by Sarah Morgan
And in the meantime he was going to find out more about the woman in Castaway Cottage.
*
“HAS THE MAN GONE?”
“He’s gone.” But his face was still in her head. Remembering the encounter, Emily felt heat rush through her body. “I’m sorry he woke you.”
“He didn’t.” Those pale green eyes were ringed by tiredness, and Juliet’s long hair fell in tangled curls of gold past narrow shoulders.
Emily looked for signs of tears, but there were none.
The girl seemed remote. Self-contained.
That was good, wasn’t it?
She tried to ignore the simmer of unease in her belly that told her it wasn’t good.
“Was the bed uncomfortable?” Emily had tucked the girl up in Brittany’s old room the night before, covered with the patchwork quilt.
“It was noisy.”
“That’s the sea. You can sleep in a different room tonight if you like.”
“Can I sleep with you?”
Emily swallowed. “Sure.”
The little girl stood, staring up at the shelf in the kitchen. “Why are there jewels in a jar?”
“It’s sea glass.” Emily reached and picked up the jar. “It washes up on the beach. Sometimes it gets trapped in the pebbles and rocks. Kathleen used to collect it. Every time she went to the beach she came back with her pockets stuffed. She liked the colors, the fact that each piece has its own story.” Relieved to have something to take her mind of Ryan Cooper, Emily handed Juliet the jar and watched as the girl turned it in her hands, studying each piece of glass closely, absorbed by color and shape.
“It’s like a rainbow in a bottle.”
“Kathleen kept it by the window so it caught the sunlight. She called it treasure.”
“Does she live here?”
“Not anymore. She died a few years ago.” Emily wondered if she should have used a different choice of words. Maybe she should have talked vaguely about heaven and stars in the sky. “She left this cottage to my friend, and sometimes, when one of us has a problem, we come here.”
“Do you have a problem?”
Looking down at the problem, Emily felt compassion mingle with panic.
She didn’t know anything about children, but she knew how it felt to have something you loved snatched from you. She knew how it felt to learn, at a far too young age, that life was cruel and unpredictable. That it could take as quickly as it gave, and with no warning.
“No. There’s no problem now that we’re here.”
“Was she your family?”
“Kathleen? No. She was my friend’s grandmother, but she was like a grandmother to me, too.” And then she remembered “grandmother” probably meant nothing to a child whose short life had been spent among people paid to care for her and keep her away from a prying world. “Sometimes the people who are closest to you aren’t the ones you’re related to.”
Let’s make a promise. When one of us is in trouble, the others help, no questions.
The little girl held the jar to her chest. “You’re my family.”
“That’s right.” Her stomach lurched. Panic rose like the sea at high tide, swamping the deep fissures created by a lifetime of insecurities. She didn’t want that responsibility. She’d never wanted it. “Why don’t we explore the house? It was dark when we arrived last night.”
Nestled in the curve of Shell Bay, Castaway Cottage had ocean views from all the front rooms. It was easy to see why Kathleen had never wanted to leave, despite the relative isolation and the long winters. She’d made sure that whatever the weather, there was warmth in the house. Wooden beams and hardwood floors formed a backdrop for furniture carefully chosen to reflect a nautical theme. A striped wingbacked chair, a textured rug, framed photos of the seabirds that nested around the rocky coast.
Still holding the jar, Juliet went straight to the window and clambered onto a chair. “Can we go to the beach?”
Emily felt a pressure in her chest.
Soon, she’d have to work out how she was going to handle that inevitable request, but she didn’t have the energy for it now. “We need to settle in first. I have to unload our cases and unpack.”
“I’m hungry.”
Emily, whose usual caffeine-infused breakfast came in the form of strong coffee, realized she hadn’t given any thought to feeding the girl. “I packed a few things in the car, but this afternoon we’re going to need to go to the harbor and pick up some food.”
Which presented her with another problem.
“I was thinking—” They walked back into the kitchen, and Emily opened cupboards, hunting for food that Brittany might have left on her last visit. “Juliet is a pretty name, but how would you feel about being called something else?”
“Juliet is from Shakespeare.”
“I know, but—” Everyone else knows, too. “Do you have another name? I’m Emily Jane.”
“I’m Juliet Elizabeth.”
“Elizabeth. How about Lizzy? That’s pretty.”
“Why do I need a different name? So the men with cameras don’t find me?”
Emily favored honesty and saw no reason to alter that approach in this instance. “Yes.” She opened a cupboard and pulled out a bowl in a pretty shade of cornflower blue. “That’s part of the reason. I don’t want people asking you questions. It will be like a game.”
“I used to play games with Mellie.”
“Mellie?”
“She cooks. Sometimes she looks after me when Paula is in the bedroom kissing her boyfriend.”
“P—what? Who is Paula?”
“She’s one of my nannies.”
One of them? Still, at least Lana had arranged child care, which was more than their mother ever had. “So Paula looked after you?”
“Yes. And sometimes we watched my mom on TV.” Lizzy was still holding the jar clutched against her chest. “Paula says people take pictures because she was famous and beautiful.”
“Yes, she was.”
