The question sounded more like an accusation. Jessie’s eyes widened in surprise. Flustered, she blurted out a stilted response. “Atlanta…I’m from Atlanta, Georgia.”
“Humph—I coulda sworn I’d seen you before,” the woman said, her skepticism obvious. Then, with a dismissive shrug, she continued, “So, you’re a tourist, eh? The resorts are on the other side of the island. What brings you clear over here?”
“My car. I, uh, sort of had an accident. It’s being repaired.”
The woman tsked loudly. “That’s too bad. Not a good way to start a vacation. Some of the hotels have shuttle services. You might be able to get someone to pick you up while you’re waiting.”
“Well, actually, I’m not staying at any of the resorts.”
“That right?” The woman raised one graying brow. “Where are you staying?”
Remembering the stranger on the highway and his reaction when she told him of her new residence, she hesitated. Another customer, a middle-aged, blond-haired woman, stepped up beside her, waiting her turn in line. Feeling uncomfortable, wishing the conversation to be over, Jessie murmured quietly, “Gull’s Cottage.”
She might as well have shouted her answer. Their reactions couldn’t have been any more extreme. Both women appeared shocked by the news. They exchanged quick glances, their expressions guarded.
The blonde standing beside her was the first to recover. She gave a nervous laugh. “I didn’t know Gull’s Cottage was for rent this summer.”
“It’s not,” Jessie said, still trying to understand the reason for their reactions. “I own it.”
The gray-haired woman blinked, not bothering to hide her disbelief. “You bought Gull’s Cottage?”
“No, I inherited it. It was my mother’s.”
Silence followed her announcement. The words hung in the air like a dark and ominous cloud. The gray-haired woman stared at her. Finally she said, “I thought I recognized you. You’re Eve Pierce’s daughter…little Jessie.”
“Y-yes, I am. But how—”
“Lord, help us,” the blonde murmured beside her. Her face paled; she looked as though she’d seen a ghost.
The gray-haired woman stared mutely.
Jessie glanced from one woman to the other, confusion building inside her. “I’m sorry. Should I know you?”
“No, you wouldn’t,” the gray-haired woman said finally, her searching eyes never leaving Jessie’s face. “You were too young, just a little thing when it all happened.”
Jessie’s confusion turned to unease. “When what happened?”
“Don’t you know, honey?” the blonde piped in.
She shook her head. “Know what?”
“About your mother,” the blonde said, her tone matter-of fact, as though she assumed Jessie had a clue as to what she was talking about.
“You mean, about Eve Pierce? I…I know she died here on the island…” Jessie hesitated. Just how much did she really want to tell these women? Was it wise to admit how little she knew of her past? But finding out about her mother and understanding her past was the reason she was here. Taking a chance, she drew in a breath and admitted, “The truth is, I was adopted when I was five. I really don’t have any memory of my birth mother.”
“Oh, honey, that’s too bad,” the blonde said. “Then you don’t know about Gull’s Cottage. About the way Eve was—”
“Sarah,” the gray-haired woman said sharply. Disapproval laced her tone. “We’ve kept this young woman long enough. There’s no need to fill her head with gossip.”
Looking contrite, the blonde glanced away, refusing to meet Jessie’s gaze.
What was going on here? What was it they weren’t telling her?
Stiffly the gray-haired woman handed her the bag of groceries. “That’ll be $18.50.”
Her hands shook as Jessie fumbled in her purse for the money. She wanted to demand that they finish telling her about her mother. But her instincts were telling her not to ask…that whatever they had to say, it was bound to be bad news.
After the day she’d already had, she wasn’t sure if she was ready to hear it.
Chiding herself for being such a coward, she handed the money to the gray-haired woman, mumbled a quick thank-you, then fled the store.
The sun was beginning to set by the time Jessie pulled her car into the lane leading to Gull’s Cottage, her new home for the summer. Still shaken by her encounter at the grocery store, she pushed the troubling events from her mind, focusing her attention instead on the narrow, rutted lane.
