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Helen Brenna - First Come Twins كامله on line https://img1.fantasticfiction.co.uk/i...62/n310574.jpg “Finding Mr. Right…is full of charismatic characters and offers readers an action-packed plot. Nick and Maggie’s romance is electric and the action is riveting.” —Romantic Times BOOKreviews,4? stars, Top Pick “Helen Brenna instantly became one of my favorite authors. Her bookTreasure is so fresh and gripping that I literally could not put it down.” —CataRomance “Dad for Lifeis the perfect combination of love and adventure. Brenna scores with lively characters, sparkling dialogue and a myth-and history-filled plot that will keep you enthralled from beginning to end.” —Romantic Times BOOKreviews “Rich with family interactions and chock-full of racing detail, this sweet romance adds another spoke to Harlequin’s popular NASCAR lineup.” —Library JournalonPeak Performance “Peak Performanceis a sweet little treat for readers who like an all-American love story CONTENTS CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE CHAPTER THIRTEEN CHAPTER FOURTEEN CHAPTER FIFTEEN CHAPTER SIXTEEN CHAPTER SEVENTEEN CHAPTER EIGHTEEN CHAPTER NINETEEN CHAPTER TWENTY CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO EPILOGUE .” |
CHAPTER ONE “WHAT A QUAINT LITTLE ISLAND.” “This place is gorgeous.” “Look at all the flowers.” Hanging toward the back of the throng of tourists, Noah Bennett only half listened to their jabbering as they filed off the Mirabelle Island ferry and onto the pier. The idiots couldn’t wait to get off the boat before snapping pictures left and right. “Oh, get that storefront. And the lamppost.” A lamppost. That one’s sure to win a Pulitzer. “I already love this place.” “It’s so charming.” Yeah. And boring. And quiet. With nosy neighbors and absolutely nothing to do. You should all love it. Hell, man, chill. Taking in a deep breath, Noah did his best to dispel the anger that seemed to be his constant companion these days and tried to be patient while the last of the tourists exited the boat deck. They were all in so much of a hurry, and with his bum leg he’d only slow everyone up. He’d put this off for a decade and a half, five more minutes weren’t going to kill him. It’s not as if there’d be a welcoming committee waiting. As the ferry cleared out, he couldn’t help noticing there weren’t any families. The majority of people heading down the pier were couples, both young and old. That was strange. Although it was only the end of May, used to be, this place was crawling with kids. Still, they all were happy people, all on vacation, all ready for an idyllic few days. They’d find it. Mirabelle was that kind of place for most folks. After asking one of the attendants to have his luggage delivered to Grandma Bennett’s house, Noah adjusted his baseball cap and sunglasses, hoping to maintain his anonymity for a few days, and made his way off the ferry. By the time he left the pier his temporary prosthetic felt like a lead weight at the end of what was left of his leg. They’d said he’d be good as new.Right. On what planet? He forced himself to walk to the end of the block before dropping onto the bench at the curb, not far from where the ferry passengers were catching carriage rides to their respective accommodations. A look down Main Street took his mind off the dull ache in his leg. Other than the oak trees, maples, lindens and spruce being noticeably larger, little had changed on this chunk of dirt since the day he’d left. Miller’s Ice Creamery and Candy Shoppe was still painted fire-engine red with white shutters, though they now offered gourmet coffees. There was a sedate new art gallery and two new restaurant-bar combos, although Duffy’s Pub looked as entrenched as before. The bank, post office, floral shop and village chapel all looked exactly the same, from the green-and-white striped awnings to the baskets of flowers hanging from the black iron lampposts. That’s the way they liked it here on Mirabelle. Newfangled was bad. Static was good. Retro was better. And historic, well, now you were cooking with gas. What had he been thinking coming back here? With nothing but a village on one end of the long and narrow island, a couple of isolated private homes on the other, and undeveloped state land sandwiched in between, he’d hated Mirabelle. Every minute of every day after hitting adolescence had been torture for Noah. Sophie had been the only reason he’d remained on the island past his sixteenth birthday. How ironic that after he’d left, she’d been the reason he’d stayed away. Well, her and Isaac, anyway. Noah dreaded seeing his brother again after all these years. Every few minutes, he wavered between wanting to punch Isaac for what he’d done or hug the daylights out of him for missing him. Maybe Noah should’ve gone to his beach house in Rhode Island. Though he hadn’t spent enough time there through the years for it to truly feel like a home, it might’ve been peaceful enough for what the doctors had in mind. The ferry horn tooted, catching him off guard, and the explosion burst front and center in his mind. The rumble, like a small earthquake. The smells. The sand stinging his face. The shrapnel hitting his back.Oh, my God. John. Mick . A sudden jolt of pain sizzled through his left leg and onto a foot that wasn’t there. Phantom pains, his doctors had called them. A royal pain in the ass threatening to ruin what was left of his life was the description Noah preferred. As the current subsided, he snapped his eyes open, sucked in a shaky breath, and quickly glanced around. Instinctively, he reached under his jacket and touched the Beretta handgun he’d taken to carrying a few months after this last stint of being embedded with the U.S. military. Despite a cool spring breeze, sweat beaded on his upper lip. People walked by, laughing and chatting, oblivious to anything except the waffle cones in their hands. You’re safe now. Safe.There were no bombs on Mirabelle, he reminded himself. No insurgents. No terrorists. Here he could walk across the street without watching his back. He had a chance at holding down a full meal and sleeping at night. With any luck, the doctors would be right and the familiarity and comfort of his childhood home would help him climb out of this uncharacteristic hole. He took another deep breath and released the gun. Several people walking toward him on the sidewalk nodded their greeting. Thankfully, they weren’t locals. Best to get out of sight as quickly as possible. Noah levered himself back up and continued slowly down the block. Although groups of people dotted the sidewalks and street, he remembered days when he hadn’t been able to ride his bike due to the crowds. As he passed by the gift shop, he noticed paint chipping on the windowframe, and the carriage parked outside the medical clinic had seen better days. Apparently rough times had befallen a few residents. An older woman, in her early sixties Noah guessed, walked briskly toward him. Immediately, he recognized her as Sally McGregor, the island’s postmaster and one of the biggest grouches known to mankind. Rumor had it, at least while Noah had lived on Mirabelle, that she’d been known to trap and kill rabbits eating her gardens, kick dogs making messes on the sidewalk in front of her post office, and hand out poisoned apples to any kids ballsy enough to knock on her door at Halloween. Her gaze settled on his leg for a moment and then flitted uncomfortably away. She didn’t recognize him, but she knew. He was a cripple. He wasn’t whole like her.Yeah, well, we’ve all got challenges, don’t we? On the cobblestone street, a bike rider headed toward him, her metal basket filled with cut flowers of every imaginable color. The sight was a little too charming, if you asked him. As she came closer, she smiled and nodded. “Morning.” Noah tipped his head. He could be as cordial as the next guy, when he forced himself. She braked to a stop at the curb. “Well, I’ll be a son of a gun!” It was Mrs. Miller, owner of the ice cream shop, and, since he’d worked for her one summer, one of the few people on the island who’d been nice to him. “Noah Bennett? Is that you?” “Yes, ma’am.” Apparently all that time embedded with U.S. soldiers had rubbed off on Noah in more ways than one. He rested a hand on the black corner lamppost and stood a little straighter. Hopefully, she wouldn’t notice his bad leg. “Hello, Mrs. Miller.” “Oh, my. How long’s it been since you’ve been home?” “Close to fifteen years.” “You haven’t changed a bit.” Right. “Still the spitting image of your mother.” She shook her head. “Does your dad know you’re here?” Noah felt his smile wane. “No, ma’am.” She didn’t know how to respond to that, and he couldn’t blame her. The truth was that other than right after the explosion when Noah had been in the hospital, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken with his father. Worry lines creased Mrs. Miller’s already wrinkled brow. “How long will you be in town?” He shrugged. “Not sure.” “Are you feeling all right? You look a little pale.” That’s when she seemed to make a connection. Her gaze shot to his tennis shoes and back up again. Had his dad told everyone? Even Isaac and Sophie?Dammit. The last thing he wanted was pity. “I’m fine.” |
“Well, if there’s anything I can do for you, let me know.” She put her feet back on the pedals and sped away. Wonderful.The first thing Mrs. Miller was going to do when she got back to her store was call all her cronies. So much for a couple days of anonymity. He’d taken no more than two steps when a young couple came barreling out of the flower shop and bumped into him. He recognized the woman’s bright pink jacket from the ferry. If memory served, these two had been the last to board over at the mainland and amongst the first off upon arrival at Mirabelle. The guy turned around. “Sorry.” “No problem.” Noah glanced into his face.Holy crap. Marty Rousseau. All grown-up. Of all the people— “Noah?” Marty said. “Is it really you? Geez, I can’t believe it!” Mrs. Miller was one thing, but Noah was not ready for this. He gave a moment’s thought to turning around and walking away without a word, but Marty didn’t deserve that. “Hey, Marty.” He held out his hand. Marty ignored it and, laughing, pulled Noah into a tight hug with his free arm. “How the hell have you been?” He slapped him a couple times on the back and stepped away. “All right.” “I can’t believe you’re actually here!” He presented the pretty young blonde by his side. “This is my fiancee, Brittany.” “Glad to meet you.” She smiled and energetically shook his hand. “How do you two know each other?” she asked. “Did you grow up on Mirabelle, too? Does he know Soph—” Marty stopped her with a hand to her shoulder. “Noah is…was…the closest thing I’ve ever had to a brother.” And that was about as much as either could offer at the moment by way of an explanation. “We’re getting married in a couple weeks.” “Congratulations.” “I’ll send you an invite so you have all the specifics.” Marty’s smile returned. “You have to come.” No effing way.“Maybe.” They stood awkwardly for a few moments, Noah hoping for as normal a stance as possible. “Marty?” the carriage driver yelled. “You got your flowers? Ready to head out?” Noah glanced back. Arlo Duffy. His beard was grayer than Noah remembered, but who could forget that lean, iconic face. The man had had more pictures taken and published of him manning his carriages than any other islander doing anything. “Be right there, Arlo!” Marty yelled back. “Brittany, why don’t you get us a seat on the carriage? I’ll be right there.” He turned back to Noah. “How long will you be on the island?” “I’m not sure. A few weeks, maybe more.” “You staying at the inn?” he asked. Good God, no.