“I’m my mother’s daughter?” Jessie asked, drawing him from his troubled thoughts. “What does that mean?”
“Jessie, maybe this was a bad idea.” He took a step closer, wishing he trusted himself enough to give in to his wants and touch her. “Why don’t I take you back to Gull’s Cottage? It’s not too late to forget about all of this—”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “If I want to learn about the past, then I have to face the good as well as the bad.” She looked at him, a plea for honesty in her dark eyes. “What Dora has to say…it is bad, isn’t it?”
Samuel’s breath caught painfully in his chest. He wasn’t sure what to tell her, how to cushion the blow.
Her smile trembled. “That’s all right, Samuel. You don’t have to say anything. I can see it in your eyes.”
The screen door squeaked on its hinges, alerting them to the fact that they were no longer alone. Gravel crunched beneath approaching footsteps. Samuel turned to see Dora heading toward them with a tray of tall glasses of lemonade.
“Sit down,” Dora said, in her usual brusque manner. “I’ve been working all morning and my bones are tired. I refuse to be the only one seated for this conversation.”
Wordlessly Jessie complied. She took a seat on the cedar bench, crossing one slender leg over the other. Looking nervous, she waited for the others to join her.
Experiencing an unfamiliar need to protect, Samuel sat down next to her. On the small bench their bodies touched, thigh brushing thigh, hip against hip, shoulder to shoulder. The warmth of her body reassured him. It felt almost as good as holding her in his arms…almost.
“What I remember best about your mother was her beauty. But she was also very lonely. Beauty and loneliness can be a dangerous combination,” Dora mused, handing them moist glasses of icy lemonade. She sat down in a chair opposite them, placing the empty tray on a nearby table. “I suppose she was still grieving over your father’s death. At least, that would explain—”
Dora hesitated, frowning as she sipped her drink.
Jessie leaned forward in her seat. “Please, Dora, whatever it is, I need to know the truth.”
Dora exchanged a cautious glance with Samuel.
Samuel’s muscles tightened reflexively, as though preparing himself to ward off a blow.
“Well, the truth is, Eve had a lot of men friends,” Dora said finally. “Not that she could help it. Like I said, she was such a pretty little thing. Men just naturally flocked to her. Though I have to admit, all that attention made quite a few of the women in town upset…jealous, mostly.” Dora’s sly smile of amusement seemed out of place, grating against Samuel’s overwrought nerves. “I guess they couldn’t handle the competition.”
Jessie stiffened beside him. Giving in to his instincts, he slipped an arm over the back of the bench, letting its reassuring weight rest across her shoulders. She relaxed slightly beneath his touch.
“It didn’t take long for the womenfolk to clamp down on their wayward husbands. And things got a little quieter on this side of the cove,” Dora said, oblivious to Jessie’s rising distress. “But there were a few men who wouldn’t give up. They still came around often enough. It didn’t matter if they were married or not.” Dora looked directly at Samuel. It took all of his strength to meet her gaze without flinching. “Your daddy was one of those admirers, Samuel. I had to testify to that at his trial.”
Samuel nodded. “I know.”
Dora shook her head, as though trying to rid herself of the unpleasant memory. “Your father and I were friends. As much as I wanted to help him, I think I did more harm than good at the trial. I couldn’t tell those lawyers anything useful, not really. I had heard shouting that afternoon, coming from Gull’s Cottage. But I never saw who it was that Eve was arguing with. She had so many men coming around, it could have been anyone. Not that the sheriff or his deputies paid any mind to what I said. They already had their suspect.”
My father, Samuel silently reminded himself, his stomach knotting with tension.
“Was Sheriff Broward one of the men who came to see my mother?” Jessie asked suddenly.
Samuel looked at her, surprised by the question.
“You do remember some of that summer,” Dora said, her tone almost accusing, her glance shrewd.
“No,” Jessie insisted, her expression calm and unreadable. “I don’t remember anything. It’s just a hunch.”
“Well, your hunches are pretty good, child.” Dora chuckled, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Let’s just say there was a lot more patrolling on this side of the island that summer. And yes, I do believe our Sheriff Broward was smitten by the young, grieving widow.”
Anger and confusion billowed inside Samuel. His grip tightened around his untouched glass of lemonade. He was stunned by the news. He had no idea that Sheriff Broward’s interest in Eve Pierce was anything but professional.
Dora sipped more of her drink, her gaze darting curiously between the two of them. Then, heaving a breathy sigh, she said, “Of course, all of these questions might have been answered, if only they’d found Eve’s diary.”
“Diary?” Jessie repeated.
Samuel froze. “What diary?”
“You didn’t know?” Even with one brow raised innocently in question, Dora had the smug look of the cat that had swallowed the canary. If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought she enjoyed catching them off guard.
He pushed the unkind thought from his mind, reminding himself of the countless times Dora had defended him and his family in the public eye. No one had been kinder to his father during his stay in prison than Dora. And after his mother’s death, she hadn’t shunned him as the others on the island had. Dora had stood by him during the worst of his stormy youth.
