Secret Vow

by Susan R. Hughes

  The anguish in her face tugged at Ian’s heart, compelling him to gather her in his arms and console her. But the pain of her betrayal, fresh and overpowering, kept him rooted to the spot. He scrubbed a hand over his face, drawing deep breaths to settle himself, before he replied.

  “I really don’t give a damn about how you’ve suffered, Brooke. My life was shattered.” His voice quavered with constrained anger. “You couldn’t bring my mother back, but it would’ve made a great difference in the aftermath if you’d come forward with what you knew. You could have made Ross Kinley pay for what he did, and it could have helped me to recover. But you chose not to. Up until this moment, you chose to keep lying to me.”

  She shook her head vigorously, her breath coming so fast and shallow that he feared she might lose consciousness and crumple to the ground. “I know I should have told you. But I’ve fallen so helplessly in love with you, I couldn’t stand to lose you. I was afraid you wouldn’t forgive me.”

  For a moment her words cut through his rage. Her face wet with tears, she looked as fragile as a glass sculpture, and his chest ached with desire for her. He’d been longing to hear her say she loved him, impatient to know that she returned his feelings. But not like this. How could he trust anything she told him now?

  “Your fear was well founded,” he told her coldly. “I don’t think I can forgive you.”

  She drew a shuddery gasp, but didn’t reply. Her eyes glistened, the sting of his words drawing fresh tears. Ian let his gaze drift away from her; he couldn’t let the hurt etched in her face crumble his resolve.

  “I have to go,” he muttered, stepping onto the flagstone path that led to the front of the house. “I’m sure Faith can give you a ride home.”

  Brooke reached out to him with both hands. “Ian, please stay.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t spread it around,” he said bitingly, moving into the deepening night beyond the glow of the lanterns. “I can keep a secret just as well as you can.”

  Chapter Ten

  Brooke checked her watch again, then glanced out the window to scan the empty street. The delivery truck was fifteen minutes late.

  Never mind; she could spend the whole afternoon wandering around the bakery if she needed to. The interior looked pretty close to the way she’d envisioned it, with its floral-print tablecloths, warmly lit display cases and marbled tile floor. But there were endless little touches to complete, from the hand-printed markers on the racks to the rosewood napkin holders she’d found at a vintage store and planned to inscribe with the name Sweet Dreams Bakery. Nervous excitement swept through her as she imagined the first customers walking through the door in a few days’ time. She knew that running her own bakery would mean early mornings, exhausting days and plenty of challenges. But succeed or not, she would not regret taking the chance.

  The decision to stay had been much easier than Brooke had expected. For the first time in memory, Eastport felt like the only place she could feel at home—despite the constant ache in her heart, left in Ian’s absence, that couldn’t be soothed. The look of devastation on his face, his eyes ablaze with rage toward her, continued to haunt her. She’d tried to make him understand her reasons for holding back what she knew of his mother’s death, but realized her intentions did little to ease the sting of her betrayal.

  Still, in spite of the consequences, Brooke didn’t regret telling him the truth. The terrible weight of her secret had been lifted from her. And even if Ian never forgave her, at least he had the answers he’d been denied for eighteen years, and the peace that would bring him helped to ease the pain of loss that lingered within her own heart.

  A knock on the door jarred Brooke from her thoughts. Finally. But rather than a delivery crew, it was Faith she saw smiling through the glass, holding a paper coffee cup in each hand.

  Brooke unlatched the door and pushed it open, letting Faith step inside, her cheeks pink from the brisk autumn air. She handed one of the warm cups to Brooke.

  “Thanks, Faith. How did you know this was just what I needed?”

  “I remember you always used to crave a shot of caffeine mid-afternoon. You’ve been working so hard in here, I figured a little boost couldn’t hurt. This place looks fantastic.” She gazed around in admiration. “Are you ready to open?”

  Brooke took a small sip of the hot coffee, appreciating the comforting warmth sliding down her throat. “Just about. I’m waiting for the new oven to arrive.”

