Beside a Dreamswept Sea

by Hinze, Vicki

  The bathroom door creaked open. Cally came out, reached back and removed the little Occupied sign from the nail in the center of the door, then put it back in the bath. Beautiful woman, even in a blue flannel robe that covered her, neck to toes. And no idea she was beautiful. When he’d pinned on her carnation, why had she avoided looking in the mirror? He’d noticed since then too that she avoided all reflective surfaces: at the pond, fishing; on the boat ride, whale-watching; in the kitchen’s toaster . . .

  Maybe one day, Bryce would have the courage, or the right, to ask her. But not today. Today, she didn’t know he’d represented her sorry husband in divorcing her.

  And, God forgive him, Bryce didn’t want to tell her.

  They’d spent a lot of time together on Miss Hattie-arranged outings with the kids. A trip to the Blue Moon Cafe for ice cream. To the beach to build castles in the sand. Walking through the woods. Miss Hattie was matchmaking, no doubt about it, but he didn’t mind. He liked Cally’s company, appreciated her warm sense of humor, admired how calm she was with the kids—like when Jeremy had found that beehive. The woman should have been a mother. She was a nurturer down to her toenails—naturally. God, how he envied her that. Very caring, too. She listened to each of the kids’ little worries with her full attention, offered sensible advice, then showered them with tender touches that honesty forced him to admit he envied, too—and felt like a heel and a jerk for envying. She should have had a dozen kids.

  So why hadn’t she had any? Maybe she liked kids in small doses, but lacked interest in a steady diet of them. Or maybe she couldn’t have any. One day, maybe Bryce would have the right to ask her about that, too.

  Cally stepped back out into the hallway, then gasped. “Bryce? Is that you?”

  “Shh, the kids are sleeping.” He whispered loudly enough for her to hear, but hopefully not so loudly that he awakened the kids. His knee still ached like the devil, and he just didn’t know if he could go another round of chasing them before resting it.

  “Sorry.” Cally walked toward him, then stopped near where his cane leaned against the wall. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Hmm.” He looked up at her. “Well, I could say I just enjoy sitting on hardwood floors in the middle of the night, but I somehow doubt you’d believe that.”

  “Would you?”

  “No.”

  She propped a shoulder against the wall, then crossed her arms over her chest. “Well?”

  “I’m listening for Suzie.”

  Cally’s hair swung forward. She pushed it back from her cheek and a wrinkle creased the skin between her brows. Clearly worried. “Is she sick?”

  “No.” In a sense she was sick, but not in the way Cally meant, and he couldn’t let her worry without some explanation. Bryce tilted his head until the shadow falling across his jaw shielded his eyes. “She has bad dreams, Cally.”

  His tone begged for company; he knew it and still couldn’t stop himself from revealing it to her. It wasn’t pity he wanted, but company and compassion. Someone to share his troubles with, someone to just . . . listen.

  John Mystic had been right. Bryce inwardly sighed. He needed a wife.

  A pang of guilt shot through his chest. Disloyalty to Meriam. For the children, he told himself. Meriam was gone and she wasn’t coming back. He needed a wife to help him with the children.

  Cally grunted. “I have bad dreams, too, but these days mine happen when I’m awake.”

  Should he ask her to share her troubles with him? Probably not. They were nearly strangers. Well, he knew more about her than she did about him, and he had kissed her. Though he still had no idea why he’d done that. It’d just seemed right. At least, it had at the time. He’d have to tell her he was Gregory’s attorney soon. Not telling her reeked of being dishonest and, in her marriage to Gregory Tate, God knew the woman had had a bellyful of lies. She deserved better. More. But Bryce really did need to talk, and she might not find that need at all appealing once he told her about Gregory. Would waiting a little longer do any more damage? What could talking hurt? They’d just be two adults commiserating over their troubles. And, after a comment like her last one, it appeared she needed someone to talk with, too. “I’m sorry.” He patted the floor beside him. “Pull up a plank and let’s swap war stories.”

