Hidden Peril

by Irene Hannon

  She bit her lower lip. “Have I been waking you up?”

  “Only twice.”

  “Sorry. I thought . . . I hoped . . . after we were married they’d go away.”

  “You haven’t had one the past five nights.”

  “That’s a positive sign.”

  “Does that mean they’ve been more frequent at home?”

  She shrugged and played with the ruffle on her swimsuit. “Sometimes.”

  “Kristin.” He waited until she lifted her gaze. “Whenever I ask how you’re doing, you tell me you’re fine.”

  “I am.”

  “Not if you’re having frequent nightmares.”

  “They’ll go away. Faster now that I have someone to snuggle up with in the dark.” She ran her fingers through his hair, letting her hand rest at the base of his neck. “And you always have a full plate at work. I don’t want you worrying about me.”

  He leaned close and stole a quick kiss, staying a whisper away while he spoke. “Goes with the territory. And for the record, I’m not complaining. I’m grateful to have someone I love enough to worry about.”

  A sheen began to glisten in her eyes. “Thank you for that. And the feeling is mutual.”

  “Good to know. Now, why don’t I go get us each a papaya smoothie and we’ll toast to that?”

  “I’m willing to indulge my sweet tooth if you are.”

  “Isn’t that what honeymoons are for?”

  “If ours is any indication . . . yes.” She gave him a frisky nudge.

  “Any complaints?”

  “Not a one.”

  “Don’t go anywhere without me.”

  “Never.”

  After one more kiss, he swung his feet to the sand and ducked out of the cabana.

  As he walked away, the soft West Indian breeze rustled the palm fronds overhead, the surf lapped against the sand in a lulling cadence, and the sun illuminated the deep blue sky and brilliant tropical flowers.

  Inhaling the fragrant air, Luke paused to look back at the secluded hideaway on the beach where he and Kristin had spent a sizeable part of the past week, tucked away in a world of their own.

  Unfortunately, she was right about the actual honeymoon having to come to an end.

  But every day of all the years God granted them together would be a honeymoon in spirit.

  He’d see to that.

  Because the incredible woman who’d given his life new meaning, who’d chased away the shadows in his heart and filled it with sunshine and laughter, deserved no less.

  “Here you go. One papaya smoothie coming up.”

  As Luke rejoined her in their cozy cabana, Kristin raised the back of the chaise lounge to a sitting position. “Perfect timing. I was beginning to miss you.”

  “I was gone less than ten minutes.” He handed her one of the tall fruity drinks, complete with an umbrella.

  “It felt like ten hours.”

  “Music to a new husband’s ears.” He sat and clinked his glass with hers. “To us.”

  “To us.” She took a sip of the frosty concoction. “Mmm. Very refreshing.” After another taste, she lifted her glass again. “Now I have a toast. To happy endings.”

  “I’ll drink to that.” He touched the lip of his glass to hers and took a drink, watching her over the rim. “That one’s for more than us, isn’t it?”

  She stirred the slushy drink with her straw. Why pretend? If Luke had witnessed her nightmares, he knew the traumatic events of six months ago continued to hover on the fringes of her mind.

  “Guilty as charged.”

  “Let me guess. You were also thinking about the Bisharas with that toast.”

  Bingo.

  The father and son had often been in her thoughts these past few months. A man caught in impossible circumstances, who’d been shot, felled by a serious illness, and almost lost his only offspring. And a young man held captive by terrorists for two years, who bore scars no one could see.

  How could she not think of them?

  The horror she’d endured was nothing compared to what they’d gone through day after endless day.

  “Kristin?”

  At Luke’s gentle prod, she sighed. “You know me too well.”

  “Not yet . . . but I’m working on it.” He gave the tip of her nose a playful tap, then grew more serious. “They had about the best possible outcome, you know.”

  That was true.

  Yusef’s cancer appeared to be responding to treatment, the FBI had agreed not to prosecute because of his cooperation on the case and his willingness to advise on similar investigations in the future, and the art museum had hired Touma after Yusef decided to step down.

  “I know. It was a win all around.”

  “True—and I got the grand prize.”

  As he smiled at her in that warm, intimate way of his that always melted her heart and played havoc with her respiration, Kristin took a sip of her cold drink.

  It didn’t cool her off even a fraction of one degree.

  “When you look at me like that, I get all hot and bothered.”

  “Ah. Mission accomplished.” He took another sip of his drink, scooted to the bottom of the lounge, and dropped the privacy flap on the cabana.

  “What are you doing?”

  “The view outside is too distracting. I’d rather focus on you.” He lowered the back of the lounge chair, set his cup in the drink holder, and stretched out.

  She angled toward him, twirling the tiny umbrella between her fingers, feigning innocence. “Sleepy?”

  “Nope.” He propped his head on one palm, plucked the umbrella from her, and twined their fingers together. “Thinking about ways to distract you from unpleasant memories.”

  She sipped her drink through the straw as a delicious tingle raced through her. “I take it you have some ideas.”

  “A few.” He gave her a gentle tug and eased onto his side. “Want to see if they work?”

