Butterfly Cove

by Christina Skye

  Because her father would check for that, too.

  When she looked back through the quiet darkness, he raised his hand once and then slid into the shadows. Olivia wondered if her life would ever change and if she would be ground down by her father’s rules and expectations. All through that year and the next, when she was thirteen and then fourteen and her world felt grim and the anxiety attacks began to grow more frequent, Olivia shut everything away except Rafe and the dream of spices in a hot wind and the sound of bells in a mountain valley.

  Umbria in spring.

  Machu Picchu.

  The Loire Valley.

  Those dreams kept her whole when everything felt gray and bleak. Olivia swore to herself on the day Rafe left Summer Island, she would go with him.

  She would go without a backward glance.

  She already had a suitcase packed, hidden inside an old trunk up in the attic. She would go no matter what her father or anyone else said. She would see all those places that Rafe could take her.

  Now, years later, caught in sleep, Olivia moved restlessly, her hands tense. She made a low sound of pain and loss.

  Because in the end, it hadn’t turned out that way. Not even close. Her father had won after all.

  * * *

  OLIVIA WOKE UP to noisy banging on her door. She blinked, shaking away tangled dreams of Rafe and the old apple tree in her backyard.

  When she sat up sharply, pain dug into her shoulder. Olivia winced and looked around her. No one was banging on the door. The sound was coming from the window, where a dry branch scraped hard against the glass. Even then the tangled heat of her restless dreams seemed to linger. Rafe had been in those dreams. She remembered him standing in the shadows, touching her hair.

  Olivia blew out an irritated breath and shook her head. No more dreams. She looked down and checked her watch. She had been asleep for almost two hours, and now it was nearly dark outside.

  Delicious smells drifted up from the kitchen. Olivia sniffed and decided it had to be Jilly’s amazing Southwest lasagna and some kind of chocolate dessert.

  Right on cue, her stomach grumbled.

  But first Olivia needed to clean up. Her hair was a wreck and she would have loved a shower, but that would have to wait. Struggling in and out of her clothes would be an ordeal, and she simply refused to ask Jilly for help undressing and getting dressed again. A splash of water and a quick brushing of her hair would be as much as she could manage.

  When she opened the door to the little adjoining bathroom, she saw Jilly’s handwritten note taped to the sink, written in big block letters. PLUMBING UNDER REPAIR. DO NOT USE.

  Rolling her eyes, Olivia pulled on her sweater and shoes and made her way slowly downstairs to the small ground-floor bathroom at the back of the house. She was still feeling the effects of the pain pill she had taken before her nap. She didn’t handle medicine well, and these pills had been strong.

  She shoved back her hair and glanced outside, hearing Jilly’s laughter and the sound of Duffy’s barking. Walker said something about a new invoice from the hardware store. Olivia frowned, trying to listen, but she couldn’t pick up the details.

  The worry returned, heavier than before. She had no job and her savings were limited. There was no way she could help out until she found a job or until she managed to straighten out the mess of her father’s business accounts.

  Distracted, she pushed at the bathroom door. It caught a little, as if something was stuck, but Olivia knew all the old house’s secrets. Half-asleep, she turned the knob backward. With a gentle tug, she lifted the handle slightly while turning the knob in the same motion.

  The door swung open.

  Warm air brushed her face. Jilly had probably taken a shower here recently. The way they had all been working on the repairs, this had become a second home for all of them.

  She shot a quick glance in the mirror, frowning at the chaos of her hair. She wished she had a different set of clothes, something better than the old cotton sweater she wore while working.

  Maybe she would ask—

  Every thought flashed out of her mind as Rafe emerged through the steaming air from the alcove beside the shower. Olivia stood rooted to the spot, her heart pounding.

