Deep River Promise

by Jackie Ashenden

  Irritation rippled over Astrid’s finely carved face. “He doesn’t need taking care of. That’s my job. And anyway, you were perfectly happy to leave us to it before.”

  “Yeah, but that was before he told me that he knew Cal was his father.”

  Astrid let out another long breath as if striving for patience. “Well, I appreciate your concern for him, but honestly, it’s not needed. He’ll be fine. I can tell him about Cal if he wants—”

  “If you’d wanted to tell him about Cal,” Damon interrupted, not without gentleness, “you would have done so by now.”

  She glanced away. Her mouth had a vulnerable cast to it, a tight expression on her face.

  Yeah, there was something about Cal and her relationship with him that hurt. Something that she’d been protecting her son from too, which was presumably why she hadn’t told him.

  Cal had told him he hadn’t done the right thing by her. That he’d run. He’d been scared, he’d said, and hell, Damon knew the feeling. He hadn’t been much older than Cal when Rebecca had had Ella. That terror of knowing you were responsible for the life of another human being, and such a small human being too… Worse than any other fear he’d ever experienced and he’d experienced quite a few.

  But he hadn’t run, because his mother had taught him to take responsibility for his actions. And besides, he and Rebecca had both wanted Ella very much, even though they’d been young.

  Except he wasn’t going to think about Ella. This wasn’t about him, thank God. It was about Astrid and Connor and Caleb. And it seemed very clear that Astrid had complicated feelings about Cal, as well she should considering what he’d done.

  Perhaps you shouldn’t be getting interested in her?

  Perhaps not. Then again, if he wanted to help Connor, he needed to find out what was going on with Astrid.

  She leaned forward in the chair, her elbows resting on her knees, gazing at the ground. Her summer-gold hair fell forward over her shoulders, leaving her nape bare. Her skin was pale and very soft-looking.

  “Is he angry with me?” she asked into the silence.

  He could have fed her some reassuring lies. But she didn’t strike him as the kind of woman who’d want empty assurances.

  “He told me he wasn’t, but I think he was lying.”

  Her pretty, golden lashes fell, veiling her gaze.

  A beam of sunlight came through the window, falling over her, and she seemed very fragile all of a sudden, as if she was made of spun glass and the slightest of touches would shatter her.

  He could feel that sympathy tugging at him even stronger, insistent even. It must have been such a burden to keep Cal’s name secret. She wouldn’t have been able to talk to anyone about it, not here, where Caleb West had been almost a prince.

  Which kind of makes Connor his heir, right?

  The realization came slowly, like the gradual onset of dawn. Was that why Connor had been so protective? And so suspicious of him? Because he viewed this town as his? Which made Damon a usurper in a way. Silas too, though Silas might be given a pass because Deep River was his hometown.

  Yeah, that was logical. It was certainly what Damon himself would feel if he’d been Connor. Poor kid. No wonder he’d been so aggressive and suspicious. He considered this patch his and Damon was trespassing. No, worse than that—Damon now owned it.

  Hell, if this didn’t constitute an excuse for a drink, he didn’t know what did.

  He turned and went over to where he’d dumped his bag on the bed. Unzipping it, he hunted around inside among the tangle of clothing and various other things until he’d unearthed the bottle of the very good whisky he’d brought with him. He pulled it out, went over to the desk where a couple of glasses sat, uncorked the bottle, and poured a couple of measures into both glasses. Then he picked up one glass and held it out toward Astrid where she sat in the chair near the desk.

  “Here,” he said. “You could use this.”

  She lifted her attention from the floor, looked at him and then the glass in his hand. Her gray eyes were dark. “No, thank you. It’s still morning.”

  “My mother used to say that there was no problem that whisky couldn’t fix.” He raised a brow. “You wouldn’t want to prove my mother wrong, now would you?”

  Astrid narrowed her gaze.

  “Come on.” He shook the glass a little. “You’re so pale you look like you should be haunting some deserted mansion.”

