Point of Danger

by Irene Hannon

  “Good.” He took a deep breath—and took the plunge. “I know we only met three weeks ago . . . and my previous relationship notwithstanding, I’m not usually the impulsive type . . . but from the day our paths crossed, I felt a spark with you that I’ve never felt with anyone else. Unless I’m misreading your signals, you feel it too. So I’d like to propose that we spend the next few weeks . . . or months . . . seeing where that spark leads. What do you say?”

  “Sign me up. Starting now.” She urged him close again.

  This time he didn’t balk.

  Except as he leaned down, the door to her room opened and a nurse entered.

  He rested his forehead against hers and groaned.

  “Talk about rotten timing.” Eve muttered the comment close to his ear.

  “I have to check your dressings.” The woman looked at the two of them, and her eyes began to twinkle. “But I’ll work fast.”

  Brent eased his hand out of Eve’s and stood. “I’ll wait in the hall.”

  “Don’t go far.” She touched her lips with her fingertips and blew a kiss his direction, sending a jolt of testosterone hurtling through him.

  “Never.”

  And as he left the room and took up a position in the hall across from her door, that was a promise he intended to keep not just today, but every single day for the rest of his life.

  Epilogue

  CAN YOU BELIEVE this view is real? Don’t you feel like you’ve stepped into a fairy tale?” From their perch on top of a vineyard-covered Tuscan hill, Eve straddled the frame of her bike and rested her hands on the grips.

  Brent gave the scene a sweep. The newly green grapevines, silvery olive groves, fields of vibrant red poppies, and—clinging to a distant hillside—a cobblestone-paved village were, indeed, charming.

  But no more charming than the woman sharing this journey with him.

  He smiled at his bride beside him. “I feel like that every day.”

  She turned toward him, the sun glinting in her copper-colored hair as she removed her helmet. “I was talking about this idyllic place. It’s like a storybook.”

  “The place is only the backdrop for the book. You’re the star of my story.”

  And what an amazing story it was.

  Who would have believed eight short months ago—when he’d been convinced love wasn’t in the cards for him and he’d end up spending the rest of his life alone—that he’d be here today, honeymooning in these ancient hills with a woman who filled his life with sunshine and laughter?

  Pressure built in his throat as gratitude welled up inside him.

  Her eyes softened. “Have I told you lately that I love you?”

  “No. It’s been at least two hours.”

  “I’ll let actions speak louder than words.” She leaned over and kissed him.

  Thoroughly.

  Only after a passing car offered a quick honk of encouragement and the driver shouted “Viva amore!” did she back off with a soft flush.

  “Whoops. I keep forgetting there are other people in the world—and you may take that as a compliment.” The corners of her mouth rose, and she traced a finger along the line of his jaw.

  “I shall.” He captured her hand in his. “But if you keep that up, I’ll be tempted to thank you in ways not suitable for public consumption.”

  She waggled her eyebrows. “In that case—why don’t we find a nice, secluded spot to enjoy the picnic lunch the inn packed?”

  “Secluded is perfect—and I am hungry.” He winked at her.

  “You’ve turned into a real flirt, you know that?”

  “Complaining?”

  “Nope.” She gave a saucy toss of her head and mounted her bike. “First one who finds a spot for a picnic gets a prize.”

  Pushing off, she pedaled down the road.

  Brent gave her a head start, more for his benefit than hers. What a joy to watch her so happy and carefree and healthy after all she’d been through. It had taken months for her stamina to recover after the shooting—and she still struggled with nightmares, as he’d learned this past week.

  But Olivia was gone, along with the basement control center that had launched countless attacks nationwide—and while the infamous Al had recovered from his wounds, he was facing a very long prison sentence.

  That threat was over.

  As for any new challenges that lay ahead—he’d be by her side through those too.

  A spot he intended to occupy all the days of his life.

