Reading over the hard copy helped her evaluate the work differently. Or maybe she was responding to the memory of Jack’s voice echoing in her head like a drumbeat, like a call to action, encouraging her heart to a fresh cadence, rousing her to life. All those feelings you say you don’t feel? They’re all in there.
But she hadn’t put them on the page. She turned down a corner to come back to later, frowned, read some more. The structure was good. If I move this bit here . . . The events were all there. That part with the therapist . . . The visit to the prison to see Ben . . .
Only the emotion, the way those events made her feel, was missing.
And the emotion was everything.
Her pulse quickened. She started to make notes, slowly at first and then with confidence, scribbling in the margins, jotting on the backs of pages, inserting more sheets when she ran out of room. Writing as if she had nobody to offend and nothing to lose.
She worked until the words streaming across the page blended with the paper in shades of gray.
She blinked, distracted, and looked up. The light was gone. The sky outside her windows was dark. She took a deep breath. Good heavens, it must be . . . Her glance fell on the clock. Nine?
Shifting the piles of paper, she uncurled from the bed. Her legs trembled under her as she stretched her back and her fingers. Her stomach growled. She’d been up here for hours.
Writing.
She smiled.
Noises drifted up the stairs. Women’s voices. Meg, she wondered, come to visit her mother?
Lauren took another look at the notes spread out over the white duvet cover. Her grin broadened. She could tell Meg. She was writing. She couldn’t wait to tell Meg.
She stumbled to the bathroom and then downstairs. She felt tired and shaky, cramped and . . . Well, pretty fabulous, actually. But she needed a brain break. And carbs. She was starving.
More voices, more noise as she rounded the beautifully restored banister. The hundred-year-old inn had been painstakingly restored with natural wood and warm, rich colors. But Tess Fletcher had a knack for the kind of homey touches that kept the Pirates’ Rest from feeling too much like a museum or another hotel. A sea grass basket filled with shells stood by the door; a vase of big yellow sunflowers nodded on the table; a stack of colorful towels under the stairs waited for guests going to or coming from the beach.
A burst of laughter penetrated from the kitchen. Lauren smiled at the sound and then hesitated outside the swinging door. Homey, but not her home. She didn’t want to intrude on the Fletchers’ family space or Meg’s time.
But the prospect of creeping quietly back to her room, away from the laughter, away from the food, was remarkably unappealing. She knocked once and nudged open the door.
“Oh.”
The kitchen was a rainbow of summer dresses and flowers and candles and food. A party.
Lauren stopped on the threshold, abruptly aware of her jeans, tank top, and outsider status. “I’m so sorry, I just . . .”
Meg, in bright red, came forward, champagne glass in hand. “Lauren! Is everything all right?”
“Fine,” Lauren assured her.
Meg’s eyes narrowed.
Lauren held up her hand in I-swear fashion. “Honest. I, um, kind of lost track of the time. Working.”
Meg’s smile flashed. “Well, that deserves a celebration. Come have cake. I’ll introduce you around.”
She wanted to. The warmth of the room tugged her forward. The smells were amazing. On the table behind Meg, the cake, already sliced, shared pride of place with a loose arrangement of black-eyed Susans and fat orange roses. Lauren’s stomach rumbled.
“Is that Jane’s lemon mascarpone five-layer cake?”
“Nothing but the best.”
“Maybe I could take a slice upstairs? I don’t want to crash your party.”
A pretty woman with coppery hair came over. “It’s my party, and I’d love for you to join us. Kate Dolan.” She held out her hand, her grin as wide and shiny as the sea at dawn. “I’m getting married on Monday.”
Her joy was irresistible. Contagious. Lauren smiled back. “I heard. To Luke Fletcher. Congratulations.”
“Thank you. And this is Taylor,” Kate said, drawing the girl to her side.
“Yeah, we’ve met.” Lauren smiled at Meg’s eleven-year-old niece. “I like your dress.”
