On Love's Gentle Shore

by Liz Johnson

  “All right.”

  He expected her to hang up on him, but she sucked in a quick breath before adding quickly, “The hospital needs to know that she’s pregnant. Fourteen weeks.”

  And that was the end of their conversation. Caden hung up without any good-bye, and he stared at his phone for a second, his mind racing to catch up with everything that had just happened. Natalie had been right. And maybe, by doing the thing she’d always abhorred, she’d saved two lives today.

  “What’d she say?” He was still a bit dumbstruck when Natalie began badgering him for information. “Is she on her way?”

  “Yes.” He stared into Natalie’s expectant eyes. The crinkles at the corners grew deep with concern and twitched when she tried to hold herself together. And then it struck him. Why this was all so personal for her. Why she didn’t want to face this alone. “What happened to your friend who had morning sickness so bad?”

  She wiggled away from his shoulder, catching his hair and pulling it. He winced, and she latched on to that movement.

  “You should cut your hair.” She pinched the end of a strand, picked it up, and let it drop. “It never used to be long.”

  “I like it this way.” At least, he liked that it made a statement. Even if it happened to be a juvenile one. Natalie had never liked guys with long hair. She’d said so at least half a dozen times in their youth. And growing his hair out had been a subtle reminder to himself that he didn’t care what she thought.

  “No you don’t.” She sat forward and leaned her elbows on her knees. Her narrowed gaze said she was looking for a fight, looking for a distraction.

  He wasn’t going to play into her hand. “Your friend, you said she got sick a lot. What happened?”

  Natalie pulled away, crossing her arms over her chest. Her eyes closed, and the lines around her mouth grew distinct. Finally her forehead wrinkled the space between her eyebrows. “I don’t want to—”

  “I’m not asking you to talk about someone else. Tell me how it affected you.”

  The tension in her face released by fractions, but always the lines at her mouth remained. “Melody was my first friend in Nashville. She was a little bit older. More established.” Her gaze lifted to the ceiling as her voice trailed off.

  “How did you meet?”

  “She was the night manager at the hotel.” Her crossed arms made a subtle shift, and she began hugging herself, preparing for whatever was to come. “She was so kind to me. She would bring in these pecan caramel brownies that she made every weekend. Her husband couldn’t get enough of them, but she’d always steal a few away for me and the other front desk staff. And then she got pregnant.”

  In his experience that was a statement usually followed by squeals of glee between women, but Natalie looked on the verge of tears. Just as he was about to cut her off, to tell her that it was all right to end the story there, she let the rest loose.

  “She was so sick. Always sick. I’d thought it was supposed to just come in the morning, but if she was awake, she was sick. She started missing work, and then they brought in a temporary replacement. She’d be back after maternity leave, they said. She just needed bed rest. But I went to visit her. And her eyes … they were … hollow. Her skin sagged. She was this wonderfully curvy woman who lit up a room. Before.”

  She swallowed, and it was audible. Maybe because he couldn’t focus on anything else. Or maybe because he could see the movement at her slender throat, unable to look away.

  “She was really ill, but the last time I saw her, she said the baby was fine, and she’d be okay too. But she wasn’t.”

  Natalie didn’t move—not even to swipe at a lone tear that had found its way down her cheek. He had to reach for her, to somehow comfort her in the midst of this painful memory. He’d pushed for it. And now it was tearing him apart to hear her voice crack. Squeezing her hand, he tried to tell her that she wasn’t alone even though no words could do it justice.

  “They admitted her into the hospital on a Tuesday night. It was my first day of work that week, and I remember thinking that I’d go visit her when I had a day off.” She licked her lips, closed her eyes, and didn’t seem to care about the stream of tears running down her cheeks. “She died on Wednesday morning. Her and the baby. She was my only friend.”

  That realization stabbed at him. Natalie had left everything for the promise of a better home. And the first friend she’d made had died.

  And now Marie seemed to be in danger of the same fate.

