“That,” she said, pointing at Gregg, “is my ex-husband, who’s apparently been shacking up here while I’ve been gone. I’m through with his threats! I’ve got restraining orders on file with—”
Things happened in rapid-fire fashion, yet to Angie it felt like one of those slow-motion, out-of-kilter dreams that come between wakefulness and sleep. Because Ross pointed out details she would otherwise have missed in her shaken state, she answered questions for Sergeants Burbank and Drexel without bawling. And then she accomplished a minor miracle: she pressed charges against Gregg. She told the officers to call Marilyn at the hospice, ask about how he’d harassed her even after she’d filed the restraining order. Ross witnessed to the hand-shaped bruises on her neck, from when Gregg had hidden in her car and grabbed her.
Then she allowed Drexel, the younger cop, to listen to Gregg’s voice messages on her cell, cringing in humiliation as she overheard his abusive language and tone. But she was standing up to her ex, even as he glowered at her from beside the cruiser.
After a few, Drexel’s eyebrows went up. “What’s this about an attorney sending notice to collect money stolen from—”
“That is an absolute lie!” Gregg blurted. “I’ve got ATM cards for that account, same as Angie does, so she has no goddamn reason to send a lawyer after my…I had every right to access—”
“You have the right to remain silent,” Drexel informed him in a no-nonsense voice. He returned Angie’s phone to her. “You might want to listen to that most recent message after we’re finished here, ma’am.”
While Drexel stayed with Gregg, Sergeant Burbank checked the apartment and completed the report. After Angie signed it with a shaking hand, the officers drove off with her very perturbed ex handcuffed in their backseat. Pat offered to help carry out her belongings, but Angie felt she could handle the situation now. While she hadn’t enjoyed this confrontation, she had at least settled these matters with Gregg…
Ross went inside with her. Angie plopped into the nearest chair so her legs wouldn’t shake so badly. Then she saw the little studio for the dump it was, and burst into tears. It represented her failed marriage. Her entire past.
Ross perched on the ottoman, grasping her hands. “Hey, babe, it’s okay now. You got the bejesus scared out of you, but you did what you had to do! And it sounds like my attorney’s making progress getting your money back.”
“Yeah, and I—Thank you, Ross! Can’t—can’t stop shaking, though!”
“But all’s well that ends well. The posse arrived and that outlaw got hauled off, and that just leaves the hero and his lady.” He smiled sweetly, making his black goatee and mustache shimmer in the light from the window. “And I don’t plan to ride into the sunset anytime soon, Angie.”
She blew loudly into his handkerchief, then swiped at her eyes. “But how’d you know to—?”
“I could say I arrived at the lodge early this morning after a sleepless night and saw your car was gone, so I followed your vibrations to Seattle,” he replied gently. “But in reality I guessed you’d be hitting the highway and putting some distance between us. As I drove here, I accessed your address on my phone. Arrived about half an hour before you did, thanks to my GPS.”
Angie gaped. “So you saw me walk in?”
“Had a hunch things would go south because I, uh, had already gotten some bad vibes through your apartment door. When you faked that call to the cops—to my phone—I grabbed you at the entry.” He scowled as he looked around the living room. “Let’s load up your stuff. I don’t know what that smell is, but it’s not your problem anymore.”
She swallowed hard. Looked away with a sigh. “So now that you’ve seen Gregg and this ratty place I moved into when—”
“Past tense, Ange. It’s fast-forward from here.” He thumbed a tear from her cheek. “How ’bout if I carry your clothes to my car while you get the stuff from the bathroom? I’ll rent a U-Haul and take the furniture—”
“It stays. I, uh, packed light when I split with Gregg.”
His expression said he knew the truth: she’d bailed in such desperation, she hadn’t had the guts to demand what belonged to her. “Do you want anything from your real house? Now’s the perfect time to go.”
“No. I…it’s only stuff. I’ve done without it just fine.” She sighed at the sorry-looking sofa and a coffee table Gregg had scratched with his metal-studded boots. “Lord only knows what my things might look like by now, if they’re even still there. He might’ve set them out at the curb or trashed them.”
