Silence stretched uncomfortably between them.
“I’ll request extension of my leave,” he finally said through clenched teeth. “We can make this work. Right, Beth?”
Beth swallowed hard. “If we want to save your inheritance and my bookstore, we don’t have a choice.”
She reached out and tried to ignore the sudden, familiar warmth that sped through her when his large, strong hand briefly enveloped hers. Warmth that triggered a rush of memories, both good and bad.
He dropped her hand as if he’d touched fire, and she knew he’d felt it, too.
They had six long months ahead.
Six. Long. Months.
The thought made her shudder, yet there was too much at stake to risk failure. And not just for herself.
Tourism had revitalized the town, but the tourists wouldn’t come back if Stan pursued his business interests and destroyed the historic district in the process. If that happened, too many good friends and neighbors would suffer. The owners of the gift shops, the coffeehouses, the antique stores. Even the little marina owned by old Mr. Gerber, who’d added a fresh coat of paint to the main building just this summer.
They were all starting to prosper after far too many years of struggle, and it could all be wiped out if the quaint and inviting atmosphere of the town changed.
All she and Dev needed to do was get along and work together, and in six months everyone would have a more secure future. The shopkeepers. Vivian’s last set of boarders. And Beth would even own the beloved building that housed her bookstore—something she’d never thought possible.
Dear Lord, help us succeed. Guide us in helping those people. And please, for as long as Dev is here, help me protect my heart.
Dev stepped into the Walker Building and breathed in the musty scents of mold and mice. Light filtered through the grime and cobweb-festooned mullioned windows facing the street, while the back half of the building was cast in deep shadow.
A wide, open staircase rose along the wall to the left, the wooden steps littered with crumbling cardboard boxes overflowing with yellowed newspapers and what appeared to be rags.
He’d had to come back for another look, even if his every decision would now have to be put on hold until he’d met the crazy stipulations in his mother’s will.
On the endless series of flights coming back to the States and during those long days at Walter Reed, he’d had plenty of time to think, and had planned to make this trip into his past as brief as possible.
But now, the charm and peacefulness of the village called out to him with its scents of pine. The sound of Aspen Creek rushing southward over the boulders strewn through its rocky bed. The absolute lushness of the trees and undergrowth and the damp, fertile earth, so unlike the dry and inhospitable climate where he’d spent much of his adult life.
And with those scents, those sounds, came the memories he’d so carefully shelved away. Of jangling sleigh bells and the clopping of draft horse hooves on snow-covered asphalt, come Christmastime, when sleighs served as taxis for the tourists and locals who came into town for all of the Victorian decorations. The sweet, sweet scent of burning leaves and fragrant pumpkin pies and the local parade at the end of October, during the annual Fall Harvest celebration.
He stepped farther into the building and felt a sense of peace in its silence, its massive stone walls. As a child he’d loved this old building, imagining knights on chargers jangling through the stone arches that framed each door and window. Envisioning Merlin and King Arthur sitting before the immense mouth of a fireplace inside, and a damsel peering from one of the soaring stone turrets that rose above the roofline.
Now, the cavernous interior and multitude of windows spoke to him in a different way.
He closed his eyes, imagining the place filled with soft candlelight and the hushed murmurs of diners sitting at tables set with crystal and silver. Or maybe retail shelving, stocked with colorful toys, antiques or camping gear…or even trendy clothing, maybe. The stuff of fun and relaxation, and the bounteous civilian life that allowed people time to savor some of the most beautiful scenery in the world.
And he tried to imagine a time when war would no longer be a part of his life. No reconnaissance missions, no explosions. No rapid-fire, staccato blast of his M249 while he covered his buddies…or the comforting weight of an M16 cradled in his arms.
But that was reality.
Being here was like stepping into an old-fashioned Christmas card that he’d have to file away in a few months, because he might as well be visiting the moon for as much as he could relate to the breezy, small-town atmosphere where the greatest dangers were mosquitoes and the newest crop of inept teenage drivers. He couldn’t even begin to relate to the innocent, cheerful residents who expected to go about their business unharmed every single day, then sleep safe in their own warm beds at night.
Shaking off his thoughts, he wandered through the building, trying to quell the deep sense of longing flickering to life inside his chest.
Each of the four buildings in this block were roughly the same, with thick sandstone walls built to last for centuries, and old glass rippled with age set in the tall, narrow windows. Yet each building also bore unique, whimsical details in the fanciful figures carved into the stone lintels over their doorways, the patterns of the mullioned windows on the second floors, and the ornate details in the rooflines and eaves.
He still couldn’t believe his mother had risked letting any of this fall into the hands of her brother-in-law, unless she’d wanted to insure that Dev would come home to stay, so he could prevent it. Was she really that crafty? Had she no idea of how difficult it would be for him to deal with Beth? Didn’t she care?
Then again, Mom hadn’t really known him at all. He certainly hadn’t come home much, and when he did, he hadn’t stayed long. He was a far, far different person now than he’d been as a boy.
