by Helen Brenna
His mouth covered hers, with confidence and gentle force, and there was no stopping, no going back. She threw her arms around him and drew him with her to the sand. He was over her, his weight on her, his leg pinning her, and, when she felt his erection, she shifted, wanting to feel that glorious pressure against her own swollen center.
“I’ve never forgotten,” he whispered. He kissed her again, all gentleness gone. His tongue thrust into her mouth, searching, demanding. She wanted skin against skin, heat and pure need. He ran his hand under her shirt, pushed away her bra and cupped her breast. He couldn’t read her mind, but he’d always been able to sense what her body needed.
“Mom?”
At the sound of Lauren’s voice Noah froze, his hand on her breast, his lips at her mouth. Sophie stopped breathing. If Lauren found her and Noah like this, what would she say? Though Lauren was dealing with Isaac’s death marginally better than Kurt, she was still recovering.
“She isn’t over here,” Kurt said.
Oh, my God. They were both here, only a short distance away. Thank God it was dark.
Slowly and silently, Noah inched her bra back in place and slipped his hand out from under her shirt. He couldn’t shift off her without alerting the kids to their presence.
“I saw her,” Lauren argued. “Heading this way.”
Guilt tripped through Sophie. Seeing her like this with Noah would hurt and confuse them both. What was she doing?
“She went for a walk.”
“She’s gonna miss the fireworks.”
A loud boom sounded, signaling the start of the display, and Noah jerked as if startled by the sound. Sophie instinctively gripped him tighter. Red and blue lights exploded in the sky.
“They’re starting!”
“Let’s go!”
As the children ran back to the inn, their voices faded into the night. Still, she couldn’t move. Another boom sounded and Noah jerked again.
“Are you okay?”
“Loud sounds. Still do a number on me.”
She held him through another series of fireworks, and then he quietly rolled off her and onto his back. He took a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair. “Go. Go back. I’ll stay here awhile.”
“Noah, I—”
“Don’t say anything. Don’t make any excuses. Your kids. Me. We’re too complicated, Sophie. That’s all there is to it. Let’s pretend this never happened.”
As if.
She straightened out her shirt, smoothed her hair and walked away. The fireworks exploding overhead seemed tame compared to what she’d experienced in Noah’s arms. Always, it had been that way with him. He forced her emotions so close to the surface. Sophie should’ve known guarding her heart against Noah would be pointless. He could leave Mirabelle tomorrow and already it might be too late.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
MARTY AND BRITTANY’S WEDDING day had dawned with stormy gray skies and rain falling in sheets. Hours later, though, a brisk Lake Superior wind had blown away most of the clouds and the sky remained, if not clear, at least dry. By the time the ceremony rolled around that afternoon the wind had died down, giving way to oppressive humidity.
Noah sat in the back pew of the white church on the hill and tried to force out the quiet conversations going on around him as the guests waited on the ceremony. He wasn’t having much luck. His thoughts were scattered, his attention unfocused.
He’d always hated weddings. Well, not always. He’d only hated every wedding he’d been to since Isaac had married Sophie.
“My heavens, it’s hot in this church,” Mrs. Stotz said. She was Herman’s, the assistant police chief’s, wife and Noah could remember when the young couple had first moved to the island. He’d thought they were both crazy, couldn’t figure out why anyone would ever have wanted to move to Mirabelle.
“It’s a wedding day,” Mrs. Gilbert, who owned one of the quaint bed-and-breakfasts, returned. “What did you expect?”
“Sunshine, clear blue skies and a nice, cool breeze.”
“In your dreams.”
Noah glanced to his right and saw Kurt, dressed in a black tux, standing in the entryway, waiting. Then Sophie came into his line of sight and wrapped her hand around Kurt’s arm. She wore a midnight-blue dress in some slinky fabric with thin shoulder straps and an angled skirt that came up above her knee on one side and draped past her ankles on the other. Although she was wearing more makeup today than usual, her look wasn’t overdone.
