Deep River Promise

by Jackie Ashenden

  “You know I told you that my mom was sick?” Damon said after a moment.

  “Yeah.”

  “I can’t look out for her on my own. Because I have responsibilities to Wild Alaska, to Silas and Zeke. So I get a housekeeper to check on her, to make sure she’s okay. It’s not the best, which is why I have to go home soon. But trusting the housekeeper helps Mom and it helps me handle what I need to up here. Everyone wins.”

  “Is this some kind of ‘everyone support each other’ story that old people like to tell?”

  This time Damon didn’t hide his grin. “Guess I can’t get anything past a teenager these days, huh?”

  Connor gave him a withering look. “I’m not stupid.”

  “And I’m not stupid either. Which is why I trust Mom’s housekeeper.” He let his grin fade. “You’ve got a weight on your shoulders, kid, and I get it. But if you need someone to help you carry it, you can trust me, okay?”

  Something flickered through the boy’s eyes, something that looked like longing. Then it was gone, suspicion replacing it, along with a cool wariness that reminded Damon forcibly of Astrid. “What? You’re not going to tell me it’s none of my business and that I should butt out?”

  Damon shook his head. “Why would I do that? Deep River’s your town. You’re a West, right? All of this is your business.”

  Connor stared at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. The kid did a nice line in stoic when he wanted, that was for sure. Then he looked away again. “Why did he tell you about me? Why did he ask you to look out for me?”

  The scar on Damon’s heart, the one that he’d carry for the rest of his life, ached.

  There were lies he could tell Connor. Lies that would stop that scar from aching, that didn’t have the potential to tear it or make it bleed. But Connor needed more truth, not less, and besides, that scar was an old one and most of the time it didn’t hurt.

  “Because I was a father once.” He hadn’t said those words to anyone else, not for years. “And Cal knew I’d do what he asked.”

  Connor threw in another stone. “You had a kid?”

  “Yeah. A little girl.”

  “Where is she?”

  He could feel the tightness of that scar and the exact shape of it. Strange to feel it again after so many years, when all it used to do was ache. But gradually, time had worked its magic, and these days he could even pretend that scar wasn’t there at all.

  Except it was.

  “She died,” he said.

  He could feel the kid looking at him. He didn’t look back though. Some things you had to keep to yourself and the kid didn’t need to see what was no doubt in his eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” Connor said at last and with feeling. “That sucks.”

  Bizarrely, the aching tightness eased. Telling someone about Ella was always hard because not only did he have his own grief to bear, he had to bear someone else’s. Their sympathy and their pain as they tried to empathize, tried to imagine what it was like to have something similar happen to them and then shy away from it, the reality too awful to contemplate.

  Yeah, it had always been complicated telling people. So now he never told anyone.

  But Connor was a kid, with a kid’s viewpoint. He didn’t and couldn’t understand a parent’s unique hurt. His sympathy was honest and heartfelt, but Damon knew the boy wasn’t taking on anything else but that.

  And somehow “that sucks” was the best response he’d heard for years.

  “Yeah,” he said and he didn’t have to force the words. “It does.”

  Connor didn’t say anything for long moments after that and neither did he, the pair of them sitting in a silence that bordered on companionable.

  The river rushed beneath the dock, the mountains stretching up all around, touching the hazy blue of the sky, the sun lying warm on their shoulders. An eagle soared above them, wings outstretched, drifting on the breeze.

  Then finally, Connor shifted. “How long are you staying?” He didn’t look at Damon.

  “Today and tomorrow.”

  “Okay.” Connor slowly pushed himself to his feet. “Good.”

  Then he turned and walked away.

  Damon watched him go, a complicated kind of emotion sitting in his chest, then his phone suddenly vibrated in his pocket. Clearly some service was back.

  He tugged it out, his heart clenching as he saw on the screen that it was his mom.

  “Hey, Mom,” he said, answering the call. “What’s up?”

  “There’s a stranger in my house,” Laura Fitzgerald said without any preliminaries. “I don’t like it, Damon.”

  “It’s just Rachel, Mom.” He kept his tone patient. “The housekeeper, remember?”

  “I don’t need a housekeeper. I’ve been keeping my own damn house for years.”

  “I know. But she’s not there for you. She’s there so I don’t have to keep calling you and interrupting your shows.”

  “You don’t have to keep calling me.” His mother sounded cross. “I’m perfectly fine.”

  “Of course you are, but I’m a worrier.”

  “Well, you don’t have to worry about me.” There was a pause. “When are you coming home?”

  Tension gathered inside him. It was the first time she’d asked him that.

  “Soon, Mom,” he said. “Very soon, I promise.”

  His mother seemed satisfied with the assurance, though she complained about Rachel for a few more minutes before ending the call with her usual abruptness.

  Afterward, Damon sat on the dock and stared at nothing.

  Really, the quicker he tied everything up here in Deep River, the better it would be for all concerned.

  * * *

  After she’d given Morgan a rundown of the past couple of weeks, and Morgan had left, Astrid debated waiting in her office for Damon to turn up again, especially since they hadn’t finished talking about all the tourism stuff.

