by Melissa Tagg
She still stood close enough that he could smell whatever pear-scented lotion or perfume it was she always wore. But gone was her dazed look from his kiss and in its place, a sigh. “I knew we’d have to talk about it eventually. For two days I’ve been walking around wondering when we’d finally grow up and talk like adults.”
“Huh?”
“I kissed you. And you kissed me. That’s kind of a big deal. I mean, people talk about that kind of thing. Right? I don’t have much of a dating history, but you’ve been married, so I figured you’d be the one to—”
He was shaking his head, chuckling, fighting the desire to skip the talk and kiss her all over again. “That’s not what I meant.”
“No? So we’re just never going to acknowledge that something has massively changed here?”
“Not what I said, Miss Bristol.” This would be a whole lot easier if she wasn’t so cute when she was exasperated. “Of course we should talk about . . . this. At some point. But I need to ask you about Garrett.”
She turned away and he immediately missed her closeness. “There’s really nothing more to say.”
“There is. I want to make sure you’re safe. If you give me a last name and a street address—”
“There’s no point, Marsh. It was months and months ago.”
“Lucas looks like him, right? That’s why you jumped when you first saw him here last week. You were upset about your name and location being in the newspaper. You’re still dealing with the after-effects of Garrett now.”
She ran her palms up and down her bare arms. He pulled off the flannel shirt he wore over his tee and held it out. She accepted it without hesitation. Great, she looked even cuter swallowed up in it.
“Did you call his parents? Let them know what he’d done?”
She gave a bare shake of her head. “They didn’t believe me before, so—”
“Did you file a police report?”
“I didn’t think—”
“Mara, he threatened you. He followed you to another state. He hurt you.”
She lifted her hand to comb her fingers through tangled hair, the sleeves of his shirt flopping over her wrist. “I’m sorry I didn’t handle this to your exacting standards, Marshall, but I’d never been in that kind of situation before. And I was alone. I didn’t have anyone to lean on. I just wanted to get away.”
He stepped closer to her, but she stepped backward. Just like that first night in the cellar. He’d handled this all wrong, throwing questions like darts at her. Especially when she’d been expecting a discussion of an entirely different nature. “I wasn’t trying to accuse you in any way. I’m sorry. Really. I’m only trying to help here.”
“It’s just hard to talk about.”
“Sometimes it’s worth talking about the hard things.” This time when he took a step toward her, she didn’t move away.
“And yet . . . you don’t talk about Laney.”
The space between them cooled in an instant. He bristled even as he told himself not to. Even as he watched the regret slide into Mara’s blue-green eyes the moment the words were out.
“I shouldn’t have said that, Marsh. They’re drastically different situations. I would never compare—”
“It’s okay.” She’d only spoken the truth, after all. But even so, he could sense it—his wall going up. And he hated it.
Because he was ready to admit he felt things for this woman he hadn’t felt in so, so long. He was ready to acknowledge that for the first time in years, he could almost imagine a new life. He’d put Penny’s visit out of his head. He hadn’t given a thought to how many days were left of his administrative leave. Since kissing Mara on Wednesday night, he’d let his mind and his heart fill to the brim with desire he’d not even known he was still capable of.
He was ready for whatever might be blooming between them.
But he was not ready to talk about Laney. Not even with her.
“Marshall—” she began, but something past him caught her attention and she broke off, her eyes widening. He turned. What in the world? Cars—a whole line of them—moving down the gravel lane in a cloud of dust under tires.
“What’s going on?” Mara bit her lip as she turned to Marshall.
The first cars were parking now, people piling out with brushes and rollers, ladders and buckets. “I think they’re here to help.”
Mara still wore Marshall’s shirt.
All these hours later, she still wore his shirt, and she still regretted bringing up his daughter the way she had. Surely it wasn’t wrong of her to be curious about his past, especially with all that had happened between them in such a short time.
But it’d been insensitive to toss his great loss into the middle of an already tense conversation. They’d hardly exchanged two words the rest of the morning and into the afternoon. He didn’t seem angry. Only . . . distant.
Or maybe he was just busy acting as team captain for the townspeople who’d surprised them by showing up ready to be put to work.
“Hey, you going to help or just perch up there motionless with your brush dripping paint on my head?”
Mara’s gaze swooped down from where she balanced near the top of the ladder she’d been sharing with Jenessa for the past hour. A drop of white paint had landed in Jen’s hair. “Sorry.”
Jen hopped off a rung near the bottom. “I need more paint.”
Mara did too. She made her way down and abandoned her roller long enough to re-knot Marshall’s shirt at her waist. Laughter, voices, and the clatter of people at work rose in every direction around the Everwood.
After the group from town had descended on them this morning, Marshall had taken charge while Mara ran inside to grab shoes. By the time she’d returned outside, at least two dozen people were at work, prying open cans of paint and setting up ladders. A few had been assigned to help Drew and his crew with the porch.
Jenessa knelt near a paint can and used a screwdriver to lever open its lid. Mara carried over their empty can and found a spare brush to scrape out any remaining paint.
