by Lisa Jackson
“It’ll be good for her, let her know that she’s still a part of the family,” he’d said. They’d been waiting in his car for the ferry: him behind the steering wheel, tapping its rounded top to some rhythm running through his head; her staring through the windshield to the bay from the passenger seat. The sun had been out that day, bright rays sparkling on the water, fishing and pleasure boats dotting the bay. The windows had been down and the breeze had helped cool the warm interior of Wyatt’s car, salt air mingling with the new car smell that still lingered.
Noah, strapped into his car seat, had let out a soft coo from the backseat and Ava had reached around to touch his soft cheek. “Hey there, big guy,” she’d whispered, happier than she’d ever been.
“A little help with the baby wouldn’t be a bad thing.”
“I think that’s the father’s job.”
“But his father”—he’d touched the tip of her nose fondly—“is gone a lot. And that’s the way it’s going to be for a while until I can convince the partners that my time is best spent in Anchorville.”
“Then do it. You’re a lawyer. You should be able to present a strong argument.”
Wyatt had laughed, that deep, throaty laugh she’d loved. “Yeah, well, remember, they’re attorneys, too.”
“Oh, so they’re onto you.”
“Mmmm. Just consider hiring Khloe. The way I see it, it’s a win-win for everyone.”
“I don’t know. She’s not trained.”
“Not professionally, but neither are we.” He’d flashed that damnably boyish grin again and pushed her lightly on her shoulder. “Come on, Ava, she’s the oldest of six kids. She was always helping Virginia out growing up, right?”
“But a nanny? Do we need one?”
From behind the wheel of his Mercedes, Wyatt had glanced over at her. “We still need a little time together, alone.” He smiled at her just as the ferry, churning water in its wake, pulled up to the dock. “We could have some fun, you know. Noah’s going to need a little brother or sister.”
“Someday,” she agreed, smiling despite her reservations.
“The sooner the better. You and I both know these things take time.” His eyebrows wiggled suggestively. “Maybe we can start tonight?”
“Dreamer,” she’d said, but laughed as he’d put the car into gear and guided the sedan onto the flat deck of the ferry. As they’d ridden to the island, she’d relented.
Within two weeks, Khloe had come to work for them, along with Virginia. Eventually she’d begun dating again and married Simon Prescott, a landscaper who had once worked intelligence and communications in the military, then took a job in Anchorville before landing here on the island. So Simon had moved in with Khloe and things had been steady for a few months.
And then the unthinkable had happened.
At Christmas time, Noah had disappeared.
Everything had changed. Khloe, rock-steady while Ava broke into a million pieces, had somehow graduated from good friend to nanny to caregiver.
Ava had been so bereaved that she hadn’t noticed it happening, only knew that she’d spent hours clinging to Khloe and crying, relying on her friend for consolation and care. Wyatt, himself destroyed, hadn’t been able to help his wife as she’d tumbled from despair and grief to a darker condition that no one would acknowledge outright but was the start of her hallucinations, her inability to define what was real and what was not.
“Mrs. Garrison?” She was nearly to the top of the stairs when a gruff male voice caught her attention. Turning, she found Austin Dern at the base of the stairs. “I think this is yours.” He was holding her phone in one hand. “You must’ve dropped it up on the ridge.”
“Oh.” She hadn’t even missed it, and as she hurried down the stairs, she thought of the two times she’d dealt with him alone, once in the bay, another time just a step or two from the edge of the cliffs. “Thanks.” She plucked the phone from his fingers and started for the stairs again, then stopped. “You know, I think that considering the fact that you might have saved my life twice, you could call me Ava.”
He frowned as he thought about it, and she tried to ignore that whole sexy cowboy aura that surrounded him. Unshaven jaw, tanned skin from hours outside, crow’s feet fanning from his eyes as if he squinted against the sun, long, lean body covered in faded denim and plaid—definitely not her type. “If that’s what you want,” he agreed.
