by Mary Manners
“Good.” She took a step toward him, carefully navigating the upturned mess of soil with the pointy heels of her shoes. “What’s this?”
He caught a whiff of her perfume…sweet and musky. “You’re sure full of questions today.”
“This tattoo.” She jabbed his right bicep. “I don’t remember you having any tattoos, Ryder. What is it?”
“A trident.” He pushed back his shirt sleeve, fully exposing the design with a backdrop of an eagle atop an anchor. “Emblem of the Navy SEALs.”
“But, why…?” A storm cloud swept across Ali’s face and her skin went pale, offsetting a smattering of freckles that danced across the bridge of her nose. “Ryder, where have you really been the past several years?”
“I told you—I joined the military.”
“I know that much. You told me you were scheduled to report for basic training…for the military. But you never said—”
“Honey, the SEALs are the military.”
“That’s dangerous, Ryder.” She took a step back, stumbled as he reached out to catch her. “You should have told me.”
“So you could spend your days worrying? I couldn’t bear that thought, Ali.”
“It’s not your place to make that decision for me. I had a right to know. I would have tried harder to bring you back home.”
“And I wouldn’t have come. I couldn’t until I was ready—until you were ready.”
“And you think I’m ready now?”
“I don’t know. Are you?”
“I’m mad at you, Ryder Shane Hawkins.” Her voice went high and shaky as she used his full given name. “No, I’m furious. You could have been killed.”
“Yes, I could have.” His hand gripped her wrist, and he felt the rush of her pulse as her eyes flashed the deepest green. “But, would it have mattered, Ali?”
“I—you—oh!”
The slap caught him across the jaw and stung like a grazing bullet. Her eyes exploded into emerald flames. “I hate you for asking that, for even think—”
“I just needed to know.”
“And I guess you got your answer. I hope you’re pleased.” Ali spun away from him, yanking her arm from his grasp. She stomped up the walk. When one of the pumps slipped, she kicked it away, shucked the second, and tramped on in bare feet. She didn’t pause until she hit the back steps. She turned back just long enough to toss him a death glare before crossing the threshold, slamming the door so hard Ryder was shocked to see it remain on its hinges.
****
The man was impossible.
Alison stamped to the refrigerator, the bottoms of her feet stinging from the scrape of cobblestones. She heaved air, fighting vertigo. If she didn’t grab something cold to drink and collapse into a chair soon, she was sure to take a swan-dive to the floor.
But, would it have mattered, Ali?
Ryder’s words rushed through her mind like a freight train plowing the tracks. The nerve…the gall.
He deserved the slap, yet guilt nudged her. She’d never resorted to hitting anyone in her life. Tears blurred her vision as she massaged her throbbing hand and glanced out the back window. She’d smacked him awfully hard, and now her conscience battled with a smug prickle of satisfaction.
But, would it have mattered, Ali?
She swiped her eyes as she grabbed a pitcher of orange juice from the fridge and thought about gulping directly from the container. Her throat blazed like an inferno. She reached into the cabinet for a glass and filled it to the brim.
The aroma of bacon mingled with ham and cheese omelets. Gravy simmered in a chafing dish as the coffeemaker hissed and spat. Though no guests were scheduled for the inn today, she’d prepared breakfast anyway.
For Ryder.
Embers of anger flared once more. She slammed her glass on the counter and juice splattered over her hand.
“I’ll take a glass of that.” Ryder stood in the doorway, swiping his face with a blue bandanna that brought out the gray of his eyes. His cheek held the angry red splotch of her handprint. “If it’s safe to come in.”
“Suit yourself.” She grabbed a second glass from the cabinet, tossed it to him without concern about whether he might miss and have it shatter to the floor. “I’ll share.”
One eyebrow disappeared beneath disheveled hair. He massaged his thigh, grimacing. “Looks like I have a talent for raising your ire.”
“You always did, Ryder.” She set the pitcher on the counter, slid it toward him so juice sloshed over the rim. “I did the same to you. But, we’ve always been honest with each other—at least I thought we were.”