  “I can’t believe how quickly you pulled it all together.”

  “It was a lot of work, but it kept my mind occupied.”

  Faith knew at once what her old friend meant. “You miss Ian?”

  With every breath. Of course it would take some time to get used to his absence from her life, but she supposed the bakery would provide an ideal distraction.

  “I’ll survive.” She summoned a wan smile. “Why don’t we sit down?”

  As Brooke directed her to the round table closest to the window, Faith slid off her black wool jacket and slung it over the back of one of the chairs. Settling into the chair, she fixed her gaze on Brooke, seated across from her.

  “Andrew called me last night,” Faith began tentatively. “We had a long talk, and he finally apologized for his behaviour at the party.”

  Brooke nodded in acknowledgement, unsure how to respond. In the aftermath of the party Andrew had stubbornly refused to accept any responsibility for the damage he’d caused. But then he hadn’t exactly been in a lucid state, and had passed out in the guest room soon after. The following morning he flew home without saying much to anyone.

  “He didn’t mean to hurt you,” Faith went on, absently twisting the rim of the plastic lid on her cup. “You just got caught in the crossfire. It’s me he’s been resenting all these years, because I was always seen as the responsible one. Only he knew I wasn’t as perfect as everyone thought—he knew Dad and I had this horrible secret between us, but he couldn’t talk about it. I had no idea, all these years, that he was carrying all this around.”

  Brooke raised one shoulder in concession. “I’m sure we would’ve done a lot of things differently, had we known how it would all turn out.”

  “Especially me.” Faith dropped her gaze to her lap, her brows knitted. “You wanted to tell Ian the truth right away, and I discouraged you. It’s my fault you’re not together anymore.”

  “Maybe we wouldn’t have become involved in the first place if I’d told him then,” Brooke suggested, articulating a notion that had crossed her mind many times. “I knew all along Ian and I couldn’t possibly ride off into the sunset together. I knew it, but I didn’t listen to my instincts. I did this to myself.”

  Faith offered a small smile of encouragement. “I’m glad you’re staying in Eastport. I’ve missed you so much, Brooke. Now that everything is out in the open, I really hope we can be close again.”

  “Me, too.” It wasn’t entirely out in the open, of course; Faith had confessed everything to Ted, but so far word hadn’t spread any farther, as far as they knew. There seemed little point, now that Ross was dead.

  “I am a little surprised, though, that’s you’re staying,” Faith went on, “without your relationship with Ian keeping you here. I mean, you always wanted something grander than a small-town life.”

  “I know. But I lived in a big city for twelve years, and while I was trying so hard to make something of myself the things I really wanted got lost in the process. In all that time I never made the trip to Italy that I’d been dreaming of. I just didn’t find what I was looking for, until I came back here.” Brooke smiled. “Eastport is my home. And I don’t need to run and hide anymore.”

  Faith nodded, her brow again creased in concern. “And if Ian was one of those things you were looking for—won’t it be hard, seeing him around town?”

  So far Brooke had seen him only a few times from a distance, but she’d thought about the possibility of running into him—at the gas station, the grocery store, or even
at the bakery if he chose to shop there.

  “Of course,” she replied, “but not as hard as it was all those years, keeping that awful secret from him. Who knows, maybe he’ll find it in his heart to forgive me someday.”

  “Is there anything I can do?” Faith wondered.

  “Maybe there is.” Brooke stood and lifted her jacket from the hook rack she’d installed next to the door. Reaching into the side pocket, her fingers curled around a plastic zip-closure bag.

  She set the bag on the table and pushed it across the tablecloth to Faith, who stared down in surprise at the silver necklace and bracelet visible through the clear plastic.

  “Could you ask Ted to give these to Ian? They belonged to Mary. He should have them back.”

