The Comfort of Secrets

by Christine Nolfi

“Linnie practically rebuilt it for him last summer. A peace offering.”

  “What were they fighting about?”

  “The Wayfair. Their parents retired to Florida with the assumption they’d hand over the reins to their son.”

  “Freddie worked here? Neat trick, what with the film career.”

  Cat expelled a breath. “No, Freddie did not work here. Jada and I would’ve killed him before letting him womanize his way through a job at the inn, and drive Linnie nuts in the bargain.”

  Her reaction started him grinning. “What happened?” He loved her animation, the way her hands danced through the air to emphasize her words.

  “When he tried to stake his claim last summer, Linnie threatened to walk out.”

  “She would’ve quit the inn?”

  “With the staff also threatening to go if Freddie wouldn’t back down.” Cat flicked at the rope ladder, which obligingly swung across the craggy trunk. “Everything worked out in the end. Linnie got majority control of the inn, and Sweet Lake’s original bad boy opened his wallet. All the renovations, and the money to ramp up the advertising? Freddie’s bankrolling us.”

  Us, as if she and Jada held the same commitment as the inn’s majority stakeholder. Maybe they did, Ryan mused. From what he’d witnessed since taking the account, the three women were lifelong friends dedicated to steering the Wayfair to prosperity.

  “You like working for Linnie?” he asked, sadly aware he’d stumbled on another reason why she’d never leave Sweet Lake.

  “More than expected.” Considering, she leaned against the tree. “Seven years ago, Freddie cleaned out the Wayfair’s accounts. Nearly bankrupted the inn. Lots of businesses in town closed, including my place and the bakery Jada owned. Losing those tourism dollars really hurt the town. That’s when Linnie asked us to work for her. She was already living in the south wing, so we moved in too.” Cat looked up quickly. “Between you and me, I didn’t go out of business because tourism dropped.”

  “What was your line of work?”

  “Event planning.”

  “What happened?” he asked, conscious she was sharing a painful secret.

  She looked away. Making the revelation clearly came at a cost, and he suspected she was stalling. A guess proven accurate when she angled toward the ladder.

  “Want to see inside?”

  “Will you mock me if I admit I’ve never climbed a tree?” He took a gander at the rope, calculated the odds of anything so flimsy supporting his weight. Bad odds.

  “Ryan, did you spend your entire childhood indoors?”

  “Not all of it.”

  “You’re not climbing a tree. You’re climbing into a tree house. Perfectly safe.”

  “Got the building specs on this contraption? Let me check if everything’s up to code.”

  “Don’t chicken out on me.”

  “I’m a grown man. Stop hitting below the belt.”

  “Yeah, scaredy-cat? Prove it.” Planting her foot on the first rung, she hoisted herself up. Her long hair, swishing past her shoulders, banished all thought of building codes. He didn’t follow immediately, choosing instead to appreciate the soul-stirring sight of her long legs and the suggestive movement of her hips as she ascended.

  At the top, she threw a mischievous glance. “Planning to stand there grinning at my ass, or join me?”

  All the incentive required. Grabbing hold, Ryan swiftly climbed up.

  Thankfully the small structure boasted a sturdy plywood floor. White paint covered the interior walls. The conscientious Linnie had even added throw pillows sensibly protected from the elements in a jumbo-size plastic bag. The only problem was standing up—Ryan was six feet tall in his socks. The walls weren’t more than five feet in height.

  “Cozy,” he murmured.

  “I love it here.”

  Dumping the pillows from the bag, she handed two over. Following her lead, he sat against the wall. Being this close, hidden together in the woods, hitched up his pulse. A vision of heady lovemaking with birdsong for background music poured heat through his veins. With effort he shook off the image. She’d invited him inside to share a secret, not for an hour of hot sex.

  He let his gaze linger on her for as long as he dared. “You were saying . . . ?”

  “Well, everyone thinks my business went under like all the others, because the inn went through hard times. Truth is, I was going broke before Freddie cleaned out the Wayfair’s accounts.”

  “You would’ve gone under regardless?”