  For the Scripture passage read at their wedding summed up his feelings to a T. The value of a worthy wife was far beyond jewels.

  And as he pushed off to follow her toward a line of tall, stately poplars in the distance, he gave thanks for the unexpected happy ending that had graced his life and filled all the dark places with the light of love.

  “Do you want another grape?” Eve dangled a cluster in front of her husband.

  Husband.

  Still hard to believe, even though they were halfway through their two-week honeymoon.

  How on earth had she lucked out and found a guy like Brent?

  Or maybe luck had nothing to do with it. Maybe a greater hand had been at work.

  “Nope.” He stretched out on his side beside her, propped himself up with his elbow on the picnic blanket, and played with her hair. “I want my prize. I found this spot, didn’t I?” He swept a hand around them.

  She felt around in the picnic basket, withdrew a biscotti, and held it up.

  “Uh-uh. I want something softer and sweeter.”

  She reached for the basket again. “I think there’s a piece of that pine nut cake you liked at dinner last—”

  He grabbed her hand. “I can think of a much better prize.”

  A tingle of excitement spiraled through her at the ardor in his eyes. “Like what?”

  “Like this.” He brushed her hair aside, leaned close, and pressed a kiss behind her ear.

  Whew.

  “You do realize . . .” Her voice squeaked, and she cleared her throat. “You do realize we’re outside. Anyone could happen by and find us in a clinch.”

  “So? This is Italy. You heard the man a few minutes ago. Viva amore. I think the locals would approve of a few passionate kisses in a romantic setting like this.” He nuzzled her neck again.

  Eve checked out their picnic spot. They were surrounded by the ruins of an old stone barn, nothing but open fields of bobbing poppies around them over the low walls that remained and a cloudless, cobalt-blue sky overhead. There hadn’t been a single house on the dirt track that had led to this hilltop, which boasted a stunning view.

  She shifted toward him. “I’m in.” She snuggled closer to him. “For the record, I wouldn’t let just any guy talk me into heavy-duty kissing in public.”

  “I should hope not.”

  She gave him a playful swat. “I mean it would take a very special man to convince me to be this bold.” She touched his cheek and softened her voice. “Someone I’d trust with my life—and my heart.”

  A sudden, faint sheen shimmered in Brent’s eyes. “I wish I had your skill with words.”

  “Your words are fine—and your actions are eloquent.”

  “You’re being kind.”

  “Nope. Honest.”

  “Trust me, I know my limitations—and I’m not great with words. That’s your forte. I’m always afraid I’ll disappoint you.”

  His earnestness tightened her throat. “You could never disappoint me.”

  “You’ll tell me if I’m not communicating enough, right?”

  It was the same concern he’d raised on numerous occasions—and she offered the same reassurance.

  “I promise. But that works both ways. If there’s anything I can do to be a better wife, you have to promise to tell me too.”

  “You’re perfect exactly as you are.”

  “No one’s perfect.”

  “You’re perfect for me.”

  “That’s how I feel about you.”


  And it was true. Brent may have closed off his heart for most of his life—and he might be new at the relationship game—but he was a fast learner.

  Most important of all, he tried his best every single day to make her happy, and he loved her with every fiber of his being.

  What more could a woman ask?

  “So about that prize . . .” He skimmed his hand down her side, pausing at the curve of her waist.

  She held out her arms. “Come here.”

  He didn’t hesitate.

  Lowering his mouth to hers, he showed her with each move, each touch, each tender caress, how much he loved her.

  Eve sighed into his kiss, memorizing every nuance of this enchanted moment.

  The lark trilling its sweet song from the bough of a nearby olive tree.

  The soft brush of the gentle breeze.

  The sun smiling down from the heavens, dispensing warmth and light.

  The scent of wild thyme drifting through the air, imparting tranquility and contentment.

  And most of all, the special man who’d pledged his love forever and brought her to this magical place.

  Not every day of their life together would be this perfect, of course. Their Tuscan idyll was the stuff dreams were made of.

