by Jen Gilroy
“You have a beautiful home.” She turned away from the window to face him.
“It’s a lot of space for Ty and me, but we usually have Christmas here, so there’s a houseful.” He tried to smile. Those big family Christmases with Ty shuttling between his place and Sarah’s were yet another reminder his family was fractured, of how he’d failed. “People sleep on couches, over in the old cottage even.”
Charlie raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t tear it down?”
“Why would I? My grandfather built it to last.” Like her grandfather built the Gibbs cottage. “Ty and his friends like staying there. My nieces do too.”
“I—”
“No.” He stopped her. Afraid whatever she said would destroy the fragile connection between them, destroy what he’d begun to feel for her again. Not only the ever-present sexual desire, but something deeper, more profound. “It’s been a rough day. You need to get cleaned up. I do too. Then you need to sleep and rest your leg.”
“Is my leg that obvious?” She let out a shaky breath.
“Only to me.”
“Oh.” She dug a bare toe into the carpet. Somewhere along the way she’d lost Naomi’s shoes. “About today…” She paused. “You were there for me and I appreciate it. You even found my necklace.” She pulled it out of her pocket.
“I’ll take it to the jeweler in town for you. She’ll fix the chain as good as new.”
“Mom gave it to me after the miscarriage. She said it was because the baby would always be in my heart.” Charlie’s voice was muffled.
“Since you told me, the baby will always be in my heart.” Sean’s throat burned as he took the necklace from her, his fingers closing around the tiny heart. He couldn’t forgive Charlie for not telling him, but he couldn’t doubt the loss of their child had hit her hard and she’d grieved. A part of her still did, judging by the pain in her eyes. “You were there for me too. You had my back. That’s what you said, out on the lake.”
Those words had shaken him to the core because up until the last she’d always been there for him, looked out for him. Maybe even when she left him and made a decision he wouldn’t. Or couldn’t.
“That’s what friends are for.” Her smile was forced.
“I better let you have your shower.” He cleared his throat, his voice gruff. He motioned to the bathroom. “Take as long as you want. There’s plenty of hot water.”
And the water would sluice across her body, and he’d join her, bury himself in her softness. “I need to head to the workshop and make sure everything’s okay there.” If he thought about Carmichael’s, he wouldn’t think about her. “Make yourself at home.”
“Thanks.” She pushed a strand of silky hair away from her face, hair his fingers itched to touch.
“Shadow, no.” Sean called for the dog. What was he doing? The woman had been through hell today and was practically falling over from exhaustion, and all he could think about was getting her naked.
“She looks comfy.”
Stretched across the foot of the bed, on top of Linnie’s log cabin quilt, Shadow thumped her tail. “You know you’re not allowed on beds.” Sean grabbed the dog’s collar. “Ty lets her sleep with him sometimes, but you’re a guest, and she wants to see what she can get away with.”
“It’s okay.” Charlie stopped him. “Shadow wants to keep me company. Don’t you, precious?” Her small fingers stroked Shadow’s ears.
Shadow’s tail hit the quilt again and the dog cracked a smile.
“We can have a girls’ night in. Would you like that, Miss Shadow?”
Shadow rolled over to give Charlie access to her tummy. Her paws twitched and her eyes drifted closed.
“I bet I can find dog treats for you.” Charlie’s laugh rippled out, warm and rich, and Sean ached for her, for the woman she was, not the girl she’d been. “Go take your shower and get to work. I’ll be fine. You know I love dogs.”
He took a last look at Shadow, nose-to-nose with Charlie, and gritted his teeth. He was jealous. And what kind of guy was jealous of a dog?
Chapter Twelve
Charlie lurched upright, the bedsheet twisted around her hips. Her breathing was labored; sweat drenched her body. Moonlight slanted through a gap in the curtains and illuminated the strange room.
She fumbled for her phone and squinted at the time. Two in the morning. Her throat was tinder-dry, and vestiges of the nightmare pressed in on her as she wrestled the sheet away. She reached for the bedside table light and switched it on.
