by Jen Talty
She blew out a puff of air as butterflies filled her stomach. It was time to move forward and ask her neighbor for help.
She clutched the feather pendant dangling from her neck. Her stepmonster—no—stepmother and now best friend had given it to her shortly after her father had died, telling her it represented freedom.
Her freedom.
And what she did with the rest of her life was now her choice.
She kissed the pendant before snagging her coffee and heading outside to soak in a little morning sun as it kissed the crystal blue waters of Lake George. The second the spring air hit her body, she closed her eyes and took in a long breath, enjoying the cool breeze.
Her cottage was the last of five, each nearly identical in shape and size. A line of tall, lush trees with branches reaching across the long, curved driveway, hid the cabins from view of the main road.
The hum of a boat engine caught Shannon’s attention, and she snapped her gaze toward the lake. “Oh, no,” she whispered as her mug slipped from her fingers, crashing onto the wooden deck. Hot coffee singed her skin. She kicked her feet, but her stare remained on the tall mast with a line slinking down, rattling against the metal pole like a ghost gliding across the floor, rubbing its grubby fingers together, ready to capture and never let go.
“Shit. Are you okay?” Jackson Armstrong asked, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.
She swallowed the bile smacking the back of her throat as she stared at her neighbor as he bolted across the yard.
“Is that…that…?” She squeezed her eyes closed, then opened them slowly. No way could there be a thirty-five-foot Tartan sailboat moored off the end of her dock.
“Shannon.” He knelt, picking up the broken ceramic pieces. “Stay still. I don’t want you to cut yourself.”
“Where did that come from?” She pointed toward the lake. The boat wasn’t identical to the one her father had owned, and it was certainly newer, but there was no mistaking that Tartan had manufactured it.
Jackson stood, his broad shoulders blocking the morning sun but not the damn boat. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen one in the last few years. The lake was filled with them. She just never expected one to be front and center at her home.
“Isn’t she pretty? I named her Sweet Freedom.” Jackson brought his fingers to his mouth, making a kissing noise and raising his hand in the air like in a bad Italian movie.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she mumbled.
“You don’t like the name? I almost went with No Sailing Around, but Katie, my business partner, thought that was stupid.”
“I agree. That’s a stupid name.” What was she going to do? Tell her neighbor that a boat like that represented the kind of chains that not only held a person prisoner but also held the power to destroy the remnants of what might be left of a beaten mind, body, and soul? “But having grown up around boats, you should go with something personal. Maybe something like, Finding the Wind, which goes hand in hand with what you do for a living.”
“That’s an interesting name, but as you can see, I already had Sweet Freedom painted on the back. And my sister came up with the name. She thinks it represents my move up here.”
Shannon bit back the sarcastic laugh that threatened to escape her lips. She raised her foot to step to the grass, but Jackson lifted her into the air. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
He set her down on the ground in front of the common picnic area between the two houses. The cool grass tickled her toes.
“There are still some slivers from your mug, and you’re barefoot,” he said, shaking his head.
“I like to go barefoot, and there’s no need to hoist me up and drag me across the yard.” She brushed at her slacks, glaring. “You could have just said, ‘Be careful.’”
Jackson raised his hands into the air. “I was trying to be a gentleman.” His jeans hung low on his hips, and his untucked black T-shirt showed off his taut abs. He looked more like a Texas Ranger with his cowboy hat than a man who enjoyed sailing.
She let her gaze take in the details of the vessel’s fine craftsmanship as it rolled with a few waves. There was no reason to let that boat get under her skin. She held the power, not it. “I’m sorry. I’m a little jumpy this morning.”
“You don’t say? I hope I’m not the one making you skittish.”
“No. It’s not you. It’s just that my dad used to own a boat like that, and today is the anniversary of his death.” She tossed in the latter only because people generally gave her their sympathies and didn’t ask questions. She should feel guilty using her father’s death that way.
But she didn’t.
“Oh, shit. I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks.” She gave the standard response instead of asking him to jump up and down for joy and celebrate with her. “I was just startled by seeing your new toy.”
She set her emotions aside and did her best to support Jackson and what seemed to be something he held dear. His boat and his life had absolutely nothing to do with her, and she needed to get over it.
“When did you get her?” Shannon asked, thankful that her voice came across as strong and steady—her insides were anything but. Mentally, she used every trick her therapist had taught her, and those she taught to her patients, to sedate the beast that lurked in the shadows of her mind. There would always be triggers.
And she’d always battle them.
But today, they no longer needed to control her life.
Even when the biggest trigger of all taunted her from fifty feet away.
“I bought her a couple of weeks ago. I’d love to take you out on her. Even if it’s not a windy day, we could troll over to Sandy Bay or maybe up to Rogers Rock.”
“I’m not a fan of sailing. Or boating, for that matter. I haven’t been since my father died.” She bit her tongue. Jackson had a way of making her loose-lipped. He kept his body language open, rarely crossing his legs or arms. He always made eye contact, and he seldom showed facial cues other than a relaxed jaw and a twitchy brow.
