by Sophie Moss
Finn’s knuckles were white as he gripped his wool cap. “He lost his footing stepping off the boat.”
“This is all my fault,” an unfamiliar female voice hitched.
Caitlin started, noticing the woman kneeling beside Liam for the first time. Her sleeves and hair were dripping wet. She was wrapped in one of the captain’s blankets and a small boy—his face hidden under a black hood—huddled behind her.
“His foot caught in one of the ropes,” she explained. “I tried to reach him before he fell, but I wasn’t fast enough.”
“Finn, get the boat ready to leave again,” Tara ordered, leaning down to breathe air into Liam’s water-clogged lungs.
Caitlin sank to her knees, wrapping Liam’s cold hand in both of hers. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.
Dominic knelt beside her. “Liam!” His voice was rough with panic, his fingers digging into his brother’s shoulder. “Liam, wake up!”
Tara scooted down to his side, interlacing her fingers and pumping the heel of her palms against Liam’s chest.
“Liam,” Caitlin whispered. “You have to wake up.”
***
Light pierced the insides of Liam’s eyes. Searing pain filled his lungs. He sucked in a breath, but it lodged in his throat. He choked, rolling onto his side. Familiar voices echoed through the ringing in his ears as he coughed seawater out of his lungs. He held himself up on arms that ached. Every muscle in his body felt like it was on fire.
Where was he? He tried to push himself up to a sitting position, but the dark surface of the water blurred with the edge of the pier. He squeezed his eyes shut as the ground began to spin.
“Liam, can you hear me?” A familiar voice—Tara’s voice—rang out in the night. What was Tara doing here? His head throbbed but he blinked, struggling to focus. He dragged a spoonful of air into his lungs. Moist, wet air. Cold air. It tasted of salt. His fingers curled around the edge of the pier, his palms rubbing on something gritty, like sand.
“Liam, it’s Tara. Can you hear me?”
The wind snatched at her words, bit into his wet clothes. He clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering. Why was it so cold? His eyes flickered open, focusing on the rings forming in the sea. The dark shapes moving in frantic circles just under the surface.
“He’s waking up,” another voice whispered, this one only vaguely familiar. But there was something about it. Something that pulled to him. He turned, his gaze locking on a mysterious blonde. Seawater dripped from her long pale locks. She was wrapped in a thick gray blanket. But the heavy material had slipped off one slender shoulder, revealing a deep v-neck sweater soaking wet and clinging to her lush figure.
“Where am I?” he breathed.
She reached for his hand, her sleeves dripping cold water onto his wrist, her palm curling soft and cool around his. She smiled hesitantly and he caught the first faint chords of a song, drifting like whispered words over the waves. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, unable to tear his eyes from that glorious face. “What happened?”
“You fell off the deck of the ferry,” Tara answered from behind him. “Finn and another passenger pulled you out of the water, but you have a head wound that’s still bleeding. I need you to stay flat on your back until I can stop it.”
Liam brought a hand up to his head, felt something sticky and warm running down his forehead. He pulled his fingers away. They were coated in blood. “I fell?”
Finn’s weathered hands worried over the frayed plaid of his cap. “I’m so sorry, Liam. If it weren’t for the lass here…”
“I’m teaching you to swim, Finn,” Tara cut in, pressing a fresh wad of gauze to the wound. “As soon as it’s warm enough.”
Liam’s gaze drifted back to the blonde, inhaling the scent of wet wool and saltwater. “You pulled me from the water?”
The woman squeezed his hand. “The captain said he couldn’t swim… I just dove in.”
That voice. Those words. Where had he heard them before? Lost, he continued to gaze into those lovely almond-shaped eyes until he felt warm, insistent fingers curl around his other forearm.
“Liam,” a familiar female voice asked from his other side. “Do you feel okay?”