  Yet it wasn’t a dream. It was real. As real as the vows they’d recited before God a week ago.

  And as long as she lived, she would hold the memories of these days in her heart to measure the world against. A reminder that with Brent by her side, happiness was never more than a touch away.

  For in his arms, surrounded by his love and cherished for exactly who she was, she’d found a rare treasure.

  A preview of paradise here on earth.

  THE MYSTERY WOMAN WAS BACK.

  Zach Garrett poured the steamed milk into the coffee mixture, creating his signature swirl pattern with the froth—all the while keeping tabs on the female customer who’d paused inside the door of The Perfect Blend, dripping umbrella in hand.

  As she had on her first visit two days ago, the lady appeared to be debating whether to stay or bolt.

  Wiping the nozzle on the espresso machine, he assessed her. Early to midthirties, near as he could tell given the oversized dark sunglasses that hid most of her features. A curious wardrobe addition, given the unseasonable heavy rain that had been drenching Hope Harbor for the past seventy-two hours.

  He handed the latte to the waiting customer and angled toward his Monday/Wednesday/Friday assistant barista. “Bren, you waited on her Monday, didn’t you?” He indicated the slender woman with the dark, shoulder-length blunt-cut hair who continued to hover on the threshold.

  Bren spared her a quick once-over as she finished grinding another batch of the top-quality Arabica beans he sourced from a fair-trade roaster in Portland. “Yeah.”

  “Do you remember what she ordered?”

  “Small skinny vanilla latte.”

  “Did you get a name?”

  “Nope. I asked, but she said she’d wait for her order at the pick-up counter.”

  In other words, the woman wanted to remain anonymous.

  Also curious.

  While it was possible she was one of the many visitors who dropped into their picturesque town for a few days during the summer months, his gut said otherwise.

  And since his people instincts had served him well in his previous profession, there was no reason to discount them now.

  So who was she—and what was she doing in Hope Harbor?

  Only one way to find out.

  “I’ll take care of her.”

  “That works. I’ve already got customers.” Bren inclined her head toward the couple waiting for their pound of ground coffee.

  Zach called up his friendliest smile and ambled down to the end of the serving counter. “Let me guess—a small skinny vanilla latte.”

  The woman did a double take . . . took a step back . . . and gave the shop a quick, nervous scan. As if she was scoping out potential threats.

  No worries on that score. There was nothing in The Perfect Blend to raise alarm bells. While several of the tables tucked against the walls and cozied up around the freestanding fireplace in the center were occupied, no one was paying any attention to the new arrival. The customers were all reading newspapers, absorbed in books, or chatting as they enjoyed their drinks and pastries in the Wi-Fi-free environment.

  The door behind the woman opened again, nudging her aside.

  Charley Lopez entered, his trademark Ducks cap secured beneath the hood of a dripping slicker.

  “Sorry, ma’am.” His teeth flashed white against his rich brown skin as he touched the brim of the cap, pushed the hood back to reveal his gray ponytail . . . and gave her an intent look. “I didn’t mean to bump you.”

  “No problem.” She dipped her chin and moved aside, putting some distance between them. As if his perusal had spiked her nerves.

  “Are you coming in or going out?” Charley maintained his hold on the half-open door.

  “Coming in.” Zach answered for her. “I’m betting she’s in the mood for a skinny vanilla latte.”

  “Excellent choice.” Charley closed the door.

  “Bren will handle your order as soon as she finishes with her customers, Charley.” Zach kept his attention on the stranger.

  “No hurry.” The taco-making artist who’d called Hope Harbor home for as long as anyone could remember moseyed toward the counter. “I doubt I’ll have much business at the stand, thanks to our odd weather. August is usually one of the driest months on the Oregon coast.”

  “Any day is a perfect day for a Charley’s fish taco.” Zach flashed him a grin.