“Grandma’s place.” Why he’d kept the cottage after she’d willed it to him was anyone’s guess. “Marty, honey?” his fiancee called from the carriage. “Let’s go.” “Coming.” Marty squeezed Noah’s shoulder. “Listen. We’ll be having wedding festivities all week at the inn for our guests—horseback riding, lawn games, sailing. Come on down sometime, okay? I’d love to catch up.” He grinned as he jumped onto the carriage. “And beat you at a game of table tennis.” Noah nodded and forced a smile, although he had absolutely no intention of getting anywhere near the inn. “Good seeing you again, Marty.” That, at least, was the truth. The carriage pulled away from the curb and headed down Island Drive toward the Mirabelle Island Inn. Toward Sophie. It might take Marty a while to work up to it, but he’d eventually tell his sister that Noah was back on the island. Then what? Noah had dealt okay with running into Marty. He could even fathom the possibility of seeing his dad after all these years, but Sophie? And Isaac? He looked down at his lifeless foot. He thought he’d prepared himself. Over the past several weeks, since the doctors had convinced him that this was what he needed, he’d gone over it and over it. What he’d say, how he’d say it. What he’d do, wouldn’t do. Now he got it. Preparing for his return to Mirabelle? There was no such thing. CHAPTER TWO SOPHIEROUSSEAU SAT ATher desk, a Louis XV dining table an ancestor had brought over from France, and contemplated the dismal occupancy reports for the Mirabelle Island Inn on her computer screen. Less than two weeks from the start of tourist season and she wasn’t even close to full capacity. It’d been a nail-biting spring as the reservations had trickled in more slowly than normal, and if things didn’t pick up soon she’d have a hard time breaking even for the season. “Sophie?” Jan Setterberg, the inn’s general manager, breezed into the sun-filled room and dropped off the day’s mail. “The three o’clock ferry passed by a few minutes ago.” Sophie glanced at her watch. “Is it that time already?” So engrossed in work, she’d forgotten her baby brother, Marty, and his fiancee, Brittany, were coming today to help prepare for the arrival next week of their wedding guests. “You’ve got a couple minutes before the carriage makes its way here.” Jan picked up Marty and Brittany’s wedding invitation from the corner of Sophie’s desk and studied the hand-painted watercolor design of wood violets and white lilacs. “Brittany’s parents must have paid a small fortune for these.” “Nope.” Sophie quickly shut down her computer. “Marty’s not letting them pay for anything.” After struggling financially for years, her brother’s Internet brainchild had recently been bought out for a tidy sum. If he and Brittany had wanted, they could have treated the entire wedding party along with all their guests to a trip to Hawaii or Europe. “I hope Brittany’s happy with Mirabelle.” “Rousseau weddings have been held on this island,” Jan stated the historic detail with the cadence of a commercial sound bite, “since Jean Paul Rousseau took Marie Le Blanc to be his bride—” “Back in 1715.” As if Sophie needed the reminder. “I know. I know.” All her life, Sophie had breathed and dreamed Rousseau family tradition. From the time she was little, she’d sit on her father’s lap and beg him to recount how Jean Paul and Marie had built the first inn on Mirabelle, how the voyageurs had sometimes passed through trading furs and stories, or how her ancestors had been friends with the Chippewa. Even now, long after her parents had passed away, she’d held fast to their ideals, from the cassoulets, goose foie gras and Bordeaux on the restaurant menus to day-to-day operations. The Mirabelle Island Inn was as modern as could be when it came to computers, Web sites, phone and reservation systems, but not a hand soap, bedspread or plate was purchased without consideration of her fur-trading forebears who had settled the island back in the late 1600s. The only tradition-breaking allowed at the inn was for weddings. On those occasions, the wishes of the bride and groom ruled. Normally, Sophie would be managing any wedding activities at the inn, but since this was Marty’s event and she’d have family in town her staff would be taking charge. “Don’t you worry about a thing,” Jan said. “Everyone’s pulling out the stops for Marty and Brittany. That new wedding planner, Sarah, is a gem. Josie planned a spectacular menu for the entire week. I’ll keep the guests busy with all kinds of fun activities. And they’ll all be gone before the summer tourist season gets in full swing. You won’t have to do much of anything except relax and enjoy yourself for a change.” “Okay,Mom. ” She might pay the salaries around this place, but her employees, the entire island for that matter, were more extended family than anything. “A few days off before the summer rush sounds good to me.” “Oh, before I forget.” Jan held out samples of wallpaper designs. “I need your decision on new paper for the front desk area.” Sophie didn’t need to mull over that one. “Replace it with the same print.” “I’ve said it before. I’ll say it again.” Jan waved the samples in front of Sophie. “We could use some contrasting color out there.” Most people assumed she didn’t like change. Sophie preferred to think of herself as a stickler for historic details. “There’s plenty of color. It’s called green. Nice try though.” “Mom?” Two young voices sounded in unison from the direction of the lobby. “In here, guys!” Flip-flops and tennis shoes echoed loudly in the otherwise quiet hall as her daughter and son made their way toward her office. Lauren breezed into the room first, her long, dark blond hair flying behind her, dropped her backpack on the floor and plopped into one of two ornately carved, gilded chairs. Kurt walked in next and fell into the other chair, his curly light brown hair ruffled from the wind. |
“Last day of school!” Lauren exclaimed and met Kurt’s closed fist in the air with one of her own. “Yes!” “I thought there was an end-of-the-year party,” Sophie said. “Aren’t you guys going?” “Are you serious?” Lauren’s face scrunched up with distaste. “All they’re gonna do is play kissing games. Eww.” “Oh, yeah!” Kurt smiled and nodded. “I’m going.” “You’ll kiss anyone.” Lauren rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t kiss you.” Despite being twins, Lauren and Kurt’s personalities were as different as cold from hot, making for great entertainment. Sophie could sit back and watch them interact all day long. “Oh, come on, Lauren,” Jan said. “There must be someone at school you like.” “There are eight kids in my ninth-grade class, and I’ve known them my entire life.” Lauren gave Jan a look she’d perfected in her fourteen short years, a cross between supreme condescension and youthful arrogance. “I still remember Ben peeing in his pants in kindergarten. Nate threw up last year during social studies. And Zach?” She folded her arms across her developing chest. “Still picks his nose.” Sophie kept from smiling by biting the inside of her cheek. Having grown up on the ten-square-mile island, she remembered feeling the exact same way about every boy. Except Noah. “Those are my options,” Lauren continued, turning from Jan to glare at Sophie. “If you don’t get me off this island, Mom, I’m gonna die never having been kissed!” “Lauren—” “I’m serious!” “Drama queen,” Kurt charged. “Indiscriminate kisser,” Lauren shot back. “Hey, hey, hey! We don’t have time to argue. Marty and Brittany just got in on the last ferry.” Lauren jumped up from the chair. “Brittany’s here? Now?” “I thought the wedding stuff doesn’t start for another week,” Kurt said. “They wanted some time to settle in and help get ready for their guests.” “Awesome!” Kurt said. Sophie stood. “Should we meet them out front?” “Definitely.” The twins headed for the door. Sophie followed, then stopped, looking back at Jan. “In case I forget, thanks for everything you’re doing for Marty.” Jan smiled. “You’re welcome.” Sophie caught up with Lauren and Kurt in the empty lobby. With dark green carpeting and pale green-and-rose printed wallpaper, one had the impression of walking into a garden. An awfully green garden. Maybe Jan was right. For a moment she considered some red accents to perk up the place. But it’s always been green. She swung one arm around each of the kids’ shoulders and headed outside. “Pretty exciting, huh? There hasn’t been a Rousseau wedding on the island for years.” “There’sno way I’m living here,” Lauren said, “but Iam getting married here.” “You have to kiss someone first.” Kurt ran ahead. “Oh, shut up.” Lauren shot after him. The moment Sophie stepped away from the entryway awning the late May sunshine hit her full in the face. She put a hand out to shield her eyes and perused the grounds, making sure all was in order for the fast approaching tourist season. Irises bloomed along the front porch, ivy made its springtime creep up the east wall, and the lawns and hedges were trimmed to perfection. Pink and red geraniums and dahlias of every imaginable hue lined the walkways, and a row of purple lilacs in full bloom set a colorful backdrop to a flowing fountain. Even the rose garden, with its shrubs, topiaries and delightful climbing varieties, was budding out. The gardener was doing an excellent job keeping the landscape alive and well and looking exactly as Sophie’s great-grandmother had planned some one hundred years ago. Add to the mix a few details from her parents’ wills, and the grounds would remain virtually unchanged for at least another century. After they’d died, the inn property and over four hundred adjacent acres of undeveloped land had been put in trust for the Rousseau children: Sophie, Marty and their two sisters, Elizabeth and Jacqueline, who were both married and too busy raising families in suburban Minneapolis to care much one way or another about what was happening on Mirabelle. Sophie earned a more than fair salary for running the inn, but she couldn’t materially alter the premises, nor could the adjoining land be developed without unanimous approval from all four siblings. That was fine by Sophie. She glanced beyond the manicured perfection and rested her eyes on the bordering wildness of craggy oaks and pines, some older than the inn itself. No wonder their little island had become a wedding destination for the Upper Midwest. No place mixed quaint with quiet better than Mirabelle. She drew in a deep, satisfied breath and caught up with the kids farther down the drive. Past the row of blue spruce lining the road, the clip-clop of hooves on the cobblestone road sounded Marty and Brittany’s arrival. The only motorized vehicles on the island were the ambulance and fire trucks, requiring guests and their luggage to be transported by horse-drawn carriages. Lauren waved the minute Marty and Brittany appeared. Kurt, on the other hand, was far too cool to show his excitement. The carriage turned into the drive, and the moment the horses stopped, Brittany jumped up and—there was no other word for it—squealed. “I’m so excited! This island is perfect for a wedding. Thank you so much for agreeing to have this here. It’s the best wedding presentever. ” Sophie grinned. Brittany had taken a little getting used to, and Sophie had worried that a twenty-two-year-old was too young for Marty, but after seeing how Brittany’s zest complemented Marty’s sober personality, liking her had been easy. “Take a breath, sweetheart.” Marty hopped out of the carriage and reached for Brittany’s hand, helping her down. Brittany’s feet no sooner touched the ground than she turned and hugged Sophie. “You’re going to be the best sister-in-law any new bride could ask for.” Then it was Kurt’s turn. “Kurt!” She drew the reluctant teenager into a brief hug. “I can’t wait to see you in a tux. You’ll look so handsome.” She turned to Lauren and squealed again. “Lauren!” The two clasped their arms around each other. “I’m so excited. Aren’t you excited?” “I can’t wait to see your dress!” “I’ll show it to you as soon as I unpack.” “Oh, your nails look gorgeous,” Lauren murmured. “Do you want me to do