Those Cassabaw Days

by Cindy Miles

  She hadn’t regained consciousness on her own, and the doctor had felt it best to keep her in an induced coma to keep possible brain swelling down.

  It was now a waiting game. The worst kind of game, in Matt’s eyes. He hated it. Hated the hell out of it.

  Matt stayed by her side throughout the night. Held her hand. Barely noticed when Eric came in, brought him coffee and left. All Matt could do was sit, stare at her face, the tube going through her mouth and into her lungs to keep her breathing, and watch the forced and unnatural look of her chest rising and falling to the machine’s settings.

  Her head had been stitched, an area in the back, and was wrapped in gauze. She wore a hospital gown. And was lying perfectly, completely still. Too still.

  Pulling his chair as close as possible to the bed, he leaned his elbows on the mattress, dropped his head and closed his eyes. And prayed.

  * * *

  EMILY FELT A weight in her hand. She tried to open her eyes, but her lids were so heavy—heavy as if someone had sewn them together. She breathed in, and pushed them open. She blinked several times to clear her vision.

  Matt sat close to her, and his eyes were closed, still black-and-blue, his face full of cuts, and his hand was holding hers. She didn’t want to disturb him, so she simply watched. Noticed how his dark lashes lay against his cheek. Noticed the even darker stubble that now covered his jaw.

  Her entire body felt sore, and her head hurt, so Emily shifted her weight a little. At least, she tried. The moment she stirred, Matt’s eyes popped open and fastened on her.

  “Em?”

  Lines creased along the sides of his emerald eyes, between his brows. Emily’s gaze darted around the room, realizing she wasn’t home. “Where am I?” she whispered. “My throat is sore.”

  “Shh,” he said softly. “Don’t talk.” A wan smile pulled one side of his mouth up. “I know how difficult that probably is for you, but try your best. And just listen.”

  Emily nodded.

  “You’re crazy, first of all,” he chided. “Do you know that?”

  Again, she nodded.

  Matt inhaled. “Do you remember the storm? Henry? Being at old man Catesby’s?”

  She nodded.

  “Do you remember climbing up to the loft in the barn to try and coax him down, and instead falling?”

  Emily thought about it. She remembered the storm, yes. Remembered battening down the café. She didn’t remember falling. Slowly, she frowned and shook her head.

  Matt nodded. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it.” He laced their fingers together. “You worried about Catesby, tried to get him to come home with you. You fell, Em. Fell and hit your head pretty hard.” He stroked her cheek. “You had us pretty damn worried for a while.”

  “Is Mr. Catesby okay?” she hoarsely whispered.

  Matt fake glowered at her. “Yes, he is. And you’re breaking the no-talking rule.”

  She smiled sheepishly and shrugged. “Jep? Owen? Mr. Wimpy and Ms. Frances? The guys?”

  Matt frowned. “All fine.” He sighed. “The storm has passed, honey. You’ve been out for three days.” He leaned close. “You want to know damages?”

  She nodded again.

  “Both of our houses are fine. The docks are fine. Even the dock house only lost a few pieces of tin.” He looked at her. “The Windchimer did good. Lost some shingles, a few wind chimes, some rain got in but we’ve already taken care of it.”

  She closed her eyes, relieved. Then, they snapped open. “Is there something wrong with me?”

  Matt’s lips quirked. “Yeah. The doctor said you’re weird. For life.”

  She stuck her tongue out at him. Then she lifted her hands, looked at her fingers laced with his. With her free hand, she tugged at her blanket until her feet popped out, and she wiggled her toes. All working. She rested her head back, closed her eyes and sighed with relief.

  “The doctor wants you to stay in a couple more days, just to make sure you’re all clear.”

  She kept her eyes closed and nodded.

  “Go to sleep now. Stop bothering me with so much chitchat.”

  Emily stuck her tongue out again, then smiled and closed her eyes.

