The Cottages on Silver Beach

by RaeAnne Thayne

  Who the hell was he fooling here? He had it bad for her. “You look, um, lovely.” Did his voice sound all strangled and tight to her, too? He could only pray it was his imagination.

  “Thanks. So do you. How’s your arm? You’re wearing the sling again. Did you overdo today with all the driving and hauling in prints?”

  “It’s fine,” he lied. He didn’t want to tell her about the pain that ricocheted from his shoulder to his fingertips. Better to simply ignore it. He had taken ibuprofen earlier and expected it to start kicking in anytime now.

  She gave him a careful look, obviously trying to gauge his sincerity. He did his best to shield his emotions, meeting her scrutiny with a polite smile. “Are you ready to go?” he asked. “We’re still a little early.”

  “I’ll be ready as soon as I take care of my dog. Come on, Cyrus. Crate up.”

  The pug scowled at her, his head cocked, but headed into the crate, circled a few times, then settled in.

  “I didn’t think about Cyrus when we were discussing dinner reservations. Will he be okay on his own while we’re gone?”

  “He’ll be fine. Earlier, I took him for a long walk around the lodge and he’s worn out. I wouldn’t be surprised if he slept the entire time we’re gone.”

  “See you, bud,” he said to the dog, who opened one eye, snorted, then closed it again.

  “He loves you,” she commented.

  “Is that what you call that? How can you tell, from a single snort?”

  “Better than a growl, which is what he gives most of my dates.” She cut the word off and quickly corrected herself. “Most of the men he sees me with.”

  Was she having a hard time remembering this wasn’t a date, too?

  He cleared his throat. “Shall we?”

  Megan grabbed a small purse off the bureau that held the television set, then picked up a room key and led the way out into the hall.

  “Look at those stars,” she exclaimed when they walked outside the lodge and started toward her SUV.

  “They must have a dark skies rule up here in the canyon to limit light pollution.” He had noticed all the exterior illumination in the parking lot and around the lodge were downlights, intended to reduce skyglow.

  “Oh, that sky is magnificent. Doesn’t it make you feel small when you see those millions and millions of stars overhead?”

  “Yes,” he said gruffly.

  “I love looking at the stars in Haven Point, but there’s something magical about seeing the night sky from another perspective. I always dreamed of shooting the stars from every continent.”

  He had seen other night skies in his travels. He didn’t think she would appreciate his perspective that few places compared to the beauty and majesty of their shared hometown.

  “You drive,” she said as they approached her vehicle. “You know where the restaurant is, plus the seat is still set for your long legs.”

  “Sure. Here. Let me grab your door.”

  “I’ve got it,” she said. They both reached for the door at the same time and she pulled it open. He was standing too close and the door smacked his injured arm before he could move it out of the way.

  He sucked in a quick breath that he quickly tried to hide with a cough. She was too observant, though.

  “Oh! I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s fine,” he said, though he had a feeling his voice probably sounded about half an octave lower than normal.

  “You’re lying,” she said flatly. “That would have hurt, even if you weren’t recovering from a gunshot wound. You’re in pain, aren’t you? Did you take something for it?”

  “It’s fine,” he repeated.

  Megan frowned. “Tell me something. Did Charlene give all of you Bailey kids lessons on how to be stubborn or does it just come naturally?”

  He had to smile as the pain began to recede. “A little of both. We learned by example from both of our parents, which also would indicate we’re probably genetically predisposed to stubbornness.”

  “I don’t doubt it.” She shook her head, though he didn’t miss the little smile playing around her mouth. “We don’t have to go out, you know. There’s always room service. Or we could order pizza.”

  He found both of those ideas appealing, but something told him it would be dangerous to spend too much time alone with her in one of their elegantly appointed hotel rooms.

  More than likely, food would be the last thing on his mind.

  “We were lucky enough to swing a last-minute reservation. We shouldn’t let it go to waste.”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  Was it his imagination or did she look disappointed? He didn’t let himself even entertain the possibility as he walked around the vehicle to the driver’s side.

  Her phone rang as he pulled out of the parking lot and turned toward town.

  He could tell by the way her face lit up as she looked at the display that the caller was someone she loved. What would it be like to see her face glow like that when he called?

  “Sorry. Do you mind if I get this? It’s my niece.”

  “Not at all.”

  She sent him a quick smile then answered the phone. “Hey, Cassie. How’s my favorite fourth grader?”

  He couldn’t hear what her niece said, but he could tell by the way Megan’s smile slid away that she found it concerning.

  “Oh, honey. I’m sorry. But if your dad says you can’t wear makeup yet, you can’t wear makeup yet. He’s your father and he gets to make those kinds of rules.”

  She paused. “No, I don’t remember how old I was when I started wearing makeup. I’m pretty sure I was older than nine and a half, though. I was at least twelve. Maybe even thirteen.”

  She was silent. “I know it’s frustrating when all your friends are doing it, but there will be plenty of time for wearing makeup, trust me.”

