He really wanted to tug her into his lap and kiss away her glower, which he knew was as impossible as him getting up and marching across the house to find what she wanted.
“Kitchen, top drawer left of the sink,” he finally said. “You can’t miss it. It’s on a blue carabiner and marked shed.”
“Thank you.”
She said the words in a tone as barbed as fishhooks, then turned and marched from the room, leaving behind that spring wildflower scent.
He frowned after her, feeling even more like a bastard, if that were possible.
She had done nothing to deserve his foul temper except try to make life a little easier for him. It wasn’t her fault he was frustrated and sore and beginning to long for things he knew he couldn’t have.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ANDIE QUICKLY FOUND the carabiner with the shed key hooked to it and hurried out to Wyn’s beautiful stone patio that bordered the Hell’s Fury River.
In summer, this was a lovely, tranquil spot where one could sit and listen to the river and enjoy the view of the mountains beyond.
The snow hadn’t been cleared here. Because the patio faced north and was shaded by the house and the bordering trees, it seemed as if each wintry storm that had hit since before Thanksgiving had left a few inches behind that never had a chance to melt in the sunshine.
Even though she wore boots, it was still a struggle to crunch across the foot-deep snow to the garden shed. She didn’t mind. The exertion took her mind off the emotions roiling through her.
When she reached the shed, she paused to catch her breath. Deep belly breathing had been a big part of her therapy this summer and she still found it immensely useful.
She closed her eyes and focused on expanding and contracting her diaphragm while she listened to the river’s song and the scrape and rustle of tree branches in the brisk wind, heavy with the promise of more snow.
When she opened her eyes a few moments later, she felt much more centered. At least she no longer wanted to scoop up a bucket of this crusty weeks-old snow and dump it on a certain frustrating sheriff.
She didn’t lose her temper very often. Growing up in the household her grandfather ruled with harsh words that hit much harder than iron fists had taught her young to learn how to contain any excessive emotions. She had always rather prided herself on her self-control, her ability to pause and think before she responded instinctively to a given situation with anger and words she couldn’t take back.
For the first time in a long while, she had almost let that control slip away and had come dangerously close to giving Marshall Bailey a big, angry piece of her mind.
Did he seriously think she had nothing better to do than traipse back and forth between their houses, making up excuses to drop in on him?
Remembered hurt sliced through her again, a hurt she didn’t understand. He hadn’t exactly made it a secret that he didn’t want her help. She supposed she had thought—hoped—that perhaps they were becoming friends.
She had to ask herself why his words seemed to cut so deeply. Did she really care what the sheriff thought of her? She barely knew the man. Until a few days ago, she would have said he made her nervous and uncomfortable. He had always seemed a cold, hard man.
Somehow she had convinced herself there was something more beneath the surface. She thought she had seen glimpses of kindness, a vulnerability she never would have suspected until she spent a little time here.
She was a fool.
He was exactly as he appeared—humorless and ungrateful and arrogant.
If it wouldn’t break her children’s hearts completely, she would march back inside, toss the shed key on his lap—broken leg and all—and tell him just where he could stuff the Christmas tree she was on her way to find.
The temper she had just tried to cool in the December air flared all over again, with an intensity she found more than a little disquieting.
When was the last time she had been truly angry?
For the last two years, she had been living in a kind of limbo. She had grieved for Jason until she was sick with it, but about four months after his death, she had forced herself to shove down the worst of her grief so she could focus on caring for her children.
That raw sense of loss had always been there inside of her, just muffled as if she had wrapped it in layer after layer of cotton batting.
She had finally been coming to terms with the grief when Rob Warren had destroyed everything in one terrible night when his obsession spiraled out of control and he refused to take no for an answer.
She pushed away the dark memories. She was so much more than what had happened to her. It was a small chapter out of her life, not the central, defining theme. She refused to let his actions dictate her choices going forward or the sort of life she wanted to provide for her children.
A few stray snowflakes fluttered down, landing on her cheeks, and she lifted her face to them, trying to focus on the pure beauty of her surroundings and the calming sound of the river. Eventually, it worked its inevitable magic on her spirit. When she felt the tension and anger begin to ease, she went to work unlocking the shed and flipped on the light.
The shed was constructed from the same stone as the house and the patio. The cold, dusty interior was filled with boxes, gardening tools, a couple of kayaks and a bike that looked older than she was.
She found the Christmas tree at once, clearly marked in a red bag. A few matching boxes around it held ornaments, just as Wyn had told her.
“Use whatever you want,” Wyn had said when Andie called her the night before. “I can’t even remember what I have there, to be honest. So much has happened this year—last Christmas seems like one big blur.”
Wynona’s father had died in January after contracting pneumonia at the care center where he had lived for several years after his brain injury, Andie remembered. A year ago, her friend had been a police officer on the Haven Point Police Department, working for Cade Emmett.