  She let out a breath and shook her head. Then grabbed the glass from his hand, put her head back, and drained the whole lot.

  Interesting. He’d thought he’d have to insist more.

  “Still morning, huh?” He gave her an inquiring look. “Need another?”

  “Why not?” She held out the glass, her gaze not without challenge. “I’ve got nothing but an angry fifteen-year-old, a food co-op to organize, a library to manage, and a pile of suggestions from people who think their beer coaster collection would be a good tourist draw. Got plenty of time to drink whisky with a complete stranger.”

  Color had returned to her cheeks and that fragile look was dissipating, those pretty eyes of hers turning back into steel.

  Good. That was better than that lost expression she’d given him.

  He smiled. “Hey, I’m not a complete stranger, remember? I introduced myself and you shook my hand. But now that I remember, you never introduced yourself to me.”

  She frowned. “What?”

  “I said, ‘Are you Astrid?’ and you said, ‘Yes.’ You never actually introduced yourself formally.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Is it? Not sure I want to have too many more ‘complete stranger’ accusations leveled at me.” He was teasing her, which probably wasn’t a good idea all things considered, but he couldn’t resist. Especially when she frowned at him like that. “Come on, Ms. Mayor. Introduce yourself.”

  She raised an eyebrow, getting slightly haughty. “You can’t be serious.”

  Her cool tone and that expression shouldn’t have rippled through him the way it did, a silent dog whistle to the rogue inside him. The one that very much enjoyed teasing a pretty woman and much to their mutual satisfaction.

  “I am,” he said. “Deadly. You really want me to keep calling you Ms. Mayor? Or should I try ‘Your Honor’ instead?”

  “Don’t be silly.” She shook her empty glass at him, refusing to give in. “Just fill it up, please.”

  “Nope. You want more whisky, you have to give me some manners.”

  She rolled her eyes, doing a good impression of her teenage son. “Oh, fine.” Sitting up, she arranged her expression into one of polite, professional welcome. “Hello. I’m Astrid James, town librarian and current mayor of Deep River. Pleased to meet you.” And she extended her hand again.

  Damon knew he shouldn’t take it; given that faint crackle of electricity he’d gotten off her when he’d shaken her hand earlier, it wouldn’t be good idea. But like he couldn’t resist a tease, he couldn’t resist a touch either.

  She was pretty and cool and strong, and there was a spark in her that he liked. All in all, a combination that was pretty much his catnip.

  So he took her hand, giving her his long, slow smile as he did so. “Pleased to meet you, Astrid.”

  A faint wash of pink stained her cheekbones, and for a second, her eyes glittered like stars. Her hand felt small in his, her skin warm, and he experienced the oddest urge to stroke his thumb against her palm just to see what she would do.

  Abruptly, she pulled her hand away, but the pink in her cheeks remained. “There,” she said. “Now you’re not a complete stranger and neither am I. Can we get to the whisky, please?”

  He grinned and reached for the bottle, pushing away the warmth of her skin lingering on his palm and the delicious crackle of electricity that whispered through him.

 
Because he couldn’t take this any further, even though he was tempted. A tease, sure. A couple of smiles here and there, but nothing more. They both had more than enough on their plates without making this even more complicated.

  Picking up the whisky bottle, he leaned over and topped up her glass.

  “So where’s Connor now?” she asked, sitting back in the chair and taking another sip of the alcohol. “Did you send him home?”

  Damon put the bottle back on the desk, then leaned against it. He picked up his glass, cradling it in one hand, swirling the liquid. A good Scottish single malt, his mother’s favorite.

  “That’s where he said he was headed.”

  Connor had clammed up pretty quickly after he’d asked Damon about Cal. As if he’d regretted telling him. Damon probably shouldn’t have pushed him with the questions—it had been too much, too fast—because the boy had turned away, flinging “I’m going home” behind him as he’d stalked off back toward the ferry.