yours? I can do yours.” “Would you?” Kurt looked at Marty and rolled his eyes. Marty laughed as he grabbed their luggage from the back of the carriage. “Thanks, Arlo.” “See you later, Arlo,” Sophie yelled. “Ayep.” He took off the carriage brake and tapped his reins. Marty turned to Kurt. “Hey, slugger, how you doing?” They went through the motions of some funky handshake they’d made up the last time Marty had visited. When he turned to Sophie for a hug his gaze turned serious. “Hey, Sophie.” There had to be something more than the normal prewedding jitters on his mind. “What’s the matter?” she whispered. “Later,” he whispered back. After all the hellos, Brittany started up again, like a windup toy. “Everything is so beautiful. These gardens and grounds! They’re looking better than ever. The photographer’s going to love this. I love this! Oh, Marty!” She looked up at him and her eyes sparkled. “We’re going to have such a perfect week.” He kissed her forehead. “Why don’t you and Lauren go find Jan? She’ll know our room numbers “That’s a great idea.” Brittany grabbed Lauren’s arm. “Then we can unpack your dress!” Lauren exclaimed, her head tilting toward Brittany’s as they walked to the inn. Kurt shook his head at Marty. “Does she ever stop chattering?” “Are you kidding? That sweet music lulls me to sleep and nudges me awake every day, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Marty laughed at the sudden grimace on Kurt’s face. “Just wait. That bug’ll bite you someday.” “Not for a while yet,” Sophie cautioned. “Can I go to the party now?” Kurt asked. “Grab a bag first, eh?” They carried Marty and Brittany’s luggage to the main lobby entrance. After Kurt took off on his bike Sophie turned to Marty. “Okay, out with it. What’s going on?” Clearly uncomfortable, he ran his hands through his hair and shifted from foot to foot. “You’re not going to like this.” “I’ve had so many wedding upsets through the years, nothing fazes me anymore.” “It’s not that.” He shook his head, hesitating. “There was someone on the ferry just now. Someone I didn’t expect to see.” He looked straight into her eyes and then away as if he couldn’t stand to see her reaction. “Who?” “Noah Bennett.” Noah?Sophie’s mouth turned dust dry. Though she hadn’t heard his name spoken aloud for years the sound of it still hurt. “This ferry? Today?” Marty nodded. “You sure it was him?” “Positive.” “Did you talk to him?” “Briefly.” “Why’d he come back?” “He didn’t say.” “Where’s he staying?” “Grandma Bennett’s.” Just up the hill from the inn. Too close for her comfort, but it made sense given the old woman had willed the property to Noah when she’d died, hoping to lure him home, at least every once in a while. She shouldn’t have bothered. He hadn’t even come back for her funeral. “Why is he here?” she asked. “Why now?” Marty shrugged. “He looks like he’s in pretty rough shape, like he could use some company. I…I hope it’s all right. I…asked him to come down some time this coming week. To join in with the wedding activities…” Although Marty kept talking his voice barely penetrated her thoughts. Fifteen years she’d waited to give Noah Bennett a piece of her mind, and now the moment was at hand. “Sophie?” Marty touched her arm. “You okay?” “Not even close.” She spun away from her brother and marched toward Bennett Hill. “Well, don’t do anything stupid,” Marty yelled. “Sophie!” “When I get back, Marty,” she shouted over her shoulder, “you can definestupid for me!” PINK RHODODENDRONS ANDbuttercup lilies flowered along the front of the house, and purple irises sprouted along the south side. Gingerbread trim, wide porch, old-fashioned swing, big shade trees. The sight of Grandma Bennett’s house poured a thick layer of calm over Noah’s ragged nerves. As he walked up the front steps, he noticed bushes in dire need of pruning and chipped and peeling siding and trim. The place had surely seen more pampered days. He retrieved the key from under a large planter where his grandmother had always left it and, propping open the storm door with his good leg, unlocked the solid oak front door. Apparently, his dad hadn’t gotten rid of anything since Grandma died. Everything looked pretty much the same, from the antique cherry furniture in the dining room and floral sofa in the living room to the white ruffled curtains and the red-and-white, circa-1950 table and vinyl chairs in the kitchen. Any minute now Noah half expected to see his grandma coming toward him, wiping her hands on her flower-printed apron. Although he’d felt horrible for missing her funeral, there’d been no easy way out of the guerilla camps in the jungles of South America. She would have understood, better than anyone. Noah left the heavy oak door open so air could flow through the screen on the top half of the storm door. He walked into the living room, sat on the couch and breathed a sigh of relief. After tugging up his pant leg, he rolled down the silicone sleeve holding the prosthetic to his leg and let the damned heavy thing drop to the floor. He’d no sooner set his handgun within reach on the coffee table and sat back when his cell phone rang. Sliding it out of his back pocket, he answered, “Bennett here.” |
“It’s Liz.” As in Elizabeth Ingram, his editor and the closest thing he had to a friend these days. “Where are you?” “Mirabelle.” “Good.” She was quiet for a moment. Most people weren’t aware the woman could just as easily tear a man apart as spoon-feed him chicken noodle soup at his hospital bedside. She sure had shocked the hell out of Noah. Having married her husband late in life, she’d never had children. Noah supposed he was the closest thing she’d ever have to a son. “Have you eaten anything today?” she asked. “Yes.” Lies were easiest. “So what’s up?” “We can extend your deadline another two months.” “I told you I need at least four.” “That would mean moving the release date. I won’t do that. Too many wheels are already in motion.” “I can’t do it, Liz.” He might have three-quarters of the book already written, but since the explosion he hadn’t touched the manuscript. It wasn’t likely the rest of it was going to write itself. “Do me a favor,” she said. “Take several days on this island, maybe a few weeks, to clear your head. Then give it a shot, okay?” He supposed he owed her at least that. “I’ll try.” After ending the call, he closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the couch. His thoughts drifted. He had no idea how long he’d been out when a noise penetrated his senses. He shot forward and reached for the gun before his grandmother’s possessions reoriented him and he relaxed.Don’t need it, dude. It was only someone coming up the sidewalk. Not wanting anyone to see him without his prosthetic, he quickly hopped on his one good leg across the room. When he saw her through the screen, he stopped. “Sophie.” He should’ve known she’d come. She faltered halfway up the steps. “Hello, Noah.” God, what a sight. He wished he had his camera. High on the hill as they were, the treetops, with their spring leaves, framed her face, a face that had barely changed after all these years. Her eyes held a few laugh lines, but their color was as green as he remembered. Even her hair was still as dark as midnight. He grabbed the doorframe for balance and hoped like hell she stayed outside. “How have you been?” “What are you doing here?” she asked. That was cold, abrupt. “I’m guessing Mirabelle’s lost its Welcome Capital of the World status.” “Why now? What do you want, Noah?” She never had been one to fake nice. That’s one of the reasons he’d liked her so much. Amidst the trappings of this fairyland, she’d been so real. “I don’t want anything, Sophie. From anybody. Just leave .me alone “Why can’t you be alone on someone else’s island?” “Why are you so pissed off?” She narrowed her eyes. “One day you ask me to marry you and the next day you’re gone?” “You turned me down, Sophie.” “And you never said goodbye.” “Ooh,” he groaned, shaking his head. “I said goodbye all right. For three days and nights in that Bayfield motel room.” Tenderly, passionately, fast, slow, laughing and crying. It was the only time in his entire life four walls hadn’t closed in on him. “At least, that’s the way I remember it.” She looked down, as if trying desperately to wipe the images from her mind. “I needed to hear the words.” “You knew I was leaving, Sophie. With…or without you.” If he’d really loved her and if she’d really loved him, they’d have found a way to be together. True love always found a way. Well, Sophie had found her way all right. Without Noah. “No phone calls. No letters.” The fire was back in her eyes. “Nothing for damned close to fifteen years.” “Well, it sure as hell didn’t take you long to replace me.” It couldn’t have been much more than a few months after Noah had left that she’d married his brother, Isaac. His own brother. Self-righteous anger boiled to the surface. “Married, two kids. Sounds like you and Isaac got along fine without me.” Her face flaming, she stalked across the porch. “Don’t!” He reached for the knob, but she was quicker. She yanked open the screen door, cranked her hand back to slap him and stopped. Her gaze flew downward. She took in the one empty leg of his jeans and her fingers collapsed into a fist. “Go ahead,” he said, through clenched teeth. “Hit me! I’m sure I deserve it.” “You’re an asshole, you know that?” Yeah, he knew. “Isaac died more than two years ago.” She let the storm door slam shut and pounded off the porch. CHAPTER THREE ISAAC.DEAD? After climbing the hill toward the small cemetery behind Mirabelle’s only church, Noah reached the wrought-iron gate, his hands shaking, his breathing uneven, his thoughts disjointed. He couldn’t believe his older brother was gone. to him as his own, he located the Bennett family headstone, a pale gray granite monstrosity, and forced himself to close the distance, one slow step at a time. Though the cemetery was well-maintained, short grass infringed on the edges of the ground markers and dirt partially obscured the names. The middle two granite slabs were his grandparents. The two on the left were an aunt who’d died as a child and an uncle who’d been killed in military service. The marker on the right was new. Noah fell awkwardly to his knees and brushed the granite clean.Isaac Andrew Bennett. Seeing his brother’s name, his birthday and date of death didn’t make the truth any more real. This had to be a bad dream. It had to be. Shit like this had happened to him over and over again in that damned hospital. Any minute he’d awaken from this nightmarish sleep. Any minute. He squeezed his eyes closed, hoping that when he opened them he’d be anywhere but on Mirabelle.Wake up. Wake up. A robin chirped cheerfully from the branches of a nearby maple, and the sounds of a lawn mower buzzed in the distance. The scent of lilacs hung in the still, warm air. This was real. Very real. His older brother was dead. Gone. Snippets of memories flashed through Noah’s mind. Isaac and him fighting over what to watch on TV, fishing off the pier and snowshoeing. Isaac had always wanted to go traipsing through the snow in the midst of the most miserable blizzards. He’d loved being outside, especially in winter, and he’d loved this island, almost as much as Noah hated it. How could two brothers be so different? Even in the troublemaking department they were like night and day. Oh, they’d both caused plenty of it. Creeping through this cemetery on Halloween and scaring the younger kids. Raiding McGregor’s apple trees. Toilet-papering the Andersens’ place. He could go on and on recalling the shenanigans he and Isaac had pulled. But no matter what they’d done together, Noah had always been the one who’d gotten caught. Trouble had a way of sliding off Isaac like water on a duck’s back. Except for this time. Noah traced the engraved letters of Isaac’s name on the granite slab and, inside him, sadness over the loss warred with anger over what