by Irene Hannon
Cringing, she thought about how she’d feel if anyone read the diary she’d kept after Mark’s death, at a grief counselor’s suggestion. Not pleased, that’s for sure. Those gut-wrenching thoughts had been torn from deep in her psyche. She wouldn’t want her father to read them, let alone a virtual stranger. If Nate’s piece contained even a smidgen of that soul-baring angst, it was no wonder he’d been so upset.
Yet her regret was tempered by a sudden rush of warmth for the man who’d mere days ago reacted with such cynicism to her vow to fight for The Point. Though he’d professed indifference, it seemed he was as unhappy about the potential loss as she was.
Too bad she couldn’t persuade him to use his obvious literary talents to help save it.
But as she gazed out the window, where the dust was at last settling after his hasty departure, she figured that was about as likely as Lillian convincing Genevieve to embrace the computer age.
Once again, he’d blown it.
Nate deposited his laptop on the bed in his room at the Orchid and raked his fingers through his hair. Last week he’d walked out of the Mercantile when Lindsey had probed a little too deep about why he put himself in the line of fire on the battlefield, asking questions that made him uncomfortable. Questions he’d never dwelt on—or answered—for himself.
Today he’d repeated that performance.
So much for hoping to reconnect with his childhood friend. At this point, she probably thought he was a first-class jerk.
Then again, didn’t he have a right to be angry about her intrusion into his personal material? The piece on The Point had been meant for his eyes only. And it had served its purpose. Putting his feelings about the place into words had been cathartic. Had helped him begin to understand what had driven him to return here after all these years.
He shouldn’t have left it on his screen when he’d gone out to take the call from his editor, though. If he hadn’t, Lindsey would never have read it.
And what exactly had she read?
He sat on the bed, booted up his computer again and scrolled to the section that had been on display before he’d shut his computer at the Mercantile and stormed out.
A quick skim was reassuring. It wasn’t as bad as he’d expected. The part where he talked about the vague yearning that had driven him back to this touchstone from his childhood, where he confessed that he’d held onto a vision of The Point—and Starfish Bay Chapel—during those first lonely weeks in foster care, and while he’d watched soldiers die around him in Afghanistan, came later.
Meaning he’d overreacted. She hadn’t seen anything too revealing.
Too bad.
Nate frowned. What was that little echo of regret all about? And why did he feel a vague sense of disappointment?
Suddenly restless, he rose and crossed the room. He couldn’t see The Point from his window. But it was comforting to know it was there, beyond the trees—along with the chapel and the bench where he’d spent so many happy hours. Material objects that linked him to the ephemeral—memories, joy, hopes, friendship.
Lindsey understood that. The Point was a touchstone for her, too.
And she was also a touchstone for him. A connection to a short sojourn in his life when hopes were high and all was right with the world. An idyllic time never since repeated.
Could that account for his surge of disappointment moments ago? He’d thought he’d come cross country to see The Point, had hoped the journey would help him get a handle on the issues that had been festering in his subconscious for years. But he’d known as soon as he’d laid eyes on Lindsey that she was a key to his journey, too. That reconnecting with her was important. Necessary.
Yet he’d been putting up roadblocks with her every step of the way. Fighting off every foray she made into his personal life. Backing away or reacting with anger when she got too close, like today.
And he knew why.
Propping a shoulder against the window frame, Nate inhaled a long, slow breath. He’d told Jarrod in their first conversation that he’d sometimes been scared in Afghanistan. Yet sharing his past with Lindsey—and taking a hard look at it himself—would require even more courage than facing bullets on the battlefield.
Because truth be told, the enemy within frightened him more.
“That’s exactly the kind of information I need, Jarrod. And you’ve culled through and highlighted the most pertinent sections. Excellent work.”
Passing the coffee nook with the special-order shovel she’d retrieved from the back room for a customer, Lindsey checked on the duo seated behind Nate’s computer. Jarrod was beaming under the man’s praise, and as Nate looked toward her, he smiled.
That was a positive sign. She hadn’t exchanged more than a few words with him when he’d arrived for Jarrod’s lesson, but he seemed friendlier today. He must have gotten over yesterday’s hissy fit.
She continued to the counter and propped the shovel against the edge. “Here you go, Sam.” She rang up the purchase, thanked the man for his business, and settled down to work on some notes for the town council meeting.
Except her mind was more on the man sitting a few yards away than on the plight of The Point.
After their rocky parting yesterday, she’d spent an hour on the internet, pulling up stories with Nate’s byline from the Tribune archives. Hoping they’d offer her a little more insight into the man whose presence continued to unsettle her. And she hadn’t felt in the least guilty reading those articles. They were public record, after all.
She’d learned a lot, too. Not just about his considerable skill with words, but about the man. His stories were an intriguing mix of contradictory emotions, and many had an underlying theme of courage in the face of desperation and despair. The profiles he’d done of troops under fire revealed soldiers who were often searching for meaning in their missions, yet who served with valor despite their doubts and fear.
