Oberon Boxed Set (Books 1-3) Welcome to Oberon

by P. G. Forte

  How could she possibly have imagined she could keep up the pretense of indifference once they were here? In this house, of all places! And alone. With all these rooms, and all these possibilities and without the comfortable, familiar barriers of seat belts and stick shifts between them?

  She should just turn around, go right back in there and tell him she’d changed her mind. She could say she wasn’t hungry, or she had a headache, or she’d forgotten an appointment. It didn’t matter what she said. Any excuse would do.

  But then he’d leave.

  And even though his leaving was the best, most sensible, safest thing that could happen, it was also the last thing she wanted him to do.

  She could do this, she told herself, as she forced herself to breathe. There was no need to panic. She’d managed all day, hadn’t she? She was sure he didn’t have a clue how she was really feeling.

  She would be all right as long as he didn’t touch her.

  She could handle anything else, but not that. And no more smiling either. As long as she kept her distance she’d be fine. But distance was critical. Because if he touched her, she wasn’t sure what she might do.

  They took their drinks out to the patio while they waited for the pizza. And if Scout thought that being out of the house would be an improvement, she quickly realized her mistake. Her younger self had imagined scenes like this one far too many times.

  There would be music playing, and the two of them would be right here on the sun-warmed bricks of the patio, with the hot tub, and the Mexican ceramic fireplace, and the large, old, Royal Palm tree strung with tiny white lights.

  She’d turned on the lights tonight almost without thinking, and the stereo as well. And now, she felt almost as though she’d entered one of her own fantasies.

  Except that the hot tub had always figured a little more prominently in most of those fantasies.

  Nick was standing a slight distance away from her, leaning on the railing, taking in the view. She found her own gaze returning, again and again, to his profile. She swallowed hard, and wrenched her eyes away, once more forcing herself to focus on the larger view instead.

  She had filled the bird feeders early that morning in a fit of enthusiasm, and now what seemed like dozens of house finches darted and swooped across the yard. Two of the cats sat motionless on the deck, watching them through slitted eyes. The gardens, always lush with flowers anyway, positively shimmered as the slanting rays of the sun glinted off the wings of the butterflies and hummingbirds that fluttered around the blossoms. The mingled scents of honeysuckle, jasmine and rose was almost overpowering.

  To the left of the yard rose the dark, graceful woods, through which she used to travel back and forth to school. And in the distance, partially obscured, a sliver of ocean view could be glimpsed – sparkling, pure-shot silver – between the large, old bay laurel trees that bordered the property line at the back.

  It was impossibly romantic, Scout thought with a flash of irritation. It was completely, totally and unfairly romantic.

  The golden sun gilding everything it touched, the soft sounds of bird calls, the perfumed air. And Nick. Looking so impossibly good.

  Oh, God help her, she was staring at him again. But she just couldn’t help herself. There were those soft curls at the nape of his neck that just brushed against his collar. And his arms, looking so strong and tanned—

  How could you look at arms like that and not wonder how it would feel to have them wrapped around you? The problem was, she remembered all too well what it felt like. And she wanted to feel it again.

  Forget it, a harsh voice in her head kept saying. That was years ago. He doesn’t care now. Hasn’t he made that perfectly clear? He’s moved on with his life. Why can’t you?

  Scout took another sip of her Shiraz. The smooth, peppery coolness slid down her throat to turn warm in her stomach. And all the while a smaller, softer voice was insisting, He did care, once. I bet I could make him care again.

  “Nice,” Nick said appreciatively, turning back to face her, forcing her back to reality.

  “Yes. It is.” Scout sighed wistfully. Struggling to recapture her former coolness, she made herself add a casual, “It’s just about the only thing in Oberon I really missed.” Almost the only thing.

  “Huh. Well, you couldn’t have missed it that much, I guess. You somehow managed to stay away from it all this time, didn’t you?”

  She retreated to the table and busied herself with lighting a citronella candle. “It wasn’t really that simple. Or that easy.”

  “So, tell me,” he said softly. He was leaning against the railing with his arms crossed, and a look in his eyes she found disturbingly similar to those of the cats’.

  Watchful. Predatory. Dangerous.

  She felt a small, familiar thrill of excitement. Nick had always seemed just the slightest bit dangerous. It was a big part of what had attracted her in the first place; the idea that she was playing with something wild. Something that might turn unpredictable and scary without warning. Like now. But she was older now, and hopefully wiser. She could handle this.

  She shook her head. “It’s a long story.”

  He shrugged. “We’ve got the time. The pizza won’t be here for another ten minutes, you said.”

  Right. Shit. “Okay, well... my father was dead, and I think my stepmother wished I was, too. My stepsister, as you know, had left town after blaming me for just about everything she could think of. And my friends, such as they were, would have been happier to see me in hell, I figured, than anywhere within miles of here. So—” She shrugged. “What did I have to come back for?” You, maybe? She held her breath while she waited to see what he’d say.

  But Nick just stared at her for a long, tense moment with an odd, slightly confounded expression on his face. As if she’d told a joke but blown the punch line.

