by JoAnn Ross
“Yes. I am. Mostly.” If you didn’t factor in the rekindling of emotional ashes she’d thought were cold and safely banked. She took a deep breath. Center.
“This is charming,” she said, turning toward an arched wall, which opened to a kitchen where a white beadboard ceiling and cabinets brightened the rain-darkened day. Earthenware dishes in varying shades of blue and green echoing the fields and lake outside the windows were stored on open shelves. A rustic wooden farmhouse table had been set for two. “And the name is so evocative. As I drove up, I wondered why we Americans don’t name our houses.”
When he didn’t immediately answer, she shook her head. “Oh, wait. How could I have forgotten? Your family named not only one but two.” Although she’d never admit it, there were times when she’d wondered if the reason she’d never met his parents was because he didn’t think she’d live up to McCaragh expectations of a daughter-in-law.
“Those names were passed down through the generations with the houses,” he said, a bit defensively, reminding her that he’d made a point of telling her that while his parents might take pride in their Main Line Philadelphia “Highlands” and the summer Cape Cod home dubbed “Sea View,” he’d always found the names pretentious. “Though you’re right about the name fitting this one.”
“I especially like the window boxes. The red flowers are so bright against the gray sky… I take it Diane warned you I was coming.”
A brow lifted at her abrupt change of subject. “Warn might be overstating it. She did call to let me know you’d asked where I was staying, so it was only logical to assume you might be showing up here.”
“This isn’t exactly your usual five-star accommodation.” Cassandra wondered if the cottage had him remembering their honeymoon.
“Far from it. But, as you said, it’s charming. And comfortable.” If he was thinking of all the hours they’d spent making love in that cloud-soft Irish feather bed, neither his face nor his eyes revealed it. Then again, his career had always depended on his ability to hide his thoughts. “I was also damn lucky to get it. The town’s packed with people who’ve flocked here for the supposed Lady sighting. I suppose that’s why you’ve come?”
“It’s what I told my editor.”
“Sounds as if it’s right up your paper’s alley.”
“The Worldwide Buzz isn’t a typical tabloid.” And yes, that was definitely a knee-jerk defensiveness she heard in her voice.
“I figured that out from your Bigfoot story.”
“You read it?”
The first story she’d written for the tabloid had been about Sasquatch—who, it turned out, had been secretly heading up a marijuana ring in coastal Washington forests for decades—applying for a business permit to grow and sell pot on the Olympic Peninsula after the state legalized marijuana. Accompanied by expertly Photoshopped pictures of Bigfoot harvesting his plants and cutting the bright yellow Grand Opening ribbon at his Forks, Washington, storefront, the issue had sold out by the second day.
Damn. Cassandra hated the way the idea of Duncan buying the tabloid to read her story caused her heart to do a little cartwheel.
“It was front and center at a newsstand at Kennedy.” He dragged a hand through his dark hair, drawing her attention to the woven gold wedding ring he was still wearing. “Damn. I’m forgetting my manners. Let me take your coat so you can sit down and relax after your long flight.”
Although she seriously doubted she’d be able to relax anywhere in the proximity of her husband, she shrugged out of the slicker she’d dragged all over the world and handed it to him. The way his eyes darkened to nearly black when their fingers inadvertently touched told Cassandra that she wasn’t the only one who’d felt that all-too-familiar electricity spark between them.
He hung the coat on a wooden rack, next to his own, which felt uncomfortably intimate, given their circumstances. Yet also unnervingly right. “Would you like coffee? Or tea? I have regular or a decaf chamomile.”
Cassandra definitely didn’t need any more caffeine. Needing an energy boost after a sleepless night on the plane, she’d bought an oversized travel cup of triple espresso at the cafe by the arrivals gate as soon as she’d cleared customs. While it had managed to keep her awake as she’d struggled with the left-hand driving and roundabouts—which didn’t appear to slow down Irish drivers in the least—the high-octane brew had left her feeling even more jangled.
