by C. B. Clark
He’d tried to connect with her, but she’d shut him out, ignoring his countless phone calls and text messages. He’d even flown to Calgary and waited for hours in the cold on her doorstep. His heart had shattered when she’d pulled her car into the driveway, saw him waiting, and without a word, backed her car out and drove away.
Her silence made her feelings crystal clear. He’d fulfilled his part of their bargain, and she had her answers. She didn’t need him anymore. Not that he blamed her. She’d never hidden the fact that theirs was a business agreement. He just hadn’t believed her.
He’d tried to get on with his life. Once the transfer of Angus’s estate was finalized, a ton of work at the office awaited him, but he’d lost his spark. He went through the day-to-day motions at work, but it was like he was in a daze. He didn’t care about the business, profit margins, board meetings, nothing.
Seven days ago, she broke her icy silence and called and asked him to take her to Sewell Island. And like a goddamned fool, he jumped at the chance to see her again, and he’d agreed. She needed to reach the isolated island. He had a sailboat. Who better than good old Russ to take her?
Sucker.
She was using him…again. The sooner he accepted that, the better. He was angry—you bet he was—but, God help him, he loved her. She was still reeling from JD’s shocking revelations, and in spite of her making her feelings—or rather, her lack of feelings—for him clear, he ached to ease her burden of pain. He’d stopped questioning the ridiculousness of his love. She’d claimed a part of his soul. It was as simple and as complicated as that.
He hadn’t told her of his powerful feelings. Men didn’t bare their souls. Not to anyone. At least, that’s what Angus had always told him. Men buried their feelings and carried on. No matter how much it hurt. His mouth twisted in a grimace. He was a bloody coward, terrified that if he revealed how much he cared, she’d reject him.
Too late, buddy. She’s already kicked you to the curb.
Brushing off the snide inner voice, he focused on the boat and checked the depth finder. Dropping the anchor, he allowed the boat to drift back as he paid out the chain. The boat shuddered and jerked as the anchor dug into the seafloor for the initial set.
Without having to be asked, Athena started the engine and slowly increased the revs.
Once the anchor was set, he secured the chain on deck by tying off the snubber. They worked together like a well-oiled machine, requiring little verbal communication. Good thing, since she’d hardly spoken to him since they departed Vancouver.
The next hours would be even more difficult. Would seeing the spot where her parents had been buried result in the closure she so desperately wanted? Or would this trip be the catalyst that drove her deeper into her grief and farther from him? He glanced at her pale face, hollow cheeks, and slender form, and a fierce protectiveness filled him. Whatever the outcome, he vowed he’d be there, broken heart and all. At least he’d stay until she stomped on his heart…again.
Yep. He was a goddamned fool, all right.
****
The ocean pitched and rolled, and Athena grabbed the safety straps and balanced on the wobbly stern bench seat. Sea spray chilled her face as Russ hefted the oars and rowed the rubber dinghy toward the nearby shore.
Unfazed by the rocking, Otis perched in the bow, tail wagging, panting with excitement at the adventure.
Russ powered the little craft through the breaking surf and onto the smooth sand, and Otis leaped out of the dinghy, splashed to shore, and raced down the beach, his back paws raising clumps of wet sand.
With less enthusiasm, Russ jumped out and held the raft steady while Athena clambered onto shore. She shrugged off her life jacket and studied the stretch of smooth, golden sand, breathing in the familiar scents of salt, fish, and rich cedar. They couldn’t have picked a better day. The sky was a brilliant blue, and the afternoon sun was a warm caress on her back.
A forest of towering evergreens sat atop a bluff, and a bald eagle, its white head gleaming, perched on a branch high above the beach, surveying his kingdom.
She swallowed over the lump in her throat and fought the ever-present sting of tears. Ever since JD confessed the awful truth of the events of that long-ago day on Shelter Island, she’d struggled against an overwhelming darkness that threatened to engulf her and take her down. As soon as the police completed their investigation, she’d broken her sobriety. Giving in to the urge to drink was wrong in so many ways, but as she struggled to make sense of the past, she needed the crutch alcohol offered. More than she ever had.
