Sweetbriar Cottage

by Denise Hunter

  The memories flashed through her mind like falling stars, leaving a trail of despair. Her pulse leaped in her throat. Her chest went tight, and the backs of her eyes burned.

  He pulled up alongside the cottage and shut off the engine. She stared out the window, past the melting rivulets to the house beyond, and wondered how she was going to make it through the night.

  Chapter 6

  A howl of wind joined the quiet chinking of sleet against the roof of Noah’s truck. He turned to Josephine, who stared out the fogging passenger window, quiet.

  The fight seemed to have drained from her on the short drive from the barn, and she’d gone inward. She did that sometimes. Noah preferred her riled up, sparks shooting out her blue eyes. Anger he could fight. This quiet stoicism rendered him helpless. And he didn’t like feeling helpless.

  Much of his own anger had burnt off too. Enough that he felt guilty about the way he’d dumped her into his cab. He’d never been anything but gentle with her, even when he’d been provoked. He wondered if that was why her shoulders were now hunched up tight, her knees tucked away from him.

  “It might change to rain and melt off in an hour or two,” he said.

  When she didn’t respond he got out of the truck and headed for the house, relieved when he heard her footsteps behind him. At least he wasn’t going to have to resort to force again. Fool woman. She wouldn’t make it three hours out here. She got chilled when the thermometer dipped below seventy.

  He opened the front door and ushered her in, then closed it against the howling wind. Shadow, his black Lab, came to greet him, tail swashing a wide path. Noah ruffled his fur, but the traitor, recognizing Josephine’s scent, gave a soft whine as he nuzzled her open palm.

  She knelt down, and Shadow licked the water off her face. For the first time since she’d arrived a little smile curved her lips. “Hey there, baby,” she cooed. “Oh, I missed you. You’re such a good boy, yes, you are.”

  He gave them a moment, feeling a twinge of guilt for keeping them apart. True, Shadow had been his dog, but there was no denying the special bond between Josephine and the Lab.

  She finally stood shivering on his rug, looking like a bedraggled wet kitten. Her hands shook as she pulled off her flimsy pair of flats. Her white sweater was so thin and wet he could see the pale-blue shirt under it.

  “You need a warm shower.” He pointed down the hall. “Bathroom’s that way.”

  She glanced at the wood planking, pushing a strand of wet hair behind her ear. “I don’t want to drip all over your floor.”

  “It’ll clean up.”

  He waited until the shower kicked on, then headed back out. Mary Beth kept extra clothes in the barn. He hadn’t thought to get them before. The wind was nasty, whipping the ice at his face as he dashed to the truck.

  He’d expected wind and rain. Lots of rain. The storm front was massive. But the temperature wasn’t supposed to drop low enough for sleet. Now that it had, he wondered what else was coming. Maybe the sleet would turn back to rain, and he could drive Josephine back to town later tonight. He’d call a tow for her car, and she’d be out of his hair for good.

  In the barn he took a moment to soothe Kismet. The bay thoroughbred was new to his stable and apprehensive. He’d sat in the pen with the horse for forty-five minutes yesterday while it paced, emitting tremulous high-pitched neighs, ears flicking back and forth.

  Now Noah spoke in low tones and stroked Kismet’s withers when he was invited with a nudge. After a few minutes the horse settled, and Noah collected Mary Beth’s T-shirt and faded jeans. He grabbed the divorce papers from the tub and snatched Mary Beth’s work coat from the hook on his way out. As an afterthought he grabbed her boots as well.

  He couldn’t see Josephine in these rugged clothes. Mary Beth was about the same height and size, but she was all straight lines and angles, coltish. Whereas Josephine . . . wasn’t.

  When he entered the warmth of his house, he was surprised to hear the shower already shut off. He used to tease her about her long showers, but she’d either reformed her ways or was being considerate.

  The door clicked open as he finished pulling off his boots. “Noah?” There was an edge of panic to her voice, and he wondered how many times she’d called for him.

