by Becky Flade
“I’m going to straighten up around here. Take a long bath, play with Dubs. This afternoon I’m having lunch with the Cove’s sexy sheriff before whiling away the hours putting my apartment back in order. Then I’m going grocery shopping.”
“Would you at least consider my offer?”
“I’m not moving in with you, Carter. I want to have my own place. We can be here, we can be there, and we can both be alone when we want or need. I’ve explained this at length.” She stood, and he watched in male appreciation at the way she crossed to him, the cotton hem of his shirt swaying around her hips, flashing him with bright pink panties. He felt his muscles jerk in erotic response. When she reached him, she wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her cheek over his heart. “I won’t disappear. I promise.”
He hadn’t known that she’d seen through to the fear. He tilted his face down until his cheek rested on her hair. His hand trailed down to cup her neck while the other arm wrapped around her upper back. He kissed her temple.
“And if you play your cards right, I might be willing to make you dinner. At my place,” she said.
“Deal.” He flashed her the grin he’d first used to charm his mother. “I’ll see you at the diner around one. Let’s go, stupid.” He whistled at the door when the dog remained by Henley’s side. “I guess he’s staying with you today. Make sure he gets out one last time before you leave.”
He slid on his sunglasses and blew her a kiss as he exited. His cheerful mood plummeted as he reached for the handle on the driver’s-side door. He couldn’t help the sense of dread settling in his stomach. He searched the contacts on his cell phone from the relative privacy of his Jeep, until he found the number he was looking for and pressed call.
“Hey, Jeff. It’s Carter McAlister. Tell me you got something?” He stopped at the end of the drive and checked for traffic. There had never been another car on this particular stretch of road—a few miles down it ended at the marsh that buffeted one side of the lake and there were no other houses after his. But Carter always checked. Too many years of driving in the city had taught him well.
“McAlister, hi. I’m doing well, thanks for asking. How are you and your lady?”
“I’m sorry if I’m rude, but I need to wrap this up. Before someone gets more seriously hurt.” He turned onto Main Street. The spill of shops and offices that made up the center of town stretched out before him. “Have you found anything?”
“Matter of fact, I may have. I made a phone call to a psychiatrist who occasionally works with our office, good guy. And he made some discreet inquiries on my behalf within the mental-health community. A doctor came forward with concern about a patient he inherited from Dr. Elliott. He’s agreed to come in for a chat this morning after stressing he could only cooperate within the bounds of ethics.”
“You think it’s something?”
“He hasn’t given me anything to go on—yet. But yeah, I think it’s something. This doctor seemed shaken up.”
“You’ll call me if this guy gives you anything?”
“You know it. Least I can do.”
“Thanks.” Carter pulled into the spot reserved for the sheriff’s official vehicle. Frustration rode him—he wanted to be able to do something—battling with the gratitude that someone was, and as a favor to him.
“Have you considered the possibility whoever is after Henley is just some random whack-a-do? It happens all the time. A good-looking woman says ‘thank you’ to some twist that handed her a menu for a pizza shop, and said twist becomes obsessed.”
“Yeah, I’ve considered it. And the possibility terrifies me. If I don’t know who to look for, I can’t stop him before he comes after her again. Find me a name.”
• • •
Henley had thought she’d revel in the solitude when she had urged Carter out the door. But she missed him. The house was too quiet. She hoped the loneliness was due to the fact that it was Carter’s home rather than hers. She’d never experienced the sensation; it made her uncomfortable. She didn’t want to become codependent on her relationship with Carter for self-definition. The thought made her uneasy despite the happiness sparkling inside her. A relationship. That’s what this was—undefined, certainly, but real.
Dublin was a reticent companion. Regardless, she found herself chatting with him as she cleaned. Two days of relaxation and sex had taken their toll on the housework. Carter told her he paid a woman to clean weekly, but Henley couldn’t, in good conscience, leave it like this. She walked through the house a room at a time, collecting dirty dishes and glasses. She piled them in the sink, added soap and water, and headed to the second floor to strip the bed and spread new sheets.
