by Helen Brenna
“That isn’t going to happen.” Noah looked up into the clouds and sighed. “Not in this lifetime.”
“I never offered your mother a single compromise. Not one. I stuck to my guns like the stubborn son of a bitch I am, and look what it got me. Don’t make the same mistake I did.”
“There is no compromise, Dad.”
“Don’t lose her again, Noah. You’ll regret it the rest of your life.”
AFTER HELPING HIS DAD BACK TO Josie’s, Noah went to his house and poured some iced tea into one of his grandma’s orange-and-yellow flowered glasses. On his way to the porch, he stopped and looked at the photographs from Iraq he’d printed out and had scattered across the coffee table. Although he’d gotten a good start on the photo layout for the book, there was one file he’d yet to open. He’d never looked at the photos of the explosion and his subsequent stay in the hospital.
Setting his iced tea on the table, he flipped up his laptop, opened the folder and looked through the pictures, one after another. In an instant, he was transported back to Iraq where the unrelenting heat and sun, the wind, the sand and dirt were more than a memory. He was there. In the moment.
The explosion. Damn. He studied the pictures of the aftermath. Half of the truck was gone. No wonder everyone else had died. Then there was the hospital. He’d had to practically beg a nurse to snap off a couple shots for him, and now he understood why she’d been so hesitant. He looked like shit. Pale, haggard. Depressed. The other amputees didn’t look much better.
This book had to be finished. Not because he was under contract, but because he finally had something to say. This time it was their story. This time he wanted to write about life not death. Explosion. Recovery. Survival.
He opened his manuscript file, began typing, and typing and typing and typing. For the next several days, his fingers flew over the keyboard and the last of the book practically wrote itself.
As he keyed in the last line, he realized that he may have lost a part of his leg, but his soul felt more complete than ever. He was whole, at least in spirit, and he was finished traveling the world documenting unrest and war. He’d keep writing, of course. It was his job, what he loved doing, but he was all done running away. There was no longer anything, or anyone, nipping at his heels. Not anymore.
As for truth? It was staring him in the face.
SOPHIE WALKED THROUGH HALLS of the Mirabelle Inn taking mental notes. Everything was green and blue and white. She stopped in the lobby. Suddenly she was sick of the monotonous color schemes.
“Soph?” Marty was coming down the wide circular staircase. “Do you have some time for a walk?”
“Sure.” She set her notebook behind the front desk. “Do you think this foyer needs more color?”
He glanced around. “I don’t know. It looks like it’s always looked, right?”
“Yeah. That’s the problem.” She was going to talk to Jan when they got back. Changes at the inn were long overdue.
She and Marty went outside and automatically headed toward the Rousseau forest. “You’re worried about the council meeting, aren’t you?” she asked.
He nodded. Tonight they were going to take a final vote. “Have you talked to Carl or Jim? Do you have any idea how they’re leaning?”
“No, but if I were to guess, I’d say Carl’s a go for it and Jim’s on the fence. The council’s probably fairly evenly split.” They walked on in silence for a while.
“What about you?” he asked. “Have you decided whether or not you’ll approve the use of the trust land?”
“I don’t know, Marty. I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but I still haven’t decided. Tell me, why do you want to move back to Mirabelle?”
“I miss it.”
“That’s all? You sure you won’t get bored here?”
“Positive. I’ve lived here before. I know what it’s like and I know what I want. This is it.”
“What about Brittany? You sure she won’t get bored?”
“She’s from a speck of a town in Oregon. She knows small and isolated and she knows how to make her own fun. She doesn’t need malls or theaters. She needs good people, people who’ll accept her and treat her kindly. She can’t wait to run her own spa. And we want kids, Sophie.
“I’m not getting any younger and Brittany’s ready now. We don’t want to raise them in a big city. Both of us want our kids to be able to run out the back door and not have to worry about who they’re with or where they’re going. There aren’t many places in the world still like that. Then when you get to the teenaged years? You wouldn’t believe what’s out there. The kind of trouble they can get in.”
