Or she told herself it was the smell that caused the start of tears.
Can I do this? She had thought she could, thought she was ready.
She glanced at the open steps leading up to the sleeping loft and nearly lost it completely. A recollection shouldn’t be so clear you could see it. But she could see Chris climbing down those stairs early in the morning, his dark blond hair mussed, beard shadow clinging to the grooves in his cheeks and the sharp angle of his jaw—and that half-sleepy, half-sexy and all impish smile on his lips.
Leigh shivered and hunched her shoulders. No matter how hard this was at first, she would get past the waves of hurt, even disbelief. She had come too far not to make it all the way back to a full life.
For a few moments she leaned on the doorjamb and made herself take in the main room of the cottage, and the two fireplaces, one on either side. This would be a happy place again. Sure it would take time, but Chris would want her to make it and she would, for both of them.
They had almost two years of wonderful time together before their marriage—only days together after they had married. But she wouldn’t wipe out a moment of that time, except for losing him.
Shaking away the memory, Leigh walked inside, dropped her bag, and had started shrugging out of her green down coat when a thud, followed by another, and another, froze her in place. Her dog, Jazzy, still sat on the edge of the cottage porch, unperturbed, even though his head was turned toward the noise. Nothing moved beyond the big front window.
The thudding continued.
Carrying her coat, her heart thundering, Leigh tiptoed into the kitchen to peer through the window over the sink, then the one in the door, covered by a piece of lace curtain held tight at the top and bottom of the glass by lengths of springy wire.
Her stomach made a great revolution. Late afternoon had turned the light muzzy but in front of a wall of firs that was acres deep in places stood a shiny gray truck with a long cab and a businesslike bed piled high with chunks of wood. In that truck bed stood a tall, muscular man in a red plaid shirt who tossed the logs to the ground beside the lean-to woodshed as easily as if they were matchsticks.
Leigh put her coat back on and crossed her arms tightly.
What was he doing here?
The door stuck and it took several wrenches to get it open. The ground was muddy from recent rainfall. Crossing her arms again, she kicked off her shoes and stuffed her feet into a pair of green rubber boots by the wall, where they were always kept—beside a larger pair.
Leigh glanced away from Chris’s boots at once.
“Afternoon,” the man called.
Leigh shaded her eyes with a cold hand and squinted to see him. He was very powerfully built, with dark wavy hair, long and a bit shaggy. The sleeves of the red wool shirt were rolled up. His Levis clung to strong legs, a dark T-shirt showed at the neck of his shirt. She couldn’t make out much more.
“What are you doing here?” she said. And she felt vulnerable since he could probably throw her as easily as one of the chunks of wood.
“Well—”
“Are you planning to squat here?” she asked, keeping her voice steady and sharp. “Because if you are you can forget it. This is my place. Get on your way.”
She wished she weren’t alone and kept herself ready to rush back the way she had come if he threatened her somehow.
“Hey, sorry. I’m just delivering wood like I told Gabriel Jones I would. I meant to do all this before you got here.” He had one of those male voices you don’t forget. Low, quiet, and confident. And now that he had stopped moving wood an absolute stillness had come over him, a watchfulness. He was taking her measure. “I must have my days mixed up,” he added.
That explained it, right? Gabriel had asked this man to bring the wood. “I see.” She felt like an idiot, but she couldn’t be sure he wasn’t trouble and likely to turn on her.
“The shed was full when… the last time I was here.” The day she and Chris had left, never to come back together.
“Apparently your stash got borrowed,” the man said. He flipped up one corner of his mouth. “With the house empty for so long you probably hosted a few beach bonfires. It’s starting to get cold. You’ll need this yourself now.”
She didn’t care about how cold it might get. The man sounded reserved but sure of himself and he made her edgy. He was probably right about the beach fires. Kids from the quiet little town of Langley and the outlying areas needed a way to let off steam and there were worse ways than having beach parties around Chimney Rock Cove.