Isaac had done. He’d never forgiven his brother for marrying Sophie, and now he wasn’t sure he’d ever forgive him for dying before Noah had gotten the chance to speak his mind, before he’d been able to find it inside himself, if that was possible, to forgive his brother and move on. “Isaac,” he said aloud. “What the hell?” A horse snuffled somewhere behind him and Noah started at the sound. Adrenaline rushed through him as if nothing less than a gun was pointed at his head. You’re on Mirabelle,he reminded himself.You’re safe. Safe. He took a deep breath and turned around. This, Noah did not need. Mirabelle Island’s Chief of Police, Jim Bennett, reined in his horse and stopped at the entrance to the cemetery. Apparently the island rumor mill had been working at lightning speed. The chief dismounted and walked across the grounds, only to tower over where Noah knelt in the grass. Fifteen plus years of distance made the man no less intimidating. “Hello, Noah.” “Dad.” Noah glanced at Isaac’s marker and barely held the tears in check. “How’d it happen?” “He was shot during a raid on an illegal fishing operation.” Isaac, always the devoted son, had followed family tradition of military service or law enforcement and become a game warden. In idyllic northern Wisconsin, arresting deer poachers should’ve been the most dangerous part of his job. Instead, he’d been murdered over fish. Fish. It didn’t make any sense. None of it made any sense. “Did Sophie…Did he make it to a hospital?” “No. He was hit in the chest. Died instantly at the scene.” Noah looked away. The thought of his brother shot and killed violently like so many soldiers he’d seen through the years was too much. “Why didn’t you tell me?” “Couldn’t find you. I called your editor, your agent. Every number I had. After a while, it didn’t seem to matter.” Noah glanced at the date on the marker. He’d been in the mountains of either Afghanistan or Pakistan, about as unreachable as he’d ever been. Still, an urgent message could’ve made it to Noah through the military. After all these years, his dad knew that. He hadn’t wanted Noah to come back, that much was obvious. “I should have been here,” Noah said. “I would’ve wanted to be here. That wasn’t right.” “I figured if you’d wanted to stay in touch,” his dad said, “you’d have checked in.” The first years after he’d left Mirabelle, Noah had called every so often. Other than news of happenings on Mirabelle his dad rarely had anything to say. Eventually, Noah didn’t have anything to say, either, and there was a lot of dead air. He’d resorted to occasional letters, even though they often hadn’t been acknowledged. “So what’re you doing here now?” his dad asked. Noah debated, lies or the truth? For some reason a lie seemed appropriate. With a cop for a father, he’d gotten good at it at a very early age. “Thought I’d check up on Grandma’s place. See if there was anything that needed doing.” His dad mulled that one over and didn’t seem to be buying it. “And I needed to stay relatively close to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester,” Noah added for good measure. “It’s a little easier to get there from here than Rhode Island.” They wanted him to check in with a physical therapist, but he’d be damned if he’d go. He’d had enough of doctors, nurses and the like to last several lifetimes. “How long you planning on staying?” The tone of his dad’s voice made the innocent enough question sound more like, “When’re you leaving?” Why Noah had expected anything different was beyond him. “No more than a month or two. Why?” Sick of looking up at his father, he eased himself up onto his good foot. He was inordinately pleased to notice that he’d actually grown quite a bit taller than his dad. Jim Bennett had, of course, aged. He’d put on some pounds around the waist, deep wrinkles marked his forehead and his hair had thinned and turned completely gray. Only his mustache held any remnants of his original dark hair. “You ready to escort me to the ferry dock, tell me to get the hell off your island and never come back?” “No.” His dad ignored the bait, glancing instead at Noah’s legs, his jaw clenching with some unknown emotion. “What is it then?” Noah asked, raising his voice. Fifteen years had gone by and he still felt himself falling right back into the old argumentative patterns. No one could cut Noah deeper or quicker than Jim Bennett. “What did I ever do to hurt you?” Noah asked. “It can’t be because I didn’t go into law enforcement, or do a military stint. You hated me long before that.” His dad’s gaze flew to Noah’s face. “I don’t hate you.” “Then what is it, Dad? I want to know.” As if Noah hadn’t said a word his dad mounted his horse. “Stay as long as you like, Noah. As long as you like.” JIMBENNETT PACED HIS KITCHENfloor waiting for night to fall. All he could think about was the sight of Noah kneeling at Isaac’s grave. His eyes watered, blurring the image.Dammit. There were two things parents should never have to do, outlive their own children and be forced to make a choice between themselves and their own flesh and blood. Feeling as if he might wear a track in the linoleum, he stopped in front of the sink and glanced out the window. “Oh, hell,” he murmured to himself. “It’s dark enough.” Taking off out the back door of his house, he quickly headed four blocks down the street and then cut through the woods. The moment he caught sight of the gray-and-white cottage with its wide front porch and four-season addition off the side, his shoulders relaxed and the knot in his stomach loosened. He knocked on the front door. A moment later, Josie appeared, her knitting bag in hand. “How many times do I have to tell you, Jim, that you don’t need to knock.” “It’s your house.” “Which is why I gave you a key.” He made to step inside. “I was just on my way out to sit on the porch.” She flicked on the porch light, stepped outside and headed toward the swing. “No. Let’s go inside.” “You go inside.” Josie sat down and pulled out her latest project, a pair of socks for her granddaughter living in eastern Iowa. “After spending the entire day in that kitchen getting ready for Marty’s wedding I need the fresh air.” Being head cook at the Mirabelle Island Inn, she’d be taking the brunt of an influx of close to a hundred people for Marty’s wedding. “It’s a beautiful night, and I’m going to guess you could use the fresh air.” Jim glanced uneasily around. “All right. Fine. Have it your way.” He flicked off the porch light, cutting down the chances of anyone seeing him here at Josie’s this late at night. The jaws on this island were flapping about his business enough as it was with Noah coming home. “How do you expect me to see what I’m knitting?” “You can make a pair of socks in your sleep.” As if to prove his point, her needles clicked away, never missing a beat. What he hated most about the island gossip chain was when the rest of the island knew about things that concerned him before he did. They’d known when Isaac had been given a scholarship to college. When Noah had broken his arm falling out of one of the Rousseaus’ trees. They’d all guessed Sophie was pregnant before the thought had occurred to Jim. They’d even known about Gloria leaving. He’d been at his desk when Herman’s wife had called. Arlo had said something to his wife, Lynn, about Gloria going on a vacation. He’d taken her to the pier with several suitcases. Lynn had called someone, that someone had called several other someones, and in no time the entire island had been privy to one of Jim’s greatest failures. Who could blame him for wanting to keep parts of his life private? He sat on the swing next to Josie, took his pipe and pouch out of his front pocket and packed some tobacco. A moment later, he struck a match, puffed and let go a long sigh. “Have you seen him yet?” Josie asked. There was no need to specify Noah. He knew. “Found him out at the cemetery late this afternoon.” Her hands paused. He took another puff on his pipe and stared out at the half moon rising over Lake Superior. “Isaac dying was bad. The worst thing I’ve ever gone through. But I’m telling you, Josie, seeing Noah kneeling at his brother’s grave…about brought me to my knees,” he said, his voice cracking. She put her hand on his leg. There was no doubt that Noah coming home after all this time was nothing short of bittersweet for Jim. His conscience gnawed at the lining of his stomach. “Maybe I should’ve tried harder to find him. A man deserves to bury his own brother.” Then again, Noah coming home would’ve opened up a whole big can of worms.Nope. Noah had made his bed when he’d left. Jim might have to atone for other things, but not telling Noah about Isaac dying wasn’t one of them. “I guess Noah being here for the funeral wouldn’t have changed anything. He couldn’t have brought Isaac back.” “Wasn’t there any part of you happy to see your own son?” “Happy? Sure. I suppose.” He puffed on his pipe. “He’s a man now, Josie. I’ve seen pictures of him in magazines and on the backs of his books, but that’s nothing like seeing him in person. He’s bigger than Isaac and built differently. His shoulders are broader. But seeing him limp on that fake leg? I sure as hell wasn’t ready for that.” “How did he seem?” “Oh, hell, he hasn’t changed. Not one damned bit. Still as angry as ever. Still hates me.” “He doesn’t hate you.” “Coulda fooled me. Since the day Gloria left he’s been ornery and contrary. I say black, he says white. I don’t think he’ll ever change.” Jim had always wondered if Noah hadn’t blamed him for Gloria leaving, and he wouldn’t have been too far off the mark. “You still angry at him?” “Angry? I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I’ll tell you what, though, he’s still the spitting image of Gloria. Those two were like peas in a pod.” “Well, there you have it.” Her needles clicked on. “You divorced Gloria, didn’t you?” SOPHIE COULDN’T SLEEP. She lay in bed, telling herself that it probably had to do with that late-afternoon diet cola, or nerves over Marty’s wedding plans, an unanswered e-mail or other work-related issues. Excuses, all of them. A violent storm of thoughts whirled through her head, making it impossible for her to shut down. How unlike her to not be able to disconnect. Shutting down was an art she’d perfected through the years. Why was it failing her now? Noah. Her armor had been useless around him. After flipping back the lightweight quilt, she dressed in sweats, checked on both kids to make sure they were sound asleep and set out into the warm night air for a walk. Other than Duffy’s Pub and a couple other bars downtown, Mirabelle closed up after ten o’clock, so the only light illuminating her journey was a bright half moon and the dim, old-fashioned lampposts lining Island Drive. In truth, she probably could’ve made her way around this island in complete darkness, she knew it so well. One mile led to another and, before Sophie knew it, she found herself taking an overgrown path toward the lighthouse.The lighthouse. Hers and Noah’s. Old force of habit, she guessed, reinstating itself along with Noah’s return. No one usually went to the northeast side of the island. Surrounded as it was by undeveloped Wisconsin state parkland, this point was one of the few spots on the entire island a person could go and not worry about being bothered. None of the residents cared to hike this far off the main road and if visitors wanted lighthouse charm, the one in town was more easily accessible. She cleared the white pine forest and looked out over the moonlit surface of the water. Ahead of her, like a postcard, the lighthouse stood sentinel on the island’s rocky northeast peninsula. Although she hadn’t been here in more than a decade, she and Noah had come here often, sneaking out of their houses late at night for time alone together. They’d stashed a blanket, lantern, sodas or a six-pack and food behind some bushes near the lighthouse foundation. How many hours had they lingered here talking about their future, where they’d go to college, where they’d live and, always, where they’d travel? ” |