“I do.” Her gaze touched his, and she realized his eyes were a dark brown and guarded. For a split second she remembered the length of his body pressed close to hers in the cold water. Her nightgown had been molded to her body, showing off every inch of her skin. His arms and hands had been strong, holding her tightly, helping her stay afloat. “Please.”
He considered, then nodded. “All right . . . Ava.” Again his gaze found hers, and what she saw in their depths was as frightening as it was arousing. She suspected that Austin Dern, when he set his mind to a task, didn’t give up until it was accomplished. Her throat tightened, and she nearly stumbled on the step as she tried to back up.
She hurried up the rest of the stairs and quickly walked into her room. Closing the door behind her, she felt flushed, almost jittery, and attributed it to a lack of food. It couldn’t be her reaction to the man. No way. She was not that kind of woman.
Oh, yeah, and just what kind of woman are you these days? Do you even know?
Ignoring her rapidly escalating pulse and the questions that seemed to plague her, she dug in the closet for her computer and notes and flopped onto the bed. She hit the START button on her laptop, and as the machine booted up, she wound her hair away from her face and snapped it into a haphazard ponytail.
Before she could even get into her program, there was a soft knock on the door, and without waiting for her to answer, the door cracked open and a hand slipped through. Clamped tightly in the female fingers was a sweating can of Diet Coke.
Ava almost laughed.
The arm lengthened and Khloe poked her head around the edge of the door. “I found one hidden in the back of the fridge. I think Mom was saving it for herself.” She slipped into the room and leaned against the panels of the door. “Shhh . . . don’t tell anyone. Mom gets pretty tweaked if she can’t get her caffeine fix.” She walked across the room and handed Ava the soda.
“Thanks.” Ava popped the top, hearing the click and distinct hiss of a can being opened.
Khloe hesitated by the edge of the bed. “I just wanted to tell you that I know things are weird around here. Sometimes I think we should all just get the hell off this island, but, well . . . that’s kind of impossible and I know things are going to get better.”
“You mean, I’m going to get better.”
“All of us,” Khloe said. She let out a sigh and looked out the window. A sadness seemed to overtake her. “Well, I’ve gotta run. Simon’ll be home soon.” She glanced at her watch and said, “Oh, God, he might be home already. Wish me luck.”
“You got it.”
Khloe was half out the door when she added, “And the Coke, that’s our little secret, right?”
“Right.”
Our little secret, Ava thought as she took the first swallow from her can.
“Watch out!” Khloe cried as she was pulling the door shut, but not before Ava heard the high-pitched hum of Jewel-Anne’s wheelchair. “What’re you doing here?”
Eavesdropping again, that’s what.
So much for secrets.
They were impossible to keep with her cousin in the house.
Ava was about to climb off the bed and give Jewel-Anne a piece of her mind when her phone vibrated. After digging it out of the pocket of her jeans, she saw Wyatt’s face and number on the tiny screen.
“Hey,” she answered, settling back against her pillows.
“Hey back at you.” The anger she’d heard in his voice earlier had dissipated. “I’m sorry for the fight.”
“We’re married. It happens,” she said, though of course
it was happening more often than not lately.
“I just wanted you to know that the house date has to be postponed. Meetings ran late and I’ve got a drink with a client, so I won’t be home until late.”
She’d pretty much figured the house date was off anyway. “Which client?” she asked lightly, keeping the suspicion from her tone.
“Orson Donnelly. Donnelly Software?”
Ava was familiar with the name. The guy had made a fortune in the ever-expanding software industry, developing programs primarily for start-up businesses. But lately, Donnelly and his son had parted ways and the son thought he was entitled to his share of the business or something.
“Yeah, I’ve got to talk him off the ledge, so I don’t know how long it will take. Don’t wait up.”
“Okay.”
“And, Ava?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
He hung up before she could respond, and she was left with the phone in her hand, not even able to say to the empty room, “I love you, too.”