Ross nodded and stood up. “If you’d rather sit in the fresh air and tell me what to carry out, I’d be happy to.” His steady blue eyes sent a flicker of hope and something else through her.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “If you hadn’t come up here—hadn’t helped me past my fear of—”
“It’s my mission now to focus us toward a more positive force, Angie! I…I am so damn sorry Rita staged another scene, mostly to upset you.” He sighed sadly, resting his hands on her shoulders. “But I understand what our numbers are telling me now. Can you still believe in me? Until Rita horned in, I was having a night from my wildest dreams. You, giggling when you yanked on my tie. And the way I channeled that music—”
“You were awesome,” she agreed. “Made me think how, if you poured so much passion into playing your horn, you surely had to be that kind of…lover.”
Ross mellowed before her eyes. His face took on a sly yet needy light as he cupped her jaw. “I so want to test your theory, Angie. We’ll make this work. Okay?”
She nodded cautiously. Wanted to agree to everything he said, all those rose-colored images she’d seen since she’d met this remarkable man. But his rescue today didn’t change one very important thing.
“Ross, we have to deal with Rita.” She lowered her eyes. “I meant what I said last night: I do love you. But Harmony Falls isn’t big enough for her and me both. And I don’t see Ms. McQueen leaving anytime soon. Not that I plan to give up the bungalow!”
“Good. Because I won’t give you up, either.” He kissed her quickly, then forced himself back to the business at hand. “Heard from Tyler this morning. He’s out of school in a couple of weeks. Really wants to meet you, and his presence will shake up the energy around this situation. Please say you’ll work with us. I’m so tired of fighting.”
“Me, too.” She heard right reasons and higher aspirations in his tone: Ross wasn’t whacking Rita down to get what he wanted. Angie respected him even more for that, because she’d lived with Gregg long enough—had seen Rita in action enough times—to know such a negative tactic never worked. She grinned, feeling stronger. “Shall we pack it in and hit the highway? It’s time for me to fly.”
Twenty-Five
“WOW, have you been busy. It looks fabulous!” Angie gazed at the freshly painted living room and then walked quickly through the kitchen, the breakfast nook, and the downstairs bedroom. “I can’t believe you got so many walls finished so fast! And it looks just like I remember! It feels like…home.”
Kyle smiled almost shyly. When she rushed at him, he hugged her tight. “Restoration’s my business, ya know. The sooner I finish this place, sooner I can hit Costello up for money to work on the other rooms—if you still want me to, that is.”
Ross, too, stood in awe. “These hardwoods look incredible,” he murmured. “The whole place looks like something out of Ladies’ Home Journal in the forties. Kyle, buddy, you’re the best.”
“That’s why ya hired me.” He laid his cleaned paintbrushes on the windowsill to dry, grinning. “Great idea, this renovation. I’m bettin’ other folks’ll follow your lead once they see the potential for more rental income or easier resale. Like we thought, it’s mostly cosmetic. These cottages are solid.”
As the two men carried Kyle’s equipment to his truck, Angie wandered from room to room more slowly. It felt like a fairy tale, the way this house—this dream—had come together. The windows sparkled, and with a few
simple curtains, some throw rugs, and flea-market furniture as she could afford it, her new home would be absolutely perfect, the best of her childhood memories combined with Kyle Iverson’s masterful rehabbing. It felt so right to be reclaiming a house she loved at this time in her life, when she was reclaiming her self. Her soul.
Ross’s voice came up the stairway to bring her out of her reverie. “You want your clothes and books here, Ange? Or at the lodge? Kyle’s got another job to oversee, but he can help us unload.”
Angie smiled down at them from the top of the glossy walnut stairway. “Thanks, but I’d rather wait until he’s totally finished. Don’t want my stuff to be in his way.”
Her father nodded and took a draw on his cigarette. “Should get the rest of those bathroom fixtures first of next week. Once I repair that water damage to the upstairs ceilings, those two rooms won’t take much time to paint.” He smiled wistfully. “You gonna let your old man visit now and again? Or will ya be too busy with this other fella?”