  He was naked, and she couldn’t take her eyes off the tanned, muscular sweep of his powerful body.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  HOT STEAM DRIFTED around Olivia’s face. Warm air brushed her cheeks and shoulders. She couldn’t seem to move, fascinated by the little beads of water running down Rafe’s tanned chest. There was a scar at the base of his right shoulder. Another one crisscrossed his collarbone. Olivia swallowed hard, thinking about Rafe in Afghanistan, wondering what had put those scars there. Or had they come long before Afghanistan, in some scrappy fight or mishap right here in Oregon?

  She didn’t know how or why, but her finger rose. Gently she traced the scar that crossed his collarbone. When their skin touched, he seemed to stiffen. She saw his jaw clench.

  She shouldn’t be here. She definitely shouldn’t be touching him this way. But none of that seemed to matter. Her finger tracked another little scar up the edge of his jaw to the side of his cheek.

  “What happened?” Olivia asked, her voice low and raw with emotion.

  Rafe reached up. His callused fingers curled around her wrist. “Olivia, you should go.”

  “I want to know, Rafe. Can you answer one simple question?”

  He muttered as her fingers moved, feathering over the locked line of his jaw. He blew out an angry breath. “What happened? Fighting. Angry men in angry places. Some of them were in a distant country, but not all of them. Men fight wherever they are,” Rafe said grimly.

  “I’m sorry,” Olivia whispered. She brushed another scar along his wrist. “So sorry.”

  “Why? You’re the last one who has to apologize. You were the only one who never hurt me, Livie. The only one who showed me...” Rafe shook his head, his eyes dark and troubled. “You were the only one who showed me that things didn’t always have to hurt. You could always reach me. You seemed to know exactly how.”

  Olivia rose and kissed his jaw gently. “I’m glad,” she whispered.

  A shudder ran through him. His fingers opened on her wrist. He slid their hands together and worked his fingers through hers. His skin was rough, warm; this slow touch brought back dangerously intimate memories.

  Desire bloomed, racing blindly through Olivia’s chest, until every part of her was suddenly alive. Aware.

  Needing more.

  Olivia caught a long breath. She wasn’t sixteen anymore. She knew where this could lead. Once before they had come too close.

  Her gaze locked with Rafe’s. The air seemed charged, heavy with old memories and emotions too powerful to face.

  Rafe closed his eyes, leaning back against the tile wall, Olivia’s hands still caught between his fingers. “I should have come to say goodbye that night, Livie. But there were reasons—”

  “I don’t care. It’s over, Rafe. This isn’t about the past.”

  “Then what is it about?” His voice was harsh.

  “I don’t have a clue. Not one single clue,” Olivia said hoarsely.

  It was time to go. It was time to stop this dangerous thread of wishing things could be different, wondering whether they could go back. She blew out an angry breath and pulled her hand from his, needing to be anywhere but here, anyplace where the warm steamy air didn’t betray all her hard-won self-control. Olivia pressed a shaky hand against the corner linen closet and the door popped open, towels raining down on her head and shoulders. An old metal towel rack shoved in a corner spilled out and struck her head and she caught back a sharp sound of pain.

  With a curse Rafe grabbed the long piece of metal. Carefully he lifted Olivia’s damp hair back from her cheek. “Are you okay? There’s a cut above your eye, Livie. I think you should—”

  “What I should do is leave.” She elbowed him in the ribs with her good arm, blinking away te
ars. What had made her think she could go back? What had made her dream that anything could be different between them? “Let me go, damn it.”

  Rafe took a slow step back. Distance filled his face. “I’m not holding you, Livie. And I’ve never meant to cause you pain.”

  “But you did. I thought we had the same plans and hopes, when we weren’t even close. I guess I should thank you, though. You made me grow up a lot sooner than I might have,” she said roughly. “And I have one more thing to tell you. I don’t think we should see each other. Not ever. When I see you walking on the street, I’m going to cross to the other side. I’d appreciate it if you’d do the same,” she said coldly.

  After a long time, Rafe nodded. “You’re right. You usually are. Fine. I’ll keep out of your way.”

  He reached down and his long fingers locked at the top of the towel that was wrapped around his waist. Olivia looked away, determined not to study that strong, rangy body or the hard line of his chest and the powerful muscles that vanished below the edge of the towel.