“Don’t get me wrong, the sex is fantastic, but he’s also funny and thoughtful. Smart, too. I had as much fun debating issues with him.” She thought the dog snorted at her, and she eyed him. “Okay, not as much fun, but it was still a good time. I forgot what it was like to be this involved, this intimate with another person. It feels good. I feel good.”
Henley added the soiled linens to the pile of dirty clothes and wet towels she’d built in the hallway. With her hands on her hips, she surveyed the heap. This would take more than one trip to the laundry room off the kitchen where the washer and dryer units were stacked. “Well, we made a mess; didn’t we, Dubs?”
The look he shared with her from his perch on the freshly made bed was definitely a silent reproof of their slovenly behavior. Considering the hair he shed, she found a clean comforter in a cedar chest and spread it across the four-poster bed. She allowed herself a minute to linger over the things she and Carter had done in that bed. Her pulse quickened. The dog covered his eyes with a paw as though he also remembered.
“Maybe I’ll get a doggie bed for my place. I don’t want you up on my mattress.”
He huffed out a breath. And she chuckled. When his ears perked up, she stopped talking and listened. As soon as she heard the approaching car, the dog was off the bed. He rushed by her and tore through the laundry pile, leaving linens trailing in his wake.
“That’s why Carter calls you stupid,” she shouted at his wagging tail as she squatted. With her arms full, she made her way down the stairs, bracing one hip against the railing. “Miss me already?”
When she reached the bottom and peered over the top of the load, Aidan stood inside the threshold. He petted Dublin, and the dog’s tongue lolled in ecstasy. Traitor. She felt the muscles in her back become rigid. She couldn’t help it—any more than she could the flair of fear.
“I’m sorry. I thought you were Carter. He’s not here; he’s at the station.”
Dublin must have sensed the tension. He pulled his thick head away from Aidan’s hand, whimpered, and moved to stand beside Henley. She couldn’t comfort the Shepherd without dropping the dirty linens, and she didn’t want to do that. She didn’t want to unload evidence of her and Carter’s intimacy at Aidan’s feet.
“I know. I wanted to talk to you. Your car isn’t in town, but his Jeep is. I thought you might be here.”
Alone, she added silently. He’d guessed she was here alone. Maybe it had been him all this time. Maybe the fire at the cabin had been a red herring. It’s not like the place belonged to him. It was Maggie’s property. And she thought she remembered Carter saying once that Aidan had lost the land to Maggie. Perhaps burning down the cabin served a twofold purpose.
“You’re afraid of me.” His stoic façade crumbled. He looked devastated. But if Carter and Maggie could be fooled, he’d have to be a consummate actor. “I’m sorry, Henley. I can’t begin to apologize. Christ, you’re afraid of me.” He stepped toward her, and she stepped back. Her hip banged into the solid, ornate banister with a resounding crack. Aidan halted. “Maggie said you weren’t answering your phone. But Carter finally did, yesterday.”
She nodded. She counted herself lucky that Maggie had reclaimed her car from the lot at the station while Henley had been at Carter’s and they’d avoided an awkward conversat
ion. But she knew she’d have to call her friend back sooner rather than later; the headstrong woman was likely to show up and force a confrontation. But Henley hadn’t expected this move from Aidan. She’d hoped to avoid him indefinitely.
“I’ll never forgive myself for leaving bruises on you. That’s a shame I’ll always carry. I can’t take back what I said. But I can make amends. Or at least try, if you’ll let me.” He held his palms out to her. “I won’t touch you. You have my word. I’m an asshole, but my word is gold. I can’t promise this conversation won’t hurt us both. But I won’t touch you.”
He couldn’t know about her ability. Carter wouldn’t have told him or Maggie; he wouldn’t betray her trust. So Aidan couldn’t have known the impact his words would have. His words weren’t chosen to unsettle her. But they did.
