Slowly the sky lightened. The stars faded first, and the darkness was gradually replaced by daylight. She could almost feel the sun about to rise above the horizon. She took aim. Waited. Patience, she thought, feeling her leg going to sleep. This was her third try. She wanted to make sure it was her last. Getting up in the dark, picking her way down the rocky cliff wasn’t something she made a habit of. Today was the day; she just knew it.
Peering at the horizon, she hoped she timed it right: the first rays were beginning to shoot over. Slowly her finger pressed the trigger, shot after shot as the sky lightened, hoping for the illusive green flash. There. The camera took another picture, another, and another. She’d fill her entire card if she had to. Slowly the sun began rising as if from the dark sea itself. She quickly swapped a filter and began shooting again. The sea was like glass in the distance, reflecting the rising orb perfectly as it began the day.
At last she lowered the camera, a feeling of satisfaction sweeping through her. She couldn’t wait to see the picture and make sure she’d captured the exact images she hoped for. It would be a spectacular finish to the annual report for SeaRovers Inc. Optimistic, forward thinking. The dawning of the new year for a growing company. Just the images they wanted to project.
Stiff from sitting on the hard granite, she slowly eased around, trying to get comfortable as she returned her lenses and camera to the sturdy case, slipping the flashlight inside as well. Slipping the bag over her shoulder, she stretched out her leg and shook her foot, getting pins and needles for her efforts. With a grimace she rose to her feet, found her balance and looked up toward the top of the cliff thirty feet away. Taking a breath against the familiar pain in her hip, she began climbing back to the top. It was easier on the way up, with the light to help her find her way.
Cresting the rim a few moments later, she breathed a sigh of relief. She’d done that descent several times but the danger still scared her. A wrong step and she could end up smashed at the bottom, washed away to sea, never found again. She shivered. Her parents would be horrified to know what she was doing. Which is why she rarely talked about the ways she obtained some of her photographs.
“Thank you, Lord, for being with me. And for giving me the perfect picture. I hope at least one turns out perfect.”
Looking around, she spotted her cane a few feet to the left. Scooping it up, she leaned on it for a moment, massaging her hip and thigh. She’d probably feel the ache all day with the strain of the climb. A smile lit her face, however. It’d been worth it.
Walking carefully across the weeds and grass on the uneven ground, she reached the end of the gravel road and turned to walk along the edge to her car. She wished for the firmness of asphalt, but that wasn’t going to happen here at the end of Water Street. She just had to watch where she was walking. Which was hard when the morning was so fresh and clear, with not a cloud anywhere. She wanted to look around her, at the sea gradually turning a deep blue. At the town in the distance hugging the cove. It was going to be a beautiful Indian summer day.
As she approached the edge of the pavement, she glanced beyond her car at the last house on the old road. When she’d passed it earlier, there’d been lights on inside. Another early riser. Now she could just make out a man standing on the porch, cup in hand. He wasn’t close enough for her to see clearly, but he appeared to be watching her. Probably wondering what in the world she was doing out at the crack of dawn.
She knew someone was staying at the Stafford house, as she’d seen lights on when she’d driven by on her way to the cliff the last couple of mornings. Usually tapped into the town’s gossip mill, she hadn’t heard it’d been rented. It wasn’t an easy house to let. The dwelling itself had seen better days. A large, two story wooden home, the wood siding was weathered and scoured clean of paint on the windward side. The yard was practically non-existent; the proximity to the salt from the sea air made grass almost impossible to grow. And with it being vacant for long stretches, no one kept up flowers or shrubs.
Still, it had been built over a hundred years ago. Sturdy and dependable, it had stood the test of time. Who had the Staffords’ estate rented it to this time, she wondered? The summer season had ended at Labor Day. Pretty much the only people around now were the year-round residents.
Before she got into her SUV, she impulsively gave a wave.
The man appeared to hesitate, then lifted his cup in silent salute.
