Herons Landing

by JoAnn Ross

  Her expression softened. “No. I loved Zoe, but in a different way. I understood what you were trying to say. Mostly. Because no one can fully grasp a pain like you experienced. Which was why I wasn’t sure your feelings would ever change... Mai’s grandfather died in France, fighting in the war. Her grandmother was still a young woman. And never remarried. I thought you might end up like her.”

  “I went out to the cemetery,” he said. “For the first time since the funeral. I told Zoe I loved her. And that part of me always will.”

  “I wouldn’t want to be with a man who could feel otherwise.”

  “I also told her that I love you now.”

  There was a long pause as she took that in. This time instead of stopping, Seth’s heart was hammering against his chest.

  “I want children,” she said.

  That was a plus. She hadn’t given him a flat-out no. Seth forged on. “Okay. Good. Me, too. And I want to live in the carriage house, and if that grows too small, I’ll put on additions. Maybe a second story—”

  Her brow furrowed. “How many children are you talking about?”

  “However many or as few as you want. And I want to grow old together, watching our grandkids building sandcastles on the beach and enjoying the sunsets together.”

  “A lifetime of sunsets,” she murmured.

  “Once again we think alike. And we’ll always hold on to each other, getting through whatever storms come together.”

  “Not just the weather ones.”

  “No,” he agreed as she walked toward him. “All storms. The way your parents have done. The way mine have done. Because one thing our families have in common is that neither Mannions nor Harpers ever give up.”

  She smiled at that. Both with her lips and her remarkable lake-blue eyes. “No. We don’t.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “I know. Like I said, I knew even as I left that I wasn’t the only one hurting. But you had to find your answers on your own. So, is this a proposal?”

  Oh, hell. He really was a jackass. “Yes. Absolutely it is.” And although he never would’ve guessed he’d be taking relationship advice from his dad, Seth dropped to a knee on the wide-planked floor. “I love you. And I want to marry you.”

  “How handy, since I’ve wanted to marry you ever since you shared your Ding Dong with me.”

  “What Ding Dong?”

  She laughed and waved his question away. “I’ll tell you later. Maybe on our honeymoon.”

  “Thomas Wolfe was wrong,” Brianna said as, after a long, heartfelt kiss, she and Seth walked through the rain, which had softened to a mist, back to the house.

  “About what?” Seth dropped a light kiss atop her head, wondering what he’d ever done to deserve two such amazing women in one life.

  She smiled up at him, their love, their bright future, shining in her eyes. “You really can go home again.”

  * * * * *

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  WHILE WRITING CAN be a solitary existence, publishing a book truly does take a village. I’ve been fortunate to have received a great deal of help and want to give thanks and a huge shout-out to my fabulous publishing team:

  Dianne Moggy, who first reached out from our shared past. I’m so happy I followed that winding yellow brick road back to HQN Books.

  Craig Swinwood, who welcomed me home with such enthusiasm.

  Susan Swinwood, editor extraordinaire, who sees the forest when I’m down writing in the trees. Working together is a joy.

  Sean Kapitain, for portraying my beloved Pacific Northwest so beautifully on Herons Landing’s cover.

  And everyone else working so hard behind the scenes at HQN to bring Seth and Brianna’s story to readers.

  Last, but certainly never least, heartfelt gratitude to my wonderful agents Denise Marcil and Anne Marie O’Farrell, for their steadfast encouragement, wise advice and work on my behalf. Who knew that first day that we could end up having such fun?

  Home to Honeymoon Harbor

  JoAnn Ross

  www.millsandboon.co.uk

  CHAPTER ONE

  Spring 1985

  THEIR EYES MET across a crowded room. Not a ballroom or the formal parlor of an English country estate, like two characters in the Jane Austen novels Sarah Harper had been teaching at the University of Tokyo, but at the departure gate at Los Angeles International Airport. In a contemporary romance novel, it could have been a “meet cute” moment. But for Sarah Harper, it was more of a “why here? why him?” moment.

