by J. S. Marlo
“She does?” The mysterious man had obviously made more than an impression on the obstinate woman; he’d left an imprint.
“Can you find it in your heart to forgive her?”
In May, she’d loved him enough to set him free, and she’d lived—and almost died—wishing things had been different. Her feelings hadn’t changed. “I can’t blame her for loving you, can I?”
“You could, but I’d rather you didn’t.” Twinkles danced in his eyes. “She wants me to be happy…with you.”
“I like that.” Like the receding tide on the sand, forgiveness washed away the hardship of the last few months. “I love you. I never stopped loving you.”
Lowering his hand, he ripped his shirt open. “Does that mean you’ll marry me?”
Flabbergasted by the beautiful jade ring hanging from his necklace, she gasped like a volcano in eruption.
“Do I need to get down on one knee, or do these little sounds mean yes?”
Of course they meant yes. How could she say no to a man who carried her ring over his heart the day he saved her life?
Chapter Thirty-Three
While Bjorn helped Gail with supper and Bill sought courage from the sunset, Avery slipped inside Rowan’s private quarters. The door of the bedroom was ajar. He knocked.
“Come in.”
Sleep laced her voice, and he chided himself for waking her up. Too late to backtrack, he stepped in and closed the door behind him. “I’m sorry for waking you.”
“I was dozing on and off. It’s okay.” She looked small and fragile alone in the large bed, but he knew it to be only an illusion. Like Rachel, she possessed an inner strength able to withstand great hardship.
“How are you?” Seeing no place to sit except for the mattress or the floor, he opted to lean against the dresser.
“What do you think? I got kidnapped, beaten by a wine barrel, injected with an unknown drug, gagged with a dirty rag…” Her grimace was priceless and showed a glimpse of her enduring spirit. “…shackled like cattle with mad cow disease, and rescued by two intrepid knights, one with a pink pocketknife, the other with an orange two-by-four. I’m just peachy.”
The laughter bubbling inside his chest exploded inside the room. “You’re one amazing woman.” He retrieved the pink knife from his pocket and, after one last look at it, placed it on the night table near the bed. “You and Rachel are kindred spirits. Her knife belongs to you. You earned it. It’ll keep you safe in the future.”
“Avery…” Tears pooled in her gorgeous green eyes. She wiped them with the bandage of her left hand, where a delicate ring adorned her finger.
The color of the ring matched her eyes, and Avery was glad to see Bjorn hadn’t wasted any more precious time. “Did Bjorn tell you I gave him the third degree before I let him see you?”
“You did? Why?”
“I care about you.” No point lying about his feelings. “I wanted to make sure he loved you and deserved you.”
A beautiful smile blossomed on her lips. “His grandmother is a force to reckon with, but he’s a wonderful man, and I love him. I—” The tint of pink coloring her cheeks added to her charms. “I also care about you. I know you didn’t mean it when you kissed me, but you will always hold a special place in my heart.”
Not only did the candid confession catch him by surprise, but it also made no sense. “I understand why you chose Bjorn. He’s a great guy, Rowan—even I like him. He was truly the best choice, and I wish you all the happiness in the world, but why did you dump me for Malcolm after I kissed you? Am I such a bad kisser?” In normal times, he wouldn’t have asked, but she’d brought up the encounter.
Her mouth opened and closed, like a fish caught in a net. “I reminded you of Rachel…You missed her…I missed Bjorn…I didn’t want to hurt you, or to hurt myself by falling in love with you.”
“You thought Rachel and I were involved, and that I kissed you because you resemble her?” If Rowan hadn’t looked so distressed, he would have laughed at the misunderstanding. “Ross would have shot me with my own gun if I’d flirted with his girl. How on earth did you come up with that ludicrous idea?”
“I—” Her face glowed as red as her hair, and she sank deeper into her pillow. “I feel like such an idiot.”
To learn she hadn’t dismissed his advances because she’d preferred Malcolm to him mended his pride. “Rowan? I’m listening.”
“I saw an engagement picture of Rachel on your computer. You held her hand—” Her head turned toward the ceiling, and her voice dropped to a whisper. “And there was Baby S.”
“You hacked into my computer?” The woman was as devious as Rachel.
