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“Do you promise?” The childish request made her think of Skylar and Brittany.
Let’s make a promise. When one of us is in trouble, the others help, no questions.
Friendship.
For Emily, friendship had proven the one unbreakable bond in her life.
Panic was replaced by another emotion so powerful it shook her. “I promise.” She might not know anything about being a mother and she might not be able to love, but she could stand between this child and the rest of the world.
She’d keep that promise, even if it meant dying her hair purple.
“I SAW LIGHTS in Castaway Cottage.” Ryan pulled the bow line tight to prevent the boat moving backward in the slip. From up above, the lights from the Ocean Club sent fingers of gold dancing across the surface of the water. Strains of laughter and music floated on the wind, mingling with the call of seagulls. “Know anything about that?”
“No, but I don’t pay attention to my neighbors the way you do. I mind my own business. Did you try calling Brittany?”
“Voice mail. She’s somewhere in Greece on an archaeological dig. I’m guessing the sun isn’t even up there yet.”
The sea slapped the sides of the boat as Alec set the inshore stern line. “Probably a summer rental.”
“Brittany doesn’t usually rent the cottage.” Together they finished securing the boat, and Ryan winced as his shoulder protested.
Alec glanced at him. “Bad day?”
“No worse than usual.” The pain reminded him he was alive and should make the most of every moment. A piece of his past that forced him to pay attention to the present. “I’ll go over to the cottage in the morning and check it out.”
“Or you could mind your own business.”
Ryan shrugged. “Small island. I like to know what’s going on.”
“You can’t help yourself, can you?”
“Just being friendly.”
“You’re like Brittany, always digging.”
“Except she digs in the past, and I dig in the present. Are you in a rush to get back to sanding planks of wood or do you want a beer?”
“I could force one down if you’re paying.”
“You should be the one paying. You’re the rich Brit.”
“That was before my divorce. And you’re the one who owns a bar.”
“I’m living the dream.” Ryan paused to greet one of the sailing club coaches, glanced at the times for high and low tides scrawled on the whiteboard by the dockside and then walked with Alec up the ramp that led from the marina to the bar and restaurant. Despite the fact it was only early summer, it was alive with activity. Ryan absorbed the lights and the crowds, remembering how the old disused boatyard had looked three years earlier. “So, how is the book going? It’s unlike you to stay in one place this long. Those muscles will waste away if you spend too much time staring at computer screens and flicking through dusty books. You’re looking puny.”
“Puny?” Alec rolled powerful shoulders. “Do I need to remind you who stepped in to help you finish off the Ocean Club when your shoulder was bothering you? And I spent last summer building a replica Viking ship in Denmark and then sailing it to Scotland, which involved more rowing hours than I want to remember. So you can keep your judgmental comments about dusty books to yourself.”
“You do know you’re sounding defensive? Like I said. Puny.” Ryan’s phone beeped, and he pulled it out of his pocket and checked the text. “Interesting.”
“If you’re waiting for me to ask, you’ll wait forever.”
“It’s Brittany. She’s loaned Castaway Cottage to a friend in trouble, which explains the lights. She wants me to watch over her.”
“You?” Alec doubled up with soundless laughter. “That’s like giving a lamb to a wolf and saying ‘Don’t eat this’”
“Thank you. And who says she’s a lamb? If the friend is anything like Brittany, she might be a wolf, too. I still have a scar where Brittany shot me in the butt with one of her arrows two summers ago.”
“I thought she had perfect aim. She missed her target?”
“No. I was her target.” Ryan texted a reply.
“You’re telling her you have better things to do than babysit the friend.”
“I’m telling her I’ll do it. How hard can it be? I drop by, offer a shoulder to cry on, comfort her—”
“—take advantage of a vulnerable woman.”
“No, because I don’t want to be shot in the butt a second time.”
“Why don’t you say no?”
“Because I owe Brit, and this is payback.” He thought about their history and felt a twinge of guilt. “She’s calling it in.”
Alec shook his head. “Again, I’m not asking.”