CHAPTER 14
“I swear I had a Diet Coke in here,” Virginia muttered to herself, her shoulders deep into the refrigerator. No one else was in the kitchen, at least not that Ava could see.
Hearing footsteps, Virginia straightened and slammed the door shut. “Guess I’ll just have to restock.”
The dinner dishes were still piled in the sink, the dishwasher half emptied, the smell of clams, garlic, and tomato sauce heavy in the air. Three filled plates were covered with Saran Wrap, and two plastic containers were packed with the extra red clam sauce, the leftovers from a meal that Ava had devoured. For the first time in days, she’d had an appetite, and the warm bread, Caesar salad, and spicy pasta had been delicious. Enough so that she’d managed to get through dinner without getting furious with Jewel-Anne or perturbed with Demetria. She hadn’t even bristled at Ian’s remarks about her being “lucky” enough to own so much of the island even though he’d sold his share to her long ago. His resentment was usually masked, but once in a while he couldn’t help reminding her that she’d “played her cards right.” He’d always made his statements as if they were a joke and he was just teasing her, but she knew beneath his smile was the grim belief that somehow she’d taken advantage of him and the rest of the family by buying them out.
Tonight she’d ignored him.
“Are these for Khloe and Simon?” she asked, indicating the covered plates.
“Mmm. And the new man . . . Dern.” Virginia was walking into the pantry where she scrounged around the shelves and returned carrying three cans of soda. “I thought he might appreciate it.” She opened the refrigerator door again and slipped the Diet Coke onto the shelves. “Bachelors, you know.” As the door shut, she gave Ava a knowing stare. “Never cook for themselves.”
“Let me run it down to him,” Ava offered, and when Virginia seemed about to object, she added, “Payback. He found my cell phone earlier and returned it to me.”
Virginia shrugged. “One less trip for me.”
After sliding into a jacket, Ava grabbed the plate and headed for Dern’s apartment. It had been her plan all along, to find some excuse to talk to the man again, find out a little more about him. As she walked swiftly along the path to his quarters, she tried to convince herself that she needed more information on the man because he was her employee, someone who had shown up rather abruptly, and she just had the feeling that there was more to him than met the eye. It wasn’t because he was attractive, for God’s sake, and even if he was, she was a married woman . . . maybe not happily married, maybe even a hair’s breadth from separating and even divorcing her husband, but married just the same.
The fog was hanging low tonight, the security lamps shrouded in a fine mist, and the sound of the sea was a muted rush in her ears. Closer to the stable, the smell of horses filtered through the briny smell of the salt water from the bay and she noted the patches of light from the window of Dern’s quarters.
Her boots rang up the old steps, and she heard Rover give a sharp bark as she climbed the stairs to his apartment. Before she was on the landing, the door opened and Dern, backlit by an interior lamp, filled the doorway.
Upon seeing Ava, Rover went nuts, barking and spinning in circles behind Dern’s jean-clad legs.
“Built-in security system,” she said, hitching her chin toward the excited shepherd as she handed the new man the plate. “This is from Virginia. She has this thing about making way more food than anyone could ever eat.”
“Really?”
“Consider it a perk of being hired at Neptune’s Gate. Trust me, Virginia won’t let anyone starve while they’re here.”
Rover was whining and sitting on the floor, his nose in the air, his tail sweeping the old oak planks.
“Looks like someone misses you,” Dern said, stepping out of the doorway and allowing Rover to shoot past to whine pathetically as Ava leaned down to pet him.
“Yeah, well, he’s a traitor.” Smiling, she ruffled the dog behind his ears. “Any port in a storm.” She glanced up. “He was a stray who landed here, and Ned took him in, so he kind of comes with the apartment. Virginia puts food out for him on the back porch of the main house, and there’s even a dog door cut into the panels of a door off the back porch. I bought a bed and tucked it near the back stairs, but he prefers it here or in the stable or even outside. Isn’t that right, boy?” she said to the dog, and his tail thumped faster against the decking. “Yeah, I thought so.”
“He seems to like you.”
