Deep River Promise

by Jackie Ashenden

  You like him too.

  And that was a problem. She did like him. She liked him a lot. Too much, probably. And Connor mentioning that he thought Damon needed them had only made things worse. Because now all she could think about was how he’d told her about his daughter and how he hadn’t wanted to talk about it. And then this morning at Silas’s, the way he’d looked at her…

  She’d been hurt at his refusal, it was true, but it was also obvious that the problem wasn’t that he didn’t want her. It was…what? He’d made his refusal sound like he was protecting her, but was it really about her? Or was it more about himself? Did he not feel he could let himself have her? And if not, why? And why did Connor think that Damon needed them? Did he not have anyone?

  Slowly, she put another book on the shelf, thinking, all the questions revolving in her head.

  He had Silas and Zeke, and he’d had Cal. He had his mom in LA. But did he have anyone else? Perhaps he didn’t. He’d mentioned that telling her about his daughter was a secret that he hadn’t told anyone else. Why was that? Grief, yes, and pain, definitely. But not talking about her to anyone had to be such a terrible burden.

  Yet…he’d told her, giving her a secret little piece of himself.

  Emotion curled inside Astrid’s chest, heavy and aching.

  He was a caring, protective man, and she could sense that he had a lot to give and that he wanted to give it. Yet she got the feeling that he was holding himself back.

  You can’t keep giving without receiving.

  It was true. Already he had given her a lot over the past few days, offering support and reassurance with her son, giving her passion and pleasure, rebuilding her confidence in herself as a woman. Yet she hadn’t given him anything in return, and she didn’t like that thought. Didn’t like it at all. She wanted to help him the way he’d helped her. And it didn’t have to be sex. It could just be the offer of a friendly ear and a shoulder to cry on. Reassurance that he wasn’t alone. Because she got the feeling that maybe he was. That behind his direct blue gaze lay something lonely and hungry…

  Determination settled inside her.

  Yes, that’s what she would do. She’d go to him tonight. He might not want to talk; he might only want sex and a night of distraction. Or he might just turn her away. But that didn’t matter and she couldn’t let her own issues get in the way. This was his last night here and this was her last opportunity, and she had to at least make the offer, let him know she was here if he wanted her to be.

  It wasn’t much. But it was all she had.

  Chapter 14

  Damon spent the rest of that afternoon talking to Harry the survivalist in the man’s sprawling log cabin in the bush. Harry had a quad bike that he used to get in and out of town, since his house was a few miles away—he and Gwen liked the isolation—and he offered to take Damon out to look at the place. Damon agreed because Harry’s suggestions of wilderness survival skills was a good one and the guy wanted to give him a demonstration.

  So he watched while Harry did various things like lighting a fire by striking sparks off his knife and onto a little pad of moss. Then building a shelter, before dragging Damon into the bush for a hunting demonstration. Afterward, since more rain had closed in, he and Harry sat on the porch while Gwen brought them herbal tea from herbs she’d dried herself.

  He enjoyed himself far more than he’d expected to, mainly because it was an excellent distraction from thinking about Astrid.

  Harry returned him to town much later, not to mention a bit the worse for wear after sharing with Damon some of his homemade whisky.

  The Moose was full of people when he’d come into the bar, and he’d spoken to enough of the townspeople by now that they didn’t give him the stranger stare. Instead, they called his name in greeting, several beckoning him over to join in conversations or waving beers at him in invitation to share. Hell, it was almost as if he was one of them.

  Deciding that although more alcohol was definitely a bad idea, it was probably also a very good idea too, Damon went upstairs to change the clothes he’d got muddy hunting with Harry and to have a quick shower, planning to come back down to the bar. Because why not? It was his last night here after all, so he might as well make it a night to remember.

  What about Astrid? And Connor?

  He’d go see them tomorrow, say his goodbyes. Keep it friendly and light. They both deserved better than that, but friendly and light was all he had. Better they found that out now rather than later.