Reluctantly, he pulled his gaze from the mesmerizing blonde. His brow creased as he focused on the other woman’s face. Caitlin? Her red curls were tamed into soft waves. Her smoky blue eyes were filled with raw concern. The hem of her fitted dress had ridden up her thighs, revealing a pair of dark lace stockings. Since when did Caitlin wear stockings? Liam’s gaze flickered up to her face, then back down at the dress hugging her generous curves. “You look… different.”
Caitlin’s eyes clouded with confusion.
Liam’s gaze dropped to the muddy heels discarded on the pier beside her. “Why are you dressed like that?”
“Why?” Caitlin lowered her voice, her gaze darting over to Dominic. “You know why.”
“I do?”
From the corner of his eye, Liam saw Tara put her hand on her husband’s arm. “Dom, why don’t you let the rest of the islanders know that Liam’s okay and I’ll finish up here?”
Rocking back on his heels, Dominic looked back and forth between Caitlin and his brother. “I think I’d like to hear the answer to this question first.”
“Liam.” Caitlin tugged the hem of her dress further down her legs, looking at him strangely. “You were coming over for dinner tonight.”
Liam squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again. “Were you having a party?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then… why was I coming over?”
Caitlin’s gaze fell to where the blonde still clutched Liam’s hand in her lap. “You don’t… remember?”
“Remember what?” Dominic pressed.
Fog slithered over the pier and the water churned beneath them, lapping against the pilings. “We had a… date.”
Liam pushed himself up to a sitting position. “A… date?”
Caitlin nodded.
The wet air curled around his limbs like witches’ fingers. The faint scent of honeysuckle and cloves drifted toward him and he stared at Caitlin. Was she wearing perfume? For a date? With him? “But… why would we have a date?”
Caitlin dropped his hand as if she’d been burned.
Dominic grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him. “You had a date with Caitlin? And you forgot about it?”
“Dominic,” Tara cut in sharply. “This isn’t helping.” She pried her husband’s hands off Liam’s shoulders.
Liam caught the sudden movement under the surface of the water. There were more of them now—dozens of distressed seals swimming in frantic circles around the pilings. Somewhere, in the village, a sheep dog began to howl.
“Liam, it’s possible you’re suffering a slight trauma from your head injury.” Tara glanced over at Dominic, warning him to back off. “Why don’t you start by telling us what you do remember?”
Liam looked back at Caitlin’s hurt face. His gaze lingered on her rosebud mouth, tinted a darker shade than normal. Christ. She was wearing lipstick. Surely, it was all a misunderstanding. He’d remember if he was coming home for a date with Caitlin. He glanced over at his brother, who was glaring at him like he wanted to throw him back into the water. His gaze drifted back over to Nuala. Nuala the songwriter from Limerick. Nuala the woman who pulled him from the water.
“Nuala,” he said, the syllables rolling off his tongue like the quiet rhythm of waves curling over the sand.
She squeezed his hand. “You remember.”
He nodded, sitting up and ignoring the pain that shot through his head. How could he forget? “We spoke on the ferry.”
She nodded.
His gaze lingered on those captivating ice-blue eyes. “You’re a writer. A songwriter.”
Tara’s eyes caught Nuala’s over Liam’s head, and Nuala nodded. “It’s true.”
“What else do you remember?” Tara pressed.
; Liam glanced up at Finn. “I remember reaching for the lines, and letting Finn know I’d take care of the bow.”
Finn nodded. “That’s right.”
Liam’s gaze dropped to the wooden planks of the pier. “I’m not sure what happened after that.”
“That’s okay,” Tara soothed. “Do you remember what you did earlier today?”
Liam nodded. “I went to the office this morning. Worked on a presentation I’m giving at a conference next week. I printed out the draft to bring with me to work on. I went home, packed, and drove to Sheridan. I stopped…” He trailed off.
“You stopped?” Tara asked.
Liam stared at a long, thin crack in one of the boards. “I think I stopped somewhere along the way, but I can’t remember where.” The faint scent of roses drifted through the misty air and he shook his head. Why couldn’t he remember the rest?