His palm still burned at the remembered touch of Beth’s hand back at the law office, and his conscience nagged at him over how rude he’d been.
On the trip home from D.C. he’d dredged up a few rusty prayers over how he was going to avoid running into his ex-wife. Gutless prayers, to be sure, and since few of his prayers had been answered in battle, he’d figured that the Almighty wasn’t listening anyway.
God sure had to be laughing now.
Having to face her during that meeting had left him more tense than any battle or covert operation. And now, instead of managing to avoid her and the old, raw emotions surrounding their ill-fated marriage, he was going to be seeing her all the time.
Worse, he had to do a good job of it—to insure that the stipulations of his mother’s will were met well enough to pass muster with a couple of attorneys planning to guard her interests.
The irony was almost enough to help him ignore the aching in his shoulder and the sharp, stabbing pain that radiated down his upper arm with every unguarded movement.
At the sound of a knocking behind him, he spun toward the front door, automatically reaching for his absent weapon and scanning the interior of the building for exits and cover, his heart rate escalating.
He blinked.
Forced himself to relax.
And squinted into the sunlight streaming in behind a slender figure silhouetted in the windowed upper half of the door. Though the thick, rippled glass muted her shape, his gut wrenched and his heart took an extra thud at his instant recognition, triggering emotions and memories that were long dead…and would stay that way.
She knocked again, then tried the door handle and pushed the door open to stand in the entry, looking a little hesitant. “I…I was outside the bookstore and saw you unlocking the door down here. Mind if I come in?”
He gave a single, sharp nod.
Beth stepped a few feet inside. Avoiding his gaze, she surveyed the interior, her eyes sparkling. “Wow—just look at the natural light coming through all the high windows, and look at all the space. This place has tremendous potential. It o
ught to be perfect for whatever kind of business moves in here.” She gave him a speculative look. “Maybe you should just lease it instead of selling. You might want to come home for good someday.”
“No. I’ll be leaving as soon as I can, and I won’t be back. There’s nothing to keep me here anymore.”
Her expression hardened. “Of course not.”
Guilt lanced through him at his inadvertent, callous words. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
“It doesn’t matter.” She raised a delicate eyebrow, making him feel like an even bigger jerk. “We’ve both moved on. All for the best, and all of that. Right?”
A shaft of sunlight lit her wildly curly chestnut hair, highlighting its varying shades of amber and gold. It had always felt so soft and silky, he remembered; baby fine and fragrant with the scent of wildflowers. Gentle, just like her.
She’d so deserved better than someone like him.
He belatedly realized that he hadn’t answered her when her smile wobbled and her gaze slid away from his.
“I…didn’t mean to interrupt, or anything,” she murmured. “We can talk another time.”
She wore gleaming gold hoops in her ears and a long denim skirt, topped with an oversize ruby sweater that looked soft as rabbit’s fur. Despite the casual clothes, she had an air of sophistication and reserve far different from the girl she’d been years ago.
It was something he needed to remember.
They’d both changed so much. There was no going back. All they needed was to be businesslike. Polite. Focused.
“But I do think we need to talk, Dev,” she added. “When you have some time.”
He winced. “Uh…yeah. Some time.”
She ignored his dismissal. “Maybe now rather than later, come to think of it.” Her mouth flattened. “Because I think we need to make something perfectly clear.”
Chapter Three
Maybe Beth hadn’t much personal experience, given her absentee husband, but she’d certainly read enough of the pop-psychology books in her store to know that most guys cringed at the thought of discussing feelings. If she’d ever doubted that bit of wisdom, she only had to look at Dev’s guarded expression to know it was true.
But standing here alone with him, with no other distractions, was probably the perfect place to set things straight.
“We need to talk,” she said briskly, “because we need to put the past to rest, once and for all. Otherwise, this situation will be unbelievably awkward.”
He studied her, his eyes wary, as if he expected her to dissolve into a tearful, wretched mess.
But she’d die before she allowed him to catch even a glimpse of the damage he’d caused…or the pain she felt, every single day, since her life had been shattered. No matter what her mother claimed, he had relinquished that right.
“I admit…” She hesitated, searching for an innocuous word that would betray nothing of how she truly felt. “That it was a shock when you insisted on a divorce. But you have your life in the service and other relationships to pursue, I’m sure. The last thing you needed were bothersome ties to a wife back home. Right?”
His eyebrows drew together.
“It didn’t take long for me to get over it, really.” She managed a smile, even though her heart was pounding against her ribs and the half-truth now lodged in her throat like a chunk of granite. “So don’t worry about having to deal with any big scenes from me. I have no regrets.”
His jaw tightened. “That’s…good.”
“So with that cleared up, it shouldn’t be hard to maintain a business relationship with each other, right?” She fluttered a dismissive hand. “The other thing I need to clarify is that your mother’s will was a complete surprise. I had no idea she’d included me, and I certainly didn’t try to finagle my way into her good graces.”