  “Hey. Do you remember me telling you how crazy in love with you I am?”

  Emily cracked open one eye. She smiled. Shook her head.

  Matt drew close, his lips brushing hers. “Well,” he whispered. “I’m crazy in love with you, Emily Shay Quinn.” He pulled back. “Crazy, I tell ya.”

  Emily smiled, felt the tears stream from her eyes as she searched the emerald green depths of Matthew Malone.

  He had stayed by her side. He’d saved her. And he’d found himself in the process. Her heart eased, and the fear slipped further back into the shadows. Everyone she’d come to love was okay. Henry hadn’t eaten quite as much as he’d have liked to, and that was a good thing, indeed.

  EPILOGUE

  “KEEP YOUR EYES closed, Em. I swear, I mean it. No peeking.”

  Emily grinned at Matt’s barely threatening words. “Okay, party pooper. But you’ve got me blindfolded. I can’t see, anyway.”

  “Yeah, but you cheat at every turn, so do as I say for once. Even if you feel something crazy, keep them closed. And hang on tight.”

  Matt carried her. Where to, she hadn’t a clue. All she knew was that he’d blindfolded her, put her in the Nova and driven somewhere on Cassabaw. Now he was carrying her in his arms.

  It’d been two months since Henry had swept over the island. Nearly two months since Matt had come back home, confessed his love. Had it been two months already? Time flew by so fast now. A slight crisp fall feeling clung to the air as September slowly arrived. And she was greedy, wanting to spend every single second with the man she loved. His family, who were now her family.

  Matt was no longer a flight risk. Although he’d unexpectedly be called on secret missions—dangerous ones—Emily knew that was a part of him that was necessary. It completed him in a way no one else probably understood, except maybe her. Yes, she’d be fearful when the time came for him to up and leave again. But she’d accept it as a part of who Matt Malone was. He’d come home to her. That much she knew now.

  He loved her all the more for it, too.

  Meanwhile, Matt had partnered with Ms. Tandy in King’s Ferry and opened up a restoration business specializing in vintage vehicles. Matt was good at it—like an artist. And Ms. Tandy was one smart cookie when it came to business and vehicle parts. She confessed to loving the smell of motor oil and gasoline—and Emily had to agree. Especially if the smell was clinging to Matt Malone. He seemed content now, as if a piece of him had finally anchored. And that old mischievous Matt Malone had finally broken the barriers and was freed. And boy, did Emily love that Matt.

  Reagan was planning a trip to Cassabaw on her next leave, and Emily couldn’t wait. Her little sister had called the week before, heading out on a new mission. A short one, she’d said, nothing to worry about. But Emily hadn’t heard from her since, and although she tried to push it away, worry and fear peeked from the shadows of her brain. She prayed her sister would call soon. Matt was right, though. Reagan’s choices were her own. She was happy. What more could Emily hope for?

  Matt kissed her temple then, tilted, grunted and set her down. Soon, he was beside her. Emily saw nothing but darkness. Even when she did try to peek, she could see nothing but a slight strip of light coming from beneath her blindfold.

  “Matt, come on,” she huffed.

  “Patience.”

  “Ugh.”

  Matt’s laugh was deep, raspy and very, very close. He nuzzled her neck. “I love having you at my whim.”

  “Hmm. The whim of a madman. That makes you sound a little cuckoo,” Emily accused.

  “Yep.”

  A loud hissing sounded close by, and Emily jumped. Matt laughed again, and what was steady beneath their feet now shifted and became unsteady, and then they were lifting, rising, going up. Emily’s arms gra
sped tightly around Matt’s waist, clinging. “Matt! What’s happening! I want to take the blindfold off!”

  “Not yet,” he warned. “Almost. Just wait.”

  Emily clung to Matt, who’d started humming softly to himself, then closer, in her ear. It was their song, and in the next second the hiss sounded again, and then Matt’s knuckles brushed her head as he loosened her blindfold.

