by Irene Hannon
He picked up his can of soda, took another long drink, then crushed the fragile aluminum in his hand.
“The next day she took her life by swallowing a very lethal combination of pills.”
The words hung in the air between them as Marci’s stomach twisted into a hard knot.
“Oh, Christopher!” Her words came out hushed. “I’m so sorry.”
“So was I.” His voice roughened, and he cleared his throat. “The guilt was crushing. I felt as if it were my fault, that there must have been something I could have done.”
“What?”
He shook his head. “I’m not sure. But her parents certainly thought I was to blame, based on the letter they sent me. She was their only child.”
“Why couldn’t they see she needed help?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s easier to pretend a problem doesn’t exist than to address it in a responsible way.”
Marci couldn’t argue with that. She’d been there. With the same tragic results.
When she didn’t respond, Christopher turned to her, apology in his eyes. “This was more than you wanted to know, wasn’t it?”
“No.” She forced her own regrets aside to focus on him. “I’m honored you shared it with me. And I’m sorry for all the pain it’s caused you. I take it that’s what prompted you to give up your practice and move here?”
“Yes. I started over. And continued to struggle with the guilt.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Christopher.”
“I’ve finally accepted that. But it has made me question my judgment about women.”
“I can understand that.”
“I get good vibes from you, though.”
At the sudden tenderness in his tone, she felt the pressure of tears in her throat and fumbled for her own soda, buying herself a moment to rein in her emotions. She didn’t have Denise’s psychological issues, but she did have secrets. And in the end, they could be just as big a turnoff for Christopher as the problems of his Boston girlfriend.
Taking a swig, she resettled the can in the sand and summoned up a smile. “Well, I don’t know about vibes, but I do know we’ll be eating in the dark if we don’t start our sandwiches. Are you in the mood for dinner, or should we call it a night?”
“I can eat. To be honest, it felt good to talk about the whole thing. The only other person here who’s heard my story is Henry.” He reached into the bag and withdrew the sandwiches. Handing hers over, he began to unwrap his.
“What did he have to say about it?” Marci peeled back the paper on her sandwich, her own appetite nonexistent.
The whisper of a smile played at his lips. “That what happened with Denise wasn’t my fault. That the problem was hers, not mine. Henry is very loyal.”
“And right.”
“It took me a long time to accept that. But thanks to a lot of prayer and a lot of reflection, I’m finally coming around.” He took a bite of his sandwich.
Marci followed his lead, forcing herself to chew and swallow.
“I think we’ve covered enough heavy stuff for one night. Why don’t we talk about Henry’s coming-home party?” he suggested.
“Sounds good to me.”
For the rest of their meal, they focused on the older man. And by the time they walked back down the oyster-shell lane toward his cottage, Marci felt more relaxed. She could tell he did, too.
Pausing beside her car, she dug through her purse for the key as he opened the door for her. “Thanks for dinner.”
“It was my pleasure.”
He leaned against the hood and folded his arms over his chest, obviously in no hurry to end the evening. A full moon overhead gave an ethereal glow to the landscape, and she could glimpse the shimmering sea between Henry’s cottage and the one Christopher occupied.
She couldn’t imagine a more romantic scene.
Stifling that thought, she tossed her purse onto the passenger seat and pasted on a smile as she looked at him over the door. “Thanks again.”
He pushed off from the hood and moved closer.
Too close.
“I have something I want to ask you. Not related to the job.”
She gripped the edge of the door with one hand, trying to ignore the powerful magnetism that was sending her heart into a tailspin as he circled around to stand in front of her.
“Okay.”
“My parents are coming to Nantucket for a couple of days this week. We’re planning to go to dinner on Tuesday. I’d be honored if you’d join us.”
He was inviting her to meet his parents.
“I…uh…wouldn’t want them to get the wrong idea. If you know what I mean.”
“I know what you mean.” He closed the distance between them. “And I think they’ll get exactly the right idea.” Slowly he reached up and touched her cheek.
Her breath caught in her throat.
“We’ve been dancing around the attraction between us since the beginning, Marci. I think we need to explore it. Don’t you?”
She might—if she could get her mind in gear. But with Christopher a whisper away, the gentle brush of his fingertips warming her cheek and the moon silvering the world around her, she couldn’t seem to engage the left side of her brain.
He smiled down at her. “I don’t think I’ve ever rendered a woman speechless before. But I do agree that talk is superfluous.”
Resting one hand lightly on her shoulder, he captured one of her springy curls in his strong, lean fingers. Then, his eyes darkening, he kissed her.
Marci stopped breathing.
It had been years since she’d been kissed. And never like this. With tenderness. And reverence. And deep caring.
She wanted it to go on forever.
Instead, Christopher backed off, leaving her still clinging to the door—and to his shirt. She’d bunched the front into her fist, she realized, releasing a handful of wrinkles.
“Did I convince you?”
His voice sounded several shades deeper than usual. And oh-so-appealing. It took every ounce of her willpower not to throw herself back into his arms.
“Yeah.” It was the only possible response.