She smiled at Noah before Kurt escorted her to the front pew, and his thoughts focused on the conversation they’d had last night. She’d lost a husband, her children’s father, and still Sophie had claimed that Noah leaving the island had been the hardest thing she’d ever gone through. How could he have meant more to her than Isaac? First, that kiss in her office, then feeling her under him last night at the beach. She’d brought it all back to him, the longings he’d thought buried years ago.
Now this wedding. Dammit. After he’d left Sophie on Mirabelle, he’d accepted his life would be nomadic. One country, one tent, one bunkhouse after the next. In an attempt to give himself some semblance of roots, he’d bought the house outside Providence in Rhode Island. Though he hadn’t spent much time there through the years, being on the ocean reminded him a little of Mirabelle, only with a warmer climate and a lot more people and activities.
“It’s too bad Marty couldn’t have married Dan Newman’s daughter, Marissa.”
“Did they date in high school?”
“All four years. They were cute together.”
“Does anyone from Mirabelle ever marry someone else from Mirabelle?”
“No.”
“Never?”
“Practically never.”
“What about Sophie and Isaac Bennett?”
Noah wished they’d shut up.
“Don’t you remember the scuttlebutt? They got married at the courthouse in Washburn.”
The courthouse in Washburn? What the hell? He closed his eyes and concentrated on blocking out their conversation, only it wasn’t working.
“That’s right.”
“The last time two of Mirabelle’s own got married on the island was way back in the Eighties.”
“Ah, the Andersens. I remember that wedding.”
“Excuse me.” A tall, heavyset woman with three kids and a husband standing behind her approached Noah from the aisle. “Are these seats taken?”
“No.” He slid in to make room.
“I’m Eva. Cousins of the groom from California. Don’t keep in touch very well, so we thought this would be a good opportunity to reconnect. My mom had a cancer scare last year and she’s wanted to see family. So we brought her and everyone else.”
Noah nodded and slid farther down the pew.
“Aren’t you Sophie’s husband? Shouldn’t you be sitting more toward the front?”
“No. Sophie’s husband died a few years ago.”
“Aren’t you the Bennett boy?”
“I’m a Bennett, yes, but Sophie married my brother, Isaac.”
“Oh, I assumed—”
Noah stood and moved.
By the time the reception rolled around, he wasn’t feeling any calmer. He managed to get through the meal, the speeches, the endless clanking of glasses for Marty and Brittany to kiss.
Once the dance began, he found himself an inconspicuous spot in the shadows to sit back and watch the revelry. Sophie was on the dance floor now with one of her sister’s husbands and her silky skirt billowed out with every step she took, showing off her calves, and ankles and feet decked out in tall black heels. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her. She had the ability to be at once perfectly stable and wondrously uninhibited. He hadn’t known it all these years, but he’d missed her constancy, her strength, the way she’d always managed to center him, no matter how off course he’d seemed to be. And her passion, her directness, her generous spirit.
“You’re looking mighty somber tonight,” Marty sai
d, pulling out a chair next to him.
“It’s been a long week.”
“Tell me about it.” Marty chuckled. “Can you dance? With the prosthetic?”
“Why?” He grinned. “You asking?”
Marty laughed. “Sure. Let’s go.”
“I suppose I could with some practice, but the occasion hasn’t presented itself before today.”
“No time like the present.”
Dancing with Sophie. Wouldn’t that rouse the locals? “Maybe later.”
“I know we haven’t had much of a chance to talk, but I’m really glad you ended up being here this week. Having you back made things even more special for me.”
The pesky, snot-nosed, tagalong Little Marty was long gone. This man was Noah’s equal, could be his friend. “I’m happy the timing worked out, too, Marty. Congratulations. Brittany’s a great lady.”