  But she had other things to do and trailing around the town looking for him was going to take up too much time. Sure, the town wasn’t very large and it wouldn’t take that long to find out where he was, but it would probably be best if she didn’t go looking for him immediately. She needed a break from his distracting presence anyway.

  The library needed her attention, but her first stop was Mal’s Market, so she could talk to Mal about how her meeting with the growers had gone the day before.

  The market was a treasure trove of a place, full of towering shelves piled high with all kinds of things ranging from cereal boxes to complete dinner sets, boxes of nails to bottles of hairspray, tins of sardines and tins of pâté, while in the rafters above were stored fishing rods, skis, ski poles, shovels, and brooms, among other things.

  There was also an internet station where reliable web access could be obtained via Mal’s satellite connection, plus plenty of DVDs in the DVD library, as well as videos for those who still had VCRs.

  A magical place, full of the smell of sawdust, wood polish, wet parkas, and spices. The place people came when they needed anything at all, even if it was just a good gossip with Mal.

  Mal was behind the counter now, a tall, burly man in his late fifties with a salt-and-pepper beard, a buzz cut, tattoos up both arms and dressed in jeans and blue flannel. He was chatting with a collection of people all standing around the counter, mostly female Astrid couldn’t help but notice.

  And then she realized who was at the center of the collection.

  Damon Fitzgerald.

  He leaned against the counter, smiling that devastating smile and talking easily with the assembled crowd, all of whom appeared to be hanging on his every word. And no wonder. With his caramel-brown hair, sky-blue eyes, and his fallen-angel handsomeness, he looked like a king holding court with his subjects.

  Her heart stumbled in her chest,
her breath catching.

  It wasn’t fair. All those things he’d said in her office about wanting to take her to dinner and talk to her, then maybe even take her home afterward, she suddenly wanted too. But he was right. It couldn’t happen between them. There were too many complicating factors, especially the ones he didn’t know about.

  Aiden had seemed to be too good to be true too, exactly like Damon. Handsome and charming, excellent with her son. A man a woman could fall for so easily. A man who’d turned out to be one of the worst choices she’d ever made.

  No, she couldn’t risk that again. Damon had to remain off-limits.

  Stopping in the middle of the aisle, she debated whether to simply turn around and walk out. But then they still had the town’s tourist ideas to discuss, and he was only going to be here another day…

  Her whirling thoughts stopped in their tracks as Damon looked up, his gaze catching hers, and everything went entirely out of her head.

  Everyone turned to look at her.

  “Hey, Ms. Mayor.” He was all deep-voiced charm and that amazing smile, warmth igniting in his blue eyes that she knew was just for her. “I’ve been looking for you.”

  She didn’t want to smile back, but not smiling was impossible when he looked at her that way. “Well, you’ve found me.” Somehow, even though she knew turning around and walking out was better, she found herself going up to the counter instead. “Anything I can help you with?”

  “We didn’t finish our conversation earlier.” He raised a brow. “Got a minute now?”

  No, she didn’t have a minute. And talking to him was a very bad idea.

  “Sure,” she said, hoping she wasn’t blushing like an idiot because he seemed to have that effect on her every time he even looked in her direction, and she didn’t need an audience to that right now. “I need to have a word with Mal first.”

  Amusement glinted in Mal’s eyes, as if he knew exactly the kind of effect Damon was having on her.

  Curse the man. Both men.

  “About the growers,” Astrid began.

  “Yeah, I already know,” Mal said before she could go on. “I thought you’d have a bit much on your plate with all this tourism stuff, so I called them both this morning to find out how your meeting with them went.” He grinned. “It’s all fixed up. First lot of produce will be boxed up and ready to go tomorrow morning.”

  “Oh, good. That’s great.” Her momentary irritation vanished. “Thanks, Mal.”

  Excellent. Another project safely off the ground. Hopefully it would be viable and end up being good for everyone.

  “Phil’s wanting more books though,” Mal said casually. “I spoke to him this morning on the phone. He got through the last stack quicker than he thought, and he said could you get him some more.”

  “No problem. I think the title he specifically requested last week has just come in, so I’ll get it up the hill to him.”

  “Phil?” Damon glanced at her. “As in ‘animal sanctuary’ Phil?”

  Ah yes, she’d mentioned that to him, hadn’t she?

  She nodded.

  “I’ll take them up if you like.” His eyes glinted from beneath his lashes. “Someone told me to go and speak to people in the town, and I haven’t had a chance to talk to him yet.”

  Her. That had been her. A small glow of warmth centered itself in her chest for absolutely no reason at all, because who cared if he took her suggestion? Certainly she didn’t.

  The women clustered around the counter—Debbie Long, Jenny Anderson, Melissa Evans, and Maria’s friend Coco Smith—all murmured admiringly.

  “That’s a lovely thing to do.” Jenny put a hand on one of Damon’s powerful shoulders. “Phil would appreciate that so much.”

  Jenny liked a handsome man—hell, most of those women did, and Astrid couldn’t blame them for falling all over Damon. Men like him didn’t turn up in Deep River often. No, scratch that. They didn’t turn up in Deep River at all.

  Still. The way they were looking at him irritated her the way it had after hot yoga this morning.