She was in Sean’s guest room, with Shadow asleep at the foot of the bed. She reached for the dog and brushed her warm fur. Shadow’s back rose and fell in a steady rhythm.
She eased out of bed and straightened the unfamiliar clothes. Linnie’s clothes. A tight purple T-shirt and too-short purple-and-white pajama bottoms. “Shush, precious,” she whispered when Shadow opened one eye. “I’ll be right back after I get a snack.”
Charlie padded to the bedroom door, pushed it open, and moved into the hall, where a night-light cast a soft glow. She rested her hand on the polished wood banister and tiptoed down the broad stairs. For a guy who’d grown up on the mill side of town, in a pocket-sized bungalow full of kids and dogs and noise, Sean had come a long way.
In the kitchen, moonlight showing her the way, she opened the freezer compartment of the fridge. He might not have any. She rummaged among several foil-wrapped parcels labeled PICKEREL. He did. Her mouth watered as she reached for the tub of ice cream. Strawberry Swirl, Simard Creamery’s gold-medal winner, year after year.
Not bothering with a bowl, she found a spoon, sat on the floor by the patio door, peeled the lid off the tub, and dug in.
“Charlie?”
She dropped the spoon. It bounced across the floor, coming to rest by Sean’s bare feet. Her face heated.
“Strawberry Swirl, huh?” Voice amused, he slid the patio door open and cool night air wafted in through the screen.
She scrambled to retrieve the spoon and brushed his leg. The fine blond hair set her nerve ends on fire. “Remember when your dad said he wished he could buy shares in Simard Creamery because we ate so much of this stuff?”
“I sure do.” Sean’s deep laugh rumbled. He grabbed two bowls from a kitchen cabinet and two more spoons from a drawer. “Were you really going to eat the whole tub?” He sat beside her, long legs bare beneath a pair of gray shorts. Heat radiated off him, and Charlie shivered.
“Yesterday was a bad day.” She bent her head and used a clean spoon to scoop ice cream into a bowl, trying not to look at his naked chest. It was more muscular, powerful. A man’s body, not a boy’s.
He laughed again, his abs rippling. “You can take the girl out of Firefly Lake, but you can’t pry the ice cream out of her grasp.” He leaned in close and Charlie’s heart skipped a beat. “Remember what we used to call it?”
“No.” The lie tripped off her tongue.
“These lies are getting to be a habit with you, Pinocchio.” He tweaked her nose and grinned before spooning ice cream into his bowl to empty the tub. “Sex on a spoon.”
“That was a long time ago.” She stared at his lips, mesmerized.
His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip. “Not so long I don’t remember how you liked it when I licked it off your—”
“Don’t.” Her nipples pebbled at the memory.
“We had some good times.” His voice was raw, and desire crackled between them.
She couldn’t let herself think about those times. “Shouldn’t you put more clothes on?”
“You used to like it when I went without a shirt.” His eyes darkened, so blue they were almost black. “I heard a noise.” He gave her a slow smile. “But I pulled on shorts in case you got modest.”
Her breathing quickened and hair rose on her arms. She pulled at the hem of Linnie’s pajama bottoms to hide the scar. But when she raised her head, he wasn’t looking at her legs. He was looking at her chest, how the points of her nipples pushed a
t the thin cotton top.
“What are you doing up?” His voice was a sexy caress.
“I had a nightmare.” Charlie stared into the night, where the dark outline of the trees behind the house gave way to the space where the woodlot had been. The jagged shapes were eerie in the moonlight, and the smell of smoke lingered.
“About the fire?” His voice changed, comforting instead of sensual. He moved closer, and sandalwood soap replaced the smoky scent.
“Not exactly.” Although the fire had likely triggered the nightmare she’d had since the accident, the one that made her remember what she wanted to forget, and made her worry about going back to work too. And then she worried more because she couldn’t tell anyone what was happening without looking like she couldn’t cope.
