The Secret She Keeps

by HelenKay Dimon

  From the way she nodded and waved to everyone who walked into the open dining room, she seemed to know the whole town. The details she whispered as each person passed their table suggested she knew a bit of gossip about everyone. Also a very useful trait.

  When people got too close to him or failed to hide their attempts at listening in on their conversation, her protective instincts kicked in. She glared them into submission. He admired that skill.

  His quick stop to grab the few things he’d left in his room last night turned into an early lunch. She insisted and he didn’t argue. She might only be fortysomething but she had the same order-him-around skills as his mother. Maybe not to his mom’s professional level of bossiness, but still impressive. Sylvia decided and he didn’t get a choice. Since he was eating what might be the best lemon chicken of his life, he decided to agree to almost anything Sylvia said from here on out.

  “Does Ben have any idea who might have broken into the cabin?” Sylvia asked as she motioned for the server to bring more water.

  Connor hesitated, knowing his answer could drive them straight into awkward territory. “We know.”

  She set the knife down on the side of her plate. “Already?”

  “The person admitted it . . .” He searched for the right words but quickly gave up. “Sort of.”

  “I’m confused.”

  He scanned the quiet room. The lingering stares stopped and a few heads turned. The sounds of clinking silverware and the mumble of chatter suddenly filled the room. This island had a quaint charm but no one could call the residents subtle. “That makes two of us.”

  The server appeared at the side of their table. Sylvia waited until the man refilled their glasses and set down a basket of what smelled like freshly baked bread. “Are you always so cryptic? Because people around here love mysterious things. You’ll hear a lot about how people keep to themselves and don’t gossip.”

  He couldn’t help but smile at her sarcastic tone. “And?”

  “None of that is true.”

  “How very charming.” He’d traveled here from D.C., a town not exactly known for its ability to keep secrets. There was always some anonymous source ready to tattle on someone.

  “Let me put it this way.” Sylvia balanced her elbows on the edge of the table and leaned in. “You’ve been on Whitaker for one day and I’ve received over twenty texts about you, seen a few emails with your photo attached—”

  “Uh . . .” Yeah, that didn’t sound funny.

  “—and answered about a hundred questions in this dining room, which is packed, and you’ll notice no one seems to be eating.”

  He took a second to look around the room. The same heads that turned away from him before did it again. Forks rose in unison from each table. “What are they hoping will happen?”

  “They’re waiting for you to do something.”

  The topic made him squirm in his chair but the easygoing back-and-forth conversation with Sylvia relaxed him again. Her smile eased his growing discomfort. “Like?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “I’m thinking I should have vacationed in the Bahamas.” He’d thought about just that last night as his head pounded and he silently cursed Hansen for suggesting this was a good place to relax. He’d spent so much time focused over the last two years, not dating and not doing any of the usual hang-out-with-friends stuff he did before his life changed.

  “Nah.” She reached for the bread and tore off a piece. “Another island would be boring compared to here.”

  “I could use some calm.” He was pretty sure that qualified as the biggest understatement of his life.

  “Then you are in the wrong place.”

  Before he could shoot back a sarcastic response, a shadow fell over their table. The person came up from behind him, and he had no idea from where. He glanced up . . . and there she was. Again.

  Maddie waited there, wearing jeans and what had to be the biggest coat ever made. It swamped her body. She frowned as she spoke. “Hello.”

  Sylvia lowered her bread to her plate. “Maddie?”

  “I thought you never went out,” he said because he really didn’t know what else to say.

  Maddie shifted until she stood right in front of their table, blocking their view of the rest of the room. “I know Sylvia.”

  “Wait.” Sylvia looked from Connor to Maddie and back again. “Have you two met already?”

  “Maddie has an unusual way of welcoming visitors to Whitaker.”

  She threw him an expression that suggested she wouldn’t mind cracking another piece of wood over his head before turning and smiling at Sylvia. “May I get my mail, please?”

  Sylvia looked like she was going to say something. Even opened her mouth and closed it again before finally nodding. “Sure.”

  She got up and walked out of the dining room. Connor watched her go before turning to Maddie again. “Do you live here?”

  “On Whitaker?”

  The clueless act had to be on purpose. There was no way she misunderstood that question. “You’re killing me.”

  She frowned at him. “What?”

  He honestly couldn’t read her at all. The need to study her and learn more tugged at him, but he ignored the sensation. He had enough problems without taking on hers. But it wouldn’t kill him to be friendly, so he tried again. “Do you live at the Lodge?”

  “I have a house.” And that was it. She didn’t offer another detail. Hell, she barely looked at him.

  “You’re not big on polite conversation, are you?”

  “No.”

  He conceded this round to her. “Then I’ll finish my chicken.”

  He chewed and felt her staring. He refused to give her the satisfaction of looking up. If she wanted his attention, she could ask for it.

  After a few seconds, she sighed at him. “You don’t need to tell people about the . . . you know. The thing.”