  Regret cut at him, sharp-edged and painful, the way all his emotions seemed to be these days. But it wasn’t anything to be concerned about. That phantom limb pain from his burned-out heart would go away soon enough. Once he left Deep River, probably. As if he needed another reason not to stay.

  He stepped into the room, then stopped dead.

  A slim, blond woman in a white T-shirt and jeans was sitting on his bed.

  Astrid.

  Her steady gray gaze met his and a rush of heat went through him, intense and unstoppable, making his heart race and his breath catch.

  Goddammit. What the hell was she doing here?

  Slowly, trying to get himself under control, he shut the door behind him.

  “What’s up?” The question came out a lot rougher and more demanding than he meant it to, but he didn’t apologize. “You okay?”

  “Not really.” The setting sun shining through the windows lit in her hair, turning it into a blaze of gold. “I haven’t been very good to you the past couple of days, have I?”

  His heart was beating way too fast, and he had to thrust his hands in his pockets to stop them from reaching for her. Insanity. He’d made his decision not to touch her again and he wasn’t going to change his mind.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Because I’ve been quite selfish.” Her hands rested on her thighs, her posture a little stiff. But her gaze was very steady. “Ever since you got here, you’ve put yourself out for me and Connor. You talked him through some crappy stuff, and then you did the same for me. You helped us. And I realize I haven’t really given you anything back. So that’s why I’m here. To give you whatever you need.”

  He smiled, conscious all of a sudden of how fake that smile was. Yet he couldn’t control it; his mouth curled at the edges whether he wanted it to or not. “I told you last night. This isn’t a quid pro quo. I mean, I appreciate the offer, but you don’t have to give me anything.”

  “I know I don’t. But I want to.”

  Inexplicable tension crawled through him, that goddamn smile starting to feel faker and faker. “I don’t need it.” He tried to keep his voice gentle. “Except maybe one of April’s coffees.”

  Astrid didn’t smile. Her gaze was very, very sharp. Like an X-ray, seeing through his skin and the fake smile that he plastered over everything, right down to the cracks in his bones.

  “How sick is your mom, Damon?” she asked quietly.

  He didn’t know why he told her. Maybe it was because of Harry’s whisky and he was just a little drunk. Or maybe he didn’t want her looking at him like that, as if she could see the emptiness behind his smile.

  “She has early onset dementia.” He kept the words stripped of any emotion. “And last week she nearly burned her house down when she left a pot on the stove and forgot about it.”

  Deep sympathy glowed in her eyes. “Oh, Damon. I’m so sorry.”

  He wanted to turn away from her expression, but that would be to admit that her sympathy cut like a knife and he didn’t want to admit that. He wasn’t supposed to feel this pain anymore.

  “It’s fine,” he said automatically. “It is what it is.”

  “But what does that mean for you?”

  He made himself move, over to the nightstand near the bed, where the whisky bottle was. A glass sat beside it, so he poured himself a measure, because why
not?

  “It means that someone will have to live with her and make sure she’s not going to accidentally kill herself. And since she doesn’t have anyone else, that someone is me.”

  “So…you’re leaving the life you have in Alaska to take care of her?”

  “Yes.” He lifted the glass and took a sip, the liquid burning down his throat. It probably wasn’t a good idea to have more, but he didn’t feel like behaving himself right now. “It’s not a drama. Don’t get me wrong. I like flying planes and working with the guys. But I’m not married to it. Mom sacrificed a lot for me, so it’s the least I can do.”

  A crease appeared between Astrid’s fair brows. “What about live-in care? Or assisted living?”

  “She doesn’t want that. She barely acknowledges the fact that she’s sick as it is. And I don’t want to force her. She’s had a tough life and it seems wrong to stick her in a home like an afterthought.” He swirled the whisky in the glass, looking down at it, since somehow that was easier than looking at Astrid. “I have some money set aside for private care when it happens, but I want to look after her as much as I can myself.”

