Safe in His Arms--A Clean Romance

by Anna J. Stewart

  “He’s hurt?” Phoebe tapped a finger against her chest, above her heart.

  “Yeah.” Kendall nodded. “Yeah, I think you hurt his heart tonight. He knows you didn’t mean to, and I understand why you did this, but you can’t do this again, Phoebe. Will you promise me that? If you want to climb high, then you need to tell him. He’ll walk right alongside you because that’s how much he loves you. And he will always, always understand.”

  Phoebe reached over and poked Kendall in the arm.

  “What?” Kendall looked down, her skin warming where Phoebe had touched her, and traced her scars. “Oh, those. I was in an accident. A bad one, and I got burned. But they don’t hurt. Not anymore.” Not half as much as the ones on her heart.

  Phoebe poked a finger into the sky, touched her lips, then pointed back at Kendall. “Oh, yes, I guess so. Yeah. You can tell me, too, if you want to climb. But someone always needs to know where you are. No running off like this again, especially in the dark.” Especially, Kendall thought, around these cliffs.

  Only then did she feel the same abject terror slipping through her as Hunter had no doubt felt minutes before.

  “Will you promise me, Phoebe? No more running off?”

  Phoebe sighed, nodded, then held out her pinkie finger.

  Kendall’s heart lodged in her throat. For a moment, she saw Samira with her bouncy curls and wide eyes looking up to her with expectant, hopeful promise. The disappointment that such a promise would never be fulfilled made her heart ache.

  Phoebe began to frown, her brow wrinkling as she lowered her hand. Unable to bear the hope fading in her eyes, Kendall linked her finger around Phoebe’s. “Pinkie promise,” she croaked. “Can we go down now? It’s getting a little cold.”

  A little cold? Her goose bumps were demanding their own jackets. Kendall held out her hand. “I can carry your book for you.”

  Phoebe clutched the book against her chest, paused to look up at the star-strewn sky, then nodded and slowly handed it over. Kendall tucked the book into the back waistband of her shorts and twisted around to start the descent. She got a solid foothold and urged Phoebe to come down in front of her so she could guide her to the ground.

  Kendall was pulling the book free again when Hunter raced over and engulfed Phoebe in a hug so fierce, Kendall could feel it.

  “You’re okay, right?” He knelt down and ran his hands up and down Phoebe’s arms, looking for injuries. There was no point in telling him she’d already checked. Kendall knew from experience that until Hunter verified it for himself, there wasn’t any convincing him his niece was fine.

  Phoebe glanced back at Kendall, who gave her an encouraging nod. When the little girl faced her uncle again, Kendall heard her whisper, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone out by myself.”

  “No, you shouldn’t have. Apology accepted.” He took hold of her hand and squeezed. “We’re still going to have a long talk about this, young lady.”

  Kendall smirked at Phoebe’s heavy sigh. Nothing like the “young lady” discussion. “Here.” She held out Phoebe’s book and earned an ear-to-ear smile as Phoebe accepted.

  “Thank you.” Hunter pulled Phoebe into his arms as he stood, hoisting her against his hip. “I don’t anticipate sleeping anytime soon. I can put on a pot of coffee—”

  “Um, no—” She broke off when Phoebe reached out with a hooked pinkie finger. It was as if she already understood she’d slipped past Kendall’s defenses and wasn’t ready to let go. “All right, sure. One cup.”

  “Decaf?” Hunter asked as he walked carefully, barefoot, over the dirt-and rock-strewn ground.

  “Only if you prefer it. Caffeine doesn’t keep me up,” Kendall said and followed him inside the guest house. “Never has.”

  “I used to practically mainline caffeine sodas in college. Okay, you. Back to bed.” He set Phoebe on her feet, but she clung to his hand, tugged him with her. “Ah, okay. I’ll be another few minutes,” he said to Kendall. “Coffee’s over there if you could get it brewing.”

  Kendall tried not to listen to Hunter’s gentle lecture about not going outside without telling him, but the house was small, and his voice carried. It was, of course, a one-sided conversation, at least as far as she was concerned, but the way he didn’t give in to the fear that had almost consumed him moments before was admirable.

