by Irene Hannon
He studied her, juggling the plate of cookies in one hand and his toolbox in the other, a shaft of pain darkening his blue irises to cobalt. “Yeah. As a matter of fact, I can.”
Not the response she’d expected.
But before she could follow up, he changed the subject. “You’re doing okay with her, Kristen. She’ll come around once she gets to know you better. She just needs time to grieve and adjust.”
He wasn’t going to explain that enigmatic remark. And after all he’d done for her, she couldn’t put him on the spot by probing.
Yet as they said their goodbyes and she thanked him again, she couldn’t help but wonder if Genevieve’s theory was correct.
Maybe Clint did have an unhappy romance in his past.
Or had some other tragic secret driven him across the country, away from his family?
He disappeared around the corner of the house without a backward glance, and Kristen wandered back inside, shutting the door behind her. If her landlord didn’t want to talk, so be it. She had enough problems on her plate without adding speculation—and worry—about him to the mix.
Except there was one small problem.
Clint Nolan was fast becoming far more than a landlord, despite her diligent efforts to keep romance at bay.
And in light of that, her worry and speculation weren’t likely to dissipate until she got the answers he didn’t seem willing to give.
* * *
As Lindsey tallied up the grocery bill, Kristen dug out her credit card and passed it over the high, polished wood counter at the Mercantile. “How’s business?”
“Much better since the inn opened.” Lindsey slid the card through the scanner and handed it back. “You must be sending guests our way.”
Kristen slipped the piece of plastic back in her wallet and signed the receipt, keeping one eye on Beatrice, who was examining the case of frozen treats. “Starfish Bay has a lot to offer—ambience, charm, history. The guests love it.”
“I hear business is up at the Orchid, too. And Janice at the art gallery is ecstatic. She’s already sold a couple of pricey paintings. Even Jaz says he’s been getting more customers.”
“I have to be careful about who I send there, though, despite the great food.”
Lindsey chuckled. “I hear you.”
Turning, Kristen summoned Beatrice, who trotted over.
“What kind of cookies do you have today?” Her daughter examined the latest home-baked offering under the glass dome on the counter.
“Chocolate chip, my husband’s favorite. You’ve had them before.” Lindsey rested her forearms on the counter and clasped her hands, leaning over to smile at Beatrice. “Would you like to take one home for dessert? My treat?” She started to reach for a bag.
“No, thank you. We’re going to bake cookies tonight. My—” she hesitated and shot Kristen an uncertain look “—my birth mother makes yummy ginger cookies. But Clint ate most of the ones we baked last weekend.”
“Did he, now?” Lindsey shifted her attention to Kristen.
Fighting back a blush, Kristen dropped her chin and rummaged through her purse for her keys. “I made them as a thank-you after he helped me assemble some furniture last weekend.”
“How neighborly.”
She heard the amusement in Lindsey’s voice—and knew without looking there was a smirk on her face.
“We had some left, but he’s been coming over at night when we feed Clyde, and he ate the rest of them then.”
“Clyde?”
“The kitten we feed.”
“Clint allows animals in the apartment?” Lindsey arched an eyebrow at Kristen. “He wouldn’t even let the Clarks bring their dog when they moved in. After the massive renovation he did on the place, he said he wasn’t going to risk any pet damage with tenants.”
“No. We’re following the rules.” Kristen’s fingers closed over the keys and she pulled them out. “We feed the cat on the landing.”
“Clint sits with us, though. We talk and eat cookies while we wait for Clyde.”
“Sounds very cozy.”
Kristen picked up her bag of groceries, took Beatrice’s hand and urged her toward the door. Of all times for her daughter to get chatty. “See you soon, Lindsey.”
“I’ll look forward to it. I always enjoy our conversations.” The woman’s chortle followed them as Kristen pushed through the door to the cheery jingle of the overhead bell.
Beatrice followed in silence until they reached the car. Then, instead of climbing into her seat, she sent her an uncertain look. “Are you mad at me?”
Frowning, Kristen deposited the grocery bag and her purse on the backseat, shut the door and gave Beatrice her full attention. “Of course not, honey. Why would you think that?”
The little girl scuffed her toe. “Your face got kind of red in there, after I called you my birth mother. I thought maybe you didn’t want people to know that or something.”
“Oh, Beatrice.” Kristen pulled the child into her arms. For once, she didn’t resist. “I was blushing for a reason that had nothing to do with you. And it’s fine for you to call me your birth mother. That’s what I am, and everyone in Starfish Bay knows that.”
“But what am I supposed to call you when it’s just us?”
At the muffled question, Kristen closed her eyes. How dumb could she be? She’d introduced herself to Beatrice by her first name in Denver, but in all the upheaval since, they’d never settled on a name for her daughter to call her.
“Mom” was out. She already knew that.
Thinking fast, Kristen backed off and stroked her daughter’s hair. “Well, you call Clint by his first name. Would you like to call me Kristen?”
