Herons Landing

by JoAnn Ross

  For now, settling into the mindfulness he’d learned in Nepal, he was just going to concentrate on the moment while still keeping his eye on the prize. Who was, always had been and always would be Sarah Harper.

  CHAPTER THREE

  SARAH WASN’T SURPRISED to walk from the Jetway and have her eyes drawn immediately to John, who was leaning against a pillar, looking far more relaxed than he had the last time they’d been together. Then again, this time she wasn’t shouting at him. At least not yet. And certainly not in public. If there was one thing a year in Japan had taught her, it was to publicly mute her emotions and energy. That self-control allowed her to walk right past him, as if he were invisible. An invisible person who could, unfortunately, speak.

  “Where are your parents?” he asked, walking easily along beside her as if the worst day of her life had never happened.

  She could refuse to respond. But that would seem petty. And also make him think he still possessed the power to affect her in any way. “They don’t know I’m coming home. I’ve been in Tokyo, teaching at the university.”

  “You always wanted to teach. Though I don’t remember Tokyo being part of the plan.”

  “The opportunity came up, and I thought it would be a challenge.”

  “Was it?”

  “In many ways. But rewarding.”

  “That’s the best kind of challenge.”

  “As for my parents, I wanted to surprise them for their anniversary.”

  “That’ll be the best present you could give them.”

  “I hope they think so.” She’d also brought gifts.

  “There’s nothing that’ll mean as much to them as having their girl back home,” he said. “So, will you be returning to Japan?”

  “I’ve been accepted for a PhD spot at Oxford.” Returning to Austenland. There were times when it occurred to her that life had become entwined with the author. Maybe she should write her doctoral thesis on Jane and Sarah.

  “Good for you.” He sounded as if he meant it. Which she took to mean that he’d put all those years of angsty yet glorious romance behind him and moved on. They could have been two strangers who’d just met on the plane. Or acquaintances who’d happened to grow up in the same small town and bumped into each other while traveling. “Your parents must be over-the-moon proud of you.”

  “They seemed pleased.” Not that they’d expected anything else. Somehow, when she hadn’t been looking, her entire life had been mapped out. She knew she’d thrown them a curveball when she’d decided to take a break from her own studies to teach for a year, but they were still envisioning her as the head of the English department at some prestigious college. Other families might consider great wealth as a sign of their child’s success. For Sarah’s parents, education had always been their daughter’s path to a life better than their own.

  “I’m assuming you’ve got luggage to collect.”

  “I do. Don’t you?”

  “Nope. You learn to travel light in Nepal.”

  “You’ve been in Nepal?” She couldn’t have been more surprised if he’d told her that he’d been circling the earth in a space capsule.

  “Yep. Two years on a Peace Corps gig.”

  She had to force herself not to ask if he’d planned on joining the Peace Corps the day he’d broken up with her. Because that would show she cared. Which, dammit, she did.

  “That sounds interesting.” Talk about your understatements. “I assumed you’d have been working at your family’s bank.” The bank that dated back to the early 1900s and had probably financed most of the buildings in Honeymoon Harbor. Including her parents’ home and boats.

  “My father assumed the same thing. As for Nepal, it was definitely interesting.” He smiled down at her, and she was momentarily distracted by his mouth, which had once caused such bliss and havoc on her body, and his summer-sky-blue eyes. She’d always found her own—a hazel color never quite deciding to go all the way to a deep, rich brown—pitifully boring in comparison. “Life-changing, as a matter of fact.”

  As intriguing as that sounded, again, Sarah refused to ask.

  “The reason I asked about your luggage is that I didn’t give my family any ETA because I’ve been traveling for over thirty hours now, and I figured with delays, like landslides blocking the road, which are a fairly usual occurrence, it might take two or three days longer. I told them I’d get there when I get there. So now I’m off to rent a car. Want to ride along?”

  She stopped in her tracks. “Why would I want to do that?”

  “Maybe because renting two cars when we’re both going to the same place is a waste of money? And because you look a little tired to be driving?”

  She felt like a zombie. And feared she looked that way, too, while he could have posed for a Gap ad. Not that she cared how she appeared to him.

  Liar, liar, pants on fire.

  “Also,” he pressed his case, “I don’t know about you, but I’m not exactly rolling in bucks right now.”

  “Neither am I,” she admitted. She’d been paid a good wage, but Tokyo had proved an extremely expensive city. “I’d want to split the cost.”

  “Not necessary,” he said as passengers separated to move around the roadblock they were creating. “I received what they call a settle-back-in-home payment. I can cover it.”

  So he was staying in Honeymoon Harbor. While she was going back to England. Their paths were simply crossing for a short time, like ships in the night. She could handle this.

  “I’d be renting it anyway, so it’s no big deal. Why don’t I go arrange for the car while you get your luggage, and we can meet up at the Hertz counter.”

  She was too tired to argue. “Fine.” Ending the conversation, she took off, following the signs to the baggage claim.

