by Edie Claire
“Jessica’s body was never found. Elizabeth and Carl’s bodies were far-flung, so there was no question that the three of them had been airborne.” Her eyes turned disturbingly glassy. “I sometimes imagine what it must have felt like, being spun around in circles high above the ground, with the three of them all spinning around with me. I don’t remember any of it, of course. But can you imagine if I had been older? What I might have seen and remembered?”
“No,” he said honestly. “I can’t. It must have been very traumatic for you.”
She turned to him. “More than anyone knew. Because afterwards every face I looked into was a stranger to me.”
He was confused again. “Amnesia?”
She shook her head. “No. Two little girls were pulled up into that god-awful tornado that day, Jason. Two blond-haired, blue-eyed toddlers. Only one came down alive again.” Her shaking increased. “That little girl was me.”
A streak of cold raced up his spine. The dead child. The Tremblays’ granddaughter.
“Laney Miller died that day, you see,” she continued in a hoarse whisper. “It was Jessica Macdonald who survived.”
Jason’s heart skipped a beat. What she was saying was incredible. “Your…” He faltered, wanting to choose his words carefully. “The woman who raised you, she—”
“She lied,” Laney said flatly. “They told her they’d found me and she went to pick me up, but when she saw I was the wrong girl she just… lied.”
Jason listened, feeling increasingly numb, as Laney told the story of a grieving, desperate widow who had claimed an orphan child as her own. Of the well-meaning but uninformed town who had taken a mother’s word as gospel and never looked back. Of a great-grandmother, tortured by guilt and fear of hellfire, who had broken her oath only when robbed of her full faculties.
There was no malice in Laney’s tone. She seemed not to blame the woman who raised her, calling her “my mother” without hesitation. Nor did she blame the complicit grandparents who had helped keep the devastating secret. But though she didn’t seem to blame anyone else, her own face was writ large with guilt.
“The Tremblays don’t know,” she finished finally, her voice sounding strained and weak. “They have no idea.”
Jason moved closer. He couldn’t help himself. Keeping a polite distance was impossible when the woman so obviously needed to be held. “It’s not your fault, Laney,” he said firmly, reacting not to her words, but to what he saw in her face. “None of it is your fault. The Tremblays will see that.”
She winced. “Will they?” Her eyes flooded with tears. “And how would they feel if they knew I might not tell them at all?”
Jason got it, then. The whole ugly, brutally unfair dilemma into which fate had placed her. Her predicament was beyond unfair. It was plain damned cruel.
“Oh, Laney, I’m so sorry.” He pulled her to him, their slippery wet raincoats squeaking against each other as he gathered her to his chest. Both their hoods fell back, but the rain wasn’t important. Her head nestled obediently into the crook of his neck, and his hands stroked her back. As her quivering form melted into his solid one a certain transfusion took place; he could feel some of the tension flow out of her, replaced by a dose of his own strength. She seemed comforted, and comfortable. At least for the first few seconds.
Then something changed. The turning point was difficult to define, but for him, what started out as a compulsion to comfort turned into a rapidly kindling core of flame. He wanted her. He wanted all of her. Now. He wanted to turn her face to his and kiss her until she forgot every word she’d just spoken. He wanted to replace her sorrow and angst and guilt with joy and warmth and pleasure… to transport her to another realm of reality where all that mattered was the two of them and how absolutely fantastic they could make each other feel—
Laney pushed him away.
He was startled. He tried replaying the last few seconds in his mind. Had the tape skipped somewhere? Had he actually kissed her? No, he had not. His lips were cold with rain, not warm with the feel of her. His hands had stayed on her back; they hadn’t traveled. And they had touched her only through her raincoat, at that! Never mind what the hell he’d been thinking. He hadn’t done anything!
“I’m sorry,” she apologized, flustered. “I didn’t mean… It’s just that…”
He had the feeling he should apologize himself, but this time the words “I’m sorry” didn’t roll so easily off his tongue. He wasn’t sorry in the slightest. How could he regret three of the most intense seconds of his life?
