Anchored by Death (A Jo Oliver Thriller Book 3)

by Catherine Finger

  Quinn and I once lived for nothing more than the early morning sound of a fawn crashing through the woods, looking for its mother. We were both in love with the memories we shared, with life itself, and with the land of our youth.

  But the love I had for my Nick Vitarello eclipsed my love of the land.

  I stood up, intending to limp after Gino and stopped. Pain sliced through me with every step.

  Gino must’ve heard me grunting. He appeared next to me, glowering. “Why are you on your feet?”

  “I’m fine. I’m fine.” I tried to swat him away as he moved in, deftly maneuvering my shoulder over his, careful to avoid my bandages, transferring my weight to his. “Ooh, that is better actually. You may proceed.”

  He nodded and instead of moving ahead, he swooped down and gathered me into his arms, carrying me like a toddler off the porch, into the parking lot. He kept walking, away from the store, toward the tree line. Gino carried me to a huge tree stump, lowering me gently onto its sturdy seat. I panted for a moment, grateful to be motionless, waiting for the pounding in my head to fade to a manageable thrum. I sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly before training my eyes on the bait shop.

  Gino stood beside me as first Nick, then Bhatt scrambled out of the store and stood still at the sight of us, at the sight of me. Bhatt’s eyes grew wide as saucers when she saw me sitting alone. She nodded at Gino, elbowed Nick in the ribs and retreated into the store.

  Nick stood alone, waning sunlight framing his body, still as a buck.

  “Go to your woman, man.” Gino walked toward the store, nodding as he passed Nick.

  I sat transfixed, my body yearning for Nick’s. A clarion call as ancient as time was welling up from deep within. Had he heard it? Would he answer me?

  Nick’s body softened into motion, and he kept his eyes locked on mine as he picked his way through the gravel, mud, and roots on his way to me. I wanted to stand up, but exhaustion and a host of stronger feelings kept me pinned to the trunk. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Bhatt lock arms with Gino on the bait shop porch, shifting her weight while she watched Nick swing around and sit down next to me.

  Nick’s breathing slowed as he sat next to me on the aged stump. As Gino followed Bhatt back inside, we eased closer until every inch of our bodies that could touch moved together. His damp jacket felt cool against my skin.

  I tugged at the thick leather. “You didn’t think to shed this thing before going overboard?”

  He smiled. “No. I know how much you like it.” He kissed the top of my head, his hands moving carefully to my face. “Look what he did to you.” He drew back, examining me.

  “Relax, baby—we’ve been over this. I’m fine.” I took his hands away from the bandage on my neck and placed them around my waist.

  He yielded to my touch, leaning his head toward me, drawing his lips near enough to kiss. I pulled the collar of his wet leather jacket down and nuzzled his neck, breathing in the scent of him.

  The touch of my lips against his collarbone unleashed a torrent inside me. An overpowering wall of impossibly tough love cascaded over me, and my heart opened to receive him. I pushed my hands against the stump and struggled to my feet, careful to keep his hands around my waist. My lips traced his brow, leaving soft kisses in their wake. I kissed his eyelids, drawing my fingertips across his sculpted cheekbones. My Italian god. An electric verse from Exodus 20 sparked through my mind. I am the Lord Your God … You shall have no other gods before Me.

  I stand corrected.

  I meant, my Italian hottie. You are my God, heavenly Father.

  I opened my eyes. Nick was staring at me intently, soft brown eyes shining with love. It was now or never.

  “So, Nick, uh …”

  His eyes twinkled, but he said nothing.

  “Well, what I’m trying to say is …” It was all so clear in my heart, in my head. Why can’t I find the right words?

  “Yes?” Nick drew the word out, his voice laced with mischief.

  “So, it, uh … well, it’s more of a … you know, I mean, it’s like … What I’m trying to say is …”

  “Maybe I can help.” Nick leaned back and took a deep breath. Easing himself off the stump, he slipped to his knees.

  He took my hands in his. “Josephine Oliver. I have something to say to you. From the moment we met—”

  “Are you cold? I feel cold. And you’re soaking wet. Isn’t it chilly out here?” I willed myself to stop talking. I hoped my nerves would get the memo. Soon.