“Are you ever going to admit that you’re the one who got all these people to give up their Saturday to come out here?”
Jenessa’s stylish straw hat blocked her eyes. “Nope. ‘Cause I didn’t.”
“Someone had to have spread the word that we were painting today.”
Jenessa propped her stir stick on the upturned lid of the paint can then poured a smooth pool of white into her tray. White house, blue door. Such a deep blue it was almost purple. Just like that magazine ad she’d seen on Marshall’s nightstand.
Another thing she wanted to ask him about. Would he clam up about that too?
Maybe she should just ignore her questions. But ever since that first kiss, she’d found herself wanting to know everything about him. Not just about his past, but his thoughts on the future. He had a job to return to, didn’t he? A whole life back in Wisconsin.
Slow down, Mara. It was one kiss.
And another this morning. And two days’ worth of exchanged looks and shared smiles and . . .
And she had it bad. For a man she’d only known two weeks.
A man she hoped she hadn’t pushed away this morning.
The thing was, when he’d asked those questions about Garrett, about whether she’d called his parents or notified the police, a heavy weight had thunked through her, landing in her stomach. She hadn’t done either of those things. She’d done . . . nothing.
Just like she’d done nothing when Lenora hadn’t returned one week after another.
“You’re staring again, Mara. Do you need a break?” Jenessa stood at the ready, paint tray in one hand and roller in the other.
Mara shook her head. “Nah, I’ve got hours left in me.” She moved the ladder down the wall a few feet then grabbed her roller and started climbing. “I still can’t believe all these people came out to help today.”
“By the way, if you want to thank someone for all this help, you should talk to
Sam.”
Mara paused halfway up the ladder. “Sam? Gruff Sam?” Who’d only just a week ago had suspicions about Mara’s presence here?
“The man has a heart of gold, Mara. The minute he decided you weren’t, in fact, a squatter or somehow involved in Lenora’s disappearance, he became your ally.” Jen streaked white paint over the wall below. “He’d be here himself, except Harper got called in to work and asked him to watch Mackenzie. I’m sure he’ll come later, though.”
Mackenzie. Sam’s daughter. There was a mystery all its own. “So Harper is . . .”
“His story to tell.”
“Oh.”
Jenessa held on to the back of her hat as she tipped her head to look up at Mara. “Fine. Only the bare facts. Sam and Harper were never a thing. It was a one-night stand on the day he was left at the altar.”
“Sam was left at the altar?”
“By Lucas’s sister.”
“What?”
Jenessa went back to painting. “That’s all you’re getting from me. Other than Sam’s an amazing father and it stinks that he doesn’t have Mackenzie with him more often. I’m pretty sure he would’ve married Harper as soon as he found out she was pregnant if she’d been willing. Sometimes I think that hurt him—maybe still hurts him—almost more than being jilted did.”
Mara would never look at Sam the same again. Every day she spent with these friends, she glimpsed another piece of their family-like puzzle. They cared so intently for each other.
And now they’d turned that care upon her. Even Sam.
Mara lowered her roller and Jen grabbed it, dipped it into the paint and lifted it back up. The smell of hamburgers, courtesy of Seth Walker and The Red Door, wafted from the grill, and music drifted from speakers that’d come from who knew where.
“You know what I think?” Jen said. “I think there must be something magical about this house. Even Lucas seems happier since he’s come here. I used to think it’d make a perfect haunted house. But now, the whole atmosphere has changed.”
Yes, and Mara was changing with it. With every week that passed, her roots grew deeper—not just at the Everwood, but here in Maple Valley. For eight months she’d lived on the edge of this little town without having any idea what she was missing out on. Now that she knew, there was so much more at stake than simply saving the Everwood. This is where she wanted to stay.
If Lenora were to show up and ask her again about her dreams, this would be her answer—this place and these people.
And that man across the way currently helping Logan Walker carry a stack of two-by-fours. A strong, ridiculously handsome man who’d burrowed his way into her heart. Maybe the only man she’d ever known who looked just as attractive with a beard or without or especially with an in-between shadow. He was kind and funny and protective and . . .
And oh, how she wished she could take back this morning.
Not all of it. Not the kiss. Just the careless way she’d brought up his daughter.
Mara rolled paint across the wall as far as she could stretch. Then froze.
A song, a voice she hadn’t heard—hadn’t let herself hear—in years floated from the speakers.
You’re my forever girl
The one my heart adores
You’re my always girl
I could never ask for more
“All right. Another drip. We’re going to have to switch—” Jenessa cut off, head tipped to Mara. “What’s wrong with you?”
Mara clambered down the ladder. “That’s one of my dad’s songs. Not just one of his songs. That’s him singing.” She’d told Jenessa while they’d scrubbed the lime stains from one of the upstairs bathtubs earlier this week about Dad leaving.
She started to march toward the speaker now but paused and returned to Jen. What was she going to do? Demand someone turn off the radio?
When you’re right here
And I’m far away
You’re the one I’ll think of
And when we’re back together, this is what I’ll say
You’re my forever girl . . .
“They’re horrible, cheesy lyrics, right?”