A lot of good it had done. She picked her way over the barely discernible path toward a large, flat boulder at the water’s edge, scooped up some rocks and skipped them across the relatively calm surface. Memories flooded in with every soft wave hitting the shore. The remembered sound of Noah’s laughter echoed off the lighthouse and bounced off the water, free and unbound. “I would’ve guessed you didn’t come here anymore.” The deep, masculine voice came from behind her. She spun around and found Noah sitting with his back against the lighthouse, one leg stretched in front of him. “Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” The sight of him now was no less upsetting than when she’d first seen him at Grandma Bennett’s house. She barely kept herself from charging over there and…and…kicking him. “Scare me? Hardly. And I haven’t been here for years.” Why was she here now, anyway? It was bad enough Noah was back on the island, but coming here, to the place they’d first made love, what had she been thinking? She started across the rocks on her way back toward the road. “I couldn’t sleep, either,” he said before she’d taken more than a step or two. “Too many memories.” He was wearing a stocking cap and had a heavy wool blanket wrapped around him, making it look as if he planned on camping there for the night. It might have been the beginning of summer, but on big water like Lake Superior the nights could be cold even after the hottest of days. Curiosity got the better of her. “How long have you been out here?” “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Couple hours.” Hours. Sitting at their lighthouse, remembering, reliving. When she looked into his tired eyes she understood. That didn’t mean she was any less angry. She started again toward the road. “Sophie?” he said. “I’m sorry.” She stopped. For what? She wanted to scream at him. For leaving me here all alone? For ruining my dreams and breaking my heart? “About Isaac.” Oh. Isaac.Sadness dampened the rage. “If I’d known,” he said. “I’d have come back.” She heard him swallow and softened for a moment. As much as she hated this man, he’d just discovered he’d lost his only sibling. “Your dad tried—” “Not very hard, Soph. The military was always able, someway, somehow, to get urgent messages to me. He didn’t want me coming back.” A small part of her had probably always wondered about that. “You being here wouldn’t have changed anything.” “He was my brother. I should’ve been here to say goodbye. Regardless of the issues between all of us, I would’ve been here for you.” Then it was probably for the best that he hadn’t been here for the funeral. There’s no telling what kind of fool she’d have made of herself in that vulnerable state. But she wasn’t vulnerable now. “Why now, Noah? Why the hell did you come back after all this time?” He tossed a few rocks out into the water. “The truth?” “What do you think?” He studied her while he seemed to be deciding what, if anything, to say. “Okay,” he said. “The truth. Since losing my foot, I can’t sleep. When I do, I have constant nightmares. I can barely hold down a meal. I have a hard time concentrating. I can’t write, can’t take pictures. And I’ve got a book due in a couple months. I could lose my job, my career.” He patted his prosthetic. “And I sometimes have what’s called phantom pains that are almost worse than the pain after the actual explosion.” “In short, you’re a basket case.” “It could be worse. I could develop a full-blown case of post-traumatic stress disorder. That’s what my doctors are worried about. PTSD.” “So your doctors wanted you to come here?” He nodded. “Why? What’s here for you? I don’t get it.” He looked away. The only sound was that of the frigid waters of Lake Superior lapping against the rocks. “I don’t know if you can understand,” he said, sounding very tired. “Try me.” He sighed. “Since leaving Mirabelle, I’ve pretty much moved from one war-torn region in the world to the next. I’ve been shot at more times than I can count and actually hit a couple times. I’ve been blindfolded and taken to secret rebel camps. Nearly kidnapped twice. Spent many nights wondering if I was going to be alive in the morning. After more than a decade in places like Bosnia, Sudan, Afghanistan and Iraq…” He paused. “Mirabelle is the only place…” “You feel safe.” For a moment, she tried putting herself in his shoes and, in spite of every intention to the contrary, sympathy pricked her conscience. He wouldn’t meet her eyes. “One full night’s sleep, Sophie. I can’t tell you what I’d do for a straight eight hours.” The moonlight cast pale light over his face, making him look almost ghostly, but the dark circles under his eyes were painfully real. That’s when she noticed the unopened bottle of vodka next to him and wondered what he was waiting for. Maybe this end was no less than he deserved. “So am I supposed to feel sorry for you?” “No.” He shook his head. “You don’t need to feel anything for me.” “How long are you staying?” “As long as it takes.” That could be weeks.Oh, my God, months . She wasn’t sure she could handle more than a few days. What about Lauren and Kurt? What if Noah started asking questions? The possibility made her stomach churn. She started again toward the road. “Sophie—” “I don’t get it!” Unbidden, the words burst from her mouth. “You never called! Never wrote,” she said, needing to get this off her chest once and for all. “My dad died, and you left. You left!” Her dad had suffered a massive heart attack and died right before she and Noah had graduated from high school. They’d been planning on heading off to college in the fall. Instead, she’d had to stay to help her mother with the inn. She’d had no choice. The Mirabelle Island Inn had been owned and operated by a Rousseau for hundreds of years, and her two sisters and Marty had been little more than teenagers at the time. Then her mother had gotten sick right after Noah had left and the decision had been all but taken out of her hands. Overnight she’d gone from being on the cusp of seeing her dreams realized to having to run the inn and helping to take care of three younger siblings. And Noah? He’d left to make his dreams come true. Without her. “You know I was the only one capable of helping my mom with the inn,” she said. “We plan a lifetime together and one snag comes along and you’re gone.” “Hell, Sophie,” he said, sounding weary. “Back then every day on this island felt like an eternity to me. I had a college scholarship that was going to disappear if I didn’t show up on campus that fall. I was eighteen. An impatient, stupid kid. If I could do it over again…” He paused. “I couldn’t stay. You couldn’t leave,” he whispered. “No matter how much we want things to work out, Sophie, some things aren’t meant to be.” “That’s what you’ve told yourself all these years, isn’t it, Noah. To clear your conscience.” “No, Sophie.” He picked up a rock and angrily whipped it out into the water. “You marrying Isaac only a few months after I left took care of my conscience just fine.” Maybe she should’ve told him the truth back then. Maybe—No! Her spine stiffened.He’s the one who left. He made his choicewhen he walked off this island and never looked back. “Well, at least I found out what you were made of before it was too late.” “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” “That I obviously married the more dependable of the Bennett boys.” “Boy, you got that right,” he bit back at her. “Now that we understand each other, I’ll do my best to stay out of your way.” “You do that.” As she stalked away the unmistakable sound of a cap opening on a bottle followed her. Maybe he’d drink that vodka, suffer hypothermia and die out here. She should be so lucky. |
CHAPTER FOUR AWHITE-TAILED DEER BOLTEDtwenty feet in front of Sophie as she came close to finishing her usual five-mile morning run that twisted and turned through Mirabelle’s undeveloped state land, continued with a jaunt straight through the Rousseau forest and ended back at the inn. A pair of gray squirrels scurried across the damp, leafy carpet and a woodpecker hammered after breakfast on a dying, if not already dead, pine tree that had been struck by lightning the previous summer. She’d learned years ago to take the quiet morning hours for herself. Sometimes the kids or work took priority. More often than not, she reserved this precious time for walking or running through the forest, her wild sanctuary. It was also the place that helped ground her in her ancestry. On windy days her father’s quiet, but authoritative voice seemed to whisper through the treetops.You’re a part of this island, cherie…You more than anyone have to keep the Rousseau traditions alive. And so she had, from the menu at the Fourth of July corn boil to the handmade Christmas decorations to the brand of New Year’s champagne. She felt his approval every time she ran this path. This morning, though, her run didn’t have its usual calming effect. She couldn’t seem to slow herself down and maintain a steady pace. Images of Noah, one legged, standing at Grandma Bennett’s door and sitting, wrapped in that blanket at the lighthouse, kept popping into her mind, driving her on, faster and faster. She burst through the tree line and onto the inn grounds, slowed to a walk and glanced at her watch. Normally, she ran her five-mile track around the island in an hour, but this morning she’d finished in record time. While stretching her arms and neck, she looked up the hillside and strained to see through the trees. Was Noah awake? Probably not. It was early. The sun was only now rising over Lake Superior. Curls of fog clung to the water’s calm surface like a fuzzy blanket, and she couldn’t help imagining him sleeping, couldn’t help wondering if he still slept naked. That was a dangerous thought and a useless one at that. She drew in a breath of the cool morning air before quietly entering her living quarters by the back door of the inn and peeking in on Kurt and Lauren. They were both snoozing away in their respective bedrooms, and what else should they be doing on their first day of summer break? After showering and dressing, Sophie left a note on the kitchen table for the kids to check in at her office after they’d had breakfast, and then she entered the inn through the passageway into the kitchen. Josie was busy at the stove, her thick black hair streaked with coarse gray strands drawn back in a large clip. Her white bib apron, fresh that morning and tied over a red T-shirt and khaki pants, had yet to become the least bit soiled. “Morning, Josie.” “Good morning, Sophie. Your coffee’s ready. Made an egg bake for Marty and his fiancee, or would you rather have your usual?” She shrugged. “Whatever you’ve already cooked up will be perfect. If you’ve got extras.” She could live without oatmeal and fresh fruit for one morning. Jim Bennett, Sophie’s father-in-law, sat at the wide metal counter, sipping coffee. Every morning, provided there was time after his usual early morning fishing jaunt, he could be found in that exact location. Jim and Josie were discreet about their relationship, but on an island this small nothing stayed secret for long. Jim had been divorced for decades, since Gloria had left, and Josie’s husband had died several years ago. Why they didn’t get married or move in together was anyone’s guess. Jim looked up from the Bayfield newspaper. “You’re looking very relaxed today, Sophie.” And looks could be deceiving.She planted a kiss on his forehead and poured herself a cup of coffee. “I hate to say it, but you look tired.” “Nah, I’m fine.” His jacket smelled like sweet pipe tobacco and Sophie got a bit sentimental thinking about all this man had done for her through the years. She rubbed his shoulders. “Tense, too. I’m going to guess you’ve seen Noah.” Was it her imagination or had