  Gut wrenched, heart torn, he tugged on her wrist and pulled her into his lap. She didn’t fight it as he wrapped his arms around her. Laying her head on his shoulder, she let out a shaky sigh and melted into him.

  His hand made a slow figure eight on her back, his chin on top of her hair.

  They sat like that for what felt like hours, only the strangled sound of her breathing breaking the silence. If the occasional scrape of another chair or random footsteps tried to break into their bubble, he needed only to hold on tighter to remember that it was truly just the two of them in that moment.

  Friends who had lost friends.

  He knew her feelings. They’d been his when he realized he’d never see her again.

  And just now that pain reared again. No matter how often he thought he’d overcome it, it returned. It waited in the wings until he thought he was healed. Then it returned, center stage beneath the spotlight.

  Of course, holding her this close couldn’t help. But he also couldn’t leave her to grieve on her own.

  Besides, she would never see Melody again. But he could twine his arms around the one he’d lost. And she’d called him when she needed someone to face this day and that memory.

  Suddenly, a voice penetrated their little world. It was vaguely familiar and terribly persistent.

  “For Marie Sloane. Friends of Marie Sloane.”

  When the words registered, he eased his arms from around Natalie and looked up to meet the nurse’s gaze. “Can we see her?”

  “She’s asking for you.”

  Natalie’s limbs flailed like a newborn colt. Nothing seemed quite stable, but she pushed herself, scurrying after the nurse, Justin hot on her heels.

  Marie shared the room with another patient, but a thick curtain hung between the beds to give some semblance of privacy. Her eyes were closed as she reclined against two pillows, and her face looked peaceful. The IV bag hanging at her side dripped into the port in the back of her hand and was likely responsible for the touch of color that had returned to her cheeks.

  Natalie let out a soft peep, and Marie’s eyes fluttered open. She reached out her hand with an exhausted smile. “Natalie.” It was barely a whisper, a little gravelly, but he couldn’t deny how sweet it sounded.

  Natalie rushed forward and caught her hand, squeezing it between both of hers. “Are you all right? How do you feel?”

  “I feel like an idiot. I haven’t been able to keep much down lately.” She pressed her free hand against the bland brown blanket tucked in around her stomach. “And the doctor said I was terribly dehydrated.”

  Natalie nodded. “I’m so sorry.”

  Marie’s smile, still tired, turned thoughtful. “You knew, didn’t you? You’re the one who told them.”

  With a small nod, she confirmed Marie’s suspicion. “Is the baby …”

  “He or she is just fine. Thanks to you, we’re both going to be fine.”

  Natalie looked over her shoulder, her face glowing like she might never have reason to cry again.

  And Justin felt like he’d been struck by lightning.

  Natalie could barely keep her eyes open as Justin drove them back to the inn later that night. Her legs twitched sporadically, even when she tried to keep herself perfectly still. As she watched the passing pine trees silhouetted by the young moon, her chin dipped. She fought the desire to succumb to it but had no strength to carry the conversation.

  Justin seemed to be lost somewhere in the recesses of his mind, hi
s gaze trained on the farthest reaches of the beams in front of them.

  She didn’t have the energy to ask him what he was thinking about, even though she’d earned it. She’d opened up to him, told him about Melody and about the baby. Explained why she’d nearly frozen when she’d seen Marie sprawled on the floor.

  But the baby was all right. Marie was too. Dehydrated, in need of some fluids and plenty of bed rest, but okay.

  She let out a slow breath and the tension in her shoulders with it.

  Thank you, God. Thank you for protecting Marie. She shot a glance at the square outline of Justin’s jaw. Thank you that I didn’t have to face this day alone. Thank you that Russell didn’t see me like this.

  Something inside her twisted tighter than the threads of a rope. She knew she shouldn’t feel that way. She wasn’t supposed to hide the hard parts of life from the man she was going to spend the rest of her life with.

  But it was true. She didn’t want him to see it.