“I didn’t tell you where I was because I knew you’d worry.” He filled his glass, sucked it dry with one greedy gulp. “I also knew you were already struggling with what happened to Josh, all the grief you were carrying. I didn’t want to add to that.”
“So, you just dropped by one morning to say, ‘By the way, I’m leaving for basic training this afternoon.’” She moved toward the table and dropped into a chair, angry that the tears kept leaking down both cheeks. “In the next breath, you were gone. No glance back, no forwarding address, as if what we shared didn’t even mean anything.”
“You hadn’t spoken to me for an entire week, Ali. It was killing me. We never went more than a day without speaking.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Your parents hated me, too.”
“They didn’t hate you, and neither did I.” Tears flowed faster. Her voice was muddled, her heart in shreds. “I could never hate you. I was just confused.”
“Having me around only added to that confusion. Don’t you see? I had to go. I couldn’t stay with the way I was—the way we were. It wasn’t fair to you.”
“So, you left.”
“Yes, I left with the hope that I could become something better—something more than the kid who always seemed to find trouble.”
“And the SEALs helped you do that?”
“It’s the toughest training I’ve ever been through…then the hardest seven—nearly eight—years of my life. But not only because of what I did, what I learned, where I was. It was hard because I wasn’t with you, Ali.”
“You should have told me. I had a right to know.”
“I only wanted to protect you.” He eased close to smooth a thumb over her cheek, gathering tears. “Please, don’t cry.”
“You can’t shelter me from everything. I’ve learned that sometimes feeling pain, facing it head-on, is the only way to get through it.”
“I know that now, too.”
“I loved you, Ryder.”
“And I loved you. That’s why…” He shook his head, his gaze softening. “That’s why I had to go, and why I’ve come back. I still love you, Ali. I always will. It’s the only thing in life that I’m completely, utterly sure of.”
“Don’t say that. You can’t love me, Ryder. I-I’m thinking about getting married.”
“Thinking about it?” The muscles along his jaw went taut. “But you haven’t promised yourself to him yet, have you?”
“Does it matter to you, Ryder?” She turned the question on him and was shocked to see his jaw slacken, his eyes fill with a dangerous mix of fire and longing.
“It matters to me, Ali. I just told you I still love you.” He slipped his fingers through her hair, drew her close to press his lips to her forehead. “It definitely matters.”
5
“Well, isn’t this a cozy picture.”
Ryder turned as Larder loped into the kitchen through the back door without bothering to knock. “Worthy of an original Thomas Kincaid.”
“John!” Ali took a step back, swiping her eyes. She sniffled. “I didn’t expect you so early.”
“I see you didn’t.” He circled the kitchen and sniffed the air like a bloodhound zoning in on a kill before pausing at her side to drape an arm around her waist. “Did you save me breakfast?”
“We haven’t even started.” Ali’s gaze drifted to the buffet. “The food is warm.”
<
br /> “We?” Larder corralled her for a kiss, and it pleased Ryder that Ali turned her head just enough to avoid his lips. She caught the dry peck on her cheek instead. Yet, even that set him on edge and twisted his gut into a ball of tangled rubber bands.
“What do you want, Larder?” Ryder took a step toward him.
“That’s between me and Alison.” Larder backed away. “Looks like somebody’s been elbow-deep in menial labor. Smells like it, too.” He pinched his nose with an overly-dramatic flair. “The odor—not to mention the visual—is…offensive.”
“Too bad for you.” Ryder stuffed the soiled bandanna into his pocket as he made his way to the sink. He turned on the water and scrubbed his arms to the elbows before reaching for a wad of paper towels. When he turned back, he stepped toward Larder and tapped the polished badge pinned to his shirt pocket, pleased to witness the slightest flinch as his index finger made contact. “Because I don’t plan to miss Ali’s cooking.”
“Is that so?”
Ryder stepped toward the chafing dishes. “Muffins today?”
“They’re apple cinnamon.” Ali rushed over to lift the lids from the pans. “And I’ve made scrambled eggs with hash browns.”