  “Just a second.” He took the bundle of clothing to her. Steam rolled through the crack in the door as he slid the clothes through. He averted his gaze and tried not to think about what she was wearing—or not—on the other side.

  “Thanks.” The door snapped shut.

  He shucked his coat and sweatshirt, leaving only his black T-shirt and damp jeans. Figure out supper first. Then he’d shower and check the weather. He’d only begun surveying his pantry when he heard her behind him.

  Shadow left his side to greet her, tail wagging, tongue lolling.

  “Do you have a dryer I can put these in?”

  “Back there.” He gestured with a nod of his head.

  He watched her go, her bare feet padding across his kitchen floor. The jeans were the right length, but they were tight in the seat and gathered at the waist by a belt she must’ve had on before.

  He turned back to the pantry, trying to vanquish the image of her heart-shaped derriere from his mind. Was it lust if they were still married?

  He banged his head on the pantry door once. Twice. Idiot. He’d been blinded once. Never again. Feed her and get her out of here.

  He scanned the selection of canned goods and boxed food. Noah didn’t bother cooking for himself, and his pantry reflected his simplistic culinary skills. He’d planned to grab a few things from the Piggly Wiggly on Saturday, but he’d been sidetracked by his ill-fated stop at the post office.

  He was still trying to work out a plan when the dryer kicked on. He felt Josephine’s presence at his back a moment later.

  “Why don’t you grab a warm shower while I get supper on,” she said.

  “There’s not much food-wise.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I’m overdue for a visit to, ah . . .”

  The Farnam logo on her heather-gray T-shirt stretched tight across her chest. If Mary Beth had ever worn that shirt, he sure didn’t remember it.

  He jerked his eyes from the logo and blinked. “The, ah, grocery. There might be something in the freezer.”

  “I’ll work something out.”

  The kitchen had shrunk two sizes. Something metal clinked repetitively in the dryer drum.

  Her damp hair was tousled, and her face was makeup-free, making her eyes stand out, though they’d yet to lift as high as his face. He’d always preferred her this way. Natural. She didn’t need lipstick and mascara. Though in true Southern-gal fashion, she never left home without it. There was something vulnerable about her without that makeup mask.

  There’s not a vulnerable bone in her body, Mitchell.

  His heart rallied behind the notion, but his brain knew better. As much as she tried to hide it—from him, from everyone—there was a broken little girl in there somewhere.

  But that particular puzzle was no longer his concern. He turned toward the bathroom. “I’ll leave you to it.”

  Josephine sagged against the wall as soon as the bathroom door closed. The shower had warmed her up, but the adrenaline from this untenable situation had left her noodle-kneed.

  Shadow slid his muzzle under her hand, begging for attention and getting it. He stared up at her with sparkling brown eyes, one pointy ear perked, the other flopping forward. Noah had always teased that it was broken, but Josephine argued it was just part of his charm.

  “All right, girl,” she mumbled to herself. “Get it together.” She turned to the pantry, pushing cans aside, scanning the labels, but she soon gave up at the mishmash of goods. The freezer turned up some ground beef and frozen broccoli.

  She’d defrosted the beef and had patties sizzling in the skillet by the time she heard Noah stoking the fire in the next room. A dart of grease splattered on the T-shirt as she flipped a burger, but she could
n’t bring herself to care.

  When he said he would find her some dry clothes, she’d expected one of his shirts and a pair of sweats. But these duds had “Mary Beth Maynor” written all over them. She tried not to ruminate on the reason Mary Beth left clothes at Noah’s house. Tried to shove all the rumors into the corners of her mind. But they crept from the shadows, taunting her.

  It’s none of your worry, Josephine. He’s not yours anymore. Never you mind the papers.

  She finished up the burgers, put them between slices of white bread with a generous dollop of mustard, and placed two on Noah’s plate. She dished out the steaming broccoli and set the plates on the dinette that used to belong to his granny.

  “It’s ready,” she called.