“Don’t worry about every detail,” Tara coaxed. “Just focus on what you can remember. Do you remember anything from the rest of your drive to Sheridan?”
Liam thought back to the drive up the winding seaside roads of Connemara. He had his briefcase on the seat beside him. He remembered because he kept shoving his hand in it for a pen and paper to jot notes down while he was driving, a habit he was still trying to break. But there was something else on the seat beside him.
He could smell them again, the roses. But he pushed the thought away, trying to focus. “I remember driving into Sheridan, parking and walking down to the docks. I chatted with Finn for a while and we talked about fishing.” He glanced up at Finn and the captain nodded. “I remember boarding the ferry and seeing Nuala and a child.” Liam looked back at the blonde and noticed the child huddled behind her for the first time, his face hidden under a dark hood. “I remember thinking it was odd that they’d be coming to the island in the winter. But tourism has picked up since this summer, so I didn’t really give it that much thought.”
“Go on,” Tara urged.
He ran a hand through his wet hair, struggling to focus. Why was this so hard? “They went into the cabin and I rode up on the deck. We were almost to the island when Nuala came out and we started talking.”
“What else do you remember about the ferry ride?”
“I caught up with Finn for a while and then wandered up to the bow. I like to see the island come into view. I was thinking about…” A searing pain shot into his eyes. He squeezed them shut, waiting for it to pass. The scent of roses, sweet and feminine and seductive, rolled through him again and he felt sick. Sitting up, he pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes. “I can’t remember.”
“Come on.” Dominic grabbed him by his jacket and hauled him to his feet. “Let’s get you inside.”
Gathering up her medical kit, Tara offered Nuala a hand. “Are you staying at the Dooley’s B&B?”
“I haven’t figured out where I’ll be staying yet.”
Tara’s eyes cut to the small child, huddling behind his mother. “You didn’t think to book ahead?”
“It was a spur of the moment trip.” Nuala’s arm curved around her son. “We didn’t have much time for planning.”
Liam watched Dominic and Tara exchange glances. “I’m sure the Dooley’s can take you in,” he said, reading the question in Tara’s eyes.
Dominic shook his head. “The Dooley’s are booked this weekend. Their family’s in town from Dublin.”
Liam’s gaze shifted to Caitlin. She was gathering up her heels. The bottoms of her stockings were covered in mud. A long tear ran up one leg. She couldn’t have gotten dressed up for him. He would have remembered if he had a date with Caitlin. “Are you still fixing up the McFlaherty’s old place?”
“Yes.”
“Could Nuala stay there?”
Caitlin shook her head. “It’s not finished.”
“But it’s livable, right?”
“It’s only for three days,” Nuala appealed, her heeled boots clicking against the pier as she walked up to stand beside Liam. “You’ll never even know we were here.”
Chapter 3
Sunlight streamed in her bedroom window and Caitlin blinked, squinting against the bright morning light. What time was it? Her hand pushed out from under the tangle of covers, fumbling over her cluttered night table for the clock and stilled when her gaze landed on the dress and stockings balled in the corner by the door. The dress and stockings she was supposed to wear on her first date with Liam.
She squeezed her eyes shut. How could she have been so stupid? How could she have actually believed things had changed between them? When nothing ever changed? Kicking at the covers, she swung her feet to the cold wood floor. Well, guess what? She was done with Liam O’Sullivan. If he didn’t want her—if he couldn’t so much as remember their date—then he didn’t deserve her!
She marched to her closet, tugging an old cardboard box from the top shelf and digging through the contents for a pair of battered sneakers. How dare he lead her on? How dare he call her every night for the past three months and stay up talking until midnight? How dare he get her hopes up like that and then cast her aside as if she was just another one of his women?
She should have known better! She pulled on a sweatshirt and sweatpants, caught her hair back into a ponytail and spied her reflection in the mirror. Nice, Caitlin. Really nice. She shook her head, turning away from the mirror. What was she thinking getting all dressed up and making a fancy dinner last night? Liam didn’t want a relationship. He’d never wanted a relationship. He dated women for mindless, no-strings sex. He dated women who looked like Nuala.