  That’s when Damon had made the decision to stay, watching the boy’s tall, gangly figure leave, trailing hurt and anger behind him like a cloud.

  Astrid shook her head and took another sip of her whisky. “He won’t be there. He’ll have gone off to do something else, like helping Phil build fences and Harry build his bunker, no doubt.”

  There was a note of resignation in her voice, a trace of weariness. He could see it in the slight smudges beneath her eyes too.

  She was worried for her son.

  “Has he been doing this a lot?” Damon asked. “Helping people out?”

  “Yes.” She sighed. “It feels ridiculous to complain about it, but he’s been skipping school to do it.”

  That made sense if Damon’s theory about Connor viewing himself as the town’s heir held true. Of course he’d want to help. Especially given the oil situation hitting the town. He’d be worried about people, worried about what was going to happen, and he no doubt viewed the entire town as his responsibility now that his father was dead.

  He wouldn’t want that responsibility given to a bunch of people he didn’t know, even if one of them had been born here. He’d come to Deep River after Silas had already left, after all.

  Hell, the responsibility that kid must feel he had to shoulder had to be crushing.

  Probably a good idea to tell her that?

  Yeah, it was never a great situation to have to tell a parent your theories about their child who you’d only just met. Then again, Damon had once been a teenage boy himself, with a single mom who’d worked very hard and whom he felt responsible for.

  He didn’t want to interfere with Astrid and her son, but Cal had given him a mission and he wasn’t going to walk away from it. Not yet at least.

  “I have a theory about that,” he said. “Want to hear it?”

  * * *

  The whisky sitting in Astrid’s stomach was giving her a nice glow and her hand was still tingling from the warm, firm grip of Damon’s fingers.

  And he was leaning against the desk, cradling his own glass, the sun falling across his dark brown hair, striking sparks of gold and caramel from it. His sky-blue eyes were fixed on her, and there was a heat in them that made something quiver deep down inside her.

  A faint smile curved his beautifully carved mouth, warm and sympathetic, making her want to wrap herself up in it like she would a cozy blanket when it was cold.

  He was so ridiculously attractive, and she shouldn’t even be noticing, not when all of this Connor stuff was happening. Aiden had been attractive too, and charming to boot, and look how that had turned out.

  Beneath the glow of the whisky sat guilt and the edge of a familiar bitterness. She’d made a lot of mistakes over the years, but she’d thought she’d done better since she’d come to Deep River. Yet clearly not. She should have said something to Connor about Cal. Connor clearly hadn’t trusted her enough to tell her about the letter he’d received, and maybe that was her fault.

  You knew this would come back to bite you at some stage.

  Yeah, she had. She’d just hoped it would have happened when the timing was better. Not that the timing with this particular secret was ever going to be better.

  “Your theory based on what?” She didn’t bother to hide her sarcasm, letting her anger at herself get the better of her. “Your twenty minutes of being alone with my son?”

  He irritatingly refused the bait, merely shrugging one powerful shoulder, making the blue cotton of his T-shirt pull tight across it in a distracting way. “Fair call. But I was a teenage boy once. And my mother was a single parent. And I was what you’d call overly responsible, so I have a bit of insight.”

  He was so calm and measured. It irritated the crap out of her. “You don’t have to placate me. I’m not a horse you need to soothe.”

  “When I start offering you carrots and sugar cubes, then you can start to worry about me placating you.” Damon’s smile deepened, amusement lighting his eyes. “Anyway, so far I haven’t offered any of my horses whisky.”

  Damn him. She didn’t want to be jollied out of her temper. She didn’t want him being nice to her. What she wanted was a fight, which was never a good sign.

  She kept her temper on a tight rein these days, ever since Aiden. Getting angry and hurt about the things he’d said to her only made him worse, so she’d gotten very good at ignoring them. Cool and calm had been the way to handle him, and cool and calm she’d ended up being.