“My favorite.” Ryder reached for a muffin, slathered it with butter and took a healthy bite. “Mmm…delicious.”
“Here’s a plate.” Ali pressed a floral number into his hands. “There’s sausage today, as well, if you’d like.”
“Oh, I’d like.” Ryder took his time filling the plate. “These eggs look delicious, Ali. You really have the touch.”
“Have you made coffee?” Larder shoved between them, grabbing a plate. “I sure could use a cup, Alison.”
“Of course.” Her hands fluttered as a streak of blush painted her neck. “On the counter there. Mugs are in the cabinet above the sink.”
“I know where they are.” Larder reached for one, filled it. “So, Hawk, how long are you planning to stay?”
“Depends.” Ryder loped to the table and slid into a seat, his plate piled high. Steam curled from the feast. “When are you going to let my motorcycle out of your clutches?”
“As soon as I finish your background check.”
“Computers must be slow around here. Either that…or user error.” Ryder stuffed a forkful off eggs into his mouth, chewed and then spoke. “Find anything interesting yet?”
“I’d rather not share here.”
“‘Course not. It might make me look good.”
Larder leaned against the counter, sipping coffee while his plate remained unfilled. “Alison, I see you hired Hawk to work on the landscaping around here, though I don’t know why you’re wasting the time.”
“I didn’t hire him, John. He’s helping me out, friend to friend.”
“Is that so?” Larder’s grin mimicked that of possums Ryder found lying belly-up on the side of the road. “Well, I don’t see why either of you care. This dump will be sold as soon as we’re married. No wife of mine will ever have to work—especially at menial labor like this, cleaning up after tenants.”
“They’re not tenants, John, they’re guests.” Ali smoothed a hand over her skirt. Her fingers brushed one flushed cheek, and Ryder could tell by the way her shoulders stiffened beneath the pretty cotton blouse that temper lurked just beneath her quiet voice and calm demeanor. “And I like cleaning up after them. I enjoy cooking and chatting with the people who come to stay.”
“I don’t see why.” He set his coffee cup on the counter and left his plate, untouched, beside it. “It’s unbecoming, Alison. I’d even venture to say it’s…disgraceful.”
“I’ve told you, John. I love it here.” She gnawed her lower lip, which had begun to tremble. Her fingers, long and delicate, clenched into tight balls. “This is my home. I don’t want to sell it.”
“Regardless…” He brushed a fleck of lint from his starched tan police-issue shirt sleeve. “I’ve got work to get to. Will you be in town later, Alison? I’d like to have lunch.”
“I can’t.” A hint of temper edged into her voice. “I have to check the reservation book, but I’m fairly sure I have guests scheduled for today.”
“But check-in isn’t until four o’clock. You can still make time to see me this afternoon, right?” He leaned in for another peck on the cheek. “You’ll work it out. I’ll call you in a bit to verify.”
“You do that, Sarge.” Ryder swiped egg yolk from his plate with the last bite of muffin before slipping it into his mouth. “You verify, OK? It’s so romantic. I’m sure Alison is swept right off her feet.”
“Stop it, Ryder.” Ali dropped her fork onto her plate. She’d barely nibbled the muffin and hadn’t even touched her eggs. “Stop it now.”
“No problem.” Ryder stood from the chair, taking his plate with him. He rinsed it and placed it in the dishwasher. “Now, I’ll just get back to work, in case, Ali, you actually decide to grow a backbone and keep this place.”
The quick rush of tears that shimmered in Ali’s eyes ripped a hole through Ryder’s heart, but it was too late to take back the words. Besides, Ryder doubted he would, given the chance. The jolt might be just the wake-up call Ali needed.
…seek His will. In this way, you will find what you are searching for and the path He desires for you. Remember…His will, not yours.
The words convicted Ryder, causing a slight stab of guilt. What would Mama think if she saw him now? Yet, as he headed toward the back door, he couldn’t resist the urge to toss Larder a scathing look. “I’ll be by the station later to get my bike. You’d better have it ready, Sarge.”
