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“A fool couldn’t, but someone very, very smart and very, very determined might be able to.”
Her eyes widened at his words, tea sloshing over the rim of the cup as her hand jerked. “That’s not very comforting.”
“Comforting is hot chocolate on a cold day. It’ll warm you, but it won’t keep you safe.”
“What will?” She sized him up, her eyes moving from his head to his feet and back again. “A big strong hero?”
“I’m flattered.” He grinned, not at all bothered by her sarcastic tone and more than willing to volunteer his services. “But I was thinking more along the lines of knowledge. And a good security system.”
“A security system. That is a good idea. We should call someone tomorrow, Jasmine. See about putting one in.” Sarah lowered herself into a chair, took the tea Jasmine had set on the table.
“Sure. We can do that.” Jasmine passed a cup of tea to Eli, her fingers brushing against his as he took it from her. A zing of warmth ran up his arm, lodged somewhere in the vicinity of his chest and made his heart race.
What was it about this woman?
Her eyes?
Her lips?
The toughness that barely hid her vulnerability and sadness?
Yeah. That was probably it. Eli was a sucker for the downtrodden. This time, though, he was going to have to keep his distance. He’d come to Lakeview to do a job. Getting distracted was a surefire way to be certain it didn’t get done. He’d gotten the information he’d come in the house for, found out what had happened, made a practical suggestion for keeping the women safe. It was time to go.
He took a few sips of weak tea, then rinsed his cup and set it in the sink. “I’d better be on my way so you ladies can get some rest. Thanks for the tea.”
“Anytime.” Sarah smiled and started to rise, but he put a hand on her shoulder to keep her in place.
“No need to get up, Sarah. I can see myself out.” With that, he strode from the room, determined to get back to planning his strategy for finding Rebecca McKenna. Grown women didn’t just up and disappear. Not unless they were running from something. Or someone.
According to Eli’s friend and former commander, Marcus Trenton, Rebecca wasn’t the kind of person who’d have enemies or reasons to hide. Maybe he was right, or maybe Marcus just wanted to believe his sister innocent of what her husband had accused her—falling in love and running off with another man. One way or another, Eli was going to find out what had happened to Rebecca. He owed Marcus a lot. Even if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have turned his back on a friend.
Cold wind blew across the lake, slapping icy rain into Eli’s face as he made his way to the cabin. He’d come to Lakeview to find Rebecca. That was where his focus needed to be. But even as he told himself that, his mind was at the Harts’ house, his brain replaying the conversation he’d had with Jasmine and Sarah. Something was going on there. Not just something. Trouble. Whether it was part of the plan or not, Eli had a feeling he was going to be seeing a lot more of the Hart women.
FOUR
“Afool couldn’t push a woman down the stairs with dozens of people around and not be seen.”
“A fool couldn’t, but someone very, very smart and very, very determined might be able to.”
The words ran through Jasmine’s mind again and again as she poured Sarah another cup of tea, unloaded the dishwasher and placed her mug and Eli’s into it.
Eli had been right, and she wasn’t happy about it. Imagining someone staring in the window was bad enough. Imagining that that person was an evil mastermind determined to harm Sarah made her want to put bars on the windows and doors.
“He rinsed his cup.” Sarah’s words drew Jasmine from her thoughts, and she turned to face her mother-in-law.
“What?”
“Eli rinsed his cup.”
“Should we give him a medal?”
“How many men do you know who clean up after themselves?”
“About the same number whose cleaning habits I know. None.”
“My husband didn’t clean up after himself. I remember spending the first three months of our marriage trying to get him to pick up his socks. I bet you had the same problem with John. I know he wasn’t neat when he was living at home.”
At the mention of John, Jasmine’s throat tightened. This was why she’d avoided Sarah for so long. Shared memories demanded voice and discussion, but only made the hurt that much harder to bear. “You’re right. He wasn’t neat after we married, either.”
“See? That’s my point. A neat man is something a woman doesn’t find very often.”
“So?”
“So Eli is handsome, strong, charming, neat. That’s a powerful combination.”
“What are you getting at, Sarah?”
“You’re young, Jasmine. Maybe it’s time—”
“It’s not.” She cut Sarah off, not wanting to get into a discussion about John, Eli, time passing. She knew it was passing. She felt it slipping away every moment of every day. That didn’t mean she was ready to jump into another relationship.
“I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You didn’t. I just think we have more important things to discuss.”
“Like faces in the window? Security systems? Doctor’s appointments? I’d much rather spend the time before I go back to my room talking about more pleasant things. Things that aren’t going to keep me awake in bed.” Sarah sipped her tea and fingered the paperback book that still sat on the kitchen table, her skin parchment thin and lined with age, worry and sorrow.