Yes, she would. She well understood the mines her kids had sidestepped by living on Mirabelle. All she had to do was watch and listen to some of the families who visited during the summer months.
“Is there a reason you don’t want us to live here?”
“I’d love for you and Brittany to live on Mirabelle.” She shook her head. “That’s not the issue.”
“Then what is it? What’s the bottom line?”
She stopped and spread her arms out wide. “These woods. I don’t want to lose them.”
“There’s plenty of undeveloped land on the island.”
“It’s not Rousseau land. This ground, right here, under our feet, belonged to our ancestors. You develop this and part of our family’s history is gone. Forever.”
Marty looked around. “We’ll be putting the pools and golf course on state land, but the hotel? That I’d have to put here. They’re just trees, Sophie.”
“Don’t you remember playing in these woods? Don’t you want your kids to have these woods to play in?”
She could see his wheels turning.
“I need something to do on this island. I can’t retire and raise kids here, and I don’t want to raise kids in a place that’s dying. I want my kids to have other kids their ages growing up here. When’s the last time someone moved to Mirabelle? We lose residents. We don’t gain. It won’t be long before there aren’t any kids left on this island at all.”
He had a valid point. “Maybe the pools and golf course are good ideas. Could you manage those?”
“I’m not sure they’d keep me busy enough.” He picked up a stick and threw it into the woods. “There is a possibility we could add on to the inn. Build a spa facility and an entertainment complex on the west lawn.”
That would change the landscape of the shoreline. She sucked in a breath. The first thing people saw when they came over on the ferry was the inn and its expansive green lawns, topiaries and rose gardens. “Take that away, and you take away Mirabelle’s image.”
“With good architects and landscape designers, the additions could be an improvement on the image. The woods would stay intact. It could work.” He stopped. “Sophie, nothing ever stays the same. Life is change.”
“I know.”
“You’ve dealt with a lot of change in your own life. Mom and Dad dying. Noah leaving. Getting married, losing a husband, having kids.”
“I know.”
“You’ve adapted. Grown. Changed.”
“I know.”
She understood everything he wanted for Mirabelle and it all made sense. It sounded good for the island and the residents.
“Sophie, I know you feel like it’s your responsibility to keep the faith. When Dad died, he passed on to you the responsibility for keeping the Rousseau traditions alive. I get it. But as wonderful a job as you’ve done, I’m not so sure that was fair. Maybe it’s time for you to take a break. While I can’t guarantee that things won’t change, I can promise you I’m home to stay.”
As he hugged her, Sophie couldn’t decide whether the past fifteen years had been a burden or a gift.
“There’s something else you’re holding on to, isn’t there?” Marty asked. “Something you can’t let go. What is it?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“FIR
ST, WE RUN OUT OF toilet paper and it takes your housekeeping staff an hour to get it to our room,” the woman said, shaking her head animatedly. “Then we asked for fresh towels and…”
Sophie stood behind the front desk and tuned out the disgruntled guest. As if it hadn’t been a rough enough day with the upcoming council meeting hanging over her head. She could tell within thirty seconds of coming out of her office on Jan’s request to deal with this mess that all the woman was after was monetary compensation. She didn’t care about any of the accidental inconveniences. She was an opportunist. Even the woman’s husband, standing behind her, looked embarrassed.
Jan stood silently next to Sophie. She knew the drill.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Campbell,” Sophie forced the words out, all the while wishing she could give this woman a piece of her mind. “I trust a coupon for twenty percent off your next bill at our restaurant will ease your troubles.” She tried to smile while holding out the offering.
“Well, all right, but—”
“Please feel free to call me at any time for the duration of your stay.” She handed the woman her card. “I hope this inconvenience doesn’t keep you from coming back next year.”
“Oh, we won’t be staying here next year.” The woman snapped up the card.
