by Jan Springer
He remembered the last time he saw his only nephew on the Fourth of July when his oldest brother Mathew and his wife Sara dropped in unexpectedly for the fireworks festivities. The baby had just been eight months old and Chance’s face had been covered in bandages.
The baby’s emerald green eyes were wide with wonder as he stared at him. J.D. had examined the bandages covering Chance’s nose and chin from his most recent reconstructive surgery. A distant smile hovered on the baby’s pursed rosebud lips and then recognition flared across his chubby face. The robust baby had then held out his pudgy arms to Chance.
“He remembers you from our last visit,” Sara had laughed.
Overwhelming love burst inside his heart as he’d accepted the warm, soft bundle who promptly kissed his cheek and began poking curious chubby fingers at the white bandages. Chance chuckled at the warm memory. Now two more McCullen kids were on the way and he would have to put his uncle skills to work.
Suddenly he heard the smooth sound of an approaching motor out on the ocean. Chance’s heart picked up the beat and uneasiness slammed through him. What if it was Skip? Or his henchmen? Lifting his head, he spied a somewhat large motor boat heading directly toward the wharf. Toward him!
He was vulnerable out here by the ocean under the wharf. Maybe he hadn’t been spotted yet. Maybe he could get up into the lighthouse without being seen. He could get his weapon from his duffel bag.
A split second before he jumped from his perch beneath the rustic wharf he froze and gasped softly when he spotted a familiar face. His ex-boss Helena Whitney stood at the bow of the boat and she was staring straight at him!
In the past, he’d always been glad to see Helena. Her charming, easygoing smile never failed to make him feel welcome and at ease. She wasn’t smiling now and he sure wasn’t feeling welcome. Her tightly pursed lips and narrowed icy eyes bore right into him, making him shiver involuntarily. Automatically his fingers tightened around the hammer in his hand.
Helena was definitely not happy to see him. Then again, why would she be? To her he was a complete stranger dangling beneath Emily’s dock.
On suddenly trembling legs Chance jumped into the soft sand and headed up the incline to meet the woman he hadn’t seen in eight years. When his feet hit the creaking planks on the wharf, Helena was already being helped out of the boat by a man Chance recognized as the fellow who’d rented him a boat days earlier. The man nodded politely and Chance nodded back.
“Good afternoon,” Helena called out cheerfully as Chance approached her.
The frown on her face had been replaced by the familiar warm smile he remembered so well. Unfortunately her smile didn’t quite reach her gray eyes. Intense eyes that examined his face to the point of making him feel uncomfortable.
“I’m Helena Whitney,” she finally said, and extended her hand.
“Chance Donovan.” He hoped the shakiness he felt didn’t appear too evident in his voice. He accepted her hand. It was small and bony but still held a strong grip. Chance felt the eight years of not seeing her begin to dissolve.
“The man who paid one thousand dollars for Emily’s pie?”
“That’s me.” He studied her face. She hadn’t changed much. Not a gray hair flew out of place in the decreasing wind. Every strand coiffured neatly into the same 1960s baby-doll style she always wore. She had a few more wrinkles on her otherwise immaculately cosmetic-plastered face and the same overwhelming scent of magnolia perfume sifted through the air.
She glanced down at the hammer he still held clasped firmly in his other hand. “And I see you are doing some handiwork for Emily too.”
He noted the thinly disguised disapproval in her otherwise courteous voice. He didn’t know why he suddenly felt so defensive.
“Where is Emily?” she asked.
“By now she’s probably browsing through some patterns for knitting baby clothes.”
The utter look of shock on Helena’s face almost made him laugh out loud.
“Skip and Emily must have decided not to wait for the honeymoon. My goodness, I hope this doesn’t mean the wedding gown won’t fit.”
A spear of anger shot through him at her comment. “Emily’s not pregnant.”
“But you just said—”
“Her two sisters-in-law are expecting. We just heard the news this morning.”
“This is marvelous news, Mr. Donovan. I’m sure it will give Emily and Skip incentive to get working on a family of their own. They do make such an adorable couple, don’t they?”