  And she’d stayed that way even in Deep River, because though the people here had never intimidated her or been cruel the way Aiden had been, it always paid to be careful. Especially with men, because men were unpredictable at the best of times, and most especially when they were being nice. When Aiden had been nice to her, it was always because he was building up to some cruelty he was going to dump on her later or because he’d needed something from her for Connor.

  Damon probably wasn’t like Aiden, but who could tell? You could never judge a book by its cover, no matter how pretty that cover was.

  “I’ll bear that in mind,” she said, pushing the irritation away and trying to find her usual cool manner.

  She didn’t want to ask him about his theory. She didn’t want to acknowledge that he might have an insight into Connor that she, as his mother, didn’t. But it would be stupid not to even listen to him just because she was feeling irritated. Especially when that irritation was more about herself and the way she’d handled things with Connor than it was about Damon. Or Aiden for that matter.

  Best not to give in to her temper. Treat this the way she treated most issues that cropped up as mayor: be objective and don’t let her personal feelings get in the way.

  “Okay.” She took another sip of the whisky. It really was very good. “Tell me then.”

  “Well,” he said without a hint of smugness, “it’s like this. Your boy’s helping people and being protective of the town because I’m pretty sure he feels it’s his responsibility. Caleb used to own Deep River, but he’s gone now, and so Connor’s trying to fill his father’s shoes. And he’s got even more pressure on him because Deep River has been given to a bunch of strangers who don’t know the town or its people.” Damon’s blue gaze was very steady. “That’s got to hurt. He’s Cal’s son, but Cal didn’t leave him Deep River. Cal left Deep River to Silas and me and Zeke.”

  Astrid frowned, turning the words over in her head, thinking.

  As much as she hated to admit it, what he said did make a certain amount of sense. Connor had started all this behavior pretty much straight after Cal had been killed, and she hadn’t really thought much about why, at least not immediately. She’d been too shocked and not a little bit grief-stricken. She and Cal didn’t have any kind of close relationship, but she’d been upset for Connor’s sake, as well as battling her own guilt.

  Connor had always loved this place, even before Cal died. Once
he’d gotten over the heartache of being parted from Aiden, he’d fallen in love with it right from the very first moment they’d motored across the river on Kev’s ferry.

  It was as if he’d come home.

  The dual spikes of grief and guilt stuck inside her, Damon’s words sinking in. Oh hell, he was right, wasn’t he? Connor viewed this place as his and he was afraid for it. Afraid about the oil. Afraid it had been given to a bunch of strange men he didn’t know and didn’t trust.

  Afraid he wouldn’t be able to protect it.

  Like he wasn’t able to protect you.

  Astrid’s heart clenched tight in her chest. She was conscious of Damon’s gaze resting on her, a flood of warm blue surrounding her. And maybe it should have felt like an extra pressure, but it didn’t. His was a very calm presence, projecting steadiness, reassuring in a way she couldn’t put her finger on.

  Was that why she’d already told him far more than she’d meant to about Connor?

  She wasn’t used to it, not from a man, and it made her feel edgy and resistant. Men weren’t to be trusted. Her father, who’d been the most appalled by her pregnancy, had insisted she leave. Cal had abandoned her. Aiden had manipulated and hurt her.

  They’d all betrayed her in one way or another, and though over the five years she’d been in Deep River she’d gradually come to trust the people here, it hadn’t been easy.

  So why she should feel that she could trust a guy she’d only just met, and a stupidly attractive guy at that, she had no idea. But she resented it.

  She’d made some bad choices in the past; she didn’t want to make any more.

  “I guess it makes sense,” she said reluctantly. “And I can see Connor feeling like that.”

  Again, there was no hint of smugness on Damon’s face that she’d agreed with him, not like Aiden had gotten on his sometimes when he’d scored a point off her.

  He only nodded. “It’s a lot of responsibility on his shoulders. The kid must feel he has to look out for everyone in the entire place, so no wonder he’s skipping school. He won’t have time for that if he’s busy making sure everyone’s okay.”