  Emily gasped as she stared over the basket of the hot air balloon, and looked out over Cassabaw Station, way below them.

  “Emily—Raife, our driver,” Matt said, introducing the hot-air balloonist.

  Emily looked at Raife, who appeared to be in his midsixties. She smiled, and he returned it. “Nice to make your acquaintance, Raife. I really like your dimples. They remind me of a baby’s chubby hands and knuckles.”

  “Thank you,” he replied with a grin. “I like yours, too.” Then he went about his business of flying.

  Emily turned her face up to Matt. “You’ve brought me to a flying machine, Matt!”

  “Yep,” he answered. Then pointed over her head.

  She followed his gaze to the sky above Cassabaw, and just in time to see a small airplane doing loops and barrel rolls. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “That’s so cool!”

  Matt chuckled and nuzzled her neck. “Keep watching. It gets better.”

  As the balloon soared higher over the Atlantic, Emily watched as smoke began to stream from the airplane. Soon, words began to form in the early-sunrise sky, and amid shades of silvery ginger and carroty gold, she made out a sentence.

  Be my girl forever? Marry me, Em! Emily read the words.

  Slowly, she turned to Matt, whose gaze shimmered emerald and sage and green mossy moss all at once. Those eyes softened, and he swept a thumb over her lips. “I’ve never seen you speechless before—”

  Emily pressed her lips to Matt’s, silencing him into a long, savory-sweet kiss that she thought could’ve lasted for hours. “Yes, yes, I’ll marry you, Mattinski!” she mumbled against his mouth. “I will!”

  “Emily Shay Quinn, I’ll love you till the day I die,” he said against her lips. “Forever.”

  “And I’ll love you till the day I die, too, Matthew Malone,” she repeated. And kissed him. Reaching for his hand, she hooked her pinkie around his. “Forever.”

  He lifted their hands, kissed their pinkies. “Promise?”

  She smiled, and joy filled her heart. “Promise.”

  Matt wrapped his arms around her, and she settled back against his chest as they rode the sky above Cassabaw, the words lingering in the air like some perfectly airbrushed clouds, and they both began singing their favorite old song.

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from NIGHTS UNDER THE TENNESSEE STARS by Joanne Rock.

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  PROLOGUE

  ERIN FINLEY HAD plane tickets, ID and her carry-on suitcase set for a romantic long weekend. Too bad the “romantic” part was decidedly absent, since Patrick was not at the airport as promised.

  “Flight 8402 to Nashville, now boarding all rows,” the airline’s desk agent announced over a tinny PA system at the gate.

  Damn it. Erin checked her phone—still no messages even though she’d texted him. Nervously, she toyed with the handle on her sticker-covered 1940s-era vintage suitcase, wishing Patrick’s black leather duffel sat beside it. Her financial consultant boyfriend loved to tease her about her quirky fashion sense, which was inspired by her work as an antiques dealer and part-time boutique manager. Despite the teasing, he’d developed an artistic side since they’d met. He had taken up painting, a growing passion that he’d credited her with during a really awesome talk they’d recently had about their future. A future finally looking up for Erin. When they’d been in the shopping mall last weekend, she’d caught Patrick having a hushed conversation with a jeweler. She had every reason to think a ring might be in the works.

  She checked her watch. They had traveled often in the past few months to make their long-distance relationship work, and he’d never been late for a date before. If anything, this trip should be easier than previous ones as she had stayed in Louisville, Kentucky, for a few weeks to work and he was based in Cincinnati, so, for the first time, they would be flying out of the same airport.

  He’d been excited about their visit to Heartache, Tennessee, where he would meet her family for the first time. Staid, sweet Patrick didn’t seem the type to get cold feet, even though he knew all about the strained relationships among the Finley clan, which was why she purposely didn’t spend much time back home. She loved that Patrick shared her values, and she wondered if he might wait to pop the question until they were back in Heartache so she could enjoy the moment with her family—dysfunctional though they might be.