“Thanks. I have to wear one for the wedding, too. Do you want a sandwich?”
“I would, but—”
“Please stay. We have more than enough,” Tess said.
“Well . . .” She was engulfed by their kindness, swept up by their welcome.
“We’re going to watch a movie,” Taylor said. “I picked it out.”
“What did you pick?” Not The Hangover. Taylor was only eleven. Bridesmaids?
“Princess Bride.”
Lauren’s confusion must have shown on her face.
“‘Mawwiage’!” Meg explained. “‘Mawwiage is what bwings us togethew.’”
“‘And wuv,’” Kate said.
“‘Twu wuv,’” caroled Taylor.
Lauren grinned in appreciation. “Got it. Excellent choice.”
“They’re all nuts.” A young black woman in an orchid-colored dress smiled at Lauren. “Hi. Alisha Douglas.”
“And I’m Allison.” A long-stemmed blonde introduced herself. “Matt’s wife. I married into this madness.”
“Nice to meet you both.” Lauren took a breath. She could do this. She wasn’t in disguise anymore. “Lauren Patterson.”
Alisha’s brows rose. “Yeah? Like that hostage girl.”
“Not ‘like,’” Meg said. “She is.”
“Have a plate,” Tess said to Lauren.
“Thanks.” She began to load up, aware of Alisha’s warm brown eyes watching her across the table.
“I saw you on Dr. Phil. You look different.”
Lauren took a breath. Trauma changes you, she’d told Jack.
Or it can show you who you really are.
“It’s the hair.” Lauren added a cookie to her plate. “What do you do, Alisha?”
“Social worker. Child Protective Services.”
“That’s how we met,” Kate explained. “I’m a family lawyer.”
Blond Allison looked around the table. “Wow. It’s like a family intervention meeting.”
“Excuse me?” Lauren asked.
“High school teacher.” Allison pointed to herself and then began going around the table. “Lawyer, social worker, psychologist . . . We’re like a family crisis team.”
“I don’t actually have my doctorate yet,” Lauren said.
“Don’t need one to be a counselor in North Carolina. Just a license,” Alisha said.
“Are we talking shop?” Meg said. “Because if we are, I need more champagne.”
Allison laughed. “Says the workaholic.”
“I’ll get it,” Kate said.
“You go sit,” Tess said. “You’re the bride.”
“I can help,” Lauren said.
And with her offer, she slipped into the gathering like a fish into a stream. Despite her initial introduction, she found it remarkably easy to be herself with the other women, to be accepted as someone other than Hostage Girl. Plates were emptied. Glasses refilled. Conversation bubbled and flowed. Lauren liked listening to them, enjoyed unwinding in their company.
All accomplished women, in their different ways. Tess, running her inn with ease and authority; Meg, quick and dark, vibrating with energy; coolly pretty schoolteacher Allison; lawyer Kate, with her vibrant hair and shadowed hazel eyes.
But for all their differences, they were bound together. By the child Taylor, threading her way between them. By a hundred tiny words and gestures, a quick hug, a laughing glance, a sly tease.
Family.
“They all seem so sure of themselves,” she murmured to Alisha. “Confident.”
“Lucky. They’ve all got good men.”
Lauren quirked an eyebrow. “Not to get all feminist in your face, but I don’t think you have to be part of a couple to feel confident.”
“Amen. What I meant was, I did the home evaluation for Taylor after Luke got back from Afghanistan. And one of the things I saw right away is those Fletcher men stand behind their women. Her daddy will help that child be whatever she wants or needs to be. He’s the same with Kate, and she didn’t always make that easy for him. He sees her. He gets her. That’s powerful, when a man can do that for a woman.”
Yearning flooded Lauren’s chest. Her father had been the owner of a small-town shoe store, a soft-spoken, quietly affectionate man who never made much noise in life or around the house.
But when he died, the silence he left behind was devastating.