“Good.” Pocketing the phone, Ryan took the steps to the club two at a time. “So again, how’s your book going? Have you reached the exciting part? Anyone died yet?”
“I’m writing a naval history of the American Revolution. Plenty of people die.”
“Any sex in it?”
“Of course. They regularly stopped in the middle of a battle to have sex with each other.” Alec stepped to one side as a group of women approached, arm in arm. “I’m flying back to London next week, so you’re going to have to find a new drinking partner.”
“Business or pleasure?”
“Both. I need to pay a visit to the Caird Library in Greenwich.”
“Why would anyone need to go there?”
“It has the most extensive maritime archive in the world.”
One of the women glanced at Alec idly and then stopped, her eyes widening. “I know you.” She gave a delighted smile. “You’re the Shipwreck Hunter. I’ve watched every series you’ve made, and I have the latest one on pre-order. This is so cool. The crazy thing is, history was my least favorite subject in school, but you actually manage to make it sexy. Loads of us follow you on Twitter, not that you’d notice us because I know you have, like, one hundred thousand followers.”
Alec answered politely, and when they finally walked away, Ryan slapped him on the shoulder.
“Hey, that should be your tag line. I make history sexy.”
“Do you want to end up in the water?”
“Do you seriously have a hundred thousand followers? I guess that’s what happens when you kayak half-naked through the Amazon jungle. Someone saw your anaconda.”
Alec rolled his eyes. “Remind me why I spend time with you?”
“I own a bar. And on top of that, I keep you grounded and protect you from the droves of adoring females. So—you were telling me you’re flying across the ocean to visit a library.” Ryan walked through the bar, exchanging greetings as he went. “What’s the pleasure part of the trip?”
“The library is the pleasure. Business is my ex-wife.”
“Ouch. I’m beginning to see why a library might look like a party.”
“It will happen to you one day.”
“Never. To be divorced you have to be married, and I was inoculated against that at an early age. A white picket fence can look a lot like a prison when you’re trapped behind it.”
“You looked after your siblings. That’s different.”
“Trust me, there is no better lesson in contraception to a thirteen-year-old boy than looking after his four-year-old sister.”
“If you’ve avoided all ties, why are you back home on the island where you grew up?”
Because he’d stared death in the face and crawled back home to heal.
“I’m here through choice, not obligation. And that choice was driven by lobster and the three-and-a-half-thousand miles of coastline. I can leave anytime it suits me.”
“I promise not to repeat that to your sister.”
“Good. Because if there is one thing scarier than an ex-wife, it’s having a sister who teaches first grade. What is it about teachers? They perfect a look that can freeze bad behavior at a thousand paces.” Ryan picked a table that looked over the water. Even though it was dark, he liked knowing it was close by. He reached for a menu and raised his brows as Tom, the barman, walked past with two large cocktails complete with sparklers. “Do you want one of those?”
“No, thanks. I prefer my drinks unadorned. Fireworks remind me of my marriage, and umbrellas remind me of the weather in London.” Alec braced himself as a young woman bounced across the bar, blond hair flying, but this time it was Ryan who was the focus of attention.
She kissed him soundly on both cheeks. “Good to see you. Today was amazing. We saw seals. Will you be at the lobster bake?”
They exchanged light banter until her friends at the bar called her over, and she vanished in a cloud of fresh, lemony-scented perfume.
Alec stirred. “Who was that?”
“Her name is Anna Gibson. When she isn’t helping out as a deckhand on the Alice Rose, she’s working as an intern for the puffin conservation project. Why? Are you interested?” Ryan gestured to Tom behind the bar.
“I haven’t finished paying off the last woman yet, and anyway, I’m not the one she was smiling at. From the way she was looking at you, I’d say she’s setting her sat nav for the end of the rainbow. Never forget that the end of the rainbow leads to marriage, and marriage is the first step to divorce.”
“We’ve established that I’m the last person who needs that lecture.” Ryan slung his jacket over the back of the chair.
“So, what’s a girl like that doing so far from civilization?”