his shoulders tightened even more. “Yep,” he murmured. “You know, you could’ve warned me he was coming.” “I would have. If I’d known. The first I heard about it was from Lynn. Arlo told her after dropping Marty off and then she called the station.” Lynn was Arlo’s wife. She ran Duffy’s Pub and Arlo ran the stables and carriage business. Very little happened on this island without those two knowing about it. Josie set a plate heaping with a baked mixture of scrambled eggs, sausage, cheese and veggies on the table in front of him and another plate with much smaller portions in front of Sophie. “You two eat before it gets cold.” “Thanks, Josie.” She took a bite, but the food lodged in her throat. “Did you know about his accident?” “That was no accident.” “But you knew?” He nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Jim pursed his lips, considering. “I didn’t want you feeling sorry for him.” That wasn’t likely to happen any time soon. She glanced at Josie. “You knew, too, didn’t you?” She nodded. “That means the whole island knows. Everyone except me. I can’t believe neither one of you told me.” Jim ate a few forkfuls, but there was clearly something bothering him. He dropped his fork onto his plate. It clanged in the large open space of the industrial-sized kitchen. “Goddammit! I told him it would happen someday,” Jim blurted out. “You can’t flirt with disaster the way he has for years and not get burned.” “There’s no point getting into this now,” Josie said softly. “Did you know, too, that his doctors are worried he might develop post-traumatic stress disorder?” Jim shook his head. “When did you talk to him?” “Last night. I went for a walk and ran into him.” “Don’t you dare feel sorry for him, you hear me?” Jim pushed away his plate of food, stood and pulled on his jacket. “For your own good, stay away from Noah. He’ll run again. Just like his mother.” “You think I don’t know that?” she yelled. “You think I’ve forgotten how I felt when he left?” The day she’d woken up alone in that Bayfield hotel room she’d promised herself she would never again love any man the way she’d loved Noah Bennett. Completely, recklessly, passionately. “Never again, Jim. Never.” NOAH SAT ON THE FRONT PORCHswing holding a steaming cup of coffee in his hands, but after finishing off the better part of that bottle of vodka last night he wasn’t sure he’d be able to hold anything down. Scraping and priming the house? Not in this lifetime. He could only stare at the paint peeling off the railing. A screen door slammed from the vicinity of the inn and he wondered if Sophie was out and about. Seeing her at the lighthouse—their lighthouse—last night had about killed him. There were few places on this island not fraught with memories of their childhood, their friendship, their love, though the lighthouse—the place they’d first made love—was the most poignant of all. But he couldn’t let himself remember what it’d felt like to hold her, make love to her. He’d been down that road before and all it had led to was physical and emotional agony. Kids’ voices coming up the hill sidetracked him, and he craned his neck to look over the porch rail. A boy and a girl. Sophie and Isaac’s kids, no doubt. A couple years after he’d left the island, his dad had told him they’d had children and that’d changed everything for Noah. Overnight, the desire to get as far away from Mirabelle, Sophie and Isaac as he could manage burned in his gut. He’d ended up taking an overseas journalism internship and from there traveled the world. To hell with Sophie and Isaac, but the kids? Several times, he’d thought about sending Christmas presents or tokens of his travels to Kurt and Lauren, but in the end it had been too painful to make contact with his niece and nephew. He’d had to shut out the whole lot of them. Sophie and Isaac. Married. Sharing their life together. Making love. Making babies. It hadn’t made sense, then or now. Isaac had always wanted to have kids, but how could he have had sex with Sophie? How could she have had sex with his brother? It had all been too painful, and seeing the kids suddenly made it all too real. “I’m going to Kally’s. Where are you going?” “Ben’s. Then to Zach’s.” “You have to be home for supper. It’s your turn to do the dishes tonight.” “I washed ’em yesterday.” “No, you didn’t!” “Then what did we have for dinner? Huh? Huh?” They looked like teenagers, but that couldn’t be right. Mentally, he calculated back to when his dad had told him about the twins. They couldn’t be older than eleven, maybe twelve. What hit Noah first was how much Lauren’s face reminded him of Sophie as a young girl. Darken the young girl’s hair, put in some waves, and bam, young Sophie, ready to skip stones at the lighthouse, or kayak to one of the other Apostle Islands to explore the caves. Kurt, with his startling blue eyes, favored Isaac. Dammit, Isaac. Why did you have to take Sophie? You had everything else. Yeah, but you left her, you idiot. Doesn’t matter. She belonged to me. You left. She stayed. She chose. The twins walked across his grandmother’s yard, apparently on the way to friends’ houses, and came to a quick stop on seeing him sitting on the porch. Staring back at Noah, they seemed intensely curious, making him wonder what, if anything, Sophie had told them about him. “Hey there,” he said. “You must be Sophie’s kids.” His niece and nephew.Damn. He was an uncle. Of sorts. The girl nodded. “You Noah?” the boy asked. His young voice, on the cusp of puberty, fluctuated from high to low and back again, as if unable to make up its mind. Grow up, or stay young? Like a punch in his gut, Noah realized he’d been younger than Kurt when his mother had left. Noah had come home from school one afternoon to find his dad and Isaac sitting at the kitchen table. His dad had looked up at Noah and said, “Your mother left this morning, and, this time, she won’t be coming back. |
What do you want for supper?” and that had been the extent of their conversation. Sophie’s mom had been the one to explain it to him. “It’s not you, Noah, sweetheart,” she’d said days later. “It’s this island. A person either loves it, or she hates it.” It wasn’t always as simple as that. “Yep, I’m Noah.” He nodded at the kids. “Lauren and Kurt?” Lauren smiled and took a step or two toward the porch. “Marty said you’re a writer.” So Marty, not Sophie, had been talking about him. “No, he didn’t,” Kurt argued, keeping his distance on the lawn. “He said he’s a photographer.” “Actually, I’m both.” “Will you be taking the pictures for Marty’s wedding?” she asked. “Not that kind of photographer.” “What other kind is there?” “I’m a photojournalist. I travel, write books and articles, take pictures.” “I can’t wait to travel,” Lauren said. “I want to go everywhere. Have you ever been to Tokyo?” “Nope.” There weren’t any wars in Japan. “Marty said you were in an explosion.” Kurt was clearly intrigued. “A roadside bomb went off in Iraq.” Noah nodded. “Ever been shot at?” “A few times.” Noah didn’t bother telling Kurt about his stint covering civil unrest in Haiti. There was nothing heroic about sleeping in a bathtub while bullets zinged overhead. “I took two bullets in Afghanistan. Right here and here.” He pointed once near his shoulder, again at his thigh. “Left a couple of nice scars.” He’d been lucky. The bullets had missed bone and went clear through muscle. “I had a flak jacket on, otherwise I wouldn’t be alive today.” More and more these days he was considering settling down at his house in Rhode Island and focusing on his books. “Do you carry a gun?” Kurt’s face lit up. “Did you ever see Osama bin Laden?” “No, I’ve never seen bin Laden.” He laughed, sidestepping the question about the gun. “But I was with our military forces when they were fighting the Taliban.” “Cool.” In some ways, yes. Others, definitely no. The clip, clop, clip of a single horse’s hooves drew their attention toward the rider coming up the hill. Dark blue uniform. Hat and shield.Ah, hell. Now what? Too early in the morning for this. “Hi, Grandpa,” the twins said, practically in unison, clearly comfortable in the man’s presence. “Hey, there, Miss Mirabelle,” his dad said to Lauren. “Young man,” he said, nodding to Kurt. “Morning, Noah.” He took off his hat, and his mouth flattened. “Morning, Dad.” His father turned back to the kids, love and tolerance abundant in his damned grandpa smile. Go figure. “Did you two remember to check in with your mom before heading out this morning?” “No.” Kurt rolled his eyes. Lauren put a somewhat defiant hand on her hip. “Well, then you know exactly what you need to do before you head off to any friends’ houses, don’t you? Hop to it.” “We’re having a bonfire tonight,” Lauren said to Noah. “You should come.” Noah opened his mouth, but he wasn’t sure how to politely decline. “I’m sure Noah has other stuff going on, kids,” the chief said. “Maybe another night,” Noah offered. “Okay,” Lauren said. “Marty said he wants one every night he’s here.” “Later,” Kurt said. “Bye.” Lauren’s hair flew when she spun around and raced her brother down the hill. “Nice kids.” The horse shook his big brown head, shifted, and his dad loosened the reins. “Isaac was a good dad. He and Sophie did okay.” His dad cleared his throat and looked out over the great expanse of Lake Superior. “Something on your mind, Dad?” “Yeah. I think it’s best if you steer clear of Sophie.” Noah wasn’t exactly sure why, but this pissed him off more than anything else. He’d been a black sheep as far as these islanders were concerned, never fitting in, always wanting something different for his life, but he’d never been a serious troublemaker. He’d never thrown it in their faces. “Sophie can decide for herself who she wants to be around,” Noah said. “At least she always did in the past.” “Sophie’s too softhearted for her own good, and you know it. With Isaac gone, I don’t want you getting any ideas.” “You didn’t want me to know he’d died, did you? You didn’t want me coming back.” Amazingly enough, his father’s words and actions could still hurt. “She doesn’t need you messing up her life—” “We were kids. Remember? I never messed—” “Bullshit!” The horse snuffled and pawed a front hoof in the dirt as if reacting to its rider’s anger. “Kids or not, she was hurt after you left. Until she and Isaac got together. No one on this island wants to see her go through that again. Not that you’d give a damn.” Noah barely held his temper in check. “I care about Sophie more than you could ever understand.” “You sure have a strange way of showing it.” “Why do you think I’ve stayed away all these years?” “You and me never did get along. That doesn’t have anything to do with Sophie.” “Not everything’s about you, Dad.” The chief studied him, hard. “You’re saying you stayed away from Mirabelle for Sophie’s sake?” Silently, Noah held his father’s gaze. “All right then.” His dad set his hat back on his head and turned his horse toward the street. “At least we agree on one thing.” CHAPTER FIVE “GOT IT!” SOPHIE YELLED,positioning herself directly under the volleyball’s trajectory. She popped the ball into the air, hoping to set it up for Marty, but she’d miscalculated. “Dang, Sophie.” Her brother had to dive to hit the ball over the net. “That was a close one.” “Sorry.” It was late Sunday afternoon and Marty was taking a break from all the wedding preparations for a friendly game of beach volleyball with Lauren, Kurt and Sophie. Sophie should have been relaxed, calm, having fun. She wasn’t. The volleyball court faced inland toward Grandma Bennett’s and she couldn’t stop looking uphill. “Game point,” Marty said, grabbing the ball for his serve. He hit it over the net and Kurt returned it. The ball zoomed past Sophie. Too late, she dove and landed in the sand. “Get in the game, Soph!” Marty yelled. “Okay, okay,” she snipped back. Since running into Noah at their lighthouse a couple days ago, she hadn’t once seen him out and about. She hadn’t noticed him