“Well, I’m not surprised you didn’t hear about the diary,” she said, jarring him out of his memories. “The sheriff’s department kept it all hush-hush. But I know for a fact they practically tore the house down looking for it.” She sniffed the air disdainfully. “They never did find it…which was too bad. Eve might have been tight-lipped when it came to confiding in others. But I’ll bet dollars to doughnuts she wrote everything down in that journal of hers, including all the men who came to visit.”
An uncomfortable silence fell upon the garden as they considered the news. Butterflies hovered in the air. The cloying scent of flowers made his stomach roil in protest. Samuel had a sick feeling that they’d stumbled onto a dangerous bit of information.
“I wish I could be of more help,” Dora said with another sigh. She rose to her feet. “But that’s all I can remember.”
Taking this as their cue to leave, Samuel stood.
Reluctantly Jessie followed his lead.
They placed their untouched drinks on the table and politely said their goodbyes. Samuel felt the heavy measure of Dora’s watchful gaze as they left her standing in her beautiful garden.
Mulling over this new insight into Eve’s life, he barely noticed Jessie’s own silence. Over and over in his mind he considered what they had learned. Sheriff Broward had had a personal interest in Eve Pierce. Whether or not that interest was returned was anyone’s guess.
Or perhaps not.
Eve had kept a diary, a diary that was never found. A daily journal which very well could contain Eve’s own account of the events leading to her last, fateful day. If it was found, it could prove to be a silent but lethal witness.
Samuel reined in his runaway hopes. He had to remember that while the diary could be the key to clearing his father’s name, it could also be the tool to damning him forever.
The gravel path gave way to pavement as they neared his pickup truck. Heat radiated upward from the blacktopped drive, warming the sudden chill in his heart. He strode around to the passenger side to open the door for Jessie.
It wasn’t until he held the door for her that he noticed the emotion burning in her eyes.
Jessie looked devastated.
“Talk to me, Jessie,
” Samuel said.
Jessie didn’t answer. She turned her head and stared unseeingly out the window of his truck, refusing to look at him. She couldn’t face him, not now. Not after what she’d just learned. She didn’t know how she could face anyone on this island again.
Now that she knew the truth about her mother.
The truck bounced over a rut in the lane leading to Gull’s Cottage, rocking her from side to side. Instinctively she placed a steadying hand on the dashboard. For once she was glad for the darkness that blanketed the property of Gull’s Cottage. Glad that Samuel couldn’t see the shame written on her face.
“We’ve come too far to have you shut me out now,” Samuel said, impatience edging his voice. “I know you’re upset. Please, Jessie, talk to me.”
Tears pressed against her eyes, blurring her vision. She drew in a choppy breath. Then, unable to stop herself, she whispered, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what?” he asked, his confusion obvious.
“About my mother—” Her voice broke. Swallowing hard at the lump of emotion in her throat, she forced herself to continue, “Why did I have to find out from that woman that my mother was the town slut?”
Samuel winced. Instead of answering, he muttered a soft oath beneath his breath.
Needing the truth, she persisted, “Did you know?”
Still he didn’t answer.
Blinking hard, fighting the tears, she looked at him and saw the guilt in his eyes. She nearly cried out as a new wave of pain washed over her. “Is that why you brought me to Dora’s? So that I could be humiliated?”
“No, dammit,” he said harshly. “That’s not the reason at all.”
She shook her head, trying to make sense of what had happened. “Then why didn’t you tell me yourself? Why did I have to find out from Dora, of all people?”
The trees thinned. Sunlight poured into the truck, stinging her eyes, as Gull’s Cottage appeared in the clearing. Samuel pulled to a lurching stop in front of the house. Switching off the engine, he turned to face her.
Regret clouded his face. “I didn’t tell you myself because you wouldn’t have believed me if I had.”
“How can you say that?”
“Because no one has ever believed me,” he said in a flat tone. A vein pulsed at his temple. “No one believed me when my father was on trial. You didn’t believe me, either…not when I warned you about looking into the past. I told you it would cause both of us unnecessary pain.”
She stared at him, not sure what to say.
A brittle silence lengthened between them. Tension choked the air, making it hard to breathe. No matter what excuse he might give, it didn’t change the fact that she had trusted him. Nothing he could say—not now, perhaps not ever—could ease the pain of betrayal she felt in her heart.
Fumbling with the handle, she pushed open the door. She scrambled out of the truck, needing to put a distance between them. Her legs trembling, her feet slipping on the rocks, she hurried up the uneven stone walkway.
Even without the sound of his heavy footsteps, she knew he was close. A prickling awareness skittered up her spine, raising the hairs on the back of her neck. He was right behind her. She quickened her step.
But not quickly enough.
He grabbed her arm, spinning her around to face him.
Jessie’s breath caught at the anger she saw in his eyes.
“Don’t you understand?” he ground out. “It’s too late to change the past. Nothing good will ever come of this. If you keep digging up things that have been long buried, you’re only going to be hurt.”
“That’s my problem,” she said, twisting her arm, trying to loosen his viselike grip.
“No, it’s mine,” he said, slowly shaking his head. “Don’t you get it? Whatever you do affects me, also. It’s my life…my father’s life that’s being opened up for public scrutiny. Do you really think I want to relive the events that destroyed my family?”
