Until Autumn Falls

by Elana Johnson

  Hilary stayed in Tripp’s arms, warm and cozy under the blanket as the sun set into the ocean. The breeze tangled her hair, and Tripp’s beard pressed against her cheek as they breathed in and out together.

  “Tripp?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Can I go on the deep sea fishing trip with you?”

  He shifted slightly next to her. “You want to come out on a fishing trip?”

  “I’ll earn my keep. Maybe I can cook?”

  “Jared would probably like a break from that,” Tripp said. “I’ll talk to him about it. It’s a small group—only four people.”

  “So there would be room for me.”

  “I think so, yeah.” He yawned and pulled her tighter against his body. “Why do you want to go?”

  She inhaled. “Just want to get out of town for a while.” She didn’t tell him that she wanted to outrun her fears, leave them behind where they couldn’t haunt her. What she was afraid of hovered around her like mist, tangible but unable to be grasped and examined.

  “Mm.” His lips brushed her cheek. “So your dad doesn’t just manage a hotel in Miami.”

  Her heart kicked out two extra beats in the space of one second. “He does, yes. He also happens to own the hotel in Miami—and a whole chain of them across the United States and Canada.” She shifted in his arms, but he kept her close, his muscles unyielding. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard of the Russell Resorts?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well, he owns hotels in the hottest vacation locations.”

  “Thus, Miami.”

  “Right.” Hilary closed her eyes, emotionally and physically spent. And she thought keeping her identity a secret and keeping everyone out of her life had been hard. Talking about it, explaining it, letting people see her—the real person she was now—was twice as hard.

  She wasn’t sure how long she slept before Tripp whispered, “Baby, we should go.” He moved beside her, and when she opened her eyes, full darkness was only minutes away. “Here’s your jacket.” She took it as he stood and stepped into his jeans. He packed everything she’d carted down the beach, and they set off for his truck with only a tiny crescent moon for light.

  At the truck, a tidal wave of love hit Hilary. Tripp had taken everything she’d told him. Just taken it, and shouldered it, and accepted it. He tossed everything in the back of his truck and gave her a grin. “You hungry?”

  “Yeah.” She stepped into his personal space, his hands easily drifting to her waist. “I love you, Tripp.”

  His smile softened and he rested his forehead against hers. “I love you, too, baby.”

  It was all she needed to hear to settle her unknown worries.

  * * * *

  “Is that the last of the water?” Jared hurried up the last of the steps when he saw Hilary standing at the top, a case of water in her hands. Gravity was winning, and she gladly passed it to his stronger arms.

  “There’s one more.” She turned to retrieve it from the pier, where Tripp had been piling all their supplies. If she’d known how much food, water, clothing, and blankets they had on the boat, she wouldn’t have been so worried last time. Well, she probably would’ve been, because the not-knowing generated so many different scenarios, allowed the imagination to conjure up wild things.

  Once everything had been carted on board and stowed in its proper place, Hilary stood on the stern and gazed at the still-sleeping town of Redwood Bay. She loved it here, and she didn’t want anything to poison this place. This one place she’d been able to find herself.

  Tripp stepped out of his office ahead of four men about his age. A flutter of wings beat against her breastbone at the sight of them. The way they laughed carelessly, the bulk of their muscles, the way their eyes slid over her body as they boarded the boat.

  She’d never been so glad to be wearing a jacket zipped all the way to her throat. She gave them a cursory nod and slipped below deck, everything about them reminding her of Dante and his men. She didn’t recognize any of them. They didn’t know her; she didn’t know them.

  Hilary had planned to make chili and cornbread for lunch, and it would take several hours. She set the stockpot on the stove and secured it so the sea wouldn’t disrupt her plans. She busied herself with chopping onions and browning beef and adding just the right amount of chili powder. She opened cans and nested them inside each other to make the trash more compact. She whipped up cornbread and stuck the half-sheet pan in the microscopic oven.

  “Hey.” Tripp’s footsteps thumped down the stairs and he flashed her a smile on his way down the hall. She heard him moving around in the guest rooms, and when he came back, he said, “How’s lunch coming?”