The emptiness had echoed inside her for years. The bank robbery—the shattering of security, the loss of privacy, that sense of being helpless, powerless—had only increased her personal void.
But when Jack looked at her, he didn’t see someone who was empty.
You’ve got something inside you, he’d murmured. A spark. A heart.
She drew a shaky breath.
Alisha leaned forward and tucked a cocktail napkin in her hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Lauren blotted her eyes. Managed a smile. “No. Thanks. It’s just . . .”
Alisha nodded. “I know. It’s the whole wedding thing gets us stirred up. Almost makes me want to take the risk on an actual relationship instead of flirting online with my Soul Mate in a Box. Assuming, of course, I could find an actual, real live man who isn’t a player.”
“Or a musician,” Lauren said, thinking of the couch crashers.
“Or lives with his mama.”
Meg, overhearing, grinned. “Maybe you’re too picky. You’ve just eliminated both my brothers from your list of possibles.”
“Easy to be smug when you’re engaged to Sam Grady. Anyway, your brothers are off the market,” Alisha said.
“And Luke doesn’t live with his mother,” Kate, the lawyer, said with precision. “He rents a cottage out back.”
“Matt paid rent, too,” Allison said loyally.
“So, where will you live after the wedding?” Lauren asked politely.
“We’re looking for a house nearby,” Kate said. “We want Taylor to stay in the same school. And the commute to my office isn’t bad. Forty-five minutes or so.”
Sometime during the conversation, Tess had slipped away. She returned now, a smile on her face and a small, beribboned box in her hands.
“I know you said no shower presents,” she said to Kate, handing her the box. “But I wanted to give you this before the wedding.”
“But you’ve already given us so much. The dishes . . .”
Tess waved a dismissive hand. “For the house. This is for you.”
Kate’s face opened like a flower. “Oh, Tess.”
“Just a little something.”
They all watched as she tugged at the pale yellow ribbon, working it off the corners of the box.
“What is it?” Alisha asked.
“Let me see,” Taylor said.
With trembling hands, Kate lifted a white square from the creamy tissue, the cloth delicately embroidered all over with tiny blue flowers.
“It’s a handkerchief,” Tess said unnecessarily. She cleared her throat. “My mother-in-law gave it to me to carry on my wedding day. I thought . . . Something old?”
“And borrowed,” Meg said.
“And blue!” Taylor bounded on the couch cushions.
Kate raised her face, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “I love it. I love you.”
Tess caught her in a warm embrace. “We love you, too, sweetheart. Welcome to the family.”
“Where is Kate’s mother?” Lauren murmured to Alisha.
Alisha rolled her eyes. “Don’t ask.”
My mother would be here. The thought was oddly comforting.
After that, there were more tears, more laughter, more champagne.
Marriage, Lauren thought later as they all snuggled on the couch, on the floor, to watch the movie. Is what brings us together.
Alisha was right. It was almost enough to make her want to take the risk on an actual relationship.
Lauren hugged a sofa pillow to her empty chest. But was Jack interested in taking a risk on her?
Twelve
LAUREN SNUGGLED INTO the couch cushions. The movie was almost over. She should go upstairs and work. For the first time in months, the thought didn’t bring the hot tightening in her chest, the greasy ball of panic in her stomach.
She wanted to work. Recharged by her break, she could feel her energy returning, her thoughts mustering, like static electricity buzzing against her skin.
In the hall, the grandfather clock struck midnight. The chimes mingled with the noise from the TV, the sound of running footsteps as Inigo Montoya chased the six-fingered man through the halls of the castle.
Taylor hugged Kate’s arm against her chest. “I love this part,” she whispered.
“Was that the door?” Tess asked.
Lauren blinked, confused. On TV? Or . . .
Meg stirred from the couch. “I’ll get it.”
Voices rumbled from the kitchen. Kate kissed the top of Taylor’s head—such a sweet and natural gesture, such a mom thing to do, that Lauren’s heartstrings twanged—and got up.
