by Helen Brenna
Fifteen minutes later, Noah stood in the foyer of the town hall, listening to some minor business about garbage pickups. He debated whether or not he should actually go inside. He could stand in the foyer and listen to the debate, or he could do what he’d intended and head right toward Sophie so she’d know he was there for her. There was only one problem. What made him think she’d care? She might not. Strangely enough, he did.
Noah stepped into the room. With its indoor-outdoor carpeting, fluorescent lights, painted concrete walls and the smell of industrialized sanitizer permeating the air, he felt as if he was back in elementary school.
The council members, including Noah’s dad, sat at a long table at the front of the room. They looked up when he came in and Carl Andersen, owner of the Rock Point Lodge and an old classmate of Noah’s, stopped talking. The entire room turned to see what had captured Carl’s attention. Great. A grand entrance was not what he’d intended.
Sophie sat toward the front next to Marty. Noah walked down the side aisle and sat in the empty seat by her side. Ignoring the rest of the room, he whispered, “I hope it’s okay that I came.”
She gave him a funny little half smile. “It’s fine.”
Noah’s dad cleared his throat. “Let’s move on, Carl.”
“Oh, yeah,” Carl said, looking at the papers in front of him. “Where was I?”
After an introduction, Marty walked toward the front of the room with a large portfolio in his hand. He grabbed the microphone and said, “Everyone’s going to have their own opinion about what I have to say. Some of you are going to love the idea and some are going to hate it. All I ask is that you give the possibility fair consideration.” He paused and looked out over the crowd. “I want to build a new hotel.”
That met with a few comments.
“We don’t need more rooms.”
“You’re moving back to the island?”
“About time.”
“I know the island already has excess occupancy, but I’ve got a plan to attract more people.” Marty outlined his proposal. “I want to have two pools and I have plans for a municipal golf course that everyone in this room should be interested in.”
His comment was met with stunned silence. Noah looked around. If Marty had been an outsider, they would’ve given him a quick and loud piece of their minds, but because he was one of their own, they politely kept their opinions to themselves. For the moment. When Marty finished summarizing his proposal, the resulting response was a combination of eagerness and outrage.
“Okay, okay,” Carl said, quieting the room. “I don’t think Marty’s finished yet.”
Marty set down the mike and looked out at the group. “Before you all get dead set against the idea, here are the facts. In the past five years, all of you have spent more and more money on promotion, and every year your sales have been slipping. The number of tourists visiting this island has been steadily dropping every year for the past five years.”
“How do you know that?” Bob Henderson, the owner of the drugstore asked.
“The ferry company shared passenger figures.”
“You think two pools and a golf course are the answers?”
“I think it will draw more families with kids.”
“Maybe we like things the way they are,” someone yelled.
“Look,” Marty said. “I’m not talking about building a huge, all-inclusive type resort here. Everyone benefits from this venture. My guests would visit your businesses, and the golf course would be municipal. We’d all benefit from that.”
The arguing went on and on, back and forth. Marty’s proposal threatened to tear the island in two.
“I’m not asking for anyone to approve my plans tonight,” Marty practically yelled. “All I’m looking for is approval to do a feasibility study. To bring engineers and contractors onto the island to determine whether or not a golf course and pool are even possible. Once we find out if it’s even possible, then I’ll be back looking for approval to get formal bids.”
“Okay.” Carl quieted everyone. “Is there anyone in this room who thinks this is a good idea?”
One hand raised, then another. Marty, no doubt, had what he was looking for, a crack in the stoic foundation. During a moment of silence, Noah’s dad said, “Sophie. What do you think?”
Marty’s gaze spun toward his sister. She could make or break this for him. “Be honest,” he whispered. “But please don’t kill it right away.”
“I think,” Sophie said, “that while I’m personally dead set against this—” she glanced at Marty “—it never hurts to consider possibilities. Marty knows what this island means to all of us. If there’s anyone who can do this while preserving Mirabelle’s integrity it’s one of our own.”
After more mumbling and arguing, the council called for a vote. All council members except Noah’s dad were in favor of allowing Marty to go ahead with gathering whatever information he needed to fully develop a final proposal, but in the end Marty would need a unanimous vote to implement his plan.
The meeting ended and people either left or milled about. Sophie stood. “I’m surprised to see you here, Noah.”
“Hey, I had to give the town something to talk about aside from Marty’s deal.”
Carrying his portfolio, Marty came down the aisle. “Thanks for coming, Noah.”
“No problem.”
“After all this,” Sophie said to Marty, “you still up for movie night with all the nieces and nephews?”
“Brittany and I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Noah’s dad came toward them. “No hard feelings, Marty, right?”
“Not at all, Jim. This is your home. You gotta trust your gut.”
“Noah, you want to go get something to eat?”
The offer surprised Noah, until he realized his dad’s motivation probably had more to do with trying to keep Noah away from Sophie than anything else. “I’m not really hungry right now, Dad. Thanks.”
“Suit yourself.”
Some islanders came up to Marty to get more details on his proposal, and Noah and Sophie found themselves alone.
“Sophie!” said a woman near the doors. With her plump cheeks and ready smile, the woman looked familiar to Noah. “Is that Lynn Duffy?” Noah whispered.
