by C. B. Clark
Maggie picked up a cookie and crumbled it between her fingers. JD had told the truth. “My mother cheated on my father for years.”
“She wasn’t proud of her actions, but telling William of the affair would have devastated him.” Clara’s lips tightened, deepening the fine lines grooved around her mouth. “You’ve always been wrong about Angus. He was a good man, and he wanted the best for you. That’s why he dropped his custody claim when the publicity over your parents’ disappearance blew up all over the news. He realized the best thing for you was for him to keep his distance. If news of his affair with Anna and your true parentage came out, your life would have become even more of a circus.” She met Maggie’s gaze. “He loved you enough to let you go.”
There it was again, the reference to the fact that Angus Crawford loved her. An image of his cold eyes and austere bearing flashed before her, and she shuddered. “He didn’t want me until he realized he wasn’t going to have any other children.”
“That’s not true. He watched over you from a distance and made sure you didn’t want for anything. He even paid me—” Clara’s hand flew to her mouth.
“Paid you?” Maggie’s heart thudded. “For what?”
“Never mind. I shouldn’t have said anything.” Clara struggled to her feet, grabbed her cup, and shuffled to the counter, then refilled the cup with hot tea from the pot. “Whether he paid me or not isn’t important. Not anymore. Your parents are gone. Angus is gone.” There was a hitch in her throat. “They’re all gone.”
Maggie slammed her palms hard on the table. Cookie crumbs scattered, spilling onto the floor. “Why did you accept his money?”
Tears filled Clara’s eyes and streamed down her seamed cheeks. “He…he paid me to look after you. I needed the money…I had to quit my job and move…”
Maggie sucked in a breath. “Why would he pay you—” Before the thought fully formed, she knew the answer. “You’re not my aunt, are you?”
Clara’s lips trembled. “When your parents vanished, Angus hired me to be your guardian. We both decided it would be easier if you assumed that I was your mother’s long-estranged sister, a blood relation.”
“That’s all I was to you—” She sneered. “—a paycheck?” Maggie rubbed the burning knot in her stomach.
“No, it wasn’t like that. I—” Clara must have seen the disgust on Maggie’s face, because she stopped trying to defend her actions. “Okay, I’ll admit that at first, looking after you was just a job, and Angus paid good money. But soon—very soon—I grew to love you.” She sniffled. “I still do.”
Maggie swept the cookie crumbs into a pile. She wanted to believe Clara, but this woman had lied to her for over twenty years. How could Maggie trust anything she said?
Clara set her cup on the table, pushed up from her chair, and plodded to a cupboard. Reaching to the top shelf, she removed a large, leather-bound book and plopped it on the table in front of Maggie. “Look through this photo album, and then tell me I looked after you just for the money.” She heaved a heavy sigh and shuffled out of the room.
In the silence of the empty kitchen, Clara’s plodding footsteps and the closing of her bedroom door were loud. The ticking of the clock on the wall and a steady drip from the faucet echoed in the tiny kitchen. The familiar scents of chamomile tea, fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies, and lemon furniture polish filled the air.
Brushing the cookie crumbs aside, Maggie slid the album closer. She wiped her palms on her leggings and lifted the cover. Color photographs of her as a child filled the page, starting in the first months after she arrived at her aunt’s—she grimaced—Clara’s place. She’d been a thin child, all gangly arms and legs, with a mass of shoulder-length, red frizzy hair. The sadness in the hollows of her blue eyes was haunting.
An ember of warmth melted the block of ice in her chest. Clara had welcomed her into her home, and her life, with kindness and compassion. Without her support, Maggie wouldn’t have survived those first bleak months.
She flipped the page. Page after page of pictures tracked the major and minor events in her life…birthdays, Christmases, summer holidays, high school graduation, prom… Beneath each photo, written in Clara’s precise script, was a caption and date. Tears filled Maggie’s eyes, blurring the images.
The photographs weren’t like the sterile, impersonal ones she’d found in the cardboard boxes in Angus’s cottage. An irrefutable truth shone from every page and in every lovingly captured moment—Clara loved her. Looking after Maggie might have begun as a good-paying job, but no blood-related aunt could have cared for a niece more.
She looked up at the soft rustle of a footstep.
Clara stood in the kitchen doorway. Anxious concern shone from her pale eyes.
“How can I ever thank you?” Maggie patted the photo album. “All these years, you’ve looked after me and wanted only the best for me.” She swallowed back tears. “I’m sorry I doubted you.”
Tears gleamed in Clara’s eyes, but a brilliant smile lit her wrinkled face, making her look years younger. “Don’t thank me, Maggie. I’d do it again in a heartbeat. I only wish I’d told you the truth from the beginning.”