  If he did, he might change his mind about her. If he saw the real her, he might see what her mother and father and so many others in this town had seen.

  Justin pulled up to the inn and parked the truck in front, cutting off her train of thought before it could get to even more dangerous ground.

  Relief flooded through her as she popped open the door, but when she turned to thank Justin, he was gone. She whipped around as far as the bucket seat would allow, finally realizing he was already at her side.

  With a hand out, he said, “Need help?”

  “I’m okay.” But suddenly the twitching in her legs had turned to shaking in her knees, and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to reach the ground without falling into a heap. Maybe he intuitively understood what the day had cost her. Maybe he could read it on her face. Either way, he reached for her waist with both hands and lifted her to the grass at the curb.

  An unbidden sigh escaped. It came from somewhere low in her throat and hummed with a contentment she hadn’t known she could find on this island.

  Cheeks burning and heart racing, she shot him a glance to see if he’d heard her. If she was lucky, the hum of the boat in the harbor had drowned her out. Or maybe he’d thought it was just the sound of the waves clapping their gentle applause.

  Nope. No such break. When he arched a brow in her direction, it spoke more than a thousand questions. But a smile crept across his lips, despite the tug and pull at the corners that said he was trying to keep just that from happening.

  And that grin, no matter how hard he fought it, reminded her why he had always been a safe place.

  Her hand found its way to his arm, solid and unmoving beneath her fingers. “Thank you for today.”

  He dipped his head in humility—faux or true, she couldn’t tell. “I didn’t do much.”

  “I think you did. You were barely out of the shower—” Her head cocked as she realized what she’d said. “Why were you taking a shower at two o’clock in the afternoon?”

  Looking like he might spit, he grunted. “Stupid cow. She’s still refusing to let her calf eat, so when I took it a bottle, she thought I was a danger. She butted me right into a mud puddle.”

  Her giggle couldn’t be contained, despite the sharp flicker in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up sour memories.”

  He shrugged. “Not the first time I’ve been tossed to the ground.”

  There was a light of humor in his tone, but there was something deeper too. Something that suggested that maybe she’d done the tossing. It made her chest ache. Why had she thought leaving was her only option?

  She stared hard into his eyes, trying to convey her regrets. All of them. “I’m sorry you ended up—”

  “Natalie? Natalie Joy?”

  The low voice skittered across her skin, stole her breath, and sent a shiver rushing through her despite the warm summer air.

  She turned slowly, praying she was mistaken. Praying he hadn’t sought her out again.

  But there was her father, standing between her and Justin and the inn’s red door, blocking her escape yet again.

  “Could we talk? Just for a minute.” He held his hands against his front as though holding a hat, which wasn’t there. And his chin stayed low to his chest. But his eyes never left her. His gaze wasn’t aggressive or unhappy. Somehow it felt like he was drinking her in, like he couldn’t get enough of the sight of her.

  Probably he couldn’t believe that the kid who had left the island was the same woman who had returned.

  Only she wasn’t the same. She wouldn’t be controlled by his bad choices. And choosing to ambush her after a day like this was definitely a bad choice.

  With a haggard breath, she put her hands up between them. Maybe she could push him away even with twenty feet between them. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”

  The streetlight cast a strange shadow over his face, but the illuminated portion held firm and tense. He’d always been loose and relaxed when she was younger. Or maybe that had been the alcohol.

  But there was a set to his chin now that said he intended to speak whatever was on his mind. Whatever had made him track her down. Twice.

  She steeled herself for his rant, for his anger, although he had no good reason to be angry. She’d been a good daughter. He was the one who’d torn their family apart. He was the one who’d ignored everything going on under his roof. Maybe that had been the alcohol too.

  But it had still been his choice.

  Instead of marching toward her, he put his hands into his pockets and hung his head, his red hair so much like her own, his posture so similar to the one she always sought out amid uncertainty.

  Maybe she’d learned it from him. Maybe it was an inherited trait.