  The conversation went on in a similar vein until they pulled up to the restaurant, when Megan sighed. “He’s not a mean dad, honey. He loves you.”

  Elliot really didn’t want to eavesdrop on her conversation with her niece but he couldn’t help it, considering they were sharing a small vehicle.

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Megan finally said firmly. “If you want to talk to him, you’re going to have to do that yourself. I can’t intervene in this one. No. I don’t think your mother would have let you wear makeup at this age, honey.”

  They continued for a few more moments, before Megan finally ended the conversation. “I have to go, Cass. I’m sorry I can’t be more help, but you’ll be old enough for makeup and boys and all kinds of things, before you know it.”

  She hung up her phone and returned it to her purse. “Sorry about that. She never met a dead horse she didn’t want to beat.”

  “How old is Cassie now?”

  “She’s nine and would like to be twenty-five. Usually she’s the sweetest girl, but she can sometimes be feisty about certain things.”

  “Growing up without a mother must be hard.”

  He said the words casually but she still sent him a swift, censorious look. “And hard on Luke, having to raise two kids by himself with the cloud of suspicion hanging over him for years.”

  “Sure. That, too.”

  He shouldn’t have brought up Elizabeth. The reference to her forced a shift in the mood, as if clouds had drifted past that spectacular night sky.

  “It can be terribly painful for a girl,” she finally answered. “Not having a mother, I mean. I still miss my mom every single day, and she’s been gone twenty years.”

  His heart ached at the hollow note in her voice. He should have remembered that Megan also had spent her adolescent years without a mother.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured, feeling like an ass.

  She shrugged. “I had my grandmother. She helped make lif
e...bearable after Mom died. And I try to do the same thing for Bridger and Cassie.”

  “Sounds like Luke is a strict father.”

  She sent him a slit-eyed look. “He sets clear rules and enforces them. In my mind, that makes him a good father. Cassie is not even ten years old. A lot of her friends on the softball team are a year older, and a few already wear so much makeup, they look like circus clowns.”

  “What would happen if she disobeyed him?”

  Her expression grew unnaturally still and she said nothing for several seconds. “You mean, would she disappear one day like her mother?” Her voice was as low and lethal as a rattlesnake.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “No, but you insinuated it. I didn’t realize a simple phone call from my niece would result in an FBI interrogation.”

  “It’s not an interrogation,” he protested. “I was just curious about Luke and his parenting methods.”

  Her icy expression plainly conveyed her disbelief. “I’ll say it again. My brother is an excellent father. Extraordinary, really, when you consider what our—” She caught her words, making him wonder what she wouldn’t say. “When you consider everything he’s had to do on his own. Yes, he sets rules, but not unreasonable ones, and he’s not inflexible either. He loves his children and would never do anything to hurt them—especially not take their mother away from them, leaving them with so many unanswered questions, no matter how troubled she might have been.”

  He really shouldn’t be let out in polite company. He winced, feeling like an idiot and wishing he had kept his mouth shut.

  “I’m sorry. Megan. I shouldn’t have brought it up. My mother always said I take after my dad in that way—the proverbial dog with a bone. I can’t rest until I’ve chewed things to bits.”

  She gripped her bag more tightly and gazed out the window, not giving him an inch.

  “Do you want to forget dinner and go back to the lodge?”

  After a long moment, she turned back to him. Her features looked resolute—and also perhaps a little sad.

  “No. I’m starving and I’ve heard too many good things about the place. Let’s make a pact that we won’t discuss Luke or Elizabeth or their children for the remainder of the evening.”

  Relief pulsed through him. “Deal. Any other topics we should keep off the table?”

  “My gallery opening,” she said, so promptly he knew it must have been at the forefront of her mind. “I’m terrified about it and my stomach clenches every time the subject comes up.”

  That was harder for him to concede. He found her work amazing and she had no reason to be nervous about even discussing it. He could respect her wishes, though.

  “Got it. Anything else?” he asked as he pulled into the valet parking.

  “That covers things on my end. What about you?”

  He considered his options. “If it’s all the same to you, I would rather not talk about my job right now. Or my deadline. Or my family.”

  She gave a short laugh. “That doesn’t leave much left on the table. The weather, maybe. And our favorite baseball team. We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?”

  He wanted them to be, more than he dared admit to himself.

  “That leaves plenty to discuss.” He opened her door and helped her out, then handed the keys to the valet. “And if all else fails, I have a conversation app on my phone that might come in handy.”

  She stared at him. “Why would you need a conversation app?”

  He hadn’t meant to reveal that and now he squirmed a little, not sure how to tell her he bought the app because he was lousy at small talk. Sometimes he was so focused on the goal—usually extracting information from a source—that he didn’t remember how important subtlety and finesse could be in his line of work.

  “I’m afraid that to answer that question, I would have to talk about my job, which we’ve both agreed is off-limits.”

  Now she gave a full-fledged smile that lifted his heart. “In other words, you could tell me, but then you’d have to kill me.”