  “Within months—something I should’ve noticed sooner, but I was too busy dating a series of losers.” Lost in the memory, she made lazy circles across her jean-clad legs, the gesture unconscious and utterly sensuous. “I didn’t care about learning how to run a business. Accounts receivable and accounts payable, the major migraines of keeping track of money—I spent more time dating than wondering if I was bleeding cash. I made a humiliating number of mistakes.”

  “Guys came first, eh?” He made the comment lightly, astonished by the accompanying dart of jealousy.

  “Years dating all the wrong guys. I was such a nitwit, waiting for a dreamy man on a white steed.”

  “My middle name’s Lancelot.”

  “Funny, Ryan.”

  Ditching the jokes, he took her hand and planted it on his thigh. “Why did you choose event planning?” She began doodling across his jeans, igniting tiny fires he did his best to ignore. “I’d have pegged you as going for something in fashion.”

  “No way. I loved planning weddings for other women, picking out flowers and venues, looking at gowns. Trying on gowns if the bride was busy checking out shoes or veils. We get only a few perfect days in our life. I’ve always known my wedding will be a day I’ll always cherish, even when I’m too old and senile to remember my name.” She paused abruptly, searched his face. “I’ve only told my parents the true reason my place went under. Not even Linnie and Jada know.”

  “Loose lips sink ships.” He offered his most engaging smile. “I won’t tell a soul.”

  She did a double take, laughed. “World War II, right? I’ve only heard one other person use that phrase.”

  “I’m parroting my mother. One of the things she says when swearing me to secrecy.”

  “Weird. Frances Dufour uses it too.” She stopped doodling, released a sigh. “Thanks for keeping my secret.”

  “An honor, my lady.”

  She found him worthy enough to share a humiliating memory. Her trust moved him.

  Then he found himself clinging to another, more thrilling fact. “You took up event planning because you were dreaming about your own wedding?”

  Given his general pessimism about the lasting power of relationships, the irony wasn’t lost on him.

  She bumped against his shoulder with engaging sobriety. “Yes, Ryan. I was totally hooked on the idea.”

  “When did you catch the bug?”

  “Are you kidding? I was one of those frilly girls playing dress-up all the time. Pretending I was getting married was my biggest fantasy. There was a period between kindergarten and third grade when my parents stopped planting any pink flowers in the garden. I’d pluck whole impatiens plants to weave through my hair. Cut my fingers on thorns while nabbing roses, raided the pink geraniums—let’s not go into what I did to my mother’s best slips.”

  “Made them into wedding gowns?”

  “Thank God I didn’t think to use scissors. I’d steal twine from Mami’s craft supplies to rig up pretend gowns. You’ll never meet a girl who wasted more time dreaming about Mr. Perfect.”

  “Do you still?” he asked.

  The merriment faded from her features.

  For an excruciating moment, he hung suspended in confusion. She studied their legs flung out side by side, seeming to weigh her response. He wanted to recall the question, another clumsy move.

  When she finally looked at him, emotion tumbled through her eyes in a mesmerizing display.

  “No, Ryan,�
�� she said evenly, “I stopped dreaming in September when I found him.”

  Chapter 12

  Was candor the wrong move? Unsure, Cat waited for the pronouncement to sink in.

  Pain, relief, anxiety, delight—the emotions scuttling across Ryan’s features were breathtaking in their variety, distressing in their potency. Taking in her declaration, he appeared beyond speech. His Adam’s apple convulsed in his throat. Apparently his thoughts were shuttling forward too quickly for him to catch.

  Abandoning the pursuit, he bent his head to hers.

  He kissed her with a slow, thorough urgency that telegraphed his response to the core of her being. When she returned his passion with equal fervor, he steered her down on the floor.

  A groan erupted from his throat, a hungry sound that rippled pleasure through her. He rolled on top of her, the claim he took of her senses firing the motion of his hands, molding and caressing her flesh. Shuddering beneath him, Cat let her eyes drift shut to better experience the sensation of his lovemaking, the hot press of his mouth as he dragged his lips across her neck, the tantalizing impression of his teeth nipping and teasing her sensitized skin. Then he took her mouth again, his kiss harder, nearly taunting, driving her higher with the sheer force of his desire.

