Книга - Home For A Hero

Home For A Hero
Mary Anne Wilson


Shelter Island's desolate coast is where Lucas Roman has come to battle the terrible trauma he's suffered in the war. Physically, he's almost as good as new, but the emotional toll of guarding a buddy's secret– and being branded a traitor because of it– is something he's kept to himself. So when a freak storm washes Shay Donovan up on the reclusive millionaire's beach, his first thought is to bundle the bedraggled marine biologist back to town.But with the roads rained out and nowhere to hide, he starts to think that maybe the woman with the amber-flecked eyes is an angel of mercy– not the enemy.









Home for a Hero

Mary Anne Wilson








For that one person who can make love

new and real when it seems lost.

You know who you are. Thanks.




Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Epilogue




Chapter One


December 30,

Shelter Island, Washington State

Lucas Roman protected his privacy as fiercely as he’d done most everything in his thirty-seven years of life. Nothing came past the gates or over the fences that surrounded Lost Point at the farthest northern point of the island. It was his safe harbor, the only spot in the world where he could breathe easily. He was totally alone here, and it wasn’t that he liked being alone—he needed the solitude to survive.

But that didn’t stop him from occasionally wondering if this was what his life would be like until he ceased to exist. He only knew that right now, this was his world.

He stood at the top of the thirty-foot bluffs near the stairs cut into the rocky side that led to the hard-packed, narrow ribbon of beach below. The dense fog of early evening surrounded him and the air that filtered into his lungs was bitingly cold. He pulled his old pea coat more tightly around his six-foot two-inch frame and headed to the beach. He eased down the stairs, taking them two at a time, and jumped over the last four, landing squarely on the rock-strewn sand.

He had nowhere to go or anyplace to be. He was just killing time, walking and thinking and staying out of the house until he had no choice but to go back inside. He looked left, then right, and arbitrarily chose the right, going west. After two years of being at Lost Point on his own, he pretty much knew every nook and cranny of the land, but the beach changed regularly. Rocks and seaweed washed in with the tides, and the sand eroded, pushed and pulled both into the water and back against the rugged bluffs.

Luke felt the wind growing, and he was about to turn and go back when he saw something, a vague blur in the fog ahead of him on the beach. It was a dark misshapen pile near the water’s edge. He approached, wondering if another seal had floundered on the shore, too weak to find its way into open water. But with each footstep, Luke dismissed the idea it was a seal—the object was too big, too irregular. When he got even closer, he stopped in his tracks.

He’d seen too many bodies in his life not to know that what he was looking at was human. He pulled his small flashlight out of his jacket pocket and directed the narrow beam on the body which was facedown on the sand. He hurried to get to the person, then dropped to his haunches and briefly took in the splayed arms and legs, soggy, dark jacket and equally dark hair crusted and fanned on the sand. The stranger didn’t appear to be breathing.

Luke acted on instinct, doing what he’d done so often in his life. He pushed the wet hair back and found himself staring at a woman. Pressing two fingers to the artery at her throat, he was relieved when he felt a pulse.

Pulling back, he looked at a face so pale that her lashes looked as black as night. Her lips were parted, and he quickly bent toward her, putting his left hand under her neck to drop her head back, then he pinched her nose and was about to start CPR when she suddenly coughed and lurched to one side. She rolled to her right, pressing one hand to the sand and half lifting herself up as she coughed and retched.

Luke waited, knowing the best thing was to let her clear her lungs—he couldn’t help her with that. He sat on his heels, watching her until she began to gulp in air and, finally, she fell weakly back onto the sand. Her eyes were closed, and she continued to struggle to breathe. Then, as he reached out to brush her hair back, her eyes flew open, looking for all the world like a waterlogged deer caught in the headlights of a car.

Her sand-caked hand lifted and she gasped, “What…what are you…?”

“Are you all right?” he asked, not making any move to get closer to her.

She exhaled, then her hand lowered to cover her eyes. “Oh, God,” she whispered as if the question had brought back whatever she’d faced in the water. Then she moved quickly, sitting up. She shook her head, then pulled her legs to her chest and pressed her face to her knees. “Oh, man,” she moaned.

“What happened?” he asked.

She twisted in his direction, and her huge amber eyes narrowed. “I fell off a boat,” she said, and that statement was followed by a shiver that shook her body.

There were always people in the sound—fishermen, sportsmen, visitors and commuters that traveled on the ferry from Seattle a number of times a day. “You fell off the ferry?”

“No, no,” she said as she turned and pushed up to stand. She was shaky for a moment, but got her balance. Her feet were bare, and what looked like jeans clung to slender legs. Her jacket was so wet it sagged almost to her knees, and her tangle of hair stuck to her cheeks and throat. She was probably five foot six or seven and had to tip her head slightly to look up at him.

“I was…” She hugged her arms around herself and shivered again. “I was in a boat and tripped, and…” She shrugged. “I fell over the railing.”

Luke took a step back without even thinking about it when she came toward him as she spoke. He knew that most islanders had given up trying to find out about the owner of Lost Point, but he had no doubt that there were reporters who still thought that finding Lucas Roman could be big news. She looked like a drowned rat, and he knew she’d been unconscious when he’d found her, but now he started to wonder just how far some people would go to get to him. He never let himself forget that people were devious and driven by what they wanted. Suddenly suspicion nudged at him; he lifted the light to her face.

“Could…you please get that light out of my eyes?”

He didn’t hesitate; he’d already memorized her face. The heart-shaped face, dark eyes, sharp chin. And he saw no signs of hypothermia beyond her unsteadiness. She looked cold, but her color was good. “So, you fell off a boat and…?” he prodded.

He heard her release a shaky breath, then mutter, “Hit the water, almost drowned, got to shore and here I am.”

She’d been unconscious moments ago and now she sounded almost annoyed that he was asking her anything about her presence here. “If you fell off a boat, someone must be looking for you,” he said.

“I wish.” She swiped at her hair again, making little leeway in getting it off her face. “I was alone on the boat, so no one knows I went overboard. At least, not yet.”

Alone on a boat in the sound at night in the fog? She was either crazy or stupid. He wasn’t sure which. “Okay, now what?” He knew he was being rude, but his manners had faded along with most of the remnants of his past life. He didn’t care. She was up and moving around, obviously cold but breathing and in one piece. He just wanted to get her out of there.

“I need to get to a phone. My boat’s out there unmanned.” She took another step toward him, and this time, he stood his ground. He felt his breathing hitch. “I need to call someone and find a way to get back to the mainland.”

He had a phone up at the main house, but it wasn’t in service—it could call 911 in an emergency, though.

“I’ll make the call for you,” he said, hoping that she’d agree to stay right there while he made the call. But she didn’t.

“I’ll make the call myself,” she said, then looked past him to the steps. “Is that the way to the phone?”