Of all the nerve. “Well, in that case—” Sophie snatched the discount coupon out of the woman’s hand “—I’ll be taking that back.”
“Wa—but—I—” While the woman stammered and sputtered away, her husband hid a smile behind his hand and Jan’s mouth dropped open.
“I’d suggest you enjoy the rest of your stay,” Sophie said, unable to stop the outpouring now that the dam had burst, “but I doubt you enjoy life in gen—”
Jan stepped in front of Sophie. “I think what Ms. Rousseau means is that twenty percent off isn’t nearly enough. Here.” She handed the woman a different coupon. “You and your husband enjoy an entirely free meal. Okay?” she said politely and scuttled Sophie off into her office. “What the heck was that all about?”
Sophie crossed her arms and stood looking out her window over the sun-kissed water, feeling unsettled and antsy.
“Look, you haven’t had a day off since Marty and Brittany’s wedding,” Jan said. “Go. Get out of here. It’s not much, but an afternoon is better than nothing.”
The kids were going fishing with Jim and Josie after school. Sophie was free until the council meeting. Mounds of paperwork sat on her desk, but Jan was right. She had to get out of here. She couldn’t go to Noah’s. That would be trouble. She couldn’t go downtown. All the tourists looking for fall colors would drive her crazy. There was no point in isolating herself in the small room off her office. She’d only stare at the pictures of her and Noah.
In the end, she settled for lunch and a book at the lighthouse. Along with picnic fare, she brought a bottle of wine and blankets. She sat back under the shade of a white pine to read and heard footsteps crunching across the rocks.
“Thought I’d find you here.”
She should’ve known Noah would come. “Why?”
“I saw you walking this way with that look on your face.”
“What look is that?”
“The one that says, ‘If I have to spend one more minute with a brainless tourist I’m going to shoot myself.’”
She laughed.
He sat next to her. Immediately, the heat emanating from his skin warmed her side and she felt an urge to snuggle into him. Trouble. “Want a glass of wine?” More trouble.
“Sure.”
She reached behind her for a plastic cup from her stash hidden in the bushes, poured him some cabernet, and held it out. Her fingers brushed against his as the cup exchanged hands, and the reckless need to fall into him passed through her. Do not do this.
“So,” she said, trying to redirect her thoughts, “have you figured out what you want to do about the kids?”
“That’s not why I came here.” He looked away. “We’ve been getting along fine. I don’t want to ruin it.”
“We have to talk about it. Eventually.”
“Not now.”
“Then why did you come here?”
“There’s something else, something more important.”
She took a sip of wine and waited.
Noah stood and paced. “I’ve been thinking a lot about you and Isaac. You and me. The kids. Trying to find a solution. I know this is going to sound as though it’s coming out of nowhere, but…” Suddenly, he stopped in front of her. “Could you…Do you think you could ever love me…as much as you loved Isaac?”
“How could you really believe all these years that I loved Isaac more than you?”
“What was I supposed to think? You married him. You never would’ve married me.”
“Damn you, Noah.” She stood, tears springing to her eyes. “If my dad hadn’t died, we’d have gotten married. How can you not know that?” She turned to walk away.
“Wait a minute.” He grabbed her arm. “Sophie?”
She swallowed. Though the words felt stuck in her throat, she forced them out. “I learned to love Isaac,” she whispered. “Like a good friend. I never loved him, the way I loved you.”
Her answer took him back. He looked as if he didn’t know what to say. “Could you ever love me again?”
She felt as if she might burst from holding herself back. She had to let everything out. “I’m not sure I ever stopped loving you, Noah. Every day of my life, you’ve been there, in my heart. Front and center.”
He stepped toward her and wrapped a hand around the back of her neck. “Then come with me.”
“My life is here.”
“Make a new life. With me.”
“I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?” He studied her face, and his eyes slowly closed as if he could barely contain himself. “The islanders have been right in trying to keep us apart. Because all I want to do, right or wrong, is make love to you.”