It looked as though it had been a long time since anyone had traveled this way. From what she’d learned, she would be the first to stay in the house in nearly twenty-five years. She couldn’t help but wonder what kind of condition the cottage might be in. If the lane were any indication, she expected the worst.
The lot was pie shaped, with the widest part of the slice at the entrance. The tip was at the end of the lane, where she assumed the property emptied out onto the beach. In between, there was a thick tangle of towering oaks, palmettos and untamed underbrush. The dense mixture cast the grounds into a premature darkness, giving the property a haunted, eerie feel.
Jessie shook off her discomfort, telling herself her unease was nothing more than the wearing effects of a growing headache and an empty stomach. Both of which would be taken care of once she’d unpacked her bags and had settled in for the night.
The trees thinned and the waning sunlight peeked through, relieving her anxiety. The reprieve was brief, however. Within moments the house came into view.
Jessie blinked once, twice, unable to believe her eyes. She checked her map, making sure she had the right address. But there was no question. This was Gull’s Cottage.
Cottage…a misnomer for sure. It was the most beautiful beach house she’d ever seen. A large, one-story home, painted white, with a high, slanting roof and a wraparound porch. There were floor-to-ceiling windows on the sides she could see. The view of the ocean must be breathtaking, she thought.
It was much more than she’d expected. Obviously, over the years, someone had taken a great deal of care of the house. She wondered what other surprises awaited her.
Jessie parked the car in the circle drive, as close to the house as she could. As the sun began to sink into the horizon, she felt an urgency to hurry and unpack, to go inside where it was safe.
Frowning, she turned off the ignition and stepped out of the car, wondering where these feeling were coming from. Her only true fear was that of complete darkness. But she had ample time before the sun made its final descent. For now, there was plenty of lingering light in the dusky sky. So why was she suddenly so unnerved?
She grabbed the groceries from the front seat. Forcing herself not to hurry, she strode up the uneven brick walkway to the front porch. Unlocking the door, she let herself in.
The rooms, dark and thick with shadows, set her nerves even further on edge. Groping for a light switch, she said a quick prayer of thanks when the entryway emerged from the shadows, glowing warmly beneath the overhead light. Before leaving home, she’d checked to make sure the utilities were in service. The lawyer for her parents’ estate had assured her that the cottage was being looked after by a caretaker, that its power and water were hooked up and that someone came in monthly to clean.
The heels of her sandals tapped against bare wood as she walked slowly through the house, her footsteps echoing loudly in the quiet rooms. The floors were golden, heart of pine planks. Even a thin coating of dust couldn’t hide the richness of their patina. Sheets covered most of the furnishings, giving the place a ghostly ambiance.
As she continued to explore, she was struck by an uneasy feeling of déjà vu. It was as though she’d been there before…which she had, she reminded herself. After all, she was supposed to have spent the first five years of her life in this house.
The thought sent an unexpected shiver of apprehension down her spine.
Forcing herself to continue, she made h
er way to the back of the house, turning on more lights as she went. When the wooden floor gave way to a burnt-red flagstone, she knew she’d stepped into the kitchen.
She felt along the side of the wall until she found the electrical switch. A pair of twin lights over a large center island came to life. The cabinets were carved of oak, the countertops a snowy white ceramic. Though yellowed with age, a delicate floral-print paper covered the walls. The room appeared cozy and inviting. She glanced outside. Even in the growing darkness that pressed against the windows, the view of the ocean was amazing.
But the beauty of the room didn’t matter, once she stepped farther into the kitchen.
Without warning, the room spun beneath her feet. A fist of anxiety squeezed her chest, making it impossible to draw a breath of air. Her heart pounded so quickly, so hard against her rib cage, she was afraid it was going to explode.