Her eyes were back on him. He didn’t want her going up to the house with him, but short of telling her to stay put, he didn’t have much of a choice. So he gave her the only excuse he could think of at the moment. “You can’t go up there barefoot. Those stones are rough and the landscape is pretty wild.”

“I made it this far, so I can make it up some steps,” she said without hesitation.

He gave up. Without another word, he went back to the staircase and climbed easily to the top. She was right behind him, but stepped gingerly onto the tangle of grass and ferns that had, at one time, he suspected, been a rather attractive landscape. The large trees that towered high in the dusky sky had been untrimmed for so long they almost shut out the views of the mainland across the sound and closed in the main house. The area looked wild and untamed; he liked it that way. Luke liked it more when some woman wasn’t invading his world. Luke didn’t want to be anyone’s Good Samaritan. He didn’t qualify for that on any level.



SHAY DONOVAN wasn’t an impulsive person. She never had been. Measured and sure, she’d spent her twenty-eight years in a calm quietness that matched her choice of career. As a marine biologist, she studied facts. She searched and tested absolutes. Then, in one moment, one day before New Year’s Eve, she acted recklessly and foolishly and ended up on a beach, half-drowned, freezing to death, with a tall stranger who had saved her.

She was cold and shaky, and her feet hurt from the rocky beach and the steps that led to the top of the towering bluffs. Fog was everywhere, blocking anything beyond five feet away from her, and the man grudgingly leading her was a mere blur in the night when she looked up at him.

“The house is over there,” he said when they reached the top. He pointed off into the fog ahead of them, then took off in that direction.

She hurried to keep up, trying to avoid the errant rocks or branches that had fallen off the trees that grew with abandon all around.

“How’d you manage to get out there at this time of night and go overboard?” he asked without looking back at her.

How indeed? she thought and tried to give him a condensed version of her craziness as she followed him. “I work at the Sound Preservation Agency in Seattle, and I was doing a study on the coastline of the island. I went out to take a look around. When I left, it wasn’t dark, there wasn’t any fog and I didn’t plan on going overboard.”

He didn’t respond, and she found herself adding more details to the story as they kept walking. “I took a boat that had just been serviced, but something went wrong and it died. I couldn’t start it.” She wouldn’t tell him that today would have been her second wedding anniversary, or that she still missed Graham so much that the only way she could feel closer to him was to be on the water.

He’d loved the water. They’d met on the water, and they’d actually married on a small boat off the shore of Mexico.

She kept that to herself and added, “I contacted the coast guard, but they had a major emergency north of here, so they told me to sit tight and wait.”

“Good advice,” he murmured, and she felt the ground under her feet change. Stones. They were cold and damp but even. To her sore feet, they felt like silk.

She looked up and thought they must be on a terrace of sorts, and through the fog, she could barely make out the looming shadow that had to be the house.

The man led the way to the left, and gradually she could make out the rough stone and heavy timber walls that soared up two or three stories to a steeply pitched roof.

Brick steps in a sweeping half circle led up to a heavy door, which the man opened. A light flashed on, and she found herself in a large utility room lined with cupboards on one side, shelves on the other and a very modern-looking washer and drier in an alcove.

“In here.” He took her into a larger room. When he turned on the light, she was taken aback to see a kitchen that looked like something out of a turn-of-the-century hotel, with its stone walls and coved ceiling, except for the very modern appliances and slate countertops. A central island the size of a small car held a multiburner cooktop and a three-door refrigerator was directly across from where she stood and looked large enough to hold a person. Under a row of high windows on the far side of the room were three apron sinks that could have been used to bathe in if a person were desperate.

“Over there,” the man said, and she glanced at a wall phone that hung in an arched nook by the refrigerator. “It’s not in service, but I was told you can call 911.”

She hesitated, then said, “I’m Shay Donovan by the way. Thank you so much for your help.”

He nodded, then moved through a large archway to his right and out of sight. Shay shook her head. Nice to meet you, too. She picked up the phone, heard a dial tone and punched in 911. Once she was connected to the coast guard, she explained that she’d called earlier. They knew right away who she was, and the man on the other end of the line told her that her predicament wasn’t exactly a code red—until she told him she’d fallen overboard.

“What’s your status?” he asked abruptly.

She explained what had happened and that she didn’t think she needed medical help.

“Thank goodness you’re safe. Just wait there, and we’ll do a search for the GPS signal from your craft. Give me a callback number.”

“I can’t. This phone isn’t in service. I can call 911, but I don’t think anyone can call in.”

“Roger that,” he said, then added. “Call us in three hours and ask for extension twenty-three.”

“Thanks,” she said and hung up.

When she turned her host had returned, and she got her first good look at him. She couldn’t tell how old he was, maybe his early forties. She’d originally thought his hair dark, but now she could see it was a deep chestnut shot with gray. The cut was shaggy at best, combed straight back from a face that seemed to be all sharp angles where shadows cut under his jawline, at his high cheekbones and his throat.

The stubble of a new beard darkened his jaw, and a faded scar cut through his left eyebrow and across his temple to stand out against his tanned skin. He’d taken off the heavy peacoat he’d been wearing along with his boots. He stood there in his stocking feet and a plain chambray shirt with short sleeves. Dark eyes that looked almost black were narrowed on her. “What did they say?” he asked, staying in the doorway.

That I’m a fool, she thought. “They’re doing a GPS tracking on the boat and asked me call them back in three hours or so.” She rubbed her arms as cold water ran down her neck. “I can’t believe I got myself into this mess,” she said.

He shrugged as if he could believe it, even though he didn’t know her, then he made an offer. “I’ll drive you into town. You can find a place there to stay in until the coast guard does whatever the coast guard does.”

“That would be great,” she said. “How far are we from town?”

“A ways.”

That was when she realized she had no idea where she’d landed when she’d managed to get to the beach. She remembered going overboard, reaching for the rope that ran along the side of the boat and missing it. Then the rip current wound around her, pulling her away from the boat, farther and farther, the fog being the only thing she could see. “Where am I?” she asked.

“On Shelter Island.”

She’d figured out that one. “No I mean, I was at the northern end of the island when I went overboard, near a place called Lost Point, but by the time I was able to swim for it, I’d lost my bearings.”

“You’re still at the northern end,” he said. “This is Lost Point.”

She knew her jaw must have dropped, but managed to say, “This place, the house, that beach…?”

“Lost Point,” he said.

When she’d come to the agency, they’d hired her to run tests on the waters around the island. Marine life was dying at an increasingly alarming rate, being washed up on the beaches with no obvious signs of trauma. Toxicology tests had shown nothing, so she’d been working to find an answer, with the cooperation of the islanders. They were as concerned as the agency was and had been very nice about granting access to the properties along the shore.

All but one—the owner of Lost Point and the sprawling acres on the northern tip of the island.