Jazz’s heart clenched, her stomach churning with anxiety. The last thing she wanted was to give Sarah more to worry about. “It’s my turn to apologize. I wasn’t thinking about how scared you must be. How about we bunk together? I can sleep on the love seat in your room.”
“I couldn’t ask you to do that, Jazz.”
“Then it’s good you don’t have to.” She wiped down the counter and hung the dishrag to dry. “I’ll go get my pillow and a blanket. Then we’d both better get to sleep. We’ve got to be up and out early.”
Sarah agreed, standing with difficulty and heading toward her room, the click and shuffle of her retreat fading, then stopping altogether. Jazz took her time rinsing Sarah’s cup, loading it into the dishwasher. She didn’t mind sharing a room, but she didn’t want to talk anymore. Not about what had happened tonight and not about the past. Certainly not about men and dating. She was past those things. Way past them. She might only be thirty-three, but she felt older. Ancient even.
She sighed, grabbed her pillow and a blanket from her room and quietly entered Sarah’s. The deep, even sound of her mother-in-law’s breathing was a relief. No need to say good-night, no need to make conversation. Maybe she’d fall asleep just as quickly as Sarah had.
Or maybe she’d lie there until dawn listening to the house settling, staring into the dark room, wishing she could go back in time, relive all the moments that were still such a vivid part of her memories.
She blinked back unwanted tears, and moved to the window, pulling back the curtains. Night was already fading, the sky gray-blue and streaked violet with the first fingers of dawn. The rain had stopped, the silence beyond the window broken only by the soft tap of water dripping from the eaves. If she listened hard enough, Jazz imagined she could hear her daughters’ laughter drifting on the morning air, caught between here and there, the time before and the time after. Not quite audible, but not silent either.
Memories. That was what other people would say. To Jazz, the phantom sounds were imprints of lives lived with joy and vigor. Sometimes she thought if she tried hard enough, she could reach out and touch the images that had been hardwired into her brain from the moment her daughters had been born. She’d had so many hopes and dreams for them, so many memories she’d still wanted to make.
By the time dawn tinged the world with silvery-gray light, Jazz was stiff from lack of sleep, her body squeezed onto the love seat, her legs curved close to her chest. The room was lighter now, the cluttered dresser with its million and one photos of John and the girls seeming to mock Jazz’s efforts to sleep. Finally, she stood, folded the blanket and left the room, determined to put the long sleepless night behind her.
She brewed a pot of coffee, left it warming as she got dressed, pulled on a coat and stepped outside. A short walk. A little time away from the house. A few minutes to regroup. She’d feel better then. Later, she’d take Sarah out to breakfast, try to get both of their minds off what had happened the night before. They’d go to Becky’s Diner, have omelets and hot chocolate before they went to Sarah’s doctor’s appointment. It was a plan anyway, and that was a lot better than sitting around moping about what might have been but wasn’t.
Ice crunched under her feet as she walked down to the lake and stepped onto the rickety dock. Wood boards wiggled as she walked, and she frowned. She’d have to call around, see who she could find to fix it before the next vacation season. Maybe get someone to landscape the overgrown yard. The way she saw it, she was already in trouble for paying off Sarah’s mortgage. She might as well dig herself in a little deeper.
Ignoring the icy wood and the frigid wind, Jazz lowered herself onto the end of the dock, letting her feet hang over the edge. The lake was peaceful this time of the day, silent as the sun rose to bathe it in gold. In a few hours, she’d have to get to work, calling for the security system, calling around for a handyman, bringing Sarah to breakfast and to the doctor. Right now, though, all that she needed to do was sit and listen to the quiet.
Her fingers traced the weathered wood at the end of the dock, unconsciously searching for the deep indentations she knew would still be there, her mind drifting to another time, to bright sunlight and excited giggles, to the deep rumble of John’s laughter. Her heart yearned to rewind the clock, go back and live those moments one more time.
“It’s not such a good morning to be on the lake.” The words were as soft as a butterfly’s kiss, but still loud enough to make Jazz jump.
She turned, saw Eli walking toward her—his long legs and broad shoulders making him look like some action hero come to life—and felt something stirring to life. Interest? Attraction? Whatever it was, she didn’t like it, and scrambled to her feet to face the man. “You’re out and about early.”
“Seemed a shame to waste any of the day.” His deep Southern drawl washed over her, inviting her to relax into the moment as he moved closer.
She took a step back, one foot slipping off the edge of the dock, her arms windmilling as she tried to regain her balance.
