The Cottages on Silver Beach

by RaeAnne Thayne

  A muscle worked in his jaw. “We can’t prove anything at this point. But I will admit, if we had some way to verify Peg’s story and her identification of Elizabeth as the woman she gave a ride to that night, it’s an important clue.”

  Her growing elation subsided into familiar frustration. “How could you possibly verify something that happened so long ago?”

  “Good question. I don’t know. I could check for other eyewitnesses at the service station in Pendleton.”

  “From more than seven years ago.”

  “That’s right. It won’t be easy. Maybe even impossible.”

  Where did this leave them? With more questions than before. She cuddled her dog, her mind racing over Peg’s statement. If only the Haven Point Police Department had followed up earlier, perhaps they could have found out about the trucker’s story earlier. Maybe Elizabeth would have been found years ago.

  She couldn’t be resentful, though. How difficult it must have been for a proud man like John Bailey to suffer the effects of early-onset senility. She couldn’t be grateful he’d suffered a debilitating brain injury but the alternative would have been equally heartbreaking for the family.

  “I’m sorry about your father,” she said softly. “He was a good man. I know how you and Marshall and Wyn must hate having something like that tarnish his legacy.”

  He gazed at her for a long moment before turning his attention back to the road. “You are remarkable,” he said gruffly.

  Megan could feel her face heat. “I’m not anything close to remarkable.”

  “I disagree.”

  Before she realized what he intended, he reached across the car and covered her hand with his. She couldn’t resist turning her hand and tangling her fingers with his, heart pounding at the sweet, tender intimacy of the moment.

  His hand was warm, his skin roughened, but she wanted to stay like that the entire drive, safe and cherished and content, next to the man she—

  Her mind shied away from the thought but she forced herself to face the truth.

  She was in love with Elliot Bailey and the knowledge completely terrified her.

  What had she done? She wanted to bury her face in Cyrus’s fur and hide away from Elliot’s too-perceptive gaze.

  How could she have been so stupid? All these years, she had tried to take care of her heart, to keep it safe. She had loved Wyatt, though he had been taken from her before they ever really had a chance to see what might grow between them.

  Now she could see it for what it was. Wyatt had been laughter and sunshine. He had made her laugh at a time when she desperately had needed that. Only a few months earlier, Megan had returned to Haven Point to help her grandmother after Dorothy had been diagnosed with Stage III stomach cancer. She had been afraid for her grandmother and selfishly feeling sorry for herself because she’d had to return to Haven Point right as her dreams were coming true.

  Into that dark time, Wyatt had seemed like a bright ray of hope.

  When Wyatt died, she had been devastated. She wasn’t sure she’d smiled for a year after his death.

  They were only in the beginning, lighthearted stages of love. A year later when Elizabeth disappeared, she saw through her brother’s eyes what real loss was. Luke had spent the last seven years going through the motions for his kids. All the joy and light had been sucked out of his world. He was only now beginning to live again.

  Megan had vowed she couldn’t let that sort of bone-deep love into her heart. She wasn’t strong enough to survive the loss of it.

  She couldn’t let Elliot kiss her again. Every time he did, she slid further and further into love with him, that dark, terrifying place she never wanted to go.

  What if she was too late? What if she had already come too far to claw her way back to where it was safe?

  She pulled her hand away now without a word and buried her fingers in Cyrus’s fur. As always, her dog was steady, reliable, loving.

  All she and Elliot could ever share were those stolen kisses. Her head knew that, even if she had yet to convince her heart.

  She wanted to cry for all the heartache that waited for her when they finished this road trip, but she was afraid that if she started, she wouldn’t be able to stop.

  * * *

  ELLIOT DROVE THROUGH the northwestern edge of Utah, passing only the occasional car and sometimes a big rig.

  He usually enjoyed this part of the drive. Some people considered it stark, even desolate, but the wide open spaces always seemed to give his brain room for introspection.

  Those times he drove it on his way home to Haven Point from Denver, he often found himself almost in a meditative state as he passed farms and ranches and the occasional cluster of houses springing up in the middle of nowhere. He could work through troubling cases, forge connections, follow pathways, plot books.

  This time, that productive calm was nowhere in evidence. His thoughts were a jumble of chaos.

  Though he kept his attention focused on the road, he still slanted the occasional glance at the woman curled up in the seat beside him. She slept on her side facing him, her hands folded together under her cheek to make a pillow, like a child in a painting. The sun had set an hour ago, but in the dim light from the dashboard, he could make out her features clearly—delicate cheekbones, dark lashes fanning her cheeks, her soft, sweetly shaped lips parted slightly.

  He rubbed at his chest, at the sudden ache there.

  This trip had been a mistake, from the get-go. Had he actually been stupid enough to think he could have any hope of resisting her when he spent every waking moment with her for the past two days?

  What kind of idiot ever thought that was a good idea?