“The cover was up. The folder was on the desktop.” Defiance burned in her eyes as she met his gaze. “You’d kissed me. I wanted to know more about you. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”
“You could have asked.” But considering his state of mind at the time, he might not have answered. “Would you like to know about Rachel?”
“Only if you want to talk about her.”
The soft response encouraged him. He approached the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress with his hand in his lap. “Rachel’s dad was a fellow RCMP officer. He died in the line of duty a few years back. After his death, I took his daughter under my wing. When she met Ross, I also gave him the third degree.”
A bashful grin cracked her face. “Did you like him too?”
“Yes, I liked him.” On many levels, Rachel’s young fellow had resembled Bjorn. “In the absence of her father, Rachel asked me to walk her down the aisle. You probably saw the rehearsal pictures and mistook me for the groom.” A small nod from her part indicated he’d guessed right. “The day she died, I lost a little sister and a great partner, and a good man lost a spouse and a baby. Baby S. meant Savannah or Sheridan. The medics tried to save the baby, but she was too small. Mother and daughter are buried together in the same casket. And you’re right, I do miss her.”
“Do you blame yourself for her death?” The question had been spoken so quietly that he had to strain his ear to understand.
“We were responding to a family disturbance call.” He stroked a small blue humpback whale embroidered at the edge of the quilt keeping her warm. “We knew the couple. Their fights were monthly occurrences, but every time charges were laid against the husband, the wife changed her story and went back to him.”
“The vicious circle of abuse,” she whispered.
“Yeah, except this time, the circle broke. When we got into the house, I saw the husband lying at the top of the staircase, and I heard the wife moaning in the kitchen. I sent Rachel to take care of the wife while I checked on the husband. His guts were spilling from his chest. He died cursing his wife. That’s when I heard the gunshot. I rushed downstairs, and I found Rachel in a puddle of blood. The wife fired at me before turning the gun on herself. I’d made the right call by sending Rachel to the kitchen. The husband was the threat, not the wife, but she snapped, and—”
Rowan reached out and placed her bandaged hand on his forearm. “No one could have anticipated the wife’s bloodshed, Avery. It wasn’t your fault.”
“I know.” While he still wished he could change the past, he’d made peace with the decision he’d made that day. “And I have you to thank for saving my future.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “Me?”
“You didn’t give up, Rowan.” He covered her hand with his and gently squeezed her fingers. “You stayed alive until I found you. I joined the RCMP to make a difference, and you showed me I could still make a difference. I intend to return to active duty.” The book he’d started writing would wait until retirement. “I just need to beat the stubborn leg into shape.”
A bright smile welcomed his announcement. “I’ll miss you, Avery.”
Not as much as he would miss her. “I promise to visit. And if Bjorn ever walks out on you, you call me. I’ll arrest him for stupidity.”
***
As d
arkness claimed the sky outside her bedroom window, the smell from Gail’s supper wafted all the way to her room. Not ready to leave the comfort of her bed yet, Rowan picked up the pink pocketknife from the night table. It fit nicely in her hand and, through the cold metal, she sensed a connection with the dead woman.
“Avery talks highly of you. I wish I’d met you and your little girl.”
The name Savannah had struck a tender chord. It was a beautiful name, a name she’d love to give her daughter, if she ever gave birth to a daughter.
A light knock halted her musings and turned her attention toward the doorway. “Bill?”
More men had come to visit her in the last few hours than in her entire life, and they had all stood by the door like clumsy penguins.
“Am I disturbing you?”
“No.” But she couldn’t say the same of the disturbing dark sunglasses he wore over his eyes. “Please, come in.”
He leaned his back against the furthest wall and fidgeted with his hands, as if they’d developed a will of their own. “I thought I’d come and see how you were doing.”
“I’ll be fine.” As ill at ease as he appeared, his concerns were touching. “I heard you drove around with Bjorn looking for me. Thank you.”
A ray of light emanating from somewhere inside his skull softened his expression. “Mr. Stone, after he saw the two matching socks, he knew you didn’t drown. When he told me to hop into your young fellow’s rental car, I did as I was told. You should have seen your young fellow when we got to the cliff. He climbed the rocks as fast as a lizard and left me in the dust. Sure glad he got there in the nick of time. He’s a keeper, you know.”