  If she looked there, if she let down her control, she would be lost.

  Just the way she had been lost as a girl.

  She turned her back to Rafe. She felt cold air brush her neck and then the sound of his feet moving to the door.

  “I’ll keep out of your way. I only wish I’d been able to keep out of your way all those years ago.”

  Olivia felt steam brush her face, followed by cool air as the door closed.

  And then he was gone.

  She put one hand on her chest to soothe her pounding heart. The sense of loneliness was crushing. Closing her eyes, she leaned back, feeling the cold tile at her neck as she began to tremble, caught by anger and hurt and years of regret.

  And even then she wanted him.

  * * *

  “EVERYTHING OKAY, RAFE?”

  Jilly was in the kitchen, her face flushed from cooking. “I thought you had two more hours before work?”

  “Got a call. Somebody’s sick and they need me early.” If only that had been a lie. If only he hadn’t been showering in that spare bathroom he might have missed Olivia. He didn’t want to remember her surprise—or the way desire had flared into her expressive face. Rafe could always read that face.

  But he couldn’t afford to be irresponsible or take advantage of the passion she had not been able to hide.

  “Sorry to hear that. But this is a small force. If somebody gets sick, it puts a strain on the whole department.” She reached for a paper bag, then took out a box of aluminum foil. “This should get you started. Chocolate cake. Leftover lasagna. I’ll put a hot double cappuccino in a thermos. Looks as if it might rain again tonight. I figure this should help.”

  Rafe frowned. “Hell, Jilly, I don’t want to eat up all your leftovers. Why don’t you keep them for Walker?”

  “Walker will be fed just fine, pal. Take the food and shut up. Now get going. Go drink some coffee and then protect and defend. We’re all glad to have you back here on Summer Island. I know it’s a little awkward for you. I also know that there are people with long memories who may not be too welcoming. But give them time. You could make a good life for yourself here, Rafe.”

  Then Jilly shook her head, looking embarrassed. “Who am I to be giving advice? I’ve been the biggest screwup on Summer Island for years. So forget what I just said. You can make your own decisions just fine.” She frowned, glancing toward the stairs. “By the way, did you see Livie? Or is she still asleep?”

  Rafe picked up his coat. “Nope, didn’t see her. She’s probably still resting.” The lie came too easily. But at one time Rafe had been a very good liar. “Thanks again for the food, Jilly. It was a good day.” He frowned and looked back at her. “I’m going to be pretty busy over the next month. I’ve got two training sessions in Portland, and I’ll be working double shifts for a while. I think—well, I won’t be around very much. I’ll call you if I get some time off. Then I could help Walker finish his work. But it won’t be for a few weeks. Tell him...I’m sorry about that.”

  Jilly crossed her arms slowly. “This seems a little hasty. Is everything okay?”

  “Just fine. The new duty schedule was changed, that’s all. I don’t want to make promises and have you counting on me,” he said quietly.

  The words seemed to hang.

  Rafe felt the weight of them—and the shame. When he was younger, he had made promises. People had counted on him, and he’d let them down.

  He was never going back to that way of life.

  CHAPTER NINE

  AS THE DAYS passed, Olivia’s enforced rest felt like torture. She found distraction in her pattern sketches and the task of helping Jilly to catalogue the last of the yarn shipments for the new shop. But anything strenuous was still impossible.

  Her one bright light in the day was the afternoon Harvest Fair, one of the most popular events on the island. In addition to a chili cook-off, there were contests for home-brewed cider and molded-gelatin desserts, along with a pie-eating contest (all entries made using local apples, of course).

  Olivia was scheduled to judge the wildly popular book-costume contest. All costume entries had to be based on children’s books that had won either the prestigious Newbery or Caldecott medals. Olivia was to choose a winning costume based on originality, design and authenticity to the original book.

