by Adrianne Lee
Without knowing exactly why, April allowed Karl to pull her against his muscular body and pressed her cheek to his shirtfront. He smelled different than Spencer. Sawdust and sweat infiltrated her nostrils, but the musky scents were not unpleasant, and the undemanding strength of his embrace felt as comforting as any offered a younger sister by an older brother.
Listening to his heartbeat accelerate against her ear, she noted another dissimilarity to Spencer. There was no stirring in her blood at Karl’s touch, no yearning to expand the hug to anything more intimate, she discovered, as his hands slid across her back caressingly. In fact, April felt nothing more for him than friendship.
His touch grew bolder, and she realized he was misreading the situation. She wedged a space between him, then stepped from his grasp. “Thanks for the shoulder, but I’m fine now.”
“Anytime, honey. Anytime.”
April brushed past Karl and hastened up the remaining stairs almost as fast and as carelessly as before. As she rounded the curve in the staircase, she nearly knocked Helga off her feet. A startled gasp flew from her mouth. She slammed to a stop.
Helga reared back. There was a fiery blush on her rotund cheeks.
Touching her sleeve, April said, “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
“I’ll live,” Helga grunted. Shrugging off April’s hand, she continued her descent to the larder, muttering as she went. “Cripes, everybody’s in a hurry today—a cook ain’t safe going to her own root cellar.”
Moving at a diminished pace, April proceeded to her bedroom, mulling over both encounters with the Winston family. The furious color in the housekeeper’s face hinted at more than a near collision. Had Helga actually needed something from the larder, or had she been eavesdropping on Karl and her?
She entered her bedroom, frowning. Karl had definitely wanted some encouragement from her. The irony sapped the calming effect she usually derived from her peach-hued room. She moved to the dresser and withdrew fresh undergarments. Why was it that she couldn’t care for the one man she knew didn’t give a hoot if she looked like her dead mother?
A quick shower and fresh wool slacks and sweater did little to lift her spirits or clear her mind. Her nerves felt as though they’d been run across a cheese grater.. Spying her turtle earrings, she decided to walk to her favorite rock was just the thing she needed. She grabbed her parka, attached the earrings, and headed downstairs to the kitchen.
There, Helga was bent over a bread board, chopping onions with a wicked looking butcher knife. July sat at the table eating cookies and milk.
Cynthia stood three feet from the child, sizing up an arrangement of flowers perched on the table’s center. She glanced at April, taking in her outdoor apparel. “Where you off to, sugah?”
“For a walk. Probably to Turtle Rock.”
Expecting an objection, she was surprised when Cynthia said, “Well, the weather seems to be cooperatin’ for once.”
“Can I go, too?” July scrambled off the chair, but her mother intercepted her.
“Not so fast, missy. You’ve got a date with a bubble bath. Or did you forget?”
“No,” July sighed resignedly.
April bit back a smile. “I’ll take you next time. Okay?”
“Okay.”
With that, April left the house and set out toward Haro Strait at a fast clip. Pungent sea air climbed the cliffs to meet her. She welcomed its bracing entrance into her lungs and its bite on her cheeks.
Turtle Rock. She sighed. The limbering walk to her special place was just what her confused brain needed. And it was the last chance she’d have for much privacy. Vanessa’s family would be arriving for dinner and staying until after the engagement party.
As she made for the trail along the cliff, she heard the loud bangs of a busy hammer coming from the direction of the ferry dock.
* * * *
“If y’all hit that nail head any harder, Spence, you’re liable to break that railin’ clean in two.”
At the sound of his mother’s voice, Spencer jerked. Remaining squatted, he glanced over his shoulder and let the hammer drop between his bent knees to the ferry deck. “What brings you down here?”
Cynthia moved closer as Spencer sank from his haunches to his rear and gazed up at her. “I wanted to see how the work was comin’. It looks like you’re ‘bout finished.”