No amount of letters and calls to ask for access to Lost Point, a mass of rugged property on the extreme northwestern corner of the island, got any response, not even a refusal. Nothing. She’d been forced to do any work in that area from the water, and it was frustrating her, but she didn’t give up trying to get access to the land, even if it was limited.

“You’re about the most stubborn person I’ve ever met,” Graham had told her. And he’d been right.

She’d dug around and tried to find out about the owner, but the name on the deed was Maurice Evans, who, it was noted, represented “the legal owner.” She’d tracked down Maurice Evans to a very prestigious law firm in New York, but any calls to his offices resulted in a dead end.

One of the islanders had told her that the property had been vacant for years, then a little over two years ago, someone had bought it. No one had ever seen or met the owner, and even the crew who cleaned it once a month wasn’t local.

The only person with regular access to the land was a caretaker who seldom went into town. His name was Luke—last name unknown, and he obviously didn’t answer mail for the owner. He also never answered the security buzzer Shay had tried when she’d driven to the huge gates that barred all entry to Lost Point.

Thanks to her near drowning, she had struck gold. She was not only on Lost Point, she was in it! “You own this property?” she asked, having a hard time seeing this man as a top-level attorney.

“No,” he said. Shay was disappointed momentarily, but even though Maurice Evans was still missing, she could talk to this man. At least she thought so until he added, “Call them back and tell them I’ll get you to town, to the police station if you want. I’ll get my jacket and boots.”

He turned before she could object. She didn’t want to just leave like this. She needed time to figure out how to ask this man to get her in contact with Maurice Evans.

She heard footsteps on the stone flooring as the man returned, shrugging into his heavy jacket and wearing his boots again.

“I really appreciate all you’re doing for me,” she said in a rush. “I was just thinking, I have three hours before I have to call the coast guard back and I’m freezing. I hate to ask after you’ve been so generous with your help, but is there any way I could put my clothes in the dryer while I’m here? If I can’t find a place to clean up in town, I won’t be sitting there soaked to the skin.”

She’d spoken quickly, afraid he’d cut her off at the start, but she’d said everything she’d wanted and he hadn’t said no. At least not yet. “What if I give you some dry clothes, then you can change. There’s a Laundromat in town.”

Logical, but not near what she wanted. “I guess I could, but I’m so cold.” She shivered right then and it wasn’t for show. The house itself didn’t feel warm at all.

He stared at her hard, then said, “Okay, sure.” She didn’t miss the begrudging tone in his voice.

“While I’m waiting for the clothes to dry, may I take a hot shower?”

She knew she was pushing it, but she wanted to talk to him some more. He was silent for a long moment, then he countered her suggestion. “You know, if we wait around for your clothes to dry and you to take a shower, we risk everything closing in Shelter Bay. I think we need to go now.”

Shay realized she’d gone too far, and chided herself, but she wouldn’t lose this opportunity to find out more about Lost Point. “Please,” she persisted, praying he wouldn’t just tell her to get going.

He exhaled as if she exasperated him, and she probably had. She knew he wanted to say she should just be on her way, but he didn’t. “Okay, but let’s get going.” He turned, and without another word, left the room. He didn’t tell her to follow, but she did. She hurried after him, going through what had to be the most ornate dining room she’d ever seen, from the dark-wood-paneled walls to the coved ceiling that supported a huge chandelier to a table she was quite certain would seat at least twenty people.

Then they were in a two-storied great room that was separated in the middle by a stone fireplace that was empty of a fire or even logs or ashes. The room was furnished in leathers and antiques that should have been in a showroom somewhere. Few people could afford the art on the walls and she bet they were originals. She barely caught the scent of lemon oil in the chilly air before they came into a black marble entry dominated by a sweeping staircase that led to the upper levels.

He walked into a wide hallway, then turned to the right through double doors and into a large bedroom with a raised sitting area, French doors on the back wall and an arched entry to a bathroom on the left. A massive four-poster bed stood in the center of the room as if on display.

“Just get those clothes off and hand them out to me so I can get them in the dryer.”

Shay slipped past him and into the bathroom and was relieved to see a sliding door on the other side of the stone arch entrance. She tugged it closed, then stopped and took a deep breath. Stripping off the soaking clothes, she cringed at the puddle that formed at her muddied feet on the polished, pale silver stones.

She piled her panties and bra on the stack, then folded her jeans, white shirt and soggy jacket around the underwear before edging the door open a crack. “Here’s my clothes,” she said, making sure to keep herself hidden behind the door.

“Got them,” he said.

She pulled back and shut the door. She had an hour, maybe a bit more, but before she left, she was going to find the owner of Lost Point.




Chapter Two


Luke walked away with his arms full of damp clothing and hurried back to the utility room. Having Shay Donovan in his house was unsettling, but her taking a shower here…? He had to be rational about the situation, but it made him edgy. No one had been in the house since he’d arrived, except for the cleaning crew. When they arrived, he left and didn’t come back until they were long gone.

He stuffed the clothing into the dryer, and dropped something. He reached down to pick up a pale pink bra, stared at it, then shook his head. He should have just driven her away from here. Now he was stuck with company for at least an hour.

Closing the dryer door, he turned it on. As the drum began to tumble, he returned to the kitchen and took time making some coffee—he could use it. He thought of Shay shaking from the cold and knew she probably could use it, too.

Luke stayed in the kitchen as long as it took to brew the coffee, then found two mugs and poured the steaming liquid into them. God, he was acting as if he were civilized. That almost brought a wry smile to his face. Him? Civilized? He didn’t think so. When he got back to the bedroom, the door to the bath was still shut. He crossed to it and knocked.

“Yes?” he heard her say faintly from within.

“There’s coffee out here and a robe in there somewhere in the closet. Help yourself until your clothes dry.”

He expected her to just thank him, but he didn’t expect her to slide the door back enough to look out at him. He sure as hell didn’t expect her to smile at him, either, or to show the dimples on either side of her full lips. She reached for the closest mug, gripped it, then said, “Thank you so much. You’re really a lifesaver in more ways than one.”

Then she closed the door and he was left standing there with his own coffee and wondering what he’d gotten himself into inviting her into his house.

When he’d gotten his first clear look at her, he’d felt uneasy. Tall and slender, with eyes that weren’t really dark but a rich shade of amber mixed with green, she’d been so vulnerable. The freckles across her straight nose had stood out against her pale skin, and her hair—a rich chestnut shade—although soaked and matted to her temples, had started to curl at the ends. But even then, he could tell that if Shay Donovan were dry and clean and warm, she’d be a striking woman to look at.

Luke went to the great room and headed to the French doors that led out onto a secondary patio with a stunning view of the sound. He opened one of the doors, but just stood in the entry, letting the deep chill touch his face and invade the room. He had been alone so long that he’d made his own rules.

He could have dealt with finding a seal on the beach. He wasn’t a people person at all, and now he just wanted this over with. He wanted Shay Donovan back in town in some trendy bed-and-breakfast, dry and safe. He didn’t want her here, and he sure as hell didn’t want her getting any closer.