And she could touch him. She’d know instantly if she could trust his word. Until recently, she’d never used her ability that way; it had always felt unethical to her. But she’d used it with her mother in an attempt to understand, and she’d become accustomed to sharing Carter’s emotions. She wasn’t a doctor, and Aidan wasn’t a patient. He was a potential threat to the life she’d fight to protect.
“I’ll put this in the laundry room. You can wait in the kitchen. There’s a pot of coffee made.” She waited until he passed her, unwilling to turn her back on him. The chagrin on his face told her he understood she wasn’t being polite. And the still ripe bruise riding his jaw gave her a tiny sense of satisfaction - she wasn’t the only one hurt that night. He crossed to the cabinet that housed the mugs and asked if she’d like a cup. She nodded. She also acknowledged the unspoken challenge he’d issued: He knew Carter’s house as well as his own.
She tossed the pile of laundry on the floor and debated whether to throw in the first load or wait until after Aidan left. She had plans for the remainder of her day. Plans she didn’t intend to let Maggie’s husband derail. Her life was her own. That meant the linens were going in the washer now.
“How do you take your coffee?”
“I’ll be right there,” she called, pouring detergent over the soiled laundry she’d stuffed into the washer. Yeah, considering what remained of the heap in the upstairs hall, this was definitely going to take a second load.
“Maybe you could put on more clothes while you’re in there?” His suggestion made her gasp. She wore only Carter’s tee. And it barely covered her. Embarrassed, she hurried from the room, mumbling her cream and sugar preference as she sailed through the kitchen. She thought she heard him chuckle. She wasn’t sure. She was infuriated by the thought that he laughed at her.
“Great. That’s great, Henley. Flash the guy you think, worst case, is after you, best case, hates your guts. Don’t forget to invite him for coffee and leave him alone to find a weapon. You’re a freaking genius.”
She shoved her feet into a pair of shorts and yanked them up over her hips. She pulled the shirt off and tossed it over the bedpost. She had an image of Carter crawling into bed tonight, seeing it, and thinking of her. That is, if he didn’t stay over at her place. She grinned as she slid into a bra and pulled on a clean shirt. She finger-combed her hair and pulled it into a tail as she hurried back down the stairs.
Aidan’s full mug rested untouched on the kitchen table. She took the seat marked by the second steaming mug. She was grateful he’d chosen to put the table between them. She sipped and inclined her head in thanks; it was perfect.
“Tala hadn’t told me about Ashlock. No one on the reservation did. I was desperately in love with her, and I asked her to be my wife. That was when she confessed to being betrothed. It was an arrangement made between their families—the last two children of the final two remaining clans from the original tribe. She’d never thought to argue it because Jacob had been her best friend all her life. He was away at college, but when he graduated, they’d be wed.
“I was brokenhearted. I left the reservation and wandered the country for about six months. There was a months-old letter from Tala waiting when I got home. She had discovered she was pregnant after I’d left and said she wasn’t going to marry Jacob. That she’d wait for me if I still wanted her. I didn’t call; I bought a seat on the first plane I could. When I arrived at the Parrish home, Tala’s mother told me I had caused her family and the Ashlock family great shame and tragedy. Both their children were dead. She blamed me. I blamed me.
“Until the other day, when I lashed out at you.”
He looked up and met Henley’s gaze. “I didn’t mean the awful things I said. I was afraid of you. I was terrified I would lose my family because of you. But in addition to physically and emotionally harming you, I hurt Maggie and scared Tala. It wasn’t until later, when I’d calmed down, that I realized how I had let them down. And how irrational and unfair I had been to you. I’ve known that you nearly died almost as long as I’ve known about Tala’s murder and Ashlock’s death. But I never looked for you. I never wondered if you were okay. And when I had the chance to ask, I attacked you instead. If I could take my words and actions back, I would. What can I do to make it up to you?”
“You must have loved her a great deal to honor her memory by naming your child after her.” Henley built the nerve to reach out and touch him. “Does it still hurt?”
“That was Maggie’s idea. And no, it doesn’t hurt at all. You?”
