Heron's Landing: The Complete Series

by Iris Morland

  She stalked out of the café, leaving Adam with the measly coffee bill. She began walking back to her apartment, but the thought of sitting up there sounded so unbearable that she stalked off in the direction of the creek. She also didn’t want to talk to Mike, or anyone else in the general store. She waited to hear Adam come after her, but he didn’t.

  Hurt filled her, and she could feel tears threatening. She swiped at them. She was an angry crier, and God above, she was angry. Angry at herself for thinking Adam was a good guy despite her first impression of him, angry at herself for kissing him! But mostly she was angry that he thought she was such a heartless jerk that she’d screw him over for her own gain. She was a fucking journalist, not some Wall Street big wig stealing money from the poor to line her own pockets. Hell, she barely made anything in the last few weeks because she’d been preoccupied with life and moving.

  If you had any integrity—the words bounced around in her mind until she was close to chucking her purse and stomping on it out of sheer rage. Instead, she kicked a tree, and then swore at the pain radiating up her foot from the attempt. Could her life be more of a mess?

  She finally walked to a log overlooking the creek. She sat down with a plop, huffing out a breath. The tears had mostly disappeared, but she probably looked a sight: flushed and scowling and swearing underneath her breath. She wished she could be a subtle person when angry, but that had never been her style. But once she got it out of her system, she generally moved on.

  Adam Danvers can suck a dick and I hope he falls off a cliff and dies. To occupy herself, she imagined terrible, ridiculous fates for him—getting eaten alive by raccoons, choking on a sandwich, getting the plague—before she calmed down enough to think a little more clearly.

  The wind whistled through the trees, and Joy watched as birds flitted about in the branches. She spotted a bright red cardinal in one of the shrubs. She smiled, watching it hop around. She soon spotted a female cardinal, more brown then red, and realized there was probably a nest in the shrub. She smiled a little sadly.

  A small voice in her head told her she’d gotten herself into this bind by agreeing with Adam but then reneging, but she pushed that voice aside. She wasn’t in the mood to understand him. He had insulted her, and she didn’t have time to be nice to whiny man babies. Jeremy had been the whiniest of man babies at the end, crying about how she’d never loved him.

  Was there anything worse in this world than whiny man babies? Joy didn’t think so.

  She sat on the log for a few hours, just staring off into the distance. She probably should get back, work on a story, pay her bills. Figure out her life, ignore that she’d been falling for Adam and now she hated everything about him. Was that to be her fate with men? Fall for them and then when they showed their true colors, wish instead that they’d get hit by a tractor and be run over multiple times, very slowly?

  “Joy?”

  Turning, Joy saw Grace walking toward her. The girl had her hair in a braid down her back, and she looked rather like a fairy princess come to reunite with her woodland subjects. Joy’s heart clenched, though, seeing how much Grace looked like her brother. They had the same eyes, she realized.

  She looked away.

  “I heard what happened,” Grace said, sitting beside her. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Not really.”

  Grace fidgeted, pulling at random threads on her white dress. “I’m sorry about all of this. Adam can be such a jerk sometimes.”

  “Only sometimes?”

  “He’s a good guy,” Grace pressed. Joy looked over at her, and saw the seriousness in her expression. “He’s just…stubborn.”

  “Stubborn enough to say that I have no integrity and am basically a terrible person?”

  Wincing, Grace looked away. “I didn’t realize he’d said that, exactly. I just ran into him after he left Trudy’s, and he was so steamed that I couldn’t get much out of him.”

  “Well, if anyone should be steamed, it’s me. I didn’t completely insult him and then make ridiculous demands.” Her anger rising again, she continued, “You know, I tried to like your brother. I did. We didn’t start off very well, but I wasn’t going to hold that against him. And then what happened down at the creek here—”

  “What happened here?”

  Joy blushed, remembering. She’d remember that kiss until her dying day. If she didn’t hate Adam so much right now, she’d go find him and kiss him again just to experience it again. It had been like no other kiss she’d ever had—and she’d had some good kisses in her lifetime. At the beginning of their relationship, she and Jeremy couldn’t keep their hands off of each other. But the kiss with Adam hadn’t just been about desire; if Joy thought about it too much, she’d freak herself out.