  He glanced around and saw the entire room was looking at them, so why not give them a show by continuing the conversation? Let them guess the topic.

  He lowered his knife and fork to the table and swallowed the last bite of chicken. “The thing?”

  “What happened in the cabin.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “The misunderstanding.”

  Holding a conversation with her would take some practice. He couldn’t lose focus for a second. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

  She hit him with a second sigh. This one telegraphed the clear message that she thought he was annoying. “I really don’t want to be the subject of gossip.”

  “Me either.”

  “Then we’re agreed.”

  He had no idea what understanding she thought they just reached. “I didn’t—”

  Sylvia walked back into the room, holding two letters and what looked like a magazine. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks.” Maddie took the small bundle and pivoted around Sylvia. She was out of the room and out of sight a second later.

  He didn’t know where she’d skidded off to and didn’t try to guess. But something about her . . . maybe her obvious dislike of him . . . had him thinking about her. “What’s her story?”

  “Some people have their mail sent here. She’s one of them.”

  “Is that really what you thought I was asking?” Connor doubted it because he could see Sylvia’s knowing smile.

  “You’ve been here one day and already have a crush?”

  Nope. He was not playing this game. “It was a question, not a proposal.”

  “Quiet. Loner, possibly lonely, but I don’t know. She doesn’t share.”

  That sounded familiar. The description fit him, too. “Did something happen to her?”

  “Something happened to everyone, Connor.”

  He had to admit those were wise words. “Good point.”

  “If you’re going to ask her out—”

  “I’m not.” He could be attracted. From a distance. Silently. That was as close to wading into Maddie�
�s world as he intended to go.

  “Okay, but just know that you didn’t pick an easy road.”

  He tried to ignore the comment. He really did. Picked up the bread and took his time buttering it. But Sylvia let the words sit there, twisting in his head, and he finally snapped. “Meaning?”

  “She’s alone for a reason. Don’t push. Whatever happened . . . I don’t know. Just be careful. She’s not fragile but she’s wary.”

  He was well aware of what happened when someone pushed Maddie. Hell, he’d been sitting quietly in his house when she took offense and whacked him. He still couldn’t make those pieces fit together in his head. No matter how much he wanted to drop it and walk away—far away—he worried that might not be possible.

  But he didn’t intend to share the truth about that weakness with anyone. “I don’t have any intention of getting in Maddie’s way or of getting to know her better.”

  Sylvia nodded. “Sure.”

  He hated that. “What?”

  “I heard what you said.”

  He didn’t love her tone. “But you don’t believe me.”

  “Not even a little.”

  Chapter 6

  The next day Maddie hovered on the small front porch of the cabin for close to ten minutes. She lifted her hand to knock but stopped. Tried and halted. Repeated the cycle three times until her indecision annoyed even her.

  She debated dropping the box and running away. Thought about turning around and going back home without leaving the box because this whole thing had been a reckless and silly idea. Like, epically bad. She’d made it clear last night that whatever talking, meeting, seeing each other was going to happen while Connor was on Whitaker had ended. They were done.

  That was the right answer. No more contact. She would treat him the same way she treated everyone else on Whitaker, as if he were invisible. She was not a make-new-friends type. She didn’t see a need to change that lifelong characteristic now.

  Just as she turned to make her great escape, the front door opened. A curse slipped out before she could choke it back.

  No one could have luck this bad.

  She shifted again, this time to face him. The him who seemed to haunt every minute of her life since he landed on this stupid island. The stark white bandage stood out against his skin. That part still made her cringe, but that was sort of why she’d showed up today.

  Hovering in the doorway, Connor looked every inch of the McHottiePants label she’d tagged him with in her head. The faded jeans and gray long-sleeve T-shirt fit with the relaxed island surroundings. The ruffled hair and socks suggested he’d been doing something low-key before she arrived . . . and now she wondered what.

  In truth, he made standing look sexy, which just ticked her off.

  Confidence pounded off him . . . and that lopsided smile had her a little breathless. She blamed her lack of recent exercise for the last part. She refused to admit his cute face played any role in her raspy breathing thing.

  He held her gaze for a few seconds, then looked down. Before he could say anything, she shoved the box into his midsection.

  He grabbed on to it with a small grunt. “Uh.”

  “It’s for you.” She was pretty sure he knew that, but just in case.

  He lifted the lid and his face lit up with a smile a second later. “Cake.”

  “It’s a pie.”

  “Is this an I’m sorry I hit you with a log cake?” He sounded downright amused by the idea.

  “It’s still a pie.” And it wasn’t really a log, but she refused to debate that because no part of that story reflected well on her.

  “Yes, I see that.”

  “Pumpkin.” He could probably see that, too, but maybe if she pointed it out, he’d stop talking about cake.

  “Right. The traditional apology pie flavor.” He nodded before closing the lid again. “Much appreciated.”