  That stung. She didn’t want to think about being like her father. Or worse—like her mother.

  It rushed over her, a cloak too heavy to carry. Suddenly it was all too much. Flashes of Marie on the kitchen floor. The hospital. The baby. Memories of Melody too sweet and bitter to stomach.

  Her hands began to tremble, and her shoulders shook. Her heart had already taken a beating, and facing her father was too much for this day.

  She glanced up at Justin, whose hand still rested on her back, and his gaze was heavy on her dad. “I need to go.”

  He didn’t look down at her. “All right. Good night.”

  “Thank you.” She wasn’t entirely sure what she’d meant that whispered farewell to include, but it covered the entirety of the day and maybe all their years of friendship. Mostly it covered that she didn’t have to explain why she might crack under one more conversation. He understood.

  She could feel his gaze on her as she walked toward the inn, holding her breath and giving her dad’s still figure a wide berth.

  Her dad said nothing else until she closed the door behind her. Only when she leaned against the solid wood did she hear the low murmurs of their deep voices carrying across the lawn. The words were too garbled to distinguish, and she heaved a tired sigh as she wiped an errant tear from her cheek.

  Good. Let them talk. For now she’d skirted having to face him.

  But the reprieve wouldn’t last forever. At some point, she’d have to face her father.

  And if she wasn’t careful, Russell would be by her side instead of Justin.

  15

  Four days later Justin still had trouble falling asleep. Of course his mom had picked up on a problem after his first sleepless night.

  “Are you all right? You have dark circles under your eyes,” she had said. Just what every man wanted to hear over the breakfast table.

  He’d brushed her comment off. The sleeplessness too.

  Yet every night when he closed his eyes, his conversation with Rick O’Ryan flashed in front of him.

  “You have to help me,” Rick had said. He looked like a boxer leaving the ring after a losing fight, his shoulders slumped in defeat and his shadowed face drawn tight in pain.

  Justin crossed his arms, the fa
bric of his cotton work shirt suddenly too snug across his shoulders. He flexed them anyway. “Why on earth would I help you?”

  “You’re her best friend, right?”

  “Wrong.” While there was plenty of pleasure in cutting Rick off, the truth of what he said was about as fun as hitting his thumb with a hammer.

  “You’re not?” Rick scratched his cheek and took a step closer. “But you’re always together. She spent more time at your house than at our own.”

  Justin dodged the question by spitting out one of his own. “And why do you think that is?”

  It was hard to tell in the yellow light over the street, but the man’s fair skin might have turned pink. His hands went back into his pockets, his shoulders tucking under his ears. Rick’s chin fell to his chest, his defeat soundly in the record books. “Justin, I was a terrible father.”

  He snorted at the vast understatement.

  “I know. I know.” Looking back up, he squinted until his left eye nearly disappeared beneath his eyebrow. His forehead a sea of wrinkles, he sighed loudly. “I wasn’t fit to be a dad. No one should have let me take anyone so special home with me.”

  “At least we agree on one thing.”

  Rick’s eyebrows jumped, and a flicker of hope crossed his face.

  That was not what Justin had been aiming for. He shot the older man his hardest scowl and clenched his jaw as he leaned forward. “You don’t have any right to ask for Natalie’s time.”

  “I understand that. I’m just … I’m asking for grace.”

  The word slapped him across the face. Grace. It was a word he expected to hear from Father Chuck standing behind the pulpit at First Church. It was a word he expected to hear when his mom watched that dancing show. It applied to the wind in the trees and specific hockey plays.

  But nothing could have prepared him to hear it from Natalie’s deadbeat, alcoholic father.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Rick’s eyes closed as peace settled over his features, the tense wrinkles easing away. “I don’t deserve her forgiveness, but she deserves my apology.”

  Justin stood, his mouth hanging open, for a long moment. He wasn’t sure he could believe Rick. Was this a ploy to get close to Natalie only to hurt her again? Or had there really been a change in his life?