“Come anytime you like,” she replied fervently. “I can’t thank you enough for the way…Well, this could have turned out a lot differently for us, you know.”
He nodded. “Got another e-mail from your mother last night. I’d asked her if she wanted to come down. Told her you were here. That you turned out real good, too.”
Angie held her breath, gripping the newel post. “And?”
“She seemed kinda excited to hear about ya, even though she didn’t let on. Said it wasn’t a good time for her to get away, though.”
“Oh.” Angie nipped her lip against a swell of disappointment. “Lenore warned me that her family might have no idea about me.”
“Not an easy thing to bring up in a conversation,” Kyle said with a wry smile. “Said her kids are plenty old enough to handle it, but tellin’ her husband was another thing altogether. Not sure there was ever gonna be a good time to spring that on him, so…so she’s closed the book on us, kid. Looks like it’s just you and me.”
Angie nodded sadly. She understood about having things sprung on her, about stuff from forty years ago coming back to haunt you. “Well, thanks for asking her.”
He exhaled his smoke with a force that suggested more disappointment than he could admit. “Never say never! Life can change in a heartbeat, ya know. Well…so long like a banana.”
“See ya ’round like a doughnut.” Angie vividly recalled having that exchange with Daddy when she was a kid, and these oddball connections touched something deep inside her. Lenore would probably philosophize on how cyclical life was, how the old became new again. Right now, though, with the men’s voices trailing outside and the homey creak of the floorboards beneath her feet, she felt very grounded. Centered. Solid.
And isn’t that an improvement over this morning? Over this whole past year?
“Yeah, it is,” she whispered. The voice sounded reassuring again, now that she’d reclaimed her belongings, had met Gregg head-on and come out ahead this time. Her nightmarish marriage was behind her. Ahead stretched a forever as bright with promise as the rolling ocean she saw from this bedroom window—the window she’d gazed from as a child, in this room where she’d been born.
Life is cyclical. The old has come around again, sweet and right and shining like new. You’ve attracted this by insisting on a better life.
The voice was right, but Angie was adrift in the realizations of how much had happened these past two weeks, and how her circumstances had indeed come full circle, like the links of a fine gold bracelet. New job, new home, new man—and yeah, new complications. Yet she felt a deep sense of hope that the universe, in the earthly forms of Lenore, Ross, and Kyle, was steering her the way she’d been born to go. The breeze caressed her and the eternal pulse of the sea soothed her soul.
Comes from knowing you’re exactly where you’re meant to be. Life is a beautiful place, angel.
Her eyes went wet, yet it was a good kind of emotion. A grateful welling up from deep in her heart because she’d landed on her feet. Was ready to journey forward again. “Thank you,” she murmured. “Thank you so much, Lord.”
It only gets better. Look what else you’ve attracted.
Angie turned to find Ross gazing at her from the doorway. He, too, looked as though he belonged there, was totally composed and comfortable in khakis and a blue and tan striped shirt. The breeze had combed his ebony waves with carefree fingers and the sun had kissed his handsome face. And those eyes…His baby blues twinkled from across the room as his lips curved in a subtle grin. He looked her up and down, caressing her body with his obvious thoughts.
“I see the new mattress for your Murphy bed came in.” An offhand remark, yet so significant.
“Kyle knows all the right places to order vintage stuff,” she agreed with a straight face. The house seemed to breathe with them, to sigh and smile around them even in this room that awaited paint. “Too bad about Patty not being able to come. I—I was hoping to meet her, and I think Kyle had built his hopes up—”
“Angie.”
Ross remained against the doorjamb with his arms loosely crossed, yet the temperature between them rose ten degrees. She mimicked his stance, remaining at the window as awareness pulsed through her body. Her throat went tight with anticipation, the knowledge that for the first time in weeks they were totally, deliciously alone. Did it mean she was easy, if she craved the feel of his skin against hers? It had been so long.
“So long like a banana?” he quipped softly. “And see ya ’round like a doughnut? Not the kind of imagery an opportunist like myself can ignore.”