  Right as she made up her mind to drop off the pie and bolt, he stepped back in the doorway and gestured for her to come inside. That struck her as friendly but unnecessary. They weren’t friends. She really didn’t have any of those. Had learned the hard way not to.

  “Maddie?”

  The sound of her name in his deep, rich voice made her blink. Yeah, she hadn’t been expecting the low rumble or the way it made everything inside her tighten in anticipation.

  She didn’t move. Well, she didn’t until he held the door open with his elbow while balancing the box in his hands and lifting his eyebrow in question at her. She took the no-handed move as a challenge.

  Game on.

  She slid just inside the door and stopped. Leaned her back against the wall and let her gaze roam over the room. From the overstuffed couch and leather ottoman in the center of the open room, to the kitchen area stretched along the far wall, to the ladder leading up to what she knew from her check of the place held a loft bedroom.

  Last time she was in the cabin she’d had exactly three minutes to look around before he walked in and she hid. Now she noticed the place had a cozy, warm feel to it. Not updated but very lived-in with the frayed material on the couch’s armrest and missing handle on one of the kitchen cabinet doors.

  “I really was trying to watch over this house.” The words slipped out before her brain cells kicked in.

  “When you broke in?”

  “We agreed it was my version of neighborhood watch.”

  “I think we both know that’s not true.” He walked past her to the kitchen and set the box down on the narrow island. He balanced his hands on the counter on either side of it, as if weighing whether he should dive in or not. “I remember what you said to me when you jumped on my back.”

  He stared at the box but she was pretty sure he was talking to her. “You misunderstood.”

  “Uh-huh.” He didn’t blink. “I haven’t told you what I heard yet.”

  “Right.” She really wished he would let the whole mess from last night go, but she doubted that was going to happen, so might as well sit down.

  She took in the pillows spread out on the couch and the blanket rolled into a ball and shoved into the corner. That’s where he’d been sitting when she . . . well, she didn’t want to dwell on her bad choices and picked the ottoman instead.

  Sitting there, her mind turned to the other night. The smell of pine and the light buzzing sound from the old refrigerator. Memories slammed into her, one after another. When he’d walked in, her heart pounded and her insides shook. Common sense ran out of her and she moved on surging emotion. Stupid, irrational panic.

  She looked at the bandage on his head now and regretted every minute and every decision she’d made from flipping the switch to cut the power to hitting him.

  “But the more I think about it, I’m convinced the whispered warning wasn’t meant for me.” He came around to the front of the island and leaned against it. “I think you want someone else—not sure who—to leave the island and leave you alone.”

  He was a lot cuter when he wasn’t trying to analyze her. “Are you always difficult?”

  “You think I’m the problem here?” He folded his arms in front of him. “Interesting.”

  He was and she hated that. She’d spent every minute of the last two years of her life trying to separate from other people. Not get involved or care. Not take a minute to stop and assess all she’d lost.

  Something about him made her rethink everything from her need to be alone to the belief she could live without any sort of intimacy. Turned out that was a miscalculation. The more the days passed without touching or feeling anything, the more she yearned for both.

  An hour after she learned his name, she researched him. Conducted her usual litany of online searches and collected information. Assembled a little file on him and everything. The next step usually involved categorizing him as a nonthreat, then forgetting him. But with him, she’d kept searching.

  Finding photos of him proved easy. He was a big-time engineer turned businessman in Washington, D.C. Ran a family
operation and won some sort of award last year for innovative thinking. Not bad for thirty-three.

  But none of that explained why he popped up on an island where people went to start over or disappear completely. “Why are you on Whitaker?”

  “I needed a break.”

  That seemed legitimate, but it didn’t tell her much. “From what?”

  “My life.”

  She stared at him, looking for any sign that he was messing with her. She recognized other tells. The little things that reached through that firm outer shell of confidence. A hint of exhaustion around his eyes. The subtle slump of his shoulders. The way he watched her with a mix of wariness and interest.

  He lifted his chin in her direction. “Why are you on Whitaker?”

  The steady flow of heat moving through her since she stepped inside his house shut off. That fast, the mental vault inside her slammed shut. “I live here.”

  “Huh.”

  She hated that sound. “What?”

  “I think we just traveled in a tidy conversation circle that made sure I didn’t learn a single thing about you.” He dropped his arms to his sides and stood up straight. No more leaning. “That’s an interesting skill you have.”

  “Ben told me you’re not pressing charges. So . . .” She waved her hand at the box on the counter. “Hence the pie.”

  “I guess we’re done talking about ourselves.”

  Good, he got it. She almost sighed in relief. “Yes.”

  He glanced over his shoulder at the box, then back to her. “And you brought this dessert because you’re sorry.”

  She slipped her keys out of her pocket and passed them from one hand to the other. “I am.”

  The jingling sound echoed through the cabin and bounced off the high ceiling.

  He looked at her hands before settling his gaze on her face again. “Do you want a slice?”

  “I don’t like pumpkin.”

  He smiled but quickly swallowed it. “But you made it for me?”