Nuala. With her perfect blond hair and perfect blue eyes. Caitlin stalked to the front door and swung it open, letting the bitter winter winds rush into the cottage. Nuala, who could pull a grown man from the freezing November waters without even shivering afterwards. Like she was some damn mermaid.
She slammed the door behind her and broke into a jog, ignoring the stares of her neighbors. It was time she made some changes—drastic changes. She picked up her pace through the village, her sneakers pounding on the cracked pavement. When the door to the pub swung open and Dominic stepped out with a broom, she groaned. Great. Just what she needed.
“Caitlin?” Dominic stammered.
She pretended not to hear him, pumping her arms and running faster. She rolled her eyes up to the sky when she heard the broom drop with a clatter and his heavy footsteps start after her.
“What are you doing?” Dominic called, catching up to her.
“What does it look like?” Caitlin dragged air deep into her lungs. She wasn’t having any trouble breathing. She could do this all day long.
“It looks like you’re running.” Dominic matched her pace when she tried to pull ahead. They passed the market. Sarah Dooley was writing up the day’s specials on the board outside the shop, but she paused, her jaw falling open as she caught sight of them. “But why are you running?”
“Cause I want to get in shape,” Caitlin snapped.
“Since when?”
“Since now!”
“Cait.” Dominic blew out a frustrated breath. “Stop. Talk to me.”
The road forked and she veered onto the path leading up to the east side of the island, bypassing the pier and a reminder of the events of last night. The boats rocked in the harbor, the wind pushing them into the pilings. White caps churned over the surface of the glittering sea. “I really don’t want to hear what you have to say right now, Dom.”
“Tara’s going to talk Liam into seeing a specialist today.”
“Go away.”
“She thinks there’s something wrong with his memory. He’s forgetful, but he wouldn’t have forgotten a date with you.”
“I’m not talking about this with you.”
“Caitlin, you’re my best friend, and Liam’s my brother. If there’s something going on between you, I want to know.”
“Too bad,” she retorted. “Not everything that happens in my life is your business.”
“It’s my business if you get hurt.”
Her eyes flashed as she jerked to a stop. “Because I could only get hurt, right? Liam would never get involved with someone like me.”
Dominic stopped running, his breath coming out in puffs in the cold air. “Caitlin, that’s not what I meant.”
“It’s exactly what you meant. Because it’s true, isn’t it?”
He stared at her, too stunned to speak.
Caitlin spun on her heel and broke into a sprint, running until Dominic was only a dot in the distance behind her. Her lungs burned and the wind stung the sweat on her cheeks as she slowed. The gentle sloping fields of Brennan Lockley’s sheep farm stretched out to the ocean. She leaned against one of the walls, catching her breath.
How was she going to face all her friends and neighbors now that everyone knew the truth? That she’d actually thought something was starting between her and Liam. That she’d actually believed she might finally get the whole package—marriage, kids, family—with Liam. What a fool she was.
The sharp click of a woman’s heeled boots on the pavement snapped her head up. She spotted Glenna McLure walking up the path from Brennan’s cottage with a pile of books in her arms. Caitlin caught the worried look on her friend’s face and she lifted her foot, propping her heel against the wall and pretending to stretch.
Glenna stared at Caitlin. “Are you exercising?”
“Yes,” Caitlin answered, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Glenna walked up to her and pinched the baggy sleeve of her torn sweatshirt between her thumb and forefinger. “Where did this come from?”
Caitlin tugged her arm away. “It’s a sweatshirt. It’s not supposed to be stylish.”
Glenna angled her head at Caitlin’s defensiveness. “Since when do you run?”
“Since today.” She started to push past her. “Look, I have a lot on my mind right now. And I’d rather keep going.”
Glenna turned, watching Caitlin stalk away. “I know you’re hurt.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”