  Smelling the perfume he was coming to love, he watched her sit down beside him, then fold her long legs up underneath her, nearly brushing their shoulders. “You really don’t want to hear it,” she said. “Besides, I’m sick of hearing myself moan and groan. I’d rather you explain why you’re out here in the hall instead of curled up in the chair in Suzie’s room.”

  “I told her she wouldn’t dream here. If I sleep in her room—”

  “Ah, mixed signals. Telling her she’ll be fine, but showing her she won’t be.”

  “Right.” He nodded. “But I need to be close, just in case.”

  “And if she should call out and you’re in your room, you’re scared you won’t hear her.”

  “Exactly.” The woman was quick; he’d give her that.

  “What are Suzie’s bad dreams about?”

  Effective shift of topic. Now he couldn’t ask without seeming intrusive—which he felt sure had been Cally’s intention. “She’s drowning,” he admitted. “It’s the same dream all the time. Every night—except last night—for two years.”

  Cally frowned and smoothed a delicate hand over her robe-clad thigh. “That’s a long time to suffer through the same nightmare.”

  “Yes, it is.” He sighed, letting her see his frustration. “I’ve tried everything, Cally. Her mother died two years ago—that’s when the dream started.”

  “Maybe she needs professional help. Grief is so hard on kids.”

  “She’s getting it. Has been for eons. Hell, Cally, I’ve tried everything I know to do, but . . .” A knot swelled in his throat, and he fell silent.

  “Nothing seems to work.” Cally slumped against the wall and lifted her chin, then shut her eyes. “Kid or adult, losing someone you love hurts—in ways you understand, and in ones you don’t.”

  She hadn’t wanted the divorce. The truth slammed into Bryce, and for some totally ridiculous reason, he suffered a twinge of jealousy. That it was directed at Dr. Gregory Tate didn’t do Bryce’s ego any good. It made him kind of sick. But the mysterious Mrs. Tate didn’t seem so mysterious now. Just lonely. And hurting. And hauntingly beautiful.

  He turned his head against the wall and looked at her, getting a whiff of her subtle perfume. An unusual floral. He couldn’t peg it, though he liked it. “Yes, it does. When my wife, Meriam, died, I thought I’d die, too. I really believe the only reason I didn’t was because of the kids.”

  “You’re lucky to have them.”

  She was alone. How much harder that must have made the divorce for her. But maybe she hadn’t wanted kids of her own. “Yes, I am.” Might as well get the air cleared now. This dishonesty rankled. She’d gotten plenty of that from Gregory Tate, and Bryce would rather be damned than be jealous of a liar and cheat and emulate one. “You weren’t so lucky.”

  “No.” She looked away. “No, I wasn’t.”

  Bryce covered her hand with his on her lap. “Cally, I’m sorry about the divorce. And I’m sorry about Gregory marrying Joleen the day after it.” Good God, of course. Gregory and another woman. Cally avoiding mirrors. The bastard had destroyed her self-esteem.

  She looked stunned. “How did you know about Joleen?”

  Now she’d hate him. The first woman he’d felt so much as a flicker of interest in since Meriam, and she’d hate his guts. “I was Gregory’s attorney, Cally.”

  For a long moment, she just stared at him. When the shock left her eyes and the truth settled on her shoulders, she seemed to relax. “I should have known your name, but I . . . avoided anything to do with the divorce.” She dropped her gaze to his sleeve. “Thanks for telling me.”

  “I should have told you earlier.” He lowered his gaze, u
nable to hold hers. “But I was enjoying your company.”

  “I understand.” From her tone, she really did. “It’s odd that we both wound up here, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is.” Did she realize his hand still covered hers? He should move it, but feeling a woman’s skin again helped to ease a bit of the aloneness from him. It’d been so long; he wasn’t ready to give that up. Not yet. “From what I hear about Seascape Inn, though, a lot of odd things happen here.”

  “Really?” She stiffened her fingers, bent them backward, interlacing them with his.

  His heart rate sped. Evidently she too needed the reassurance of another human being’s touch. He nodded. “My friends T.J. and Maggie MacGregor met here last winter—around this same time. He was, um, landlocked here.”

