First Time in Forever

by Sarah Morgan

  Daylight and silence made an uneasy combination.

  Feeling a powerful sense that something wasn’t right, Emily turned her head to check on Lizzy and saw she was alone in the bed.

  “Lizzy?” Her stomach cramped, and panic mingled with self-recrimination.

  She should have stayed awake.

  She shouldn’t have taken her eyes off her for a moment.

  Telling herself that the girl had probably gone to find breakfast, she sprinted downstairs on legs that felt as useless as cooked spaghetti.

  “Lizzy?” The kitchen was empty, but a chair had been dragged in front of the shelves.

  Something about the position of that chair seemed all wrong, and Emily looked up and saw the glittery pink bucket was missing.

  Her stomach dropped away. It was like losing your footing and tumbling into a dark chasm.

  She shot into the hallway and saw that the front door was open.

  Please, no, not that. Anything but that.

  She should have been more careful. She should have hidden the key. She should have—

  Her heart stopped because as she looked past the porch she saw the child on her knees on the beach shoveling sand into the pink bucket.

  Her heart crashed against her ribs like waves on the rocks.

  “Lizzy!” Forgetting that she was dressed only in flimsy pajamas, she ran. She ran faster than should have been physically possible, but it seemed the body was capable of unusual feats when driven by fear. Stones and tiny pieces of shell ripped at her bare feet, but she didn’t even notice, and then she hit the soft sand and it acted like brakes, slowing her strides and throwing her off balance.

  She stumbled, regained her balance, dragging air into her screaming lungs as she tried to reach Lizzy. She could smell the sea, hear the crash of the surf and the shriek of gulls, all of it combining to unleash dark memories that merged the past with the present.

  The world closed in. She saw the child through a tunnel and knew she had to reach her.

  And then she grabbed her, holding her tightly, vowing that this time nothing was going to make her let go. “Don’t ever, ever do that again.” Her legs shaking, she dropped to her knees in the sand with the child against her. “Never, do you hear me? Tell me you hear me. Tell me!”

  “I hear you. I wanted to see the sea.” Lizzy’s voice was muffled, and Emily squeezed her eyes shut because she wouldn’t care if she never saw the sea again.

  Her limbs were shaking, and a horrible queasy feeling gnawed at her stomach.

  “You must never go to the beach without asking me.”

  “You didn’t want to.”

  “Beaches are dangerous places, do you understand me?” She released Lizzy enough to look into her face, and it was only when she saw the girl’s eyes widen and fill with tears that she realized she was shouting.

  Shouting and shaking.

  Oh, God, she was losing it.

  She should never have come to Puffin Island. She could have been anonymous in a city. A city would have been a better choice.

  “Emily.” Through a mist of panic she heard Ryan’s deep baritone, calm and steady. “Emily? What happened?”

  She couldn’t answer. There was a weight on her chest, and she couldn’t breathe. Was she having a heart attack? Something terrible was happening to her. Through the mists of panic she felt his hand, firm and reassuring on her shoulder, and he was easing her away from Lizzy, telling her that everything was fine, that everything was going to be all right, that she had nothing to worry about.

  Which showed how little he knew.

  She had everything to worry about.

  She shouldn’t be here, doing this. She was the wrong person.

  Now that she was sure Lizzy was safe, she tried to stand up, but her legs were wobbly and unfit for their purpose. Fortunately Ryan must have realized because he drew her into his arms and held her, enveloping her with his strength as his body absorbed her shudders.

  “She’s safe. Everything is fine.” It was all about the tone, not the words. His voice was deep and level, designed to reduce her panic. Except that her panic had gone too far to be reduced so easily. Her heart was pounding, and her breaths were coming in ragged gasps. She felt dizzy and detached, as if she were falling into a deep, dark hole. The loss of control terrified her.