  “I suppose I could be persuaded.” She set her drink down and stretched out beside him until they were face to face, mere inches apart, his hand resting lightly on her hip.

  “Can I tell you something, Mrs. Carter?”

  His husky question sent a quiver of anticipation through her. “Uh-huh.” It was all she could manage.

  “I am the happiest man alive. And if I live to be a hundred, these past few days with you will be the standard I measure the world against.”

  Oh my.

  His face blurred, and she blinked to clear her vision.

  “That is the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me.”

  “A beautiful compliment for a woman who’s beautiful inside and out.” He skimmed the pad of his thumb across her lips, his touch featherlight—and far more intoxicating than the alcohol-infused froufrou drinks so many of the guests at the resort seemed to enjoy. “So what do you say we make some more warm, tropical memories to take back with us to cold, snowy St. Louis?”

  “I’m all for that. But you know what? For the rest of my life, even on the coldest days, my heart will stay warm because of you.”

  “I love you, Kristin.” His irises darkened to the color of burnished jade.

  “I love you too.” That emotion-choked whisper was all she could manage as he pulled her close.

  And in the fleeting moment before she lost herself in his embrace, Kristin sent a silent thank-you heavenward.

  For all the yesterdays, good and bad, that had led her to her own happy ending.

  For the gift of today in this amazing man’s arms.

  And for the deep, abiding love that would grace their lives for all the tomorrows they were blessed to share.

  Chaos.

  That was the only word to describe his new home.

  And his new life.

  Logan West ran his fingers through his damp hair, exhaling as he surveyed the mess in the kitchen.

  Shredded paper towels covered the floor like springtime petals from the Bradford pear trees that had lined the sm
all Missouri town of his youth.

  Eggshells were scattered about, the residual whites oozing onto tile that had been spotless when he’d stepped into the shower less than ten minutes ago.

  Soup cans, peanut butter jar, bread wrapper, OJ carton, the open container from last night’s take-out dinner, and other sundry food packaging items rounded out the inventory—all of them pristine. As clean as if they’d never been used.

  Meaning Toby had gotten into the trash.

  Again.

  The happy-go-lucky beagle might be cute as the proverbial button, but he was wreaking havoc on a life already in disarray.

  Logan wiped a hand down his face.

  What on earth had he been thinking when he’d decided to add a dog to the mix?

  Or maybe the problem was that he hadn’t been thinking.

  Not straight, anyway.

  Because getting a dog was flat-out his dumbest idea since the day he’d convinced his kid brother it would be fun to jump off the porch roof into a mound of raked autumn leaves that wasn’t nearly as cushiony as it appeared.

  Man, their parents had never let him forget that escapade—or the subsequent trip to the ER to get Jon’s broken arm set.

  Skirting the mess on the floor, Logan edged toward the counter as a familiar sense of panic nipped at his composure.

  How could his well-ordered existence disintegrate into such bedlam in a mere four months? ER doctors were supposed to be pros at dealing with turmoil.

  However . . . hospital trauma centers were managed chaos, with protocols for every kind of emergency, while his new life in this small town on the Oregon coast hadn’t come with a procedure manual.

  But who would have expected to need one this far away from the hustle and bustle of San Francisco and the complications of big-city living?

  Go figure.

  All he knew was that based on his first thirty-six hours in Hope Harbor, his dream of a quieter, simpler life in a small seaside town seemed destined to remain just that—a rose-colored fantasy with no basis in reality.

  With a resigned sigh, he retrieved a garbage bag and began collecting the debris. Once the kitchen was clean, he’d have to round up Toby and—

  A swish of movement in the doorway caught his attention.

  Smoothing out the frown that more than one intern had deemed intimidating, he straightened up and turned toward Molly.

  The five-year-old stared back at him, eyes big, expression solemn, feet bare, her strawberry blonde hair in desperate need of brushing, her ratty baby blanket clutched in her fist.

  “Hey.” The sticky goo from the eggshell in his hand leaked onto his fingers, and he tossed the fragment into the trash bag. Or tried to. He finally resorted to shaking it off. “I think you forgot your shoes.” He forced up the corners of his lips.

  Hers remained flat as she watched him in silence, then stuck a finger in her mouth.

  His stomach twisted.

  If there was a secret to coaxing a smile out of a grieving little girl, he’d yet to learn it.

  He set the garbage bag on the floor, crossed to her, and dropped to one knee. At the thick fringe of lashes spikey with moisture, he swallowed past the lump in his throat.

  She’d been crying again. In private—like he and his brother had always done. One more trait she shared with them, in addition to the distinctive cleft in their chin and wide-set blue eyes.

  He took her small hand and gentled his voice. “Did you brush your teeth?”

  She gave a silent nod.

  “Why don’t you put your shoes on and I’ll tie them for you? Then we’ll go down to the beach. Would you like that?”

  She slowly removed her finger from her mouth. “Can Toby go?”

  Not if he had his druthers. One glimpse of the leash at the end of their outing and the beagle would race off in the opposite direction, sand flying in his wake. After their stroll yesterday, it had taken ten minutes to corral the pup, who seemed to think they were playing a game of tag.