SHAY KNEW ABOUT loneliness and being alone, but the man who had found her on the beach seemed almost empty. As she dried off, she realized he was angry, too. He hated her being here. While showering, Shay had wondered if he were the mysterious caretaker. Maybe her presence would jeopardize his job, or maybe he was working at an isolated estate because he just simply hated people, period.

She looked around the expansive bathroom, appreciating the stone walls and the large tub at the top of two steps. The doorless shower that was big enough for four people to use at once had been heavenly. She had barely noticed the bedroom, but it was just as imposing. With its stone walls and massive dark furniture made it was practically medieval, she thought with a smile. It wouldn’t surprise her if there were dungeons below. That thought made her smile more.

She found the closet, a walk-in as large as most bedrooms but with few clothes in it. A couple of pairs of jeans had been folded and stacked on a side shelf, three or four chambray shirts were on hangers and a dark jacket hung in the far corner. Near the door were two white terrycloth bathrobes and she grabbed the closest one and slipped it on. It was soft and luxurious and she almost sighed. She belted it and stopped to take a look at herself in the multiple mirrors that lined the wall to the right. She wished she hadn’t.

She was pale and the freckles she’d always hated stood out starkly against her skin. Her hair was a tangled mess, even though she’d done her best to finger-comb it. She turned away, wondering where the roughly dressed man who’d found her on the beach lived. Surely not in this suite or in this house. Based on what she’d seen so far, this whole estate didn’t fit him. Then again, she didn’t fit in here, either. Luxury and wealth weren’t keystones in her life.

She turned away from the mirror and went into the bathroom, reluctant to leave the heat from the shower that lingered. But the man wanted her out of here, and she wanted to get some answers from him before he drove her into town. It wouldn’t be so bad to know his name, either, she thought and smiled to herself. She padded barefoot into the bedroom area. It was dark outside and it wasn’t until she glanced at her wrist that she realized her watch must have fallen off when she’d been in the water.

Her wallet! If that was gone, too, she had no money, no credit cards and no way to pay for a hotel for the night or a rental car in the morning. Her cell phone was either still on the boat or at the bottom of the sound. The soles of her feet felt tender as she headed for the bedroom door. The man had been right—the steps had been too rough for her, but she’d stubbornly insisted on climbing them anyway. Now she was paying the price.

She made her way back to the utility room, noticing more details of the house now, but seeing nothing that did away with her original impression of luxury and wealth. When she stepped into the great room, she was struck by how massive the fireplace really was as it extended to a ceiling that looked as if it belonged in some chapel or church. Painted on the stone were intricate murals that she thought had to have been done when the house had been built.

Just as she was about to leave, she stopped when she saw the man standing in front of an open door. He was staring out at the night, and the cold was seeping into the room, making it almost uncomfortably cool.

“Hello,” she said. Shay knew that the man hadn’t heard her at first, not until she was within about six feet of him. “I’m done,” she said.

He turned quickly, and for a moment his gaze looked unfocused, then it quickly sharpened on her.

She thought she could read people, that she could pretty much tell what was going on in another person’s mind, but this man gave away nothing. His eyes hid any indication of what he was feeling, and despite the crackling intensity she could sense, his face seemed oddly neutral, even when he was being abrupt with her.

It struck her that she’d seen people like this man when she’d been in therapy in the months following Graham’s death. She’d reluctantly visited a psychologist and gone to group therapy for a while. A man who’s name was Roy had been there. He’d come twice, then had never shown up again. This man’s expression was an echo of Roy’s, down to the totally unreadable eyes. Shay tried to remember why Roy had been there, but couldn’t.

Unable to take the odd silence any longer, she said, “The shower was wonderful. Thanks so much.”

He nodded, his usual way of responding to any thanks she gave him she realized from the short time she’d been around him.

“One more thing?” she said.

His eyes narrowed as if he were wary of what she’d ask for this time. “What?”

“Your name. You never told me your name.”

There was the oddest hesitation before he finally said, “Luke.”

Just Luke. At least now she knew he must be the caretaker. “Do you think you could give me the owner’s address or maybe phone number so I could thank him for all you’ve done for me?”

He studied her, then said succinctly, “No, I can’t.”

“Please, I really should thank him.”

He shook his head, his back still to the open door and the cold air that was getting almost unbearable for Shay. “He wouldn’t expect that,” he said.

“Then at least tell me what his name is?”

“It’s on the mailbox,” he said.

There wasn’t a mailbox—she knew from her trips out here to try to talk to the owner. “If I wanted to get in touch with the owner, how could I do it?”

“Write a letter,” he said and turned to the open door.

“Okay,” she said softly, trying to stem her growing anger. “Then will you thank him for me?”

“Sure,” he said, his back to her.

She looked away from him and turned to sit on one of the heavy leather sofas arranged in a half circle in front of the hearth. The leather was chilly, and the coldness seeped through her. “One more thing?” she said.

He turned slowly, frowning at her. “What?”

Asking him anything else about the owner clearly wasn’t an option. She swallowed. “I was just wondering if we could turn on the furnace. It’s so damp and—”

Before she could finish, he closed the door. “Sorry,” he said.

“I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just that I was noticing the art and antique collection the owner has and it seems that maybe they shouldn’t be exposed to the cold and the dampness.”

He looked at her as if he didn’t have a clue what she was talking about, then shrugged. “Whatever.”

A buzzer sounded deep in the house, and Luke moved to go past her. “Your clothes are ready,” he said and headed toward the kitchen. When he came back, his arms were full, and she stood to meet him halfway across the room. He handed her the clothes that were still warm from the dryer.

“Thanks,” she said, and hurried back to the bedroom and into the bathroom. She dressed quickly, relishing the heat against her skin wanting to hug it to herself. Then she felt something in her jeans pocket and pulled out her wallet. It was distorted and still very damp, but when she opened it, she found crumpled bills and her credit cards. If she only had her shoes now. She didn’t remember them coming off, but she likely pushed them off when she was in the water so she could swim better.

Her jacket was still damp, but she shrugged it on over the white shirt and jeans, then hung the robe back in the closet. She headed to the great room, but when she got there Luke was nowhere in sight. She looked around, and if his jacket hadn’t been lying over one of the couches, and his boots hadn’t been on the floor, she would have wondered if he existed at all.

She crossed to the door he’d been standing in front of, and the fog outside was so thick it looked like a solid wall. “Luke?” she called as she opened the door and stepped out onto the flat terrace stones.

As she opened her mouth to call out again, he materialized out of the fog without a sound. “Ready to go?” he asked.

“As ready as I can be,” she said and turned to go back inside.

He was right behind her, then passed her to grab his jacket. He stepped into his boots, pulled on his jacket and started back the way they’d first come into the room. “Don’t you want me to close the back door?” she called after him.