The smile he gave her warmed her all the way to her toes. “I’ll call you with the details.”
He lifted a hand once more to her hair, as if savoring the feel of it between his fingers. Then, with a sigh, he backed off. “Drive safe.”
She nodded, still not trusting her voice.
It took her two tries to get the key into the ignition. And as she pulled away, her gaze flitted between the road and her rearview mirror, where the tall, broad-shouldered man bathed in moonlight was reflected.
He looked like a figure from a dream. The sort of perfect man a lonely woman might conjure up in her imagination to fill the empty place in her heart.
Except Christopher Morgan was real.
But when moonlight and dreams gave way to reality and the harsh light of day, would he continue to hang around—or would he vanish like the mist of a Nantucket morning?
Chapter Twelve
“I’m perfectly capable of doing that myself, thank you.”
As Henry shooed away the aide who was trying to help him put on his robe, Marci grinned from the doorway. Each time she’d visited the assisted-living facility in the past few days, he’d been livelier.
Spotting her, he grinned back. “Well, now, if that isn’t a sight for sore eyes.”
“If you need me, ring the bell, Mr. Calhoun,” the young aide said.
“I’ll do that. But I expect I’ll be fine. Especially now that I have such a pretty visitor.”
As the woman exited, Marci strolled over to Henry. “You’re looking good.”
“I’m feeling better. And getting awful tired of this place.”
“Christopher says he expects to spring you on Thursday. Just in time for Independence Day. How appropriate is that?”
“Couldn’t be better.” He motioned her to a chair near the window and took the facin
g one. “He was in this morning. Mentioned you were having dinner with him and his parents tonight.”
She shifted in her seat, surprised Christopher had passed on that bit of news. “He caught me at a weak moment.”
He squinted at her. “Don’t you like him?”
“Sure. What’s not to like?” She tried for a flippant tone. “But I don’t want to give his parents the wrong impression.”
“What impression would that be?”
“You know…that there’s something going on between us.”
Henry leaned back and chuckled. “‘There are none so blind as those that will not see,’ to quote an Irish fellow from hundreds of years ago. Still true today, too.”
Marci narrowed her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I may be old, but there’s nothing wrong with my powers of perception. Anyone in the same room with you two would have to be dead not to pick up the chemistry.”
With a sigh of capitulation, Marci slumped back in her chair. “Okay. Maybe there’s a spark.”
“A spark.” Henry hooted with laughter. “My dear girl, it’s like Fourth of July.”
She made a face. “Very funny. That still doesn’t mean there’s anything going on.”
“There should be.”
She gave him an exasperated look. “Why are you so interested, anyway?”
“Because I’ve been after that boy for two years to find himself a woman to romance. Not just any woman, mind you. Someone good and kind and smart and funny and spunky. I knew the minute I laid eyes on you that you were his perfect match.”
Marci wanted to sink through the floor. First, because her feelings had been so transparent. And second, because no way would she ever be worthy of a man like Christopher—no matter how much J.C. tried to build up her self-esteem. Her one slim hope was that if Christopher’s interest in her was really serious—and that was a big if, no matter what Henry thought—he might find a way to overlook her past.
And if a man with such a kind and generous heart couldn’t manage that, she was sunk. Forever.
Shoving that depressing thought aside, she wagged a warning finger at the older man. “Don’t read too much into this thing with Christopher’s parents, Henry. It’s just a dinner. We’ve never even been out on a date.”
“I bet he’s kissed you, though.”
Try as she might, she couldn’t stop the sudden rush of warmth that flooded her cheeks.
“Hot dog!” Henry slapped his hand against his thigh in glee. “I’m proud of that boy. I always knew he had good judgment, and this proves it.” He cocked his head. “I’m guessing he told you about Denise.”
“Yes. And it’s also clear he wants to be cautious.” She paused and glanced out the window. “The truth is, I may not be the best woman for him, Henry. There are a lot of reasons why it might not work.”
“Name one.”
“We come from very different worlds in terms of family life, finances, exposure to culture.”
“Name an important one.”
“That is important.”
“No, it’s not. If Marjorie and I could find a way to make it work, you can, too.”
“What do you mean?”
“Marjorie and I met at a USO dance. Prettiest little thing I’d ever seen. Plus a first-class brain. My kind of woman. We felt the spark right away, too.
“Trouble was, her father was a self-made man with a fifth-grade education who didn’t much value formal education. He’d risen to the top in his field and made a lot of money after learning everything he needed to know in the school of hard knocks. By his standards, he was successful. He’d built a flourishing company, had a nice house in a nice neighborhood, didn’t want for any material possession. And he was determined that the man who married his daughter would measure up to that yardstick as well.”
With a rueful twist of his lips, Henry shook his head. “That sure wasn’t me. My idea of success was opening the minds of young people to the works of Shakespeare, or helping them learn to appreciate and love the masterful use of language.”
When he stopped, Marci leaned forward, intrigued. “How did you reconcile that difference?”