Beatrice wrinkled her nose. “Clint is different. He’s my friend.”
“Maybe I could be your friend, too.” At the skeptical narrowing of her daughter’s eyes, she quickly tacked on a caveat. “Someday. In the meantime, how about Aunt Kristen?”
“You’re not my aunt.”
“True. But that would let everyone know we’re related. And we can always change it later if we want to.”
“Aunt Kristen.” Beatrice tried out the title, tipped her head and nodded. “I guess that’s okay.” She climbed into the car, subject closed.
But as Kristen shut the door and took her place behind the wheel, she couldn’t help wishing Beatrice would find it in her heart to call her “Mom.”
And perhaps if she tried very hard, if she did everything in her power to earn that title, that was one wish that might come true in Starfish Bay.
Someday.
Chapter Thirteen
Clint rounded the last curve on the trail through the nature preserve, pausing as the woods merged into the manicured grounds of Inn at The Point. Despite the town’s reservations about the project, Mattson had done a fine job with the understated resort, blending it into the landscape rather than letting it dominate the scene. The reconstruction of Starfish Bay Chapel, set in its own tiny garden, had been the icing on the cake when it came to selling the plan to the many dubious residents.
His gaze lingered on the small structure, with its soaring white steeple, then traveled on to the stone bench beside it, which offered an unobstructed vista of the sea.
His destination on this Friday afternoon.
Fingering the unopened envelope in his pocket, he crossed the headland. Reading a letter from Lisa hadn’t been in the plans for his day off, but there was no sense delaying it. He’d known her note was coming—and was as prepared as he could be for whatever she might have to say.
The sun had dropped past its high point and was beginning its slow descent toward the horizon as he sat on the weathered bench. Below, out of sight, he could hear the waves crashing on the rocks, along with the occasional
bark of a seal. Now and then a fine mist drifted up from the turbulent water, dissipating before it reached him.
He hoped the letter would tell him the same was true of Lisa’s antipathy.
Taking a fortifying breath, he pulled out the envelope with the familiar handwriting and used his pocketknife to slit the flap. After withdrawing the single sheet of folded paper, he opened it and began to read.
Dear Clint,
Thank you for allowing your father to pass on your address. I know he’s already shared the news of my engagement, as I asked him to. I thought it might be easier for you, coming from him. But there was more I needed to say. Hence, this letter.
Over the past three years, I’ve had a lot of time to think about the tragic day that marked the end of many things. And I’ve come to realize that putting all the blame on you was grossly unfair. Mistakes happen in tense situations. My father himself said that on many occasions. Humans aren’t perfect, especially when under stress. I know you did the best you could under the circumstances.
At the time, though, I was too consumed by grief to see that. Whenever I looked at you, the horror of that day came back to me with suffocating intensity. I needed to hate someone, to blame someone, to find a scapegoat for my anger, and I chose you—for obvious if unjustified reasons.
But I’ve let the anger and hate go, and I wanted you to know that.
If you still feel you bear any fault for what happened, please know I forgive you. And I ask your forgiveness for holding you in such rancor for so long, and for the terrible things I said to you three years ago. My most heartfelt wish is that you find, or have already found, someone new to love, as I have.
It was signed “All the best,” followed by Lisa’s sprawling signature.
Clint read the letter through again, bracing for the familiar wave of depression that typically washed over him whenever he thought about his failed romance.
It didn’t come.
He frowned, weighing the letter in his hand. Had he learned of Lisa’s engagement even a few months ago, he would have been crushed. Yet now he experienced only a sense of closure. He was grateful for her forgiveness, even if it was undeserved. But more than that, he felt relief—and release. As if he’d been set free to move on with his life, unencumbered by the past.
Funny.
Once upon a time, he hadn’t been able to envision a future without Lisa.
Now he could.
Thanks in large part to the woman who’d moved into his rental unit—and his heart.
As Clint inhaled a lungful of the tangy salt air and watched a gull wheel overhead, held aloft by unseen wind currents, he was struck by the symbolism. That was kind of how love worked. It sustained you and gave you the courage to soar.
And that brought him back to Kristen.
It was too soon to apply the L word to his lovely tenant. If he’d learned one thing from his experience with Lisa, it was to take things slow and easy. Besides, while Kristen had been honest with him about her mistakes, he’d never shared his past with her. How would she react to the story that had sent him on a cross-country flight? Would she accept his mistakes as a human failing, the way Lisa ultimately had...or view them the way he did—as the cause of a tragedy that could have been averted?
Clint didn’t know. But if he wanted to take his relationship with Kristen to the next level, he needed to find out.
Sooner rather than later.
* * *
Kristen stepped out of Starfish Bay Chapel, pulled the door shut behind her and turned the key in the lock. Everything was prepped for her meeting with a prospective bride and groom later this afternoon.
And it couldn’t come soon enough. She was ready for this week to be over.
Except the weekend didn’t promise to be any less busy.