Clara convinced her to seek counseling, and Athena had reluctantly agreed. To her surprise, she liked the counselor and had met with her three times so far. The intensive therapy sessions helped, and she’d cut back on her drinking, but she hadn’t garnered the strength to quit.
Not yet.
Her life was a mess. No question. Russ’s solicitousness made her even more aware of what she’d lost and what that loss cost her. The irony was too much to bear. At long last she’d met a man she loved, but her emotional baggage stood in the way of happiness. Her spirit was damaged, and she feared she’d never be able to love him the way he deserved.
Besides, what could he see in her? She was a woman who’d been sober seven days, a woman who’d probably drink again. Even if she didn’t drink, even if she somehow managed to beat back the beast, she’d fight her demons forever. That was the thing with being an alcoholic—there wasn’t a cure. Alcoholism was a lifelong affliction.
Russ was hurt by her feigned indifference, but shutting him out was the only way to protect him, even though keeping her distance was nearly killing her. She had to straighten out her life, stop drinking for more than a week, and heal her wounds before she could open her heart.
When she’d asked him to take her to Sewell Island, she knew seeing him again was risky. She could have hired a boat and sailed there herself, but she’d wanted Russ at her side, needed his strength and unswerving compassion. How else could she face this new nightmare? And so, she’d been selfish…and foolish.
She wasn’t surprised when he’d agreed to her request. He was always there for her, always had her back. That was why, when this venture was over, she was walking away. He deserved so much better. She refused to saddle him with someone so flawed.
Otis barked and galloped across the beach, bounding over driftwood and snapping at clumps of bull kelp, jubilant to be off the boat.
At least he was happy with this adventure. She wasn’t so certain, but her therapist had suggested visiting the place where JD buried her parents might bring her peace.
“Are you sure this is what you want?”
Russ’s deep voice broke through her thoughts. “I…I think so.” She chewed her bottom lip. “Thank you. Thank you for—” She coughed and cleared her throat. How could she express in mere words how much his being at her side meant? “Thanks,” she said again. Not good enough, but all she could muster.
“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
His words soothed her soul like warm honey, and she wanted nothing more than to fall into his arms. Steeling her heart, she inhaled a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and followed the faint indentation in the rocky ground up the hill.
Puffing from the steep climb, she wiped her damp brow. The past few days had been unseasonably warm, with little wind and no clouds. The drone of insects filled the air, and she swatted at a fly buzzing her face. The surrounding forest was ancient, the bark on the towering tree trunks thick and rough, scarred from winter storms. Old, twisted roots broke through the rocky ground like the humps of serpents.
Otis galloped past her and into the trees, searching for squirrels and rabbits.
“From what the police told me, the grave site should be over there.” Russ pointed at a tall Sitka spruce tree overlooking the bay.
A carpet of yellow-and-purple wildflowers, leafy ferns, and emerald-green clumps of moss covered the rocky ground. The branches of
the ancient spruce tree offered welcome shade from the hot sun.
Bees buzzed and butterflies flitted amidst the flowers. A raven croaked from somewhere deep in the forest. The sun filtered through the canopy of branches and dappled the clearing. Two identical, rectangular depressions, a mound of rich, black dirt piled beside them, were hollowed out in the ground beneath the tall spruce tree.
This was where JD had buried her parents, where their bodies had rested until the police dug them up two weeks ago. Tears stung her eyes, and she staggered and would have fallen if Russ hadn’t caught her and held her close, enveloping her in his strong arms. She clung, breathing him into her soul, taking strength from his calm presence.
“You don’t have to do this. Not now.” He smoothed his hands over her back. “Not until you’re ready.”
She shrugged off his warm, comforting embrace, knowing that if she weakened now, she’d shatter into a million tiny pieces.
He stiffened, and the softness left his face.