Eli grabbed her hand, yanking her toward him, then holding her steady. “You okay?”
“Dandy.” She tugged her hand away, resisting the urge to wipe it against her jeans. There was no way, after all, that she could wipe away the lingering heat of his touch.
“You look awfully tired for someone who’s feeling dandy.”
“Nice of you to notice.”
“I also noticed that your eyes are more green than blue this morning and that your cheeks are the color of Gran’s prize roses—the most delicate shade of pink I’ve ever seen—but I figured you’d be none too happy if I mentioned it.”
Despite herself, she smiled. “Did you go to school to learn lines like that, or do they just come naturally?”
“Depends on who you talk to. I’d like to say I’m just naturally charming. Gran would probably say she whipped gentlemanly charm into me.”
“Did I say I found you charming?”
“Don’t you?” He smiled and the warmth of it spread through Jazz, melting ice that had surrounded her heart for three years, the feel of it new and exciting and horrifying all at the same time.
She looked away, told herself she was imagining things. “Maybe we better get off the dock. It needs some maintenance.”
“I was thinking the same.” Before she could move past, Eli wrapped a hand around her elbow, escorting her off the dock and back toward the house, the gesture courtly and charming. “You didn’t tell me why you look so tired this morning.”
“You didn’t ask.”
“So now I am.”
“Sarah nearly screaming the house down, the sheriff’s visit and tea with a stranger didn’t leave me much time for sleep.”
“Now, I wouldn’t say we were strangers.”
“I wouldn’t say we were friends either.”
“Maybe we will be.” He smiled again, but this time his eyes were sharply focused and Jazz caught a glimpse of the hardness she’d seen in his gaze the day before.
Southern charm and warm smile aside, Jazz was pretty sure Eli had an agenda. One that wasn’t as simple as spending a month alone writing, as he’d claimed when he’d made reservations. “I doubt either of us will be here long enough for that to happen.”
“It doesn’t take long for friendships to form.”
“I guess you’ve traveled around enough to know that.”
“I sure have.” He grinned, but it didn’t ease the hard angle of his jaw.
“Last night, you said you’d been in the marines.”
“That’s right.”
“And that you’re retired.”
“That’s right.”
“You didn’t say how you went from military to writing.”
“You didn’t ask.” His amusement was obvious. It might have been directed at her, at himself, or at the situation they were in. Probably, he was just the kind of guy who was amused by most things. The immature, unreliable type that Jazz’s mother had always been attracted to.
Even as Jazz told herself that, she knew it wasn’t the truth. There was something very solid about Eli, something that begged to be relied on. Not by her, of course. She had no intention of relying on anyone but herself. That would be asking for heartbreak and Jazz had definitely had enough of that to last a lifetime. “So, I’m asking. How does a person go from a military career to a writing career?”
“He gets half-near killed by a roadside bomb, gets shipped home, nearly goes crazy thinking about the good…no, the great…guys who died that day and then he decides he’d better find something edifying to do with his time, or he’ll end up wandering the streets with a bottle of whiskey in his hand.” He said it so matter-of-factly Jazz almost didn’t register the horror of the words.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…”
“How could you have? My scars are pretty well hidden.”
“I’m still sorry.”
“It was a tough time, but I’m healing.” They were still walking, Eli’s arm brushing hers. Despite the poignant story Eli was telling, it felt nice to share the moment with him. Dawn had always been her favorite time of day, and she’d much rather spend it with a flesh-and-blood man than with a memory. Maybe she shouldn’t feel guilty about that, but she did.
She shoved the emotion to the back of her mind, not wanting to dwell on it, and turned her attention to the conversation. “What kind of writing do you do?”
“Human-interest stories. Mostly about injured veterans who’ve returned from the war and made something of themselves. Men and women who haven’t just survived, but thrived.”
“And you came to Lakeview to write a story?”
He hesitated, and she knew before he spoke that he wasn’t going to tell her the truth. “I’m researching.”
“That could mean a lot of things.”
“It could.” Before she could question him more, he released her elbow, stepped away. “It looks like we’ve made it back to the house. I’d invite myself in for tea, but I’m more a coffee kind of guy in the morning.”
She almost invited him in. Almost. Then common sense and the need for self-preservation prevailed, and she nodded. “Have a good day, Eli.”
“You, too.”
She started up the porch stairs, but was pulled up short by his hand on her arm. “If you have any more trouble, you know where to find me.”
“We won’t.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure of that, Jasmine. Your mother-in-law is a pretty savvy lady. If she thinks she’s in danger, she probably is.”