Now Wyn was finishing the last few credits she needed for her master’s of social work and she and Cade were engaged.
The two of them were so sweet together. Andie knew Wyn had loved him most of her life and Cade looked at Wyn like she was everything he had ever wanted in a lifetime of birthdays and Christmases combined.
At the party the night before, she had told Eliza Caine she wasn’t ready to date again, but here in the quiet solitude of this dusty, cold shed, she could admit the truth.
Jason had been a good man. From the moment they met when she was studying art in Portland and he was a rookie cop, their love had seemed so natural. Inevitable, even. He hadn’t been the perfect husband and she certainly hadn’t been the perfect wife, but they had been happy together.
She yearned for that connection again, even though it terrified her.
Should she call Eliza and tell her she had changed her mind about going out with Aidan’s brother? Eliza would be thrilled, Andie knew.
The idea of dating again completely terrified her. Figuring out what to wear. Trying to make conversation. Wondering what her date thought of her—if he would call her for a second date, if she should let him kiss her, if her breath smelled minty fresh or like the onions on her salad.
She shivered from more than the cold, musty air inside the shed. She could hardly even bear thinking about it.
Maybe that was the very reason she needed to do it, to get past this mental block. Once she went on her first date, she would probably not have so much angst the second time.
Why was she even thinking about this? She wasn’t going to call Eliza. Let someone like Samantha Fremont entertain Aidan’s brother and show him around town. She had enough to do—but at least that list wouldn’t include watching over Wynona’s brother.
She grabbed the bag containing the tree and wrestled it o
ut the small door of the shed, then returned for the boxes of ornaments.
It took two trips to carry everything back across the snow. On the second trip, she spotted movement from the small porch. When she looked up from navigating the path, she spotted Marshall Bailey standing in the open doorway on his crutches. Even hunched slightly to use the crutches, he seemed tall and imposing. She had a feeling that was more from his personality than his physical posture.
She frowned as she headed up the steps. Thinking about dating again made her break out in a cold sweat, but at least it had distracted her from her annoyance at a certain sheriff.
“You shouldn’t be out here,” she said, her voice cool. “It hasn’t been cleared and isn’t safe for someone using crutches.”
A muscle clenched in his jaw. “You were taking a long time. I thought maybe something happened to you—that you slipped on the ice or something.”
He was concerned about her. The unexpected softness sent a little bubble of warmth flaring to life in her chest, though she knew it was silly. Her own ridiculous reaction made her more honest than she might have been otherwise.
“I needed a little time to cool down,” she admitted.
He studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable, then he sighed. “I owe you an apology. That was the other reason I came looking for you.”
An apology? Now, that was unexpected. “Let me get these things inside, and then you can apologize to your heart’s content.”
For a moment, she thought he might smile, but he merely nodded. “I guess you need me to get out of your way.”
On so many levels, she thought. “That would help.”
He pivoted on the crutches—not an easy undertaking—and swung his way back into the kitchen. Andie picked up the tree and carried it through the doorway and into the living room before she returned to the porch for the boxes of ornaments.
“Guess you found what you needed.”
“Wyn had a tree and some ornaments, right where she told me they would be. I locked it again and here’s this.” She pulled the key from the pocket of her coat and set it back in the drawer.
“And now, I believe you were about to offer me an apology.”
He leaned back against the small island in the kitchen, the black orthopedic boot outstretched in front of him, and studied her with that same unreadable look. “You already may have figured this out,” he finally said, “but I’m not very good at being needy.”
“Yes. I believe I’ve noticed,” she murmured.
“This damn broken leg is bringing out the worst in me, I’m afraid. It’s tough for a guy like me to be dependent on others, but that’s no excuse for me to be mean about it, especially when you’ve been nothing but generous and helpful. I’m very sorry I took my bad mood out on you. I’ll try not to let it happen again. I can’t make any promises, but I’ll do my best.”
Andie blinked as the last vestiges of her temper fizzled to nothing but embers. As far as apologies went, that one sounded sincere and heartfelt. She had a feeling apologies weren’t any easier for a man like Marshall Bailey than accepting help, yet he had done it with a graciousness that completely disarmed her.
“Thank you. Very nicely done. I accept your apology.”
He looked slightly amused. “Thanks. I guess.”
She looked around the kitchen, remembering other times she had sat here with his sister and talked for long hours. “Did Wyn ever tell you how she and I became friends?” she asked suddenly.
He shook his head. “Knowing her, I don’t imagine she gave you much choice in the matter.”
“True enough.” She smiled a little, remembering the events of early in the summer and how Wynona had pushed her way into her life.
“I came to Haven Point with one goal in mind. I just wanted my children to be safe, comfortable and happy and I planned to keep to myself as much as possible.”
He raised an eyebrow at that, no doubt because it had to be obvious to him how that particular objective had gone down in flames.