Dozens of emotions rioted through Maggie. “I don’t know what to think. My entire life has been a lie.”
“You’ve had a lot thrust upon you these past months.” Clara’s veined hand patted Maggie’s arm. “Why don’t you take a holiday? Get away from everything and give yourself time to think?”
The words ignited a spark that flared into a flame. A holiday. What a great idea. Maggie leaped up and hugged Clara. “Thanks, Aunt…er…Clara.”
Clara’s forehead wreathed in furrows. “What did I say?”
“I have to go. I’m going on a trip…a sailing trip.” She smiled at the perplexed expression on the other woman’s face, but she didn’t have time to explain.
She flew out of Clara’s house, leaving the old woman standing openmouthed in her doorway. “I’ll call and let you know where I am.” She bounded down the porch steps and ran to her car. “Oh, and by the way, I love you, Aunt Clara.”
Tears filled Clara’s eyes. “I love you too, dear. Say hello to your young man.”
Epilogue
Maggie closed her eyes and raised her face toward the burning yellow orb in the cloudless sky, reveling in the soothing warmth. The Minerva rocked in the gentle swells. A light breeze freshened and teased the tendrils of hair escaping her short ponytail. Gulls swooped overhead, their raucous cries and the lap of waves against the hull the only sounds in the clear afternoon. Sensing a presence behind her, she turned. Her heart skipped a beat, and an instant rush of heat and desire melted her bones.
The past months had wrought changes to Russ’s handsome face. The tension carving the lines bracketing the corners of his mouth had vanished, replaced by a relaxed contentment that softened the harsh planes of his rugged features. “Won’t be long now.” He smiled, the golden lights in his hazel eyes sparking. “We’re almost there.”
She tore her gaze from his. The first hint of a bluish dark shape appeared on the horizon. “You’re sure you’re okay with this?”
A shaft of sunlight glowed across his face.
His smile widened, and the dimple she found so irresistible popped out in his lean cheek.
“I’m most definitely okay.”
She returned his smile. Hard to believe she was so happy. The shocking events of the past seemed a distant memory; the ghosts that had plagued her finally laid to rest.
There was no longer any doubt. She’d completed a paternity test using skin cells from the inside of her cheek and hairs she found in a hairbrush Angus had used in his home in West Vancouver. The results weren’t a surprise. Angus was her biological father, but William O’Flynn would always be her real father. He’d raised her, loved her, and in the short time she’d had with him, he’d laid the groundwork that helped her become the woman she was today.
With Russ’s help, she’d issued a press release ex
plaining the events of the past months and the details of Angus’s will. The media had gone ballistic, and a feeding frenzy ensued. For a few days, life was a nightmare. But the reporters accepted her request for privacy and chased after JD and his son for the lurid details. The furor soon died down.
Since she and Russ had scooped Steve, his true-crime book about her family had lost its attraction, and agents and producers weren’t interested. He’d quit his job as caretaker on Shelter Island and was on to other adventures.
The past months were like a dream. After leaving Clara’s house, Maggie had stopped at her own home only long enough to pack a bag and let her neighbor know she was going away for an extended vacation.
She’d flown back to the West Coast, and Russ and Otis met her at the airport. Otis was ecstatic, and after she confessed her love to Russ, he was pretty happy too. One thing led to another and, before she had time to come to grips with her new dream life, she and Russ were married in a small city hall ceremony in downtown Vancouver.
Otis, freshly washed and clipped, had stood in as Russ’s best man, the ring pinned to the dog’s collar as he’d pranced, tail high, tongue lolling, down the short aisle.
Clara had flown out and walked Maggie down the aisle.
Tears of happiness had been shed by all, except Otis. He’d become so excited he piddled on the city clerk’s glossy shoe. After much embarrassment and many apologies, he was forgiven.
They’d returned to Russ’s penthouse apartment and enjoyed a salmon barbecue and several glasses of non-alcoholic champagne.
Otis ate a dish full of kibble and gnawed on a new beef-flavored chew toy.
It was the happiest day of Maggie’s life.
Bar none.
In the months since then, they’d moved aboard the Minerva and had spent the past month sailing around the Salish Sea, through the Gulf Islands, and north to the remote, rugged islands of Haida Gwaii. Their days were filled with happiness as they sailed past schools of dolphins, spotted killer whales frolicking in the waves hunting salmon, and even had a memorable close encounter with a curious humpback whale.
At night, she and Russ snuggled on the berth beneath warm blankets, expressing their love. Otis sprawled on the floor beside them on his padded bed and snored the night away. Everything was so perfect, she feared she’d wake up one morning and discover her life was a wonderful dream, and all her happiness had vanished.