He surveyed his efforts. The new lumber he’d used to shore up the unsteady railings was unpainted, ugly even, but it was serviceable. Karl could take care of the weather coating after the engagement party. For now it would keep all passengers safe.
His mother squatted and lifted a lock of hair from his forehead, as though he were a young boy. “The way you were attackin’ that nail, a person would have thought it was an enemy. You upset about somethin’?”
“Nothing I can’t handle.” He avoided her gaze and cast his eyes at the waves hitting the ferry hull. The gold cross felt heavy in his pocket. He should give it to her. Ask, no, demand, an explanation, instead of torturing himself with speculation. She deserved better. But he was too afraid to do the right thing. His whole world seemed to be spinning out of control.
“I’m not tryin’ to pry,” she said. “You just look so sad and—confused.”
Her concern went straight to his heart. He hated himself more than ever for suspecting his mother could have had any reason to harm April. For the briefest moment, he considered handing her the gold cross, pouring out his troubles to her. But he couldn’t figure out where to start. His mother would be deeply wounded by his disloyal thoughts. As to the other, hell, she didn’t know what had transpired on the basement landing right before Lily’s death. How could he tell her what he couldn’t confess to the woman he loved?
When she reached reflexively for the cross that wasn’t there, he felt even worse.
Cynthia tilted her head to one side. “Did you and April have an argument?”
Although the question came out of nowhere, it didn’t take him totally by surprise. He knew better than to underestimate her where family was concerned. Pushing his hand through his hair, he asked, “How long have you known?”
“How you feel about April? Probably always. You were awfully fond of her before the accident. Later, at college, why, I don’t think I’ve ever even heard of anyone who cracked the books like you.” She ran a knuckle lovingly along his unshaven cheek. “You threw yourself into your career just as diligently, never alottin’ time for any serious romance. Then when you finally brought home that one girl for us to meet—what was her name, Mary Jane somethin’ or other—she looked so much like April—well, it was all March talked about for days afterward.”
“I hadn’t realized I was so transparent.”
She patted his knee. “What you are is a one woman man and that, my darlin’ son, is no crime.” She cast him a sad smile. “April’s not out of the woods yet, you know. Is that what’s worryin’ you—the hurdles she still has to overcome?”
Feeling the heat drain from his face, Spence cast his gaze over the dark waters. It wasn’t April’s blocked memory that had him scared, it was what she would learn when the blockage dissolved. “I think April will be well sooner than any of us imagines.”
She pressed her lips together, but sympathy telegraphed from her deep set eyes. After a long moment, she patted his hand. “Just the same, maybe you should give April some space—at least for the time bein’.”
“Yeah, maybe you’re right.” Spencer struggled to his feet and gathered his tools. He’d treated April abominably, all because he couldn’t bear the thought of her rejection when she remembered the truth. God only knew what she must be thinking after offering him her virginity. Talk about rejections, he deserved to be crowned for the one he’d handed her. Giving her space shouldn’t be too difficult. She’d probably take every opportunity to avoid his company for the remainder of her visit. The prospect dug into him.
Cynthia raised on tiptoe, kissed his cheek, then wrinkled her nose and plucked at the co
llar of his workshirt. “Don’t forget the O’Briens are arrivin’ in a couple of hours. I expect you’ll want to make an impression befittin’ a mayoral candidate.”
“Yeah,” he muttered absently, only half listening to his mother. April consumed his thoughts. He owed her an apology, an apology he had to try to extend.
As his mother headed up the slope taking the short cut to the house, he stowed the tools inside the service shed and secured the padlock. Starting his own trek up the hill, he edited and re-edited the apology in his head, until he figured out exactly what he wanted to say. Five minutes later he entered Calendar House via the laundry room, determined to find April and convince her to hear him out.
After all the mayhem of the past few days, the house was surprisingly quiet. Helga was nowhere to be seen, but the tantalizing aromas issuing from the oven affirmed dinner was underway. The sweet fragrance of arranged flowers followed him from one unoccupied room to the next on the main level as he searched for April or someone who knew where she was.