Seriously, dude? I mean you didn’t even—
It didn’t matter. Laney had just ignited something in him that he’d never felt before. Its novelty alone made it exhilarating.
She was talking again. “I didn’t mean to be so abrupt. But I don’t need your sympathy. I need your help!”
Her words struck like a cup of ice sliding down his collar. Pull yourself together, dude. “Of course,” he said gruffly, taking another half step back. He tried hard to refocus his thoughts. How could he help her?
No, besides that!
“Don’t you see?” she said with frustration. “Everything about me is fake! My birth certificate, my social security number, my passport… it’s all invalid. I’m not even an American citizen! If I reveal the truth to the Tremblays, or to anyone, everything I have is at risk! How can I take care of my great-grandmother if I’m not her next of kin? If I can’t access my mother’s money to support her?”
Jason’s mind cleared. She was right. The peril in which she found herself was real. The consequences of revealing what she knew would go well beyond emotional upheaval. “I get it,” he confirmed, ashamed he hadn’t seen it sooner. No wonder she cared so much whether the Tremblays were “good” people! If she gave them the power, they could ruin her.
“From all we know of Gordon so far,” he said tentatively, “we have no reason to believe he isn’t honest. And fair.”
“Maybe,” Laney retorted. Her voice was stronger now, but the wind had picked up, as had the crashing of the nearby waves. Jason had to move closer to hear her. “He seems like a nice enough man. But what do we really know? Being a philanthropist is easy when you’re loaded. His daughter’s death clearly affected him, but we don’t know how, not really. What if he’s the type who throws his money around to control people?”
Her eyes sparked with fear again, and her voice quavered. “What if he tries to control me? To force me to be someone I’m not?”
A streak of lightning split the sky. Both Jason and Laney turned their attention to the horizon, and after another moment, they heard and felt a rumble of thunder.
“Isn’t lightning unusual on the coast?” Laney asked, her voice suddenly steadier.
“Yes,” Jason answered. “I’ve never seen it fork quite like that before. Not here anyway.” And what fortunate timing it had. One more second of watching her chin tremble, and he would have earned another shove.
“Listen to me, Laney,” he urged, turning her to face him. He intended to continue holding her arms, gently, but found he couldn’t do it. Her wet raincoat wasn’t enough to buffer the strange, searing heat that shot through him at their touch. He dropped his hands, not trusting himself.
“I see what you’re up against,” he continued earnestly. “I get it. But you don’t have to deal with this alone. Nobody should have to deal with something like this alone. I’m no private detective, but I’m sure I can help you figure out what the Tremblays are really like. I have at least one more call to make, I’ve just been waiting till a decent hour. Why don’t we go back inside and I’ll get started?”
Her clear blue eyes studied his thoroughly, searching for something. He wasn’t sure if she found it or not. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling himself.
“You can go inside if you like,” she said quietly. More distantly. “I appreciate your help very much. But I’d like to stay out here a while longer. Maybe take a walk down by the beach.”
The rain was pelting now, and both the skies and seas were angry. Jason didn’t know if she was crazy or if this was just a meteorologist thing.
Amazingly, she smiled at him. “Don’t worry. I won’t go anywhere near the water this time. I’ve learned my lesson about waves. And the tide is going out. I checked.”
Jason tried to smile back. But he wasn’t feeling it. The imprint of her hands on his shoulders, pushing him away, still stung. He wasn’t used to being pushed away. He couldn’t remember it ever happening before. He was too careful, too conscientious. Hell, he was the one pushing women away from him!
A rush of anger threatened. He hadn’t crossed the line with her physically; he knew he hadn’t. And she couldn’t read his mind. So why? If she trusted him enough to share her deepest secret, why was the thought of being more than friends so violently disagreeable to her?