  The plastic bag made an inelegant presentation, but Brooke couldn’t bring herself to part with the cherry-wood box Ian had made for her, and didn’t imagine he’d want it back in any case. She’d been meaning to return the jewellery for weeks, but had been putting it off, wavering on whether to do it in person or by some other means. The times she’d seen Ian from afar, she’d lacked the courage to approach him. She figured it was his prerogative to speak to her, whenever he was ready.

  “Sure, of course.” Faith picked up the bag tentatively, as though reluctant to involve herself further in the dissolution of the relationship. Rising to her feet, she scooped up her coat. “I have to run. Anyway, I think I see your delivery truck pulling up at the curb. I’ll see you soon, all right?”

  “Sure.” Brooke drew her into a quick hug, noting that Faith’s willowy frame had filled out to a shapelier, healthier figure since the beginning of the summer. Brooke smiled over her friend’s shoulder, reassured that in time, she and Faith would both be all right.

  * * *

  Ian stiffened in his chair when he heard the knock at his office door. He never looked forward to meeting with Paul Harrison, who for years had been tussling with his younger brother in a series of suits and countersuits over ownership of their late father’s farmland. The satisfaction Ian normally derived from helping clients settle disputes seemed a distant hope in this case. As much as he’d tried to negotiate a settlement, the family had become irretrievably fractured over squabbles going so far back that neither side could remember how it had all started. Though he had a stack of folders related to the case at the ready on his desk, he wasn’t in the mood for it today.

  Instead of Paul he found Faith standing on his porch. Holding the collar of her jacket close around her neck against the brisk autumn air, she offered a tentative smile, eyeing him carefully to gauge his reaction to her presence.

  “What can I do for you, Faith?” he asked evenly. He hadn’t seen her in weeks, and not since learning of her involvement in his mother’s death; though his anger had abated, he wasn’t sure he felt ready to speak to her yet.

  “We need to talk.”

  “I’m expecting a client.”

  “This will only take a minute,” she insisted, stepping onto the threshold to prevent him from closing the door. “Please, Ian.”

  He hesitated, his only options being to force her out or relent. “Come in, then.”

  As he backed up to let her pass, Faith took a few steps into the office, glancing around warily before she sank into one of the leather chairs facing his desk. Folding her hands primly in her lap, she caught his gaze and held it as she spoke.

  “Ian, I want to apologize. I know it’s too little, too late, but I want you to know how sorry I am for what my father did. And for letting him get away with it. I’ll always have to live with the fact that he never had to pay for what he did, because of me.”

  Though he’d intended to remain standing, Ian lowered himself into the chair behind his desk, resting his elbows on the stack of folders. The mention of Ross Kinley, the architect of all this misery, roused a sharp flare of hatred in Ian for the man he’d never be able to confront. The dozens of times over the years that Ian had chatted casually with Ross at the hardware store or the post office, he’d never caught a hint of unease in the older man’s eyes.

  But it wasn’t fair to punish Faith for her father’s crime. “It’s water under the bridge now,” Ian said, though his entire history with her now stood in a new light—one of deception—and he wasn’t quite ready to embrace her apology.

  He expected to see her expression ease, but instead she leaned forward, gripping the edge of his desk, her eyes imploring. “I just need you to understand. My mother was so sick. I was terrified that our family would be pulled apart, and I wouldn’t see her again before she died.”

  “I do understand, Faith.” Ian recognized the fear she described—he’d experienced it himself, and seen it realized the day he lost his mother, suddenly and permanently. “But the thing is, once we grew up, you could’ve come to me and told me. You could’ve told the police. Even after your mother was gone, you continued to protect your father.”

  Faith slumped back in the chair, dropping her gaze. He saw her lower lip quiver for a moment, before she pressed both lips tightly together, fighting for control of her emotions.

  “I know,” she said bleakly after a moment. “I’m not making any excuses for that. I was a coward. I’m not expecting forgiveness, at least not right now. But please find it in your heart to forgive Brooke. She loves you. I think she always has. And she’s suffered so much over this.”