  “Nothing happened,” Joy replied shortly. She could see Grace staring at her, and when she caught her gaze, the girl smiled.

  “Nothing? Why are you blushing? Oh my God, did you guys sleep together?”

  Joy squawked. “Jesus Christ! No! And why are you asking questions like that about your brother? And who would have sex in the dirt by a creek? That’s the most country thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “You’re deflecting.”

  “No, I’m telling you you’re losing your marbles. And besides, even if we’d pledged our undying love for each other, that doesn’t negate that your brother is, in fact, a complete jackass.”

  The two women fell silent. Grace placed her hands in her lap, her fingernails still a bright red from their girls’ night manicure session. In a quiet voice, she said, “I didn’t come here to excuse my brother’s actions. But I also wanted you to know that there’s more to the story than you might realize.”

  Joy didn’t want to be persuaded. She didn’t want to hear Adam’s sob story. She didn’t want to let go of her anger and understand things. She wanted to stay mad and trip him when she saw him walking down the street.

  Sometimes a girl just wanted to stay petty.

  “I told you his wife Carolyn died, right?” Grace continued. “He hasn’t been the same since.” At Joy’s look, she added, “I’m not giving that as an excuse. But it’s true. He’s been…angry, I think. He wasn’t always like that.”

  “But what does that have to do with me writing a story about the vineyard?”

  Grace inhaled, brushing a leaf from her dress. “I can’t tell you all of the details, but I can say that there was a lot of media coverage when Carolyn died, and it was really painful for Adam. For all of us.”

  Joy swiveled toward Grace. “Media coverage? Why?”

  “Carolyn was the daughter of Trenton Young, the founder of Young & Co.” At Joy’s eyes widening, Grace said, “She was a sort of celebrity, especially around here.”

  Joy—and everyone else in the United States—knew exactly what Young & Co. was: a store where you could basically buy anything you needed at prices that were surely illegal. You couldn’t go ten miles without seeing a Young & Co. store. Joy hadn’t known anything about the family, but she found herself intrigued regardless. Adam had been married to a celebrity? Who knew?

  “So when she died, people reported on it, and Adam got mad?” Joy frowned. “That seems like a flimsy excuse to hate all journalists from here to eternity.”

  “It would be, if that were the only reason.” Grace smiled sadly. “I can’t tell you anymore—I know, I know—because Adam asked that no one talk about it. I’m probably saying more than I should already. But suffice to say, he has his reasons. They may seem extreme, but sometimes when horrible things happen, we fight against whatever we can to preserve what we have left, you know?”

  Joy fell silent at that. She marveled at this young woman—barely twenty-three years old—who could speak with such insight into human nature. Joy didn’t particularly want to be persuaded, but she could feel her anger cooling despite herself. She was still mad, but it was an anger tinged with curiosity to know why.

  After talking for a little while longer, Joy
and Grace parted. Joy returned to her apartment, where she drummed her fingers on her coffee table in thought. Did she go down that rabbit hole or not? Giving herself a reason to understand Adam Danvers more could possibly backfire, but then again, curiosity killed the cat was her M.O. in all things.

  Opening up her laptop, she Googled “Carolyn Danvers,” receiving a number of hits regarding the accident and Carolyn’s subsequent death. She read about the car crashing into a tree, and how Carolyn had been DOA when taken to the hospital. Joy winced at the photos of the crash site: the car looked like Godzilla had picked it up and smashed it between its claws, it was so mangled. The accident had been just that: an accident due to rainy weather.

  Clicking through more articles, she read about Carolyn’s various charities, her family’s influence, articles condemning the labor practices of Young & Co. She read about Carolyn’s days at Stanford as an undergraduate, and her marriage to Adam. She even found wedding photos of the two from seven years ago, and she was taken aback by how happy Adam looked. She’d never seen his face softened like that, almost bursting with love.