  “Ryan—”

  “I know. I want you to stop taking those big gulping breaths because they’re making you dizzy. Close your mouth, pretend you’re blowing out a candle. That’s it. Just like that.” His hand moved up and down her spine, long, slow gentle strokes that soothed and calmed. “I’m here. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  She clung to his shoulders, to hard muscle and warm strength. He was the only solid, safe thing in her world, and she held on like a climber about to fall from a rock face. “Lizzy—”

  “She’s safe, right here. You’re both safe.”

  From somewhere in the darkness she heard Lizzy’s voice. “Is she sick? Is she going to die?”

  She didn’t hear his response because the sky and his face started to spin together, and she realized with horrible clarity that she was going to pass out. And if she passed out she wouldn’t be there for the child. “She can’t go in the sea. She mustn’t go in the sea. Promise me.”

  “No one is going in the sea.” His voice was strong and sure. “You need to relax.”

  She tried to say something. Tried to tell him she couldn’t relax. She wanted to warn him he needed to take care of Lizzy, but then darkness poured in where there should have been light, and the last thing she remembered were powerful arms catching her as she fell.

  *

  HE’D NEVER SEEN anyone so pale. Lying on the sofa back in Castaway Cottage, Emily’s cheeks were as white as a Maine winter, the only color in her face the dark shadow of her lashes and the soft pink of her mouth. Still shaken by the moment she’d crumpled in front of him, Ryan reached for his phone and was about to call the medical center when she opened her eyes.

  “Thank God.” He put the phone down so that he could have both hands free if she passed out on him again. “You had me seriously worried.” He’d handled panic attacks before, but none as acute and inexplicable as the one he’d just witnessed. He wanted to understand the cause. A glance at their surroundings had revealed nothing obvious, and gentle questioning of Lizzy had revealed no clues.

  Emily struggled to sit up, but he pushed her flat and then wished he hadn’t. For the first time since he’d first met her, she had left her hair loose, but even those tumbling curls failed to hide the shape of her breasts clearly visible through the fabric of her pajamas. He’d found himself wishing that whatever had triggered the panic had occurred after she’d dressed.

  He wondered what it said about him that she was lying there dazed and vulnerable, and he was thinking about sex.

  “Stay there.” He shifted slightly, but his attempts to stop her sitting up had shifted her pajama top, giving him a perfect view of the swell and dip of her breasts. “Don’t move.” He spoke between his teeth, and she looked confused.

  “Are you all right?” Emily asked.

  “You scared the shit out of me.”

  Her eyes were soft and dazed. “I’m sorry.”

  Nowhere near as sorry as he was going to be if he didn’t get himself under control. “I’m calling a doctor.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “Emily, you passed out.”

  “I’m fine now.”

  “Has it ever happened before?”

  She gave a brief shake of her head. “No.”

  “I’m taking you to the medical clinic.” Somewhere he wouldn’t be able to lay a finger on her, preferably with a large expanse of water between them. “Or maybe the mainland. You should have tests.”

  “I don’t need tests.”

  “One moment you were sprinting across the sand as if you were trying to break records, and the next you collapsed.”

  Aware that Lizzy ha
d been watching, scared, he’d tried to look as if this was normal behavior. As if having a panic attack on a beach was nothing out of the ordinary.

  He’d held her, calmed her, breathed in the summer scent of her and tried to forget she was built like Venus. He was fairly sure she’d forgotten she was wearing nothing but thin silk pajamas.

  “Where’s Lizzy?” Her voice was urgent, and he could see she was about to drag herself from the sofa and prove to herself that the child was safe.

  “She’s fine. She’s in the garden with Cocoa.”

  “The front door—”

  “I locked it.”

  “She—”

  “I know. She told me she stood on the chair to get the bucket. She told me you’d forbidden her from going to the beach.” And he wanted to know why. In fact, he had so many damn questions, it was a struggle to hold them back. He intended to ask them later, but first he needed to be sure she wasn’t going to pass out again. “Are you feeling dizzy?”

  “No. You must think I’m crazy.”

  “What I think,” he said slowly, “is that something scared you. Do you want to tell me what?”