  Jealous maybe?

  How stupid. There was nothing for her to be jealous of. Yet the sight of Jenny’s hand on his shoulder, touching the textured fabric of his shirt, a fabric she wouldn’t mind touching herself, was…annoying.

  “He would appreciate it,” she agreed coolly. “I was just on my way to the library, so why don’t you come with me and I’ll give you his books?”

  Damon’s smile curved his beautiful mouth. “I was hoping you might say that.” Pushing himself away from the counter, he stood at his full height, turning that smile on the adoring female crowd. “Ladies, thanks for your time. It’s been a pleasure.” He glanced at Mal and held out a hand. “Appreciate your time too.”

  “No problem.” Mal took Damon’s hand and shook it, smiling back. “Good to talk to you. I like a man who makes an effort to get to know the locals.”

  The warmth in Astrid’s chest glowed hotter. He really had taken on board her suggestion, hadn’t he? It made her feel ridiculously pleased, though she had no idea why.

  “You do know that Phil’s is a good half-hour walk?” she said as Damon turned toward the exit.

  “You don’t think I can walk a half hour carrying a couple of pounds’ worth of books? Maybe I’m falling behind in my workout regimen.”

  A patently untrue statement given he was built like a Greek god.

  “Hmmmm.” She made a show of examining him as she followed him out of the market. “Seems like you could maybe handle it. You can never tell with city boys, though.”

  Wickedness glinted in Damon’s eyes. “Are you calling me soft?”

  “If the shoe fits,” she murmured as they came out onto the boardwalk.

  He laughed that distractingly sexy laugh. “Harsh, Ms. Mayor. But maybe you’re right. It’s been a while since I’ve gone twenty miles with fifty pounds on my back. Perhaps I should run there to build up my stamina?”

  “You should. I’ll time you.”

  There was no reason for her heart to lift as they turned toward the library, her leading the way. But it did. His presence was as warm as the sun on her shoulders and somehow exciting. He could be so reassuring and yet under that reassurance was a sense of danger. The kind of delicious, sensual danger that women loved…

  And look how that turned out last time.

  Badly. It had turned out badly.

  “Want to tell me why you left so abruptly earlier?” she asked, trying not to think about Aiden. Or her past in general. Or how the excitement inside her just didn’t know when to quit.

  Damon strolled beside her, his hands in his pockets, his attention ahead of him as they walked along the boardwalk to the street. “I think you know why.”

  A flush crept over her. Stupid question to ask. On the other hand, wasn’t it better to know for certain?

  “I wouldn’t like to assume,” she said. “Leads to all kinds of misunderstandings.”

  He glanced at her. “You want me to say it, then? Fine. I left because it was either that or I reached over your desk, dragged you out of your chair, and kissed you.”

  Oh. Oh.

  “That’s clear.” Her voice had gotten husky, dammit. “Good thing you left, then.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  A silence fell between them, crackling and electric.

  She was so very aware of him as he walked beside her, long legs, narrow hips, and broad shoulders… There was nothing soft about him in any way.

  If she’d been just a woman in a bar that he’d approached, she’d have given him her number the moment he’d asked for it. Or maybe she’d even have approached him and asked him for his.

  It wasn’t to be, though. More’s the pity.

  Astrid tried to ignore that as she led the way along the road from the boardwalk, going down
the little gravel path that led to the library, Damon following along behind her.

  The library was situated in a small, self-contained wooden cabin on the riverbank just along from the Deep River town center. It had a porch out in front that Phil had donated a couple of his hand-carved chairs to, with a few wind chimes that Gwen had made hanging from the eaves. Sparkling crystals dangled from the bottom of the chimes, sending prismatic glitters everywhere, and while Astrid privately thought the crystals were overkill—for good vibes, Gwen had told her—she’d always liked the sound of the chimes.

  Perhaps it was wrong to have wind chimes making noise outside a library, but Astrid didn’t care. It was a happy, welcoming sound and it soothed her.

  She went in—she never locked the place since no one ever locked doors in Deep River—heading over to the sole work desk that stood in one corner, a big box of books sitting next to it.

  “This is the nicest damn library I’ve ever been in,” Damon said as he came inside after her, looking around with interest.

  The library was only one room, with shelves lining the walls and one long shelf running down the center of the room, books shelved on both sides. There were no couches or places to sit, since the library was small and every square inch had been given over to books.

  “Isn’t it?” Astrid bent over the box and opened it, going through what was inside until she’d found the book Phil had particularly wanted—a romance, since he loved romances—stuck a bar code on it, then went to enter it into the system.

  Damon wandered over to one of the shelves, studying the titles. “So you’re the librarian as well as the mayor?” he asked.

  “Yes. When I first got here, the town had a library but no one to manage it, so I decided I would.”

  “And who pays for it?”

  “The Wests. There’s some money they put aside for town expenses, and my salary is part of that, as is a small allocation for books.”

  “Seems like a good system.”

  “It works well, yes.”

  Astrid put the book through the scanner, issuing it to Phil, and when she looked up, she found Damon had turned from the shelves and was watching her. A shiver of heat whispered over her skin.