by Melissa Tagg
She laughed and reached for the controls. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“Because you were still cold.”
And that, it seemed, made her decision for her. She let out a long breath before speaking. “My second-to-last family was in Ohio. I was in charge of a couple of younger kids, but there was an older sibling—a half-brother from the father’s first marriage.”
His grip tightened on the wheel. She’d barely explained a thing, but already the air between them shifted as he began to sense the direction her story might be going.
“Garrett was in college, so I didn’t meet him until I’d been with the family for several months. And I didn’t think much of it when I did.” Her gloved hands were knotted in her lap. “But then he found me on social media and messaged me—repeatedly. Started coming home for visits more often too.”
Yes, he definitely knew where this was going. His foot pressed harder on the pedal.
“He asked me out and I said no. That should’ve been the end of it. I was ten years older than him, for heaven’s sake. But he kept asking and the asking turned into harassing. I began asking for days off when I knew he’d be home.” She yanked off her gloves. “It was never violent or anything. But when he started leaving notes in my room, I decided to talk to his parents about it. Except they didn’t believe me. Just a silly crush, his dad said.”
“Idiots.” He growled the word.
But Mara didn’t appear to hear him. “Then Garrett came into my room one night while I was sleeping.”
“We gotta pull over if this is going where it sounds like it’s going, Mar.”
“It’s not. He just scared me, that’s all. He was mad that I’d talked to his parents, and he was trying to intimidate me.”
“There’s no ‘just’ and there’s no ‘that’s all.’ Harassment is harassment.”
“Well, anyway, I packed and left the next day. Didn’t even give two weeks’ notice. It was easy to get another job. There was a family who knew the Lymans. They were in the same social circle, made all the same rounds of galas and fundraisers and such, and they’d told me once if I ever needed a new position . . . ” She took another breath, pausing as if filtering past details. “I hadn’t even been there two weeks when Garrett showed up at their house. I was packing my bags again by the end of the day. The family didn’t want any drama.”
It was all Marshall could do not to hit the steering wheel.
“I knew I couldn’t stay in the same town. So I hit the road. A couple months later, I was still sort of floundering. I was staying in a hotel in this suburb outside of Chicago. And he found me there.”
“He followed you?”
“I’d posted my resume on a job site online and it had my cell number on it. Somehow that led him straight to me.”
Marshall’s tires squealed as he yanked the wheel and veered onto the exit ramp they’d nearly passed.
“Why are you—”
“Mara, you’re describing a stalker.” He pulled onto a side road. “What did you do when he showed up?”
“He barged into my room and tried to talk me into going back to Ohio. I told him he was crazy and to leave me alone. He backed me into a corner. There was a . . . struggle. But it was short.”
“Did he hurt you?”
“I wound up with some bruises. But I kicked him, uh, strategically and got out of there. I heard him yelling after me. ‘I’ve found you twice now. I can find you again.’” She had the door handle in a vise grip. “I knew he was a creep before, but this time . . . I guess I took it more seriously. I deleted all my social media accounts, took down that resume. I started driving and . . . You know the rest.”
She wasn’t shuddering now. Her voice didn’t even quiver.
But things were beginning to make sense. The way she triple checked the Everwood’s locks at night. How upset she’d been about that newspaper article of Jenessa’s. She hadn’t even told him about the article until a couple of days ago, and he hadn’t been able to figure out at the time why she wasn’t pleased about it. He understood now.
There were so many questions he wanted to ask now. Had she filed a police report? Were the kid’s parents aware that he’d followed her across state lines? What if there were other women?
And how—how had she held it together all alone like that?
Even in his worst, most grief-stricken and lonely moments, somewhere in the back of his clouded mind he’d known he wasn’t truly alone. He’d had Mom and Dad, Beth and Alex, Captain Wagner, other friends on the force. He might’ve done all he could to push them away. He might’ve been inarguably convinced none of them could understand the depth of his pain.
But still . . . he’d had them.
Mara hadn’t had anyone.
He steered onto a gravel lane at the foot of a snowy hill and parked. “Mara, have you . . .” No. He swallowed his questions. They could wait. All of it could wait. He leaned toward her, his elbow propped on his armrest. “You are an incredibly strong person. You amaze me. Thank you for sharing something so difficult with me.”
The engine grumbled and outside, a breeze skimmed a dusting of snow from the hill.
She bunched her gloves between her clasped hands, meeting his gaze without a hint of the leftover fear or anger or hurt he might’ve expected to be there. “Thank you.”
“For what?” Saying she was strong? It was only the truth.
“For not getting us into a car accident when you thought that story was going an even worse direction.”
She was smiling. After all she’d just told him, she was smiling and easing against her armrest. How? She’d just shared something awful and vulnerable.
Without the hum of the heater, the silence should be awkward and uncomfortable. Instead, the air between them felt somehow both taut and cozy at once, the console separating them like the thinnest barrier. He should ask one of those questions rolling about in his brain. He should pull back onto the road and make his way to the interstate.
He should definitely stop staring at her mouth.
Get a grip, man.
“Hey.” He squawked the word. Mara jumped. “How do you feel about sledding?”