  It was only fair.

  Besides, it wasn’t as if the life he had in Juneau was anything deep and meaningful. It was spent flying planes, having casual affairs, and drinking with the guys. There was nothing too intense, nothing too passionate. But that’s what he wanted, a surface life, and he’d seen no reason to change his mind.

  Not even for Astrid and Connor?

  Why would they make a difference? When he’d only known them a handful of days? His promise had kept him here, nothing more. And if he’d had a few pangs from that long-dead heart of his, it was only phantom pain.

  Hell, even if things had been different, he couldn’t stay anyway. They needed more than what he could give them.

  “I get that,” Astrid said quietly. “That’s tough.”

  A heavy silence fell, Astrid’s fingers twisting together on her thighs.

  “You don’t have to stay, Astrid,” Damon said and took another swallow of whisky. “Like I said, I appreciate the offer of help, but there’s nothing you can do. It’s my problem to deal with.”

  Yet she didn’t move. “I know. But that doesn’t mean I can’t offer some support.”

  He was standing quite close to where she sat on the bed, the last rays of the sun falling over her and igniting in her hair. She didn’t look so cool and capable now, the snow queen he’d first met only a few days ago. Now, her hair gleamed gold and there was warmth in her gray eyes. The snow queen melted, and for him…

  He very much wanted to hold her. But it wasn’t the right time for that kind of thing. He was drunk and his mood was off, and he’d be leaving the next day. Better to end it on the magic of the night before and not on him being drunk and tense and an ass.

  Knocking back the rest of the whisky, he put the glass back on the nightstand and jerked his head toward the door. “It’s best if you go, Ms. Mayor. I’m not in the mood for heart-to-heart chats.”

  Astrid merely gazed at him. The nervous tension that had been buzzing around her had vanished, and now an air of certainty and determination surrounded her. Which must be where her son got his from.

  “Why did you tell me about your daughter, Damon?” she asked.

  It was the very last question he’d expected, and it sent a jolt of shock through him. This time he couldn’t stop himself from turning away and walking over to the windows.

  “I told you why,” he said, staring out at the river rushing by.

  The rain had cleared earlier, leaving the evening newly washed and clean, the light glancing off the river and turning it a deep, endless green.

  “You wanted to share it with me, and yet you didn’t want to talk about it afterwards. So why tell me in the first place?”

  “Hell if I know.” He stared hard at the water. “Because it seemed like a good idea at the time?”

  “You said that secrets were hard to carry all by yourself, so…it seems like you told me because that secret was getting heavy.”

  Why was he feeling so tense? Like he was inside enemy territory and looking around for the next attack? Ella had died years ago, and the sharp edges of that grief had dulled. It would always be with him, he knew that, but that’s the way it should be. The extent of the pain measured the extent of the love, and feeling nothing at all would have meant that she was nothing at all. And Ella had never been nothing.

  But he didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to share her. After Rebecca had gone and the initial shattering pain of the grief had eased, he’d tried to talk about her to various people, his mother included. But no one had wanted to listen, and he’d hated that. He couldn’t stand the thought of Ella’s loss being dismissed because other people found it too hard, or didn’t know what to say, or were too uncomfortable. Her memory was too precious for that. It was easier not to say anything at all in the end.

  Caleb had been the only one who’d let Damon talk, the only one who’d listened. He’d understood because he’d been a father as well. Not even his mother had done that for him.

  Astrid would listen.

  His heart kicked hard inside his chest like a mule. Would she? He’d thought that of all the people in the world, the one person he could talk to would have been Rebecca, Ella’s mother. But she hadn’t even been able to face him. After Ella’s funeral, she’d told him she was leaving, that being in LA was too hard. That bearing his grief as well as her own was too hard. She hadn’t given him a chance to protest or even to comfort her; she’d simply delivered the news, then left.