  “Did I miss something?” he said at last, picking up his beer again, and taking a slow, casual swallow. “I thought you said this was a long story.”

  “Right,” Scout said with a tired sigh. “I lied. It’s not long. Just really depressing. Can we please talk about something else?”

  “Sure.” He shifted position, slightly. “How about... what have you been doing with yourself for the last twenty years?”

  “Oh, please. How about we talk about what you’ve been doing for the last twenty years instead?”

  Nick assumed an expression of innocent surprise. “You mean Lucy didn’t tell you all about me?”

  “I thought we weren’t going to do this again?” she begged him. “Please. I really can’t take it.”

  “Okay, fine. Seriously, though. What is it you do, when you’re not here searching for lost relatives, lost roommates or lost pets? Do you realize I don’t even know where you live?”

  “Well, it’s hardly a secret.” She shrugged. “I live in Venice Beach. I – God, I hate to call myself an artist, it sounds so pretentious, doesn’t it? But I guess you could say I’m a sculptor. At the moment, anyway. I work with ceramics mostly, and some bronzes. I have pieces in a couple of galleries. I also do some other stuff – vases and tea sets, stuff like that – for some of the local art fairs. That’s it, really. I was an actress for a while. But I kinda quit that.”

  He looked amused. “Really? Why’s that? I’d have thought it’d be right up your alley.”

  “Oh, it was fun for a while, but acting is such a collaborative thing. There were always so many people around. I found I was more suited to working alone.”

  “Ever been married?”

  She snorted. “After the example my father set? No. No way. Never. How about you?”

  “Yeah, well, marriage didn’t really work for me, either. I have a daughter, though. Kate.”

  “I know.” She felt herself blushing again. “I, um, I met her at the Festival last week.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Laughter glinted in Nick’s eyes. “I heard about that. You and Marsha got into some kind of brawl, wasn’t it?”

>   And she so wanted to discuss that subject. “Yeah, something like that. So, what happened with you and your wife?”

  He frowned. “It’s kind of like your story; short and depressing. Let’s not talk about that, either.”

  “A fine pair of conversationalists we are,” she muttered grimly. “Were we always this chatty?”

  A smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “Well, I have to admit, it’s not really our conversations that I remember the most when I think about the time we spent together back then.”

  She couldn’t read the expression in his eyes as he pushed himself off the railing and crossed the deck to sit down opposite her, but she felt a shiver run all the way down her spine, just the same.

  Close. Way too close.

  Maybe it had something to do with the way the light was reflecting in his eyes, she thought irrationally. He didn’t look like a cat after all now, but something more fearsome. Something that relied less on cunning and more on deadly strength. She found herself staring into his eyes and couldn’t look away. Her breath caught in her throat. Above the sudden pounding in her ears she heard a faint chime. Thank God.

  “Doorbell,” she said, jumping to her feet. “That must the pizza. I’ll go get it.”

  Nick watched her run off to answer the door. Shit. She’d looked like a scared rabbit just then, which was a hell of a thing. Man, he sure hadn’t seen that one coming. He’d better just eat his pizza, assuming he could even swallow past the disappointment in his throat, and leave. Because it was becoming pretty damn obvious she didn’t want him around.

  Maybe it had been a mistake, stretching the day out this long. Maybe he should have cut it off this morning, like he’d originally planned. Maybe she felt he was rushing her? He sure hoped that’s all it was, because he could do something about that. At least... well, no, maybe he couldn’t, either.

  No matter how much he tried to tell himself they were strangers – that he needed to take things slowly, get to know her, give her a chance to know him – his body wasn’t buying it. Not for a minute. As far as it was concerned, she was his, and always had been. And all the years of waiting had only sharpened a need that had been there forever. The need was so sharp now, he was having real trouble thinking of anything else.

  It didn’t help that attempting to talk to her was like walking through a minefield, either. So many subjects to avoid: the past, the future, his marriage, anything at all to do with Oberon apparently, and worst of all, how much he wanted things between them back the way they used to be.

  Probably best to stick to safe topics. Like work. Work had been good for oh, a whole five or six sentences already. A record, of some sort.

  So, she was an artist now. Yeah, well, that was no surprise. It’s what she’d always said she’d wanted. And LA, yeah he could see that, too. He could imagine her hosting parties on the terrace of some beach house. Always dressing in white to highlight her tan, accenting her outfits with colorful silk scarves, nothing at all like the clothes she’d wear around Oberon. Or attending gallery openings and private shows. Always the center of everybody’s attention, surrounded constantly by throngs of admirers.

  It was nice to hear that her life had stayed on track. Too bad he’d wasted so much of his own life, waiting for her to come back to him. But that wasn’t exactly true, was it? What would he have done differently? He’d gotten married. He’d had a child. Maybe he wasn’t very good at either of those things, but that was hardly her fault.

  And his work... no, there really wasn’t anything he would have changed there. Oberon might not have a huge crime problem, but it did attract some strange people from time to time. Unpleasant people. The kind of people who liked to cause trouble. It was his job to find them and stop them before they caused too much. Over the years, he’d gotten real good at it. He loved his job. It was the only part of his life that actually worked. And no matter what Lauren had always claimed, it was never boring. At least he’d never found it boring, but he’d already outlasted two partners who had, so maybe his was not a universal opinion. He worked alone most of the time now – ran his own investigations – and, like she said, he found it suited him better.