People will pay money to see my face. You’ll never be as pretty as me, and that’s why people don’t love you.
She tried to wipe the memory from her mind. “No one will take pictures of you here. People are friendly.”
That much was true. She, Skylar and Brittany had spent plenty of happy evenings laughing and drinking in the Shipwreck Inn, and Brittany was well-known and loved on the island. Too well known.
She tried to remember whether her friend had ever mentioned a Ryan Cooper.
She was certain she hadn’t met him before.
His wasn’t a face that was easy to forget.
That face was in her head as she pulled open cupboards, looking through tins and dried pasta that Brittany left as emergency food. She found cereal, tipped it into the bowl along with the milk she’d bought and settled the child at the table. “We’ll finish unpacking and then explore the island.” Unpacking wasn’t going to take long. Should she be depressed that everything she valued from her old life had fit into two small suitcases? A few clothes and her precious first editions. “We can have lunch by the harbor. You can pick anything you like from the menu. It will be fun.”
“Can I bring my bear?”
Emily looked at the battered bear and decided its chances of surviving the trip were slim. There was a rip in its neck, and it had lost an eye. “Why don’t we leave him here? We don’t want to lose him.” Or parts of him.
“I want him to come.”
Concerned that half the bear might fall into the harbor, Emily was tempted to argue, but she was more afraid of doing something that might destabilize an already fragile situation. “We’ll take the bear.”
“Can I wear my fairy wings?”
Because fairy wings weren’t conspicuous at all. She closed her eyes and told herself that no one would be looking for the child of a Hollywood actress on an island off the coast of Maine. And if Skylar was right, then Lizzy wouldn’t be the only six-year-old wearing fairy wings. “If that’
s what you want.” She stiffened as the child slid off her chair and walked across to her.
A small hand slid into hers. “Will they find us?”
The feel of that hand made the pressure in her chest worsen. “No.” She croaked out the word. “We’re safe here.”
Or at least, she hoped they were.
Picking up her phone, she found Brittany’s name in her contacts and sent a text.
Who is Ryan Cooper?
BECAUSE IT WAS still early in the summer, she managed to park near the harbor. The busy working waterfront was a popular spot for tourists keen to experience all Puffin Island had to offer. Lobster boats, the lifeblood of the local community, bobbed alongside yachts, and fishermen rubbed shoulders with locals, tourists and sailing enthusiasts. The ferry that connected the island to the mainland ran three times a day when weather permitted. John Harris, the harbormaster, had been in charge of the service for as long as anyone could remember, terrifying everyone with his white shock of hair and heavy eyebrows.
From a distance, Emily recognized Dave Brown, who had been lobstering the waters around Puffin Island for three decades. She remembered standing with her friends, watching as he’d brought in the catch of the day, standing a safe distance from the deep waters of the harbor while Brittany and Kathleen had bought fish straight from the boat. They’d cooked it fresh and eaten it in the garden with butter dripping down chins and eager fingers.
“Can I see the boats?” Curious, Lizzy wandered toward the edge of the harbor, and Emily grabbed her shoulder and hauled her back.
Her heart was thudding and her palms were clammy. Why had she parked by the harbor? She should have found a side street and stayed as far from the water as possible.
John Harris walked across to them, a frown turning his eyebrows into a single shaggy line. “Careful. The water is deep here.”
While Emily waited for her heart to slow down, she kept a grip on Lizzy. Brittany had once confessed the harbormaster had terrified her as a child, and Emily and Skylar had laughed, both unable to imagine Brittany being terrified of anything.
Lizzy didn’t seem to share that fear. She looked from him to the ferry that was just leaving the harbor. “Is that the same ferry we came on last night?”
“It’s the same. The Captain Hook.”
“Like in Peter Pan?”
John Harris studied the child. “It’s named for Dan Hook who donated the money for a ferry service fifty years ago. Is this your first visit to Puffin Island?”
“They’re Brittany’s friends.” The male voice came from behind her, and Emily turned to find Ryan standing there. He nodded to John. “Busy ferry this morning.”
“Full load. We’re adding an extra crossing from next week as the summer season heats up.” The introduction seemed to soften John Harris’s mood a little because he nodded to Lizzy. “So, you’re staying in Castaway Cottage. Best view on the island. Be careful by the water.” He strode off, and Ryan shook his head.
“Don’t let him scare you. A kid fell in once, and he’s been nervous ever since. Summer is a busy time for him. So, you found your way to the harbor and Main Street. This is the closest thing we have to civilization. Can I direct you anywhere?”
He’d showered and changed since their encounter earlier that morning. He wore a pair of light-colored trousers and a dark blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. The addition of tailoring did nothing to disguise his powerful build.
Skylar would have observed that he was well put together.
Brittany would have described him as “smoking hot.”
Emily found him unsettling. Not because he was so sure of himself—she was used to confident men, so that wasn’t the reason—and not even because of the unexpected scorch of sexual awareness, although that was new to her. No, what frightened her was that those dark eyes seemed to see right through the invisible aura Neil had claimed made her unapproachable.
It suited her to be unapproachable. “I appreciate your concern, Mr. Cooper—”
“Ryan.”