He should have asked his mother, he thought, hastening up the back stairs to check April’s bedroom. It was empty. The smooth bedspread and general tidiness had the untenanted look of a readied hotel room. He blew a breath through gritted teeth.
Ending up back in the kitchen, he felt his frustration level climb. Where the hell had she gone this time? Lord, she wouldn’t have been stubborn enough to stay in the wine cellar for two whole hours, would she? Chills shivered his flesh as his mind filled with the sickening image of April sprawled beneath the collapsed wine racks. He headed for the basement at a clip, trying to assure himself with every step that she wouldn’t be there.
An arc of yellow light and strained-sounding, off-key whistling spilled from the wine cellar. Frowning, Spencer slowed his forward momentum and halted in the open doorway. His brows raised in surprise at the sight before him. Karl had wasted no time reconstructing the two destroyed wine racks and looked to be waltzing one of them across the earthen floor, evidently trying to jostle it into some pre-chosen position.
If he hadn’t seen it with his own two eyes, Spencer wouldn’t have believed Helga’s son could put his shoulder to the grindstone. Obviously, all Karl needed was the proper motivation. Or perhaps, he’d allowed his jealously of this handsome rival for April’s affections to color his opinion of the man himself.
Karl noticed him for the first time and let loose of the wine rack. “Man, don’t just stand there gawking. Help me haul this heavy bugger into that corner.”
Moving to assist, Spencer noted the trash bag April had started to fill, laying limp, empty, in the exact spot where she’d obviously abandoned it. She must have left here almost immediately after he had. Damn! He’d seen Karl entering the house as he was stuffing the trash bag into the garbage can. Had he found April down here? Crying? The likelihood fed his self-loathing.
Karl asked, “You finish the railings?”
“Yep. They need weather-coating.” Spencer hoisted one end of the wine rack with a grunt.
“Well, that’ll have to wait a few days,” Karl replied, walking backward.
Spencer deposited his end on the floor, straightened, and brushed sawdust from his work clothes. Within minutes, they had both racks positioned and had started to replace the expensive bottles in their usual repose, heedless to any specific order. Trying to sound as though the answer meant little to him, Spencer eyed Karl above the end rack. “You haven’t seen April by any chance?”
The bonk of glass hitting wood punctuated Karl’s amused expression. Spencer squirmed inwardly, but he’d be damned if he’d let the other man see that his knowing look was getting to him. Turning his back to Karl, he snatched a couple of bottles from the floor and set them in place with a care that gnawed at his patience. He needed another battle of wills today like he needed to lose his upcoming election, but Karl seemed set on spoiling for a fight.
“Man, for a guy who eats tact for breakfast, you sure don’t know how to woo a woman.” Karl laughed derisively then grinned. “But I guess I should thank you, guy, for sending her straight into my arms.”
Heat burned up Spencer’s neck and into his face. Never before had he wanted so much to grind another man’s nose into a dirt floor, but if April had chosen to turn to Karl after the despicable treatment she’d suffered at his hands, how could he blame her?
He dug bloodless fingers into his palms. This visit to Calendar House should have been a happy reunion, instead it had stripped him of the woman he loved and was draining what was left of his self-respect.
With a sinking heart and an ebbing anger, he admitted there was only one way he could undo the mess. He had to tell April about Lily. Knowing April would be lost to him forever afterward didn’t sway his decision. She’d been through enough hell at his hands. She deserved to know that nothing she’d done had caused his rejection, that his reasons for keeping his crime a secret had been purely selfish.
He handed Karl the last wine bottle and left the cellar. Now that he’d made up his mind to unburden his conscience, he felt a touch of self-esteem return.
The need to find April became imperative.
