Brambleberry House

by RaeAnne Thayne

  He enjoyed her company, he realized. Whether they were talking or kissing or sitting quietly, he found being with her soothing, as if she settled some restless spirit inside him in a way nothing else ever had.

  “Abigail was always a bit of a romantic,” Anna answered. “She would have enjoyed setting the scene like this. The rain, the storm. All of it.”

  While he was trying to picture his aunt working behind the scenes as some great manipulator, Conan ambled off the porch steps and out in the misting rain.

  “You don’t really think some...ghost had anything to do with what just happened, do you?”

  “I’m afraid my feet are planted too firmly on the ground for me to buy in to the whole thing like Sage and Julia do. And besides, while I firmly believe Abigail could have done anything she set her mind to, cutting off power along the entire coast so the two of us could...” Her voice trailed off and he was intrigued to see color soak those high, elegant cheekbones. “Could make out is probably a little beyond her capabilities.”

  Just as she finished speaking, the porch lights flickered off for maybe two seconds before they flashed back on again.

  When they did, her eyes were bright with laughter.

  “I wish you could see your face right now,” she exclaimed.

  He scanned the porch warily. “I’m just trying to figure out if some octogenarian ghost is going to come walking through the walls of the house any minute now with a bottle of wine and a dozen roses.”

  She laughed. “I don’t believe you have anything to worry about. I’ve never seen her and I don’t expect to.”

  Her smile faded and her dark eyes looked suddenly wistful, edged with sadness. “I wish Abigail would walk through that wall, though. I wish you could have known her. I think you would have loved her. She was...amazing. That’s the only word for it. Amazing. She drew everyone to her in that way that very few people in the world have. The kind of person who just makes people around her feel happy and important, whether they’re billionaire hotel owners or struggling college students.”

  “She must have been a good friend.”

  “More than that. I can’t explain it, really. I just think you would have loved her. And I know she would have adored you.”

  “Me? Why do you say that?”

  “She was always a sucker for a man in uniform. She was engaged to marry a man who died in Korea. He was her one true love and she never really got over him.”

  He stared. “I never...” Knew that, he almost said, but caught himself just in time. “How do you know that?”

  “She told me about him once and then she never wanted to talk about him again,” Anna answered. “She said he was the other half of her heart and the best person she’d ever known and she had mourned his loss every single day of her life.”

  Why had Abigail never told him anything about a lost love? He supposed it might not be the thing one confided in a young boy. What bothered him more was that he had never once thought to ask. He had always assumed she loved her independent life, loved being able to come and go as she pleased without having to answer to anyone else.

  He found it terribly sad to think about her living in this big house all these years, mourning a love taken from her too soon.

  “I would think a heartbreak like that would have given her an aversion to military men.”

  Anna shook her head, her eyes soft. “It didn’t. I know she had a nephew in the military. I don’t even know what branch but she was always so proud of him.”

  “Oh?”

  “Her Jamie. I never met him. He didn’t visit her much but she was still crazy about him. Abigail was like that. She loved wholeheartedly, no matter what.”

  Her words were a harsh condemnation, and the hell of it was, he couldn’t even defend himself. He might not have visited Abigail as often as he would have liked, but it wasn’t as if he had abandoned her.

  They had stayed in touch over the years, he just hadn’t been as conscientious about it while he was deployed.

  “She sounds like a real character,” he said, his voice gruff.

  She flashed him a searching look and opened her mouth but before she could speak, Conan bounded back up the porch steps and shook out his wet coat on both of them.

  Max managed to pull the blanket up barely in time to protect their faces.

  “Conan!” she exclaimed. “Cut that out!”

  The dog made that snickering sound he seemed to have perfected, then sauntered back to the corner.

  “If you’re looking for a signal to go inside, I believe that’s a little more concrete than some ghostly manifestation.”

  “You’re probably right,” he said, reluctance in his voice.

  “You’re welcome to stay out here longer. I can leave the lantern and the blankets.”

  “I’d rather have you.”

  The words slipped out and hovered between them. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Forget it.”

  She blinked. “No, I—I...”

  She looked so adorably befuddled in the glow from the porch light—and just so damn beautiful with that thick, glossy dark hair and that luscious mouth—that he couldn’t help himself.

  One more kiss. That’s all, he promised himself as he pulled her closer.

  She sighed his name and leaned into him. She was small and curvy and delicious and he couldn’t seem to get enough.

  He touched the warm, enticing skin above the waistband of her jeans. She gave a little shuddering breath and he felt her stomach muscles contract sharply. Her mouth tangled with his and she made a tiny sound of arousal that shot straight to his gut.

  He feathered his fingers along her skin, then danced across it until he met an enticing scrap of lace. He curved his thumb over her and felt her nipple harden. She arched into him and a white haze of hunger gnawed at him, until all he could think about was touching her, tasting her.

  She gasped his name.

  “I need to stop or I’m afraid I won’t be able to.”