  He kissed her until she was breathless. He kissed her as if he adored her. In that heady, faultless moment, she believed he did.

  When he finally broke off, he left her dizzy and ravenous for more.

  Ragged breaths shuddered his rib cage. “I’m not making love to you in a tree house.” Sitting up, he raked his hand through his hair. “Cat, I’m crazy about you, but I’m not into quickies.”

  She stared at him, the comment finally getting past the fog of sensation he’d put her under. Curling her knees to her chest, she let the doubts flood in. They were moving too fast. Their sexual compatibility came with an unnerving number of hazards, including its ability to burn past their common sense. She needed answers about his past, and his obligations, before getting in too deep.

  Sparing her the opener, he said, “I can’t ask you to take this further until we work some things out. Don’t misunderstand—I want to take this further. A lot further.” He slid a sidelong glance rife with passion her way. “But I don’t want to hurt you. I’ll never forgive myself if I do.”

  “We need to discuss your mother.” They’d barely touched on the subject.

  “Cat, she’s not selfish. Clinging to a routine helps her ward off depression. She’s tried meds in the past, and they’ve helped, but she doesn’t want to spend the rest of her life relying on pills to feel normal. I don’t want her to either. Some people can’t manage without antidepressants. She does fine if her routine is stable.”

  “You haven’t seen your father since you were a teenager, right? She stayed with him until then?”

  “On and off.”

  “How did you deal with it?”

  “Not well.” His shoulders sagged. “Three times she resolved to leave him. The first time, she moved us to a new apartment in San Francisco. God only knows why she stayed until then. I hardly remember the move to Salt Lake, but those years were good.”

  “How long did you live in Utah?” she asked, greedy for a fuller accounting of his life.

  “Until I was ten. George found us when I was nine, tracked us using the jewelry store where she’d worked in San Francisco. The owner of Lux Jewels had family in Salt Lake. Turns out the jeweler was born in Twin Falls, Idaho.” Ryan glanced at her ruefully. “I didn’t get all of this from my mother—I pieced together some of the facts through online searches. Anyway, my father found us in Salt Lake, and they stayed together for about a year. She cut off all contact with her family, and toed the line as best she could.” A black despair formed around him so quickly, Cat tasted the bitterness. “It didn’t stop the beatings.”

  George. My father. Ryan’s emotional disconnect was disorienting. Careful to keep her voice even, she asked, “Yesterday, you said he’s somewhere out West. You don’t know where he lives?”

  “I haven’t seen him since he found us in Twin Falls.”

  Another move, another story she doubted she wanted to hear. “He didn’t follow you to Ohio?”

  “He couldn’t.”

  “Why not?” The question sent his attention skittering across his shoes. Emptiness overtook his features. It seemed best to save the question for another day.

  Changing tack, she said brightly, “If we’re dating, I don’t mind taking turns on the commute. Your place in Cincinnati, is there a guest bedroom?”

  “A nice one.” He took her hand, brushed kisses across her knuckles. “Commuting short term is no big deal. Doubt it’ll satisfy me for very long.”

  “Ryan, I won’t leave Sweet Lake. I love my job, and my parents live here. Don’t ask me to give them up, or find a new career in Cincinnati.”

  “I won’t.” He leaned heavily against the wall. “Assuming everything works out, I need to find a way to make my mother understand.”

  The explanation squeezed her heart. “You really care about her well-being.”

  “I care about yours too. And mine, which is pretty much taken care of, assuming you’re in my life.”

  “I want to stay in your life. There’s nothing I want more.”

  They were getting ahead of themselves, wildly so. Yet the idea took shape, a perfect solution to give Julia a taste of country living. “You’re in Sweet Lake all of next week helping me gear up for the concert and finish next spring’s marketing plan. Instead of commuting, why not bring Julia and stay until Sunday?”

  “Where would we stay? In case you’ve forgotten, the inn is booked solid.”