Pocketing the key in her suit jacket, she sighed. Tomorrow she had to run her car in to the dealer in Eureka to have the technician check out a funny noise. After that she had an appointment for Beatrice with a pediatrician. Her daughter didn’t need a checkup, but she wanted her on a local doctor’s patient roster just in case. Grocery shopping rounded out her agenda.
Their Sunday-morning trip to church with Clint, however...that was something to look forward to.
She smiled as she walked through the tiny garden, stopping to smell a flower she didn’t recognize. Those couple of hours at church would be the bright spot of her weekend—because of both the man who’d suggested it and the sense of peace she’d found there last week.
Reaching the end of the garden, she opened the white picket gate, exited...and hesitated. In light of her hectic day so far, it would be nice to sit on the weathered stone bench off to the side and enjoy a moment of tranquillity before the bride and groom descended. With a quick check of her watch, she made her decision. She could spare a few minutes.
After closing the gate, she walked to the right instead of the left, her shoes silent on the carpet of grass. But seconds later she pulled up short.
The bench was already occupied—by the very man she’d just been thinking about.
Curious, she edged closer. Clint was looking out to sea, only a portion of his strong profile visible, and he had a sheet of paper in his hand.
Her step faltered. The scene had a contemplative feel about it, as if he’d come here to find an oasis of quiet and solitude. Perhaps she should retreat, leave him to...
All at once, as if sensing her presence, he angled toward her...and took the decision out of her hands.
Rising, he gave her a slow smile. “Hi.”
“Hi yourself.” She continued toward him, but stopped several feet away, planning a quick escape. “I’d accuse you of trespassing, but I understand that bench belongs to the town.”
“It does. Lindsey fought hard for it. I think it has special significance for her and Nate, from when they were kids.” He gestured to it. “Would you like to join me for a few minutes?”
She eyed the sheet of paper in his hand. “I don’t want to intrude.”
He looked down, as if he’d forgotten he was holding anything, and tucked it into the pocket of his shirt. “You’re not.”
Since he seemed sincere, she crossed to the bench. “All right. The bride and groom won’t be here for a few minutes.”
“There’s a wedding today?”
She smiled and claimed the far side of the bench. “No. They’re thinking about having a destination wedding here. I’m going to show them around and do a sell job.”
“I have a feeling this place sells itself.”
“For the most part.” She braced her palms on the seat and leaned back, letting the sun warm her face. “So how come you’re not at work?”
“I have to do a couple of special programs tomorrow and Sunday afternoon. When I work weekends, I get a day off during the week.”
“And you decided to spend it at The Point?”
He didn’t respond at once, and Kristen opened her eyes to find him watching her. His enigmatic expression kicked her pulse up a notch, and she straightened at the odd vibes wafting her way. “What’s wrong?”
Instead of answering that question, he withdrew the folded sheet of paper from his pocket again and responded to her previous comment. “I came out here because of this.”
Kristen sized up the thick, expensive, cream-colored stock. It was personal stationery—suggesting a personal letter.
“From a friend?” Her query was cautious but receptive. If he wanted to talk, fine. But she wasn’t going to push—and perhaps push him away.
“More than a friend, at one time.” He fingered the letter. “Lisa was my fiancée. We broke up three years ago.”
Fiancée.
Clint had been engaged before he came to Starfish Bay.
So Genevieve had been right all along. C
lint did have an unhappy romance in his past.
Had he been engaged to the woman whose photo was still in his wallet? The woman who, from the quick glimpse she’d gotten at Jaz’s, bore a remarkable resemblance to her? The woman whose identity she’d wondered about more nights than she cared to recall as she tried to fall asleep?
“I’m sorry.” It was a lame response, but what else was there to say?
“I was, too, at the time. Not so much anymore.” He tucked the letter back in his pocket. “Thanks to you.”
At his candor, a flutter of excitement rippled along her nerve endings. But close on its heels came another ripple—this one prompted by apprehension. Even though she was happy he seemed to have moved past his broken engagement and was interested in her, the only relationship she had time to cultivate at the moment was the one with her daughter.
“Clint, I...”
He lifted a hand to cut her off. “I’m not trying to rush you into anything. I know you’re still grappling with a lot of issues, and Beatrice is your first priority. That’s as it should be. Besides, once you know my story, you may not want to have anything to do with me, anyway.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Believe it. I’ve made a lot of mistakes.”
“And I haven’t?”
“Some mistakes are more serious than others.” His Adam’s apple bobbed, and when he continued, his voice had hoarsened. “Someone died because of mine.”
Only the muted crash of the surf at the base of the headland broke the silence as Kristen searched the depths of Clint’s blue eyes. The same guilt, shame and self-reproach that had burdened her soul for nine years was reflected back at her.
“Do you want to tell me about it?”
He grimaced. “My ego says no. But my ego is what got me in trouble in the past, and I’m not going there again. It’s only fair that I share my story with you, just as you shared yours with me. Assuming you want to hear it, of course.”