  “To what?”

  He gave a raw laugh and kissed her mouth one last time then leaned his forehead against hers, feeling as breathless as if he were a new recruit forced to do a hundred push-ups in front of the entire unit.

  He wanted to take things further. God knew, he wanted to. But he knew it would be a huge mistake.

  “To stop. I don’t want to but I’m afraid what seems like a brilliant idea right now out here will take on an entirely different perspective in the cold light of morning.”

  After a long moment, she sighed. “You’re probably right.”

  She rose from the porch swing first and though it was one of the toughest things he had ever asked of himself, he helped her gather the blankets and carry them inside the foyer.

  “Good night, Anna,” he said at her apartment door. “I enjoyed the storm.”

  “Which one?” she asked with a surprisingly impish smile.

  He shook his head but decided he would be wise not to answer.

  His last sight as he headed up the stairs to his apartment was of Conan sitting by Anna’s doorway looking up at him, and he could swear the dog was shaking his head in disgust.

  His TV had switched back on when the power returned and some Portland TV weatherman was rambling on about the storm that was just beginning to sweep through town.

  He turned off the noise then went to the windows, watching the moonlight as it peeked between clouds to dance across the water.

  What the hell was he going to do now?

  Anna Galvez was no more a scam artist than his aunt Abigail.

  He didn’t know about Sage Benedetto but since he had come to trust Abigail’s judgment about Anna, he figured he should probably trust it with Sage as well.

  Anna had loved his aunt. He had heard the
vast, unfeigned affection in her voice when she had talked about her, when she had told him how she wished he could have known Abigail.

  She loved Abigail and missed her deeply, he realized. Maybe even as much as he did.

  He would have to tell her the truth—that he was Abigail’s nephew and had concealed his identity so he could basically spy on her.

  After the heated embrace they had just shared, how was he supposed to come clean and tell her he had been lying to her for days?

  It sounded so ugly and sordid just hanging out there like that, but he knew he was going to have to figure out a way.

  * * *

  AS WAS OFTEN the case after a wild coastal storm, the morning dawned bright and cloudless and gorgeous.

  Anna awoke in her bed in an odd, expectant mood. She rarely slept with the curtains pulled, so that she could look out at the sea first thing in the morning. Today, the waves were pale pink frothed with white.

  Conan must have slept in. He was usually in here first thing in the morning, begging for his run, but she supposed the late-night stormwatching had tired him out.

  She wished she could say the same. She had tossed and turned half the night, her body restless and aching.

  She sighed and rolled over onto her back. She was still restless and achy and she was very much afraid Harry Maxwell had ruined stormwatching for her for the rest of her days. How could she ever sit out on the porch watching the waves whip across the sky without remembering the heat and magic of his arms?

  Blast him, anyway.

  She sighed. No. It wasn’t his fault. She had known she was tempting fate when she kissed him but she hadn’t been able to control herself.

  She wanted a wild, passionate fling with Harry Maxwell.

  She drew in a shaky breath. How was that for a little blunt truth first thing in the morning?

  She was fiercely attracted to the man. More attracted than she had ever been in her life. She wanted him, even though she knew he would be leaving soon. Maybe because she knew he would be leaving soon.

  For once in her life, she didn’t want to fret or rehash the past. She wanted to live in the heady urgency of the moment.

  She blew out a breath. Even if she ever dared tell them—which she wouldn’t—Sage and Julia would never believe she was lying here in her bed contemplating such a thing with a man she had only known for a matter of days.

  How, exactly, did one go about embarking on a fling? She had absolutely no idea.

  She supposed she could take the direct route and go upstairs dressed in a flimsy negligee. But first she would have to actually go out and buy a flimsy negligee. And then, of course, she would have to somehow find the courage to put it on, forget about actually having the guts to walk upstairs in it.

  She sighed. Okay, she didn’t know exactly how she could work the logistics of the thing.

  “But I will figure it out,” she said aloud.

  Conan suddenly barked from the doorway and she felt foolish for talking to herself, even if her only witness was her dog, who didn’t seem to mind at all when she held long conversations with herself through him.

  “Thanks for the extra half hour,” she said to the dog.

  He grinned as if to say you’re welcome, then headed to the door to stand as an impatient sentinel, as was his morning ritual. She knew from long experience that he would stay there until she surrendered to the inevitable and got dressed to walk him down the beach.

  This morning she didn’t make him wait long. She hurried into jeans and a sweatshirt then pulled her hair back into a ponytail and grabbed her parka against the still-cold March mornings.

  Conan danced on the end of his leash as she opened the door to Brambleberry House, then even he seemed to stop in consternation.

  The yard was a mess. The storm must have wreaked more havoc than she’d realized from her spot on the seaward side of the house. The lawn was covered with storm debris—loose shingles and twigs and several larger branches that must have fallen in the night since she was certain she would have heard them crack even from the other side of the house.

