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His legs unsteady, he stood. Norm had always seemed invincible to Wade, a big, burly man with thick arms and calloused hands. A quiet man who taught him to track and shoot deer. How to rebuild the truck he rolled when he took that curve too fast, and what to do when the girls started calling.
A calm, patient man who’d lost his temper only once in all those years, when Wade had smarted off to Rose. Wade had never done it again.
And now that strong man lay dying.
“Sir?”
A deep ache gutting his chest, he moved to the foot of the bed. His eyes burned as the nurse slipped the oxygen mask over Norm’s face and adjusted the pillows.
And suddenly he couldn’t take it anymore. He needed space. Air. He strode from the room and straight through the crowded kitchen.
“Wade. Hey, Wade!”
He shoved open the door and stalked outside. Damned cancer! He jerked his helmet off his bike and dragged it over his head. How could it spread that fast? And why hadn’t Max called him sooner? He yanked on his leather gloves.
“Wade, wait up.”
He straddled the Harley, then scowled at Max, who’d followed him outside. “Why didn’t you tell me he’d had a relapse?” he demanded. “I’ve got money, for God’s sake. I could have taken him to Baltimore to a specialist instead of using that quack out here.”
“He’s been seeing a specialist. At Johns Hopkins. He’s been going there for over a year.”
His stomach plunged. “And you didn’t tell me?”
“I wanted to. We all did, but Norm convinced us to wait.”
“I see.” And suddenly he did. Clearly. The whole town had known Norm was dying and no one had bothered to tell him.
“We thought, well, with everything else you’ve been through…” Max spread his hands. “We didn’t want you to worry.”
“Right.” He snapped down the visor on his helmet, cranked the key in the Harley’s ignition and revved the engine. Like hell they didn’t want him to worry. They didn’t tell him because he wasn’t family. Because he didn’t belong here. Never had, never would.
Because in Millstown, nothing changed. He rammed the bike into gear and shot off.
The cold wind gusted across the Potomac River, thrashing the woods at Mills Ferry and rattling the stone mansion’s windows. Erin McCuen leaned against the bubbled glass and shivered. She couldn’t put it off any longer. She had to turn up the heat before her grandmother got sick.
Desperation surged but she ruthlessly quelled it. She couldn’t panic, no matter how deep in debt she was sinking. Somehow she’d pay those bills.
“Did you go to the bank?” her grandmother asked from the chair beside her.
“Yes, Grandma.” She sighed. “Everything’s fine.”
“…stealing my money. They think I don’t know.”
“Don’t worry. The bank account’s just how you left it.” Empty, and likely to stay that way. She glanced at the red bird perched on the feeder outside the window. “Look, a cardinal. I think those sunflower seeds did the trick.”
She helped her grandmother hold the binoculars in her trembling hands so she could get a closer look. Thank goodness cardinals didn’t migrate. Her grandmother had lost so much in the car wreck—some speech and motor skills, short-term memory, the ability to make her beloved quilts. Watching birds from her sunroom was the only pleasure she had left.
And Erin was going to make sure her grandmother could watch those birds from the security of her home until she died—no matter how dire their finances.
Pushing back the familiar swell of anxiety, she set the binoculars aside. Then she picked up the faded quilt from a nearby chair and wrapped it around Grandma’s shoulders. Ever since that accident, the bills had mounted. Medicare covered the bulk, thank goodness, but without a supplement, she had to pay the rest. And while she struggled through the insurance nightmare, submitting claims and juggling payments, her historic home rotted away. She couldn’t begin to fund the repairs that money pit demanded.
So she’d started tutoring after teaching high school all day. She’d slashed expenses, sold furniture and even mortgaged Mills Ferry, the family’s estate for ten generations. In desperation, she’d borrowed money from their neighbor, Norm Decker. Still, the bills piled up.
Her stomach roiled. She was frugal by nature and any debt made her nervous. Hovering on the edge of bankruptcy like this drove her wild. But what could she do? Even small changes confused her grandmother and agitated her for days. Losing her home would destroy her.
So she struggled to hold on to the house. But unless a miracle happened soon…
She heard the front door close and she patted her grandmother’s shoulder. “Lottie’s here, Grandma. You keep watching the cardinal. I’ll be back as soon as I set out dinner.”
She crossed the front parlor they used as their family room and entered the spacious foyer. She’d closed off most of the house after the accident to cut utility bills—the attic and cellar, every spare bedroom, the dining room and entire third floor. She’d moved her grandmother into the first floor library for easier access, and herself into the smallest bedroom upstairs.
She’d also tried to rent out the master bedroom. Unfortunately, Millstown didn’t attract tourists and no one had answered her ad.
