The Cottages on Silver Beach

by RaeAnne Thayne

  This had been a mistake from the beginning. She should have told this kindly woman thanks but no thanks when Mary Ella first expressed interest in her photography.

  She drew in a panicked breath and had to fight for composure.

  A large male hand came to rest on her shoulder. “Easy,” her brother said, his voice calm and his eyes filled with understanding. Somehow she sensed he knew exactly what was running through her head. “You’re going to be great, sis.”

  His words soothed her. His very presence calmed her more. Things between them had been strained for the last week, since she told him about her trip here to Hope’s Crossing with Elliot and about what they had uncovered. To her vast relief, that tension hadn’t kept him away from her show opening—or Bridger or Cassie, for that matter. They were all there, dressed up and smiling, which touched her beyond words.

  “Thank you,” she said, her voice a little tremulous. “And thank you for making the trip in the first place. It means the world to me.”

  “It was kind of Aidan and Jamie Caine to fly everyone here. The kids loved their first airplane ride.”

  Her heart swelled when she thought of all the friends and loved ones from Haven Point who had taken time away from their busy lives to support her gallery opening here in Hope’s Crossing.

  “I hope everyone doesn’t feel like this is just a big waste of their time and effort.”

  “Shut up,” her brother ordered. “Right now.”

  She blinked at his stern tone.

  “I’m serious,” Luke said. “It makes me sick to hear you put yourself down like this. Stop it now. I know where it comes from. So do you. Are you still giving him that much power in your life, tonight of all nights?”

  She swallowed, struck by his words.

  “You listen to me,” Luke went on. “We shared an ass for a father, a man who had no business reproducing. But we’re not him—and we’re not all the things he spent our childhoods trying to drill into our heads. Loser. Stupid. Lazy. Those are his words and they should have died with him.”

  Their father had been cruel to both of them, but so much harder on Luke. Megan’s mother had tried to protect her stepson but hadn’t always been successful.

  “You are a beautiful, brilliant, talented photographer. If you won’t say it yourself, I’ll say it for you. You’re kind, compassionate and loving. You have created something amazing here, captured images no one else on earth but you could see. You should just throw your shoulders back, tell those negative voices in your head to shut the hell up and celebrate yourself along with the rest of us who are here to do exactly that tonight.”

  His words touched her to the core and tears burned her eyes. They were the very words she needed to hear.

  “I’m proud of you, Megan,” he went on. “Your mother and Gran would have been, too. Tonight, think of what they would have said if they were here to see this. Not him.”

  “You’re right. You’re so right. Thank you.”

  “Anytime.”

  Luke hugged her again and the unease that had prickled between them all week seemed to puff away. She sensed they had crossed some sort of threshold. Perhaps he would one day forgive her for not telling him about her trip with Elliot. Perhaps he might even be grateful for what they had found.

  Her heart twisted, as it did whenever she thought about the man she loved. She missed him desperately. His family still hadn’t heard anything from him, according to Wyn, and they were all starting to worry.

  She couldn’t do anything about that right now. She could only focus on this moment and the wonder of seeing a dream come true.

  “All right. It’s time,” Mary Ella called out, then unlocked the door.

  * * *

  AN HOUR LATER, Megan felt as if she were in a dream. It was surreal and completely unbelievable to see people respond so positively to her work, to art she had created through her brain and her vision, along with her camera and her post-processing computer skills.

  She was doing her best not to let the accolades go to her head, but it was tough. She was taking a much-needed breather and grabbing another glass of water from the open bar when Harry Lange approached her. “I told you the show would be a smash,” he said in that gruff, no-nonsense voice. “My Mary Ella has a sharp eye for talent.”

  Megan sipped at her water, her throat parched from answering questions about her prints. “I’m so grateful for all the work she has put into the show. She’s been amazing.”

  “She’s already planning your next exhibit. You’d better get to shooting.”

  “I don’t intend to stop anytime soon.” Photography was in her blood. She couldn’t stop now, even if she wanted to.

  He gave her a meaningful look. “If things go the way I’d like, you’ll soon have more time on your hands, which would be good for all of us.”

  His not-so-subtle reminder of the offer on the table to purchase the Inn at Haven Point made her catch her breath. For a week, she had been trying not to think about that and the decisions she would have to make soon.

  Some of her angst must have shown on her face because Harry gave a short laugh. “I’m sorry I brought it up. Don’t tell Mary Ella. I was on strict orders not to mention my offer for your inn tonight or else. And trust me, you don’t want to know what or else might mean in this case. Forget I said anything. You don’t have to worry about that now. Just enjoy your night.”

  He slipped away, but before she could take a breath, Charlene and Mike Bailey filled his place.

  Charlene grabbed her free hand, her pleasantly plump features warm with approval. “Oh, honey. What a wonderful gift you have. I always knew I loved the photographs you shared with us, but it’s different when you’re only looking at one or two at a time. The opportunity to see so many of your images together at once shows just how amazing you are.”