“The chamomile sounds lovely.” And hopefully it would calm her nerves, which were jumping around inside her like a toddler who’d scarfed down a giant bag of sugar.
“Tea it is. Have you eaten?”
“I had a muffin at the airport.” Which, after her drive from Shannon, seemed like forever ago.
“I thought you might be in the mood for a late breakfast. How does scrambled eggs with smoked salmon sound?”
The sexual awareness between them was gone, replaced by that discomfort she’d sensed when she’d first arrived. Cassandra had been so nervous about this meeting it hadn’t occurred to her that Duncan, who’d always possessed enough self-confidence for a dozen lesser men, might also feel uneasy.
“You needn’t have gone to any bother.”
He shrugged and walked into the kitchen area. “It wasn’t any trouble. If I’m going to be stuck here for a month, I was going to have to go shopping someday.”
“You were banished for an entire month?” The reports she’d read hadn’t mentioned that.
“It was either that or get fired.”
“Winston Armstrong would never fire you,” she said as she sat down at the table. “He’s your godfather.”
“Who’s never believed in playing favorites. Plus, the way things are going in the news business these days, I wasn’t going to take the chance.” He took a package of salmon and a blue bowl of eggs out of the fridge. “I’d rather throw myself off that cliff into the Atlantic than take up blogging.”
Her answering sputter that neared laughter took her by surprise. Cassandra couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed. Then decided it had been on their honeymoon. Duncan had always been able to make her laugh.
Until he no longer could.
Which hadn’t been his fault.
“Given your aversion to settling down, by the third week in even as lovely a place as this, you might find yourself seriously considering taking up cliff diving.”
He lifted a brow at her teasing tone, but just then the kettle began whistling, so rather than commenting, he turned away to make her tea. Then placed the pretty green cup on the counter, along with a jar of honey and a bowl of raw sugar.
“You’re right. I’d go crazy just sitting around drinking in the scenery,” he said. “As it happens, I’m under orders to turn in four stories about the Lady while I’m here.”
He cracked the eggs into a mixing bowl, dug out a bit of shell, and began to whisk them with a fork. The scene had her flashing back to those dark days in the apartment, when he’d scrambled eggs, hoping to find something—anything—she’d eat.
“But that’s not your kind of story at all.”
“Which is exactly what I told Winston.” He turned on the flame beneath a black iron skillet and melted a bit of butter the warm color of summer sunshine. There was no butter as rich as Irish butter. While interviewing a woman farmer for her abuse scandal story, Cassandra had learned the flavor came from the local habit of using only summer milk from pastured, grass-fed cows. “I suspect it’s his way to teach me a lesson. I also told him—”
She could practically hear Duncan’s teeth slam together as he shut his mouth.
“That it was more my type of frivolous tabloid story,” she said mildly as she stirred honey into her tea.
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you were thinking it.”
He sighed heavily. “Okay. Yeah. I was. But not in any negative way. It may have been an outlandish concept, but you elevated that story, Cass. Way above tabloid fare. Especially with that bit about M
rs. Sasquatch and their kids being so proud at the ribbon cutting. You actually had me almost believing in, and caring about, the family.”
When another silence crashed down between them like a steel wall, she knew he was regretting mentioning children and family. Which was when she belatedly realized that she needed to tell him that he’d done nothing to regret. She was the one who bore the burden of guilt. She was the one who’d ruined everything.
Cassandra had thought, after all these months, she had no more tears to shed. Until she felt the sting of moisture behind her eyelids and realized she’d been wrong about this, as well.
Struggling against the all-too-familiar wave of pain, Cassandra took a sip and tasted a blend of apples from the tea and soothing lavender from the honey. “This is excellent.”
“I’m happy to hear Mrs. Monohan didn’t steer me wrong.”