Marty glanced over at his bride. “Lights up my boring world, that’s for sure.” Then he focused back on Noah. “I’d like to keep in touch after things settle. With any luck, Brittany and I will be living here. Come back to Mirabelle now and again?”
“Maybe.” He wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle seeing Sophie on a regular basis. These past days had been hell on him. “You sure you want to live here?”
“Can’t wait for it.”
“What about what Sophie wants?”
Marty looked away. “I’m not sure if what Sophie thinks she wants is what’s best for her.”
“Are you talking about me—?”
“Actually, I was talking about the island. What do I know?” Marty stood, clearly uncomfortable with the turn in the conversation. “All I’m saying is don’t be a stranger, okay?”
“I THINK MARTY’S IDEAS are spot-on,” Doc Welinsky said. “This island’s been long in need of a shot in arm.”
“Easy for you to say,” Shirley Gilbert said. “You’re not looking at the possibility of losing customers to some newfangled spa.”
“We got enough tourists as it is,” Sally McGregor added.
Jim sat at the large table lined with islanders at Marty and Brittany’s wedding reception trying hard to keep his mouth shut and simply listen to everyone’s concerns and opinions, but it was hard to remain objective. He did not want Mirabelle to change at all. This was one messy situation.
“I think the golf course is a great idea,” Dan Newman said. “Not too sure pools are cost-effective.”
“You gotta have both,” Bob Henderson said. “If you want to attract adults and families.”
“Before you know it,” Arlo Duffy said. “People’ll be wanting cars.”
“Oh, no!”
“That’ll never happen.”
“Give an inch, they’ll take a mile.”
The table erupted with one opinion after another, threatening to turn into a shouting match.
“Now hold on there!” Jim said, his stomach suddenly acting up. “This is a wedding. We should be enjoying ourselves not talking business.”
After several hems and haws, the conversation turned to lighter topics, and Josie leaned toward him. “Are you all right, Jim?”
“I must be coming down with something.” He popped a couple antacids into his mouth. “My stomach’s been bothering me.”
“You need a vacation off this island.”
She was right, but between Noah’s return and Marty’s proposals for island improvements, the winds of change were clearly hitting Mirabelle’s shores, and he needed to be here to direct, as much as possible, that change.
Even now, Noah looked as if he might walk over to Sophie any minute and ask her to dance. “Kurt,” Jim said, leaning back and tapping his grandson on the shoulder. “Have you danced with your mother yet?”
“Nope.”
“Why don’t you go ask her? She’s over there by the bar talking with some of Brittany’s family.”
“Okay.” Kurt left the table full of kids and dragged his mom out onto the dance floor.
“I think I’d like to dance,” Josie announced to the table.
“What do you want to go out on that crowded floor for?” Jim said.
“Maybe I like it crowded.” Josie shrugged. “If you don’t want to dance with me, I’m sure I can find someone else who will.”
“I’ll dance with you, Josie,” Doc said.
“Like hell you will.” Jim stood up and held out his hand. “Come on. Let’s dance.”
“Why, Jim, you’re such a charmer.” She smiled, took his hand and walked out onto the dance floor. Wearing a red, pink and wine rose-printed dress, she looked as pretty as a picture.
Trying to forget about Noah for a few minutes, he took Josie in his arms and whispered in her ear, “You know I love you.”
“I know.” She smiled. “I still need you to show it every once in a while.”
NOAH WALKED SLOWLY TO THE BAR. “A beer, please,” he said to the bartender before turning to watch the dance floor.
“You must be Sophie’s husband.” A middle-aged woman came to stand next to him. She must have been one of Brittany’s aunts. That bubbly voice had to be genetic. “The kids look so much like you, you probably get that all the time.”
“No, actually, I don’t—”
“Not so much Lauren, although I can see the likeness in the shape of her face, but that Kurt. You two are spitting images of each other.”