  He’d been angry with her for that. It was unfair of him, but he was. He’d been so full of memories of Ella, overflowing with the need to share them and share his grief, but there was no one around to listen.

  The only other person he’d had to talk to had been his mother, and she’d told him in no uncertain terms that she didn’t want to talk about it.

  All those memories, all that pain he’d had to bottle up and keep to himself. Then it had ceased to become a necessity, but a choice. And he’d found it easier not to talk. Easier to keep it hidden because people’s reactions were hard to deal with and he hadn’t wanted to deal with them.

  Easier to keep Ella as his own special secret, aching in his heart.

  “You may not want to,” Astrid continued in a calm, steady voice. “But if you want to talk about her now, you can talk to me. I’m here to listen. And I’d like to know.”

  There was a sunset outside, and it was beautiful.

  He didn’t move. He stared out the window at the river and the dusky purple of the mountains beyond, wrapped in the green of the bush and capped in snow. And he didn’t mean to speak; somehow it just came out.

  “I don’t talk about her,” he heard himself say. “Because no one ever wants to hear. It’s too hard for some people to bear and it makes them uncomfortable. And Ella deserves more than that. I told Cal because he was a dad and he understood.”

  “Is that why he asked you to look after Connor?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  Astrid was silent behind him, and she must have moved quietly because the next thing he knew, slim arms were winding around his waist, holding him tight, and there was warmth at his back. Warmth and the scent of wildflowers.

  “Tell me about her,” Astrid said softly. “You don’t have to protect her from me.”

  His heart ached, a sweet and gentle grief these days. And he found he wanted to talk. He wanted someone to hear about his special girl, because she didn’t deserve to be kept in the dark. She deserved to be talked about and remembered, and not with tension and anger but with love and happiness. Because that’s what she’d given him.

  And Astrid was right. He didn’t have to protect Ella from her. She was a mother and she understood.

  Damon closed h
is eyes. “She liked ice cream. And…she had this toy cat thing that I found in a thrift store for her because we had no money for brand-new toys. She really liked that cat. But she had a temper too. Hated it when I tried to dress her in clothes she didn’t like.” He could still picture her in his head, her blue gaze so like his own, and her dark brown hair. “She was so stubborn. When I told her no, she used to lie down on the floor and scream. An actual, literal tantrum. Couldn’t take her anywhere when she was like that. I had to put her under my arm and carry her kicking and screaming.”

  “Hmmm, I wonder where she got that from?” Astrid’s voice was full of warm amusement.

  He was smiling, but he could feel moisture on his skin. It didn’t matter. “Not me. That was all her mother.”

  “Sure, sure.”

  His hands were somehow out of his pockets now and he’d put them over Astrid’s where they rested on his stomach. “She laughed a lot too, and she liked hugs. Liked being picked up and carried.” Astrid’s skin was warm against his palms. “She was very brave. She didn’t like the doctors or the hospital but…” He stopped.

  Astrid didn’t prompt him, a calm, quiet presence at his back, giving him what he’d never had all those years ago. Comfort and strength. How strange that those arms around him, holding him tight, could be slender and yet so strong.

  “There was nothing the doctors could do,” he went on. “She slipped away without pain. I was with her at the end, and it was peaceful.” His heart ached at the memory, but it was a welcome ache. A sign of Ella’s presence in his life. “And it hurt,” he said. “It…just fucking hurt.”

  Astrid said nothing. She kept on holding him, giving him the heat of her body and the warmth of her presence.

  “The worst part”—he was unable to keep quiet now—“was not being able to talk about her to anyone. Rebecca, Ella’s mom, couldn’t bear being in LA. It was too hard and she couldn’t stand my grief as well as her own. So she left and I never saw her again. Mom was… She came from a family that didn’t talk about bad stuff and she couldn’t talk about it with me. I tried to once, but she told me she didn’t want to hear it. Life is hard, she used to tell me. Get used to it. Suck it up and carry on.”