Based on the brief snippet she’d read in his piece on The Point, the search for meaning was a recurring theme in both his professional and personal work.
Which led her to wonder if that was the reason for his journey to Starfish Bay. Was he on a quest, searching for meaning in his own life?
The bell over the door jingled, and she dropped the pen she’d been tapping against the blank sheet of paper.
Cindy entered, glanced toward the coffee nook, and joined her at the counter.
“The other day I was late. Today, I’m too early.” The woman blew out a breath and massaged her forehead. “I can’t seem to get my timing right anymore.”
At the glint of moisture in Cindy’s eyes, Lindsey’s heart contracted. “Hey, trust me. Things will get better. Bit by bit, day by day. It’s just really hard in the beginning.” And even after three years, in the lonely hours of the night, though she left that unsaid.
“That’s what I keep telling myself. At least I’m beginning to adjust to the nine-to-five world again. And I’m lucky Ruth agreed to watch Jarrod during the summer and shuttle him here for his sessions with you. She’s been a godsend.”
“No arguments there. I don’t know how she does it, with four children of her own, but she always finds time to help those in need. She was there for me after I moved back, too. She invited me and Dad to dinner every couple of weeks and encouraged me to run for the town council. Plus, she stopped in here every few days to chat.”
“That sounds like Ruth.” As Cindy checked her watch, she leaned back to peer around the shelving. “Looks like they’re still hard at it over there. You know, I couldn’t get Jarrod off the computer last night. And he was so busy copying and pasting articles for Nate he didn’t want to go to bed. Here’s the best part, though—he wanted to talk about some of the things he’d read. He opened up even more than when he was seeing the grief counselor.”
“That’s wonderful, Cindy.”
“It’s a start, anyway. I don’t know how long your friend is planning to hang around, but as far as I’m concerned, it can’t be long
enough.” Cindy shifted a bulging satchel from one hand to the other. “Well, I guess I better break up the party over there. I don’t want to overstay our welcome.”
Five minutes later, as Cindy and Jarrod exited, Lindsey took a deep breath and walked toward the nook. Time to put her appeasement plan into action.
As she stepped into his line of sight, Nate motioned her over. “Take a look at this.”
She circled around the table until she was beside him, then leaned down to see the screen. As the subtle scent of his aftershave wafted her way, she closed her eyes.
“Pretty amazing, huh?”
Yeah. Amazing.
Oh, wait. He was talking about something on the computer screen.
She opened her eyes and forced herself to focus on the text. Several sentences had been highlighted in yellow, and she tried to switch gears, to grasp the significance of what she was seeing.
Fortunately, Nate came to her rescue. “The only way I could be certain Jarrod was reading the material—and comprehending it—was to ask him to highlight passages he thought were important. And for a first go-round, he’s done a remarkable job. Not only did he find relevant information, he did a great job picking out the most important parts.”
Lindsey took a closer look, scanning the highlighted sentences. “You’re right. I’m impressed. Cindy said she had to persuade him to go to bed last night because he was so into this.”
“That’s what we were after.” As Nate leaned back, the hair near his temple brushed her cheek.
She straightened up and took a quick step away as her heart did a disturbing little skip.
He fixed those appealing blue eyes on her. “About yesterday, Lindsey. I’m sorry I overreacted.”
The perfect setup to extend her olive branch of friendship. “And I’m sorry I read your private material. In fact, I was hoping to make amends by inviting you down to The Point after dinner for some whale watching. I’ll supply the binoculars and chocolate chip cookies.”
He shot her a surprised look. Had he seen through her ruse? Did he know this wasn’t whale-watching season? Most non-residents didn’t.
But then he smiled, dispelling those fears. “Now there’s an invitation I can’t refuse. Just name the time.”
“Why don’t I meet you at the access road about seven?”
“Could we take the trail from town instead? For old time’s sake?”
“Sure. Do you remember where it starts?”
Twin creases appeared on his brow. “Behind the place that used to sell souvenirs—now a dental office?”
“Very good.” The bell over the door jingled and she walked toward it. “Duty calls.”
“Hey, thanks for the invitation.”
She risked a quick glance over her shoulder. The warmth in his gaze played havoc with her equilibrium, but she did her best to maintain a conversational tone. “No problem. See you later.”
Then she beat a hasty retreat.
Safely behind the counter once more, Lindsey tried to ignore the little buzz zipping through her. The kind that had nothing to do with friendship—and everything to do with attraction. Like it or not.
And she didn’t like it.
She’d given her heart to Mark years ago. As far as she was concerned, it was still his—and would be long after her childhood friend accomplished whatever it was he’d come here to do and returned to his real life.
And despite the gyrations of her pulse in his presence, despite the traitorous tingle of electricity his cobalt eyes could generate, she had no intention of offering Nate anything more than friendship.
Chapter Seven
Nate watched Lindsey stride down the single-file path ahead of him toward The Point, the breeze ruffling her hair, her confident gait in marked contrast to the nervousness she’d exhibited when he’d shown up at the trailhead five minutes ago.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out why she was on edge.