  Sarah had every reason to hate John Mannion. All right, perhaps hate was a bit strong—as an English literature professor she valued the appropriateness of the perfect word—perhaps scorn would come closer. He had, after all, broken up with her at the very moment she’d been expecting a proposal. Only an hour after having made love to her! Loathe. That was it. She nodded, pleased that she’d nailed it. She loathed him.

  Unfortunately, he seemed to have mistaken her nod as a gesture of acceptance, because even through the fog of cigarette smoke from those waiting to board, she couldn’t miss the way those deep blue eyes she’d once drowned in zeroed in on her. Then, oh, damn, he bent, picked up a worn brown canvas backpack, left the check-in line and began weaving his way through the standing-room-only crowd toward her.

  The man whom she’d spent her entire life expecting to marry drew the gaze of more than one woman as he made a beeline for her. He was wearing dusty khakis, a rumpled brown T-shirt that displayed strong, tanned arms, and hiking boots. At six four, lean and lanky John Mannion had always stood head and shoulders above others. There’d been a time when Sarah had found him perfect.

  She didn’t need this. After the long ride from her Tokyo apartment to Narita International Airport, additional hours waiting to board (a control freak, she always arrived way ahead of time), then a twelve-plus-hour flight to LAX, during which she hadn’t slept a wink, she was exhausted. Still ahead of her was a two-hour flight to the Seattle-Tacoma airport and a ferry ride before she’d reach her hometown of Honeymoon Harbor.

  She looked down at her watch. She’d been first in line at the check-in and already had her seat assignment to Sea-Tac. Having no inclination to speak with the only man who’d ever possessed the ability to break her heart, she turned on the practical two-inch heels of her black pumps and strode toward the women’s restroom, where she intended to remain until it was time to board.

  * * *

  WHAT WERE THE ODDS? Of all the airports in all the towns, in all the world, Sarah Harper just happened to walk into the same one where he’d been waiting in line to pick up his ticket. At first John Mannion thought she was a hallucination born from the chaos, cacophony and architectural dystopia of Los Angeles International Airport.

  Having lived for the past two years in Nepal, with the background sounds of singing meditation bowls and prayer wheels, the mountain breeze through the limbs of fruit trees and the snap of colorful Buddhist prayer flags flying from rooftops, the discordant voices of the airport crowd, loudspeaker announcements and background elevator music had him feeling as if he’d landed in one of Dante’s lower rings of hell.

  John hadn’t gone to Nepal for the mountain climbing. Also, unlike others searching for inner peace in that remote corner of the world, he hadn’t gone seeking enlightenment. Ironically, while spending the past two years assisting communities with fruit tree propagation and building a water system, he’d achieved both.

  He’d been working in the Lamjung District—at nearly a mile high, barely a midway elevation point in the country. Opting against the chaotic and nine-hour-long bus ride, he’d sprung for a car to the local airport, then taken a flight—offering a spectacular farewell bird’s-eye view of the crystalline snow-clad peaks of the Himalayas—and had made it to Kathmandu in five hours. After another twenty-hour flight, much of it spent
sleeping because one of the things he was taking home from his Peace Corps gig was the ability to sleep whenever and wherever the opportunity arose, he’d please, baby Jesus, finally get home to Honeymoon Harbor before he totally lost his mind.

  But he wasn’t so bleary-eyed that he couldn’t recognize the only woman he’d ever loved. The woman whose heart he’d broken. The very woman he hadn’t stopped thinking about his entire time in Nepal. John didn’t have many regrets about his life so far. But Sarah Harper was at the top of his list.

  As their eyes connected, the chemistry flashing between them like lightning over the Olympic Mountains during a summer storm, he acted on impulse. He picked up the backpack he’d carried for two years and countless miles and left the check-in line. John had spent many nights staring up at the wide, starry Himalayan sky, pondering different scenarios to win her back. Being thrown back together like this hadn’t been one of them. John had no idea if it was coincidence, luck or fate. But whichever, he sure as hell wasn’t going to question it.

  Damn. While he’d wended his way through the crush of passengers, she disappeared. Deciding it would be futile to search in the teeming mass of humanity waiting at the gate, he returned to the end of the line, figuring he’d ensured himself a middle seat somewhere in the back of the plane.