“I’ve already stacked some of this by the front door,” the man said. “Easier to get it to the fireplaces that way.”
She had been too busy forcing herself to go into the cottage at all to notice details.
The man didn’t seem threatening—not really. Except for that stillness that didn’t feel quite natural. “You sound as if you knew I was coming,” she said. Of course he did. He had already said as much.
“You know how things are around here,” he responded without looking at her. “Everyone knows everyone else’s business, but your new boss, Gabriel, he said you took some sort of office job at the bar. He mentioned it to me when he got me to clean your gutters.”
The blood that rushed to her face throbbed. It would look awful, splotchy and bright red around the freckled bits where her skin stayed pale. “Clean the gutters?” she said, and swallowed. “Gabriel thinks of everything.”
“I was glad to do it. Niles Latimer—” he hopped down from the back of the truck and wiped his right hand on his jeans, and wiped and wiped, then hesitated and put the hand in his pocket. “I’m in the cabin by the beach.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “That way.”
Leigh felt his stillness even more strongly. Something restrained by his own will. If he didn’t want to hold it back, what then?
A rapid but stealthy current of energy invaded her, touched her in places and ways beyond understanding. She was responding to him. The most subtle yet definite change in light, an intensity, sharpened the lines and shadows of his features.
These things didn’t really happen. Fancy had taken over because she was tired and anxious. Strange and fascinating men didn’t set out to charm a woman they had only just met—or to possess her. The presence of danger. Leigh gave an involuntary shiver.
Shape up!
She advanced on him with wobbly determination, only she’d make certain he never knew she was not sure of herself. “I know the place,” she told him, shooting out her own hand. “I’m Leigh Kelly.” She used to be so confident, at least on the outside. To a fault, some said. The same people might have called her a “smart mouth” and she knew some had.
He glanced at her face with bright blue eyes, lowered that gaze quickly and yanked his hand out again. He wrapped very long, workman’s fingers around hers and she winced when her bones ground together. Niles Latimer pulled back as if she had shocked him.
“Nice to meet you.” There was no particular accent that she recognized. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry you lost your husband.”
“Are you?” She closed her eyes for an instant. “Forgive me—my social skills are a bit rusty sometimes. Thank you, but Chris has been gone quite a while now and I’m back in the swing of things.” She surprised herself by adding, “Wonderful memories can’t be so bad.”
She followed his gaze to her left hand where her wedding ring still looked new and three embedded diamonds glinted.
Leigh had never considered taking the ring off.
Once more she felt his unwavering attention on her. That was it—he watched her as if she was the only other person in the world and he had to commit her to memory.
And that, she thought, was a ridiculous conclusion on her part. He paid attention when he talked to someone was all. That was polite and probably too rare.
Niles pushed his sleeves higher on the heavily muscled, weather-darkened forearms of a physical man. “Is it all right if I carry on unlo
ading now?”
“Of course,” Leigh said. “Thank you. But tell me how much I owe you for the gutters and the firewood.” Whether she’d asked for them or not, both things were needed.
“Nothing,” he said airily, sweeping wide an arm. “Housewarming present. Rewarming. This tree had to come down and I’ve already got enough wood for half a dozen winters. Anyway, neighbors look out for neighbors.”
Refusing the kindness would sound churlish but it made her feel very uncomfortable to accept. “Um,” was all she could think of to say. Leigh felt iron determination under Niles’s calm manner, determination and control drawn as tight as a loaded crossbow. It didn’t make her comfortable.
He laughed and it suited him—and made her smile. “I reckon I scared you. That was dumb. I should have thought of that possibility and come to the door to introduce myself,” he said. “Sorry about that. But let me get back to unloading. Then I’ll stack it.”
“Oh, no.” She shook her head. “No such thing. Leave it on the ground and I’ll do it. I’m tougher than I look and I need the exercise.”