He looked tall. Beyond that she couldn’t tell if he was young or old, with dark hair or light.
She put her camera on the seat beside her, wondering why anyone would choose to rent that place. It was at the very end of Water Street, only a few hundred yards from where the cliff met the sea. No beach access. Not that Rocky Point had a lot of beaches. The reason for its name had come from the cliffs meeting the Atlantic. Carlisle Beach was the closest one of any size and it was down the coast by a couple of miles.
She’d ask around. Maybe someone knew who he was.
Allie was tired by the time she reached home, the small converted garage behind a large house that stood vacant more months than it was occupied. The Saverinson family had owned the dwelling for generations. The current family lived in Boston and only came up for the summer months. Since Labor Day had passed a few weeks ago, it would remain empty until next May.
In exchange for living in the converted garage, Allie kept an eye on the house, and made sure the place was cleaned once a month during the winter months. The arrangement suited her to a tee. Her family had hesitated when she’d insisted on moving out eight years ago. They’d wanted to cosset her and keep her safe.
She’d insisted. Life was an adventure and she wanted to enjoy every moment. She wasn’t on the path she once thought she’d take, but she was more than satisfied with the life she now had. Much as she loved her mom and dad, they would have stifled her beyond belief if she lived with them. They still saw her as their precious little girl. Emphasis on little.
After the car crash that had so drastically changed everything, they were loath to let her out of their sight. She had not died as the others had. Granted, the long months of recuperation and physical therapy had taken their toll, but she had wanted freedom and independence as she’d grown into her twenties.
She’d made the concession of calling almost every day. In the end, her parents had eased up on some of their obsessive need to watch over her all the time.
She didn’t believe they blamed themselves for the church van’s being hit by that drunk driver. But they did rehash if they should have let her go on the outing. But who would have suspected a tragedy when the youth leader was taking the church group on a field trip to Portland?
Taking the stairs was never easy, but she wouldn’t change a thing about her home. At least she could get up and down without too much discomfort. Ten years was plenty long enough to get used to the limitations the accident had imposed. And find ways around them. Entering her home, she shed her camera and jacket, flexing her fingers to loosen them up. It would be pleasantly warm later in the day, but at dawn the fall air was decidedly cool. She grabbed a quick cup of coffee warming in the kitchen, then, grabbing the camera case, she headed for the room where she did most of her work. She couldn’t wait to see the pictures she’d taken. She hoped at least one shot came out just as she wanted it.
Without hesitation, she plunged into the day’s work.
* * *
Jack Donner watched as Allie Turner’s car headed toward town. What in the world had she been doing on the cliffs at dawn? Or at all? She had a bit of a lopsided gait, using her cane to steady herself as she walked. He'd seen her the last three mornings and still didn’t know what compelled her to venture over the edge. Maybe one day, he’d ask.
He leaned against the post and turned his gaze to the sea. He should have done more than acknowledge her presence. He could have called hello. Asked what she was doing this morning. Offered her a cup of hot coffee.
He frowned. Small talk was a sk
ill he’d never mastered. And hadn’t needed during the tours of duty in far off Iraq and Afghanistan. It came easy to some. For a moment he tried to imagine himself chatting with other people. He shook his head. It was beyond him.
He was a dedicated soldier, not one for sitting around shooting the breeze. Unless it was with other soldiers. Men he could relate to, learn from.
Scratch that.
He had been a dedicated soldier.
Until the unexpected IED.
Until irreversible injuries had rendered him unfit for duty.
Now he had another day to get through. Another fifty years or so to wonder what to do with the rest of his life.
He hadn’t ever talked directly with Allie Turner. But he’d seen her every week when she’d arrived at the VA hospital, bringing sunshine and light into the routine that threatened to drive everyone crazy. She had several favorite soldiers she always visited. After she’d left, the men would talk about her visit and the latest stories from the town of Rocky Point, Maine.