  “Good morning, Mr. Mannion.” The uniformed ticket agent greeted him with a dazzling smile when he finally reached the counter fifteen minutes later. “Welcome back to the US.”

  “I’m happy to be home.” He watched as she tapped on her computer keys, waiting for the bad news. “I’ve got you in seat 6A to Sea-Tac,” she informed him, taking a red sticker and putting it on his ticket.

  “That’s first class.”

  “It certainly is.” Her smile impossibly grew brighter.

  “But I’m in coach.” Except for funds needed for emergency projects, the Peace Corps could make Scrooge look like a big spender. Volunteers were expected to live at a level comparable to their host country counterparts, and his monthly allowance, paid in Nepalese rupees, while enough to survive on, hadn’t allowed for luxuries like first class.

  “You were in coach,” she agreed. “However, when I arrived this morning and saw that your ticket had been booked through the Peace Corps Departmental Organization office in Kathmandu, I upgraded you.” Again the smile flashed. “My mother grew up in Nepal and coincidentally married a Peace Corps worker from LA. Which is how I ended up here and you ended up in first class.”

  “Small world,” John said.

  “Isn’t it?” Now that he knew her background, he could hear a bit of Nepali lilt in her voice. The idea of a wide, comfortable seat, a hot meal and a quiet space called to him like a siren. But there was one problem.

  “I’ve been traveling for twenty-six hours already,” he said. “I suspect I’m a bit overly aromatic for your typical first-class passengers.”

  “No problem,” she assured him, not, he noticed, denying his claim. “Don’t tell anyone I told you this, but there’s a restroom with a shower you can use next to the infirmary. If anyone asks, tell them Dina Brooks sent you.” She pulled out a map of the terminal, took a red pen and circled an unmarked spot. “There you go. Have a good flight home. And thank you for your work in my mother’s homeland, where so many of my family still lives.”

  “I got back a lot more than I gave,” John said, meaning it. “Thank you.”

  Taking his ticket, he went over to the bank of pay phones on the wall and pulled out his calling card, which required punching in enough code numbers to send a rocket into space.

  “Hey, Mike,” he said. “I need you to do me a huge favor.”

  “No problem, dude,” his younger brother assured him after John had told him what he needed. “You do realize that Dad’s going to hit the roof when he finds out what you’re up to.”

  “I’ll deal with that when it happens.” He may have taught the villagers sustainable agriculture, but in return, they’d taught him to find not only his true self, but his true purpose.

  Five minutes later, with the first part of his plan to win back Sarah Harper in place, John was whistling as he headed off to the secret shower.

  CHAPTER TWO

  IT WAS A big plane and a relatively short flight. Sarah had been hoping to continue avoiding John Mannion, but that proved impossible when she boarded the plane and she had to pass him. Sitting in, of all places, a wide, comfy-looking leather first-class seat, a champagne glass on his table tray. He’d changed from the dusty khakis into jeans, and instead of the rumpled shirt he was wearing a black UW sweatshirt.

  He’d also shaved and, from his still-wet hair, appeared to have showered. How had he managed that? And didn’t it make her, in her sedate professorial glen-check skirt, black turtleneck and black jacket, feel even more travel-mussed?

  For a man who should be suffering at least some shame, he seemed unreasonably cheerful. He flashed her that warm, sexy smile that had once possessed the ability to melt her bones. In turn, she merely nodded a cool acknowledgment. Which, unfortunately, lost a bit of its chilly effect when, in a moment of inattention, she smacked the businessman across the aisle in the shoulder with her carry-on bag. Apologizing profusely, she ignored the bane of her existence and continued on to the first row of coach.

  She’d chosen a window seat, which, being on the opposite side of the aisle from his, gave her a direct view of him. At least a back/side view, definitely enough to draw her attention as the miniskirted stewardess bent down next to his seat, and with her C cups practically in his face, cheerfully chatted away as if they’d been best friends forever. Which, from the open invitation in the blonde’s eyes, they might still be before the day was over.

  Not that Sarah cared. At all.