He’d make a good therapist.
“Why not?” he asked, resting his strong hand on her shoulder. His fingers squeezed gently, offering her comfort she didn’t need.
She resisted the urge to shrug off his touch, but only because she didn’t want to appear any ruder than she’d already been. “It just brings back too many painful memories.”
“I can understand that. But maybe it’s time to get back on the horse.”
She coughed. “I’m not going to change my mind on this one, but I appreciate the offer.”
“But you might change your mind about going out to dinner or having drinks with me?” He rose his right brow as he tipped his hat. “I told you, I’m a persistent kind of guy.”
The corners of her mouth tugged upward into an involuntary smile. The man wouldn’t give up, no matter how many times she said no. And at this point, she wasn’t sure why she continued turning him down.
He was kind.
Considerate as he always carried her groceries.
Shoveled the snow when it got out of hand.
And he was handsome.
Maybe it was time to say yes.
He twisted a piece of her hair between his fingers. “You got your hair cut.”
She pushed a strand behind her ear, a little dumbfounded that he noticed. “I needed a change.”
He pointed to his forehead. “I like the bang thing. And shoulder-length fits your face.”
“Are you trying to use flattery to get me to go out with you?” With most men, flirting felt as stiff and phony as cheap leather sticking to the back side of her legs on a hot summer day. With Jackson, the kind words coated her body with a soft, foamy lather that, when washed away, still lingered with a refreshing tingle.
“Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
“I am impressed you noticed,” she said. “I suppose I should give you points for that.”
He shrugged. “I h
ave five sisters.”
“Ah, that explains a lot,” she said with a laugh.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He leaned against the railing, folding one arm across his chest, while sipping his coffee.
It was the first time she’d noticed any hint of annoyance in his tone and body language.
Stop sizing him up. He’s your neighbor, not a client.
“Your taste in furniture, for one.” She pointed to his front door. “I mean, I’ve never met a bachelor who has a place that looks like it should be the centerfold for Lake Living. It looks like you had it staged with how the leather sofa sits a few inches from the back wall and the matching chair at a ninety-degree angle in the corner by the stairs. And don’t get me started on the picture over the couch. A man would not pick out an authentic image of the lake. No, he would have picked out dogs fishing or some such crazy thing.”
“You’re picking on me for having good taste?” He dropped his hand to his side and grinned.
“Oh, good grief. No.” She shook her head. “It’s just that the first time I walked into your house, I thought I entered a showroom. Or worse, my mother’s living room, where nothing can be touched without wearing gloves.”
“My sisters did the whole thing. I just unloaded the crap off the U-Haul using my brute strength and put it where they told me.”
“For some reason, I think you had a lot of say in the décor.”
“A little. I mean, one of my sisters is an interior decorator, and it’s rubbed off on me.”
“That’s cute. Are you all close?”
His smile widened, and his dark eyes sparkled like the moon dancing on the waters below. “Actually, we are. But they all live in Delaware, where I’m originally from. I’m hoping to get them up here with their families for the Fourth of July. It would be a lot of fun. My sisters are all pretty loud and very protective of me.”
“Really? Isn’t it the brother who is supposed to defend their sisters’ honor?”
“I’m the baby.”
Laughter floated easily from her throat. She enjoyed Jackson way more than she should. For the last year, she’d admired him from a distance, but she wouldn’t let herself get too close. He was the kind of man who could break through her carefully crafted defenses, and she wasn’t ready to get involved with anyone.
Not yet.
Not until she knew that she’d given her little girl a better a life.
Since her father died, she hadn’t had much time for dating. Getting her PhD had been one hell of a ride. She still didn’t have time for a man, but she could use a friend. “The youngest of six and the only boy. Perhaps we should talk about that and how it’s affected your adult life.”
“Don’t start your therapy stuff with me.” He pointed to the broken mug on the table. “Can I get you a refill?”
“I was hoping to see you this morning. I have something I need to talk to you about.”
“That sounds ominous.” Jackson had a rugged look about him. The deepening wrinkles around his eyes indicated a man who had seen a few things in his life. She figured him to be in his late thirties or very early forties—not that much older than her. Not that it mattered.
He wasn’t too tall, maybe five-ten. And he had a kind heart and didn’t mind showing it. If she were any other woman, she’d probably be falling at his feet.
Instead, she just drooled over him in private.
“I’ll be right back. I just put a fresh pot on,” he said.
She stared at the side of his house, avoiding the lake and the boat. She had overreacted, but it wouldn’t be easy seeing a constant reminder of what her father had done to her or what she’d been forced to give up.
“Here you go.” Jackson handed her a cup. The bitter aroma filled her nose like pure, unsweetened cocoa. “Are you free for dinner tonight?”
She laughed. “I’m actually having dinner with my stepmother, but maybe we can have a drink after.”
“Are you actually agreeing to a date?” he asked with wide eyes and a big, goofy smile.
The man was too cute for his own good.