Sean snaked one arm around her shoulders. “Give yourself a break. What you went through yesterday is enough to give anybody nightmares.”
Charlie rested her head on Sean’s chest, and the reassuring thump of his heart reverberated against her ear. “I keep seeing the cottage,” she whispered, “the flames shooting from the roof. Those old trees.” She squeezed her eyes shut.
“The trees will grow back.” He stroked her hair, his fingers gentle.
She moved her head and stilled his hand. “It won’t be the same, at least not in our lifetime.” Until she’d been out in the middle of the lake and seen the inferno on shore, she hadn’t realized how much she’d counted on the cottage always being the same. A link with her mom and her childhood no matter where she was in the world.
Sean let out a heavy breath. “If you sell to Tat Chee, it won’t be the same anyway. They’ll bulldoze the lot. Thanks to the fire, they’ve got a head start.”
He moved away and Charlie’s skin cooled.
“After I talked to Mia, I called one of my contacts in Boston last night,” she said. “Jason covers environmental stories, community stories, some travel pieces, all across New England. He agreed to do some research.”
“Thank you.” Sean rested his elbows on his knees.
“The right media coverage might help us find another buyer.” Or it might not. It might make things worse. Charlie pushed that thought away because she had to do something. Mia had been honest with her about why she wanted to sell, and she’d been honest with her sister about her doubts, even though she needed the money too. But they both wanted to be true to their mom’s memory.
“Trevor told me a group in town wants to raise money to buy your place.” Sean held her gaze, his eyes intent. “The historical society thinks there was an Abenaki hunting camp where the woodlot is. It could be an important cultural site.”
“I see.” Charlie stared out the window at the bare tree branches framed by dark hills. Mia was her only family. She wouldn’t go behind her sister’s back.
“It’s still only talk.” Sean’s voice was strained. “Besides, that group would need to raise a lot of money to match what Tat Chee’s bound to offer you. At least if what they offered me is any indication.”
“Did you talk to another lawyer?” She avoided his gaze, afraid of what she might see.
“I did, but if you won’t break up the lot, there’s not much I can do. I don’t have that much spare cash right now. Not after buying the marina in town.” He let out a harsh breath. “Ty’s got college soon. My mom’s older and she’ll need help.”
So he’d support her. Charlie filled in the words Sean didn’t say. He was still a good guy. Responsible and honorable, the kind of man a woman could count on for the long haul.
If she was thinking about the long haul, which she wasn’t, Charlie reminded herself. If only she had the money to help Mia and secure her own future. But she didn’t.
Sean’s expression turned grim. “My dad devoted his life to Carmichael’s. My grandfather did too. They were the best men I ever knew. I promised them I’d keep the business going to look after Mom and the rest of the family.”
“You’ve kept your promise and more.” Charlie laid a hand on his arm, the muscles tight under her touch. “Nobody could fault you.”
“Mom depends on me.” Sean pulled his arm away. “Trevor does too, even my sisters and their families. Jess works in the office, Megan does the books, and Jill manages our courses.” He stood, his back to Charlie, shoulders rigid. “Crystal helps out at the marina to add to her college fund. All of us have a stake in Carmichael’s.”
“Who do you depend on?”
Sean turned, and she drew a sharp breath at the small sun tattoo on his right biceps. A tattoo she figured he’d have had removed long ago. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You keep talking about your family and how they depend on you. What about you?” She got to her feet and stood beside him. “You’re so busy looking after everybody else. Maybe you haven’t noticed they’ve got their lives.”
“I don’t depend on anybody. I don’t need to.” Sean slammed the patio door shut. “I kept Carmichael’s going because I wanted to make a success of it for me too.”
She forced the words out through numb lips. “Linnie said Trevor did fine yesterday. Maybe you need to let go. Trust Trevor more and trust yourself.” Part of Charlie’s mind registered the irony. She was asking Sean to do things she couldn’t.