  “Landlocked?” Her eyes stretched wide.

  “Shhh! The kids.” Bryce reminded her to drop her voice. “Every time T.J. tried to leave Seascape lands, he blacked out.”

  “Good grief. Why?”

  “I don’t know, and he won’t say. All I know is that he stayed here over nine months.”

  “Well, what happened so he could leave?”

  Bryce grinned. “Maggie Wright came.”

  “And?”

  “T.J. married her. They’re expecting their first baby soon—right around Thanksgiving.”

  “Goodness.” Cally smiled. “But there had to be another reason he couldn’t leave here, don’t you think?”

  Bryce shrugged. “What I think isn’t as important as what T.J. and Maggie think.”

  “Which is?”

  “That he couldn’t leave until Maggie arrived. Meeting was their destiny.”

  “Ah.” Cally stretched her legs out in front of her and crossed them at her ankles. “The romantic version.”

  Clearly, the romantic version didn’t impress Cally. “The truth as they see it,” Bryce corrected her. “There are other cases, too.”

  She let out a groan. “Surely you’re not swallowing all that stuff.”

  “It’s true, Cally.” He leaned toward her and whispered low. “John Mystic, a client of mine—well, he’s a friend, too—came up here. He and his wife, Bess, were getting a divorce. Everyone had given up on them reconciling—even Selena, John’s sister, and she’s more tenacious than a pit bull. They’d been separated for a long time, but they came to Seascape and found it again.”

  “It?” Cally, too, whispered, and lifted a questioning brow.

  “The magic.”

  “What magic?”

  “The magic of Seascape Inn.” When she blinked her confusion, he added, “Love, Cally. They found love.”

  “Oh, Bryce. That’s absurd. How can a house, for crying out loud, hold the magic of love?”

  “I didn’t say it wasn’t absurd, or that it was logical or reasonable. Only that it was true.” He straightened his tie, knotted at his throat. “Honest, Cally, John and Bess were a final decree from divorce. I was his lawyer, and I know that for fact. They came up here separately and—bam—they fell in love all over again. If you knew them, you’d say it was magic, all right.”

  “Maybe they finally spent some time together. Or maybe they’d never stopped loving each other. Whatever it was, it had to be more than just the house. If that’s all it took, this place would be stacked to the rafters with couples.”

  “Probably,” Bryce agreed. “But maybe it’s the house—and more.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know exactly.” He didn’t. But something was there, niggling at the door of his conscience. Sooner or later he’d be able to answer the knock and find out. “There’s something special here. I can’t describe it, but I feel it. I have since I first saw the house.”

  “Me, too.”

  He looked at her. “I like it.”

  “I’m debating.” Looking down the hallway, she seemingly forced her gaze back to his. “I want to thank you, Bryce.”

  A shot of pure pleasure arrowed through his chest. “I figured once you found out about my representing Gregory, you’d hate me.” Bryce dropped his gaze to her clasped hands. “That’s why I, er, postponed telling you.” His seventeenth impression wasn’t getting a lick of an assist from his first sixteen. He barely withheld a grimace.

  “It was a surprise, true, but nothing personal against you.”

  “Why the thanks, then?”

  “Because of the alimony. Someone had to insist Gregory pay it or he wouldn’t have given me a dime. I’m figuring that someone was you.”

  “You deserved that money and, I think, probably more.”

  “Two thousand five hundred sixty-three dollars and eighty-nine cents per month for five years is a lot more than I ever figured I’d see. He shifted all our assets to an account in the Cayman Islands.”

  Bastard. Bryce grimaced. “He denied it, but I suspected he’d pulled something like that.”

  “Which is why you insisted he pay the alimony.”

  “Only in part,” Bryce confessed. “It’s embarrassing to admit, Cally, but because you never showed up at any of the client/attorney meets with your counsel, I had a friend do a little checking up on you.”

  “Your friend John Mystic. Mystic Investigations, right?”