  “I may steal that line. It’d be a great marketing slogan.”

  “As if you need one. Your food speaks for itself—and from what I’ve observed, word of mouth generates plenty of business.”

  “That it does.” He winked, then directed his next comment to the woman. “If you haven’t visited my truck yet, it’s on the wharf. Next to the gazebo.”

  “I may stop by.”

  “Please do. First order for newcomers is always on the house.” He continued toward Bren.

  Zach frowned. Everyone in town knew about Charley’s welcome gift of a free lunch for new residents . . . but this woman hadn’t moved to Hope Harbor.

  Had she?

  What did Charley know that he didn’t?

  She edged toward the exit, and Zach shifted gears. He could pick the town sage’s brain later. In the meantime, why not try to ferret out a few facts himself?

  Unless his skittish customer disappeared out the door first.

  He hiked up the corners of his mouth again. “One small skinny vanilla latte coming up—unless you want a different drink today?”

  Hesitating, she gave the room one more survey . . . then slid her umbrella into the stand by the door. “No. That’s fine.”

  She was staying.

  First hurdle cleared.

  “Can I have a name for the order?” He picked up a cup and a pen.

  Silence.

  He arched his eyebrows at her.

  “Uh . . . Kat. With a K.” She eased away, toward a deserted table in the far corner.

  Second hurdle cleared.

  “Got it.” He jotted the name. “I’ll have this ready in a couple of minutes.”

  She nodded and continued to the table—out of conversation range.

  Blast.

  Thwarted at the third hurdle.

  He wasn’t going to find out anything else about her.

  But what did it matter? Just because he was beginning to crave feminine companionship—and the pool of eligible women in town was limited—didn’t mean he should get any ideas about the first single, attractive woman who walked in.

  Yeah, yeah, he’d noticed the empty fourth finger on her left hand.

  He mixed the espresso and vanilla syrup together, positioned the steam nozzle below the surface of the milk until the liquid bubbled, then d
ipped deeper to create a whirlpool motion.

  Charley wandered over while Bren prepared his café de olla, watching as Zach poured the milk into the espresso mixture, holding back the foam with a spoon to create a stylized K on top of the drink. “Beautiful. You have an artistic touch.”

  “Nothing like yours.” He set the empty frothing pitcher aside and reached for a lid as he signaled to the woman in the corner. “I wish my coffee sold for a fraction of what your paintings bring in.”

  “Life shouldn’t be all about making money. My stand isn’t a gold mine, but I enjoy creating tacos as much as I enjoy painting. Customers for both can feel the love I put into my work. Like they can feel the love you have for this shop. It seeps into your pores the instant you cross the threshold. A person would have to be über stressed not to find peace and relaxation in this wireless zone.”

  The very ambiance he’d hoped to create when he’d opened a year and a half ago.

  “You just made my day.”

  “That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it?” Charley motioned toward the foam art. “Why don’t you show that to your customer? Brighten her day.”

  Not a bad idea. Perhaps it would elicit a few words from her—or initiate a conversation.

  He set the cup on the counter as she approached and offered her his most engaging grin. The one that usually turned female heads. “Your personalized skinny vanilla latte.”

  Lips flat, she gave his handiwork no more than a fleeting perusal, extracted a five dollar bill from her wallet, and set it on the counter. “Keep the change.”

  Not only was the lady immune to his charm, she wasn’t planning to linger.

  Fighting back an irrational surge of disappointment, Zach put the lid on the drink and picked up the money. “Enjoy.”

  “Thanks.” She hurried toward the door, pulled her umbrella out of the stand, and disappeared into the gray shroud hanging over the town.

  “I think my attempt to brighten her day was a bust.” He folded his arms as the rain pummeled the picture window.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Sometimes the simplest gestures of kindness can touch a heart in unseen ways.”

  He didn’t try to hide his skepticism. “Assuming there’s a heart to touch. The lady didn’t exude much warmth.”