“She definitely didn’t. And you don’t have to walk on eggshells around me any longer, Duncan. I’m not that same shattered woman you left in Manhattan.”
“I didn’t want to leave.” Was he actually cutting fresh chives? He was.
“I know. Sedona finally told me yesterday.” Transfixed by his deft knife skills, despite her best intentions to remain in the moment, Cassandra found herself remembering those dark hands on her body.
“I assume that means she also told you about our conversations.”
“She did.” They’d always been so wickedly clever, those hands. Always knowing when to draw her into the mists slowly and tenderly or drag her into the fire. Duncan had known Cassandra better than she’d known herself. Which was why, later, she’d been surprised when he didn’t realize she was lying to him.
“I knew it was wrong of me to ask her to keep our calls secret, but I didn’t feel I had any choice after you sent me away.” His tone was heavy with regret, and while he’d always seemed to possess preternatural powers when it came to picking up on vibes, thankfully, he didn’t seem to have homed in on her earlier memories of their lovemaking.
“I know now that I must have seemed horribly cruel.” If there were awards for understatement, she would’ve won the grand prize. “And I’m so sorry for that. But at the time, I honestly couldn’t be with you.” That much was true.
“And now?”
How to safely answer that? When she’d first arrived in Shelter Bay, Cassandra had slept around the clock, rousing only to eat whatever Sedona generously put in front of her. After a few days, she’d moved on to wallowing in cable movies with titles like The Stranger in My Bed, Fatal Vows, The Murderer I Married, and Death of a Soccer Mom Madam, in which women got involved with handsome, too-good-to-be-true psychopaths who weren’t nearly as charming as they first appeared.
Until she’d eventually moved on from the wife-killer movies to binge watching cooking shows, Cassandra had never given any thought to the idea of cooking being sexy. Now, watching Duncan toss chopped chives into her eggs with one hand while putting brown bread in the toaster with the other had her deciding that he’d be off the meter on any celebrity chef hotness scale.
She shook her head, realizing that he was waiting for an answer. “I came here to see you,” she hedged, thinking of those divorce papers in her bag.
“Not the Lady?”
“No. I don’t really believe in her, either, though she has the potential to make a great story. But the real reason I came was because we need to talk.” And achieve closure to this limbo she’d forced them into.
However, with her body and foggy brain still struggling to catch up to the time change, Cassandra wasn’t yet prepared to enter the conversational minefield regarding their divorce. Especially now that parts of her that she’d forgotten even could respond to a hot man were beginning to warm up. Like a torch melting the ice she’d wrapped herself in for so long.
“Well, I’m not going anywhere for the next four weeks. And you’re welcome to stay for as long as the cottage is booked, so we’ve time to deal with the personal stuff…
“Meanwhile, since you’ve got to be jet-lagged, why don’t we stick to easier topics for the time being? Such as how you ended up making such a major career shift.”
Once again, he’d read her mind. Hopefully only the jet lag thoughts and not the melting ones. “Do you really care about that?”
“I’ve always cared about everything to do with you, Cass. From the very first moment. Even with the smoke and the flames and the sirens wailing all around us that day we met, it was as if I was looking through a narrow, close-up lens and all I could see was you.”
“Well.” She let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know what to say to that.”
“You don’t have to say anything. I decided when Diane called to let me know you were coming that, whatever happens, whatever decision you make, I damn well am not letting go of you, of us, without putting my feelings on the table so there’d be no more misunderstandings. Although the concept is scoffed at by most people, I fell in love with you from that first moment I saw you.”
“You wanted me.”
“Hell, yes. Of course I did. I wanted you then, I wanted you the next morning, I’ve wanted you every day of my life. I’ll never stop wanting you.
“But want is easy. And in most cases, fleeting. It’s love that made me want to spend the rest of my life with you. Love that makes me ache whenever we’re apart. And, in case it’s slipped your mind, it’s love I pledged that day on the beach. And not just for the easy days, like the last time we were in this country together, but like the words say: for better or worse…
“So.” He took a deep, ragged breath. “Now that we’ve gotten that out in the open for you to think about, why don’t you tell me how you ended up the tabloid queen?”