“I can’t.” A muscle worked in his tight jaw. “If I lose Carmichael’s…”
Charlie dug her nails into her palms. “This isn’t about Carmichael’s. When it comes down to it, Carmichael’s is a piece of real estate. Land, buildings, and good water frontage are what Tat Chee sees.”
“That’s not what I see.” His voice throbbed with anger.
“You’re more than Carmichael’s.” There was a sour taste in her mouth. “When you stayed to help me, fight the fire with me, you could have lost Carmichael’s anyway.”
“I didn’t.” His eyes were hard. “I depended on you more than anyone. But I stopped depending on people when you broke my trust. You lied to me then. How can I be sure you’re not lying now?”
She stared at him for a long moment. Then without a word she turned and left the room, her footsteps making a dull thud on the carpeted stairs.
He’d hurt her. Sean looked around the kitchen, quiet apart from the low hum of the appliances. With the words that had come out of his mouth before he’d stopped to think, he’d put a look in Charlie’s eyes that would haunt him for a long time, maybe forever. He picked up the empty ice cream tub and tossed it in the trash.
Although what he’d said was true, he didn’t need to tell her, not when she was already hurting, not when it was too late to make any difference in how things had turned out.
He left the kitchen and went upstairs. On the landing, he stopped in front of her closed door.
A man like his dad would knock on that door and apologize. If he was half the man his dad had been, he wouldn’t hesitate. The door swung open before he could raise his hand.
Charlie’s face was red and blotchy like she’d been crying. Except Charlie wasn’t a crier.
“Charlie.” His voice rasped. “I want to—”
“No.” Her voice was thick. “I shouldn’t have judged you. I need to take a hard look at myself first. Even if I don’t like what I see.”
“I shouldn’t have said what I did either.” Sean let out a slow breath and his anger eased. “That was all a long time ago. It doesn’t matter now.”
“Doesn’t it?” Charlie rubbed the back of a hand across her face, and her T-shirt strained across her breasts.
“Even if it does matter, it’s over. I need to let it go.” And he had to stop blaming her and blaming himself. He reached out and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. The feelings he kept trying to bury roared to life as the thick strands slid through his fingers.
“Can you? Let it go?” Her face was inches from his, and her warm breath brushed his nape.
“Yes.” The truth shocked him. He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life tied in knots because of one woman. A woman who’d be gone again in
another few weeks and he’d probably never see again.
All along he’d wanted Carmichael’s for himself. Wanted to make it a success. Except he was kidding himself. He also wanted something else. Maybe even more than he wanted Carmichael’s.
“Peaches,” he murmured.
“What?” Her expression was puzzled.
“You smell like peaches.” He leaned closer. Why did he torture himself? Why did he let himself still want her?
“It’s Linnie’s body lotion.”
“No, it’s you.” His fingers grazed her cheek, and the softness of her skin made his breath tight.
Charlie moved back into the bedroom. She stopped and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. In the glow of the light from the bedside lamp, her face scrubbed clean, she looked young and innocent, like the girl he remembered.
He pulled his gaze away from her. It landed on the bed behind, covers tangled, pillows bunched. Shadow sprawled on the floor and watched them.
“I’ll say good night.” He cleared his throat.
“Good night.” She hugged herself tight.
He grabbed the door handle, his legs all of a sudden unsteady. “What is it?”
“I’m scared.” The words came out like she’d wrenched them from a hidden place deep inside. “Scared if I go to sleep, the nightmare will come back. Scared if I stay awake, I’ll think about the fire and the cottage and Mia and Mom and the baby…oh, everything.”
The anguish in her voice moved something deep inside him too. “What do you want from me?” His voice was as raw as hers, the pain as sharp.
“Stay with me?” She looked at him, a heartbreaking mixture of desirable woman and frightened girl. “Not for sex.” Like he’d had any doubt about what she might be offering. Her face reddened. “I don’t want to be alone.”
His heart pounded because of what it had cost her to admit there was something she couldn’t handle. He went to the bed and straightened the covers. “Get in.”