She grimaced at the sour taste of self-disgust that filled her mouth. She’d hurt him…again…but she had to do this next step on her own. Had to prove, if only to herself, that she was strong, that she could bear these next minutes.
She stared at the depressions in the ground, her feet rooted in place. Her heart thundered so loud the pounding drowned out the distant, surging surf. She swallowed back tears. All the years she’d wasted, praying her parents would miraculously appear, and they’d be a family again. Years of living with the fear she wasn’t good enough, that her parents had abandoned her. The anger and hatred she’d harbored for Angus Crawford, the drinking to escape her pain…
The warm spring breeze ruffled her hair.
You can do this.
Breathing in deep, slow breaths, she placed one foot in front of the other and crossed the small, sunlit meadow and sank to her knees. Sobs wracked her as she clutched handfuls of the cold dirt.
Long shadows stretched across the ground by the time her tears eased, and a wash of peace unfurled deep within her belly, inching like liquid honey through her veins, dissolving the block of ice encasing her heart. She rose to her feet, her muscles stiff, and wiped the tears from her face with a tissue she tugged from the pocket of her shorts.
The long nightmare of never knowing what happened to her parents was over. She could let go of the hurt and uncertainty. Her parents hadn’t deserted her. They hadn’t chosen to leave. Sadness and remorse remained, but the burden of guilt she’d carried for so many years eased. She’d lost so much, but mixed in with the grief was a new, burgeoning hope.
Russ leaned against a tree trunk on the far side of the clearing, where he’d waited still and silent, while she worked through her grief. His face was in shadow and his expression impossible to read.
Otis lay beside him, his head resting on his front paws, his gaze fixed on her.
She wiped away her tears, smiled a tremulous smile, and crossed the clearing, and met Russ under the leafy branches of the statuesque Douglas fir.
“Are you okay, Athena?”
His rugged good looks tugged at her heart. His strong cheekbones and firm chin were offset by the surprising softness of his full mouth. Warmth flooded her, filling her with a sense of rightness. This wonderful man had been with her every step of the way on this difficult journey, always at her side, never demanding more than she was able to give. She took his hand in hers. “Call me Maggie.”
“Maggie?”
“Yes, Maggie.” She said the name aloud again. And again. “Maggie.” It sounded different on her tongue, yet familiar and comforting, like she was shrugging into a comfy sweater. Her smile widened. “It’s time I reclaimed my birth name, don’t you think?”
“Maggie.” He grinned, white teeth gleaming, dimple flashing. “I like the sound of that.” He wrapped his arms around her.
Otis barked as if in agreement, as she snuggled into Russ’s embrace, secure in his strong arms, relishing the closeness before reality set in.
“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” Russ’s voice rumbled in his chest. “You’re going back to Calgary.”
She nodded. “I have to know everything. JD said my father found out my true parentage just before he died, but Clara told me my father knew my mother was pregnant with Angus’s child before William married her.”
He smoothed a lock of her hair from her forehead. “Maybe JD wasn’t telling the truth.”
“He confessed to murder, blackmail, and drug smuggling. Why would he lie about whether William knew I was his child or not?” She inhaled a shaky breath. “I need to hear Clara tell me what really happened. I can’t shake the feeling she’s keeping things from me.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“No.” She swallowed. “This is something I have to do on my own.”
He studied her, his golden gaze delving deep, and then he nodded. “Okay.”
He leaned closer and kissed her on the lips, a deep, curl-your-toes kind of kiss—the kind of kiss love stories were written about. A kiss she’d spent her life dreaming of.
Biting back a groan, she kissed him back. Hard. Her chest was heaving and her body on fire by the time they broke apart.
He studied her with a heavy-lidded gaze. “Do what you have to do, Maggie. Just make sure you come back…to me.”
Her heart thudded, and she nodded.
Chapter 42
She raised her hand and knocked on the shiny black door. A glow of lights shone through the beveled glass. It had taken all her strength of will to say goodbye to Russ and Otis at the Vancouver airport. Already she missed them.