“Right or wrong.” She leaned forward, and his gaze focused on her mouth. His short, fast breaths hit her cheek. “It’s what we both want.”
“That won’t solve a thing.”
“I don’t care,” she whispered.
Suddenly, with a yearning that made her chest ache, she wanted back what she and Noah had shared so long ago. She didn’t care what the consequences might be. Noah had been right. Most of her life she’d been doing for others. Her parents, her children, Isaac, the inn, the island. This time she wanted. She needed.
“I want you. Wherever this goes, Noah, I don’t care. I need you.” She reached up, put a hand at the back of his neck and drew him toward her. His eyes slowly closed as she pressed her mouth to his.
She cupped his rough, whiskered cheek in her hand and tilted her head, to deepen the kiss. He was holding himself back, but God help her, she wanted him to let go. She wanted to experience once again the abandon she’d felt in his arms so long ago. She ran her tongue along the inside of his lips and explored his mouth, wanting, needing to taste him.
His chest heaved with restraint, and he jerked away. “No. I’m sorry.” He set her away from him and stood. “We can’t do this.”
Sophie watched him walking away, a mixture of anger and emptiness draining her, and then the recklessness hovering on the fringes of her consciousness took charge. “Oh, yes, Noah, we can.”
NOAH DIDN’T LOOK BACK and he sure as hell didn’t stop until he’d reached his grandmother’s front porch. What they’d had together had been real. She had loved him. All these years, he’d been telling himself a lie to get by. She’d loved him then. She loved him now.
He couldn’t believe he’d summoned the willpower to walk away and leave her at the lighthouse. In truth, though, that willpower had been hanging by the barest of threads. His honorable intentions had been close enough to flying into the bright blue sky that the hazy overhead clouds wouldn’t have known what hit them.
He reached for the knob and rested his forehead on the smo
oth wooden surface of the front door. Oh, hell. He smelled her on the warm air. She was in him. On his skin. Burning him up. He could go back. She might still be there. If not, this was a small island. He could find her. Then what?
He’d been down this road before. Not a damned thing had changed. Resolutely, he turned the knob and, at the sound on the porch steps creaking behind him, he froze, his heart racing all over again. “Sophie, don’t,” he whispered. “Don’t come closer. Don’t touch me.”
Her arms came around his waist and her fingers wasted no time unbuttoning his shirt. “I know,” she whispered. “You’re trying to protect me.”
“Yes.”
“Don’t.” Her lips were on his back, her breath burning his skin. “I don’t want anyone deciding things for me. Not anymore.”
He threw his hands up and rested his palms against the door, refusing to turn, refusing to take her in his arms. “For the love of God, Sophie,” he bit out, “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You already have. If I have to endure pain tomorrow, I want the pleasure due me today.”
No mercy. None. She drew his shirt off and stepped closer, pressing against him. Her fingertips dipped beneath the waistband of his jeans and his gut tightened. His movement created space, allowed her easier access. She took advantage and moved lower, touched him, ran her hand roughly against him.
That was it. This was too much. He flung open the door and spun around. Angry and frustrated. “So this is what you want?”
“You. I want you. More than any—”
He kissed her, lifted her into his arms, and kicked the door closed behind them. He glanced at the steps, unsure if his leg would support them both, but he’d be damned if he was going to take her on the couch like a randy teenager. He took one step, then two, and his leg miraculously held, fueling him, making him feel complete. He felt strong, whole.
“Put me down. I’ll walk.”
“No.” Quickly, he carried her the rest of the way upstairs and laid her back onto the bed. “Now that I’ve got you, I’m not letting you go.”
By the time he finished stripping off her shorts and underwear, she’d already worked the fly on his jeans and was cupping him. Frantic movements. Haggard breaths. Hands searching, needing, possessing. Her mouth was on him, loving him. “Sophie. Slow down.”