Lauren rolled her head on the back of the couch to watch Kate cross the kitchen.
Two men stood at the back door, the first tall and blond and muscular, as if Westley the Farm Boy had done serious gym time. Lauren watched Kate go up on tiptoe to kiss him. This must be the bridegroom, then. Luke Fletcher.
The other . . . Lauren’s heart beat a quick tattoo.
If Luke was the classic movie hero, Jack was . . . Well, he was no Prince Charming. Against Luke’s tall, golden, easy gorgeousness, he looked dark, compact, and dangerous, a star collapsed upon itself, a black hole exuding stunning gravity. The pleasant buzz of the evening transmuted to a different kind of excitement, electrifying all her limbs, running through her veins like quicksilver.
She met his gaze. Connection arced and sparked in the space between them. Her fingertips tingled. She wanted to jump off the sofa and fly to him.
Like a bug to a bug zapper.
She shivered. Not a reassuring image.
His dark eyes flared. But his voice as he spoke to Kate was calm and reassuring, the voice of a man used to taking charge, to taking care of things. A man who could be trusted.
“Get his ass to bed soon,” he was saying. “I need him on shift at seven tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll be there,” Luke assured him earnestly.
Jack’s mouth curled. “I know you will. Great party, Luke. Your friends are good guys.”
He nodded. “The best. Best guys. Best time. Thanks, Jack.”
“Anytime, buddy.”
Kate slipped an arm around Luke’s waist. “I’ve got him from here.”
His deep blue eyes focused on her carefully. “I didn’t have that much to drink.”
Meg rolled her eyes.
Kate laid her free hand gently on Luke’s cheek. “Not too much. Did you have a good time?”
He turned his head, pressed a kiss to her palm. “Yeah. Thank you.”
Not simply for inquiring about his evening, Lauren thought, picking up on the current between them. Something else was going on, another question being asked and answered, another trust being given. For some reason, for no reason at all, her eyes pricked with tears.
Taylor paused the m
ovie. “Did you win the poker game?”
Luke grinned. “Jack won. But he said I should take all his money and buy you girls presents.”
Lauren looked at Jack, who shrugged.
“Cool.” Taylor’s smile shed sunshine on them both. “You want to watch the movie with us?”
“I wish I could.” Jack’s gaze flicked briefly to Lauren. “I’ve got to go on a call.”
Disappointment and concern lurched inside her. “Nothing serious, I hope.”
“Nope. Alarm call at Evans Tackle Store. Owner’s already on the scene. But Hank’s got his hands full with some teenagers partying in one of the rentals, so I have to take the report.”
Lauren got her legs under her. “I’ll see you out.”
Taylor switched those huge blue eyes on Luke. “Can you watch the movie with us, Daddy?”
Luke’s arm tightened around Kate’s waist. He smiled down at his daughter. “As you wish.”
* * *
LAUREN WALKED WITH Jack along the deck that ran the length of the house to the trellis-covered patio. The sky was like velvet, the stars scattered over it like a jeweler’s diamond display. The brutal sun slept. The close, sticky air of the day had lifted. A freshening breeze rose off the water, teasing the scents from the summer garden.
Jack turned to face her, his back to the house, a shadow against the deeper shadows of the porch. Tiny white flowers starred the vines behind his head.
Lauren took a deep breath of jasmine-scented air and thought, Take me.
“You’re missing the end of the movie,” he said.
She shrugged, trying to speak lightly. “I’m not really into revenge scenarios.”
He frowned at her.
“What?”
“Your pal in jail, the bank robber—”
“Ben.” He had a name, just like she did.
“Yeah. He ever talk about revenge? Threaten you in any way?”
“No. No.” She was genuinely horrified she’d given him that impression. “Nothing like that. Ben always says he knows I did my best. He thanks me. All the time.” His mother wanted her dead, but Ben was grateful.
Carolina Blues Page 15