“Apart from the fact that the Alice Rose is one of the most beautiful schooners in the whole of Maine? She probably heard the rumor that only real men can survive here.” Ryan stretched out his legs. “And do I need to remind you that my marina has full hookups including phone, electricity, water, cable and Wi-Fi? I’m introducing civilization to Puffin Island.”
“Most people come to a place like this to avoid those things. Including me.”
“You’re wrong. They like the illusion of escaping, but not the reality. The commercial world being what it is, they need to be able to stay in touch. If they can’t, they’ll go elsewhere, and this island can’t afford to let them go elsewhere. That’s my business model. We get them here, we charm them, we give them Wi-Fi.”
“There’s more to life than Wi-Fi, and there’s a lot to be said for not being able to receive emails.”
“Just because you receive them doesn’t mean you have to reply. That’s why spam filters were invented.” Ryan glanced up as Tom delivered a couple of beers. He pushed one across the table to Alec. “Unless this is too civilized for you?”
“There are written records of beer being used by the Ancient Egyptians.”
“Which proves man has always had his priorities right.”
“And talking of priorities, this place is busy.” Alec reached for the beer. “So you don’t miss your old life? You’re not bored, living in one place?”
Ryan’s old life was something he tried not to think about.
The ache in his shoulder had faded to a dull throb, but other wounds, darker and deeper, would never heal. And perhaps that was a good thing. It reminded him to drag the most from every moment. “I’m here to stay. It’s my civic duty to drag Puffin Island into the twenty-first century.”
“MOMMY, MOMMY.”
The next morning, devoured by the dream, Emily rolled over and buried her face in the pillow. The scent was unfamiliar, and through her half-open eyes she saw a strange pattern of tiny roses woven into white linen. This wasn’t her bed. Her bed linen was crisp, contemporary and plain. This was like falling asleep with her face in a garden.
Through the fog of slumber she could hear a child’s voice calling, but she knew it wasn’t calling her, because she wasn’t anyone’s mommy. She would never be anyone’s mommy. She’d made that decision a long time ago when her heart had been ripped from her chest.
“Aunt Emily?” The voice was closer this time. In the same room. And it was real. “There’s a man at the door.”
Not a dream.
It was like being woken by a shower of icy water.
Emily was out of bed in a flash, heart pounding. It was only when she went to pull on a robe that she realized she’d fallen asleep on top of the bed in her clothes, something she’d never done in her life before. She’d been afraid to sleep. Too overwhelmed by the responsibility to take her eyes off the child even for a moment. She’d lain on top of the bed and kept both doors open so that she’d hear any sounds; but at some point exhaustion had clearly defeated anxiety and she’d slept. As a result, her pristine black pants were no longer pristine, her businesslike shirt was creased, and her hair had escaped from its restraining clip.
But it wasn’t her appearance that worried her.
“A man?” She slid her feet into her shoes, comfortable flats purchased to negotiate street and subway. “Did he see you? Is he on his own or are there lots of them?”
“I saw him from my bedroom. It isn’t the man with the camera.” The little girl’s eyes were wide and frightened, and Emily felt a flash of guilt. She was meant to be calm and dependable. A parent figure, not a walking ball of hysteria.
She stared down at green eyes and innocence. At golden hair, tumbled and curling like a fairy-tale princess.
Get me out of here.
“It won’t be him. He doesn’t know we’re here. Everything is going to be fine.” She recited the words without feeling them and tried not to remember that if everything were fine they wouldn’t be here. “Hide in the bedroom. I’ll handle it.”
“Why do I have to hide?”
“Because I need to see who it is.” They’d caught the last ferry from the mainland and arrived late. The cottage was on the far side of the island, nestled on the edge of Shell Bay. A beach hideaway. A haven from the pressures of life. Except that in her case she’d brought the pressures with her.
No one should know they were here.
She contemplated peeping out of the window, through those filmy romantic curtains that had no place in a life as practical as hers, but decided that would raise suspicions.
Grabbing her phone and preparing herself to draw blood if necessary, Emily dragged open the heavy door of the cottage and immediately smelled the sea. The salty freshness of the air knocked her off balance, as did her first glimpse of their visitor.