  Noah entered the room, smelling clean and dressed in a fresh T-shirt and jeans.

  He sat across from her and bowed his head, excluding her from his silent prayer. He was probably begging God for a heat wave.

  He used to hold her hand at this very table and pray for both of them, giving her hand a gentle squeeze after the amen. Josephine wasn’t much for praying. It had never done her any good. But she’d taken comfort in their nightly ritual. In his faith.

  She looked at his hands now, rolled into fists on either side of his plate. She’d always liked his strong, masculine hands. A man’s hands, rough with calluses, but gentle in touch. A faint sprinkling of dark hair covered his forearms, leading to her favorite part of his anatomy—his biceps, sculpted and hardened from hours of physical labor. His occupation had changed, but not those arms.

  Her gaze swept up to his unguarded face. Dark brows slashed over his closed eyes. His lashes were wet and spiked against his olive skin, and a generous sprinkling of stubble coated his jaw. Two days’ growth, she guessed.

  She used to shave him sometimes on lazy Saturday mornings. He could never keep still or keep his hands to himself. He often ended up half-shaved and back under the cool sheets with her, the laughter in his eyes turning serious soon enough.

  His eyes opened and fastened on hers. She was a deer caught in the headlights. She wondered if he could read her thoughts, and heat washed into her cheeks. They’d never had trouble in the chemistry department.

  Her eyes fell to her plate, and she picked up her burger with trembling hands.

  She had to stop thinking like that. See what he did to her? She couldn’t even be near him without wanting him again. She’d told herself those feelings were dead, but clearly they’d merely been dormant. Threatening to push toward the surface at just a hint of warmth.

  “Still a praying man, I see.” She was pleased to find her voice strong and indifferent.

  “It’s gotten me through.” He bit into his burger, and Josephine let the silence fall around them.

  Why’d she go and say that? She didn’t want to talk about faith. It was one of the many perplexing facets of her life. The emotional conversion when she was just a child, the absence of God when she’d needed Him most, the conflicting needs for absolution and penance. She couldn’t make sense of it. She’d stopped trying.

  When she’d first moved to town, her quiet confessions to Pastor Jack had offered temporary solace. But once she realized the Lutheran minister was a good friend of Noah’s, she’d discontinued her sessions with him. As far as she knew, he’d kept her appointments—and her secrets—to himself.

  They ate in silence, the meal dragging on till Josephine was about to go stir-crazy.

  Finally Noah stood and took his plate to the sink. “I’m going to check the weather.” He disappeared into the next room.

  Josephine finished eating, then took her time washing the dishes by hand. When she entered the living room, she found Noah staring at his laptop, the glow of the screen harsh on his features.

  She stopped on the threshold, hesitant to enter the too-small room with its crackling fire and familiar couch. The room looked cozy with its soft lighting, stone fireplace, and low-beamed ceiling. A large braided rug hugged the wood floor, inviting guests to kick off their shoes.

  Frowning at the screen, Noah didn’t seem to notice her arrival.

  She folded her arms over her chest. “What’s the weather saying?”

  His gaze flickered toward her, then back to the screen. “More of the same for the next few hours. The temperatures were supposed to stay above freezing, but they’re expected to hover right on the line for a while.”

  “More sleet.”

  “Looks like.”

  She shifted on her feet. It looked like she was here for the night. From the scowl on his face, Noah was even less happy about that than she was.

  This little favor she’d planned—what a bust. “I guess you’re stuck with me for the night.”

  Noah’s nostrils flared and his eyes tightened at the corners, though he didn’t look at her or respond.

  “Do you have a spare room?”

  “Nope.”

  She’d passed the master bedroom, its king-size bed filling the space. But she’d also noted a narrow flight of steps at the end of the hall. “What’s upstairs?”

  “It’s unfinished.”

  Oh. Well, there was no way she was taking his bed. “I’ll take the couch then.”

  A log shifted in the fireplace and sparks sizzled.