“Don’t bother,” he said over his shoulder as he kept walking.

She went after him, through the utility room and out the open door. She stepped out and felt the slippery cold of the stones at the steps under her feet and pulled the door shut after her. The chill in the air cut right through her still-damp jacket, and she barely covered a shudder. Luke was crossing the side terrace, dissolving into the night and fog, and she hurried to catch up. She paid for it when her tender feet objected to the roughness of the stones under them, but she didn’t break stride.

“Can you walk a bit slower? I don’t have any shoes on and it’s so dark out here, I can’t see where I’m going.”

Luke slowed, but didn’t turn. A flashlight was suddenly in his hand and he aimed it back in her direction and on the ground. “Thanks,” she said.

“Wait here,” he said. “I’ll get the truck.” Then he was gone, taking the light with him.

She would have thought that a house like this would have at least a six-car garage and access from the house itself, but that obviously wasn’t the case. She waited in the isolated darkness until she heard the faint rumble of an engine. The next thing she knew the glow of headlights cut through the fog and darkness.

The low beams caught her for a moment before they swung left and an old pickup truck slid up beside her. The passenger door opened, almost hitting her.

“Get in,” Luke said from behind the wheel with his usual abruptness.

She grabbed the door and got into the cab. Sinking back in the hard seat, she let the heat that came from under the dash wrap around her sore feet.

Luke drove off, inching along, obviously seeing where he was going even if she couldn’t. The next thing she knew, the massive entry gates suddenly appeared in front of them out of the fog. The truck was literally within inches of striking the barrier when it came to a shuddering stop.

She turned to Luke, expecting him to hit a remote to open the gates. He just stared at the barrier. “Do you want me to get out and open the gates?” she offered, despite not wanting to step on anything wet and cold again.

“Dammit all,” Luke muttered as if she hadn’t spoken.

“What?” she asked. “Do you want me to get out and help with the gates?”

She reached for the handle, but Luke stopped her when he said, “We aren’t going anywhere.”

“I thought you said you’d drive me into town?”

He finally turned to her, and the low glow from the dash cut odd shadows around his eyes and mouth. She’d been so thankful when he’d first found her on the beach, then excited about being in Lost Point, but now she felt a bit afraid. She remembered right then why Roy, the man in her therapy group, had been there. He’d returned from being overseas, had settled back into his life, then he’d gone to work one day and erupted over his boss’s choice of coffee for the office.

She’d almost laughed at him when he’d explained it to the group. At the time, she’d been there because of her husband’s sudden death, and she had been floundering in a life that had made no sense to her. Roy had been mad at his boss? Then she found out more about his background in the army and the troubles he’d had since being discharged.

Now she could see that tension in Luke, and something she should have thought about from the start came to her in a rush. She was alone with a stranger, a man she didn’t know. Her stomach clenched. She made herself take a breath, calm down, and speak gently, the way the therapist had spoken to Roy. “That’s okay, I can open the gate,” she said. “Not a problem at all.” Before she’d wanted to stay longer, but now she knew she just wanted to get into Shelter Bay.



SHAY’S OFFER WAS SIMPLE, but Luke had heard that tone before, far too many times. The don’t-make-him-mad placating tone that people took when they were afraid of upsetting someone they perceived as irrational. He hated it. “We can’t leave because the fog’s too heavy. I almost didn’t see the gates in time to stop.”

“Okay.” Still the tone of her voice ran over his nerves in the most unpleasant way. “Then what do you think we should do?”

Stay right here. But he didn’t want that. He wanted her gone. He’d lived on Shelter Island long enough to know that driving in this fog was a stupid thing to do. If they’d left earlier, maybe he could have taken her into town before it had gotten this bad. Now there were no choices left except to stay right here…both of them. He’d learned the hard way that there were few options in this life. His last decision had been to stay where he could be found or come here. He’d chosen here, Lost Point. From then on, his options had been simple—get up in the morning or don’t, live or don’t.

He knew she was staring at him, waiting for something. Anything.

“What are we going to do?” she asked again patiently.

“Go back,” he finally said. He’d drop her where he’d picked her up, park the truck, then figure this all out. But as he turned the wheel, she grabbed at his arm. “Wait, we can figure out—”

He didn’t have any control over his reaction. He jerked away from her touch so sharply that he pulled the wheel left—hard. He braked but it was too late. He heard the squeal of tires on the wet cobbled drive, then a jerk up at the curb, followed by the truck hitting the ground with a thud.

The front end of the old truck started to sink into the muddy ground immediately. The land was so soggy from the persistent rain over the past week, the tires spun uselessly.

“We’re stuck,” he said, thinking that was one of the most obvious truths he’d ever stated. He grabbed the door handle to get out.

“What happened?” she asked.

He couldn’t tell her that she’d caused it, that her touch had panicked him. Instead, he lied as he jumped out, “I don’t know.”

He took one look at the situation, then reached back into the truck to turn off the engine. “Mud up to the axles,” he said without looking across at her.

“This isn’t exactly a 911 incident, so I guess using the phone to call for a tow truck is out?”

“Yeah,” he muttered. As out as driving her into town as soon as the fog lifted.

“Don’t you have a cell phone or something?”

“No.”

“Everybody has a cell phone.”

“Then where’s yours?” he asked, looking right at her.

She shrugged. “It…it got lost when I went overboard, but it was dead before that.”

“I rest my case,” he murmured.

“Well, if you don’t have a working phone and there’s no cell phone, what does the owner do when he—?”

“I don’t know,” he snapped, his nerves frayed by her constant questions about the owner.

She sank back in the seat. “Then what?”

He knew what they had to do, and he hated the thought. “We’ll just have to wait until morning, then I can walk into town.”

“That’s an awfully long walk,” she said.

He frowned at her. How did she know that? She hadn’t mentioned being on the island before, but then again, he hadn’t been the gracious host, either. “You’ve been on the island before?”

“I’ve been here a few times to talk to beach owners and do some studies. But even I know that it would take you a long time to get into town from here.”

He’d walked the distance a couple of times when he’d needed the physical exhaustion. “I can do it,” he said, and drew back, swinging the door shut after him.

Shay got out and came around to where he stood, limping slightly as she moved closer to bend over and take a look at the tires trapped in the mire. “Whoa, it really is stuck.” She turned, straightening, and grimaced as she shifted her feet.

He could tell that even on the soggy ground, her feet were tender. If he’d been gallant, if he’d been more polite, he would have offered to help her, maybe even carry her so she wouldn’t have to walk. But he wasn’t any of those things anymore. Or maybe he hadn’t forgotten good manners as he’d first thought. When she shifted again, she flinched. He flashed the light down at her feet, at the dirt and grass clinging to them, and caught a glimpse of pale pink polish on her toenails. Then he stepped toward her and picked her up.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d held a woman, but he knew that he never should have done this. Everything in him backfired. He’d thought he was doing the right thing, proving to himself that he could still be human, but the moment she was in his arms, he felt his whole being clench. She gasped and twisted to look up at him. “What are you doing?”