Cassandra was stunned by the intensity of his declaration, which had her remembering in vivid detail how explosive the chemistry had been the moment they’d met. Which undoubtedly had something to do with the fact that he’d been sprawled on top of her at the time while bullets from automatic weapons had been spraying over their heads.
At the time, Cassandra had tried to convince herself that all those sexual vibes zinging back and forth between them had only been natural. Danger was, after all, a proven aphrodisiac.
But rather than diminish, over dinner in Kabul’s luxury Serena Hotel’s Silk Route Restaurant, the hormone level had soared as hot and high as a comet. Which was how she’d ended up spending that night in his bed.
Unfortunately, like many comets, they’d flamed out and gone crashing back to earth. Which didn’t explain the urge to fling herself into his arms.
“I’m far from queen of anything.” Was it even possible to have a hot flash at her age?
After a few weeks of therapy and exercise, which involved daily walks on the Shelter Bay beach, she’d felt ready to get back to work but hadn’t had the heart to return to writing stories revolving around so much pain and suffering. Which, she’d learned when she’d called editors she’d worked with in the past seeking assignments, was exactly what they expected from her.
“Not surprising, given how hard you’d worked to build your brand,” Duncan said when she told him about the less-than-satisfactory conversations. “And burnout is always professional risk. I doubt any serious journalist avoids it forever.”
“Even adrenaline junkies?” she asked the man who just happened to be master of that particular universe.
“I suppose that could make the crash even more of a flameout,” he suggested in a way that had her wondering which of the two of them Duncan was referring to. Could that bar brawl have been caused by his own personal burnout?
“I suppose it could,” she said, deciding he was right about not getting into complex conversational topics while her brain felt as numb as a stone. “I was starting to get discouraged when I received an out-of-the-blue email from Dan Gagnon, an old college friend.
“Dan had carried double majors of finance and journalism because, as much as he enjoyed the fantasy of becoming the next Peter Jennings,
he was pragmatic enough to know that he’d never be happy living on a journalist’s salary while working his way up a ladder that was losing rungs every day.
“So he spent ten years on Wall Street, cashed in, then bought the Worldwide Buzz, which, after a hundred years in business, had sinking revenues and was in danger of going under. Which didn’t seem like the wisest financial decision at the time given that tabloids are in as much economic trouble as print newspapers.”
Although more recently, the Buzz had been kicking tabloid butt and was even starting to challenge the ubiquitous entertainment magazines.
“They’re disappearing like the Tyrannosaurus Rex, because more and more people don’t want to read negative stories about their favorite celebrities,” she repeated what Dan had told her.
“And with social media being what it is, those who do can read them faster and for free online. Just like the news,” he guessed.
“Exactly. If you can count a lot of what’s online as news,” she said. “Anyway, I was curious enough to email him back my phone number, and when he called and told me he wanted me to be his first hire, my first reaction was to refuse.”
“Even though you’d already decided that you didn’t want to go back to the work you were doing?”
“And wasn’t that the dilemma?” she admitted. “I might not want to write about girls getting beaten for wanting to go to school in Afghanistan, but that didn’t mean that I wanted to switch to soft, end-of-the-newscast, baby panda stories. Then he explained his plan to take it back to its tabloid roots of ‘Gee-Whiz’ outlandish stories.”
“Like Bigfoot opening up a pot store in a town populated by sparkly vampires.”
“Ha!” That drew a full smile, making Cassandra aware of muscles on either side of her lips that hadn’t gotten any use these past months. “If you were reading carefully, you’d have noticed that I never once mentioned the vamps. But when many people think of Forks, Washington, that’s what comes to mind. Like Astoria, Oregon, and Goonies.”