  “Not all of it. Linnie’s old suite in the south wing is vacant. I’ll bunk in Jada’s room, and you’ll take my suite. Linnie’s is larger, so we’ll give it to your mother.”

  Weighing the suggestion, Ryan drummed his fingers on the floor. “No harm in asking, right?”

  “All your mother can do is refuse. Hopefully she’ll agree.”

  He rubbed his chin, clearly taken with the idea. “A week in the country might stop her from obsessing about George tracking us down. She’s still lighting up the house like a state penitentiary every night, and surveilling the street with binoculars. Once she gets going like this . . .”

  “It’s just a phase.”

  “She’ll grow out of?” He chuckled. “You realize we’re discussing her like she’s a child.”

  Rising, he helped her up. After they’d climbed down from the tree house, he said, “I’ll ask her to come.”

  They neared the forest’s edge and the lilting murmur of the surf. “Just don’t pressure her, okay? Say we’ve become good friends, and I thought you’d both enjoy a stay at the Wayfair.”

  “She won’t buy the friends explanation, Cat. Not once she hears me creeping into your bedroom at night.”

  “Dream on. You’re staying in my room, and I’m bunking with Jada,” she reminded him.

  “Doesn’t Linnie stay at her boyfriend’s place in town? Ask them to put Jada up next week.”

  She blocked his path. “Put the thought of late-night rendezvous out of your head. I’ve never met your mother. I’m not giving her the wrong impression.”

  Passion darkened his eyes, and delight. “You’re pretty when you’re upset.” He reached for her. “Should I fire you up more often? There might be benefits.”

  She darted out of range. Allow him to kiss her senseless, and she’d never establish the ground rules. “Don’t embarrass me in front of Julia. I want her to like me. No midnight visits, okay? Later, if we get serious about each other—”

  “We are serious about each other,” he cut in, his expression growing flirtatious. She swatted at him, but he easily captured her. “You aren’t backing out already, are you? We’ve only been a thing for ten minutes, tops.”

  Giggling, she evaded the kisses he seemed determined to give. “Ryan, this is important. First impressions count.” />
  “No worries. You’ve already made an incredible impression—on me, anyway.” Driving the point home, he kissed her urgently. When he finished, he said, “Will you relax? She’ll think you’re fantastic.”

  “Good.”

  With puzzlement, he looked past her. “Heads up. We have company.”

  The warning jolted Cat. Ryan let her go.

  At the edge of the forest, Silvia shielded her eyes for a better view into the dense stand of trees. Most of the Sirens were gone, but Tilda, Ruth, and Norah stood nearby. Ruth hadn’t removed her headdress. The drooping feathers fluttered around her scowl of disapproval.

  She pointed directly at them.

  Cat got a nasty image of public disgrace and scarlet letters. “We’re doomed.”

  “Unlikely. I survived Ruth’s hex, didn’t I?”

  “Ruth is the least of your worries—and mine.”

  Immediately he caught her drift. “This isn’t exactly how I’d hoped to meet your mother. We’ll manage. Who’s with her?”

  “The pretty elf with the cinnamon-colored hair? Don’t let Tilda’s tiny stature fool you. She has an outsize ability for gossip. Half of Sweet Lake will hear I was fooling around with a man in the woods before you can say scandal three times.”

  “And the tall woman?”

  “Norah will flirt, but she’s essentially harmless. She’s buried four husbands, which put a real kink in her eHarmony bio. Know any older gents with sturdy constitutions? She’ll be less bitchy toward the rest of us if someone asks her out.”

  Ryan plastered on a nervous grin. “Four husbands, eh? When a woman has that sort of track record, I don’t play matchmaker.”

  “Well, then, you might as well meet my mother. She plans to keep my father indefinitely.” Scooping up the bag of goodies they’d left under a tree, she gave Ryan the once-over. She reached up to fix his mussed hair precisely as he began smoothing down hers. “We could make a run for the hills, but Mami’s pretty fast. Tilda’s even faster.”

  “Stop stalling. They’re watching us.” He gave her a second take. With a look of apology, he gingerly touched her neck. “This is not good. Nope. Not good at all.”