  * * *

  HE WAS WAITING for her, keys in hand, when she finally arrived at the car-rental counter wheeling a suitcase the size of a dorm refrigerator. “It’s not all clothes,” she said, feeling defensive, considering that he’d managed to live two years in Nepal out of a single backpack.

  He lifted a brow. “Did I say anything?”

  “No. But compared to yours, it’s gargantuan.”

  “I didn’t realize it was a competition.”

  “It’s not.” She dragged a hand through her travel-tangled hair. “Sorry.” How ironic was it that she was apologizing to him? “I’m tired and a bit cranky.” And hungry, since her breakfast had consisted of a gooey yellow glob that appeared to be scrambled eggs gone very wrong and a biscuit that nearly broke a tooth when she attempted to bite into it.

  “Don’t worry about it. Traveling’s never as glamorous as it looks on all those flashy airline and cruise brochures. So, do you want to do the roundabout drive? Or the ferry? This time of day, with freeway traffic, it’s probably about the same amount of time.”

  “You’re driving,” she said. “Why don’t you choose?”

  “Because I want you to be happy.”

  “Too bad you didn’t feel that way two years ago,” she shot back. Before he’d shattered her heart into a million pieces. So much for keeping her cool. Sarah held up a hand. “Ignore that. I’m over it. Really.”

  “If that’s true, that makes one of us,” he surprised her by saying.

  “I don’t want to talk about that day. It’s in the past. Bygones.”

  “We’re going to have to talk about it.” He picked up her suitcase as if it didn’t weigh a ton. Which it didn’t, but certainly felt like it. “But you’re right. Now’s not the time. How about taking the ferry? It’s a great view coming into town, and the fresh salt air will clear both our heads.”

  It was also more romantic, Sarah thought, but did not say. How many times had they sneaked out of town on the ferry to be together? Sometimes they’d just ride back and forth, holding hands as they walked around t
he deck. Other times they’d shared stolen kisses in the front seat of his car parked below deck. One memorable day they’d taken a ferry from Port Angeles across the strait to Victoria, where they spent the day strolling through the fifty-five acres of the stunning, century-old Butchart Gardens. While some guys might not be all that thrilled looking at flowers and plants, along with his major in business, John had minored in agriculture and horticulture.

  “That sounds lovely,” she admitted reluctantly.

  “The ferry it is.” Putting his hand on her back to keep them together as they wove their way through the crush of passengers lined up for cars, and heading past the shuttle vans and cabs, Sarah tried not to acknowledge how good, how right it felt to be touched by him.

  Dangerous thinking, she reminded herself as he stopped in front of a beige Ford sedan.

  “I have a confession to make,” he said as he made his way out of the airport and onto I-5. “I was going to wait until later, but I might as well get it out of the way.”

  “What’s that?” Was she finally going to learn the truth about that day? Even though she’d insisted that she didn’t want to discuss it ever again?

  “Mike told me you were in Japan.”

  “Why would your brother have any interest in where I was?”

  “Because when I left for Nepal, I asked him to keep track of you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you were always on my mind. My entire time in the Himalayas. Every day. And every night when I dreamed of you. And yes, I also regretted what I’d done, for reasons that seemed to make sense at the time. I could have handled it better. Which is why I’m warning you that we’re going to talk about it. I just wanted you to know.”

  Since there was nothing Sarah’s jet-lagged mind could think to say to that, she didn’t respond. Just drank in the sight of the tall, shaggy Douglas firs lining the highway and wondered how her parents would react to her desire to make a sea change in her life.

  And even more important, how she’d deal with not just John Mannion’s reappearance in her life, but his surprising declaration.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  AT FIRST, AS she kept her gaze directed out the passenger window mile after mile, John worried that she was refusing to speak with him. However, like his upcoming confrontation with his father, he’d work that out when the time came.

  She’d taken off her jacket upon getting into the car. He guessed she’d worn black for travel practicality, but wondered if she realized that that body-hugging turtleneck had him remembering exactly how her magnolia-white breasts had felt beneath his hands. She’d been his first and only lover. And if he had anything to say about it, she’d be his last.

  Before Nepal, he’d never driven anywhere without cranking up the car radio or sticking a cassette in the dashboard player as soon as he turned the key. But now, as the rain that kept this part of the country so emerald green began to fall, he was content to just listen to the swish of the wipers, the hiss of the water beneath the tires, and savor being in the same space with his Sarah again.

  They’d nearly reached the ferry landing when her stomach growled. “Excuse me,” she said, placing her hand over her stomach.

  “Didn’t you eat on the plane?”

  “It’s obvious you weren’t in coach,” she said. “I decided not to risk food poisoning from the mystery meal and settled for a candy bar I’d bought at a vending machine at LAX.” Then paused. “Though thinking about what you’re probably used to eating, that sounds horribly like Ugly American privilege.”

  “The Nepalese are food insecure. It is, after all, one of the poorest places in the world. Which was why I wanted to go there. I thought my ag minor could help.”

  “Did it?”