  Okay, she was going to have to put her tentative seduction plans for Harry Maxwell on the back burner. First thing after walking Conan, she was going to have to deal with this mess.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  SHE CUT CONAN’S walk short, taking him north only as far as Haystack Rock before turning back to head down toward home and all the work waiting for her there.

  At least it was an off-season Sunday, when her schedule was more flexible. As a small-business owner, she always felt as if she had one more thing she should be doing. But one of the most important things Abigail had taught her was to be protective of her time off.

  You’ve got to allow yourself to be more than just the store, Abigail had warned her in the early days after she purchased By-the-Wind. Don’t put all the eggs of yourself into the basket of work or you’re only going to end up a scrambled mess.

  It wasn’t always possible to take time off during the busier summer season, but during the slower spring and winter months she tried to keep Sundays to herself to recharge for the week ahead.

  Of course, cleaning up storm debris wasn’t exactly relaxing and invigorating, but it was better than sitting in her office with a day full of paperwork.

  Her mind was busy with all that she had to do as she walked up the sand dunes toward the house. She let Conan off his leash as soon as she closed the gate behind her and he immediately raced around the corner of the house. She followed him, curious at his urgency, and was stunned to find Max wearing a work glove on his uninjured hand and pushing a wheelbarrow already piled high with fallen limbs.

  Her heart picked up a pace at the sight of him greeting Conan with an affectionate pat and she thought how gorgeous he looked in the warm glow of morning, lean and lithe and masculine.

  “Hey, you don’t have to do that,” she called. “You’re a renter, not the hired help.”

  He looked up from Conan. “Do you have a chain saw?” he asked, ignoring her admonition. “Some of these limbs are a little too big to cart off very easily.”

  “Abigail had a chain saw. It’s in the garage. I’m not sure when it was used last, though, so it’s probably pretty dull.”

  She hesitated, trying to couch her words in a way to cause the least assault to his pride. “Um, I hate to bring this up but don’t you think your shoulder might make running a chain saw a little tough?”

  He looked down at the sling with frustration flickering in his eyes, as if he had forgotten his injury.

  “Actually, she also had a wood chipper,” she added quickly. “I was planning to just chip most of this to use as mulch in the garden in a few weeks’ time. The machine is pretty complicated, though, and it’s a two-person job. To tell you the truth, I could use some help.”

  “Of course,” he answered promptly.

  She smiled, lost for just a moment in the memory of all they had shared on the porch swing the night before.

  She might have stood staring at him all morning if Conan hadn’t nudged her, as if to remind her she had work to do.

  “Let me just find my gloves and then we can get to work.”

  “No problem. There’s plenty out here to keep me busy.”

  She hurried inside the house and headed for the hall tree, where she kept her extra gardening gloves and the muck boots she wore when she worked out in the garden.

  The man had no right to look so gorgeous first thing in the morning when she could see in the hall mirror that she looked bedraggled and windblown from walking along the seashore.

  The idea of a casual fling had seemed so enticing this morning when she had been lying in bed. When she was confronted with six feet of sexy male in a denim workshirt and leather gloves, she wondered what on earth she had been
thinking.

  She had a very strong feeling that a casual fling with a man like Lieutenant Maxwell would turn out to be anything but casual.

  Not that a fling with him seemed likely anytime in the near future. He had seemed like a polite stranger this morning, in vivid contrast to the heat between them the night before.

  She sighed. It was a nice fantasy while it lasted and certainly helped take her mind off Grayson Fletcher and the misery of the trial, which would be resuming all too soon.

  When she returned to the yard, she couldn’t see Max anywhere. But since Conan was sprawled out at the entrance to the garage, she had a fairly solid idea where to find him.

  Inside, she found him trying to extricate the chipper, which was wedged tightly behind an old mattress frame and a pile of two-by-fours Will had brought over to use on various repairs around the house.

  The chipper had wheels for rolling across the lawn but it was still bulky and unwieldy. She stepped forward to give him a hand clearing a path. “I know, this garage is a mess. With every project we do on the house, we seem to be collecting more and more stuff and now we’re running out of places to put it all.”

  “You’ll have to build a garage annex for it all.”

  She smiled. “Right. A garage for the garage. Sage would love the idea. To tell you the truth, I don’t know what else to do. I hate to throw anything away. I’m so afraid we’ll toss an old lamp or something and then find out it was Abigail’s favorite or some priceless antique that had been in her family for generations.”

  “You can’t keep the house like a museum for her.”

  “I know. She wouldn’t want that and what little family she had doesn’t seem to care much about maintaining their heritage. But I still worry. My parents brought very little with them from Mexico when they came across the border. Their families were both poor and didn’t have much for them to bring but sometimes I wish I had more old things that told the story of my ancestors and what their lives might have been like.”

  An odd expression crossed his features and he opened his mouth to answer but before he could, she pulled the last obstacle out of the way so they could pull out the chipper.