She laughed. “He even trusts me. Now, that’s unique on this island.”
Dern raised a dark eyebrow.
“I know, I’m suffering from some kind of persecution complex or something.” She straightened and Rover slipped down the stairs, past her to the outdoors.
“Persecution complex?”
“Or something,” she reminded. “The diagnosis changes weekly. But you probably know that.” She watched the dog sniff around the closest fence post, then relieve himself against it. “I’m sure Wyatt told you all about me when you were hired.”
“He only said you’d had a hard time with the loss of your son. Come on in. I need to set this down.” He carried the plate inside, and Ava followed him into the apartment as Rover squeezed inside again by her legs. She hadn’t been over the threshold of these living quarters over the stable in a long while, but little had changed since the last time she’d visited. The same pictures hung on the walls, the rag rug was just as she remembered, and the furniture, worn the last time she’d seen it, was a little more tired than it had been. There were a few things belonging to Dern in the unit, but nothing that suggested he intended to stay for a long while.
“Is there anything more you need here?” she asked, but he shook his head and held up the plate.
“This’ll do.”
“Well, let me know if you find you need something.”
He nodded. “I will.”
“Good. I’d better get back. The spaghetti probably needs to be heated up in the microwave as it is.” Leaning down, she gave the dog one last pet. “Oh, and by the way, ‘Rover’ was Ned’s idea. He showed up without tags and no one in Monroe claimed him, so Ned dubbed him Rover.” She straightened. “You know Ned, right? Isn’t that what Wyatt said?”
“Never met the guy. I worked for a guy who knows your husband. Donnelly found out his son, Rand, wasn’t cut out to run a ranch, so he sold it out from under him. Left me out of work. Donnelly hooked me up with Wyatt.” One side of his mouth lifted into a crooked smile. “It’s really no big mystery. Ask your husband.” Before she could respond, he added, “Let me guess. You already have.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he said, “As I said, contrary to what you seem to believe, I wasn’t hired to keep an eye on you.”
She nodded but hesitated at the door. “So why is it I have a feeling we’ve met before?”
“I must just have one of those faces.”
“No. That’s not it
.”
He raised a shoulder. “Well, I can’t explain it, because I’m sure if we’d met before, I would remember you. You’re not the kind of woman I’d be likely to forget.”
She felt a little tingle zing through her bloodstream, then told herself she was treading in dangerous waters. “I’d better go. Let you get to your meal. Bye, Rover,” and then she was out the door. Not that he tried to stop her.
She wondered if he was watching her, peering through a slit in the curtains or the blinds, then shook off the idea. It was dark, even with the few security lights shining, so if he was watching, he’d only note that she was making a beeline for the back of the house.
As soon as she was out of the pool of eerie light cast by the lamp nearest the house, she turned and walked through the garden, to the memory stone that Wyatt had placed for Noah a year after his disappearance.
“Get rid of it,” Ava had insisted at the time. “It’s like a gravestone and he’s not dead.”
“It’s just a memory plaque. When he returns, we’ll make note of the date or remove it altogether.”
She’d been furious at the time, but once the smooth stone, etched with Noah’s name was placed in the garden, near a climbing rosebush that wound upon a trellis, she’d found surprising comfort in running her finger over her son’s name or just kneeling near the rock and remembering holding him, feeling his warm arms around her neck, hearing his high-pitched laugh. God, she missed him . . .
She passed by the stone tonight, slowing and reaching down to touch the tiny memorial. “I will find you,” she promised. “Wherever you are, honey, Mommy will find you.” Her throat tightened, but she didn’t break down, wouldn’t let herself.
Straightening, she walked through the back door to the old staircase that wound its way from the basement, up three flights, and past the attic to the widow’s walk at the top of the house. The stairs had originally been built for the staff, but there was no hard-and-fast rule. Still, most of the time everyone who lived or worked at Neptune’s Gate used the elevator or main staircase, and as she creaked open the door, she smelled the dusty, musty odor of disuse.