Chance fought down intense anger as she studied his face, obviously awaiting an answer. She sure as hell wasn’t going to get one.
“You do know she’s engaged to be married?”
“I’ve heard.”
“How long do you plan on staying?”
“Until Emily asks me to leave.”
“I’m sure it won’t be too long. She’s putting her lighthouse on the market. Perhaps you’d be interested in purchasing it?”
Her gray eyes swept across his face again and he shifted uneasily under her obvious stare. What the heck was her problem anyway? Staring at him as if he were some two-headed creature, not to mention throwing Emily’s upcoming nuptials in his face.
He shouldn’t be blaming her for being so curious. She didn’t have a clue to his true identity and she was most likely concerned about Emily being out here alone with a stranger. It hurt nonetheless at being reminded his wife was going to give up her dream of living here on Shipwreck Island so she could have kids with a man whose idea of a kiss was a peck on the cheek. Emily was a passionate woman. She deserved to be kissed properly.
“Mr. Donovan?”
“What?”
“I asked you if you had any plans of where you’ll be working when you leave here?”
“Plans?”
“I could use a handyman at my newspaper branch in Toronto. It’s a bustling city in Ontario, Canada. Emily went to journalism school there.”
“I know.”
Her eyes widened. “You know?”
“She mentioned it,” Chance said quickly, realizing his mistake.
“As I was saying, I noticed your marvelous handiwork beneath the shabby wharf as we were sailing in. Are you interested?”
“No thanks.”
“Then you must already have plans?”
“I don’t have plans, Miss Whitney. I’m just drifting.”
“I see. How about experience in journalism? I’m always looking for excellent journalists to send overseas to cover wars. Emily’s late husband was my best investigative journalist, but obviously he had emotional problems I wasn’t aware of. He hanged himself in jail after being caught with drugs.” Helena shook her head in apparent disgust.
Chance found it difficult to remain calm. She obviously believed the lies the authorities had spawned.
“Miss Whitney, why don’t you go on up and visit with Emily. I’ve got work to do.” Chance turned away from her, but Helena’s hand snaked around his elbow, stopping him cold.
“Mr. Donovan. You haven’t given me an answer.”
Her smile was fake now. He could clearly see that. And he suddenly had an inkling she suspected he was Steve. Why else would she ask him if he was experienced in journalism?
“Which question haven’t I answered?”
“Do you have any experience in journalism?” she asked, her gray eyes assessing his face again.
“I appreciate the job offers, Helena. I’ll think about it.” The thought of getting back into journalism certainly did give him a certain degree of excitement.
“Splendid! I’ll look forward to hearing from you.” Suddenly her head snapped up, and as she looked over his shoulder, a huge smile slipped across her face. “Emily! Darling!”
Chance swung around to find Emily waving to them as she skipped down the rickety rock steps on to the dock. In a flash the two women were hugging each other.
“Helena! I’m so happy to see you.” Emily chuckled as she withdr
ew from Helena’s embrace.
“You look absolutely lovely, Emily. Your engagement must agree with you.”
Chance noticed Emily’s smile drop a degree at Helena’s comment.
“Doesn’t she look lovely, Mr. Donovan?”
“She’s beautiful,” Chance answered, and his insides brightened as Emily’s smile widened at his comment.
“I’ve come to get you for your final fitting, darling,” Helena said.
Chance gritted his teeth and his fingers tightened around the hammer as Emily said rather meekly, “Of course. It sounds wonderful.”
She definitely did not sound like an excited bride.
A surge of protectiveness ripped through him. “Maybe you should pick up that baby wool while you’re in town. Didn’t you say you needed some?”
“What a good idea, Chance,” Helena said. “It’ll give Emily some incentive.”
He wished he could deck Helena. Instead he smiled and continued speaking in as casual a voice as he could muster.
“I could use more wood to replace some of the planks on the dock,” he lied. He had more than enough, but the thought of Emily being out there all alone without him to protect her made him uncomfortable. She seemed almost relieved that he was inviting himself to join them. Helena, on the other hand, looked far from happy.