“Not a date. Just a drink with a friend. Say around nine? Right here? We can build a fire.”
“Sounds great to me.” He raised his mug.
“Can I ask you a work-related question?”
“Sure,” Jackson said.
“Do you ever take on cases for friends?”
“All the time. Why?”
She stole a peek at the sailboat. That night had changed her life in more ways than one. “I’d like to hire you.”
“For?” He set his coffee on the railing, easing closer, leaving his arms dangling at his sides.
He must have taken a ton of psychology courses because he knew exactly how to put someone at ease. Anyone would bare their soul to this man and not even know they were doing it.
She let out a puff of air. The only person she’d ever spoken to about her daughter had been Annette. Even her mother couldn’t bear to hear about it, always telling Shannon that she’d been a horrible teenager and to pray for forgiveness.
“Two things, actually. I don’t like doing this, but a...a friend of mine missed a lunch date on Friday, and I haven’t been able to reach her all weekend. She’s never done that, and I’m a little worried. Could I trouble you to just check on her or something? I don’t mind paying you.”
“I can do that,” he said, but the way he tilted his head indicated that he wasn’t buying the friend part.
Shit. She could get fired for that one.
“I’m just concerned, and I want to know she’s okay.”
“You just want me to get a visual? Or do you need me to contact her?”
Shannon looked at the sky for an answer. Deep down in the pit of her stomach, she knew that something wasn’t right with Belinda, and she couldn’t let it go. “Just a visual. Her name is Belinda Montgomery, and she—”
“Name is all I need. If I want more, I’ll call,” he said.
“Thanks.”
“No problem. And no need to pay me. Now, what’s the second?”
“This one is a little bit more detailed, and I’ll insist on compensating you for your time.” She reached for her pendant, running her finger up and down the feathered sides. Not a day went by that she didn’t wear the necklace. It drove her mother crazy, but only because of where it had come from and the fact that Shannon still had a relationship with her father’s second wife.
“If it makes you feel more comfortable, your case will be confidential. The only other person who will know the details, or your name, will be Katie, my partner.”
“I can’t say that makes me feel better. This is pretty personal and not easy for me.” But she wasn’t going to turn back now. She just needed a few deep breaths. In through the nose and out through the mouth. Slow and controlled. “I want to find the child I gave up for adoption.” Her fingers trembled over the silver jewelry dangling from her neck. Her gaze darted toward the parking area, focusing on Jackson’s shiny pickup truck. A diesel. It had rumbled many a late night, loud and proud. But it always calmed her nerves, even when it woke her up.
Jackson was one of the few men who always made her feel safe.
“You want me to find the kid you gave up?” Jackson’s tone had an edge she’d only heard when he got upset with the lawn guy for ruining his rose bush. Jackson hadn’t ever yelled at the groundskeeper, but the anger lacing his words was more terrifying than any screaming match could be.
Shannon swallowed the thick lump in her throat. This was turning out to be harder than she’d thought. Her fears over being judged ran wild, and she knew that she read too much into Jackson’s attitude. “This may sound odd, but I just want to know if she’s okay. That she was placed in a good home.”
He raked a hand through his long hair. “I’m sorry. I’m going to have to say no. I don’t do adoption cases under any circumstances.” He turned his back and leaned against the deck with his arms folded across his chest.
>
Closed-off. And the tension that filled the air nearly choked her. The therapist in her wanted to ask probing questions to tackle the problem at hand. To figure out why adoption cases were a trigger for him. But she reminded herself that he wasn’t her client, and this was about her finding her daughter and getting some closure for her past.
“Why not?” she asked. The thumping of her heart roared in her head. “I would think you’d get a lot of cases like this in your line of work.” She didn’t care what his issues were, only why he didn’t want to do her a favor.
Or at the very least, take her money.
“And I always turn them away. It’s nothing personal—”
“Like hell.” She took him by the shoulder and yanked until his body twisted. She caught his gaze and gasped at the judgment staring back at her. “This is very personal to me, and you’re not only saying no—which, okay, you have that right—but you’re also condemning me and my decision, and that’s not fair. You don’t know my history. Or anything about why I might have been completely incapable of raising a child at sixteen.”
He let out a long breath, nodding as if he understood. But he didn’t. How could he? “Please understand, I’m not judging what you did. I do, however, have a problem with what you’re asking me to do.”
“I think you owe me the reason why, at least,” she said under her breath. For years, she’d let her mother pretend that Shannon had never had a baby. She allowed the shame her mother felt to become hers. Not anymore. And she’d be damned if she would let Jackson—or anyone for that matter—make her feel shitty for one of the most difficult decisions she’d ever had to make.
“Do you want the truth?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder, his dark orbs conveying a resolve that could only mask a crushing pain. She saw it every day in the eyes of the patients she treated.
The same look stared back at her every morning.
And today, she could see it cut deep into Jackson’s psychological make-up. Her pulse steadied as she braced herself for his explanation. “I expect nothing less from you,” she said.
“You might not like what I have to say.”