“Mmm-hmm.”
It was the hair that had thrown him. Her long wavy locks had changed from solid black to completely white since Noah had last seen her. “Hello, Mrs. Duffy.”
She nodded at him. “Sophie, you want to join us for a beer at the pub?”
“No, thanks, Lynn. Some other night.”
Lynn glanced at Noah and frowned. “Well…okay.”
After she’d left, Noah whispered, “I’m sensing they don’t want us together.”
“Ya think?”
They stepped outside and by unspoken agreement headed toward Noah’s house. Suddenly, Sophie laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“You. Calling everyone mister and missus. Do you know any of the adults’ first names?”
“No.” He chuckled. “Hey. I was eighteen when I left here. Gimme a break. It was always Mrs. Duffy, Mr. Setterberg, yada yada. I’m surprised my dad didn’t make me call him Chief Bennett.”
They walked along in silence for another block or so, neither seeming to know what to say. Something he couldn’t identify had changed between them since last night.
“You look like you got some sun today,” she said, clearly uncomfortable.
“Did some more painting.”
They reached Noah’s street and turned up the hill. “Did you sleep last night?” she asked.
“Four hours. Your magic did the trick last night. What’re you doing tonight, tomorrow night, the night after that?” he said, chuckling.
“I did some research on the Internet about that mirror therapy you mentioned yesterday. Have you ever tried it?” she asked.
“Once or twice,” he said, hesitating. He looked away, out toward the lake. T
he exercise had a funny way of making him miss his foot even more.
“The studies indicate it can make a difference after a short while—”
“Stop,” he said, cutting her off. “Don’t psychoanalyze me. And don’t doubt that I want off this island as much as you want me gone.”
She fell silent.
“Look, I’m sorry. I’m doing the best I can.” They’d reached Grandma Bennett’s house. “You should get back to your kids,” he said.
“Are you kidding me? Home is the last place I want to be,” she said. “Marty and Brittany are having a sleepover in my apartment with all the nieces and nephews.”
That actually sounded like fun. Maybe some day he’d have that kind of comfortable relationship with Kurt and Lauren.
“We need to get you sleeping through the night,” she said. “The tea helped last night, didn’t it?”
He nodded and climbed the porch steps.
“Let’s give that another shot.”
Too tired to argue, he went upstairs as she headed into the kitchen to make tea. After washing up and brushing his teeth, he went into his bedroom, traded jeans for flannel pants and pulled off his shirt. He was searching through the dresser for a warm shirt—the nights were often chilly even in June—when the sound of footsteps came from the hall.
“Here’s some tea.” Carrying two cups, Sophie came through the door. On seeing him naked from the waist up, she stopped.
He tensed, self-conscious about his body for the first time in his life. Other than the nurses in the hospital, no woman had seen the damage done to him over the years.
The moon cut a swath across her neck and chest, but he couldn’t see her face, couldn’t read her eyes. “All those scars,” she whispered. “You look like a soldier.”
Hardly. He’d done what he could for people in need whose paths he’d crossed through the years, often doing more than fighting their battles with his articles and books, but it wasn’t the same. He turned away.
“Oh, Noah. Your back, too.” Shrapnel from the Iraqi explosion had hit his stomach and chest, but his back had been virtually shredded, taking the brunt of the punishment. She set his cup of tea on the bedside table and sat down in a nearby chair. “You must’ve been a bloody mass of pulp.”
She had that right. Quickly, he pulled the first shirt he could find over his head. “Yeah. I had to be on my stomach for several weeks in the hospital.” Sitting on the edge of the bed, he took off the prosthetic.
Having her so near physically, in this intimate setting, was getting to him. He might not be himself, but he was still a man, and Sophie was…well, Sophie. The only woman he’d ever loved. The two of them alone here, at night, was not a smart idea. That’s when he realized what had changed. Walking and talking last night had dispelled the anger between them.
“Sophie—”
“I’ll go in a minute.”
He had to admit falling asleep with her nearby sounded comforting, and as long as she stayed in that chair and didn’t touch him, he’d be okay. He fell onto his stomach on top of the light blanket and stretched out.
“Will you be able to sleep?”
“Probably.” Already his eyelids felt heavy. “A back rub sounds nice.” Had he actually said that aloud?
Sure enough the mattress gave way as Sophie sat next to him. Her hands were on his shoulders massaging and kneading. Down his spine, working out the knots. Then her hands were all over him, harder now, massaging, bringing relief. He understood why he needed her, but Sophie? “Remind me again why you’re doing this,” he whispered.
“I told you. I want you off my island.”
“Liar.”
Her touch softened, and before he knew what was happening, he drifted off in a deep sleep. When he opened his eyes, it was dark outside. The room was chilly, telling him he’d slept for hours. With the next breath he became aware of a warm body snuggled behind him. Sophie’s arm was over his back, wrapped around his side, and a feeling of contentedness rolled over him in a slow, quiet wave.
He shifted, pulled a nearby blanket over them and turned onto his back. Sound asleep, she made a soft sound as she cuddled against his side. His arm had no place to go except around her. “You’re playing with fire staying here,” he whispered into the chilly night air.