Every time she closed her eyes, Russ’s image rose before her. He was all she thought of, all she dreamed about. Unspoken words had burned in her throat, desperate to be set free, but she hadn’t told him she loved him. How could she when the future was so uncertain and more secrets waited to be uncovered?
The door swung open, and a blaze of light streamed onto the porch. “Athena! What a pleasant surprise. I wondered when you’d get back from the coast.”
Maggie gulped, at a loss for words. Mouthing the usual pleasantries seemed ridiculous, but she couldn’t blurt out the real reason she’d come. Not yet. “My name’s Maggie.”
Clara blinked. “Maggie?”
Maggie nodded. “I’ve decided to reclaim my old name.”
“It’s about time.” Tears welled in Clara’s faded blue eyes. “Your parents would be so happy. They loved the name Maggie.” Her brow furrowed. “Are you okay? You seem—” She waved her hand in the air as if searching for words. “—upset.”
“I need to talk to you.” Maggie swallowed back a lump and blinked against the sting of tears. This wasn’t going to be easy.
“Of course.” Clara opened the door wider. “Come in, my dear.”
Stepping into the over-warm house, Maggie hung her coat in the hall closet, slipped off her shoes, and set them on the mat like she’d done hundreds of times. The normalcy of the simple actions gave her courage for the coming confrontation.
Clara fussed about like a mother hen, smoothing Maggie’s hair, straightening the collar of her blouse, all while mouthing a steady stream of loving platitudes.
She followed her aunt through the small, tastefully decorated living room, past the television where a game show was playing, the canned laughter loud, and into the cozy kitchen. Drawing out a wooden chair, she sat at her usual spot at the antique, round maple table and clenched her hands in her lap.
Clara filled the kettle and set the old, dented pot on the stove to boil. Opening the pantry door, she removed a container, pried off the lid, and lifted out several cookies. She arranged them on a plate and set the plate on the table in front of Maggie. “I had a feeling you’d be stopping by, so I made these yesterday. Chocolate chip and macadamia nut—your favorite.”
The sweet scent of rich milk chocolate filled the air, but Maggie’s stomach roiled. She couldn’t eat, not with so much resting on the next few minutes. She shoved th
e plate of cookies away.
“Eat up, dear.” Clara tsked. “You’re far too thin.” The kettle whistled with a high-pitched shriek, and she tossed two tea bags into a dainty, rose-patterned china teapot. Lifting the steaming kettle, she poured boiling water into the teapot.
Maggie glanced at the familiar surroundings—the soft, butter-yellow walls, the golden oak cupboards, and the gleaming laminate countertops. The sunlight reflected like a yellow flame off the row of lush potted plants set on the windowsill. How many times had she sat in this same chair while she’d cried out her woes over a cup of tea and awaited Clara’s sage advice?
Her aunt was the closest thing to a mother Maggie had for the past twenty-three years. Clara gave up so much to raise her orphaned niece, and never once complained. How could Maggie question her honesty?
Clara poured tea into two, dainty china teacups and set one in front of Maggie. She sank onto the facing chair, added two spoonsful of sugar to her own cup, and stirred. “Okay. Now tell me about your trip to Sewell Island. Did…did you find—” Her throat worked. “—what you were looking for?”
The concern on the older woman’s face brought a fresh sting of tears, but Maggie steeled her heart. She was there to find answers. She inhaled a breath for courage. “Did you know that my mother and Angus continued their affair after I was born?”
Clara’s face paled, and a heavy silence descended on the overheated kitchen. “What…what are you talking about?” Her actions were as good as a confession.
Maggie tapped her fingers on the tabletop, her nails clicking a rapid beat. “Come on, Aunt Clara, it’s time you told me the truth.”
Clara worked her bottom lip with her teeth, chewing off her shiny, cherry-red lipstick. Her narrow shoulders slumped, and she looked every day of her seventy-four years. She set her cup on the saucer with a loud clatter. “Your mother and Angus knew what they were doing was wrong, but they couldn’t stay away from each other.”