****
Ali wandered through each room of the inn, pausing here and there, as memories surfaced. Photos of her parents were scattered over the furniture along with snapshots of her and Josh. Sometimes the guests asked questions, and Ali did her best to answer them tactfully.
“You look so carefree, so pretty. How long ago was this taken? Where is your brother now?”
Sometimes she still felt Josh here, sensed him running through the halls, chasing a kitten he’d found in the woods. She remembered the way he’d begged their mom until she’d finally relented and allowed him to keep the adorable ball of fluff.
She paused at the doorway of the study. Guests never failed to be impressed by the mahogany shelves, hand-made by her dad, which spanned the walls from floor to ceiling. Each was filled with a variety of books…from mysteries to romances, thrillers to references. There was even a shelf of colorful picture books low to the floor, where children might find one to snuggle with if they desired.
The coffee table held board games—Scrabble was Ali’s favorite. Every so often, a guest challenged, and she joined in the fun. It was all part of being a gracious hostess, and a perk she enjoyed very much.
On the glass-topped side table, she kept a Bible open to whatever verse she might be studying that particular day. When it was quiet, such as now, she liked to curl up in the high-backed chair and read beneath the soft glow of the floor lamp.
But her favorite room of all was the great room, with its oversized French doors that opened onto an expansive deck overlooking the lake. She loved to throw the doors wide and sit facing the water while soft wind whispered through the willows like an old friend. The breeze was cool here, resplendent with the crisp scent of forest evergreens and sweet hyacinth. Sometimes she nestled up to the baby grand to play for her guests, the melodies conjuring memories both painful and sweet.
And, while the dining room to the east showcased brilliant sunrises, the great room was perfect for watching the sun sink low over the water while the tree canopy beyond danced a symphony. In the spring, when leaves seemed to multiply with each passing day, woven branches turned to gold beneath the sun’s gentle coaxing.
Ali loved it here…the shimmer of water and sunlight that caressed. She couldn’t imagine giving up the inn to live in town—or anywhere else. Unlike her parents, who fled from the painful memories, Ali found healing here, and a sense of
peace.
“No guests yet?”
She turned to find Ryder at the side table. The soft glow of the floor lamp framed him. In the sweat-soaked T-shirt and soiled jeans that clung to his skin, it was more than evident that, where once he’d been lean and rangy, he was now all muscle and height. She wondered if he still ran as fast.
“They’ve been delayed. They phoned and asked for a late check-in, sometime around ten or so tonight.”
“Oh?” One brow disappeared beneath the sweat-soaked bandanna. “So you missed lunch for nothing?”
“I missed it, yes.”
“You must be hungry.” He checked his watch. “It’s easing toward dinnertime.”
“I am…just a little.”
“I’ll grab a shower, take a quick trip to town for a few groceries, and then make you dinner.”
“Ryder, you don’t have to do that.”
“Would you rather go out?”
“No.” She ran her fingers over a shelf, sighing. “You know how to cook?”
“The military’s good for a lot of things.” He grinned and wiped sweat from his brow. His shoes were missing; she supposed he’d left them at the back door. “I can hold my own. Do you have a grill?”
“Out back.” She glanced toward the French doors. “It’s much too nice outside to waste the evening indoors. Can we eat on the deck?”
“We’ll eat wherever you like.” He motioned to the coffee table. “I’ll even give you a chance to beat me at Scrabble, though a thin chance it would be.”
“If I remember correctly, that type of challenge used to get you into trouble.” She laughed, and it felt so good. “You always lost the bet and ended up having to wash my bike, and then later on, my car.”
“Maybe so, but I’ve had a good chunk of years to brush up on my game.” He winked and the dimple on the left side of his mouth deepened. “Besides, it’s my truck that’s been hauling rock and mulch, so it can use a good wash. I promise to give you a run for your money.”
“Well, then, I promise to make it worth the effort.” She sashayed past him, tossing a grin over her shoulder. “Because, Ryder Hawkins, I draw the line at scrubbing mulch-littered vehicles.”