He wasn’t at all sure himself, but he knew that he felt his whole body brace as hers leaned into his. Then her arm was around his neck, and he hurried up the driveway to the terrace and headed for the door. He pushed it open, then put her down, and backed up, unconsciously rubbing his hands together as if to free himself of that connection he’d found for a few moments. He sucked in a deep breath, then looked at Shay.

She brushed at her hair as those amber eyes lifted to him. “Thanks,” she said in a soft voice.

“Sure.” He turned from her, and his stomach was roiling so painfully he thought he was going to be sick. He went farther into the house without looking back, stepped out of his boots in the great room and stripped off his peacoat, tossing it over the arm of the nearest couch. When he looked back, Shay was standing across the room, far from where he stood. She was slowly taking off her jacket, but she was watching him.

She looked like a waif, pale and shaking, shifting from foot to foot again on the wooden floor, her hair wildly curling from the moisture. Luke seemed to see her so clearly at that moment that it almost made him ache. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want her here, and mostly, he didn’t want to feel any sort of pity or concern for her. He’d passed that point in his life. He’d vowed not to care about anyone anymore, and he wasn’t going to start with this woman.

He wouldn’t remember her coming into this house, standing in front of him, her eyes huge, her hair clinging to her face and neck. He closed his own eyes tightly. He felt that fragmenting sensation he used to live with all the time, but had managed to push away the past few months.

“Luke?”

The sound of her voice jarred him, and his eyes opened immediately. She was still there, frowning as she came closer. That’s when he moved himself, walking right past her and toward the kitchen. He reached the huge double sink, pressed his hands to the cold tile counter and swallowed hard. He knew Shay was nearby and he made himself speak without turning. “We’re going to be here for a while, so I’ll make some hot soup.”

“That sounds blissful,” Shay said, closer to him than he wanted, but still at a distance.

Blissful? Had he ever felt blissful? He decided that blissful was outside his range of emotions. He opened the cupboard by him, reached for the nearest can of soup and stared at the label until it blurred as he waited for Shay to leave. When he heard her walking away, he exhaled and was able to get air in his lungs. Blissful? No, he never had experienced bliss.




Chapter Three


By the time Luke had the soup heated, found crackers and made more coffee, he felt calmer. He put the food on a tray, then carried it into the great room. Shay was on the nearest couch, curled into one corner, her head against the pillows and her eyes closed. Her rich chestnut hair was drying into soft curls now, touching her pale skin, and her dark lashes lay in arcs on her cheeks. Her peaceful expression was almost tangible, and for a split second, he envied her. It was one thing to never know bliss, but not to have known peace for such a very long time made him ache.

He was startled when her eyes opened without warning, and her soft amber gaze was on him. She smiled, showing the dimples again. “Wonderful,” she exclaimed when she saw the food and shifted to sit up straight.

He felt the impact of her expression in his middle and it was all he could do to control the urge to drop everything and walk away. He steadied himself, and went closer. After placing the tray on the end table nearest her, he returned to the kitchen for his own mug of coffee. She was holding a bowl of soup when he came back, and her content expression made his life feel grim and gray. “This is terrific,” she said, and dipped her spoon in the bowl. “Really terrific.”

He went to open the nearest door when she spoke again. “Luke?”

No one had said his name in this house, and now it hung in the air between them. Did Luke exist anymore? Had he ever existed?

He cautiously turned, saw her dipping a cracker into the soup, but she was looking at him. “What is it?” he asked.

“Aren’t you going to eat?”

“No,” he said, stepping out onto the terrace. He heard her start to say something else, but he closed the door on it. He stood in the bone-chilling cold in his stocking feet, staring into nothingness, yet couldn’t get the image of Shay out of his mind. He didn’t want to have her cutting through the void around him and showing him how empty his life had become. He didn’t want anyone. And he didn’t want her touching him again.



SHAY WATCHED the door close behind Luke, and the idea she was in any danger from the man gradually eased and dissolved. She still caught that look on Luke’s face that Roy had worn during the sessions, but now, she wasn’t so sure it was anger. It was more sadness. She had nothing to fear, she was sure.

Luke had shown her kindness, even if it had been grudging, offering to take her into town, drying her clothes, letting her shower, carrying her when he must have realized how sore her feet were, and now giving her the hot soup. Other than his abrupt attitude, he hadn’t done a thing to make her think he might hurt her. No, she wasn’t afraid of him at all. She finished the cracker and ate more soup, welcoming the heat slipping down her throat.

By the time she finished the food and sat back, Luke still hadn’t come back. But as she reached for her coffee, one of the back doors opened. Luke didn’t say a thing as he crossed the room and returned a few minutes later holding a steaming mug of coffee. “Do you want more?” he asked, nodding at the empty soup bowl.

“No, thanks, but it was good.” She sipped a bit of her coffee, but never looked away from Luke.

He crossed to a chair over by the doors and sat down, shifting to rest his right ankle on his left knee. He tugged off his sock, tossed it on the floor by him, then took off the other one. He kept his gaze down, as if studying the steaming liquid in his cup.

“I really want to thank you for doing this for me,” she said.

He glanced up, his eyes shaded by partially lowered lids. “Sure.”

“You’re a man of few words, aren’t you?” she asked as she curled her legs under her.

“I speak when I have something to say,” he murmured and took a sip of his coffee.

She was taken aback to see his hand that held the mug was unsteady. She wondered if it was from the chill outside. He didn’t say anything else, but stared into the coffee. Graham had been a talker. She had always teased him that he could have had a conversation with a doorknob, but she was sure even Graham couldn’t get Luke to say more than a few words.

“What do we do now?” she asked.

“Wait.”

“Until?”

“The fog lifts and I walk into town.”

If the fog lingered, she would have a lot of time to figure out how to make contact with Mr. Evans.

She looked away from Luke to the room they were in. “You’ve lived on the estate for a while?”

“A while,” he echoed.

“Where did you come from?”

He rested his mug on his thigh and countered her question with his own. “Where did you come from?”

Okay, he was going to do it his way, and she went along with it since she was totally dependent on his generosity at the moment. And maybe if she spoke about mundane things, he’d let something slip about his boss.

“I was born in San Diego and lived there until I was eighteen. Then I moved to Houston, then Maine, spent a bit of time in San Francisco, then went back to San Diego again. Now I’m up here on a temporary assignment at the Sound Preservation Agency.”

He studied her. “Thanks for that rundown and insight, but I actually meant, where did you come from tonight?”

She thought he was making a joke and started to smile, but he was dead serious. “I told you, I’m a marine biologist at the agency. They’re having problems with the marine life dying with no apparent cause. I’ve done research on a bay for them at an extension near San Diego, and they asked me to visit for a couple of months to look into the problem here. Anyway, I was at work and decided to take a look up this way before I signed out for the day to check on a few things I’ve been uncertain about.”