  “I like to think so.” He wanted to tell her about Nepal, not just what he’d been doing, but how, in a way, he’d taken her with him. But this was not the time for that conversation. “We’ve made good time, so how about we stop and get something?” Before she had a chance to respond, he pulled into a red-and-white-striped roadside take-out joint. “You probably had your fill of fish and chips while in England, but it’s quick and we can eat it in the car in the ferry line.”

  “That sounds wonderful.” She reached into her purse, which she’d put on the floor, and handed him a ten-dollar bill. “But I’m buying.”

  Understanding pride, having a strong share of it himself, he didn’t argue.

  Five minutes later, they were digging into the cardboard boxes of deep-fried cod, shrimp and fries while parked in the line of cars waiting for the ferry, which was currently chugging across the water toward them.

  “These are delicious,” she said.

  “One thing about the Pacific Northwest,” he said. “You’re never more than a few minutes away from seafood.” He wished she’d swoon over him the way she was the fried bay shrimp.

  “What did you eat in Nepal?”

  “Dal, bhat and tarkari, which is lentils, rice and curried vegetables, twice a day. When they’re put together, they’re dal bhat, which is the staple of their diet. In between the two big meals, people usually have snacks, like flatbread, beaten rice, curried vegetables or milked tea. The district I was assigned to was pretty evenly split between Hindus and Buddhists who’ve worked out ways to get along for centuries. Wealthier people might keep cows, which aren’t eaten, but are used for milk, plowing and manure.

  “Goats are saved for special occasions. I ate it twice, and roasted on an open fire, it’s really good. The first time was at a festival where they honored the cows in a special ceremony. The second time was when the entire village surprised me with a going-away party. They closed the school and shops so everyone could attend, then walked with me to the crossroads, where I met the car that’d take me to the airport, which flew me to Kathmandu.”

  “That’s wonderful that they cared so much. You must have made a serious impact.”

  “They’re a warm people. Life was different, challenging and often flat-out strange, more so in the beginning. But I never, not once, felt unwelcome. They invited me not just into their homes, but their lives.”

  “You’re hard not to like,” she surprised him by saying.

  “Really?” he risked asking. “Do you think you could like me again? Someday?” Hopefully soon.

  “I don’t know.” She dipped a fry into the small container of ketchup, then chewed while considering his question. “How about I’ll work on it?”

  “It’s a start.” He took his napkin and brushed a corner of her lips, which had her pulling away. But not before they’d inadvertently parted. Just a bit. In memory, John hoped. He also hadn’t missed that golden blaze of sexual awareness in eyes the color of warm brandy. “You had a bit of ketchup right there.”

  A frown furrowed her forehead beneath those bright curls tumbling over it. Curls he could too easily remember feeling like silk against his bare chest and thighs. “You could have told me.”

  “I could have,” he agreed. “But then I couldn’t have touched you. Which I’ve been wanting to do since I first saw you in the terminal.”

  “Even if I do decide that you’re not entirely detestable, whatever you’re thinking about is not going to happen,” she said as the ferry line began moving.

  “What?” he asked, putting the car into gear and beginning to drive forward.

  “You.” She pointed at him. Then at herself. “Me.” Then a wave that encompassed them both. “Us. At least not in the way we were.”

  “That’s okay. We’re not the people we were. But here’s the thing, Sarah. I’m not giving up.”

  That said, as the woman waving the cars into different lanes sent them to the left, John decided to concentrate on parking and let her ponder that for a while.

  “We can stay in the car if you’re too tired to get out,” John suggested. He couldn’t decide if that was a go
od idea or not. Perhaps it might remind her of all those times they’d taken the ferry just to make out while everyone else went up the stairs to enjoy the view from the deck. That would be a positive. The negative was that those memories were already giving him a boner.

  “I’d rather go up,” she said quickly. Too quickly. As if she didn’t want to remember.

  “Sure.” As they joined the line climbing the stairs, John found that her ass, even hidden by that pleated skirt, was as fine as ever. Which brought back another memory of a pair of white short shorts she’d worn sailing. Because her parents wouldn’t have let her out of the house in them, she’d changed on his boat. Her long legs, lightly tanned by the brief Pacific Northwest sunshine, had been embedded in his mind for all time.

  Did she have memories of him? Memories that had her wondering what might have been? There’d been a couple moments, like when their eyes had first met, and again when he’d wiped away that tiny speck of ketchup, he’d thought she might. But maybe that was wishful thinking.

  “I think I’ll stay inside,” she said as they entered the cabin. “The rain seems to have stopped, so why don’t you go enjoy the view from the deck?”

  Here’s your hat and there’s the door. She couldn’t have made herself any clearer. Despite the brief détente over fried fish, he seemed to be losing ground. Assuring himself that he wasn’t retreating, merely advancing in a different direction, John walked to the front of the cabin and out onto the deck.

  The water churned beneath the white-and-green ferry as it headed out into the sound. The air was brisk and damp, and carried the scent of salt and distant firs, which he hadn’t realized he’d missed so much until he was nearly home.