  For years, he had been telling himself his attraction to Megan would burn itself out someday. It wasn’t as if he obsessed about her or anything. In Denver, he would go months without thinking about her, yet every time he had returned to Haven Point, he would wonder if he would see her while he was home. If this would be the time he came home and found out she was dating someone else or if he would finally figure out a way to test the waters and see if she could ever return his interest.

  After the last few days, he had come to realize he was completely deluded if he actually thought he could extricate his heart from her grasp.

  He replayed their conversation of the night before, when he had told her he had feelings for her. Did she have any idea what an understatement that was? He was in love with her, had probably been in love with her for years. He had simply been too stupid and stubborn to see it.

  What good would it do to admit it now, to himself or to her? He would have to make some decisions about his life and his future, things he wasn’t sure he was ready to face.

  He did know that every time he thought about a future without Megan in it, he saw a wide, empty space he found more desolate than the high desert could ever be.

  * * *

  THE SUDDEN ABSENCE of motion jarred her awake. For a moment, she had that wild panic of not knowing where she was. Then her conscious mind processed the familiar lights, colors, sights, and she realized they were at a service station.

  Oh, the joys of road trips—long expanses of time interrupted only by the need for fuel.

  Cyrus yipped and wriggled around on her lap, making her suddenly aware of how achy her muscles felt from holding him for hours.

  “I can’t believe I fell asleep again. Where are we?”

  “Mountain Home. I wanted to keep going, but the gas gauge was getting low and I didn’t want to risk it. Plus Cyrus has been restless a bit for the last fifteen minutes. I figured he needed a stop. I’m surprised he didn’t wake you earlier.”

  “So am I. I feel like I slept the whole way today. I’m sorry I left all the driving to you.”

  “I didn’t mind. You must have needed rest.”

  She had slept on
ly a few hours the night before, too consumed with his words that ran through her mind again and again on the same soundtrack.

  “You take care of Cyrus and I’ll pump the gas,” he said, falling into the pattern they had developed over this rapid-fire trip.

  “You’ve been driving. You probably need to move more than I do, don’t you?”

  “It was a pretty easy drive with little traffic. We made good time.”

  It was only nine, she saw, about an hour earlier than she expected to be reaching this point—probably because he had basically driven straight through from Rock Springs without stopping until now.

  Cyrus was all but dancing on her lap with his legs crossed. She quickly climbed out of the vehicle, grabbed his leash from the back seat and set him down.

  “Are you hungry?” Elliot asked from across the width of the vehicle. “I can grab a couple sandwiches from the fast-food place here, if it’s still open.”

  She wanted to tell him she could wait until they were back in Haven Point but her stomach chose that moment to grumble loudly.

  “I should probably eat, since I didn’t have much lunch and breakfast was only coffee.”

  “Don’t forget, we still have Rocco’s cookies. I had a couple of them earlier and, I’ve got to say, I think he has a big future as a dessert chef.”

  She had to smile, though she still felt achy and wrung out. “They seemed like a great couple. The woman truck driver and the husband cookie maker. I love the role reversals. And she’s got great taste in authors.”

  He flushed, which she found rather adorable. “If you say so. Why don’t you take Cyrus over to the dog park? I’ll grab some sandwiches and take them over there. We can let him run around a bit before we hit the road again.”

  “Sounds good,” she said, then turned to walk in that direction with her dog.

  * * *

  ELLIOT DIDN’T LIKE talking about himself or his work. That was an entirely new perspective she had gained over the last two days. He was embarrassed by his own success and deflected every conversation that came back to his books.

  That wasn’t the only perspective of Elliot Bailey that had shifted.

  She couldn’t believe she ever thought him cold, emotionless. He wasn’t. He was only excellent at hiding those emotions.

  She would miss him desperately when he returned to Denver. The future without him seemed as colorless and cold as Silver Beach in January.

  How would she say goodbye?

  She threw the ball a few times for Cyrus, who went along with the program for a few moments but quickly lost interest and seemed content to sniff the perimeter of the fence, scenting out all the other dogs who had come before.

  She was sitting on the picnic table and watching him at it while the cool May evening settled around her when Elliot came toward them carrying a plastic bag containing a couple of wrapped hoagies. He had taken time to bring Cyrus’s water bowl, too, a thoughtful gesture that touched something deep inside.

  She was completely helpless to resist him.

  “Go ahead and start on your sandwich. I’ll fill this for Cyrus.”

  “Thank you.”

  She took the bag from him and pulled out her sandwich. When he returned with the filled water bowl, he set it down for the dog, then pulled her keys and his phone out of his pocket and placed them on the table. Just as he was going to sit down, he looked down at the table and made a face.

  “I forgot the drinks. What can I get you?”

  “One of the bottled waters in the cooler would be fine. They should still be cold, since I added more ice at the hotel before we left.”

  “That works for me, too.”

  He picked up the keys and turned to head back to the SUV.

  “Make sure you lock up again,” she teased. “We don’t need a repeat of what happened yesterday, with the little laptop thief.”

  At her words, he smiled, bright and genuine and so completely unexpected that it took her breath away.

  “Right. We can’t have that.”

