place was standing-room only for today’s meeting. She squeezed into a spot in the corner of the room and
had to stand on tiptoes and crane her neck in an awkward way to see anything.

  Jude had a seat in the first row, and he looked awesomely handsome in his gray suit and red tie. Jenna’s heart took off at a wild gallop the moment she spied him. No question about it, she wanted to make love with him another time. But it was more than just that. She cared about him. She wanted him to win this fight, and the idea that her own uncle might deny him made her queasy.

  The meeting of the council began right on time, but it took a good thirty minutes to get through the approval of the last meeting’s minutes and a list of old business items dealing with garbage disposal and a new car for the small police force.

  And then, finally, the issue was called and the council members each made a speech about the proposal. Two board members spoke against it and two spoke for it before Harry took the microphone.

  He cast his gaze out over the assemblage, stopping for a long moment as he made eye contact with Jude. Jenna’s heart began to sink. She knew even before he opened his mouth that Harry Bauman was going to vote against Jude.

  “I appreciate the culture of the folks living in ‘Gullah Town,’” Harry began. “And I think the town council should give some thought to a museum or some other interpretive site to commemorate those people. My staff and I are working on a proposal to create a museum someplace downtown, where cultural artifacts can be preserved and history can be presented.”

  He looked right at Jude. “Including the language, Jude. I envision making Gullah storytellers available for live presentations. And I’d like to raise funds to record the language before it disappears. I think Magnolia Harbor needs to acknowledge this part of its history, and I will do everything I can to make sure that happens.”

  He shook his head. “But in the end, I can’t support this petition to radically change the town’s master plan. I’m swayed by the opinion of the South Carolina Historic Preservation Office, which has declined to nominate any of the structures included in this proposed zoning amendment for inclusion in the National Register of Historic Places. All of these structures have been significantly altered over the years, reducing their historic value. And I truly believe there is a better way to interpret and save the Gullah culture that is so important to our island.