“Ryan, but we’re fine.”
“I didn’t know you had a daughter.”
She didn’t correct him. “She’s very shy. We were just—”
“I’m Lizzy.”
Emily sighed. Right now shyness would have been preferable.
She waited for Ryan to make polite noises and back away. She was sure a man like him lived an adult-only life, free from the responsibility of children. Surprising her, he dropped into a crouch. The movement molded the fabric of his trousers to his thighs and pulled his shirt tight over broad, muscular shoulders.
“Hi, Lizzy. Nice bear.”
Everything about him told her that he was a man’s man, a person who could have been dropped in the wilderness with nothing but a knife and survived. Nothing had prepared her for the ease with which he handled Lizzy.
Watching him simply intensified her own feelings of inadequacy.
He took the bear and made admiring noises, his hands gentle as he handled the damaged toy. “What’s his name?”
Name?
Not in a million years would she have thought to ask if the bear had a name, but apparently it did.
“Andrew.” Lizzy’s reply was hesitant, but Ryan nodded, as if the name made perfect sense to him.
“So, how are you and Andrew liking Puffin Island?”
Emily was grateful that the bear couldn’t talk; otherwise he’d no doubt be reporting the fact that so far he’d been well and truly ignored.
If there was a Stuffed Bear Protection League, she was about to be reported for neglect.
She watched as Ryan handed the bear back carefully, envying the ease with which he talked to the child. He didn’t use baby talk, nor was he patronizing or condescending. He behaved as if Lizzy had something to say that he was interested in hearing. As if the answers she gave were important to him. Some of the tension in Lizzy’s shoulders melted away.
“I like the boats.”
Why did it have to be the boats that had caught her attention?
Emily wondered what had possessed her to think coming to the island would be a good idea. She should have picked Wyoming or another state with no coastline.
“I like boats, too.” Ryan rose to his feet. “What’s your favorite food?”
This time Lizzy didn’t hesitate. “Waffles. And chocolate milk.”
“That’s a lucky thing, because I happen to know somewhere that sells the best waffles you have ever tasted. And it has tables overlooking the sea so you can watch the boats at the same time. It will be my treat.”
“Thank you, but we’re fine.” Emily found herself staring at him. He was at least a head taller than her. The casual attire did nothing to diminish the overwhelming sense of presence.
“You don’t like waffles and chocolate milk?” There was humor in his eyes and something else. A sexy, lazy gleam that flustered her. He was the sort of man who made most women lose their heads and throw caution away with their underwear.
Emily had never lost her head or her underwear. Relationships were something to be thought through, measured and calculated, like every other important decision in life. She’d never found that difficult. But nor had she ever met anyone who made her feel the way Ryan Cooper did.
She’d spent three years with Neil and not once had he left her with this sense of breathless awareness. When he’d walked into a room, her heart rate hadn’t altered.
“I appreciate the offer, but Lizzy and I have things we need to do before we have lunch.”
Lizzy clutched the bear to her chest. “I’d like waffles.”
To please her niece, she had to sit at a table with a man who made her feel as if she was naked?
He smiled. “Seems to me that what you need to do most of all is relax. You look as if you’re about to explode.”
“I’ve been driving for two days, and—”
“So a cool drink on the deck is just what you need to help you unwind.”
His gaze slid over her face. “There is more tension in your spine than in the mast of that yacht over there.”
“I appreciate your concern, but if I’m stressed, then it’s because I don’t appreciate being stalked, Mr. Cooper.”
“Stalked?”
“It seems as if every time I turn around, you’re standing there.”
“Welcome to island living, Emily. Chances are you’re going to be bumping into me several times a day. And then there’s the fact I promised Brittany I’d keep an eye on you.”
“I appreciate your concern, but I’m absolving you of that duty.”
“She told me you might need someone you could trust. She asked me to watch out for you. So, here I am, watching out for you.”
Emily met that lazy, interested gaze and decided no normal, sane woman would be foolish enough to put her trust in a man like him. You might as well hand over your heart and say “stomp on this.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I don’t need anyone to keep an eye on me.” In fact, people keeping an eye on them was the last thing she needed.
She was all that stood between Lizzy and a media hungry for a story at any cost.
They reminded her of vultures, swooping down to strip the last pieces of flesh from a carcass.
Lana was dead.
Surely that should be enough for them. Why did they need to unpick her life? There had been a constant parade of stories in the press. A catalog of salacious details that one day Lizzy might read.
If Emily could have found a way of destroying all of it, she would have done so.
Ryan stepped closer, his voice low. “Tell me what the trouble is, and I’ll fix it.”
She wondered how it felt to be that confident. It didn’t seem to occur to him that there might be something he couldn’t fix.
“It isn’t trouble as much as a change in circumstances. Brittany was exaggerating.”
And she was going to kill her.
“She said you’d push me away.”
She wasn’t just going to kill her; she was going to kill her slowly. “It was wrong of her to put you in this position. I’m sure you’re a busy man, so you should get on and do whatever it is you do, and I’ll—” She’d what? Carry on messing up parenthood? “I’ll be fine.”