Fresh tears filled her eyes. He was the last person she wanted to hurt. But she didn’t know any other way to find out the truth. “I—I’m sorry, Samuel. But I can’t…” The words caught painfully in her throat. She swallowed hard. “I just can’t quit now.”
Suddenly the fight seemed to leave him. Samuel let go of her arm. Looking numb, he stared at her. His silence unnerved her more than anything he could possibly have said.
At that moment Jessie knew she wasn’t the only one who felt betrayed.
Frustration and regret welled up inside her. They were at a deadlock. There was nothing either of them could say to change the other’s mind. Knowing it was hopeless, she whirled around, making her escape to the cottage.
With key in hand, two feet away from the door, she stumbled to a stop, confused at first by what she saw: the door stood ajar, one of its windowpanes broken. Shards of glass lay on the floor. It took her a moment to register these facts. A chill swept her body as she finally understood.
Someone had broken into her house.
Chapter 8
Something was wrong.
He sensed it, even before Jessie turned to look at him. Her face was ashen, her expression alarmed. She swayed, looking as though she might faint.
A fist of fear gripped Samuel’s heart.
Forgetting the disagreement that had just passed between them, in three quick steps he was at her side. He placed a steadying hand on her shoulder and felt the trembling of her body. “Jessie, what is it?”
She opened her mouth to speak, but the words would not form.
By then it wasn’t necessary for her to explain.
Samuel already saw what she couldn’t tell him. The door stood open. Jagged teeth of glass were all that remained of one window. The cottage had been broken into.
“Wait here,” he said, pushing her gently but firmly behind him.
“No,” she said, finding her voice. “I’m going with you.”
“Whoever broke in might still be here. You’ll be safer outside,” he insisted, keeping his own voice low.
“I don’t care. I’m not staying behind.”
Samuel recognized the stubborn look on her face. He’d seen it often enough these past few days. Giving up the fight, he nodded. Then he stepped ahead of her, taking the lead.
Thankfully, this time she didn’t argue. Instead, she followed close behind, their bodies bumping as they moved slowly into the foyer. Another time, another place, he wouldn’t have minded the intimate contact. But right now he feared more for Jessie’s safety than the stirring of his libido.
After only a few steps into the house he froze. Samuel sucked in a quick breath, feeling as though he’d been sucker punched as he stared at the carnage wreaked upon the rooms.
Someone had trashed Gull’s Cottage.
He heard a soft gasp behind him and knew Jessie had seen the damage. Turning, he saw the shocked look on her face and felt his heart plummet. He placed both of his large hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “Are you all right?”
She nodded, swallowing hard.
“You don’t have to go any farther. You can stay right here and wait.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head with that same stubborn adamancy. “This is my house. I want to see what they’ve done to it.”
“Then, you’d better stay close,” he said, with a resigned sigh and took Jessie’s hand in his.
The viciousness of the attack appalled him. Books had been pulled from the shelves in the living room, the pages torn from their spine. Cushions were tossed from the couch, their fabric ripped as though with a knife. Dining room chairs were upended. Quilts and sheets were stripped from the beds and puddled in heaps on the bedroom floors. In the kitchen, dishes were broken, pans battered. The refrigerator door stood open, with milk and bottles of juice spilling out onto the floor.
This was no ordinary break-in, Samuel realized, after searching the house and finding it empty. There wasn’t a room that hadn’t been touched. It was as though whoever
did this had gone through the house in a rage.
“We need to notify the sheriff,” Samuel said, struggling to keep his voice calm while fruitless anger churned inside him. He wished he could have kept her from such malicious destruction.
“Yes, of course,” Jessie murmured, still looking dazed, but holding her own.
“If you want, I’ll call.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
Wanting to do more to take away her pain, he strode to the wall phone in the kitchen and dialed the number for the sheriff’s department. As he waited for an answer, Jessie wandered out of the room, moving out of his line of sight. After three rings, the dispatcher picked up. Identifying himself, Samuel kept the call brief and to the point. Giving as many details as possible, he stressed the urgency of the situation. Once finished, he hung up the phone and went in search of Jessie.
She stood at one end of the empty hallway, staring at the mutilated artwork. Deep gashes tore at the watercolors, destroying the beautiful paintings. He stepped closer and saw the name at the bottom of one picture…Eve Pierce. The paintings had been her mother’s work. No wonder Jessie looked so upset.
He reached out a hand, intent on consoling her, when he heard the high-pitched whine of a distant siren. The sheriff’s department was about to make an entrance. Dropping his hand to his side, he sighed. “I’ll go outside and meet them.”
Jessie nodded, averting her gaze, unwilling for him to see the emotion filling her eyes.
Reluctantly Samuel strode to the front door, steeling himself for yet another confrontation with Sheriff Broward. To his relief the sheriff was nowhere in sight. Instead, two of his deputies answered the call.
The men worked efficiently and professionally. The younger of the two, a baby-faced deputy named Purty, took pictures of the scene. He chatted incessantly as he worked, smiling an apology each time he was forced to ask them to move out of his way.
Safe in His Arms Page 10