“It’s getting cold out there.” Lottie removed her long, woolen coat and looped it over the coat tree in the entry. “If this keeps up, we’ll get snow for Thanksgiving.”
“I sure hope not.” With their ongoing drought, they needed the moisture, but snow meant higher heating bills, which she couldn’t afford.
Lottie removed her beret and fluffed out her short, gray curls. “I put your mail on the hutch.”
“Thanks, Lottie. I appreciate it.” She glanced at the basket heaped with bills and rubbed the insistent throb in her forehead.
“Another headache?”
“I’m fine.” She forced a smile. A retired nurse, Lottie had moved into their renovated spring house when her husband died. In exchange for room and board, she cared for Grandma while Erin worked. And she was a godsend. Erin couldn’t have managed without her.
She headed into the kitchen. “The casserole’s ready. I hope you don’t mind tuna again.”
“Tuna’s fine, but I thought you were going out with Mike tonight.”
“No time. I’ve got essays to correct.”
“You keep turning that man down and he’s going to lose interest,” Lottie scolded from behind her. “He’s a good man, too, something you can’t take for granted these days.”
Erin grabbed the hot pads from the counter and opened the oven door. Lottie was right. Mike was a good man, the type who’d cheerfully settle down and support a family. And she enjoyed talking to him at work. A lot. But she didn’t have time to date these days. “He’s got his own grades to do. He understands.”
“Maybe, but you still need to relax. You’re always working and volunteering.”
“Being busy isn’t a crime.”
“No, but people take advantage of you, hon. The town won’t fall apart if you say no for once.”
She removed the casserole from the oven, set it on the counter and took out the side dish of beans. So she did more than her share. She didn’t mind. She loved helping her community.
Lottie sighed and opened the silverware drawer. “Well, don’t blame me when you drop from exhaustion. By the way, I stopped at Norm’s on the way home.”
“How is he?”
“Not good.”
A heavy feeling weighted her heart. Norm was her grandmother’s closest friend and the most generous person she knew. She couldn’t bear to think of him dying.
“At least Wade made it here in time,” Lottie said.
Wade. Erin froze and for long seconds struggled to breathe. Lottie couldn’t know, she told herself desperately. No one knew, aside from herself and Wade. Lottie was just making conversation.
“That’s good.” She carefully hung the hot pads on the hook beside the stove and prayed that her voice sounded normal.
“And Norm said he’s staying with us.”
“What?” Erin’s mind blanked. “Who’s staying with us? Norm?”
“No, of course not. Wade is.” Lottie pulled out the silverware and closed the drawer. “Norm asked about the room the other day, but I forgot to tell you. I assumed it was fine since you keep running that ad.”
Erin’s heart tripped, then careened through her chest. Wade would be in her house? Renting her room? Wade?
“In fact, he’ll probably be here soon,” Lottie added. “I’ll set an extra place in case he’s hungry.”
Erin gaped at Lottie. Wade was on his way here?
Lottie cocked her head to the side. “Are you okay, hon?”
She blinked. “I’m fine. I just…I mean, I’d better check the room. Make sure the vent’s open so he’ll get heat. Do you mind helping Grandma?”
Lottie waved her off. “Go on. I’ll get Mae.”
Erin whirled from the kitchen. She took the stairs two at a time, rushed into the master bedroom and slammed the door. Then she leaned against the wall and gasped for breath.
Wade Winslow. Here. In her house.
Oh, Lord.
She placed her palm over her heart and dragged in a steadying breath. She had to get a grip. Wade had happened years ago. Twelve long years ago. One incredible, passionate night that had meant the world to her and nothing to him.
Not that she’d blamed him. She’d always known he wouldn’t stay. Even though she had hoped….
But she wasn’t the type to delude herself. Not then, and certainly not now. Especially when it came to Wade Winslow.
She straightened and crossed to the bed. Reaching up, she removed a picture frame from the wall. Then, for an endless moment, she gazed at the wrinkled paper inside and let herself drift to the past. Wade’s poem. That night. The sound of him driving away.
A huge ache lodged in her chest, that painful mix of longing and passion, sympathy and desolation that comprised her feelings for Wade.
Then she sighed. More than a decade had passed since then, and Wade was just an old friend now, a former high school classmate. A houseguest, whose rent would help pay her bills.
And she could handle him. She could. She marched to the dresser and stuck the frame beneath the quilt in the bottom drawer. She opened the heating vent, straightened the bedspread, and hung clean towels in the bathroom. Satisfied, she walked to the bedroom door.
And stopped. Handle him? Wade Winslow? Who was she fooling?
Oh, Lord. She’d better hold tight to her heart.
Chapter Two
Wade raced along the road that fronted the Potomac River, banking hard into the corners and venting the anger that simmered in his gut. By the time he slowed to cross the one-lane bridge at Mills Ferry, his temper had subsided into frustration.