  Did she have any idea how contagious her smiles were? “Something like that,” he murmured.

  “This should be an interesting evening, then. I can’t wait.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  TURNED OUT, THEY didn’t need an app or any other kind of conversational help. They did fine on their own.

  They talked about movies they liked, their favorite ice cream flavors, places she dreamed of visiting and about some of the challenges she found in running the inn. She did ask about some of the cases he had written about, though she didn’t consider that technically breaking their agreement, since she wasn’t discussing his current book.

  After their rocky start, the evening turned out to be thoroughly enjoyable.

  At the end of the meal, Megan set down her spoon and wiped the corners of her mouth with her napkin, fighting the urge to lick clean the bowl of her fruit-bedecked crème brûlée. “I’m just going to come out and say it. That was the most delicious dinner I’ve had in years.”

  “An excellent choice,” he agreed. “Everything was pitch-perfect. You’ll have to tell Mary Ella tomorrow how delicious we both found her daughter’s restaurant.”

  “I will.”

  It had been an exhausting day, with the long journey and then their time at the art gallery and dinner, yet she found she didn’t want the evening to end.

  When he put his mind to it, Elliot could be every bit as charming as Wyatt had been. More, maybe, if she were honest.

  Wyatt had been like a puppy, happy all the time, eager for attention and constantly in search of the next entertainment. She had so desperately needed that at the time, just months after her grandmother’s death when she was reeling from the loss and from the sudden responsibility of inheriting the inn.

  It had been a terribly hard time and she had felt so alone. Luke had been too busy with the contracting business he had started and with his new wife and their new baby to be much help.

  She hadn’t wanted to run an inn. That had never been her dream. Too much of her high school years had been spent making beds or working the front desk. Beyond that, after an internship at a Boise-area travel magazine, she had just been offered a job as assistant to a National Geographic photographer. All her dreams had been about to come true—and then Gran got sick and she had come home to care for her and had felt stuck.

  Wyatt had suddenly tumbled into that tough, joyless world, exactly when she needed him.

  He had been sweet and kind and funny, the perfect antidote to her grim circumstances. Then, just as her feelings had started to deepen, Wyatt had died on a lonely stretch of snowy highway while doing what he loved best: helping other people.

  Elliot was very different from his brother. More serious and introspective, less impulsive and rash, yet still inherently kind.

  If she was not very careful, Megan was afraid she would find it entirely too easy to lose her heart to him.

  No. She couldn’t let that happen. All she could see ahead on that path was heartbreak and pain.

  Besides. She had her future mapped out and it didn’t include a sexy FBI agent.

  She had put her dreams on hold for her entire adult life, first to care for her grandmother, then to help Luke with the children. In a few years, Luke wouldn’t need her help with Bridger and Cassie nearly as much as he did now. Soon Cassie would be able to keep an eye on Bridger when Luke was on a job site and would be able to take on more responsibility.

  Megan had it all figured out. When that day happened, she would find someone competent to run the hotel and would take her camera to all those places she and Elliot had talked about. Iceland. Paris. Japan.

  Falling in love with any man was not in that master plan at all. Falling in love with Elliot would be a disaster on so many levels.

  “What’s wrong?”r />
  She shifted her mind away from her grim thoughts to find him watching her closely. He was a man who saw entirely too much, an FBI agent trained to sift through expressions and body language to the truth, no matter how carefully she tried to conceal it.

  “Nothing.” She forced a smile. “I was only thinking it has already been a long day and we’re in for another one tomorrow.”

  “I suppose you’re right. We should head back to the lodge.”

  “Right. Cyrus is waiting, too.”

  It was rather terrifying, how badly she didn’t want the evening to end.

  To Megan’s surprise, a few moments after Elliot requested the bill, the chef herself came out to their table.

  Mary Ella’s daughter Alex Delgado was younger than Megan might have guessed, around the same age as Elliot. She was pretty and blonde, with a winsome smile and Mary Ella’s same green eyes.

  “Thank you for the wonderful meal,” Megan said as the chef approached. “I don’t know when I’ve had anything better.”

  “You’re very welcome.” Alex accepted the praise with a warm smile. “I’m glad I had the chance to meet you before your gallery opening. My mom has been raving about your work for months. Between you and me, she’s acting as if she’s discovered a new planet.”

  That wild burst of panic churned through her again but Elliot placed a calming hand on her arm, as if sensing some of her emotional tumult and understanding she needed reassurance. The gesture, so perfectly timed, sent a soft, seductive warmth to push away the panic.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, not knowing whether she was speaking to Alex or Elliot.

  “You’re very welcome,” the chef said with a smile. “And I wanted to tell you, your bill has already been paid.”

  She frowned in confusion. “By whom? Your mother?”

  Alex shook her head. “My cantankerous stepfather beat her to it. Apparently he’s a big fan of both of yours. He insisted we put your dinner on his tab, and when Harry Lange wants something around Hope’s Crossing, few people argue with him.”