Mara was cold and wet and tired and happy. It’d been two hours since she and Marshall had piled back into the truck after sledding down that countryside hill, and still her damp jeans clung to her skin and soggy socks chilled her feet. But oh, she was happy.
As the nighttime lights of Maple Valley glittered through the dark up ahead, she leaned against her headrest and closed her eyes.
She’d been startled when Marshall asked about sledding then convinced he was joking. But he’d hopped down from the truck, grabbing the coat he’d shrugged out of earlier. He’d reached into the cab behind and, wouldn’t you know it, he’d come up with a sled.
“Do you always drive around with a sled underneath your back seat?”
“Like the Boy Scouts say, ‘Be prepared.’”
“I think they mean survival supplies. Food and water.”
He’d met her on the passenger side of the truck. “Laney loved sledding.” A simple explanation saturated with meaning. “Couldn’t ever bring myself to take it out of the truck.”
She’d had the irresistible desire to reach up and cup his cheeks, already ruddy from the cold, and tell him . . .
That she wasn’t the only strong one.
That if he didn’t feel like being strong, though, she was here.
But he’d tromped into the ditch toward the rise of a hill before she could find the words, his boots sinking into feet of snow. “C’mon. It’ll be fun.”
“But this could be private property.”
“We’re currently in the process of renovating private property, aren’t we? A little rural trespassing should be nothing to us.”
“I’m not dressed for sledding.”
“Not a good enough argument.” He was already halfway up the hill. “Let’s go, Mara Bristol.”
So she’d follo
wed, breathing hard by the time she made it up the steep hill. Maybe she’d better start exercising one of these days.
Or maybe it wasn’t the jaunt stealing her breath. Maybe it was tucking herself into the plastic sled, right in front of Marshall, his long legs on either side of her and his arms wrapping around her middle. Maybe it was his voice in her ear. “Hold on.”
“To what?” But her question was lost to the wind and a squeal as they hurdled down the snowy hill, picking up speed and more speed and more—
Until the ditch loomed and spraying snow gargled her laughter and they hit a rut, spilling into the cushiony ground below. Cold, wet, happy, she’d stood. “Again?”
Over and over they’d zoomed on the sled—sometimes together, sometimes one at a time—leaving tracks up and down the snowy hillside.
And now she was still cold and wet and happy, no matter how furiously the heater panted. At least Marshall didn’t seem to be overheating this time. He still wore his coat and a relaxed expression as he pointed the truck to the road that led to the Everwood.
They’d spoken hardly at all on the way home. They hadn’t needed to.
Within minutes, the shadow of the Everwood rose up ahead. A lone lamp glowed yellow in one window. Marshall parked next to her car and soon they were climbing the porch steps.
She finally breached the quiet. “I can’t wait to get out of these clothes.” She stumbled over a step. “And into dry ones, I mean.”
“I know what you meant.”
And yet, she heard the rich undertone of teasing words he didn’t say. She unlocked the door. He followed her in. Coat, scarf, gloves, shoes—one by one she shed her layers. The subdued light from the lamp in the sitting room barely reached into the lobby.
She heard the click of the front door’s lock, and she glanced behind her. “Lucas isn’t back yet.”
Marshall hung his jacket on the coat tree. “He can knock. I’ll let him in.”
The house smelled of paint and at a gust of wind, little taps and brushes sounded all around—twigs, snow hitting windows and eaves.
She turned to Marshall. “Well, I know it’s not that late, but I think I may call it a night.”
“You’re not hungry or anything?”
“Maybe I’ll grab a Pop-Tart on my way through the kitchen.”
One dark eyebrow rose. “Not a bowl of cereal?”
“We’re out of milk.”
And now one corner of his mouth. “You like it with milk now?”
“I always liked it with milk.” Why was she still standing here, rooted to the cold floor? “Anyway . . . goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
She turned but only took one step before whipping back around. “But if you’re hungry, don’t let me stop you. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen.”
“I’ve been helping myself to anything in the kitchen for over a week now.”
“Right.” She turned again. Made it three or four steps this time. When she angled back, he was still standing in the same spot. “I feel like I should hug you goodnight.” Oh, she was absurd. Just plain ridiculous and awkward and if the creaky floorboards chose now to open up and swallow her, that’d be just fine.
But all Marshall did was shrug. “You can hug me goodnight. I’m not stopping you.”
Well, she couldn’t turn and run away now, could she? Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. But there was nothing else to do other than close the distance between them and circle her arms around his waist. There, she’d done it and now she could turn around and get out of here before he could see how her cheeks burned.
But then he lifted his arms and tucked her against his chest. And the awkwardness slid away until she was pretty sure she could happily—even wet but no longer cold—stay here forever. Because he was warm and he smelled like cinnamon and nutmeg. Right, because they’d stopped to get apple cider and she’d said something that made him laugh, and he’d tipped his cup, and then complained the cider had dripped into his coat and down his shirt. The same shirt that didn’t come close to muffling the sound of his heartbeat now and—
She looked up to see him looking down.