Her heart bled for the tragedy of her parents’ untimely deaths. She hadn’t wrapped her brain around that loss, but the heavy cloak of grief that had been her constant companion for most of her life had lightened. Knowing her parents hadn’t deserted her, that they’d loved her until their unfortunate deaths, brought peace to her ravaged soul.
When she awakened in the middle of the night in the throes of a nightmare, tears streaming down her face and dampening her pillow, Russ held her in his arms until her tears eased, and she fell back asleep.
One hundred and eighty days.
One hundred and eighty unbelievable days sober.
A record.
One she had every intention of continuing. The urge to drink lurked like a shark, waiting for her to weaken and give in to her craving, but each day she didn’t drink was a celebration. And with each passing day, the desire to imbibe eased.
They were sailing to Shelter Island and planned to live in Angus’s cottage for the next few months as a sort of extended honeymoon. Russ had taken a leave of absence from work. He no longer wanted to run Angus’s company, and he had plans to sell the business. At long last, he was going to follow his lifelong artistic dream and paint. Where better to find inspiring seascapes than Shelter Island?
“Penny for your thoughts.”
Russ’s deep voice broke through her musings, and she smiled. “I’m just thinking that it’s been a long time since I’ve been so happy.” Her smile widened. “And that’s all because of you.”
He smoothed a strand of hair from her face. “You make me pretty happy too.”
Unable to resist, she nuzzled her lips to his. The kiss deepened until they were both gasping for air, and her pulse pounded in her chest.
He pulled back and looked at her with passion-glazed eyes. “This probably isn’t a good idea.”
“What are you talking about? This is the best idea we’ve had, at least since last night.” Her face heated as she recalled the loving they’d shared in the cramped berth below deck as the boat rocked at its moorings.
He slid his hand under the light cotton fabric of her shirt and caressed her stomach. “What about Junior? Won’t making love risk harming him?”
She chuckled. “We don’t have to worry about that for months. Besides, I’m sure she won’t mind that her parents are in love and can’t get enough of each other.”
“Well, then…” He scooped her in his arms and carried her across the Minerva’s polished wooden deck and down the hatchway to the berth.
Otis trotted behind.
She smiled in keen anticipation. Yesterday, before they set sail, she’d found out she was expecting. They hadn’t been trying to conceive a child, but they hadn’t not been trying either. The news was welcomed with shouts of joy from Russ and excited barking from Otis.
Her life was complete. She had everything she’d ever wanted, everything she desired, Russ, the love of her life—she rested her hand on her still-flat stomach—and the new life growing in her womb that they’d created together.
Otis barked and padded to the berth. He lifted his front paw onto her lap and regarded her with wounded eyes.
She chuckled and rubbed behind his ears. “Don’t worry, boy. You’re part of this adventure. We’re a team, right?”
He licked her hand and yipped agreement.
“Hey. What about me? Aren’t I part of the team?” Russ’s laughter swirled in the air like liquid honey.
She arched her brows. “What do you think, Otis? Should we let Russ into our inner circle?”
Otis barked and spun, his nails scrabbling on the smooth planking.
She grinned. “Looks like the jury’s reached a verdict.”
The corners of Russ’s eyes crinkled. “And? What’s the decision?”
“You’re in.” She planted her mouth on his, expressing the depth of her love in that single deep kiss.
He grinned and faked wiping sweat from his brow. “Phew. I was worried for a minute that you three—” He placed the palm of his hand on her stomach. “—would vote me off the island.”
“Never.” Her voice thickened with emotion. “We’re all in this together.”
His eyes glistened, and he lowered his head and kissed her.
Her heart swelled with joy and, as she returned her husband’s caresses, a thought struck her. She had Angus Crawford to thank for her happiness. His adopted son loved her, and they were heading to Shelter Island—Angus’s island—to start a new life.
Who would have thought?
Someday she’d reconcile her memories of the austere man who’d fathered her with the man who’d sought to protect his daughter at all costs, but for now she’d bask in her happiness and be grateful for Russ’s unconditional love.
Life was good.
Life was damn good, and the best part? She didn’t want a drink, not even a sip or a sniff of alcohol.
Not today, and hopefully, not tomorrow, nor the next day, or the day after that.
Yes, life was good indeed.
A word about the author…
C.B. Clark has always loved reading, especially romances, but it wasn’t until she lost her voice for a year due to a botched operation that she considered writing her own romantic suspense stories. She grew up in Canada’s North. Graduating with a degree in Anthropology and Archaeology, she has worked as an archaeologist and an educator. She enjoys hiking, canoeing, and snowshoeing with her husband and dog near her home in the wilderness of central British Columbia.
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