“I know.” She returned the knife to the night table before presenting her left hand, home of her beautiful new ring. “That’s why I’m marrying him. Bjorn will stay here with me until we figure out what we do next. We may end up splitting our time between Buccaneer and Iceland.”
“That’s wonderful news.” A rare smile floated on his lips, and she would have loved to see if it extended to his eyes. “You have great taste. Your father would approve.”
To hear him mention her late father was weird. Bill couldn’t have known him, unless he’d confused her pa with her father. Chad was her father, Oliver was her dad, and Blythe was her pa, but not everyone understood the subtle nuances she gave each synonym. “I haven’t told Pa and Mom yet.” Calling them was next on her list, right after supper. “But I think the ghost of my first father would approve.”
A man looking like her father had visited Bjorn’s grandmother and touched her heart. It had to be a good omen.
“His ghost?” The concept seemed to amuse Bill.
“My first father, Chad O’Reilly, was Mattie’s younger brother. He died a long time ago, but someone impersonated him.” Someone had shaved his head and worn colored contact lenses to mimic her father’s eyes. With her failing eyesight, it wasn’t like Bjorn’s grandmother would have noticed the lenses, especially if the ghost of her father had stood across the room—like Bill was doing.
Her mind traveled back in time to the day the handyman had berated her for climbing on the roof of the gazebo. The sun had reflected the fury in his dark brown eyes and highlighted the edge of one contact lens, not two.
Memories of more oddities resurfaced. His peculiar relationship with Mattie. His knowledge of the coyote hiding under the gazebo and the pet buried by the stream. The picture frame facing down in his apartment. His recent unexplained absence, which corresponded with Bjorn’s grandmother’s confession. His sunglasses at nighttime—
Her grandfather’s body had never washed up on shore, and Mattie had left Buccaneer around the same time, only to return with Bill. His first name could be a pseudonym for Will…or Wilmot.
Staggered by the implausible scenario she’d conjured, she stared at him as if seeing him for the first time. “My brother has eyes of different colors, just like our father and his father before him. Did you know my father? Chad?”
“Not…” As he hesitated, he ran his hand over his bald head. “Not as well as a father should know his son.”
Fueled by the indirect answer, she pushed the blanket aside, swung her legs off the bed, and sat on the edge of it. “Would you approach, please? And remove your glasses?”
After an agonizingly long trek across the room, he crouched at the exact same spot where Bjorn had knelt on one knee. “I made many mistakes, Rowan.” With a trembling hand, he lowered his sunglasses. “But my biggest one was to walk away from my son and his family.”
She expelled a shaky breath. The man looking at her with misty eyes, so much like her brother’s, shared little resemblance to the angry drunk described in her father’s letters. “Did you know I grew up thinking my only relative was a mean step-grandmother who hated me because I wasn’t her son’s blood daughter?”
“I’m sorry.” A lone tear fell down his cheek as he bobbed his head. “I know I owe you an explanation, but I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to listen.”
“You do owe me more than an explanation, Bill.” The man had deceived her, but he’d also flown across the ocean to confront Bjorn’s grandmother. That counted for something. “You owe me a hug. A long one, for all the years we missed. Then we can talk about the past and the future.”
The sunglasses slipped from his hand, landing on the floor with a thud as a look of sheer astonishment spread over his face. “You’re not throwing me out?”
Unsure whether she should cry or laugh, she opened up her arms. “Do I look like I can afford to hire a new handyman?”
He answered with a huge bear hug, worthy of a grandfather.
Biography
Born and raised in a small French Canadian town, J.S. Marlo spent her childhood reading and daydreaming stories, but after high school, she set aside pen and paper to earn a business degree.
Military wife and mother of three spirited children, J.S. faced many challenges as her young family moved back and forth across the country. The “memorable” adventures she experienced fueled her imagination and rekindled her passion for writing.
J.S. Marlo is now settled down with her husband in northern Alberta from where she enjoys writing and visiting her grown children…and her little granddoggie.
Unearthed is her third novel, and the second book in the Duty Bound Series.
For more info or updates, visit J.S. Marlo’s facebook page or website at sites.google.com/site/JSMarloAuthor