“I’ll go and lock up,” Chance said. Without waiting for any objections, Chance headed toward the towering lighthouse.
* * * * *
“The wedding dress looks absolutely magnificent on you, Emily. A perfect fit. Twirl around so I can see the back.”
Emily did as Helena instructed and tried to keep the smile plastered on her face as the sales lady also nodded approval.
“The scalloped v-neck certainly does suit you, Mrs. McCullen,” the saleslady said.
Helena’s head snapped up and down with obvious impression. Emily found herself thinking that if Helena loved the dress so much, then why didn’t she get married to Skip? Not that she didn’t like the dress. It was the most beautiful, breathtaking one she’d ever seen. She’d picked it from the catalogue herself. But it just seemed too beautiful for her. It should be for a woman who was madly in love with her man. Not her.
“Now step up on the footstool and I’ll pin the length for the hem.”
Emily stepped up on the stool and brushed a stray strand of her wind-whipped hair out of her face. If she blurted out she wasn’t so sure about marrying Skip, what would Helena say? Emily knew the answer to that. After these last few weeks of planning and even paying for the wedding, Helena would be horrified and most likely faint right here in the bridal boutique.
“The bare back is absolutely gorgeous, Emily,” Helena said. “It will pique the male onlookers’ interest. They will be so jealous Skip caught you first. Oh, and I’ve already ordered the flowers for the church and the reception. Yellow roses and miniature red roses with baby’s breath. Such a beautiful combination. Darling, why are you frowning so?”
Emily looked up to find Helena scrutinizing her in the mirror.
“Oh Helena! I don’t know what to do,” Emily burst out, unable to keep her thoughts a secret anymore.
“But those are the flowers you wanted. Have you changed your mind?”
The look of horror on Helena’s face made Emily feel even worse.
Yes! she wanted to scream. I’ve changed my mind about the wedding. I don’t want to get married.
Instead she bit her lip and steadied herself against blurting out more. She wouldn’t disappoint Helena…or Skip. She wouldn’t let her dream of having a family dissolve just because she had cold feet.
“My matron of honor is three months pregnant. My bridesmaid is pregnant too.”
Helena seemed relieved at that announcement. Well, she certainly hadn’t expected that reaction from the elderly woman.
“Your Mr. Donovan already informed me. I will get in touch with our mothers-to-be and see about getting their dresses refitted. Is that what has you so concerned?”
“Yes,” Emily lied. “And…do you think I could get lupines added to the flower arrangements?”
“I’ll call the florist right away.” Helena flipped open her cell phone and began to dial.
Lupines were Steve’s favorite flowers. When Emily walked down the aisle, she’d look at the flowers and think of him. She could do anything if his spirit was with her. But if that were true, why did she feel, with each passing day, that another nail was being driven into her coffin?
* * * * *
Chance couldn’t shake the feeling he was being followed. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck had sizzled a warning the instant the hardware store employee and he had finished stacking the pile of lumber he’d ordered onto the deck of Sweet Lies.
He’d been glad Emily suggested they return to the island in the tugboat. Helena seemed thrilled too, paying off the man who’d brought her over, saying the small boat she’d hired had been a terribly choppy ride in the high waves. Hopefully it meant Helena wouldn’t be coming back with them when they returned to the island.
He’d prefer to be alone with Emily. Maybe try to get into his laptop and see if the incriminating evidence was still intact in the hard drive and on the disc.
Shit. He really should have come earlier or sent one of his brothers to get the laptop. Truth would have it though, when his brothers told him about the break-ins happening shortly after his kidnapping and that his computer and other items had been stolen, the entire place searched, he’d assumed they had found the laptop.