  But if Molly’s request meant she was beginning to warm up to the new addition to their family . . .

  “Sure. You get your shoes while I clean up the kitchen.” He stood. “Is Toby in your room?”

  She shook her head.

  A quiver of unease rippled through him, and once again he furrowed his brow. Come to think of it, the playful pup was uncharacteristically quiet.

  “Do you know where he is?” He kept his tone casual.

  Her gaze slid toward the back door.

  Uh-oh.

  “Molly, sweetie”—he dropped back to the balls of his feet—“did you let him out?”

  She dipped her chin and wiggled her toes. “He wanted to go.”

  Great.

  With his luck, the dog would come back covered in mud and dragging another gangly plant, as he’d done yesterday.

  “We talked about this, remember? Toby needs to stay in the house unless we’re with him. He could get hurt if he runs around by himself.”

  The finger went back in her mouth.

  His stomach clenched.

  Again.

  He was so not cut out to be a single parent.

  “I’ll tell you what. After you get your shoes, we’ll look for him together, okay?”

  Unless the dog responded to his summons, eliminating the need for a search party.

  Like that would happen.

  “’Kay.” The soft word found its way around the finger that didn’t budge.

  She retreated down the hall, trailing the bedraggled blanket behind her.

  As she disappeared, Logan moved to the back door and called Toby.

  No response.

  Of course not.

  That would be too easy.

  Shaking his head, he shut the door, dampened a fistful of paper towels, and dropped to his hands and knees to scrub at the stubborn egg whites clinging to the tile.

  They were stuck as fast as the glue he’d used in the ER to suture minor cuts.

  In fact, stuck pretty much described the situation he’d found himself in four months ago.

  But he’d made a promise—and he’d honor it.

  Whatever it took.

  Aha.

  She’d found her culprit.

  Yanking off her garden gloves, Jeannette Mason kept tabs on the dog intent on digging up yet another one of her flourishing lavender plants.

  The plants she’d nurtured from tiny starts, potting and watering them with TLC until they were sturdy enough to be tucked into the beds she’d painstakingly prepared.

  Based on the pup’s location, the lavender now under siege was a Super French.

  Lips clamped together, she tossed her gloves on the workbench in the drying and equipment shed and stormed toward the door.

  Enough was enough.

  If that dog kept uprooting her stock, Bayview Lavender Farm would be out of business less than three years after she’d opened her doors.

  And that was not happening.

  She’d invested too much effort in this place to let anyone—or anything—jeopardize it.

  Snatching a long-handled trowel from the tool rack as she passed, she charged out into the light rain falling from the leaden sky. She should have grabbed her coat too. Now that the sun had disappeared, it was cooler than usual for mid-April.

  But coastal Oregon weather could be capricious in any season—a lesson she should have learned long ago.

  Brandishing the garden implement, she sprinted toward the tri-colored dog, weaving through the symmetrical beds.

  “Hey!” She waved the trowel in the air. “Get out of there!”

  The pup lifted his dirt-covered snout. Started to wag his tail. Reconsidered the scowling woman racing toward him with weapon in hand and skedaddled toward the tall hedge that separated her farm from the adjacent property.

  Within seconds, the white tip of his tail disappeared as he wriggled through the dense greenery.

  Huffing out a breath, Jeannette gave up the chase. The dog was gone�
��for now. Her time would be better spent repairing whatever destruction her unwanted visitor had wrought.

  She continued to the bed, muttering as she surveyed the damage. Two of the plants had been uprooted, and the pesky beagle had started in on a third.

  This was as bad as the last attack—except he hadn’t absconded with one of her plants this go-round.

  Gritting her teeth, she marched back to the shed to retrieve a shovel. The ripped-up plants had to be her top priority.

  But once they were back in their beds and watered, she was going to pay her new neighbors a visit and lay down the law.

  And if they didn’t appreciate being berated on their second day in town? If they chose not to be BFFs?

  Fine with her.

  She hadn’t moved to Hope Harbor to make close friends.

  Shovel in hand, she retraced her steps to the pillaged bed, casting a dark look toward the hedge that hid the small house on the adjacent lot.

  She should have inquired about buying that property too, when she’d purchased this one.

  But the three acres she’d purchased were already more than she needed for her plants and tearoom. An acre or two would have sufficed.

  However . . . none of the other parcels of land she’d viewed had had a path at the rear of the property that led to the dunes, which provided access to the vast beach and deep cobalt sea of Driftwood Bay. Plus, the microclimate in this particular, sheltered spot was perfect for lavender.

  So despite the excess acreage, the location had been too good to pass up—especially since the land on one side had never been developed, and the house with new owners on the other side had been occupied by an older man who kept to himself as much as she did . . . and who’d long ago planted an insulating privacy hedge.

  She dug into the bed she’d augmented with truckloads of rotted fir bark and aged horse manure, casting another glance toward the shrub border.

  Strange how she’d had no inkling her former neighbor had sold the property until the moving van showed up a week ago. The man hadn’t even said good-bye.

  Then again, she’d never gone out of her way to be sociable, either.