“I don’t care,” she murmured, still half-asleep. “I missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too.” He had, more than he’d let himself believe. As he closed his eyes and drifted off once again, he couldn’t shake the feeling that safe wasn’t being on Mirabelle. Safe was being in Sophie’s arms.
SOPHIE CAME AWAKE TO THE QUIET, lonesome call of a mourning dove. With the colors of predawn tinting the room in pale, pink light, she became fully aware of having fallen asleep in Noah’s bed and having slept there the entire night. He’d slept, too, but at what cost?
Last night something had come over her, suddenly, completely, uncontrollably. She’d seen his scars, imagined the pain he’d gone through and the urge to comfort him had overwhelmed her. As if she’d walked through a time warp, she’d gone back to square one with Noah. Just like that.
You are so asking for a twice-broken heart.
Though she didn’t remember either of them waking, he’d turned in the middle of the night and drawn covers over them. He was behind her now, keeping her warm, his steady breath skimming her neck, his arm tucked around her, his body so close along the full length of her backside she couldn’t move without sliding her skin against his.
A raging awareness of her body—and Noah’s—sprang to life inside her. Every bone, every muscle, every inch of her skin was tuned to Noah. If only she could strip off her clothes and feel him, his warmth, next to her.
Isaac had never liked making love in the morning, and yet the few times she and Noah had managed to spend all night together, their sunrise lovemaking had been some of their more tender moments together. Slow and warm, Noah had never been in a hurry.
Oh, God, Isaac. I’m so sorry.
She’d been a lukewarm wife for him. Oh, she’d been kind, respectful, considerate and, in a way, loving. They’d enjoyed each other’s company. She’d been content with his lovemaking and, as far as she knew, she’d pleased him, but never once in all the years she’d been with Isaac had she felt this kind of consuming arousal. The kind that drove a woman to do crazy things. The kind that if she didn’t leave right now…
Leave. Now. Before he wakes up.
But I want this.
What about Lauren and Kurt?
You may have learned to live with not knowing for certain whether Noah or Isaac is Kurt and Lauren’s biological father, but Noah won’t accept that. He’ll want to know.
That worked like a splash of frigid water to her face. Carefully, she lifted Noah’s arm and inched away from him. She glanced back at his still form as she tiptoed out the door. He’d better get well quick and leave Mirabelle, or she was going to find herself in deep trouble. There was no promise here, no future, only the messy past.
On entering her home, she found Marty asleep on the couch with Brittany and all their nieces and nephews crashed on the floor. Marty cracked open his eyes when she walked into the room.
“Thanks for staying,” she whispered.
“Where were you?” he asked, still bleary-eyed.
Kurt groaned and rolled over in his sleeping bag on the floor in the family room. Sophie watched him for a moment, making sure he wasn’t awake.
“Were you at Noah’s?” Marty asked.
“Shh,” Sophie said and motioned they take their conversation into the kitchen.
Marty followed her, the look on his face neither accusatory nor judgmental, only concerned. “You slept at Noah’s?”
“It was an accident,” she whispered. “I know what you’re going to say. Don’t. Nothing happened.”
“Yet.” He shook his head. “Sophie, Noah’s never lied to you.” He was struggling to keep his voice down. “He’s never given you reason for false h
ope. There’s no happy ending to this story.”
“I know, Marty.” Better than anyone.
NOAH ROLLED OVER IN BED only to have the glare of a midmorning sun smack him in the face. Groggy as hell, he flopped back to his other side and pried open his eyes. He felt like death warmed over. What was the matter with him?
Then he saw the dent from Sophie’s head on the pillow and the previous night came back to him. He’d slept, that’s what’d happened, damned close to a full eight-hour stretch.
He tucked her pillow in front of him, smelled her lingering scent on the linens, like a fresh breeze over open water, and fell back asleep to the remembered feeling of her hands all over him. Isaac had been one lucky son of a bitch.
CHAPTER TEN
ADD A FULL NIGHT’S SLEEP on top of all the work he’d been doing on the house these past several days, and Noah’s appetite was back with a vengeance. He devoured a plate full of fried eggs, Canadian bacon, hash browns and toast and then went outside to finish painting and scraping the rest of the house. He was crouched on his knees on the porch, putting a coat of paint on the railing when Marty came up the walk.
“Hey.” Noah dipped his brush in the paint can and finished off the last spindle. “What’s up?”
“Word got around you still hold the island record for consecutive table tennis championships,” Marty said in a relative monotone, his mouth set in a stern line. “We’re having a tournament this morning.”
Noah pushed himself upright and stepped away from the railing. “That’s not why you came up here.”
Marty hesitated and then stomped onto the porch. “What are you doing, Noah?”
Right. This was about Sophie. Last night. Noah would be damned before he’d defend himself, but he didn’t want to give the wrong impression, either. “We fell asleep. That’s it.”
“I’m supposed to believe she spent the entire night here and nothing happened?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, I’m going to bet you wanted something to happen. A lot of something.”
That, Noah couldn’t argue.
“Does that mean you’re thinking of staying on Mirabelle?”