“Stacking wood is a man’s job,” he said, showing no sign of realizing his own reminder that she was alone now. “You’ll have plenty to do giving the house a good clean.”
She dithered but said, “Well, thank you, then.” At another time she would have told him a woman could stack wood perfectly well. Today she didn’t mind having a man do something for her.
She only glanced over her shoulder once on her way back and he was already making the first layer of wood in the lean-to. Gabriel would never send anyone untrustworthy, and Leigh decided she liked having Niles there, doing ordinary things and making the place feel less empty.
THE DISH
Where Authors Give You the Inside Scoop
From the desk of Vicky Dreiling
Dear Reader,
Some characters demand center stage. Like Andrew Carrington, the Earl of Bellingham, known as Bell to his friends. Bellingham first walked on stage as a minor character in my third historical romance How to Ravish a Rake. I had not planned him, but from the moment he spoke, I knew he would have his own book because of his incredible charisma. He also had the starring role in the e-novella A Season for Sin. As I began to write the e-novella, I realized that it was almost effortless. Frankly, I was and still am infatuated with him. That makes me laugh, because he is a figment of my imagination, but from the beginning, I could not ignore his strong presence.
After A Season for Sin was published, I started writing the full-length book WHAT A WICKED EARL WANTS so that Bell could have the happily ever after he richly deserved. A chance encounter brings Bellingham and the heroine, Laura, together. Bellingham is a rake who hopes to make a conquest of her, but despite their attraction, there are major obstacles. Laura is a respectable widow, mother, and daughter of a vicar. Bellingham only wants a temporary liaison, but he finds himself rescuing the lovely lady. His offer of help leads him down a path he never could have imagineed.
I’ve dreamed about my characters previously, but my dreams about Bell and Laura were so vivid that I woke up repeatedly during the writing of WHAT A WICKED EARL WANTS. Usually when I dream about my books in progress, I only see the characters momentarily. But when I dreamed about Bell and Laura, entire scenes played themselves in my head, DVD style, and sometimes a few of them in a night. While I didn’t get up in the middle of the night to write those scenes down, thankfully I remembered them the next morning and some of those dreams have made their way into the book. I’ll give you a hint of one dream I used in a scene. It involves some funny “rules.”
This couple surprised me repeatedly when I was awake and writing, too. I was enthralled with Bellingham and Laura. Yes, I know the ideas come from me, but sometimes, it almost feels as if the characters really do leap off the page. That was certainly the case for Bell and Laura.
As the writing progressed, I often felt as if I were peeling off another layer of Bellingham’s character. He is a man with deep wounds and very determined not to stir up the past. Yet I realized that subconsciously his actions were informed by all that had happened to him as a young man. I knew it would take a very special heroine to help him reconcile his past. Laura knows what he needs, and though he doesn’t make it easy for her, she never gives up.
I confess I still have a bit of a crush on Bellingham. :) I hope you will, too.
Enjoy!
VickyDreiling.com
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Twitter @vickydreiling
From the desk of Stella Cameron
Frog Crossing
Out West
Dear Reader,
My dog, Millie, doesn’t like salt water, or bath water, or rain—but it is the sight of all seven pounds of her trying to drink Puget Sound that stays with me. Urged to walk into about half an inch of ripples bubbling over pebbles on a beach, she slurped madly as if she could get rid of anything wet that might touch her feet.
That picture just popped into my head once more, just as I thought about what I might write to you about the Chimney Rock books and how stories shape up for me.
We were standing at the water’s edge on Whidbey Island, looking across Saratoga Passage toward Camano Island. Darkness Bound, the first book in the series, was finished and now it was time for DARKNESS BRED, on sale now.
Elin and Sean were already my heroine and hero. I knew that much before I finished the previous story, but there were so many other questions hanging around. And so many unfinished and important parts of lives I had already shown you. When we write books there’s a balancing act between telling/showing too much, and the opposite. Every character clamors to climb in but only those important to the current story can have a ticket to enter. The trick is to weed out the loudest and least interesting from the ones we have to know about.