  “I woke up and found her gone. Saw the door open. I thought—”

  “What? That the press had found you? That she’d been taken? Are you worried about kidnappers?”

  “No. Not that.” Before she could say anything else, Lizzy came back into the room with Cocoa at her heels. She stopped in the doorway when she saw Emily sitting up.

  “You’re awake.”

  “Yeah, she’s awake.” Ryan rocked back on his heels, knowing that whatever it was Emily had been about to tell him was going to have to wait. “Come and say hi.” He knew children denied the truth would often imagine something far worse. It was important for her to see that nothing bad had happened.

  Lizzy slid onto the sofa and looked anxiously at Emily. “Are you still mad at me?”

  “I was never mad at you.”

  “You were screaming. You squeezed me hard.”

  “I was scared. I was mad at myself for falling asleep and not watching you properly. I—I was worried something might happen to you—” Her throat worked as she swallowed. “I’m sorry if I scared you. We’ll talk about it properly, but not right now.”

  “You fell and I thought you’d died.”

  “Oh, honey, I’m sorry I gave you a fright.” The guilt in her eyes told him just how seriously she took the role of guardian.

  Lizzy crawled closer. “Ryan said you weren’t dead, just sleeping. I guess you were really tired.”

  “That’s right.” Her voice sounded husky. “Tired. And worried, because the door was open and you were gone.”

  “I wanted to dig in the sand. I wanted to use my pink bucket.”

  “I know. I should have done it with you, then you wouldn’t have felt as if you had to do it on your own. Next time I want you to ask me.” She looked exhausted, drained, and Ryan could see the effort it took her to put her own feelings second and reassure the child.

  He encouraged Lizzy to go back into the garden with Cocoa. The resilience of children never ceased to amaze him. He knew it would be a long time until he forgot the raw fear in Emily’s face as she’d sprinted across the sand to grab Lizzy. He could still feel the way her body had trembled against his, the way her fingers had dug into his shoulders.

  Guilt chafed, like sand in a shoe. “I never should have bought that damn bucket.”

  “It’s not your fault. It’s all me.”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “I had a bad night. Slept late.” She lay against the cushions, pale and exhausted. “When I woke, the house was quiet. And then I came downstairs and saw the chair by the shelves.”

  “Yeah, I saw that. I assumed you’d done it.”

  “No. I put the bucket out of reach because I was afraid she might grab it and take it to the beach.”

  “And she did.”

  “I saw the front door open. All I saw was the sea and I thought—I thought—” Anxious, she shot to her feet and swayed. “You’re sure the front door is locked?”

  “Yes, and the key is in my pocket.” He wondered if she knew her pajamas were virtually see-through when she stood in front of the light. He could see the fluid curves of her body through the thin fabric. “Sit down, Emily.”

  “I’m fine.”

  He wasn’t. He wanted to peel off those pajamas and explore every inch of that creamy skin with his mouth. “Sit down before you fall.”

  She sank back onto the sofa and closed her eyes. “I should have hidden the key. I put her at risk.”

  “Risk of what?”

  “She’s six years old, Ryan.”

  “I sense this isn’t a generic risk we’re talking about. I’d like to understand what sent you flying across the sand like a champion sprinter.”

  “I was trying to reach her. Trying to stop her going in the water. It’s my job to protect her.”

  “Why would she have gone into the water?” He cast his mind back. “She was digging. She wasn’t interested in the water.”

  “Children love the water.”

  And he knew from her bloodless cheeks that the issue here wasn’t the bucket or even the fact that Lizzy had left the house. It was the sea. The sea was the reason she spent her time in the kitchen. The reason she sat with her back to the water and didn’t want to go out in his boat.

  “Talk to me.” He kept his voice gentle. “Tell me what that was all about, because we both know it wasn’t about Lizzy.”

  She curled her legs under her. “You’re right, it isn’t about her. It’s about me. I’m not the right person.”

  “The right person for what?”

  “To be looking after a child.”