  A vein pulsed in Noah’s forehead. “You can have the bed.”

  “I don’t mind the couch.”

  He nailed her with a stony look.

  She shrank at the intensity but found a little spark in her tone. “Fine.”

  “Fine.”

  Her eyes darted to the mantel clock. It was too early for bed. Way too early, but that was too bad. She wasn’t staying out here where she wasn’t wanted for another moment.

  Her eyes moved back to Noah, and she noticed the packet of papers on the table beside him, folded open to the last page, his signature line still blank.

  “At least you’ll have time to read that over now,” she offered.

  His eyes cut to hers, his lips flattening.

  “I-I guess I’ll turn in.” When he failed to respond she turned toward the hall. “Good night,” she said, but he didn’t respond to that either.

  Entering the bedroom, she glanced around. The bed was unmade, a few articles of clothing strung here and there, but mostly picked up. She didn’t recognize the navy quilt or gray sheets, but the oak headboard and nightstand had graced their home on Katydid.

  She slipped off the jeans, leaving the small bedside lamp on, and got under the covers. What was she going to do for the next couple hours? A quick scan of the room turned up a paperback, open and cover side up on the nightstand—a Tony Dungy biography. Not exactly her normal fare, but beggars and choosers and all that. She picked it up, dog-earring the marked page, and turned to chapter one.

  She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when her eyes began getting heavy. She was setting the book on the nightstand when a tap sounded on the door.

  She pulled the sheet to her chest, her pulse skittering foolishly. “Come in.”

  The door opened and Noah appeared, looking more haggard than he had a couple hours ago. “Your clothes . . .” He stepped inside and set the short stack on the nightstand, keeping a wide gap between them.

  She drew up her knees under the sheets. “Thanks.”

  “I need to get some things for morning. And I didn’t get you anything to sleep in.” He moved across the room to the tall oak chest in the corner. The drawer squawked as he opened it and pulled out a blue T-shirt and a pair of sweats. He tossed them to her.

  “Thanks.”

  He pulled a few more things from the drawer and headed out. “Good night.”

  “Night.”

  The door was nearly shut when he flipped off the light switch.

  She bolted upright. “Don’t.”

  Noah’s shadow stopped on the threshold.

  Her heart scraped across her chest like shattered glass, and she barely stopped herself from scrambling from the bed. “I-I mean .
. . leave it on, please.” She hated the panic in her voice.

  The lamp came back on, its golden light leaving her raw and exposed. In front of Noah. Heat crawled into her cheeks as she dragged her eyes from him. She worked to steady her breathing, calmly adjusting the blankets as if she hadn’t just completely lost it.

  “Thank you.” Her body was flushed with heat. She sank against the pillows, trying for casual, and closed her eyes. The thudding of her heart made the mattress quake. “Good night.”

  It seemed like ten minutes that he stood in the threshold, the weight of his gaze on her. Finally the door clicked shut, and a deep breath whooshed from her body.

  Chapter 7

  Cartersville, Georgia

  Sixteen years ago

  Josephine’s mother died the summer she turned twelve. It happened on July sixth. It was easy to remember the date, because Josephine had gotten her period the day before and wanted to tell her, but Mama wasn’t speaking to her because Josephine was in trouble for wearing eye shadow to Shelby Green’s Fourth of July party.

  The wreck on 985 killed her mother instantly. The next few days passed in a foggy blur. Mostly Josephine just tried to stay out of her stepdad’s way.

  Eddie was nice, mostly. He cajoled her mom out of dark moods and took them for ice cream on Friday nights. But sometimes he drank beer, and he wasn’t so nice then. He frowned a lot and snapped at her. After her mom died, she saw a lot of Ugly Eddie.

  Saturday nights became poker night in their doublewide trailer—something Mama had forbidden. Josephine didn’t like Eddie’s friends. They were loud, and they chewed with their mouths open and filled the trailer with cigarette smoke. So she stayed in her room, listening to the radio or talking to Shelby on the phone.