“Suit yourself,” he replied, more stiffly than intended. He faked a smile as penance, then turned back toward the lodge. “I’ll get started on those calls.”
Chapter 23
Laney felt something cold and looked down at her feet. She had stepped in a sandy puddle of rain or seawater — probably both. Her shoes were soaked through again, and she should chastise herself appropriately. But she was already too angry — and felt like too much of a fool — for one more act of stupidity to matter. She stepped out of the puddle, moved higher up the beach, and continued her aggressive stomp through slightly drier sand.
She didn’t know what had happened. She thought a good walk in the rain would help her figure it out, but so far it wasn’t working. One second she’d been holding herself together just fine, forcing out the last details of her sorry story. Then Jason had given her a friendly hug. She suspected that he could see her trembling, which would have fired off his protective male instincts. Her tendency to shake when she was cold or uptight was a nervous habit of longstanding; it didn’t mean that she was falling apart. Nevertheless, she had accepted Jason’s gesture in the spirit it was intended: a hug between friends.
Then all hell had broken loose. From where her head rested on his shoulder, her lips were inches from the warm, smooth skin that stretched over his collarbone. All of a sudden she could think of nothing but closing that distance — pressing her lips to that tantalizing triangle of flesh, sampling the smell and the feel and the taste of him. She imagined her mouth moving farther, kissing his neck, his jawbone, his cheek. Then her lips would meet his, and she would realize he was kissing her back, his desire just as mad, just as hot, just as insanely all-consuming as her own. He wanted her too, right there, right then. Absolutely nothing could stop it from happening…
And then she’d shoved him away. Yes, shoved him! She hadn’t intended to push him away, certainly not as forcefully as she did. He hadn’t done anything wrong, hadn’t encouraged her sudden attack of lust in any way. What she had done was rude, uncalled for, and unforgivable!
It was also impossible to explain. Excuse me, Jason, I know you were only trying to be nice, but it’s just that I had this weird, overwhelming urge to totally do you right there on the deck and I really wasn’t sure I could control myself. Oh, yeah. That would go over great. Particularly with the cringeworthy “I’m really flattered, but I think we should just be friends” speech he would have to force out afterwards.
She turned her face to the wind and groaned out loud. As if she didn’t have enough problems without thoroughly embarrassing herself! Jason had been crystal clear in his messaging. He wanted to be her friend. He had a date with somebody else, last night. She knew better than to fantasize about a man who wasn’t interested. More galling still, even if he was interested in her, she wasn’t interested in him! He was a player, for God’s sake. He would be nobody’s boyfriend, not for long anyway.
Her steps slowed slightly. Her previous relationships had all been exclusive and long term, and they’d all been failures. Could she not do the standard millennial thing and just dabble with a man for a while, no strings attached? She tossed the idea around in her mind. Then she grudgingly discarded it. Maybe she could consider such a thing with some man, someday, but not with Jason. He had been with another woman just hours ago, for God’s sake! She couldn’t and wouldn’t take that. Some women didn’t care, but she wasn’t one of them.
As if it matters anyway, she thought with new anger at herself. When he doesn’t want you. Not for a serious relationship or a one-time hookup!
Her steps halted. She had reached a rocky outcropping where the boulders met the sea. She could either forge a path all the way up into the forest to get around the rocks, or she could do the intelligent thing and turn around now. She chose the intelligent thing.
Avoiding Jason any longer would accomplish nothing. She’d needed some time to get her head together, and she’d had it. There would be no further apology from her; forgetting her freakout had ever happened would be less awkward for both of them. There could be no backtracking on accepting his help, either; she was already in too deep. Besides which, she couldn’t bear the thought of losing his friendship. She enjoyed his company far too much for that, never mind needing his help.
She just had to stop thinking about him that way. Which meant no touching. No matter the intent, if her sex-starved body couldn’t handle any kind of contact — which it clearly couldn’t — then there would be none. If tempted, she would simply start thinking about his other women. That would help.