  So, there you go. He knew a fleeting moment of hopefulness. There was something they had in common, after all. A promising topic for conversation. When she came back, they’d discuss how much they both liked being alone.

  Oh, that would be smooth, all right. Shit.

  Maybe she was right. Maybe they did have nothing to talk about, and maybe they never really had. After all, most of what they’d said to each other twenty years ago had been based on lies. But he had not exactly told the truth when he said he didn’t remember their conversations. They had driven around for hours at a time back then, and they had talked plenty.

  It couldn’t all have been lies.

  And even if it was, who cared? What difference did it make? The truth was, he just liked the way it felt to be around her. He still did. That had to count for something, didn’t it?

  But not like this. He couldn’t take much more of this shit. The distance thing was becoming a real problem for him. The more he felt her pushing him away, the more it made him want to push right back.

  What did I have to come back for...

  He still could not believe he’d heard that right. That she’d actually had the nerve to say that – to him! Or that he hadn’t grabbed her right then and there and given her a good example of just what she’d had, or could have had.

  He tossed back the rest of his beer and went off in search of another. Maybe he should do the smart thing and go home. Cut his losses and walk. Now, before he embarrassed himself. Or before the anger flaring up inside him could reach the flashpoint. Give it up as a hopeless cause. A dream that had died. A fantasy he should have buried years ago.

  Walk, the voice of reason insisted. Do it, now. Except... he didn’t want to end it yet. He wanted more time with her. He needed more time. After all those years, was that really too much to ask for? Just to spend a little time with her before she disappeared again? As he knew she would.

  Just walk away from her! The voice was screaming now. But it didn’t matter how loud it spoke, or how often. Walk away from her? He knew he never could.

  Back to Top

  * * * *

  Chapter Twenty Three

  * * * *

  Nick pushed his way into the house, almost colliding with Scout in the dimly lit kitchen. She gasped and all but dropped the pizza box she was holding. They regarded each other in silence.

  There it was again, he thought irritably. That same wary, frightened look he’d seen in her eyes earlier. Twenty years he’d been waiting for her. Was one lousy smile too much to expect? Couldn’t she even give him that much?

  “Is – is something wrong?” she stammered breathlessly.

  “Yeah. Why are you so damn jumpy?” Nick snapped at her in reply.

  Scout blinked. “I’m not... jumpy.” But he could see her hands clench more tightly on the box.

  He grabbed it away from her and dropped it on the counter. She closed her eyes, briefly, involuntarily it seemed, almost as if she expected him to strike her. And that thought caused his temper to flame even higher. Dangerously so. Christ, what the hell did she take him for anyway?

  “Yeah, you are,” he insisted, taking a step closer. “You look like you’re scared to death of me right now. And you’re shivering.” His hands closed on her arms. “What’s going on here, Scout? Do you want me to leave?” His voice was low, hoarse, and he didn’t know what he would do if she said yes, since leaving now was out of the question.

  “No,” she whispered.

  That whisper was going to drive him mad. He let her go abruptly, backing away from her, his hands tensing into fists at his sides. His next words were out of his mouth almost before he thought them. “Are you seeing that jerk, Glenn, again?”

  Her head snapped up at that. “Am I seeing— No! Why on earth would you ask that? I hadn’t seen him for
twenty years.”

  “But you saw him on Monday, remember? You had dinner with him? At least that’s what you said yesterday.”

  She looked away. “Oh, that. When you said... look, the situation... it’s awkward, okay? When he showed up, I just, well... I couldn’t exactly tell him to get lost, now could I?”

  “Why not? Because he’s your lawyer? Because you’re hoping he’ll help you find out what happened to your stepsister? Or is it awkward because you slept with him?”

  “All of the above, I guess,” she answered, reaching for the wine bottle on the counter to pour herself another glass. “You know, Nick, this is really getting old. I feel like all I’ve done for the past week is apologize for mistakes I made when I was a kid. Ever since I got here, I keep having to deal with all these people who think I screwed them.”

  “Only, in Glenn’s case, it’s literally.”

  She made a face. “Gee. Thanks for bringing that up.”

  “Unlike me.”

  “What?”

  “You didn’t... literally... screw me.”

  “Oh.” She colored slightly, and took a long drink. Her eyes studied him appraisingly over the rim of her glass. “Yeah. But you know, I don’t really think I can take any credit for that,” she said as she lowered the glass. “You just got lucky, is all.”

  Lucky? “Interesting choice of words. How do you figure that?”

  She turned on him, suddenly. “Look, Nick. You’re still mad at me for something that happened twenty years ago? Well, fantastic. Join the club. I made mistakes, sure. People do that. Only I learned a long time ago that for some reason I was never going to be allowed to forget about mine. Which, by the way, is yet another reason I never came back here before now. And why I don’t plan on staying an instant longer than I absolutely have to. But as far as you’re concerned, I think it’s time for a reality check. You got off easy.”