in his yard or on the porch, in town or at the beach. The house shades were still closed. It didn’t matter the time of day or night, the house looked the same. Shades drawn. No lights flickering from within. She’d thought Noah staying out of her way would ease her mind. Instead his vanishing act had set in motion a different set of worries. What if he did develop PTSD? What if her wish had come true and he’d drunk himself to death out at the lighthouse? “You guys bombed!” Kurt heckled. The kids—and Marty, for that matter—had been hooting and hollering at every point they earned. “Your serve.” Marty tossed Lauren the ball. “Let’s see what you can do,munchkin. ” Lauren glared at Marty. She hated that baby nickname. “Right here, munchkin, right here!” Marty yelled, clapping his hands together. “You’re toast, Uncle Marty.” Lauren grinned. She stepped back to the serving line, her face set with concentration. Tossing the ball into the air, she whacked it over the net. Marty popped the ball up, right above Sophie. Sophie jumped, planning to tip the ball over the net, and miscalculated the angle. The ball hit the ground by her feet. “Woo-hoo!” The kids screamed triumphantly. “I want a rematch!” Marty said. “You’re on,” Kurt yelled. “Tomorrow,” Marty said. “Now or never,” Lauren challenged. “No can do, munchkin,” Marty explained. “I promised Brittany I’d take her to the mainland to check out the casino we’re taking everyone to next week.” The casino on the mainland?This was the first Sophie had heard of an excursion off Mirabelle as being part of the wedding festivities. “Oh, good excuse, Uncle Marty,” Kurt teased, running off to join Lauren. “Tomorrow, you guys are going down!” Marty yelled before joining Brittany on the sidelines. “You should have played,” he said to her. “We needed you.” “Are you kidding? Volleyball would so ruin my nails.” Brittany wrapped her arm around Marty’s waist. “You want to come to the casino with us, Soph?” Marty asked. “Nah, I don’t think so.” Sophie didn’t do spur-of-the-moment jaunts off the island. “Oh, come on,” Brittany urged. “It’ll be fun.” Leaving Mirabelle was never Sophie’s idea of fun. It’d been almost a year since the last time she’d gone to the mainland for a back-to-school shopping trip with the kids. Just the idea of getting into a car and driving down a highway at fifty-five miles an hour made her heart race. It hadn’t always been this way. When she’d been young, Sophie had loved heading off into the outside world, but then her dad had died and she’d taken over running the inn. One thing had led to another and before she’d realized it, years had gone by without going to the mainland. Now the only time Sophie ever left Mirabelle was after—andonly after—weeks of advance planning, giving herself time to mentally prepare for stepping into the outside world. Necessity had somehow turned to a quiet acceptance. “You sure you don’t want to come?” Marty asked. “Positive,” Sophie said. “You guys have fun.” As they walked away, she called out, “Hey, Marty?” He spun around. “Yeah?” “Have you seen Noah at all?” “No.” Frowning, he shook his head. “I went up to his house both yesterday and today to visit and drop off a wedding invitation.” “And?” “He never answered the door.” Sophie glanced up the hill.You’ve always been our responsible one, she could hear her parents’ voices. Well, Noah is not my responsibility. Not. Not. Not . The sooner he left this island, the better. For everyone. NOAH STOOD BACK FROMthe sheer curtains covering the front picture window and looked down the hill. From here he could see miles of the Mirabelle shoreline and, out ahead, the seemingly endless expanse of Lake Superior. A white latticed gazebo near the point heralded the beginning of the Rousseau property line and beyond that, a great meandering lawn leading to the Mirabelle Island Inn’s sprawling veranda. Bookended with columned turrets and painted pristine white with a red tiled roof, the inn looked exactly as he remembered it, although the trees had grown, obscuring some of the property. The back lawn of Mirabelle Island Inn, though, he could see as clear as a bell. People were playing croquet and horseshoes. He picked Sophie out at the volleyball net on the beach within seconds. Even if he’d wanted to—which he didn’t—there wasn’t much of a chance he’d be joining that crew. For the last several days, he hadn’t slept for more than a few hours a shot, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been able to hold down more than a mouthful or two of food. He was a mess and he sure as hell didn’t want to bring everyone else down. He tore his gaze away from the window and glanced halfheartedly at the supplies—scrapers, brushes, primer and paint—he’d had delivered from the hardware store. For two days he’d been planning on getting outside and working on the house, and for two days he’d been coming up with excuses to stay inside. It was too hot, too cold, too cloudy, too sunny. Today the excuse was needing to get back to work on his book. He sat at his grandmother’s dining room table and stared at his laptop screen. The file with his manuscript about his stint in Iraq sat there, awaiting a word or two or thirty thousand. No matter what he did, or didn’t do, he couldn’t seem to string a sentence together to save his soul, and he couldn’t motivate himself to care one way or the other. Not only hadn’t he finished the damn thing, he’d yet to sort through his myriad files of photos to be included within the finished book. He hated feeling this way and had no idea what to do to get back some semblance of normalcy, but it was becoming apparent that his doctors had been wrong. He’d been wrong. Coming to Mirabelle had been a mistake. He’d been blissful in his ignorance with regard to Isaac’s death, and being near Sophie was far worse than not thinking about her at all these many years. Sophie.He had a momentary thought of sending her a message. An SOS. Sail a paper airplane down the hill. Leave a window blind at a certain angle. Position rocks in particular patterns along the cobblestone road. Who needed cell phones or text messaging? He and Sophie, grounded or not, had always seemed to get through to each other when they’d needed each other the most. Oh, Soph. Did you ever really love me? That question had run through his mind many times through the years and he never came any closer to an answer, or maybe the answer was one he had a hard time accepting. He’d left and she’d married Isaac. Didn’t that say it all? More than once he’d wondered if Isaac had always had a thing for Sophie. Though Noah’s brother had consistently denied any attraction, the summer Isaac graduated from college and returned home a full-fledged man was the same summer Sophie had bloomed into a woman. A man would have to have been blind not to notice, and it’s not as if there had been a lot of options on the island. What would’ve happened if Noah had stayed on Mirabelle? She would’ve had to choose between the two of them, and Noah had a feeling she wouldn’t have chosen him. The cursor stared at him from his laptop. Start anywhere. The point was to start. Tomorrow. He’d do it tomorrow. Noah dragged himself out of his chair and a jolt of pain, as if someone had suddenly pressed a live electrical wire to his knee, shot through his leg, making him stumble and nearly fall.Damned phantom pains! He flopped onto the couch, pulled off his prosthetic and threw it across the room. It crashed against the wall, making a satisfying hole. “Sorry, Grandma. This isn’t like me, I know. I’m not sure I’ll ever beme again.” Coming back to Mirabelle had been the second biggest mistake of his life. He reached for another bottle of booze he never should’ve had delivered, but then drowning his pain had to be better than wallowing in it. |
“GOOD AFTERNOON, ARLO,” Sophie said as the horse-drawn carriage passed her along Island Drive. After having started work quite early that morning, she’d decided to head to town before dinnertime for a few groceries. Only light, fluffy clouds dotted the clear blue sky and there was enough of a breeze to keep the gnats away. “Ayep.” Arlo nodded back. “That it is, Sophie.” The moment, in fact, would’ve been perfect, except that Arlo was only transporting a single couple from the ferry to their lodging destination. In Mirabelle’s heyday, his carriage as well as at least three more would’ve been loaded to the gills with guests and their luggage. Those booming business days were gone and didn’t look to be coming back any time soon. Sophie’s family had weathered these kinds of slow times before, so the inn would be all right, but she wasn’t sure about some of the other establishments on the island. Resolving to bring up the issue with the town council after Marty’s wedding, Sophie continued her walk toward Main Street. She glanced up Bennett Hill. As far as she knew, Noah hadn’t emerged from his grandmother’s house since the night she’d seen him at the lighthouse. With the blinds and curtains still drawn and no outside activity, the place looked as desolate today as it had before he arrived. He seemed to be taking his promise to stay out of her way to an extreme. Maybe he was in tougher shape than he’d looked. Then again, maybe it was none of her business. She put Noah firmly out of her mind and continued on to Newman’s grocery store. Dan Newman, the owner, was putting out fresh produce on a display as she walked through the entrance. “Hello there, Sophie.” “Hi, Dan.” She put a few oranges in her basket and before she could stop herself asked, “Dan, have you seen Noah Bennett at all?” “Yeah, I heard he was on the island.” “Have you seen him? Here. In your store?” This was, after all, the only place to buy groceries on the island. He pursed his lips. “Nope. Can’t say that I have.” “He hasn’t bought any food?” “Well, he did call here the other day to have some things delivered. Strange, though.” “What?” “We were out of a few things he’d ordered. When our delivery boy took them up later on, he said the other bags were still on the porch.” “Did you call? Make sure Noah was okay?” “It’s really none of my business, Sophie.” “None of your—” Since when had that ever stopped anyone on this island from helping another resident? Except that Noah, from the time he’d turned into an obstinate teenager, had been treated as more of an outsider than an islander, and somehow she’d let herself fall right into step with them. She debated, get involved or stay out of it? Either course held its own pitfalls, but there was only one way to get Noah off her island and out of her life before he turned her world upside down. All over again. After grabbing some staples, she rushed out the door. By the time she reached Grandma Bennett’s front steps, she was out of breath. The grocery bags were no longer on the porch, but there was no sign of life inside. She rang the doorbell. Nothing. Pounded on the door. Still nothing. The door was locked. “Noah!” she yelled and then listened for any answering sounds. She pounded again. “Dammit, Noah, are you in there?” “Go away.” Although the voice coming from inside the house was muffled, there was no doubt it was Noah. “Open the door!” He wasn’t moving around in there. If memory served, Grandma Bennett had always kept an extra key under a rock by the garden hose in the back. Sophie ran around the corner of the house, found the old key nearly buried under years of decaying leaves and debris, and let herself in through the kitchen. Despite being sunny and seventy-five degrees outside, the house was dark and had a dank feel. “Noah?” “Dammit, Sophie. Go away.” She found him in the living room, lying on the couch, looking as if he hadn’t shaved in a month. He was wearing shorts, making the fact that he wasn’t wearing his prosthetic immediately apparent. The vision of his leg cut off just below his knee made her throat close with emotion, but then she noticed the empty bottle of tequila on the floor by the coffee