Noah watched Sophie and Kurt dancing a waltz. Kurt. Spitting image. Kurt looked a little like Isaac. But Isaac…looked enough like Noah to make him wonder. He’d thought the kids were around twelve, but then Lauren had said fourteen. Fourteen. Noah had been gone a little under fifteen years. The woman continued babbling, but he was too stunned to hear a word she was saying. How could he have been so blind, so obtuse, as to not wonder?
He thought back and calculated. He’d left for college in August. If their birthday was in May or earlier they were his kids. He could be a father. Kurt and Lauren could be his children.
Shocked, disbelieving, lost in confusion, he walked to where Sophie was dancing with Kurt and tapped the boy on the shoulder. “May I cut in?”
“Whatever.” Kurt shrugged, and Noah saw something in the gesture that reminded him of Isaac. Or was it his imagination?
He took Sophie in his arms, but he was feeling like anything except dancing. Her smile disappeared. “What’s the matter? What happened?”
Never having danced with the prosthetic, his movements felt awkward and stiff. He crossed the slippery floor, maneuvered them out onto the veranda and shut the door.
“What is it?” she said, concerned. “What’s going on?”
“Are Kurt and Lauren my children?”
She looked as if she’d been slapped in the face and turned away.
“Look at me!” He grabbed her arms and spun her around. “Am I their father?”
“Isaac is their father. You’re hurting me!”
Though he loosened his grip, he held her still. “You’ve never lied to me before. Don’t start now.”
“I’m not lying.”
“Then there’s more to the story. If you were telling me the whole truth you wouldn’t be turning away.” He let her go.
Jan poked her head outside. “Sophie—”
“Go away,” Sophie yelled. “Leave us alone!”
Jan’s face registered surprise, but she quickly disappeared back into the ballroom.
Sophie faced him straight on. “Isaac is their father in every way that matters.”
If that wasn’t an evasive answer, he didn’t know what was. “How about this then? Did my sperm fertilize your egg?”
For a moment the only sound was the music filtering outside from the ballroom, and then she whispered, “I don’t know.”
He grabbed her upper arms. “Sophie!”
“I don’t know!” she cried.
His world tilted, skewed strangely. Things he’d believed were truths turned out to be lies. His emotions went wild. Up seemed down, right was now wrong. “What
do you mean, you don’t know? How can you not know?” Anger, at himself, at her, pulsed through him. Resentment and disgust combined with disbelief and confusion. He pushed her away from him. “What? Did you sleep with every available man the day after I left?”
Her jaw clenched. “I can’t believe—”
“So you were screwing other men before I left.”
“How can you be so cruel?” she said.
“Me? You won’t tell me whether or not I’m the father of two children. If that isn’t cruel, I don’t know what is.” His anger turned to agony. He moved away, feeling vulnerable and so terribly alone.
“Noah?” She reached for him, and he sidestepped her. After a long moment of silence, she whispered, “I slept with Isaac about a month after you left. He’s the only…” she said, her voice breaking, “the only other man I’ve ever been with.”
“Well, at least that narrows the playing field.” He clenched his jaw, reining himself in. “You must’ve started dating him right after I left.”
“We never really dated. It was just one night.”
“One night.” Now the courthouse wedding in Washburn made more sense. Their wedding hadn’t been planned. He swallowed, not ready to go there just yet. “So it’s between me and Isaac. You ought to be able to figure that one out. You should know.”
“I don’t.”
“Dammit, Sophie.” He spun toward her. “Doctors can pinpoint conception dates by fetal development. Even I know that.”
“We asked them not to tell us—”
“We? Are you saying Isaac knew the kids might not be his?”
She nodded. “He didn’t care.”
“You never tried to figure it out?”
“No. Isaac asked the medical staff not to tell us anything. Even due dates. Since my periods have always been irregular—”
“What’s their birthday?”
“May sixteenth, but the date doesn’t mean anything, Noah. If you’re their biological father, then they were born relatively on time. If Isaac’s their father, they were born early. Twins are often early.”