  Olivia thought that Jilly seemed distracted as they drove back to her house before the fair. When they pulled up to the front door, Olivia frowned to see a dozen boxes and containers stacked on the porch.

  “I haven’t ordered anything.” Olivia carefully walked up the front steps and stared at the plastic containers. Each one held food—chocolate cupcakes, handmade bread and walnut scones. Each container was marked with a different label and different handwriting.

  Olivia didn’t move, feeling a lump press at her throat. She realized that this was a way of saying thank you, offered by people whose lives had been affected by her moment of courage in the storm. They had responded by dropping off what they could share to show their thanks.

  She picked up a loaf of bread wrapped in cellophane and tied with red ribbons. There were no names on any of the containers. All she found were simple, handwritten notes of thanks for the thing that she had done.

  Jilly stood beside her and rested a hand on her shoulder. “I’m glad they did this, Livie. They owe you. We all do. Don’t ever downplay how much courage that took.”

  Olivia forced a crooked smile. “It was mostly desperation. But this is way more food than I can eat. Why don’t you and Walker take the cupcakes? You can share them with Grace. She and Noah are supposed to be back tonight from San Francisco, aren’t they?”

  “It will probably be very late. Grace emailed me that she wanted to see you as soon as she could. I’d hoped they would be back for the Harvest Fair, but they won’t be.”

  When Olivia pushed open the heavy wooden door, the house felt cold and unwelcoming. This house had never really felt like a home. Growing up, she had spent as many hours as she could at Caro’s house or with Jilly. On the weekends the group had spent time with Grace, working at her grandfather’s animal clinic. By silent agreement, the friends had never gone to her house. It had never been comfortable.

  Her father had seen to that.

  But Sawyer Sullivan was dead and there would be no way to find out what had made him so cold and judgmental to his only child. Maybe it was the desertion of his wife while Olivia had been so young—or maybe some other disappointment she would never know.

  Right now the only thing she needed to focus on was healing her own life.

  She walked slowly through the silent house, her heels tapping on the expensive wooden floor. Jilly followed her, piling the boxes in the kitchen.

  “I’ll take half of the cupcakes for Walker. The man does love chocolate. I’ll take half the loaf of bread, if you want. In exchange, you have to come over for breakfast for the rest of the week. It’s that or no deal.”

>   “You always drive a hard bargain. Fine, it’s a deal. But let’s sort this out fast. I don’t want to be late for the judging.”

  Once all the food cartons had been split between them, Olivia ran a hand through her hair. “Thanks again for everything, Jilly. I really do appreciate—”

  They both jumped at a sharp beep. Frowning, Olivia dug out her cell phone. “Voice mail? The phone didn’t even ring. All my calls have been going right through to voice mail lately.” Olivia frowned at the number. “It’s my father’s lawyer.”

  Olivia listened to the message twice. The lawyer needed to speak to her as soon as possible in connection with her father’s estate. Judging by his voice, the news was not going to be good. Olivia listened to the terse message one more time, wishing he had left her more information.

  “Don’t brood. It’s a waste of time. Call him right now and find out what it is. If you need to go see him, I’ll drive you over there,” Jilly said flatly.

  Olivia forced a smile. “He probably just needs more signatures. I’ve had to sign at least twenty documents already.”

  When Olivia called the lawyer back, she didn’t beat around the bush. “I got your message, Harrison. What have you found out?”

  “I’m afraid my news is not very good, Olivia. We haven’t found any other accounts in your father’s name.”

  “None? You went through all my father’s banking records and his business papers?”

  “We did, and everything that you wrote down is accounted for. As I understand it, there were two savings accounts set up for you as a legacy from your grandmother. There was also a bequest and items of a sentimental nature from your grandmother that were left for you in an additional safe-deposit box.” He cleared his throat, sounding uncomfortable. “So far we have not found any of those accounts.”

  “My grandmother’s legacy is gone, too?” Olivia swallowed hard. She had hoped to use her grandmother’s bequest to meet her expenses until she found a job. How did you manage to make fifty thousand dollars disappear?