“I never said—”
“But you might have thought it. Just so you know, your mother was polite but distant to me after the divorce. Even before that, we were never chummy during all the times you were away in the service. There were no little chats, no invitations for coffee. So if you’re imagining any sort of collusion regarding you, her will or my bookstore building, you couldn’t be more wrong.”
A muscle ticked at the side of his jaw. “I didn’t suggest anything of the sort.”
“She stayed in your corner,” Beth added for emphasis. “And I didn’t expect or seek anything more. Now it’s your turn.”
“What?”
“If you have any concerns or questions, go for it.”
He fell silent, his intense gaze locked on hers, as if he were examining her very soul. “I…guess not,” he said at last.
“Good. So now we can try to be friendly business associates, at least. No other expectations.”
“Right.”
“It’s good to see you in one piece,” she added. “When I heard you’d been wounded, I started praying that you’d be all right.”
His gaze shifted away. “Thanks.”
Years ago, he might’ve added a sardonic laugh at any acknowledgment of her faith, but this time he actually seemed to mean it. Yet another way he’d changed into someone she no longer knew, she mused. “So you think your shoulder will be fine for active duty?”
“It had better be,” he muttered.
He edged away and she saw the glint of something at his ear. “Was…that your only injury this time?”
“Pretty much.” But then he caught her studying him, and he sighed. “That, and a little hearing loss,” he admitted. “Just temporary.”
“I read a Newsweek article that said a lot of soldiers suffer permanent hearing loss because of the gunfire and explosions. Then they can’t go back.”
“It won’t be an issue,” he bit out as he strode to the entryway. “Not with me.”
Though she’d told herself that she wouldn’t ever waste the time, she thought about Devlin as she headed back to the bookstore.
He had caught the eye of all the girls in high school, and no wonder. But while his golden-flecked, whiskey-brown eyes and the dark sweep of his eyebrows had bordered on heartthrob handsome as a teenager, now he was at least six feet of solid muscle, and the uncompromising planes and angles of his lean face were attractive in a far more rugged way.
They’d married young—too young. They’d probably been as much in love with love itself as they’d been in love with each other. With her own rocky family life—a free-spirited, irresponsible mother and a dad she barely knew—marriage had promised love and stability, and offered the kind of security she’d rarely felt growing up.
In comparison, Dev’s family had seemed like something straight out of a happy TV sitcom—parents who’d been married for over twenty years, who’d lived in the same house since before Dev was born, who lived their faith in a steadfast way. She’d imagined that when she and Dev were that old, they’d be just like them.
She’d discovered the truth much later.
Alan’s ironclad expectation that Dev would achieve nothing less than straight A’s in high school and then go into medicine had sparked extreme tension between them. With Alan, nothing was ever good enough…and Vivian had sided with her husband.
For coming through his teen years as balanced as he was, given the constant criticism he faced at home, Beth had been completely impressed with Dev’s strength. She’d been so sure their marriage would be a safe and happy shelter from the world.
But growing up in a cold and distant household and building a career in the military hadn’t made him a warmer guy.
Then out of the blue, he’d come home from a tour in some undisclosed place, and announced that their marriage was over. No explanations, no apologies…and the next day he was gone.
He’d been a wild one, a charmer in high school, and she should have known better than to risk her heart.
It wouldn’t be something she’d ever do again.
Beth eyed the antique grandfather clock opposite the checkout counter. The stately pendulum
swung back and forth. Back and forth. Slower, it seemed, than ever before.
Twenty-four minutes to go, and counting.
Sauntering through the empty store once more, she straightened books and fluffed the colorful patchwork pillows strewn on the overstuffed chairs angled into every corner.
She’d let Janet, her sole employee, leave early to make it to her twins’ Friday night football game in nearby Parkersville, and since then there’d been exactly two customers who’d braved the unseasonable chilly evening to stop in.
Both were frequent browsers, but the gentleman did put a heavy coffee-table book on Egyptian art on layaway, and his cheerful little wife selected several magazines while she sipped hot peach tea.
Eighteen minutes.
Beth thought longingly of the raspberry scones and hot chocolate that she’d savor upstairs in less than an hour. After today, she needed that and a good hot bubble bath, too.
Nearly two-dozen three-year-olds had run amok in the store during the morning—ostensibly for story time, though they were new to the preschool experience and none landed in one spot long enough to hear more than a few consecutive words.
As soon as they left, both Beth and Janet had flopped onto the red velvet sofa in the History section and burst into laughter.
The afternoon had been quieter, with the garden club ladies using the meeting area to discuss the town square gardens for next year.
And then there’d been her talk with Dev.
Even now, her midsection felt jittery and unsettled, though she was pretty sure she’d carried off her visit with an air of calm detachment that had conveyed none of her true emotions.
Lord, I hope You’ll help me through the next six months, because it isn’t going to be easy.
She eyed the clock again. Fifteen minutes to go. Good enough.
Her step lighter, she made one more sweep of the store, checking the windows and back door, then ended up at the front register where she began counting out the cash drawer.
Winter Reunion Page 3