Promise Forever

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He finished the last fold, then put the sheet into the basket as Miranda moved on to the next one. She was right—the sheet did smell like sunshine.

“Stop a minute and look at it again.” He drew the photo from his pocket and handed it to her.

She studied the picture, absently twisting a strand of hair around her finger. Her gaze lifted, startled, to him. “This looks like—”

“What?”

“Come with me.” She dropped a clothespin into the basket and started around the inn at a trot. He had to hurry to keep up with her.

“Look.” She stopped at the corner of the veranda, pointing.

He stepped closer, looking over her shoulder at the photo, then at the scene in front of them. An ancient, gnarled live oak filled the corner of the yard, its branches so heavy they touched the ground in places. From this angle, they formed a kind of archway through which he saw a corner of the dock. It was exactly the same in the photograph.

“Whoever he was, he took the picture here,” he said.

This time he was so close he felt the shiver that went through her.

“Here. And sometime within the last six months.” She touched the photo with one fingertip. “I bought that polo shirt for Sammy when school started in September.”

“Stands to reason it was fairly recent. If he wanted to send it to me, whoever he was, why wait?”

Miranda’s breath seemed to catch. “Tyler, we have to find out who did this.” She swung around, apparently not realizing how close he was. She was nearly in his arms.

He caught her arm as she bumped against him. Her smooth skin seemed alive with memories—visions of holding her close, of promising to love her forever. The fresh scent of her surrounded and overpowered him.

This was bad. This was very bad. He’d never dreamed those feelings still existed, ready to be awakened. It was as if the very cells of his body remembered her.

He’d wanted Miranda’s cooperation. He’d gotten it, but in the process he’d found out something very unwelcome about himself. He was still attracted to her.

Chapter Four

Miranda couldn’t move. Tyler held her elbows, steadying her, and her hands pressed against his chest. She felt his heartbeat through her palms, up her arms, driving straight to her heart. It had been years since they’d stood together like this. It might as well have been yesterday.

She curled her fingers, pulled her hands away from him. She couldn’t look at his face. Instead she focused on the placket of his white knit shirt. Two of the three buttons were open, exposing a V of tanned skin against the white.

That wasn’t any better than looking into his eyes. She took a hurried step back, and he released her instantly. If he guessed her reactions—

He wouldn’t. Tyler was too focused on the task at hand to have time for any other considerations. At the moment he was totally consumed with finding out who’d taken the photo of Sammy.

She wanted to know that, too, but somehow she also had to find a way of keeping her balance where Tyler was concerned. That meant not finding herself in any more moments like that one.

Tyler glanced from the photo to the scene before him. He frowned, and she sensed that, as far as he was concerned, the moment when they’d touched might never have been.

Well, good. That was what she wanted, too.

“So, we know the picture was taken within the last six months, and by someone standing in just about this spot.” He seemed to measure the distance from the driveway to the street. “How unusual would it be for someone you don’t know to come this far onto the property?”

She steadied herself. Tyler didn’t feel anything. She wouldn’t feel anything, either.

“Not unusual at all, I’m afraid.”

“Why not?” He shot the question at her with that intent, challenging stare of his. “If someone’s not a guest at the inn, why would he be here?”

She pointed to the small placard attached to a post near the end of the driveway. “The historical society put those up a few years ago. I worked on the project, as a matter of fact. We designed a walking tour of historical houses. Visitors can pick up a brochure anywhere in town and follow it. In nice weather we often see people, brochure in hand, taking pictures.”

“There’s no way of tracing them?”

“None. People don’t buy tickets or sign up. They just follow the map.” A shiver ran along her arms, and she rubbed them. “Sammy wouldn’t think anything about it, even if he noticed someone with a camera.” She took another step away from him. “I should get back to the laundry.”

“Wait a minute.” His hand twitched as if he thought about touching her and changed his mind. “We haven’t finished talking about this.”

“I don’t know how to find the person who took the picture. There’s nothing else to say. I want to take down the sheets before it’s time to start dinner.” And I want to put a little distance between us.

“Fine.” He seemed to grind his teeth. “I’ll help you with the sheets, if that’s what it takes. We can talk and fold at the same time.”

She’s forgotten how persistent he could be when he wanted something. “Sammy will be home in a few minutes. I don’t want him to hear anything about this.”

He slid the photo into his pocket. “I’ve already said he won’t hear it from me, Miranda.” He moved past her, then stopped and raised an eyebrow when she didn’t follow. “Aren’t we going to fold laundry?”

Without a word, she brushed past him and started around the house, aware of him on her heels. Persistent. Aggravating. Determined to have his own way. Tyler hadn’t changed—those qualities had intensified, probably from years of surrounding himself with people who always agreed with the boss. Well, he’d have to get used to the fact that this situation was different.

She reached the dry sheets she’d hung out earlier and began taking them down. Tyler let her get one more sheet into the basket before he started in again.

“There’s no reason to suppose it was a stranger, anyway.”

She frowned at him, not sure where he was going with this.

He frowned back. “Well, think about it, Miranda. Why would a stranger go to the trouble of taking a picture of Sammy? How would a stranger even know who he was? Or who his father was?”

Good questions, all of them. Unfortunately, she didn’t have any good answers. She turned it over in her mind as she took a pillowcase off the line.

“I suppose it might be some bizarre string of coincidences. Weird things do happen. Someone visiting the island to whom your name would be familiar, maybe, then finding out about Sammy.”

It sounded weak to her. Judging from Tyler’s expression, it sounded pitiful to him.

“I don’t believe in that wild a coincidence.” He unpinned a sheet and handed her one end, his fingers brushing hers. “How widely known is it that I’m Sammy’s father?”

The only surprising thing was that he hadn’t asked the question sooner. “Islanders know, for the most part.” She carefully didn’t look at him. “Our elopement was quite a sensation. People talk.”

“Gossip.” He sounded uncompromising.

“Talk,” she said again. “But folks here are used to the situation. I don’t think they’d mention it to outsiders, anyway. Islanders protect their own.”

“Unless there’s something in it for them.”

She didn’t know how to combat that kind of cynicism. “You’re wrong, Tyler. No one here would deliberately set out to hurt me or Sammy.”

“Then what’s left?” His brows twitched, impatience returning. “I can’t believe in some kind of random coincidence. You can’t believe your neighbors would meddle. What are we left with? Your family?”

“No!” She planted her fists on her hips. “Tyler, that’s ridiculous. No one in my family would do anything like that.”

“According to you, no one would do it, but it happened.” He ducked under the clothesline, and it brushed the top of his head. The movement brought him within inches of her, and her breath stuttered.

“Get rid of your rose-colored glasses for a minute, Miranda. Someone did this thing. Someone deliberately took a picture of Sammy and sent it to me. Someone who knew I was Sammy’s father and knew how to reach me.”

His words battered her like waves in rough surf. She brushed her hair from her eyes, looking at him.

“Why?” The word came out in a whisper. “Why, Tyler?”

He caught her hands, imprisoning them in his hard grip. “We’ll find out, but you have to help me. We can’t be on opposite sides in this.”