table. “Are you drunk?” “Why do you care?” “I don’t.” He put his hands on either side of his head as if holding it together. “Go away. I don’t want you here.” He was pale, thin and obviously waking up from a long and drawn-out binge. “You’ve got a hangover.” “Yeah. So?” “Well, this is great. Perfect.” Disgusted, she shook her head. “This is how you go about getting better, huh?” He didn’t answer. “I don’t know how you lost your leg and, honestly, I don’t care. But you’re alive. Get off your ass and quit feeling sorry for yourself.” His angry gaze settled on her face. “Who the hell do you think you are?” Good. His antagonism was good. She could deal with him just fine when he was like this. “Apparently, the only person on this island who gives a damn whether you live or die.” He rolled away. Wouldn’t look at her. “Poor Noah,” Sophie said. “Got his foot blown off and now his life is over.” “Screw you.” “Wouldn’t you like to try.” “Maybe I would.” For a moment, he glared at her, looking for all the world as if he might be furious enough to make good on the threat. “Go away, Sophie.” Ignoring him, she glanced around expecting to find dirty dishes and opened bags of food scattered around the house. Instead, there was only the clutter of newspapers, magazines and, of all things, a handgun lying on the coffee table. His prosthetic lay on the floor below a nice big hole in the wall. It certainly looked as if what he’d said the other night at the lighthouse was true. He wasn’t eating, and he wasn’t sleeping. He was angry and frustrated and taking it out on his grandmother’s house and himself. She had to admit, though, the gun bothered her more than anything. “What’s the gun for?” “Nothing. It’s what happens when you hang with the military as much as I have.” “That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one.” “It’s none of your damned business.” Anger, red-hot and piercing, surged inside her. “Well, why don’t you just pick it up then, and put yourself out of your misery.” “Trust me. I’ve thought about it.” This was not the Noah she’d known most of her life. Where was the young boy with the mischievous smirk? The young man who could beat anyone around the island in a kayak? The man whose passion for life had come through in every one of his articles and books? Yes, she’d read them. Every single one. This was not the man who, over the years, had exposed political issues and brought to light famine and genocide all over the world. If he kept on like this, he would end up being on Mirabelle for months, years even. There was no way she was living with that, not if she had anything to say about it. She picked up the phone and dialed. |
CHAPTER SIX “MIRABELLEISLANDINN,”Jan said, her voice clear and pleasant as she answered Sophie’s phone call. “Jan, it’s Sophie. If anyone’s looking for me,” she said, walking into the kitchen and loading the few dirty dishes into the dishwasher, “I’m going to be gone for a little while, okay?” “Oh, no, you’re not!” Noah yelled, sitting up. Sophie ignored him and started the cleaning cycle. “Sure. Everything’s under control,” Jan said. “Are you all right?” “I’m fine.” She rummaged through the groceries, still sitting in bags on the kitchen counter and took out a can of soup. “Can you check in with the kids and have them call my cell if they need me?” “Go away, Sophie!” Noah was putting on his leg. “No problem,” Jan said, hesitant. “Where are you? Who’s yelling in the background?” Sophie dumped the soup into a pan and set it to warming on the stove top. “If there’s an emergency, I’ll be at Grandma Bennett’s.” “No, you won’t,” Noah muttered. A short pause hung over the phone line before Jan said, “Sophie, you may have forgotten, but I remember very clearly what you went through after Noah left. I don’t think I had a dry shoulder for months—” “Trust me, Jan, I remember. This is no big deal.” “Listen to her, Soph,” he mumbled, standing and heading toward the kitchen. “You shouldn’t be here.” Another pause on the phone line. “When will you be home?” “In a couple hours,” Sophie said. “All right. I’ll take care of everything.” Sophie hung up, sidestepped past a very angry Noah and ran upstairs, stripped the sheets off the bed he’d obviously been tossing and turning in and snapped up a towel from the bathroom floor. She went back downstairs and threw the linens in the washing machine. When she turned around, Noah was standing in the laundry room doorway, blocking her exit. The young Noah she remembered was gone and in his place was a man. An angry, sullen, brooding man. Broad shouldered and built. Though his hospital stay had likely set him back a bit, he was still an intimidating presence. Physical awareness zapped her hard and fast. This laundry room was much too small for the two of them. “I don’t want you here,” he snapped. “Too bad.” She pushed past him, went into the kitchen and checked the soup. It’d do. She dumped the contents of the pan into a bowl, smacked the bowl onto the table and stepped back, setting her hands on her hips. Who knew when he’d last taken any food. “Sit,” she said. “Eat.” He didn’t budge. Then he grimaced as if in pain and his shoulders sagged. “Just go, Sophie. Please.” He leaned against the doorway, taking his weight off his left leg. “No,” she said. “Not until you eat something.” “If it makes you feel any better,” he muttered, looking away, “I still can’t hold anything down.” “If you want me gone, you’ll have to try.” Without a word, he dropped onto the chair and shoved three spoonfuls of soup into his mouth. “More,” she said. “You want me to throw up? Are you getting some kind of sick pleasure out of this?” “Maybe I am.” She opened a package of saltine crackers and tossed it onto the table next to him. “These should settle your stomach.” She glanced into his eyes, saw the flash of heat there and felt an instantaneous response.Traitor. But then what did she expect? For most of their childhood, Noah had been like a brother to Sophie and then almost overnight, her hormones had kicked in and changed everything between them. She hadn’t been able to stop watching his lips, had been obsessed with wanting to find out what it would be like to kiss, not just any boy, but Noah. Only Noah. It had taken him a while to catch up to her hormone-laden train of thoughts. When he finally did, they hadn’t been able to keep their hands off each other. By the time they were in tenth grade they were secretly necking during recess, after school and every other chance they got to be alone. Sophie and Noah. Noah and Sophie. Hand in hand. Arm in arm. Until they’d gotten caught sneaking off to a janitorial closet during a school-wide assembly and the principal had been forced to call their parents. From then on, their freedom had been gone, but the separation, the constant monitoring, only made the times they’d managed to be alone together all the more special. They’d been forced to get sneaky. By the time they were seniors in high school, they had their routines down pat. They’d planned times when they were sure they could be alone, like when their parents were neck-deep in tourists. With blankets, lanterns and food and drinks in coolers, they’d snuck away on kayaks or sailboats to the other uninhabited islands. Where no one could find them. Where no one could interrupt. Where exploring sex had turned into making love. Oh, no. You are not going there. Get done what you need to and get the hell out of here. She stalked into the living room, drew back the curtains and opened the blinds, letting the afternoon sun blaze inside. By the time she’d propped open the front door and gone back to the kitchen, Noah was taking the last spoonful of soup. “Now.” She leveled her gaze on him, ready for an argument. “When’s the last time you got any exercise or at least some fresh air?” His answering chuckle held absolutely no humor. “Sophie, I’m not a child.” “Then quit acting like one.” “I understand what you’re trying to do, and there’s no point.” “You came here to get better, right? Well, it’s not going to happen all on its own.” “Why?” He slammed his spoon onto the table and stared at her. “Why do you care?” “I don’t!” she yelled back. “Then why are you doing this?” “Because as long as you’re sitting around feeling sorry for yourself you won’t be getting better.” He’d be disrupting her thoughts, her life. She couldn’t let him disrupt Kurt’s and Lauren’s lives. She put her hands on her hips and met his gaze. “I want you the hell off my island! The sooner, the better.” GET HIM BETTER SO HE COULDleave Mirabelle. Nowthat made sense to Noah, but there was no way he was spending any more time around Sophie than absolutely necessary. God help them both if either one of them started caring for the other again. “You need to leave.” He pushed himself up from the table and hobbled back to the sofa in the living room. He’d no sooner sat down than pain ripped through his body. He stiffened and closed his eyes, letting short bursts of air puff out from between his lips. “Noah,” she said, “what’s happening?” “Phantom pains,” he grunted. “Feels like an electrical shock zapping my leg.” “Can I do anything?” “No,” he bit out. “It’ll pass.” “There’s no medication for that?” she asked. “Painkillers don’t do a thing.” He waved a hand at the prescription bottles sitting on the coffee table. “Believe me, I’ve tried every pill under the sun.” “Physical therapy?” The worst of the pain subsided and he ran his hands over his face. “They’ve been trying something new with mirrors that they say makes a difference.” He motioned toward a full-length mirror leaning against the wall. “But it sounds like a bunch of hooey to me.” “You should be trying anything and everything to get better.” “I should, huh? What do you know?” Who the hell did she think she was? Florence Freaking Nightingale? “You have no clue what I’m going through.” “You need—” “What I need is for you to leave!” “I’m not—” “Get the fuck out of here, Sophie! Now!” She stepped back as if he’d hit her. “What happened to the Noah I knew?” “Long gone, Sophie, and he won’t ever be coming back.” “You’re pathetic. You know that?” Rousing, she charged into the kitchen and came back carrying an unopened bottle of whiskey. Slamming the bottle down on the coffee table, she said, “There you go, Noah. Knock yourself out.” Then she left. The door slammed and Noah cringed as the noise reverberated in his head. Thank God she was gone. Blissful silence settled over his grandmother’s house as he stared at the whiskey.Why the hell not? Reaching for the bottle, he barely managed to crack it open.Pathetic? Hell, yes. Sophie had always known him better than anyone else. THE NEXT DAY, SOPHIE POUNDEDon Grandma Bennett’s front door sometime in the late afternoon. When Noah, all but passed out on the living room sofa, didn’t answer, she let herself in, apparently having kept his grandmother’s spare house key. Without a word, she made him more soup, carried it into the living room along with a banana and announced, “I’m not leaving until that food is gone.” Noah glared at her for a few minutes, but then caved, his stomach feeling like an empty pit. The moment he finished his last bite, she took off out the front door without another word. They went through the same charade the next day and the next. Each time, she added more food items and meatier portions, but never said anything. On the fifth day, she brought a meal from the inn. The moment she opened the take-out container, the smells of Josie’s beef Stroganoff hit his senses and his stomach growled with hunger. Like it or not, her tactic was working. He hadn’t swallowed a drop of liquor in two days. He was sleeping marginally better and his metabolism was giving it a good go, forcing him to have to supplement the meals she’d been bringing him. She held out the food. “So are you up for a walk today?” “I don’t need your help. I can do this on my own.” |
| الساعة الآن 12:55 PM |
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