  She took a paperback from her purse and, so intent on not looking up in case he might glance back at her, she didn’t notice the stewardess until she’d stopped beside her row with a mimosa.

  “The gentleman in seat 6A asked me to bring this back to you, Ms. Harper,” the woman said.

  Sarah’s gaze flew to the wide seat up front just in time to meet his. He lifted his flute in a toast. She’d spent the past two years in two different countries, determined to get over him. A familiar zing in her lady parts, which had perked up and taken notice, was evidence that she hadn’t been as successful as she’d hoped.

  She had two choices. She could refuse the drink, which, now that everyone around them was looking at her, including two elderly women across the aisle who seemed enthralled by the romantic gesture, could risk creating a buzz the entire flight back home. Or she could accept it. She chose the latter, lifting her glass in cool response to his toast. Then, taking a sip of the admittedly delicious drink, she returned to her book to demonstrate that drinking the mimosa didn’t mean she wanted anything more to do with him.

  Fortunately, after takeoff, the curtain between the privileged and commoners was closed, and Sarah abandoned her book, unable to absorb a single word as she wondered how long John Mannion planned to stay in Honeymoon Harbor. And how she was going to deal with him—and the centuries-old Harper-Mannion feud—while they were both home.

  * * *

  SARAH MIGHT NOT have wanted to talk to him in the terminal, but she had accepted the cocktail he’d sent her. As a token of forgiveness? Or more likely because she didn’t want to cause any trouble. He knew her mother had lost three children to miscarriages and suffered a stillbirth before having Sarah. Who was, her parents considered, their “miracle daughter.” Having known her all their lives, he understood the expectations to succeed that she’d carried on her shoulders. A burden made even heavier by the fact that, having come from a long line of fishermen, she’d be the first in that branch of the Harper family to go to college. And not just any college had been good enough for Sarah Harper.

  John had never figured out whether Harriet and Jerome Harper had urged thei
r daughter to go back east to school because they believed she’d get a superior education at that idyllic women’s college, or whether they’d wanted to send her as far away as possible from him. He suspected the latter, and if there’d been a university on Mars, they undoubtedly would have encouraged her to apply there.

  The infamous family feud between two of Honeymoon Harbor’s earliest families had divided them for over a century. Which is why, when John and Sarah had fallen in love, they’d become the Pacific Northwest small seaport town’s very own Romeo and Juliet. Or as Sarah, who’d always loved musicals, put it, Tony and Maria from West Side Story.

  “But with a happier ending,” she’d insist.

  To which he’d always responded that was a good thing, because he’d never found dying for love all that romantic a concept. Nonetheless, they hadn’t gotten their happy ending. Which was, admittedly, his fault. And why it was up to him to make her happily-ever-after happen.

  He owed it to her.

  And quite frankly, to himself, because he couldn’t imagine a life without his Sarah.

  He also owed it to their future children, who’d carry both Mannion and Harper blood in their veins. Which would also be a good thing for Honeymoon Harbor, right? Although he honestly wasn’t certain that one mere couple could repair generations of rivalry, it sure as hell couldn’t hurt.

  After a spicy western omelet, a flaky, buttery croissant, a fresh fruit plate with strawberries as big as a baby’s fist and two cups of the first coffee he’d had since leaving the States, he pulled a notebook from the backpack he’d been carrying for two years and began listing every possible objection Sarah might come up with. And how to counter them.

  It was, John considered as the list grew, yet another battle between the Mannions and the Harpers. One he was determined they were both going to win.

  * * *

  JOHN WAS SURPRISED when he entered the arrival gate and didn’t see Jerome and Harriet Harper waiting. He hadn’t been totally cut off from the world during his two years in Nepal. He’d learned from Mike that after graduating from college, Sarah had gone to England, as he’d known she would, and earned her master’s in English literature at Oxford. What had come as a surprise was that she’d veered off her carefully planned track of going straight for her PhD and taken off to Japan, where she’d been teaching. That could, he considered as he leaned against a pillar watching the other passengers deplaning, be a plus for his plan. Or another obstacle he’d have to work around.