Suddenly her head felt light, as though it was floating. The room slowly darkened. Dropping the groceries, she reached out, flailing her arms for something, anything to support herself…because in another minute she was sure she was going to faint.
Somehow, through the sheer strength of willpower, she made it to the glass-paned door that led outside. Struggling with the lock, she stumbled out onto the porch that overlooked the beach. There was no furniture, nothing to collapse onto. Instead, she headed for the railing, leaning her weight against it for support.
Gulping in deep breaths of air, she willed her racing heart to slow. Never in her life had she experienced such a blind sense of fear. What in the world could have provoked such a panic attack?
Too overwhelmed to consider the possibilities, she closed her eyes and slowly slid downward, until she felt the solid wooden deck beneath her. How long she sat there, listening to the pounding of the surf against the shore, she wasn’t sure. By the time she felt strong enough to open her eyes, the night had gotten a firm foothold in the sky.
Compared to the pounding fear that had gripped her earlier, the momentary flutter of apprehension at the unexpected darkness seemed insignificant. Besides, it wasn’t completely black outside. There were stars twinkling overhead. And a full moon glowed in the night sky.
The air had grown colder, also. She was shivering—from the chill or from shock, she wasn’t sure which. But her heartbeat was steady, and her breathing had returned to normal. The soothing night air had worked its magic. She felt calm enough to go back inside.
Pushing herself onto unsteady feet, she walked slowly to the door. Her hand on the doorknob, she hesitated. Once again her heart jackhammered in her chest, telling her she wasn’t in complete control.
Unexpected anger surged deep inside her. All day long she’d backed down from one challenge after another. First she’d allowed the man on the highway to take advantage of her helplessness. Then, the women in the store. Because of her own timidity, she’d passed up an opportunity to find out more about her birth mother. She’d had enough of playing the part of a wilted Southern flower.
Forcing herself to face her fear, she threw open the door and stepped inside. While she didn’t suffer another panic attack, she wasn’t comfortable, either. Her appetite had fled, right along with her composure.
It had been a long day, she told herself. Perhaps the best thing would be to unpack her groceries and suitcases, then call it an early night. Right now all she wanted was a hot shower and a soft bed. Then she’d try to forget about what promised to be one of the worst days of her life.
“She’s dead,” a deep, male voice called out.
“No, she can’t be,” Samuel growled, refusing to accept the verdict. Stubbornly he turned the ignition one more time. Once again his attempt to start the engine of his shrimp boat was met with complete silence.
In the pilot house, he slammed his fist against the steering wheel. The sun was just a promise in the sky and already this morning he’d overslept his alarm clock, nor had he had time for his morning cup of coffee, and now the engine wasn’t working.
Dammit, what else could go wrong today?
“Give it up, Samuel.” A thin, wiry man clambered out of the hold, hoisting himself onto the deck. Scratching his salt-and-pepper beard, he shook his head in disgust. “The engine’s busted. Looks like we won’t be trawling for shrimp anytime soon.”
“Thanks, Jacob. Tell me something I don’t know,” Samuel said sharply.
Jacob held up both hands in surrender. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. I’m only doing my job.”
Samuel sighed. There was no use alienating one of the few men on his crew he could always count on. Jacob was loyal and hardworking. More than that, he was a friend. In a town where memories were long and acceptance was short, friendships were hard to come by. Jacob didn’t deserve any unnecessary grief dumped on his shoulders.
“Sorry,” Samuel said. “Ignore me. I’m just in a bad mood.”
Jacob eyed him curiously.
Self-consciously Samuel rubbed a hand along the stubble of his unshaved beard. Maybe he could have taken a little more time combing his hair, too. But all the primping in the world wouldn’t hide the dark circles under his eyes.
Finally Jacob said, “Looks like you could have caught a few more zees last night.”
“Nothing a little coffee can’t fix,” Samuel growled.
“I can take a hint.” Jacob chuckled as he headed for the crew’s quarters. “I’ll fix us a pot of java before we tackle the engine.”