The hidden world on Whidbey Island is busy, and gets busier. Once you are inside it’s not just colorful and varied, sometimes endearing and often scary, it is also addictive. Magic and mystery rub shoulders with what sometimes seems…just simply irresistible. How can I not want to explore every character’s tale?
That’s what makes me feel a bit like Millie draining Puget Sound of water—I have to clear away what I don’t want until I find the best stuff. Only I’m more fortunate than my dog because I do get to make all the difference.
Now you have your ticket to ride along with me again—enjoy every inch!
All the best,
From the desk of Rochelle Alers
Dear Reader,
How many of us had high school crushes, then years later come face-to-face with the boy who will always hold a special place in our hearts? This is what happens with Morgan Dane in HAVEN CREEK. At thirteen she’d believed herself in love with high school hunk, Nathaniel Shaw, but as a tall, skinny girl constantly teased for her prepubescent body, she can only worship him from afar.
I wanted HAVEN CREEK to become a modern-day fairy tale complete with a beautiful princess and a handsome prince, and, as in every fairy tale, there is something that will keep them apart before they’re able to live happily ever after. The princess in HAVEN CREEK lives her life by a set of inflexible rules, while it is a family secret that makes it nearly impossible for the prince to trust anyone.
You will reunite with architect Morgan Dane, who has been commissioned to oversee the restoration of Angels Landing Plantation. As she begins the task of hiring local artisans for the project, she knows the perfect candidate to supervise the reconstruction of the slave village. He is master carpenter and prodigal son Nathaniel Shaw.
Although Nate has returned to his boyhood home, he has become a recluse while he concentrates on running his family’s furniture-making business and keeping his younger brother out of trouble. But everything changes when Morgan asks him to become involved in her restoration project. It isn’t what she’s offering that presents a challenge to Nate, but it is Morgan herself. When he left the Creek she was a shy teenage girl. Now she is a confident,
thirtysomething woman holding him completely enthralled with her brains and her beauty.
In HAVEN CREEK you will travel back to the Lowcountry with its magnificent sunsets; slow, meandering creeks and streams; primordial swamps teeming with indigenous wildlife; a pristine beach serving as a year-round recreational area; and the residents of the island with whom you’ve become familiar.
Church, community, and family—and not necessarily in that order—are an integral part of Lowcountry life, and never is that more apparent than on Cavanaugh Island. As soon as you read the first page of HAVEN CREEK you will be given an up-close and personal look into the Gullah culture with its island-wide celebrations, interactions at family Sunday dinners, and a quixotic young woman who has the gift of sight.
The gossipmongers are back along with the region’s famous mouth-watering cuisine and a supporting cast of characters—young and old—who will keep you laughing throughout the novel.
Read, enjoy, and do let me hear from you!!!
[email protected]
www.rochellealers.org
From the desk of Laura Drake
Dear Readers,
Who can resist a cowboy? Not me. Especially a bull rider, who has the courage to get on two thousand pounds of attitude that wants to throw him in the dirt and dance on his dangling parts. But you don’t need to be familiar with rodeo to enjoy THE SWEET SPOT. It’s an emotional story first, about two people dealing with real-life problems, and rediscovering love at the end of a long dirt road.
To introduce you to Charla Rae Denny, the heroine of THE SWEET SPOT, I thought I’d share with you her list of life lessons:
Before you throw your ex off your ranch, be sure you know how to run it.
A Goth-Dolly Parton lookalike can make a great friend. And Dumpster monkeys are helpful, too.
Next time, start a hardware store instead of a bucking bull business—the stock doesn’t try to commit suicide every few minutes.
“Never trust a husband too far, nor a bachelor too near.” —Helen Rowland
If you’re the subject of the latest gossip-fest, stay away from the Clip-n-Curl.
Darkness Bred (Chimney Rock) Page 28