She smiled, loving the cat-and-mouse feel of this. He blocked the door, holding her hostage without laying a finger on her. “Same little ‘See ya later, alligator’ stuff my dad and I exchanged when I was a kid. I think it’s so cool that Kyle feeds into that with me as we get better acquainted.”
“Better acquainted,” Ross repeated with a nod. “Now there’s a concept near and dear to my heart. My banana, too.”
Angie burst out giggling. It seemed almost adolescent to be having this conversation, except teenagers would already be groping and gasping to get the proverbial banana into the doughnut hole, while she and this devilish man seemed to be staging a standoff to see who caved first, who could best suppress the need that had ricocheted between them since the first moment they’d met.
“Do you suppose Kyle and Patty did it here, in this room—?”
His mustache flickered above lips that parted hungrily. He moistened them with the tip of his tongue, displaying a flash of white, even teeth. Teeth she wanted to feel nibbling her ear.
“What are you suggesting?” Angie asked coyly. She didn’t miss the way Ross shifted his weight, which revealed the answer to her breathy question. His khakis were pleated, but they left nothing to her imagination. And as her gaze lingered there, her imagination swelled and throbbed.
“Kiss me.” His sibilant whisper lingered in the empty room. He didn’t move, let his gaze follow her curves and fondle her breasts before it drifted lower.
Her jeans inseam felt very snug. Should she give in? She’d never known a man who could undress her from across a room, who excited her by touching her only with his provocative thoughts. For the first time, she felt fully aware of her body’s arousal: the wetness and accelerated pulse and breathing, the tingle of sexual nerve endings when Ross’s nostrils flared. Before, such nuances had gotten lost in the wham-bam, and then buried in her lack of satisfaction. Hell, in the lack of anything that made her feel sexy or desirable.
But right now her body thrummed. Her innermost muscles tensed and then relaxed, clenched and then opened. All because Ross Costello took the time to tease and appeal, to show her how blatantly she affected him in return. Fleeting thoughts of young Patty and Kyle crossed her mind, of the teenage heat and haste that had created her. It was love, yes, of a particular sweetness. But this! This lust and desire that pulsed between her and Ross was the sort of longing she could lose herself
in, and when she emerged she would truly be a woman. Ross’s woman.
He opened his arms. Angie surged forward, no longer needing their game. Ross caught her in an urgent, searching kiss that required no reason or rhyme. Their bodies fit like yin and yang, give and take, and an exuberant energy flowed between them without beginning or end. As though they’d been lovers for years, they probed and tasted and teased, accelerating what had begun weeks ago when he’d first pulled her close in those unforgiving waves.
He eased his mouth from hers. “I want it all. If that’s not what you intend, say so now.”
There’ll be no going back shimmered between them like a promise about to be fulfilled. Angie’s heart danced like the sequins on the water, light and sparkly and jubilant. She nodded, too enthralled to speak.
He led her to the room across the hall, where he’d let the Murphy bed down and put the new mattress on it. That was a part of his scheme, of course, but Angie saw nothing underhanded about it. She loved that he’d anticipated and prepared for her, that he’d actually put some thought into seducing her. Foreplay! It was something Gregg had never bothered with.
Her breath caught when Ross tugged her shirt from her jeans. “Did you lock the door?”
“Told your father he’d damn well better not come back.” He chuckled, then closed his eyes as his fingertips swirled over her rib cage. “God, your skin’s soft. It’ll be so fine to feel you stretched out, warm and naked and wanting me. Open to me on every level, at last.”
Angie placed his hands over her breasts. Pressed herself brazenly against his palms. “You make me feel like a cat who has to rub against you again and again, never getting enough affection.”
“I’ll do a lot more than scratch between your ears, babe. Shall we ditch these clothes?”
Did this man possess magical powers? Their shirts and pants puddled on the floor, an effortless give-and-take flowed between them in breathless silence as they drank each other in with their eyes and lips. Ross’s body was sleek and fit, and when he was stripped to his silk boxers he reminded her of a prizefighter, poised to take her as his winnings. He kissed her again, moaning as he unfastened her bra with one flick. Her body yielded to his caress, the sweet heat of his hands, as he molded her against him.
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