  What did surprise her was that the coffeepot, one he’d clearly brought with him, was almost as old as she was. No pods or single-serving cups for this guy. He used a stained, overworked and clearly loved machine that almost challenged her. Almost.

  The last time she’d stepped foot in this house, it had been empty save for the few pieces of furniture Gil had sent over from the antiques and thrift store. But in the short time since Hunter and Phoebe had arrived, they’d managed to personalize the place with some framed photographs and lots of books and loaded the desk with Hunter’s computer equipment. It wasn’t just a house any longer. She saw that he’d actually managed to turn it into a home.

  Hunter closed the door to Phoebe’s room, the coffee was dripping into the pot and the familiar, habit-forming aroma filled the air. Hunter ducked into his room and returned with two sweatshirts, one of which he handed to Kendall. He tugged on his own and sat at the kitchen table to pull on a pair of thick socks.

  “Not sure I’ll ever feel warm again.” He actually shivered. “Like California cold is anything close to freezing. Ha. You know I once spent a winter in the Antarctic photographing penguins? Now that was cold.”

  Kendall gave him a tight smile and tugged the navy zip-up on, trying not to notice the spicy scent of his aftershave or the promise of strong, male comfort. She stood there, wondering where or even if she should sit. This was a bad idea, coming in for coffee. Connections, friendships, even cursory ones, were only asking for trouble.

  “Thank you,” he said softly.

  Kendall could all but see the adrenaline draining from him as his body sagged and his shoulders drooped.

  “I thought we were past this,” he said. “If you hadn’t been here—”

  “If I hadn’t been here, the scaffold wouldn’t have been there, either, and it wouldn’t have been an issue.” Because she needed to do something, she walked over and sat down across from him. “I should have made it a point to tell her not to go climbing.” Instead Kendall had gone out of her way to avoid any kind of conversation with either of them.

  “She’s a smart girl. She should have known. She did know,” he corrected himself. “It just didn’t matter. I suppose I should be grateful she has a mind of her own, but then I start panicking about what she’s going to be like as a teenager. Or, at this rate, next week.”

  Kendall nodded. “How long has it been? Since her parents died?”

  “A little over six months. Six months.” He managed a quick laugh. “Sometimes it feels like six years. Other times, six hours.” Hunter focused weary eyes on her. “Sorry. Don’t mean to turn maudlin on you. Not the way I anticipated starting my day.”

  Kendall shrugged and ran a hand up and down her fabric-clad arm. “Any start to a day is good. Means you’re still here. Do you mind me asking what happened? With Phoebe’s parents?” Because concentrating on Phoebe meant not having to admit to herself how nice Hunter MacBride was to look at and to speak with. He came across as one of those men who had no idea how attractive he was and would no doubt brush aside any mention of his handsome features or well-toned body as easily as he’d brush a speck of lint off his shirt. Until she’d seen him frantically searching for his niece, she’d have considered him unflappable. That he wasn’t somehow made him even more appealing. And that idea definitely made her stomach twitch.

  “A car accident.” Hunter’s face went blank for a moment. “They’d been looking for a bigger house—my sister had gotten a big promotion at work. Then, just like that, they were gone. Goes to show you never know wh
at the universe has in store for you.” He started to stand, but Kendall beat him to it.

  “I’ve got it.” She didn’t think her heart could take any more battering, but once again, she was wrong. She pulled two mugs out of the dish rack. “How do you take it?”

  “Black and straight. And usually on an IV.”

  Kendall swallowed hard. She recognized forced defensive humor when she heard it. Sometimes the deflection was the only way to push through the pain. Hunter sounded as if he’d almost mastered the technique. Kendall had never come close.

  “They say the loss gets easier with time. It doesn’t.” Kendall set his World’s Greatest Brother mug on the table and curled up in the chair across from him. The sweatshirt engulfed her to the point where she didn’t feel quite so...alone. She tugged the hem over her knees. “It gets manageable, and some days are better than others, but there’s no erasing the grief. Or the emptiness. It’s always there.”