“We didn’t. But that didn’t stop Marjorie from loving me. She said she didn’t care about all the trappings of wealth. That none of that mattered if she couldn’t have the man she loved. So she left it all behind. And I don’t think she ever regretted it, not for one second. We had a wonderful life together here on Nantucket.”
Marci gave him a wistful smile. “That’s a beautiful story, Henry.”
“True, too. And if it worked out for me, it can work out for you.”
If the only stumbling block with Christopher was their different backgrounds, Henry might be right, Marci conceded as she took in the flawless blue sky outside the window. Christopher didn’t strike her as the type of man who would let differences in class or financial status dictate his circle of acquaintances. Or choice of wife.
But there was much more they’d have to overcome.
“You don’t look convinced.”
At the older man’s comment, she turned back to him.
“I’m supposed to be leaving in less than two weeks, Henry.”
“Christopher told me he offered you the director job for Caring Connections.”
She played with the zipper on her purse. “I haven’t decided what to do about that.”
“You want my opinion? Take it. You can always go back to Chicago if things don’t work out. One lesson I’ve learned in life is never pass up an opportunity. Some of them only come around once.” He let a few beats of silence pass, then leaned forward with an impish grin. “Now give me another hint about this surprise you and Christopher have cooked up for me at home.”
Forcing herself to switch gears, Marci bantered back and forth with the older man, evading his questions about the surprise while dropping a few more tantalizing hints.
Half an hour later, when Henry pushed her out the door to go get ready for her date—as he insisted on calling it—Marci didn’t argue. She did want to look her best tonight.
Because even though she had serious doubts about the future for her and Christopher, Henry was right. Some opportunities only came around once.
And given the strong connection between them, she’d be a fool not to give this thing a chance.
As Christopher ascended the steps to the porch of The Summer House restaurant, high on a bluff on the outskirts of ’Sconset, he tapped in the number his exchange had passed on. While the call went through, he took in the sweeping view of the Atlantic. In a way he was glad his father had been delayed at the hotel with a business call. Using the excuse that he didn’t want to keep Marci waiting, he’d gone on ahead. If he was lucky, he might have a few minutes with her before his parents showed up.
Other than a quick phone call finalizing tonight’s arrangements, he hadn’t seen her since their parting Sunday night. Nor had that brief conversation given him a reading on her feelings.
Kissing her had been risky. But the magic of the moonlight had chased away common sense. And since she hadn’t exactly jumped at the chance to take the director job, he’d hoped the kiss might help seal the deal.
It hadn’t. And when he’d broached the subject on the phone yesterday, she’d sidestepped it.
He tried not to think about the ticking clock.
Or the plane that would whisk her away in eleven days.
As he chatted with his patient on the phone, he turned away from the sea and glanced at the bar through the bank of tall French windows. Scanning the room, he spotted a blonde with fabulous legs in a black cocktail dress.
Marci was already here.
Still talking to his patient, he moved across the porch and stepped inside. Marci was angled away from him in the bar area, and he stayed off to the side to finish the call, his mind only half on the conversation as he leaned one shoulder against the wall. His patient’s stuffy nose didn’t require total concentration.
He’d much rather focus on the lovely woman waiting for him.
Apparently the brawny thirty-something guy at the bar felt the same way, Christopher realized, noting the direction of the man’s gaze.
It was aimed at Marci’s legs.
The guy picked up his drink, slid off his bar stool and ambled over to Marci. Christopher had no trouble hearing his slightly slurred voice. “Hi gorgeous. Can I buy you a drink?”
Marci turned slightly toward the guy and gave him a quick once-over. “No, thank you. I’m waiting for someone.”
“You don’t have to wait alone.”
The dark-haired jerk leered at her and moved closer. Too close. “No one should let a lovely lady cool her heels.”
Ending the call with uncharacteristic abruptness, Christopher strode toward the duo. Marci had no doubt been deflecting passes from men for years. But she wasn’t going to have to get rid of this guy alone, he resolved, his jaw tightening.
As he joined them, both turned in his direction. Ignoring Marci’s surprised look, he took her arm and eased her behind him, then turned to face her “admirer.” The guy’s eyes were a bit glassy, his reflexes slow, and when he took a startled step back his drink sloshed out of his glass as he struggled to keep his balance. The smell of alcohol on his breath was potent.
Christopher gave him a cold, hard stare. “Back off, mister. The lady isn’t interested.”
“Hey, buddy, I’m not looking for trouble.” The guy took another step back and held up a hand, palm forward.
“Good.” Christopher kept his own hand firmly on Marci’s arm and urged her away from the bar and around a corner. “Are you okay?”
Her lips tipped into a wry smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Sure. Trust me, I’ve run into that type before.”
“I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with that kind of stuff, Marci. More than I can say. And I’m also sorry about what just happened. This is usually a classy place.”
“Hey, it’s okay. Jerks are everywhere. I’m used to it. Blonde hair and a decent body seem to attract men the same way light attracts moths.”
She spoke in a matter-of-fact tone, with not even the barest hint of conceit. Christopher figured she’d long ago come to consider her good looks as much a curse as a blessing. He could see why, after tonight.