  Leaning back, Ian pushed his chair back from the desk, putting a little more space between them. The mention of Brooke’s name made his pulse throb in his throat, and he cleared it quietly, hoping to settle the emotional storm triggered by thoughts of her. There was no point in letting grief engulf him; Brooke was no longer part of his life, and he’d already wasted too many years yearning for her.

  Faith stood abruptly, reaching into the pocket of her jacket. She pulled out a plastic bag and slapped it onto his desk blotter. “She asked me to give these back to you.”

  The light of his desk lamp sparked off the silver bracelet and necklace tangled inside the bag. Ian stared at the jewellery, the depth of his loss washing over him—the two women who had worn it, who had meant the world to him, were both gone, leaving him only this jumble of metal ornaments.

  “I loved Brooke, too,” he admitted. “That’s why her betrayal runs so much deeper.”

  Loved. Didn’t he love her still? Lying awake at night, he couldn’t stop images of her vibrant gaze and the feminine curve of her smile from floating through his mind, making him welcome sleep and the titillating dreams of her that followed—only to awaken in the morning alone, a painful hollow sensation invading his chest. He couldn’t forget the warm, contented, safe feeling of being with Brooke, or keep himself occupied enough not to miss her every moment of the day.

  “She was protecting me,” Faith insisted, drawing him back from his thoughts. “After the accident, she wanted to call the police, but I begged her not to. And when she came back to Eastport, and you started seeing each other, she wanted to tell you the truth. Again I made her promise not to tell you, for my own selfish reasons. But she was planning to tell you after the party, and I know she would have, if Andrew hadn’t butted in. Please forgive her, Ian. She misses you so much.”

  Blowing out a long breath, Ian scrubbed his palm over his face as he considered her words. Faith’s request wasn’t an unreasonable one, but what she failed to understand was that forgiving Brooke would be the easy part. As much as his heart ached for her, he didn’t think he could look into those radiant dark eyes again and know that he could trust her.

  Resting his hands on his desk, Ian rose to his feet. “Thanks for coming by, Faith.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it, recognizing that there was nothing left to say. She simply nodded. “Thanks for listening, Ian. I’ll see you around.”

  Chapter Eleven

  It was almost five o’clock by the time Brooke found herself alone at the bakery. Customers had been arriving at a steady rate all day, some taking their purchases home
and others lingering to enjoy a fresh-baked treat with a cup of coffee or tea, and Brooke had earned nothing but praise for both the fare and the homey atmosphere. She hadn’t expected to take so much pleasure in interacting with the customers, some she’d known for years and others who were new to her. Julianne, the nineteen-year-old she’d hired to help her, had proven herself indispensible. Now that she was gone for the day, Brooke felt grateful for the chance to catch her breath as the afternoon drew to a close—even if it meant she was the one left to scrub cherry stains off the countertop next to the cash register.

  The bright red goop was just beginning to give way when the bell above the door jangled. Glancing up, Brooke froze. She blinked several times, suspecting fatigue was stirring her imagination. But it was him approaching the counter across from her.

  Soft green eyes locked with hers across the counter, and her heart gave a heavy thump, spreading warmth beneath her breastbone. Setting down her washcloth, she offered a small smile.

  “How’s business?” Ian asked, his expression unreadable. The anger had left his eyes, at least.

  “It’s only opening day,” she said, her smile widening into a grin, “but it’s great. I practically sold out.”

  “I knew you would.” His mouth curled up at the corners, inciting a pang of longing within her. “I have something of yours,” he added, setting the clear plastic bag she’d given to Faith on the countertop between them.

  Brooke stared down at the jumble of jewellery inside the bag, sudden anxiety gripping her. “I thought Ted was going to return them to you.”

  “I didn’t ask you to return them. They belong to you.”

  As her gaze rose to meet his, her heart began to pound more fiercely, making her head swim for a moment. How could he think she’d want his mother’s jewellery now? “If you’re still trying to punish me, you don’t need to bother,” she said tightly. “I feel wretched enough as it is.”