At that point in time turmoil had racked his life. His dad had come up from Mexico and stayed with him through the painful surgeries to reconstruct his face. Because of the damage to his facial bones, the surgeons were unable to give him his face back without extensive bone grafts, which would have taken him longer to heal and longer for him to regain his freedom. Therefore he’d opted for a new face, free of scars. It hadn’t turned out so bad, he thought as he glanced into the store windows to see if maybe he could glimpse if someone was following him as he suspected. He’d been doing that for the past hour. Window shopping up and down Main Street of the quaint little town near the North Cape of the main island. But he saw no one suspicious.
Over the years his instincts had been finely honed for trouble. And he sensed trouble the minute they got to town.
Checking his watch, he realized he still had a few more minutes left before meeting Emily and Helena back at the boutique directly across the street.
Helena had tried to persuade him to join them inside earlier, but he noticed Emily squirm uneasily at the invitation. It sure wasn’t high on his hit list of things to do either. Last thing he needed was to see her decked out in a fancy, silky white wedding dress. Especially since he wasn’t the groom.
What he needed at the moment was a stiff drink to shake off the spooky feelings of being followed. Since Jake’s Bar and Grill hovered right in front of him, he might as well take advantage of the situation.
Inside the narrow hallway, he allowed his eyes to adjust to the dimly lit interior. Things sure hadn’t changed much since he’d been here last. A thick cloud of blue cigarette smoke hovered amidst the thin spattering of rough-spoken fishermen hunched on barstools. A fifties tune reverberated from the same ancient jukebox situated in the middle of the dining area off to the left of the bar. The red Coca-Cola refrigerator still held its prestigious place beside the jukebox. Everything looked the same as it had years ago.
He wandered into the room and noticed all eyes turn on him. The small town was a tight-knit community, and he remembered all too well how he’d received curious stares the first few times he walked into Jake’s establishment a little over eight years ago.
“If it ain’t the pie lover.” The ribbing remark came from the young bartender who stood behind the bar, casually wiping a beer glass with a dirty white cloth.
Chance plopped himself onto one of the available barstools immediately in front of him. At first sight, Chance didn’
t recognize him, but as his gaze roved over the scruffy blond hair tied back into a ponytail, the little scar on his chin and the trademark chocolate brown eyes, recognition dawned.
Holy shit. He was Garrett Rustico.
An eerie sadness embraced him at the loss of missing the bar owner’s youngest son grow up from the gangly pimple-faced teenage boy Chance had sometimes helped with his English homework over a bowl of his dad’s homemade chocolate-covered pretzels. Not to mention helping Garrett work through his immense crush on Emily.
“Was the pie worth the grand?” One side of Garrett’s mouth tilted upward in the all-too-familiar amused smirk.
“You should know, Garrett. You’ve had your share of her pies.”
The young man’s smile disintegrated at Chance’s comment. Puzzlement shot across his face.
“Do I know you?” he asked.
“I don’t know, do you?”
Garrett’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. He studied Chance’s face but no recognition showed.
“I’ll have a bottle of Jake’s home brew,” Chance said. “With lots of ice. And a bowl of chocolate-covered pretzels if you still make them.”
“Ice in your beer?”
Chance nodded.
“And those chocolate-covered pretzels.”
For a split second recognition flared in Garrett’s eyes and then it was quickly extinguished as reality set in. He grabbed a beer bottle from under the counter from the cooler he knew they kept the bottles in and snapped off the lid. Thick white foam bubbled from the mouth of the bottle. He kept his eyes on Chance as he filled the mug with ice. After gently placing the mug and beer bottle onto the counter in front of Chance, Garrett disappeared through a doorway.
Chance chuckled to himself. He knew he shouldn’t be fooling around with the sensitive kid this way, but it was one way to keep the kid from asking him more questions about Emily and her pie.
Ah hell. The kid wasn’t a kid anymore. He was all grown up. How old would he be now? Twenty-one? No, around twenty-three.
He poured the beer over the thick ice cubes. Then he lifted his mug to the curious fishermen who continued to stare at him with their squinty eyes and sun-beaten faces, said a quick cheers to them and proceeded to drink. The ice-cold beer hit the spot. Smooth, sweet with a tinge of salt fish. Just the way he remembered it.