“The first day I moved here, I met your sister. And, you’re right—she didn’t give me any other choice. The kids and I were exploring the neighborhood a little and headed across the bridge and along the Mount Solace trail when I sprained my ankle.”
“That’s a weird coincidence.”
She gestured to his boot. “I didn’t break anything. It wasn’t really serious, just painful. But there I was, sprawled out on the trail and trying to catch my breath while trying to comfort my frightened kids when your sister and Young Pete came down the trail in the other direction.”
“It’s always been one of her favorite evening walks.”
“And mine. When she found me, Wyn insisted on helping me all the way home, even though I told her firmly that I didn’t need or want her help. After...everything we left behind in Portland, the last thing I wanted was a busybody police officer pushing herself into my business.”
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly before he met her gaze. “Wyn has always been good at doing what she wants, no matter what anybody says. You should have known her twin. She and Wyatt were definitely cut from the same cloth.”
The clear affection in his voice made her a little sad, both for his loss and for the siblings she had never had.
“Not only did she all but carry me home that day, but the next day she showed up with enough meals for two weeks, provided by the Haven Point Helping Hands.”
“Again, sounds like Wyn.” His mouth softened into an almost-smile that lightened his austere features. If he ever gave a full-on smile, the man would be devastating.
“She didn’t stop there. She spent the entire next day helping me unpack boxes while I was stuck on the sofa doing nothing. It was very hard for me to watch, but I learned something important that day.”
“Not to stumble on the Mount Solace trail when Wynona Bailey is around?”
That was nearly a joke. She smiled, even as she shook her head. “That was one of the luckiest days of my life. I cherish my friendship with your sister, something I might not have had if I had continued in my isolationist stubbornness. No, what I learned that day is that none of us who shares this planet can claim to be completely independent. We need each other, plain and simple. The trick is accepting it’s a zero-sum equation. Sometimes you’re on one side of that equation, giving help. That’s the side most of us are most comfortable with, I think. It makes us feel magnanimous and generous, like we’re good people. But just as we have to be willing to help others, circumstances sometimes place us on the other side of the scale. The needy side. Those are the times we also must learn how to accept help when it’s graciously offered, as hard as it is.”
“Point taken.”
“I know you don’t like accepting help and I completely understand that, believe me. We all like to think we have the strength to handle whatever life throws at us by ourselves. It’s not about strength or fortitude or independence. Maybe this is simply my way of giving back to Wyn for all she has done for me and my children, by helping her grouchy wounded bear of a brother while he’s going through a rough few days.”
He gave a rough-sounding laugh. “Wounded bear? Is that what I am?”
“Close enough. You want to hunker down in your cave by yourself and lick your wounds. I get it. But my particular cubs want to make that cave a little more cheerful and I can’t think that’s a bad thing. I want to teach them the same lesson Louise is trying to teach her grandson. Decent human beings help each other when they can.”
He paused, looking uncomfortable. “I am grateful for that, even when I don’t always act like it and when I’m lousy at admitting it.”
She had to smile again. “Don’t worry. It gets easier.”
“I doubt we’ll get to that point. It’s only a matter of time before everything is back to nor
mal.”
He had a few miles to go before then, but she didn’t bother mentioning it. “You probably need to sit down, don’t you?”
“I’m supposed to be moving around. It actually feels good to be on my feet. Or foot, anyway.”
She shouldn’t be noticing the way his shrug rippled the loose T-shirt he wore or how his hands looked big and capable on the crutches.
She swallowed and gestured to the Christmas tree. “I should probably set this up and check the lights. Wyn told me it was only a year old so should work fine, but I would rather be sure of that before Will and Chloe hang all their decorations. It’s easier to do earlier, rather than later.”
“I’m sorry I can’t help you.”
“Zero-sum, remember?” She carried the tree into the den, aware of him hobbling down the hall behind her.
As she worked to pull the pieces of the tree out of the bag and set them in the correct order, he stood beside the sofa flexing his toe. How was it possible that he could look so virile and manly when his face was still scraped and battered and he wore something that wouldn’t look out of place at the gym?
She thought of that wounded bear comparison. Marshall Bailey was more like a big, gorgeous mountain lion, sleek and strong and muscular.
Something else she probably shouldn’t notice.
“How is the leg feeling today?” she asked to distract herself.
“Fine. Like the rest of me. More than ready to go back to work.”
“When do you think that will happen?”
His features twisted with annoyance. “Technically I’m supposed to take sick leave until after the New Year.”
“That’s only a few weeks, at least.”
It was obvious by his expression that seemed like a lifetime to him. Something told her Marsh was not a man who liked being on the sidelines very much.
“I’ve still got a few investigations spinning and I can work a few angles at home. I’m also going to dig into some of the county’s cold cases from before my time.”
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