Why had Norm hidden the truth from him? Why hadn’t Max told him how sick Norm was? And how in the hell could he fix it now?
His stomach knotted, he pulled into the turnout in the woods below Mills Ferry and cut the engine. Then he tugged off his helmet and scowled out at the leaden river. A ribbon of sparrows dipped over the water, twisting, contracting, and finally swooping away until the black specks merged with the tombstone-gray sky—the same damn color as the rocks, river and everything else in this blasted town.
A fierce ache cramped his throat and he tipped back his head and shut his eyes. Hell. The place even smelled like death-parched earth and rotting leaves. The same stench as when his mother died, and later Rose.
Fighting back the painful lump in his throat, he forced his mind to the bare branches creaking against the moan of wind in the pines, the weariness seeping through his body. When the cramp in his chest eased slightly, he again opened his eyes.
He needed to sleep. That was his problem. He was just too drained to think straight anymore. In the morning, when his head was clear, he could find a way to help Norm.
He cranked the key in the Harley’s ignition and felt it rumble to life. Not bothering to put on his helmet, he pulled back onto the road and drove the quarter mile to the ridge. He still couldn’t believe Norm wanted him to stay at Mills Ferry. Since when did Mrs. McCuen rent rooms? And what if he ran into Erin?
His gut clenched at that possibility, but he pushed aside the thought. No way was he dwelling on Erin. He had enough on his mind without going down that road tonight.
He stopped at the mansion’s iron gates and idled the engine, then scanned the small, hand-lettered sign advertising a room. So Norm was right. But why was Mrs. McCuen taking in renters? He never thought she’d need the money.
Still mulling that over, he turned onto the long gravel drive lined with oak trees and threaded his way toward the house. Potholes and dangling branches threatened to knock him off his bike, and he felt more off kilter. Growing up, Mills Ferry had represented everything he didn’t have: history, tradition, old-world society and wealth. And it was a showcase. The trim was kept freshly painted and flowers bloomed everywhere. But dried leaves blew across the rutted driveway and heaped against the stone fences now.
He parked his Harley at the end of the driveway beside a faded blue Honda Civic. With a groan, he rolled his shoulders and stretched, then climbed off the bike and hefted the saddlebag over his shoulder.
God, he was tired. And his knee had stiffened up again. He limped slowly around the giant azalea bushes spilling over the gravel and climbed the front porch steps. The warped boards bent and creaked beneath his feet.
Shaking his head, he crossed to the massive front door and pushed the bell. When it didn’t ring, he braced his hands on his hips. What was with this place? He couldn’t imagine Mrs. McCuen letting it go like this. Unless she’d sold it? But that was even less likely.
Frowning, he looked across the sagging porch to a broken tree limb in the yard and a sick feeling rose in his gut. All these years he’d kept a picture in his mind of Erin standing here on the porch—beautiful, secure in her elegant mansion, untouched, except for that night at the river. But what if she wasn’t so safe? What if he had been wrong?
Guilt surged, but he shoved it aside. He was definitely not going down that track, he reminded himself. Erin and Mills Ferry were none of his business. The only thing he needed to worry about tonight was sleep.
He turned back to the door, lifted the clawed knocker and slammed it down. Then he leaned his forearm against the doorjamb to wait.
The sharp rap on the door jerked Erin’s heart to a halt. For several long seconds she clutched her napkin, unable to move, unable to think.
“That must be Wade,” Lottie said cheerfully. “I’ll get it.”
“Oh, no, that’s okay.” Her heart suddenly hammering, she scraped back her chair and rose from the kitchen table. “I’ll let him in. I’ll need to show him the room, make sure he knows where the towels are, explain the meals…”
She was rambling. Avoiding Lottie’s perceptive gaze, she set her napkin beside her plate and squeezed her grandmother’s hand. “I’ll be right back, Grandma.”
She exited the kitchen and walked quickly down the hall to the foyer, her heart drumming louder than her footsteps on the wood floor. This was silly, she told herself firmly. She could act normal for the short time he was here. After all, he had nothing to do with her life anymore.
Summoning an image of herself as calm, friendly neighbor, she took a deep breath and opened the door. Her breath jammed in her throat.
Wade dominated the doorway, one leather-clad forearm braced on the frame, the other hand propped on his hip. He was taller than she remembered, broader through the shoulders and chest, and far more muscular than he’d been as a teen. But his short, shaggy hair was the same chestnut-brown, along with the stubble that lined his hard jaw.
Her gaze collided with those familiar, whiskey-colored eyes and her pulse fluttered madly. They were the eyes of a man who’d expected nothing from the world and gotten less. Bleak, cynical eyes set in a face etched with pain and exhaustion.