  After that, she closed her laptop. Sitting back onto the couch, she couldn’t help but feel sympathy for Adam and his entire family. To lose his wife in such a random, tragic way? They’d clearly loved each other. She couldn’t imagine the grief of losing a spouse like that. Her heart contracted, and she hated herself for feeling like this for him.

  Torn between sympathy and anger, Joy didn’t know how to feel about Adam anymore. She couldn't like the guy, and she didn’t want anything to do with him, but she felt sorry for him all the same. She mourned the man he used to be before his wife had died.

  She wished she hadn’t kissed him, yet part of her couldn’t regret that she had.

  8

  A dam was stewing. Stewing and drinking and feeling generally sorry for himself. He knew and he wasn’t proud of it. But sometimes a person needed to sit and wallow for a bit, and then you could go back to your life and move the hell on.

  He finished his third beer, sighing. Morose music played in the background of his house; the lights were dimmed. If he’d put on black eyeliner and gotten his lip pierced, he could’ve given one of those emo kids a run for their money. Were kids still doing that these days? Adam stared at his beer can, wondering. Grace had been friends with a self-described emo kid who’d renamed himself Lucifer back in junior high, but Adam had missed that trend. Thank God.

  His beer can empty, he debated whether or not four beers in two hours was excessive. Being not in the least bit slight in stature or overall body type, he barely felt buzzed. It would take a lot more than a few beers to get him hammered. And really, he didn’t want to get hammered. He just wanted to take the edge off. Stop thinking for a while.

  Stop obsessing over Joy.

  Joy—what an ironic name for the woman causing him anything but joy. He was equal parts still angry at her and angry at himself. He could only remember the look on her face when he accused of her basically whoring herself for a story: hurt, disgust, but mostly determination. Another small part of him was proud that she’d told him to shove it. Most women would’ve burst into tears. Not Joy, though. She’d do what she wanted to do and no one could stop her.

  He had to admire that drive, even if it was against what he wanted her to do.

  A knock sounded on the door. “Adam, open up! I know you’re in there!”

  He glanced at the door. Grace was here. Grace was here? His little sister didn’t usually venture over to his house, preferring to see him at their parents’ place. Mostly because his house was rather stark at the moment, and he had to admit, depressing. Either a wall was blank or had photos of his dead wife still hanging up. It was a bit like a memorial in this house. Adam hadn’t changed a thing since Carolyn had died—not replaced the sun-bleached curtains, or removed the green gingham duvet cover, or stopped using the plates they’d gotten at their wedding.

  He hauled himself off the couch, grunting. His sister had her hands on her hips, her foot tapping against the welcome mat. “Took you long enough,” she said irritably as she entered.

  He just grunted.

  Grace plopped down onto the couch. Today, her hair was in two French braids, and she wore large, hoop earrings and a flowy skirt.

  “Want a beer?” he asked.

  “No, I’m good.”

  He shrugged. He got himself another beer, although Grace made a point to give him major side-eye as he opened the can.

  “What?”

  She rolled her eyes. “You’re pouting.”

  Pouting? Men didn’t pout. They stewed, they simmered, they pondered at length—they didn’t pout.

  “I’m not pouting,” he said, glaring at his sister. He had the petty urge to pull on her braid like when they were kids.

  “Yes, you are, and you have no right to. I talked to Joy. She basically hopes you fall off a cliff and die at this point, you know.”

  “Is that supposed to make me feel…badly?”

  Grace sighed. “Well, you shouldn’t be acting like you’re the hurt party. Because you were the asshole. A huge one. A gaping asshole, in fact. I had half a mind to help Joy push you off that cliff.”

  Well, that’s a lovely sentiment to hear from one’s sister, he thought. Did his entire family want to murder him now?

  “I’m not going to apologize for getting upset,” he said in a gruff voice. He took another swig of beer, feeling his blood buzz slightly from the alcohol. “I asked her not to write about the vineyard. She’s doing it anyway. It’s unethical and she’s a liar.”