  Hunter wrapped his hands around the mug and set that assessing gaze on her. “That’s the voice of experience talking.”

  No point in denying it. She sipped the coffee, frowned and looked down at her mug. “This tastes...different.”

  “It’s chicory. I picked up a lifetime supply when I was in New Orleans. Addictive. You like?”

  “I do.” She sipped again and felt herself finally beginning to relax. “I didn’t mean to spook you earlier, staying up there with her for a while. I didn’t want her thinking what she thought needed doing wasn’t worthy of attention.” Double-edged sword, that. Now she’d started bonding with the little girl, and that terrified her more than just about anything. She didn’t want to care. About anyone. Because the people she cared about, the people she loved, had a way of leaving her.

  “What was she doing?” Hunter asked.

  “Trying to get to heaven.”

  He paused, his gaze shifting briefly to the framed photograph nearby of Phoebe and her parents. “I should have guessed that.”

  “No reason you should have. Everyone processes grief differently, Hunter. How she misses her parents can’t come close to touching how you feel about losing your sister. And vice versa. But tonight opens a new avenue of communication for you both.”

  “I’m just grateful this happened at night, out here, where no one other than you was witness to it.” He cringed, leaned back in his chair and gazed out into the darkness as if he could see the ocean beyond. “Last thing I need is for her grandparents to hear she’s playing Houdini and sneaking out and scaling scaffolds at night like some super heroine.”

  “Grandparents?”

  “My brother-in-law’s folks.” Hunter turned back to his coffee and drank. “Stephen and Eleanor Cartwright. They don’t think a single man, especially one without a permanent home, is the appropriate guardian for their only grandchild. And they’ve had their lawyer tell me so on multiple occasions.”

  Sensing Hunter needed someone objective and emotionally removed from the situation to talk to, she stepped through the door he’d opened. “Were they involved in Phoebe’s life before their son died?”

  “That’s just it. No. In fact, Brent and his parents had been estranged for a number of years.” In that moment, Hunter looked defeated. “At the funeral, Brent’s father told me if I didn’t give them complete custody, he’d ruin me. Professionally, financially. He said he’d make it so no judge would ever consider me fit to raise her.”

  Kendall’s stomach roiled in disgust. “What did you tell him?”

  “Considering Phoebe was in the room, not what I wanted to. As politely as I could manage, I told him to get lost. That hasn’t stopped them from asking for a court investigation and threatening me with a custody battle. It doesn’t help that Phoebe hasn’t said more than a word or two since the accident. She isn’t the same and they need someone to answer for it. Not that any of this is Phoebe’s fault.”

  “Of course it isn’t.” Kendall tried to keep her frustration in check. If there was one thing she had no tolerance for, it was people who didn’t see outside their own circumstance. While she didn’t know the details, clearly his sister’s in-laws were trying to make up for past mistakes, even if it wasn’t in the little girl’s best interest. “It’s not yours, either. Have you hired a lawyer?”

  “No.” Hunter grimaced. “Partly because I’m afraid once I do it really will turn into a full-blown custody battle, and that’s the last thing I want for Phoebe.”

  “And the other part?”

  “Picked up on that, did you?” Hunter grinned and took a long drink of coffee. “I don’t have the money for a lawyer. Not a good one, anyway. Not yet. But that might change in the next month or so. If I can get this new project off the ground.”

  “You mean the book on Butterfly Harbor?”

  “Oh, that, no.” Hunter pointed over his shoulder to where he’d set up his laptop on the rustic desk she’d repainted white. “That’s just to get us over the hump. I’m supposed to be writing a book. Fiction. A thriller. Maybe. My agent thinks I should branch out, and it is something I’ve thought about over the years. If only I had an idea of what to write.”

  “As I don’t have a creative bone in my body, this might be completely off base, but don’t they usually say write what you know?”

  “Meaning I should try writing about a burned-out photojournalist trying to raise a little girl?”

  Kendall shrugged. “Why not? I’d read it.”

  “Yeah.” Hunter’s shoulders relaxed. “Yeah, maybe there is something there. And by the way, you have plenty of creativity. You redid this place, didn’t you? It’s beautiful.”