“Mara Bristol,” he said low and husky, “if you want me to kiss you right now, I will. But you’re going to have to make it really clear. After what you told me about that creep, no way am I about to make any assumptions, let alone a single move without—”
She was on her tiptoes in an instant, cutting him off with a kiss—impulsive and unpracticed. For one horrid moment, she thought that rumble in his chest might be laughter.
But no, it was the sound of a man relieved. His arms tightened and one hand moved into her damp, tangled hair as he kissed her back. Seconds—minutes?—blurred, until finally, still crushed to his chest, she leaned back just enough for the breathless words to slip out. “I guess I made it really clear.”
And then he did laugh.
And he kissed her again.
15
Marshall stood on a section of rooftop that jutted over the front of the Everwood, a sun-warmed breeze sweeping over his skin as he took in the grove’s budding trees and the rolling hills beyond. Almost hard to believe that just days ago this landscape had been painted in wintry white.
Spring had come to Maple Valley. Maybe for good this time.
And it might’ve even found its way into his soul.
He took a deep, cleansing breath, not at all bothered by the sounds of Drew Renwycke’s three-man crew pushing in from below. They’d torn out what remained of the damaged porch yesterday and expected to have a new one well on its way by the end of today.
Marshall had high hopes of his own for the day. They’d finally begin painting the exterior of the house. He wanted to remove all the second-floor shutters before getting started, though, thus his climb onto the roof.
But first . . . first he just wanted to stand here and breathe. Take in the view. Count the days since his last headache, his last pill. Marvel at how strangely wonderful it felt to wake up with muscles sore from hard but rewarding labor.
For the past two days, he’d worked on scraping away the Everwood’s old, peeling paint. Spent so many hours with a scraper in hand that he’d gone to sleep last night still hearing the rhythm of blunt metal against wood siding. It was a tedious job but he’d had help. Lucas, Jen, Sam—they’d all pitched in.
And Mara. Sweet, beautiful Mara who’d turned out to be her own kind of warm front, thawing his heart in ways that should’ve been impossible. Those kisses Wednesday night—whew, a man stranded in a frozen tundra could survive on that memory alone. How many times was he allowed to mentally relive them before it got just plain ridiculous?
And how long was he supposed to wait before he did it again? Thankful as he was for the friends who were helping, lately there were a few too many people constantly around this place for his liking. Jen had even stayed overnight last night.
He hadn’t had a single moment alone with Mara since two nights ago. Not to kiss her again or to ask her the questions that’d badgered him ever since she’d shared her past on the way home from Minneapolis.
He crossed the slanted roof on careful footing. As long as he was up here, he should check his patchwork from last week too. Make sure that late round of snow hadn’t undone his repairs.
“Marshall Hawkins!”
With a grin, he crept to the edge of the roof and peered over. Mara stood barefoot in dewy grass. She was wearing those baggy overalls again and she waved a porcelain doll in the air, her other hand on her waist.
He heard chuckles from the men working on the porch below. “Something wrong, Miss Bristol?”
“In the coffee mug cupboard? Seriously?”
“Made you laugh, didn’t it?”
“It made me jump and knock a mug out of the cabinet is what it did. It fell to the floor and broke.”
“Don’t you know you shouldn’t walk around barefoot when there’s broken glass around?”
She was pretty always but when she flashe
d that glower of hers—the one she tried so hard to keep in place and failed at so badly—she was downright captivating.
“I’m coming up there.”
Be my guest. She disappeared from view and seconds later, the ladder rattled against the side of the porch roof. He dropped the tool belt from his waist and ambled to the edge. “Careful, Mara.”
Her red hair tumbled over her shoulders as she looked up at him. “I’m perfectly capable of climbing a ladder.”
“Yeah, but your feet are probably wet from the grass and the ladder will be slick.” He reached down as she neared the top, stretched out his hand. “Why don’t you ever wear socks and shoes like a normal person?” He pulled her over the edge, bringing her to her feet with mere inches of space between them.
She didn’t step back. “What’s wrong with bare feet?”
Her toes peeked out from under those silly old overalls. Adorable. “As it turns out, nothing at all.” He shuffled closer and hooked one arm around her waist. “It’s not so bad a coffee mug broke, you know. That cupboard was crammed way too full anyway.”
“Wouldn’t have been so full if you hadn’t stuffed a doll in it.”
“Touché.” The word was barely past his lips before they met hers. Finally. She leaned into his kiss without even a trace of hesitation, her hands coming up to his chest. Only when the sound of men talking below somehow pushed in did he make himself stop. “Good morning, by the way.”
“Good morning.” She fiddled with the button of his shirt pocket. “That was . . . quite the greeting.”
He’d never seen her smile so widely or blush so deeply. Wouldn’t be the last time if he had anything to say about it. Although right at the moment, it’d probably be smart to take another step back and get some distance. Otherwise he’d just keep on kissing her and never get a thing done today. He slid his hand from Mara’s waist, but his feet refused to budge.
What had he come up here for anyway?
Right. The shutters.
“We’ve got a lot to do today,” he said lamely. And yet, he finally had her all to himself. He hated to ruin such a perfect moment, but the cop in him could only wait so long. “Mara? There’s something we need to talk about.”