  “Great.” She glanced toward the stairs, though she couldn’t see them from their position in the galley. “Who are those guys?”

  “One of them knew Jared when he lived in Denver. I guess one of them is graduating in December, and they’re celebrating early.”

  “I didn’t realize deep sea fishing counted as celebrating.” She flashed him a smile and checked her pot of chili when the lid clanked against a boil. She adjusted the heat as he chuckled.

  “It used to be relaxing for me,” he said. “I don’t mind the daily runs, but I don’t just go out on the ocean for days at a time. Not anymore.” He gave her a quick kiss. “I think they came to see Jared, you know, support his new life.” He exhaled. “Or something.”

  She inhaled the clean, fresh scent of him. The salty ocean as it mixed with his cologne. The sunshine from above deck seemed to have seeped into his skin, and she could feel the warmth of it through him.

  “Yeah, he said he’d stay in the guest rooms with them.”

  “Are they big enough?”

  “Sure,” Tripp said. “There are two rooms, and they both have a couple of bunks in them. Trundles under that. I can take out groups of twelve.” Tripp leaned toward the stove. “That smells fantastic.”

  “Chili,” she said.

  “I’ve never had much more than the canned stuff.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Not even a little bit.” A sexy smile stole across his face.

  She blinked at him and jumped when the timer sounded on the cornbread. She donned the oven mitts as he said, “I better get back up top. You can come up if you want. They’re all fishing off the back while we head out today. Lots of room up at the stern.”

  “Maybe,” she said, but she half-wanted to spend a few days by herself. She waited for his footsteps to land overhead before she muttered to herself, “Maybe coming out on the boat with six men wasn’t the best way to spend a few days by yourself.” She stayed below deck until lunchtime, when she hauled the pot up to the stern, where Tripp had a folding table set up. He cut the engines while they ate, the ocean pushing the boat to and fro.

  She made small talk and managed to eat half a bowl of chili and a piece of cornbread. She cleaned up and escaped to the stateroom, where she snuggled into the bedclothes that smelled like Tripp. She slept, the dark shapes she’d been enduring since the assault finally fading.

  * * * *

  Hilary came out of her shell as the hours passed. By the third day, she sat at the bow of the ship with the men, her knees tucked to her chest and her hands pocketed to keep them warm. They’d be back in Redwood Bay by dinnertime, and she’d planned to make sandwiches and put out fruit cups, so she didn’t need to spend time in the galley.

  She liked the wide open sky above the water, loved the way the ocean seemed to extend into forever, enjoyed the tranquil sound of the waves against the side of the boat. Peace was easy to find on the water, and though she hadn’t felt unsafe or unsettled in Redwood Bay, she was ready to start to travel outside its borders a little bit.

  The thought had always terrified her, compelled her to wear sunglasses around town and stick to heavily populated areas at that. The park, the grocery store, Lucy’s diner. She rarely went to the beach—too many outsiders’ eyes—and she made sure she was home be
fore dark. Home and locked behind solid doors.

  But now something inside her stirred. She’d shown people her scars. Felt their love for her. She’d felt accepted, something she hadn’t felt since her grandmother died.

  “Hey,” she said to Tripp as they pulled into his spot on the dock. “Want to take me to dinner tonight?”

  “Sure.” He wore lines of exhaustion around his eyes, but his smile came as quick as ever. “Where do you want to go?”

  “I was thinking we get in your truck and just drive in whatever direction we want.”

  He gave her his full attention. “Whatever direction we want? Like, outside of Redwood Bay?”

  “I think I’m ready.” But she couldn’t get her lips to smile or her voice to sound anything but hollow.

  Tripp watched her, his eyes as all-seeing as usual. “I haven’t left Redwood Bay in a while myself.” He glanced away. “Want to go to San Diego?”

  “For dinner? That’s kind of far, don’t you think?”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, if we drove all night, we could have breakfast.” He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “We could fly.”

  “It would still be too late for dinner.”