  “It’s practical,” Kendall argued. “But I am going to reach out to Gil about having a fence installed around the perimeter of the cliff line. I think we can both agree it would bring some peace of mind, not just to us, but to anyone else who might stay out here. And on that note.” She uncurled and stood. “I’m going to try to get some more sleep. Gonna be a wet and windy weekend.”

  “So I heard. No, keep it.” Hunter stood when she started to shrug out of the sweatshirt. “You always look like you’re freezing, and it’ll make me sleep easier. As if I’m going to sleep.”

  “Thanks.” She shoved her hands into the deep pockets. “And if you want, I’ll install a new security bolt on the door. Maybe one high up enough little hands can’t reach it.”

  “I hate to go that route, but maybe it isn’t a bad idea. Sure, let’s do it. I’ll cover the cost.”

  “We’ll work it out later. So, um. Yeah.” She gave him a quick smile. “Good night.”

  “Good night.” He walked her to the door, held it open for her. “Kendall?”

  She turned around on the porch step. “Yes?”

  “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but since you are the voice of experience.” He hesitated, as if he regretted saying anything. “Who did you lose?”

  The question hit her unaware, but that was her own fault. She should have realized she’d opened her own door by confirming his suspicion earlier. But he’d been honest with her. She owed him nothing less. “Sam. My fiancé,” she added, as if she needed to explain. Her fists clenched as she took a deep breath, pushed the words free from the prison they’d been in.

  “I’m sorry.” He was. She could see it on his face, glittering in his eyes. Sadness and grief, understanding and confusion. But nowhere did she see pity or even sympathy. Just...compassion. Maybe that was why the pain didn’t slice nearly as deep as her admission drifted into the night.

  “I’ll, um, see you around.” She resisted the urge to look back to see if he was still watching her. She didn’t have to, anyway, not when she could feel his eyes on her as she quickly slipped inside.

  Kendall kicked off her shoes and, still wearing the sweatshirt, ducked under the covers before she thought better of it. The familiar fear-induced adrenaline that had surged on her wa
y up the scaffold had long faded. The usual residual shakes had been tempered by chicory coffee and Hunter MacBride’s heartwarming smile.

  She had lied to him tonight. Any hope of sleep had vanished with the sound of Hunter’s desperate call for Phoebe. She squeezed her eyes shut against the echoes of the past. How many times had she heard similar calls? It didn’t matter what country people lived, or what language they spoke, man or woman, young or old; the panicked fear of a parent searching for their child was universal. But tonight, at least, it had resulted in a happy reunion.

  And that was enough to keep the tears at bay as she stared up at the ceiling.

  And waited for the sun to come up.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “SLOW DOWN, PHOEBE. I don’t think the farm is going anywhere.”

  Phoebe tugged hard on Hunter’s hand, dragging him down the hill toward today’s excursion to Duskywing Farm. No doubt Phoebe was expecting cows and chickens and a goat or two, but from what Hunter had been able to glean regarding Calliope Jones Costas’s organic enterprise, they were more likely to get set on by a couple dozen trees’ worth of butterflies.

  Despite her excitement, Phoebe had refused to leave the house until she’d finished a supersecret art project, but any irritation he’d felt at having his morning schedule thrown off melted away when he saw the I’m sorry card she’d made for Kendall. He’d waited patiently as she’d slipped it under her front door before they left.

  The entire pot of coffee Kendall had brewed early this morning hadn’t done its job of keeping him alert as he’d burned their pancake breakfast and accidentally poured coffee in Phoebe’s juice glass. He’d practically drowned himself in the shower trying to rev himself up and still he felt sluggish and not quite right. As they rounded the corner, he realized he wouldn’t be going anywhere soon, either. Beyond the expansive wooden crisscross fence, acres of well-planted land stretched out in all directions, right up to the tree line. Situated among the lush green explosions of early spring color sat the most perfect stone cottage, complete with a bright red door and a front porch made for sipping lemonade and listening to the crickets jumping through the vegetable patch.