  Silence fell for a moment. Adam was sure he’d made his point and that Grace would leave, but she just plucked his beer can from his hand and set it on the side table. “Dearest brother,” she said. “Dearest, idiotic, arrogant brother. Joy may have lied—a white lie, really—but you could’ve handled it all much better than you did.”

  “How should I have handled it?” The words came out harsher than he intended, but dammit, she’d taken his beer and he didn’t feel like being lectured by his younger sister.

  “Like—I don’t know—a gentleman? A thoughtful human being? You implied she was a whore and wanted to use you for her own gain. When she only wanted to help.” Grace sighed again. “I get why you’re touchy about it. I do. But being a complete asshole isn’t going to help your case either. You might also tell her why, exactly, you’re so touchy.”

  He stubbornly pushed away Grace’s words, although they clawed at his gut regardless. He had been an asshole. He had overreacted. He had treated Joy terribly. But at the thought of telling her exactly why he had this intense antipathy toward journalists? No. He couldn’t.

  “I wasn’t going to say this,” Grace said, “but if you think Joy wasn’t hurt by your words, you’re wrong. I don’t think she’s the type who would ever show it. She’ll just make your life hell in revenge. But if you’d seen her face when I talked to her? She didn’t deserve that, Adam.”

  And now his gut was in ribbons. He had assumed—wrongly—that Joy had just been mad and would do what she wanted. But he realized that she was more like him than he’d known: pushing down her hurt feelings and vulnerability and giving the impression that no hurt had been caused.

  Ah, damn. He’d fucked up majorly.

  Guilt filled him until he got up and snagged his beer back. He needed something to dull that feeling. Anger he could deal with; anger meant no action was needed. But guilt? Guilt implied making things right and apologizing. Guilt implied that he’d experience its sharp hooks for years to come, tearing his skin ragged each time.

  “Shit,” he said before finishing off his beer.

  Grace laughed, rolling her eyes again. “I’m assuming that means you’re going to go beg Joy for forgiveness and then announce that you’re an asshole in the town square?”

  “We don’t have a town square.”

  She waved a hand. “You know what I mean. You could do it at Trudy’s. Just stand up and tell the
patrons how much of a huge dick you are.”

  He frowned. “I thought I was just an asshole.”

  “Same difference. Point being, what are you going to do about it?”

  He squirmed. He felt a bit like when his mom had chastised him back in grade school. How are you going to make this right, Adam? she’d ask him, a delicately plucked eyebrow raised.

  He finally gave in and, reaching over, tugged on one of Grace’s braids. “You aren’t my mother, brat.”

  “Somebody’s gotta tell you when you’re screwing up,” she replied with a sniff. “And Mom’s too busy right now. So I’ll sacrifice my time to do it.”

  “Wow, what a martyr you are.”

  She sat primly, her nose in the air, and Adam couldn’t help but laugh. She smiled, laughing with him. Then she got out her phone and began texting.

  His stomach roiled. “Who are you texting?”

  “Joy.”

  “Why are you texting her?”

  “To tell her you’re coming by to apologize—”

  He snagged the phone out of her hand, but it was too late. He heard the swoosh sound that the message had been sent. He glared at her, but she just shrugged.

  “You can either sit here and pout, or do something. And now you will.” She patted his shoulder. “You’re welcome.”

  If he could strangle his sister, Adam would. Instead, he just glared at her. He was going to apologize, but in his own time. Plus, it was nine o’clock Did Joy even want people over this late?

  Grace’s phone sounded, and she smiled widely. “Joy says, ‘I’ll only forgive him if he brings strawberry macarons and white wine. And only if he begs me on his knees.’ That sounds doable.”

  Adam didn’t even know what macarons were, let alone where he’d get them. “She’ll have to make do with just an apology,” he said dryly.

  Grace texted his response, and then laughed at her phone a few moments later. But all she said was, “Okay, she’s expecting you within the hour. Get ready.”

  He didn’t know what the hell he’d say—could he just go with a straightforward “I’m sorry” and leave it at that?—but he couldn’t really get out of this, either. His sister had always been devious, but this took the cake.