While feigning indifference, he’d listened as attentively as the next guy. She’d spoken of a world as foreign to him as Iraq had been. Small town America. Of families who had lived and worked in the area for generations. People who knew their neighbors, banded together in tough times. Celebrated the holidays with traditions that had been handed down for decades.
He shook his head slowly.
Yet here he was, lured to Rocky Point from the stories she’d told. What would she think if she ever found out he’d come here because of her? He’d wanted to see the town that sounded like it should be in a movie. He wanted to find out if there was a place for him in the too-good-to-be-true town of Rocky Point, Maine.
So far it wasn’t looking good. He’d been here a week and, except for one venture to the grocery store and a visit to the local clinic to hand over his records, he hadn’t left the place. He knew he should make an effort to meet someone beside the doctor and nurse, but the solitude suited him. And small talk was never his thing.
Maybe tomorrow, he’d ask her what she was doing going down the cliff each morning. Acknowledge her with more than a casual nod. Start with Allie Turner. She was the reason he was here.
* * *
Allie was delighted with the pictures when the last one came from her printer. She chose the third in the series to complete the annual report. It was just as she envisioned before she’d begun her morning trek. She’d finalize the camera-ready art today and send the complete packet to the company for approval, and then it’d be put on hold until the year end numbers were ready to slot into spaces left for them, then it’d be off to the printer. One more job crossed off until next year.
She stretched and shrugged her shoulders. Time for a break. She was surprised to find it was after one o’clock. She knew she lost track of time when working, but having had breakfast so early, she’d expected to be hungry before now.
She wandered into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. Nothing looked appealing. Actually, there wasn’t much there at all. She wrinkled her nose.
“Forgot I was supposed to go shopping today,” she murmured aloud as she slowly closed the refrigerator door. “It’s a bad thing to shop on an empty stomach. The perfect excuse to eat at Marcie’s.” She loved eating at the family coffee shop on Main Street. Since most of the summer visitors had gone home, she knew anyone there today was likely to be someone she knew. She’d catch up on news and enjoy a good meal at the same time.
And maybe find someone who knew who had rented the Stafford place.
Thirty minutes later Allie sat in a booth, awaiting the shrimp po’boy sandwich she’d ordered. The hum of conversation swirled around. Several people had greeted her when she’d arrived, and she’d stopped for a minute or two at their tables before taking the booth the waitress had shown her to. She enjoyed the comfortable air of the café. Even though the summer tourists had left, the waitresses at Marcie’s place continued to wear the period dresses from Revolutionary War days. The entire atmosphere of the café mimicked that period and was a great favorite with visitors.
“Hi, Allie, how’re you doing?” Marcie stopped by the table. She had run the café for several years and knew everyone in town.
“Couldn’t be better. How are things going with you? Getting ready for your big day?”
Marcie nodded, her smile dreamy. “It’s a lot of work. I’m glad I helped with Gillian’s wedding so I know the ins and outs. I thought hers went perfectly. I want mine to be the same. A winter wedding’s chancier, I know, because of the weather. But still—if it’s to be, it will be perfect.”
“I’ve always thought a wedding’s a wonderful thing, but it’s the marriage that needs to be perfect,” Allie teased.
Marcie laughed and slipped onto the bench opposite Allie. The owner of the family-style café had recently become engaged to her high school sweetheart. They’d both been part of the wedding party at her fiance's brother’s wedding a week after Labor Day. Now the next town wedding would be Marcie’s.
“When will Gillian’s wedding album be ready?” Marcie asked.
“Shouldn’t Gillian be asking that?” Allie teased. She’d been hired as the wedding photographer and had some stunning photos of the bride, the newly-wed couple, and the entire wedding party. It had been a lovely event on a lovely day.
“She’ll be asking as soon as she sees you.”
“I told her I’d have all the proofs for her when she got back from their honeymoon. They’re all finished. I’m ready when she is. Once she settles on which ones she wants, it’ll just take a couple of days to complete the album.”