“Thanks,” Samuel called after him. Rising to his feet, he pushed himself from the pilothouse and stood outside on the empty deck. The boat swayed beneath his weight. Above him the heavy iron outriggers creaked in the morning breeze. Their raised arms formed a black vee, pointing toward the heavens. He lifted his face and let the growing sunlight warm the chill from his heart.
He blamed all of his troubles on Jessie Pierce.
Ever since he’d bumped into her yesterday, nothing seemed to be going right. As much as he hated to admit it, he hadn’t been able to keep his mind on anything but her. Last night, when he’d tried to shut his eyes and sleep, her image had haunted him.
It was as though she were there with him in his bedroom. Her hair black and shiny. Her dark-blue eyes glittering with an inner light. Her skin so creamy and smooth he’d wanted to brush his fingers along it. Even the thought of her full red lips, curving slightly, as though she were ready to laugh at his foolish infatuation, only fanned the heat of his ill-advised fascination.
Samuel blew out a breath, releasing some of the pent-up tension building inside him. What was wrong with him? He had more important things to consider than his beguilement with a woman. Not just any woman, he reminded himself sternly, but Jessie Pierce, of all people.
He had to focus on his future. If he wanted to make the mortgage payments on his boat, he couldn’t afford to lose another day’s work. He had to get the engine fixed—now.
With a sigh he turned toward the hold, ready to tackle the engine. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught an approaching jogger on the beach.
At this time of day, there was always an occasional walker or jogger passing by. Summertime on the island brought the tourists out of the woodwork. They all seemed fascinated by the sight of shrimp boats, thinking of them as a novelty, not as a man’s work, his lifeblood.
But this time there was something about the way the jogger moved—with a delicate, sure-footed grace—that held his attention. As she neared, he saw the dark hair and slender body in a red T-shirt and white shorts and knew it was the woman of his dreams.
Earlier he’d wondered if his day could get any worse. He’d just gotten his answer.
Jessie Pierce was headed his way.
Crossing paths with the woman who’d had such a devastating effect on his life twice in as many days was more than a man’s patience could bear. He felt an unwarranted anger stirring deep inside him. She had no business being here. No business invading his private sanctuary.
This was his part of the island.
Her pace slowed as she neared the docks. Raising a hand against the brightening sun, she scanned the pier, her gaze traveling from one boat to the next. Her expression was rapt, curious.
The tension in Samuel’s gut increased, tightening like a string on a bow, as her gaze closed in on him. He told himself to turn away before it was too late. But like a man caught in the path of an out-of-control vehicle, he couldn’t move. All he could do was stand there and let it happen.
Her gaze faltered then stopped as she locked onto his face. Her lips parted; whether she was surprised or about to say something, he wasn’t sure. Either way, her expression altered, the bloom fading from her eyes. Closing her mouth with a click, she stood staring at him, frozen by the chill of his gaze.
Slowly Samuel felt a tide of heat rise up inside him. A heat that had nothing to do with the sun or the warm summer morning. Heat that was born not only of an undeniable sensual awareness for the woman standing before him, but also of humiliation and anger…the very emotions he’d tried to put behind him all these years. That, and the hot frustration of knowing there wasn’t a damned thing that he could do to stop the past from coming back to haunt him, once again.
Heavy footfalls sounded on the floor of the deck as Jacob neared. “Here’s your coffee, Samuel.”
Startled, Samuel glanced at the approaching man. In his hand, Jacob held two steaming mugs of coffee. Murmuring his thanks, Samuel accepted the offering.
By the time he turned his gaze back to the beach, Jessie was gone.
He stepped forward, moving starboard on the deck. It took him only a moment to single her out among the passersby. Spotting the red T-shirt and the white shorts, he watched as she disappeared from sight.
Jacob stood beside him, following the direction of his gaze. He whistled his approval. “Not bad for a tourist.”
Safe in His Arms Page 3