“Alone?”

“I was about the only one left at the office.” She wouldn’t mention how she realized she was the only one there, the only one without someone to go home to. That she was heading back to the small hotel room where she’d stayed for the past month. Or that she was having trouble getting past today, past the anniversary, and in some way, being on the water seemed to help. She’d been a fool, and she’d been reckless when she shouldn’t have been.

“I didn’t have anywhere to go,” she said, giving a partial truth. “Then I saw the island and thought a trip over would be a good idea. I got lost in thought, and before I knew it, the fog was coming in, the motor quit and I couldn’t start it.”

He listened without comment now, sipped more coffee, then looked at her as if waiting for her to say something that might interest him. He wouldn’t want to hear about how she’d sat on the deck of the boat, wishing Graham were there, that he’d never died, that the life she’d thought two years ago that she’d have now hadn’t disappeared completely. “I called the coast guard, was waiting, turned and…I tripped. I fell over the railing and got caught in a current. I don’t remember much more, until you found me on the beach.”

She really was babbling now, and thankfully he spoke and stopped her. “You said you were alone on the boat?”

Very alone, she thought. “Yes. Most everyone else at the agency has been gone all week for the holidays.”

“Why weren’t you?” he asked, hitting the mark with his words.

She bit her lip, not at all comfortable telling this man so much about herself. Here she was, hoping to learn more about him and his boss, and she was practically spilling her life story. “I’m in Seattle temporarily, and celebrating just…” She shrugged, truly at a loss to explain how the holidays had come to mean little to her recently. “I had work to do, so I was doing it and ignoring the new year that’s coming.”

He sipped more coffee. “It’s overrated.”

“What is? Celebrating?”

“No, the concept of a new year making everything fresh.”

There weren’t any Christmas decorations in this space or anywhere she’d looked around the house. “So, I guess that means you ignore the holidays?”

He studied her, then said more at one time than he’d said since he’d found her on the beach. “A new year is just a new year. Nothing changes. There’s no magic at midnight. It’s just time passing the way it always does. People tend to make a hell of a lot more out of it than makes sense to me.”

There was little emotion in his voice, yet his words made her almost shiver. She more or less agreed with him, not just at the new year, but day in and day out. Time passed. Life went on. Things didn’t change. But hearing it from him filled her with a sharp sadness. “You’re here alone?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“No family?”

“No. How about your family? Are they here?”

She felt herself sinking back, putting an arm around her middle and pressing hard across her stomach. Family? She hadn’t had family since Graham. With Luke asking her about family, it drove home that family for her didn’t exist and wouldn’t again. “No,” she said, adopting his less-than-chatty attitude.

“No one’s looking for you?”

The pain stabbed at her again. The man was suddenly making her feel more alone than she had for a long time. “No one will until someone shows up at the center, finds the boat gone and sees that I put in the security code to get the keys for it.”

“When’s that?”

“I guess after New Year’s, maybe a day or so after.”

Luke studied her and, for a moment, he frowned as his eyes flicked to the simple gold band she still wore on her left hand. “What about your husband?”

She covered the ring with her other hand and found herself biting her lip so hard she was surprised she wasn’t tasting blood in her mouth. “He…” She cleared her throat. “He’s gone.”

Luke didn’t push. She didn’t have to say the words she hated, but she did, as if voicing them to this stranger would make them more real somehow. “He’s dead.” She looked down, easing her grip on her hand.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said in a low voice.

She didn’t want his sympathy or really to think about Graham right then, so she thanked him and changed the subject. “I wonder if the coast guard was able to find the boat.”

He nodded toward another phone on the table by the tray that had held her food. “Call 911 again, and find out. Maybe you should tell them you aren’t going to make it to the police tonight, either.”

She reached for the receiver and once she was transferred to the coast guard, dialed extension twenty-three. Another man said they’d picked up the GPS signal from Shay’s boat and they’d have it within the hour. The problem was they would have to impound the boat at their facility in Seattle for two working days. She just had to come in, show the ownership papers and pay the fees.

She hung up and muttered, “Just great,” as she sank back on the couch.

“What’s wrong?” Luke asked.

“They’re impounding the boat when they get to it, and I’ll have to pay to ransom it.”

He didn’t respond to that, but stood abruptly and came to collect her dishes. He took them out to the kitchen, and she heard running water, then the clank of china on china.

Money was tight, but she could manage the fines or fees or whatever they’d call them. The agency might be upset, but then again, she was a temporary employee. The worst they could do was cut short her contract and she’d go back to San Diego.

Luke came back, but didn’t enter the room fully. “You can have the bed in the guest room. There’s plenty of blankets in the closet.”

She scrambled to her feet. “Oh, no, I can sleep on the couch, right here. No problem.”

“There’s no heat going—the furnace was never turned on, and it can get cold in there.”

“What about a fire? I’m great at building one.”

He glanced at the empty hearth, then back at her. “Not overnight.”

“Where do you sleep?” she asked.

He motioned vaguely to the room they were in. “I’ll be in here.”

If he was going to sleep on the couch, the room he’d offered her had to be his. “I really will be just fine on the couch,” she said. “There’s no reason for you to give up your bed.”

He sighed. “Take it.”

She almost flinched at the abruptness of his command, but decided not to fight it. “Okay, okay,” she said. “Thanks.” She looked around for a clock, but the only one she could see had stopped at either midnight or noon. “I lost my watch during the swim. What time is it?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know, probably around ten.”

“How about a television or a radio?”

“No TV. Oh, there’s a television, but there’s no signal. And there’s probably a radio, but I’m not sure where you’d find it.”

No TV, no radio. “When I get back to the mainland, I’ll send you a nice TV-radio-clock combination as a thank-you gift.”

“I don’t have any use for them,” he said.

“Everyone needs—”

“The sun comes up. The sun goes down. No need for a watch. The world does what the world does, whether I know about it or not.”

“Then a nice box of chocolates it is.” Lord, the man was exasperating!

With that, she left him and went to the guest room, closing the door behind her. She washed up quickly, especially her tender feet, before getting ready to slide into bed. Suddenly she realized she had only her clothes to sleep in. She slipped off her jeans, then had second thoughts about sleeping in her shirt. She had to wear it tomorrow and it was already worse for wear.

Maybe there was a T-shirt around she could wear. She looked about, ready to go and ask Luke if she could borrow something to wear, but stopped. A door slammed deep in the house, then there was no sound at all. She waited, but heard nothing. He must have gone outside again for some reason. She could wait for Luke to come back or just try to find a T-shirt on her own. She was bone-weary from everything that had happened to her and decided just to sleep in her bra and panties.