* * * *
The descending sun speared through the huddled clouds and warmed April’s face. The air felt as crisp as an autumn day with none of the dampness of winter. Watching a pleasure boat chug through the white-capped water, she stood and stretched, then rubbed her sore bottom. Turtle Rock wasn’t as comfortable as she remembered, nor had sitting on it staring at the glistening waters of Haro Strait cleared her thoughts as it had when she was a teenager. Just more proof that a person couldn’t go home again, she decided, gaining the path back along the cliff. Or perhaps it was she who had changed, not Calendar House or Turtle Rock.
She’d lost sight of her objective in coming home—to unblock her locked memory. Her feelings for Spencer had become her top priority and that was a mistake. As much as she loved him, he was lost to her. She had to forget any future they might have. It wasn’t to be. Spencer’s rejection had hurt to the core, but she supposed she should be grateful he wasn’t the sort to take advantage of her inexperience, and that he hadn’t let things progress beyond the point of no return.
A rush of fresh sea air into her lungs had a heartening effect. What a beautiful spot this was, with the greenery of the pines to her right, the jagged rock formations on the cliff walls below and the dark waters spraying white foam against them. It made her problems seem insignificant.
She wasn’t in the least hurry to get back to the house, but the guests would have to be faced, and if it killed her, she would put on a happy face for Vanessa and Thane’s sakes. They didn’t deserve anyone ruining their party.
Treading near the step precipice, she remembered Vanessa’s enthusiasm over the history of this island and the pirates who had once weighed anchor in these treacherous waters. In spite of her melancholy mood, she had to smile. The woman would be a nice addition to the family. And she had to admit, the history of Farraday Island fascinated her, too.
What had it been like in Octavius’ time? Squinting her eyes, she studied the shoreline, trying to imagine. The land curved to and away from Calendar House in an erratic pattern only Mother Nature could have designed, and as she continued along the edge of the cliff, she found her gaze scouring those rocky walls visible from this height. She hadn’t paid much attention before, but now she noticed a couple of dark areas that even the most unobservant mind would realize were caves.
Curiosity lengthened her strides. As the sun hung above the horizon, beams spotlighted the sheer cliff wall like a stage, seeming to accent one particular dark section way up ahead. If her judgment was on target, and it was a cave, it would be almost directly aligned with the house. As she approached, she kept her gaze riveted to the spot, sometimes having to lean out over the precipice in order to do so.
Ten paces away, she decided it was definitely a cave, or at least, what appeared to be an opening. She felt as excited as a scientist discoverin
g a new germ. Contrary to what she’d told Spencer, the subject very much interested her, especially when faced with actual proof. Who wouldn’t want to explore?
As she neared the spot, she thought she spied some of those stairs Spencer had pronounced eroded to the point of oblivion. Was it possible he’d been wrong?
Being careful not to smudge her fresh slacks, she squatted to have a better look. A tenacious Douglas pine clung to the cliff and obscured her view. She shuffled to the side slightly and peered over the precipice again. Yes. It looked like a step.
Pebbles skittered beneath her feet and clattered to the flat surface of stone below. Alarmed, she scooted back an inch, feeling safer.
As a relieved breath slid through April’s partially open mouth, something struck her in the back.
She flew forward.
Off the cliff.
Chapter Fifteen
Spencer made his way to April’s bedroom once again. But she wasn’t there, and as far as he could tell, she hadn’t been there since his earlier attempt to find her. Frustration followed him back into the hallway, sensitizing his muscles, his nerves, convincing him she was purposely avoiding him. Too bad, Calendar House was big, but not so much so he couldn’t unearth her.
His gaze fell on the attic access. Would she have returned to Lily’s trunk seeking answers to her past? The thought of April regaining the memory of Lily’s fall before he could speak to her seemed more than justifiable punishment for his part in the deed. Nonetheless, he hastened up the steep steps and pushed the squeaky door inward. The quiet inside the musty storage space slammed against his ears. Or was that his own pulsebeat?
“April? Are you here?” His words echoed off the open rafters, mocking him. If she was here, she wasn’t answering.