  “Yeah, but we could go somewhere here tonight, fly out tomorrow. Spend the weekend down there.”

  A smile bloomed across her face, the same way everything in her lit up at spending the weekend out of town with him. “That sounds great. I’ve never been to San Diego.”

  “It’s nice,” he said. “You’ll like it.”

  She did like San Diego, everything about it. From strolling down the pier on Tripp’s arm, to visiting the historic Gaslamp Quarter, to touring the ships docked there. Tripp didn’t seem to have any superstitions about the boat he was renting to his friend, and the three nights they stayed there passed quickly in Hilary’s mind.

  So did November and half of December, the holidays something she’d never enjoyed. “Did I tell you my grandmother passed away just before Thanksgiving?”

  He glanced away from where he stood at the Christmas tree, his hand halfway lifted to place a silver ball on a high bough. “You never mentioned that, no.” He hooked the decoration over the limb. “Is that why you didn’t even want pumpkin pie at Polly’s?”

  “Probably. Plus, I don’t like pumpkin pie.”

  He chuckled, abandoning the decorations in favor of holding her tight against his chest. “How very un-American of you,” he whispered. “Everyone loves pumpkin pie.”

  She smiled as he lifted her chin with one finger and kissed her slowly. He swayed with her, causing her to grip his shoulders to keep her balance.

  “I was going to wait another week or so to do this.” He stepped away from her and opened a drawer in the table next to her front door. She caught sight of the small, black box, and her breath lodged in her lungs.

  “You kept my engagement ring in my own house?” She pressed her palm against her pulse, sure it would break through the scars at any moment. She wasn’t sure if she was more excited to be Tripp’s fiancée or more terrified of wearing his diamond.

  “No safer place,” he said. “I bought it at that jeweler in San Diego.” He took a careful step toward her. “Remember the one with the amber you liked?” He stalled in front of her and cracked the lid. “I love you.” His whisper carried so much more than letters and syllables. So much tenderness and love. “I want to be your husband. Will you marry me?”

  She gazed at the amber stone she’d loved so much in San Diego, then looked at the man she loved. She nodded. “Yes.” A happy sob burst through her throat. “Yes, Tripp, I’ll marry you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Tripp didn’t think life could get better. Christmas came and went, and he’d gotten the only gift he’d wanted—Hilary. She wore his ring with pride, showing it to her girlfriends as well as anyone else who’d heard she’d gotten engaged—which was the whole town. Even now, a few weeks later, he sat alone in a booth at Lucy’s while Hilary extended her hand to the hostess so her ring could be ogled.

  She carried a glow with her, and Tripp was glad it was winter so he could be closer to town more often.

  “So,” she said as she joined him. “Pearl thinks that colored gems for engagement rings is all the rage.”

  “Great,” Tripp said dryly. “That’s totally why I bought it for you.”

  She laughed, her freshly streaked hair cascading over her shoulders. “So I was thinking June,” she said as she glanced at the menu. “But Millie and Jared are getting married in June, and well, what with summer being our biggest fishing season….”

  Tripp lost track of her words for a few seconds. He loved that she’d started referring to things as “theirs” saying things like “we’ll be busy then.”

  “What do you think of that?” She looked at him expectantly, and his face grew hot.

  “Uh, what?”

  “You weren’t listening.”

  “I got sidetracked is all.”

  “I was saying that we should wait until autumn…again.” She gave him a knowing glance, and the heat in Tripp’s face tripled.

  “To get married,” he said. “Because I think the beach is pretty deserted in January too.” He lifted his eyebrows in a silent request.

  “It’s cold,” she complained, though her cheeks held the faintest tint of pink.

  “I’ll keep you warm,” he said with a satisfied smile. “Didn’t I keep you warm last time? In fact, I think your exact words were—”

  “Hey, Lucy,” she said loudly. “He’ll have the chicken fried steak, and I’ll take the Cobb salad with chicken.” Hilary gave him a look that reminded him they were in a public place, with their friends.