This excursion wasn’t about whales. Wrong season. It was about attraction. She was feeling the charge that detonated every time they were together just as strongly as he was.
But he suspected that in Lindsey’s mind, it was the wrong season for that, too.
The question was, would it be fair to try and convince her otherwise, given his temporary status in Starfish Bay?
His hormones said yes.
His conscience said no.
But that debate would have to wait. They’d reached The Point.
As they emerged from the woods, Nate lengthened his stride until they were side by side. The sun was still high in the sky, but it had begun its descent toward the horizon, the bright white light of day giving way to a more golden hue that suffused the chapel with a warm, flattering glow.
Lindsey’s step slowed as she gazed at the structure. “I can still picture it the way it looked on my wedding day. We hung huge wreaths of wildflowers on both of the front doors, with different colored ribbons trailing down that danced in the breeze. It was beautiful.”
At her soft comment, he looked over at her. Though the hint of a smile played at her lips, her wistful tone tugged at his heart. “Memories like that are why touchstones are important.”
She directed her attention to him, clearly surprised he’d broached that topic, given his reaction yesterday.
He was surprised, too.
Clearing his throat, he gestured toward the bench and started forward again. “Shall we?”
She fell in beside him, her expression pensive as they crossed the weed-covered ground and settled on the stone seat. After putting the white bag of cookies between them, she pulled the binoculars from their case and held them out to him.
Playing along with her charade, he lifted them and scanned the undulating blue sea. No whales. Surprise, surprise.
“Looks pretty quiet out there.”
“Whale-watching takes patience.”
“I remember. In the meantime, how about one of those cookies you promised?”
She fished one out of the bag and passed it to him.
He lowered the binoculars and took a bite. The chips were soft and gooey, the cookie slightly warm. “Did you just make these?”
A faint tinge of pink appeared on her cheeks as she tugged the binoculars from his grasp and pressed them to her eyes. “We sold out at the Mercantile. And I never break my promises.”
Savoring the cookie, he watched her, just as he’d done twenty-five years ago. In the old days, he’d thought of her as strong. Indomitable. Courageous. His opinion hadn’t changed. She might have lost the man she’d loved, but she was carrying on. Doing what had to be done. Trusting in a greater authority—as had the soldiers he’d interviewed on the battlefield.
Except he had a feeling her greater authority outranked even a five-star general.
“So do you still go to church every Sunday?”
At the out-of-the-blue question, her posture stiffened. “I try. It doesn’t always happen.” She kept the binoculars glued to her face.
“Your family never missed a Sunday when I lived here.”
“Things change.”
“Including God?”
She slowly lowered the binoculars and turned to him with a frown. “That sounds like something Reverend Tobias would have said.”
Yeah, it did. Was it possible the man had spoken similar words to him, once upon a time? Funny they would surface after all these years.
Nate brushed the cookie crumbs off his fingers. “He and I had quite a few talks in this very spot. Maybe some of what he said stuck.”
“I take it you’ve parted ways with God?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Let’s just say I haven’t seen much evidence of His presence in my life.”
She lifted one heel to the bench, wrapped her arms around her leg and rested her chin on her knee as she looked toward the horizon. “Yeah. I hear you. But He’s still around. Still listening. It just takes a while sometimes for His voice to get through. Or so my dad is always reminding me.” She sig
hed, then angled her head toward him, cheek on knee. “That’s one of the reasons I keep coming out here, where His voice was always strongest. Hoping to hear it again. More evidence of the value of touchstones.”
As he reached over to take another cookie, the folded sheets of paper in his shirt pocket crinkled. Reminding him of their presence. And of the compelling sense of urgency that had pulled him back to this spot, to the one place where, for a brief moment in time, life had made sense. The place where he’d hoped to find answers. Absolution. Hope. So far, that search had been a bust.
Perhaps because the key to it lay in a person, not a place.
In Lindsey, if he could find the courage to open his heart.
Pulling his hand back from the cookies, he lifted it to his pocket. Fingered the sheets of paper. Eased them out.
God, please help me do this!
The silent plea was out before he could stop it. Odd. It had been years since he’d spoken to the Lord. Yet here, in the shadow of the chapel where Reverend Tobias had ministered with such kindness, compassion and deep, abiding faith, it felt right.
Opening the sheets with fingers that weren’t quite steady, Nate swallowed past the sudden tightness in his throat. “Speaking of touchstones…you read some of this yesterday. I thought you might like to read the rest.” He held it out to her, across the bag of chocolate chip cookies. Across the years.
She glanced at it, then gave him a wary look. “Why the sudden change of heart?”
The truth—that he thought she was as special now as she’d been twenty-five years ago, and that in a mere handful of days he felt closer to her than anyone else in his life—might scare her off. So he settled for a portion of the truth.
“Since you love The Point, I think you might appreciate it. And I trust you to keep the personal stuff to yourself.”
After one more assessing sweep, she took the sheet, shifted back toward the open sea, and began to read.
No more than a few paragraphs into the document, Lindsey realized that Nate had given her an amazing gift.