“I’d want to see mine as soon as I got back,” Marcie said with a grin.
“I’ll remember that,” Allie said with a smile. She loved photographing weddings the best of all her various projects.
Marcie would make as pretty a bride as Gillian had. A glow of love radiated from her. Allie shared in the happiness of her friend with just the slightest pang.
She wished she’d fall in love again someday. She tried not to be envious when her friends found the loves of their lives but couldn’t help thinking she’d missed out. It seemed unlikely after all these years that she’d find someone in Rocky Point. She’d never met a man she felt that way about since Jason. She had dated from time to time–but rarely more than two or three times with anyone. Her friend Rachel was always urging her to find a guy—even setting her up with a blind date once. There had been no spark and she declined further offers from her friend.
No one caught her fancy. And she didn’t want to be a burden to some man who might like to hike or do other physical activities. The accident had killed Jason, permanently handicapped her, and devastated the entire community. Maybe the Lord had her on this path to show others they could be happy and fulfilled without being married.
When the waitress served lunch, she also brought a cup of coffee for Marcie. After Allie had taken several bites of the sandwich, she remembered to ask Marcie if she knew who’d rented the Staffords’ home.
“That old place at the end of Water Street?”
Allie nodded. “I’ve seen lights on the last couple of days really early when I was out on a shoot. Today I saw a man standing on the porch when I went by. I was surprised as it’s long past the season. You haven’t seen any strangers in town?”
“What were you photographing from the end of that street?” Marcie asked, intrigued.
“I wanted the green flash.”
“And that is?” Marcie asked.
“The burst of green along the horizon when the sun is coming up out of the sea.”
Marcie laughed. “Yeah, like the sun comes out of the sea. Didn’t you learn more about astronomy when you were in school?”
“You know what I mean. I wanted it for an annual report I’m working on. I’ve been going there several mornings to try for the perfect shot. I got it today,” she said with satisfaction.
Marcie shook her head. “I haven’t a clu
e who rented the old house. Summer visitors are gone for the most part. We can expect a few coming in for the fall colors, but I can’t say I’ve seen any strangers in the last few days. That house isn’t exactly a highly sought after property, even in the high season. It needs a lot of work, plus who needs five bedrooms these days? Ask Tate, if you see him. He keeps abreast of who’s new in town.”
Tate Johnson was the Sheriff of the town and county and made sure he knew what was going on. He’d been born and raised in Rocky Point and knew everyone.
“It’s not that important, I just wondered,” Allie said. She wanted to be neighborly, but not pester the Sheriff with something like that. Anyway, did it really matter? Mostly it had her curiosity up a notch.
“I’ll ask, then. I’m curious myself,” Marcie said, nodding toward the door as Tate Johnson entered.
She beckoned him over and Tate made his way around the tables to Marcie and Allie, stopping to say hi when someone called to him.
“Come for some pie?” Marcie asked, slipping out of the booth.
“Just some coffee. Allie.” He greeted her.
“Have a seat and I’ll get you a cup. We have a question for you,” Marcie said, heading over to where the coffee was kept.
“Problem?” Tate asked Allie, as he slid into the space Marcie had been.
“No, just curiosity. I’ll wait for Marcie so you can tell us both if you know.”
“Intriguing,” he said, resting his hat on the bench beside him.
When Marcie settled in beside Allie after giving Tate a steaming cup of coffee, she looked at Allie. “Did you ask?
“I waited for you.” She turned to Tate. “I was out at the end of Water Street this morning and saw the Stafford house is occupied. Know who’s renting it?”
He took a sip of coffee and looked at them. “Sure. Jack Donner. I’m surprised you don’t know him, Allie. He was most recently in the VA hospital in Portland. Just released a week ago. Checked in with doc when he got to town. Strong enough to leave the hospital, but still needs watching is my guess.”
Destination Romance Page 48