  He remembered feeling the same way, even though in his case the real burden had fallen on his grandmother. “I know all this has come as a shock to you. You haven’t had time to get used to the idea that you’re her guardian, but you will.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “I remember staring at my sister who was asleep in the middle of my bed, and my grandmother telling me we were all she had. I wanted to run like hell in the opposite direction before I could screw it up, because I knew I would. There were a million ways to do things wrong, and I didn’t know how to do them right. Trust me when I say I know it feels like an overwhelming responsibility you’re not qualified for, but you’re going to be fine. You muddle through, twelve hours at a time.”

  “No, you really don’t understand. I’m not the right person.” Her fierce tone caught his attention.

  “Why aren’t you the right person?”

  She stared at a point on his chest, her fingers clenched in her lap and then finally lifted her head and looked at him. “Because I killed my sister. She died because of me.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “SHE’S ASLEEP,” RYAN SAID, standing in the doorway. He’d spent the whole day and the whole evening taking care of things, and judging from the absence of complaint from Lizzy, he’d handled bedtime with the same cool competence he’d displayed on the beach.

  “I usually read to her.”

  “She told me. Green Eggs and Ham.” He gave a short laugh. “It’s been a while, but I’m still word perfect. And she recognized quite a few words, so whatever you’ve been doing has made a difference even in a short time. She’s asleep now. She’s exhausted.”

  And she knew she had him to thank for that.

  He’d distracted Lizzy with a game in the garden that involved so much running with the ball and the dog she’d worn herself out. When she was almost falling asleep on the spot he’d made supper, enrolling Lizzy in helping him. He’d stood her on a chair at the scrubbed kitchen table and shown her how to break eggs into a bowl.

  From her position on the sofa, Emily had watched through the open door as Lizzy had smacked each egg on the side of the bowl and paused as golden yoke and slippery white had slid and pooled in the center. There had been two accid
ents, and each time he’d cleaned up and let her try again. Plenty of adults would have opted to do the job themselves. Not Ryan. He’d stood, infinitely patient, and let her master the task until the carton of eggs was empty and the bowl filled with yolks that floated like small suns on the translucent liquid.

  Then he’d handed Lizzy a whisk and demonstrated the movement. When it had proven too hard, he’d covered her small hand with his and did it with her until they had a frothy mixture. It didn’t seem to bother him that he could have done it himself in a quarter of the time.

  The part that involved heat, he’d done himself.

  He’d stood in front of the stove in Kathleen’s sunny kitchen, sleeves rolled back to reveal powerful forearms as he poured the mixture into a pan and produced a perfect omelet.

  She’d wondered how she could be noticing he was sexy at a time like this. Apparently she was more vulnerable to the appeal of the strong protective type than she’d thought.

  She felt dizzy and strange, as if a healing wound had suddenly been wrenched open, leaving her bleeding and weak. Her mind was flooded with thoughts she’d worked hard to block out for most of her life. At some point she must have slept because she woke to find herself covered with the patchwork quilt.

  And now he was standing there, no doubt wondering how soon he could reasonably leave.

  “I’ve taken up so much of your time—”

  “It’s my time. My choice how I spend it. How are you feeling?”

  “Better. Did you leave the door open so we can hear her?”

  “Cocoa is lying at the bottom of her bed. If she wakes, we’ll know.”

  “The dog is on her bed?”

  “The two of them seemed happy with that arrangement. Is it a problem?”

  “No.” Emily slumped back against the sofa, thinking that of all the problems she had, that one didn’t even register. “I can’t believe you looked after her all afternoon.”

  He eased himself away from the door frame and strolled into the room, a smile playing around his mouth. “You owe me. And I’ll be collecting.”

  She didn’t know whether it was his words or the look in his eyes, but something sent her pulse hammering like rain on a roof. The air simmered with a heat that made it difficult to breathe. She had no defenses against his brand of raw sexuality. She felt out of control, as if she needed to fasten a seat belt or anchor herself to an immovable object. It was like tiptoeing around the rim of an active volcano, knowing that one wrong step would send you plunging into a fiery furnace.