  That was a memory she would tuck away forever, the utter shock on his features when she had insisted he give the boy a reward. She had many memories from this trip she would cherish. Kissing him on the trail the day before. Walking with him under the starry sky.

  Falling in love.

  He was still at her SUV, the hatch up as he looked through the cooler, when the table suddenly buzzed. It was his phone vibrating with an incoming text.

  She didn’t mean to look at it. She wasn’t snooping on purpose. It was simply an instinctive reaction to look down at any phone alert.

  Finished first read of the ms. Fantastic, as usual. Another bestseller! Edits to follow in a few days.

  When did he finish his book? It must have been the day before while she was driving—or maybe his night was as sleepless as hers and he’d wrapped it up in the early hours.

  Yay! What a rewarding feeling that must be, to know he’d created something that would keep people like Verla and Peg reading late into the night.

  The table buzzed a moment later with a follow-up text, and she glanced down, again by instinct. This time, it took a few seconds for the words on the screen to register fully, and then she had to set down her sandwich.

  Not to nag, but when will you send me Elizabeth’s book?

  The words took a moment to penetrate. When they did, the one bite of sandwich she’d managed to swallow seemed to congeal in her stomach. A vast wave of acrid betrayal washed over her, sucking away her oxygen.

  Elizabeth’s book? The book he swore over and over again he wasn’t writing?

  How many times had he told her he was only investigating the case to tie up loose ends? She had trusted him. The idea that he might use her family’s pain—Luke’s, Cassie’s, poor little Bridger, who didn’t even remember his mother—for his own gain left her fighting tears.

  He had lied to her and to others. Even earlier that day, he had told Peg that he was only investigating Elizabeth’s disappearance to find answers.

  She couldn’t seem to catch her breath, heartsick at him and at herself. She had known in her heart she shouldn’t let herself love him. If she hadn’t fallen for him, would she be feeling so very betrayed?

  What about his feelings? Had he lied about that, too, when he said he cared for her, that he had been attracted to her for years? Maybe he was only trying to weaken her defenses, to leave her vulnerable and needy so she wouldn’t be angry with him over writing Elizabeth’s story.

  She had trusted him. How could he do this to her and to her family?

  She had wondered why he was so passionate about digging into the case. Now she knew. Regardless of his assurances, Elliot planned to exploit her family’s pain for his writing career and she didn’t have the first idea how to stop it.

  He returned a moment later and she couldn’t face him as he set a water bottle on the table in front of her, the sides dripping with condensation. “Here you go. I had to dig a little but I found a cold one, in the bottom of the cooler.”

  It took her several attempts to make her mouth move to form a response. “Thanks,” she mumbled.

  “Everything okay?”

  She wanted to weep, suddenly, to rail and cry and beg him to reconsider. She couldn’t. She refused to break down in front of him, especially right now when her feelings were so red-hot. She wasn’t her father, all hot fire and anger and hurtful words. She would wait until she was composed before confronting him about the lies.

  They had an hour ahead of them before they would reach Haven Point and she had no idea how she would be strong enough to endure the drive without exploding.

  “Sure,” she managed to answer. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  * * *

  WHAT HAPPENED?

  One moment, Megan had been looking at him with warmth and gratitude f
or the sandwich. The next, she had completely shut down. All he had done was take her some food and go look for a water bottle. Harmless enough. Where had things gone off the rails?

  He tried to make conversation as they ate but gave up when she seemed determined to answer in monosyllables.

  It had been an eventful few days, he told himself. Maybe she was simply tired of the chaos and ready to be home in her little cottage on the lake. He couldn’t really blame her for that.

  His supposition was confirmed when she finished quickly, then stood up with Cyrus’s leash in hand. “I’m going to load him up,” she said.

  He stood as well, wrapping up what was left of his sandwich. His hunger had somehow disappeared, frozen out by her cold reserve.

  “I’ll drive from here,” she announced, without giving him a chance to say otherwise. “Go ahead and work, if you need to.”

  “I don’t,” he said. “I finished my manuscript last night and sent it to my editor.”

  If he had expected her to congratulate him, he was doomed to disappointment. She only lifted her mouth in a pale imitation of her genuine smile. “Guess it’s time to get started on the next one, then.”

  “I don’t know what I’m going to write next. Maybe I’ll take a break.”

  “I’m sure you’ll come up with something,” she answered, her voice unusually caustic.

  He frowned, wondering again what the hell he had done.

  After a few more of his attempts at conversation fell flat, she turned up the music in an outright attempt to avoid conversation.

  He went over the day’s events and couldn’t come up with one obvious thing. While he could have turned the music down and forced a conversation, he figured she had a right not to talk to him if she didn’t want to.

  They made it back to Haven Point as the moon was cresting the Redemption Mountain Range across the lake. May’s full moon was called the Flower Moon—one of those inane facts stuck in his head.

  She pulled up in front of her cottage. “Thank you for coming with me, and for taking your turn at the wheel.”

  The coolness in her voice conveyed a clear message. She was angry—and it angered him that he had no idea why.