Jen took the roller out of Mara’s hand and propped it near the can. “I don’t know. They’re kind of—” At Mara’s slanted brows, she started over. “Yep. Horrible. Cheesy.”
“Country music is the worst.”
“The worst.” Jen nodded.
“Marshall thinks so.”
“He’s a smart man.”
“Of course he is.” Unlike some. Unlike a man who left home then rubbed salt in the wound by turning a little chorus he used to sing at his daughter’s bedside into a commercial hit.
If only he didn’t sound so much like he meant the words as he crooned them in a slow, acoustic melody.
Her attention caught on Marshall once more. He was still with Logan Walker, but now the man’s daughter was with them, jumping at her father’s side until he reached down to swing her onto his hip. Was that hard for Marshall to watch? If it was, he didn’t give anything away. In fact, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a packet of Tic Tacs, offering the girl one.
There. Those two men—that’s what fathers looked like. Logan Walker clearly besotted with his kid. Marshall Hawkins carrying around a broken heart out of undying love for his.
And with what she’d just learned about Sam . . .
She wasn’t bitter and she wasn’t mad, but oh, she was lying to herself if she pretended it didn’t still hurt.
Jenessa came up beside her, draped one arm around her back. “Have you ever tried to reach out to your dad, Mara?”
“I emailed him a few times when I was a teenager.” And she’d called him once. After Mom’s heart attack. She’d found a phone number in Mom’s things and left a message for him when he didn’t answer.
He hadn’t even shown up for the funeral.
“Maybe it would help if you did. Maybe it’d give you closure.”
Or it’d only open a door in her heart she’d closed long ago.
Except have I really? If hearing his voice still stings this much?
“I hate to say it, guys. I really do.”
Marshall looked up from the mess of papers spread across the coffee shop table, knowing what Sam Ross was going to say before he said it. He knew that mixed look of frustration and resignation.
“We’ve hit a dead end.”
He didn’t have to look at Mara to sense her deflating next to him. On her other side, Jenessa gave a dramatic sigh while across the table, Lucas finished off his beverage.
They’d been sitting in this coffee shop for almost an hour discussing Lenora, reviewing what they knew.
Spirits had been high when they first arrived. They’d decided to celebrate the long, successful day of work by driving in to Maple Valley for ice cream. But by the time they’d arrived in town, it was already after 9:30 p.m. and the only place left open was the coffee shop on the riverfront—Coffee Coffee. It was an eclectic little spot with a mishmash of brightly colored furniture and mosaic-topped tables.
They sat at a table edged up to one of the shop’s large front windows. No peering moonlight tonight—not with those downy clouds filling the near-black sky. But the light of the lampposts dotting the walking path around the riverfront reflected over the water’s ripples.
Sam folded his arms on the tabletop. “We know Lenora was in Davenport, so we could start calling hospitals in the area, but how far out do we go? We might have a grainy pic from I-80 in eastern Illinois but still no credit or debit card activity. Her name and license don’t show up in any accident reports.”
“She can’t have just disappeared.” Mara sagged in her chair. From disappointment at their stalled case or simply fatigue from so many hours in the sun?
Probably both. Marshall fought the urge to drape his arm around the back of her chair. Before their talk on the roof this morning, he might’ve, even with their friends looking on.
But there was a strain between
them now. He itched to make things right. Apologize for bulleting so many Garrett-related questions at her. For prickling the moment she’d mentioned Laney.
Then again, what if a little distance was a good thing? There was still so much Mara didn’t know about him. She didn’t know about the pills, about the mistakes he’d made on the job that had forced him into administrative leave. If she had any idea how low he’d sunk in the past couple of years—
“Marshall?”
He blinked to attention. Had Sam just asked him something?
“You’re the big-city detective. You see anything here we’re missing?”
He scanned the documents on the table—information on The Crabapple Tree, a Wikipedia entry on Argo Spinelli, notes on Lenora’s vehicle. “You’re checking art dealers?”
Sam nodded.
He hated to think what the lack of bank activity or failure to locate Lenora’s car might signal. Probably nothing good. If she had found the painting, maybe she’d also found a buyer. Maybe it was a sketchy buyer.
Sometimes he hated having a policeman’s mind.
He picked up the printout on the painting. “It goes back to this. I know it. Either she found it. Or she’s still looking for it. Or—”
Sam stole his next words. “Or someone else is still looking.”
Lucas sat up straighter. “If this Spinelli guy was some kind of mob boss, he may still have living relatives or associates out there. Even though he died in prison a few decades ago, maybe they’re out to make good on an old grudge. Could be dangerous.”
“And if Lenora was making inquiries about the painting—”
Mara bolted from her chair and without a word crossed the coffee shop and disappeared out the door.
An awkward hush fell over the table.
Jenessa cleared her throat. “I could go . . .” It was a half-hearted offer considering the look she gave Marshall. A perfect match for Sam’s and Lucas’s expectant glances.
Marshall pushed away from the table. He reached for Mara’s empty travel cup. She’d gone for the decaf house blend, hadn’t she? He stopped at the counter for a refill.