She trudged back to the beach below the lodge, barely cognizant of the storm’s rising intensity. As she mounted the steps she could see Jason sitting on the deck above, looking perfectly at ease in his hooded jacket, newly acquired rain pants, and wellington boots. She mounted the stairs and walked toward him, conscious of moving neither too fast nor too slow.
Keep it cool, idiot.
When she reached the deck, he put a hand under his chair and pulled out a second pair of boots and a folded pair of rain pants. “Here,” he offered. “If you’re going to storm-watch like a local, you’re going to need the proper gear.”
Laney accepted the offering. “Where did this come from?”
He shrugged. “They’re loaners from the storeroom. I keep a variety of raingear around, for guests who don’t know better.” His lips curved into a smirk. “And for meteorologists.”
She smirked back. “Thanks. I’m already wet now, but I’ll put them on next time I go out.” She stowed the gear under her own chair and sat down.
Neither of them said anything for a moment. She was tense. He seemed as though he were about to speak, and she couldn’t decide which she wanted to hear less. A gentle lecture about how selfish she was being in not rushing over to tell the poor, decent Tremblays the truth? Or his polite assurance that her shove was unnecessary because he thought of her as a little sister?
She wished she could crawl under her chair with the rain boots.
“I’ve found out something else,” he said finally. “About Gordon and Joan.”
Laney released a pent-up breath. More data sharing, she could deal with. “Thank you,” she praised. “I’d love to hear it.”
He sat up and moved his head closer to hers. The wind was gusting; if he didn’t move he would have to shout. “You said that Joan had been involved with Children’s Aid in the past, so I thought there might be a chance she was involved in a similar charity locally. I know a woman who does child advocacy; she’s the one who got me started running free surf lessons for kids in foster care. She’s familiar with all the children’s charities around here, so I asked her if—”
“You do free surf lessons for foster kids?” Laney exclaimed. She hadn’t meant to interrupt, certainly not to sound so surprised. But she was.
“Sure,” he replied. “It’s not all me — it’s a team effort. I coordinate and provide the gear. The volunteers aren’t professional instructors, but they’re all skilled surfers and they’re great with the kids. One guy even brings his dog to ride along on the board. They love that.”
�
�I bet,” Laney replied, noting the sparkle in his eye. He enjoyed working with kids. She wouldn’t have guessed that. She supposed there was a lot she didn’t know about him.
“Anyway,” he continued. “Becky has heard of Joan Tremblay. Apparently Joan has a long history of volunteer work with children’s causes, both here and in Toronto. Becky hasn’t met her, but she knows people who have, and they all speak highly of her. Apparently, she’s a real dynamo.”
Laney’s emotional reaction to this information was as confused as it had been with Gordon. Charity work of any kind was admirable. But in and of itself, it was no proof that a person was nice. Executive wives of Joan’s generation were expected to perform noble deeds just to keep up appearances. She could still be a total shrew.
“Becky said something else, too,” Jason added. “She remembered reading an article about the Tremblays recently, something that was printed in the newsletter of one of the charities she works with. She didn’t save her copy of it, and they’re not published online, but she was pretty sure the library kept such things on file in the community archive. She said it was a story about Gordon and Joan taking a bunch of kids out for the day on their fishing boat last summer. And she said it had pictures.”
Laney swallowed. She had yet to see a picture of any of Jessica’s relatives besides her uncle. Not even the Macdonalds’ obituary had included one. She suspected that if she invested enough time, she might eventually find a black and white of Gordon standing in the midst of a bunch other suits at some board meeting or other. But she hadn’t dug that deep.
Accumulating biographical data was one thing. Looking into a human face was another.
“What are you afraid of, Laney?” Jason asked gently, leaning closer still.
Stop that. Please. His empathy, his kindness, his newly revealed fondness for unclehood and foster children — how could she keep him at a safe distance when the more she knew about him, the more she liked?