  Lucy dropped into a crouch beside their table with her pad out, but she didn’t write anything down.

  “Lucy?” Hilary asked.

  “I'm not here to take your order,” she said. A bright smile crossed her face, but Tripp felt something behind it. Fear. “There’s a man here asking for Hilary. Don’t look,” she hissed as Hilary started to turn toward the front door.

  “He has her picture, and he called her….” She glanced at Hilary. “Jillian. Pearl came and got me, and I have to go talk to him.”

  “We have to go,” Hilary whispered. She met Tripp’s eye with pure panic in hers. “Now, Tripp. I have to go.”

  “Thanks, Lucy,” Tripp said, reaching across the table for Hilary’s hand. “Can you give us some cover? And we don’t know anyone named Jillian.”

  She nodded, her blue eyes wide and scared. In the next moment, a look of sheer determination edged her irises. “There’s a big order going to the corner booth,” she said as she stood. “Step in front of them. Go toward the bathrooms and duck into the storage room door. That has another exit into the kitchen.”

  Tripp swallowed, his mouth as dry as if he’d swallowed a pound of sand. He nodded, squeezed Hilary’s fingers, and watched helplessly as a tear streaked down her face.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice little more than air. “I brought them here. Everyone’s in danger.”

  Tripp shook his head, his eye on the window where the cook had just put up three plates. “Not your fault,” he said, focusing on her again. “Nothing about this is your fault.”

  “I have to go.” She slid to the edge of the seat.

  “Wait,” Tripp whispered, his heart bobbing against the back of his throat. “Wait, Hilary.”

  Three waitresses converged on the window, and Lucy stepped up to one and said something to her. She glanced at Tripp and nodded to Lucy. Tripp could barely take a decent breath. It felt like someone had tied weights to his lungs so they couldn’t expand properly.

  He watched Lucy finally step to the hostess station and say, “What can I help you with?” in a really loud voice.

  Tripp pulled Hilary into the aisle, shunting her in front of him just as the waitresses arrived at their booth. “Go,” he whispered.

  She flew down the aisle, turned left toward the bathrooms
as Lucy said, “Jillian? Honey, I’ve lived here my whole life, and never once have I known a Jillian.”

  Pride soared through him, but it was short-lived in the wake of Hilary’s desperation and panic. It poured off of her in waves as she twisted the knob and spilled into the storage room. Blaine stood there, worry and concern in his face. “My car’s right outside the kitchen entrance,” he whispered. “Get in the back seat, both of you. Stay down.”

  He moved to the door on the opposite side of the room, and Tripp clenched Hilary’s hand in his. “It’s okay,” he soothed. “Everything is going to be okay.”

  “I need to go to my house.”

  “I thought you got rid of your backpacks.”

  “I did.”

  “Then what—?”

  “I have the cash still,” she said. “I never went to put it in the bank. I can get out of town without a trace if I have the cash.”

  Tripp flipped open his wallet while Blaine cracked the door and peeked into the kitchen. “I have two hundred bucks,” he said.

  “Not enough.” Hilary shook her head, tears falling again. “I’ll take my car, and my cash, and I’ll go. Then everyone will be safe.”

  “You can’t.” Pure helplessness engulfed him. “I’m going with you.”

  She didn’t argue, but only because Blaine said, “Come on. Now,” and rushed out of the storeroom. Tripp made Hilary go next and he brought up the rear, refusing to look toward the front of the diner. He couldn’t hear anything. No arguing. No loud voices. Nothing.

  The silence unsettled him almost as much as having someone from Miami here looking for Hilary.

  She cowered in the backseat of Blaine’s car, and Tripp did his best to fold himself into the tight space. Blaine was already in, car started, and he pulled out as soon as Tripp managed to close the door. “Where to?” he asked, driving the proper speed for one in a parking lot. He didn’t rush, didn’t speed, as he pulled into the road.

  “My place,” Hilary said, rattling off the address.

  Twenty minutes later, Blaine pulled into her private driveway. “There’s no one here,” he whispered. “Just your car, Hil.”