She climbed into the bed, turned off the side light, then snuggled down in the smooth sheets. She lay back, staring up at the shadows over her and marveled that she’d started her day alone in a hotel room, then alone at the agency. She’d never dreamed that she’d more or less be a castaway, washed up on Luke’s beach. Now she was in his bed. Life never ceased to amaze her at its twists and turns.

If Graham had been with her he would’ve asked her if she’d planned on falling into the sound and getting rescued on the land she so desperately wanted to have access to. She would’ve laughed and told him that was his way of doing things. He hadn’t been a man who saw limits on what he could do. If it meant protecting something or someone, or finding the truth, all rules were off. But she’d never been that bold. Or maybe that crazy. Was that was why she’d been so attracted to Graham at first?

She was startled to realize that the memories of her husband were coming softly now, slipping into her mind. She remembered falling in love with Graham. They’d met when Graham had been hired as a guest lecturer on marine studies at the university in San Diego where she’d been working as a department assistant. She’d heard his lecture and later had approached him. They had coffee, talked some more and before she knew it, they’d become good friends.

Then the love had come, sneaking up on her. At the thought of how she’d loved him, her stomach clenched, and she rolled onto her side, the sensations as familiar to her as the sense of loss that never seemed to leave her since Graham’s death. At the beginning she had tried to fight the emotions, hoping to make them go away. But they’d never stopped completely, and after a time, she’d given up. She’d learned to let the feelings come and leave on their own.

But for the first time, the aching loss of her husband was dissolving almost as soon as it began. She shifted and felt for the slim gold band on her finger, rubbing the smooth metal the way she had for so long. But rather than looking for comfort, she was almost scared to think things were changing.

If the pain went away, did that mean she’d forget Graham? She wasn’t sure that was a deal she wanted to make, exchanging the pain for forgetfulness. She didn’t ever want not to remember Graham. But the pain was easing and that sense of loss she’d lived with for two years was less defined. She suddenly found herself having to concentrate to conjure up Graham’s image.

She wanted to remember the way his gray eyes had narrowed with intense interest on everything from his charts and maps to the way a soft-serve ice cream swirled in its cone. To remember his rusty hair that was always too long and mussed from him constantly running his hands over it when he was deep in thought. His long fingers rapping on the desktop when he spoke on the phone. He hated the business end of his career in marine biology. He loved spending time on the water, the discoveries he’d make, and he’d loved her.

But it had been for such a short time—barely seven months. One minute he’d been telling her that he’d been invited on a lecture tour in Europe, and they could take a side trip to visit a preservation park on the African shore. The next moment he’d keeled over. There’d been no warning, no clues of the aneurysm. He was gone before she could even reach for him. She’d held on to him until they’d forced her to let him go.

Now, when she thought about him, his image blurred and was undefined as if a mist were falling between them. She couldn’t see the details and started to panic. As she pushed herself up in the bed, a loud knocking on the bedroom door startled her. “Y-yes?” she managed to say around a tightness in her throat.

“Sorry, I need to get a few things,” Luke said through the wooden barrier.

“Oh, sure, of course,” she called. “Just a minute.” She got out of bed, turned on the side light, grabbed her shirt and pulled it on, then pushed her legs into her jeans. As she zipped them, she padded barefoot to the door.

She stood to one side to let Luke in. “Just be a minute,” he murmured as he made his way to the dresser. He opened a middle drawer, took out some socks and then reached to the far side of the large dresser and picked up something that looked like a sleeping bag. When he turned, she saw that his chambray shirt was open and untucked. She caught a glimpse of a strong, smooth chest and a flat stomach before her eyes jerked up to his face. She felt herself blush, and was embarrassed by where her thoughts had started to go.

Her stomach flipped, but for an entirely different reason this time. How could she be looking at this stranger with anything but polite interest, especially right now? She clasped her hands together in front of her, feeling the cool metal of her ring.

“I hope I didn’t wake you,” he said, flicking his eyes over her jeans and shirt.

“I wasn’t sleeping,” she said, keeping her eyes determinedly on his face.

“Well, then, good night.” He pulled the door shut behind him.

She hurried to undress and got back into bed before turning off the light and pulling the blankets over her. She took several deep breaths, blocking out what had just happened, then finally closed her eyes. She just wanted to sleep—she was bone-tired—but couldn’t.

The minute she shut her eyes, she could see Luke on the shore, a blurred figure in the fog and night. Then the man who had just left the room, his feet bare, his shirt undone, his chest naked, took his place. She tried to push the image away, but found she couldn’t. She missed feeling warmth at her back, arms around her.

Suddenly she heard a thud from another part of the house, then silence.

She rolled on her side, thinking about Luke’s isolation, and she realized she was just as isolated, only not on an island but in a crowded world.

Closing her eyes more tightly, Shay told herself she was safe and warm here. She wasn’t in the water—or worse. Finally she let herself fall into the coming sleep, past dreams that flitted in and out of her consciousness but made little sense.

“No! Don’t!”

Shay was jarred from a deep sleep by muffled screams. At least she thought that was what had awakened her. “No, stop! Dammit, stop!”




Chapter Four


Shay sat up in the darkness and listened. It sounded as if Luke was yelling at someone. His voice was muffled by the door, but loud enough for her to understand most of the words. “I can’t do it again!”

Was he talking to the owner? Had Maurice Evans come to the house somehow? Or was it friend of Luke’s? Were they having an argument?

The words were lower, unintelligible now, but the tone was the same—stressed, almost panicked. She hesitated, then got out of bed into the cold air of the room. She grabbed her clothes and got them on as she crossed to the door. Opening it a crack, she almost jumped back when Luke screamed, “Not again! Not again! I won’t!” The words vibrated through the house.

“No!”

She heard raw, pained fear in the single word and she opened the door farther to look out into the hallway. Right then, a door slammed—hard. She stepped out onto the cold marble floor and slowly walked in the direction of the voices that were quieter now.

She entered the great room, the voice low, almost a sob now. “Please, no, please.” She glanced around quickly, but couldn’t see anyone. A low light was on by the couch, but Luke was nowhere in sight. As far as she could tell, no other person was there. She heard a muffled cry, then another.

She almost retreated back to the bedroom to lock the door, but another sob pulled her forward. It was guttural and filled with agony. She felt the deep chill in the room at the same moment she saw one of the back doors was open. She walked silently toward it, listening, but the voices had stopped. The bedroll was tangled on the floor in front of the doors, and just as she was about to step over it to look outside, she stopped. Something moved to her right, and she looked into shadows alongside the doors and saw Luke. He was hunched over, his head on his knees, his image blurred in the faint light. He was shaking. Shay hesitated, then moved closer, crouching down next to him. “Luke? Luke?” she said softly.

He exhaled, then lifted his face to her. His hand flew out, capturing her wrist. It startled her, but she stayed where she was. “You,” he breathed hoarsely, as if shocked that it was her talking to him and not someone else.





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