  “Yes.” Bryce had the grace to blush; the heat scorched his face. “I wasn’t trying to invade your privacy so much as to figure out why you were staying away. I thought it likely you either had something to hide, or Gregory was intimidating you into keeping a low profile.”

  She paused for a long minute, then looked Bryce straight in the eye. “And your friend discovered Gregory had intimidated me long before the divorce proceedings. Years before.”

  “Yes.” Bryce lowered his gaze to his knees.

  She sighed. “Well, what can I say? It’s true. He was very good at manipulating things to suit him, including me. And he wasn’t particular about how he did it. Intimidation was but one of his means.”

  And yet she’d loved him. And she’d grown to hate herself for loving him. After getting to know Cally, that truth seemed crystal clear. Bryce rubbed at his temple, sympathetic, then gazed at her hand. It had felt so small and fragile, linked with his. Now, it trembled. “I’m sorry for what he did to you.”

  “Me, too.” She gave him a resigned look. “But, as they say, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

  Footsteps sounded on the stairs. They grew louder, then Miss Hattie stepped into view. “Ah,” she said from the landing. “Now, why am I not surprised to find you two out here?”

  “We were just talking.” Cally stiffened, looking as guilty as a high school teen caught lingering at the lockers after the tardy bell.

  Miss Hattie smiled, then slid her gaze to Bryce. “And you’re holding up the wall, right?”

  “Yes, actually, I am.” He smiled.

  “Bosh. You’re listening for Suzie because you fear you won’t hear her from inside the Cove Room, dear heart, and don’t you be trying to fool this old woman to keep her from worrying about you or the child.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, and genuinely meant it. There was something very special about Miss Hattie Stillman that made a body not want to hurt or disappoint her. All those strays who entered her home, she tucked under her wing, and took into her care. It felt good to be cared for, and so . . . alien. “Forgive me.”

  “Of course, dear heart.” She fussed with her skirt. “Now, I expect your knee’s getting a mite stiff, so I’m here to relieve you. Maybe since Cally’s still awake, she’ll take a short walk on the cliffs with you to exercise that knee.” Miss Hattie let out a totally false sigh. “Truly, Cally dear, he has been extremely uncooperative in doing that, though I’m sure as certain I’ve explained it’ll work some of the stiffness from the joint.”

  “Well, we have to respect our joints. We only get one set.” Cally stood up then held out a hand to Bryce. “Ready?”

  “But the cliffs are slick, and it’s dark.”

  “Which is why you need C
ally’s steady arm to hold on to while you’re walking over them.”

  Cally added her two cents. “There’s a full moon, too.”

  Bryce sent Miss Hattie a speculative look. He’d heard all about her matchmaking attempts with T.J. But Bryce didn’t need a love interest, he needed a woman to mother his children. Fortunately, he strongly sensed Cally didn’t need a love interest, either.

  Cally wiggled her fingers. “Move it,, Richards, before that knee fossilizes and you’ve only yourself to blame.”

  “I’m not that old.” He hauled himself to his feet and, stretching his leg straight, barely managed not to grimace. “Is ‘fossilizes’ a word?”

  “Of course it is.” Cally snorted. “And if you don’t come on, you won’t live to get that old, either. Didn’t you see the determination in Miss Hattie’s eyes?”

  He had. The angelic sweetheart had a will of iron, a heart of gold, and she was Maine stubborn. She intended that he and Cally walk. Period. “You’d better get a sweater. It’s warm, but it’s still chilly at night.”

  “I’ll throw on some clothes.” She motioned to her robe. “I expected it’d be much colder here in November.”

  “We’re having a warm spell,” Miss Hattie said. “But Maine weather is nothing if not changeable, dear heart. Best be prepared with that sweater.”

  “Be right back.” Cally headed toward her room.

  Bryce watched her go.

  So did Miss Hattie. “She’s a lovely woman, our Cally Tate. Isn’t she lovely, Bryce?” Fingering her gold locket, Miss Hattie sighed wistfully. “Just lovely.”

  “Lovely,” he agreed. “And the ex-wife of my client.”

  “Former client, I thought.”

  “Not officially.”

  “But their divorce is final.”