  He smiled. “From the first day I saw you, all hot and sassy in your brand-new badge, barking out orders at resentful recruits—”

  I squeezed his hands and smiled. “Like you?”

  “From that moment forward, and through all the moments in between that have brought us to right now, you’ve become the best part of my life. My North Star.”

  Embers of delight warmed me from somewhere deep inside.

  “I realized years ago that you’re family. And then one day I knew …”

  Clouds cleared from a fall sky in my mind. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. “Oh, Nick …”

  “I’m in love with you. And the only other woman I love almost as much is a tough little girl. And I want nothing more than for you, and me, and Sammie …” He shifted on the ground, popping one knee up.

  Time slowed to a crawl, and the breeze moved through the trees, leaf by leaf. Stars burst in my head as his hand disappeared into an inner pocket of his leather jacket. The jacket. He’d kept the jacket at all costs today. He took my left hand and kissed it. Then he held up an impossibly beautiful diamond ring.

  “Josie, marry me. Please.”

  I lifted my hand, stretching it out to him. Tears welled up as he nudged the ring onto my finger. “Yes, Nick. Yes.” I joined him on the ground, running my hands over his face, looking into his deep brown eyes. My heart swelled up, heat flushed my face.

  He opened his jacket a second time, unzipping an inner compartment and withdrawing a sheaf of papers, wrapped tightly in plastic.

  I gasped. “Nick, is that?”

  “Shhh.” He traced his finger over my lips, kissed me, then tugged the papers from the bag and unfolded them.

  The gold seal of the Paradise County Courthouse was the first thing I saw. Right next to the signature of the judge who had finally set my daughter free. To be my daughter. “Nick. We’re going to have a baby. A beautiful seven-year-old girl.” I smiled, joy blossoming through me as I snuggled into his chest.

  Nick’s arms tightened around me. “Even better. We already have her.” He kissed the top of my head and held me close. Dusk had blanketed the clearing, last gasps of steam rising off the river as temperatures collided over the roiling water. I looked up at the darkening sky, Nick’s anchoring presence releasing the tight-muscled, clenched-gut feeling I spent too much of my waking hours caught up in. I stayed present, linked with him, watching the sky move from golds and pinks to a deep blue, glittering with nascent stars.

  From the safety of Nick’s arms, I drifted. Jagged photos of the people I’ve loved and lost popped up in my mind’s eye, then toppled like targets at a shooting gallery. Del and me, deliriously happy—replaced by me alone, bruised, sobbing. Del and his mistress on our boat at our house—replaced by that final horrible picture of them forever etched in my memory. Sammie, war-torn and weary eyed—replaced by Sammie, glowing and safely wrapped up between Nick and me.

  The garish shooting gallery faded away and softened images fell gently like oak leaves on a fall day. Gino’s soft brown eyes, shining with love. Cliff and Georgi, sitting on their back porch. Mitch, Jules, and my women and men in blue standing together back in Haversport. The images fell faster in my mind, covering a forest floor, ready for harvest. Each photo stood alone, yet connected. My neighbors, Jim and Donna, dogs frolicking at their feet, stood alone, yet
rooted together with all of the other people woven into my life. My simple, beautiful life, grounded in community.

  I pressed my ear against Nick’s chest, reveling in the heartbeat of the man I loved—solid, steady, and always right there in front of me. Delight surged through me. This is the man I want. The love I need. The perfect father for my Sammie.

  I closed my eyes and breathed a prayer of thanks. God had brought this amazing man into my life again and again and again. Nick Vitarello was my man. Had always been my man, would always be my man. That it’d taken me at least two near-death experiences and one bad marriage to realize he was meant for me only served to underscore the truth. Nick was mine, and I was his.

  God had answered my wandering heart’s cry for love—for an anchor for my heart, just as He was the anchor for my soul.

  About the Author

  Catherine Finger loves to dream, write, and tell stories. Recently retired from a wonderful career in public education, she celebrates the ability to choose how to spend her time in a new way during the second half of life. So far, she chooses to write books, ride horses, serve others, and generally find her way into and out of trouble both on the road and at home. She lives in the Midwest with a warm and wonderful combination of family and friends.

  Catherine loves to interact with her readers at www.CatherineFinger.com. Follow her on Facebook at Catherine Finger, Author and on Twitter at Catherine Finger@BeJoOliver.