  Her phone vibrated, and relief mingled with annoyance when she saw his number appear on the small screen. She thumbed the on button and tucked her cell to her ear.

  “They’re boarding now,” she blurted. “Please say you’re already in the airport and past Security.” She stood on her toes to see farther down the concourse, hoping to spot his neat sandy hair and his quick, efficient steps.

  “Who is this?” a woman’s voice demanded on the other end of the call.

  Confused, Erin sank down to her heels.

  “Excuse me?” She held the phone away from her ear to double-check the number.

  Patrick’s digits were still on the screen.

  “Who. Is. This.” The speaker on the other end sounded tense. Angry.

  The tone did nothing to improve Erin’s mood when she was already stressed and nervous.

  “I might ask you the same question,” she shot back, raising her voice as the desk agent announced the final boarding call for her flight. “Where is Patrick and why do you have his phone?”

  Had he left it behind at Security? Maybe some crazy woman had picked it up.

  “You home-wrecking bitch.”

  The snarled accusation ripped into Erin’s ear at full volume.

  Thoughts of the airport, the flight and the romantic weekend scattered. Her focus narrowed to the call.

  “Ex-excuse me?” An icy tingling started in her fingers and spread like a cold frost through her veins.

  “Why are there twenty calls to you in my husband’s phone in the last three days?” The woman had shouted the questions.

  Husband?

  Erin’s heart stopped. Her gut plunged worse than any coaster she’d ever ridden. She walked away from her suitcase to stand at the window overlooking the tarmac. She needed a quieter place. Needed a second to make sense of what was happening.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she whispered, her voice failing her along with her brain cells.

  Through the phone, she could hear a man’s voice speaking quietly. Muffled arguing.

  Erin tipped her forehead to the cold pane of glass and concentrated on the voices. It couldn’t be Patrick. She knew everything about him. They’d spent almost every weekend together for months, ever since meeting in a remote Vermont town where they’d both been traveling for business. Since then, she’d coordinated several of her trips to coincide with his, never thinking twice about the fact she hadn’t been to his home. He was never there, after all—one of the many ways she’d thought they were alike. They were in love. He was meet
ing her family for the first time because they’d waited until they were really sure about each other. Erin was a traditional-values kind of girl.

  Maybe Patrick had a crazy stalker who had a crush on him or something. A woman who wanted to get rid of the competition.

  “Excuse me.” Erin straightened, hoping she could resolve this mess before she had to listen to any more lunacy from whoever had intercepted Patrick’s phone. “Are you still there?”

  More muffled voices on the other end.

  “Am I here? Hell yes, I’m here,” the woman said. “I will always be here. You, on the other hand, are the intruding—” the string of expletives blistered Erin’s ears “—who had better get out of my husband’s life before I hunt you down and take care of you myself.”

  Erin shut out the threats and bad names. She’d grown up with a mom who suffered from severe mood swings, so Erin had plenty of experience withstanding tirades. The trick was to stay level, reasonable and get out of the conversation as fast as possible. Except what if this woman wasn’t a stalker at all? She did have Patrick’s phone.

  Her stomach dropped to her toes as she grappled to make sense of this.

  “Look, you may have picked up the wrong phone somewhere. My boyfriend is single—”

  “Single?” A harsh laugh punctuated the word. “Is that what Pat told you? He has kids—two sons, eight and six years old—you slut. I’m hauling them to baseball games and birthday parties on my own every weekend so he can jet around the country as if he never made vows to me? As if a fancy diamond necklace would make me forget he’s a cheating bastard who can’t stay home with his family?”

  The jewelry store.

  He hadn’t been buying Erin a ring. He’d been buying a gift for his wife. Something shifted inside her. Her knees wobbled and she slapped one hand on the window for support.

  This woman did not have the wrong phone. They were not talking about different men.