  “Beautiful job,” Mike Bailey said, giving her a paternal sort of smile that made those emotions flood through her again. She had always loved Elliot’s quiet, kind uncle, who had finally married his brother’s widow only the year before.

  For the first time, she realized the striking similarities between her and Charlene. Both of them had found room in their hearts to love very different Bailey brothers.

  Charlene and Mike seemed happy together. Was it possible she and Elliot could find the same joy?

  “This one is my favorite, of all of them,” Mike said, gesturing to a large print of Lake Haven. It was photographed from Silver Beach, an early summer morning with geese flying in to land among the steam curling off the water.

  She remembered that morning vividly—the magical feeling that she was the only one awake there by the lakeshore as the sun came up above the Redemptions, with the air so fresh and sweet she could almost taste it.

  “I do love that one,” Charlene said. “But how do you pick a favorite? I love that one. And that one. And that one.”

  Megan followed her pointing finger. The first image was one she had taken over the winter, of old Hiram Ward, who had to be eighty, shoveling the driveway of Dorothy Clemmons, who was pushing ninety. His withered form was bent with concentration over the snow shovel while Dorothy stood on the porch wrapped in a colorful quilt and holding out a mug of cocoa for him.

  The second image showed the toy boat parade in Haven Point, a huge part of the town’s annual celebration. A trio of children stood on the lakeshore, their little boats gleaming in the sunlight in front of them and their faces tense with concentration.

  A third was a shot at dusk on Halloween, with costumed children hurrying down a leaf-strewn street, bags bulging with candy and the lake painted a pale lavender in the twilight.

  Warmth seeped through her as she looked at the beauty her work portrayed. It wasn’t the photographs themselves; it was the life they captured.

  Her life. A full, rich, satisfying life filled with dear
friends she loved, with neighbors helping neighbors, with a community that managed to thrive amid hardship.

  She loved her life.

  All this time, she had been thinking she couldn’t wait to escape Haven Point, had imagined that her dreams would be found elsewhere. She thought she would truly be happy if only she could achieve the excitement and adventure of photographing exotic places. Tribal ceremonies, undiscovered lands, wild creatures.

  She was so wrong. This. This was her destiny.

  She looked around this gallery at people talking, laughing, admiring her prints. Roughly a third of them were from her very hometown, hundreds of miles away. Friends, family, loved ones who had made the effort, traveled great distances and taken time away from their hectic lives, solely to support her.

  Eppie and Hazel were there, with Eppie’s husband, Ron.

  Barbara Serrano had left the restaurant to make the journey.

  McKenzie and Ben Kilpatrick, Devin and Cole Barrett, Aidan and Eliza, Jamie and Julia.

  Even cranky Linda Fremont had come with her daughter Samantha.

  She loved them all, each and every one.

  In that instant, she knew she couldn’t sell the inn. Haven Point was her home and the inn was her legacy.

  If Harry Lange’s company took over running it, she was sure they would do an excellent job, but she didn’t want to sell to him. At least not right now.

  There was, however, no reason she couldn’t turn more responsibility over to the manager she had hired. Darin Watson was young but he was doing an excellent job. She only needed to give him more responsibility.

  Why couldn’t she have the best of all options? She could explore the world through her lens but return home to the people and places she loved in Idaho.

  If only she could figure out a way to have Elliot in that world, then it would truly be everything she could ever imagine.

  Her gaze danced toward the door, half hoping he might come to see her show, but it remained stubbornly closed.

  She had closed the metaphorical door between them. She couldn’t blame him for not being willing to push it open and walk through.

  * * *

  ELLIOT STOOD OUTSIDE the Lange Gallery in Hope’s Crossing, fingering the slip of paper in the pocket of his blazer and wondering if he should go in.

  Through the windows, he could see the place was brightly lit and packed with people.

  To his shock, everywhere he looked inside, he saw faces he recognized. His sisters were both there with their husbands and he thought he even saw his mother and uncle. Many of the Haven Point Helping Hands had shown up.

  How wonderful for Megan, to have that community support from her friends and neighbors. She deserved all of it and more.

  He touched that piece of paper again. This wasn’t the appropriate time. He should have handled this privately.

  He had been a coward, though. This seemed easier, coming to the one place where he knew he could find her. He wasn’t eager to meet in private with her. His heart was too raw, too exposed.

  Maybe she could find a few moments for him the next day, before she flew back to Haven Point. He should have called her and tried to meet tomorrow or something, while she was still in town after her big night.

  He still could, he decided. That would be a far better option than facing her here.

  He turned to go but a powerful compulsion guided him toward the gallery door again. He couldn’t leave. As difficult as it would be to face her, he wanted to be here, to share this moment of triumph with her in whatever tiny way he could.

  He would go in and say hello, maybe sign a guestbook or something, then leave, he told himself.

  Before he could talk himself out of it, he pushed the doors open and entered the gallery. The place was indeed crowded. A string quartet played something soft and sophisticated in the corner while all around him, he heard the sound of murmured laughter and tinkling glasses.

  He couldn’t see her at first. Then suddenly there she was, surrounded by admirers. He felt a hard, sharp ache in his chest, so intense, it took everything he had not to press his fist to it.