“I won’t ever forget, but, no, the grief and the anger dulled over the years. Only the fear remains, and it gleefully serves as a reminder of what was lost. But these past few months in the Cove, with Carter and your family, has lessened the fear to a manageable level.” She stood and moved to Carter’s meager liquor cabinet. She pulled out a bottle of Baileys Irish Cream and spiked her coffee. His grin was rueful when he tapped the lip of his mug. “I know that, for you, Jacob was and always will be a monster. But he wasn’t always like that. I loved him. We were supposed to be married after graduation. He planned to put his degree to good use on the reservation. I’d planned to be a teacher in the underserviced schools there. He never mentioned Tala Parrish to me or said anything about being betrothed.
“When I regained consciousness, I had to be told what had happened to me, to Jacob, all of it, by the police. I understood that illness had changed the boy I loved into a stranger. But I couldn’t find it in me to forgive the lies that came before the sickness. It was a hard time for me. Not just with the rehabilitation. I was pregnant.”
“Oh. I’m not sure what to say except I’m sorry.”
“No venom about your child dying while his survived?”
“Did it? Survive the attack and the coma, I mean?”
She nodded and took a sip.
“Did he know?”
“I don’t know; I don’t see how he could have. I was showing by the time I woke up. Five months later, I gave birth to a healthy baby boy. And he was adopted by a loving, affluent family.” She drank and sighed. “This is good.”
“The coffee?”
“Ha. Yeah, I’m talking about the coffee; the rest of this sucks.” When Dublin’s snores broke the silence, they both startled. They laughed. “I’m getting another cup. You interested?”
“Yes, but I’m skipping the creamer and going straight for the Baileys.” When she reached for his mug, she brushed his hand with hers. He sandwiched her hands between his but kept his eyes downcast. “I never wondered if you survived the attack or what effect it had on your life. You survived a nightmare and became a doctor; you helped people. I’m terribly sorry I called you twisted. I’m such an asshole.”
She leaned over and kissed his forehead. “You’re not that bad.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“Our lives turned out quite differently than we thought they would when we were twenty,” Aidan commented as he sipped his Baileys-laced coffee. “If we had gotten the lives we’d planned instead of the ones we have, we might have been neighbors on the res.”
“How about that?” She smiled and drank, too. She needed to eat if they
were going to continue drinking. “I think back, not often, but I do. And I don’t think my relationship with Jacob would have survived the long haul. It had all the intensity and passion that goes along with being that age, but there wasn’t a substantial foundation.”
“I’ve had the same thought about Tala Parrish when I compare how I felt to how I love Maggie. I hurt her the other night—Maggie. My wife is not much of a crier, and I made her cry. It was like being doused with a shock of freezing cold water. It not only calmed me, it made me think. If not for what Jacob Ashlock did, I wouldn’t have Maggie or my daughter. I can’t say I’m glad those people died. But I love the life I have thanks to their sacrifice.” He finished his coffee. “Maggie calls that fate. It was fate that brought her and I together, gave us our little girl and the life I cherish. She also says it was fate that led you here. Because you were still alone and in pain.”
“The lost girl,” Henley mumbled.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“Oh. The Lost Girl. It’s a book by D.H. Lawrence published in 1920. It’s not one of his better known works.”
“I called Tala Parrish ‘that lost girl’ when Maggie and I were talking the other day. It jarred me to hear you say it.” He smiled. “Literature major?”
“Once upon a time.”
“Mags mentioned you were a bibliophile. Maybe I should’ve brought a handful of the signed books she has sitting around the house as an olive branch.” Henley smiled. “Was it you who told Tala about wood nymphs? It’s one of the three subjects she can’t get enough of.”
“The other two?”
“The fifth grade and Dixon.”
“I’m in elite company. Well, the nymphs are, anyway. She’s a special little girl, bright and inquisitive.”
“She’s all that and more.” His eyes shone with pride, but the expression turned sorrowful. “What you did for your son was beyond noble. I can’t imagine the love it took or the pain it caused you. Do you know how he is?”