  He missed her. He missed her laughter and the sweetness she brought to his world. He missed the taste of her and watching her while she slept and talking to her about things he’d never discussed with anyone else.

  He missed everything about her.

  She hadn’t seen him and he thought it was probably better that way. He shouldn’t have come. Better to go now, before she noticed him. He turned away but he wasn’t quick enough. His mother spotted him and headed over with single-minded focus.

  “Elliot Bailey! Where have you been?”

  He thought of the strange journey of the preceding week and touched that paper in his pocket again. “Long story,” he said, his voice gravelly.

  He waited for her to bombard him with questions, as she usually would, but Charlene only wrinkled her brow as she studied him. What did she see on his features that made that look of compassion flit across her eyes?

  “Never mind. You’re here now. You can tell me later. For now, you should grab some champagne and enjoy the evening and these magnificent photographs from our Megan.”

  His chest gave that sharp ache again. He only wished she was their Megan.

  His Megan.

  “Don’t think you’re off the hook, young man. Not tonight, but at some point, I want to know where you’ve been and why you didn’t tell us you had been shot. Your uncle and I are very angry with you.”

  Her lip trembled when she spoke. Despite her firm words, he knew the emotion stemmed from concern rather than anger.

  He kissed her cheek, guilt weighing on him. “I’m sorry, Mom. I was trying to protect you. I didn’t want you to worry. Someday, I might learn you’re tough enough and don’t need protecting.”

  “I survived giving birth and raising five children, didn’t I?”

  “That you did.”

  Another of her friends came up to talk to her then, and as Elliot shifted his attention, his gaze landed on Luke Hamilton.

  The paper in his pocket suddenly seemed heavier than a dozen bricks.

  Of course.

  Megan wasn’t the one who needed the information on that paper. Luke had far more right to it.

  He looked around the packed gallery. Perhaps he should do this another day. But they were both here now. He wasn’t sure when he would be back in Haven Point and this needed to be done in person. Besides, hadn’t Luke waited long enough to find out the truth?

  His heart pounded as he approached the man who had once been his best friend.

  The closer he moved, the more tense Luke became. When Elliot reached him, the other man inclined his head stiffly.

  “Bailey,” he said in greeting, with no warmth whatsoever.

  “Hey.”

  His mind was suddenly flooded with a hundred memories—riding their bikes around the lake, fishing at his dad’s secret spot, hiking up the hills behind their house on snowshoes with their snowboards strapped to their backs so they could ride the slope back down.

  He hadn’t always been a stuffy stick-in-the-mud. Once he had liked shooting basketballs and playing video games and watching movies about superheroes.

  He fingered the paper, then pulled it out and handed it over.

  Luke took it automatically, staring at it in confusion. “What’s this?”

  “I found her.”

  Blood seeped from the other man’s features and he leaned against the nearby wall.

  “You...what?”

  “Elizabeth is alive and living on the Oregon Coast. She’s had plastic surgery and doesn’t look the same but it’s undoubtedly her. She’s going by another name. Sonia Davis.”

  Luke stared at him as if he couldn’t understand how Elliot could play such a cruel joke on him. He should hav
e waited for a better time, but he didn’t know when that might have been. There was no good time for this kind of information.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Flat-out denial hadn’t ever occurred to him. He glanced at the crowd, then back at the other man. “Believe me or not. Your choice.”

  Luke narrowed his gaze. “If she’s had plastic surgery and she’s using another name, how could you possibly know it’s her?”

  “Do you know that the human ear is almost as identifiable as a fingerprint? Her facial features might appear different but her ears are the same. I managed to take a picture of her without her seeing and had an expert I know at Quantico compare it to a known photograph of Elizabeth. They match on every point. It’s her.”

  The other man looked as if he would be sick. “Why did she—? All this time—”

  He didn’t have those answers. He had only discovered where she was, not why she wasn’t in Haven Point with her family.

  He looked at Megan’s niece and nephew, currently posing in front of one of her prints that featured both of them a few years younger, playing in the snow and looking bright and happy and completely well-adjusted. That guilt he’d felt earlier returned a hundredfold.

  “Luke. I’m sorry. I should have stood by you, as Megan did all this time.”

  She was amazing—loyal and loving and tenderhearted.

  “I’ve been told I can be a robot, cold and unfeeling. I’m trying to do better. I don’t deserve it, but I hope someday you might be able to forgive me for not trusting in my friend.”

  “She’s alive. All this time. I thought for sure someone else had—I was so angry the police turned immediately toward me and wouldn’t consider other options. I never imagined this.”

  Luke swallowed, gazing down at the paper like it would come alive at any moment and rip out his throat. “What am I supposed to do now?”

  The question mirrored what Megan had asked him several days earlier when he had turned over his files on the case.

  Elliot thought of the legwork he had done since then, interviewing dozens of people, following clue after clue, chasing dead end after dead end until he finally found the one snippet of information that led him to a beach town in Oregon and a beautiful Victorian house on the coast and the woman living there under an assumed name.