Safe In His Arms

“Are you all right?”

Jessie whipped around, startled by the deep, male voice. She tore her sunglasses from the bridge of her nose and squinted at the man approaching her. The driver of the pickup truck, no doubt. Perhaps it was just a trick of the hazy sunlight, or perhaps it was just that—considering the circumstances—she was feeling a bit more vulnerable than usual, but he appeared larger than life, towering over her.

“I—I’m fine,” she stammered.

“You took a bad skid,” he said, narrowing his pale blue eyes as he scanned her body from head to toe. Jessie fought the urge to fidget beneath his assessing gaze.

“Really, I’m okay. There’s no need to worry,” she said, struggling to collect her scattered aplomb, wondering what it was about him that had set her body tingling and her mind racing with awareness.

He stood an inch or two over six feet and was a hard-muscled, tawny-haired and powerful male. But she knew it wasn’t only his size that drew her attention. There was something about the man, something that stirred recognition deep inside her.

She hesitated. Then, frowning, she asked, “Do I know you? You look so familiar.”

For just a second, irritation flickered in his eyes. Then quickly he hid the emotion behind a polite smile. “No, I don’t think so. I have that sort of face. So common, everyone thinks they’ve met me before.”

Common wasn’t the word she would use to describe the way he looked. Handsome, rugged, unforgettable, those were terms that came to mind as she studied him closely.

Realizing she was staring, she averted her eyes. What was wrong with her? No matter how good-looking he might be, it wasn’t like her to ogle a man. Especially when the man was a complete stranger. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I could have sworn—”

“It looks like your car’s the one that suffered most of the damage,” he said, abruptly changing the subject.

Not giving her a chance to answer, he strode past her, close enough that they brushed arms. She felt the heat of his body singe her bare skin. Sucking in a surprised breath, she inhaled the earthy, male scent of sweat and hard work. Jessie swallowed the lump in her throat, trying to ignore the sensations stirring in the pit of her stomach. What was happening to her? Never before had she experienced such a quick and intense awareness of a man.

The stranger glanced at her sharply, telling her he, too, had been affected by their brief contact. But he had the good grace not to comment. Instead, he focused his attention on her BMW’s flat tires. He gave the first tire a kick for good measure, then hunkered down on bent knee for a closer look at the second. Chewing nervously on her lower lip, Jessie tried not to notice the way his faded jeans hugged the taut muscles of his thighs.

“The rim’s bent on this tire. It’ll have to be replaced. Where are you headed?”

He’d been quiet for so long, the sound of his deep voice startled her. She glanced over her shoulder, making sure no one else was there, that the question was directed at her. Then, feeling foolish, the heat of embarrassment rising on her cheeks, she said, “I’m on my way to Prudence Island.”

His gaze slid from the BMW to her long legs encased in a pair of designer jeans, his lingering look one of pure male appreciation. “Are you staying at one of the resorts?”

“No, I’m not a tourist,” she said, her flush deepening beneath the heat of his gaze. She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to make the distinction. After all, this was her first trip to Prudence Island. Her stay hopefully would be brief, since she had no desire to keep the house on a permanent basis. To all intents and purposes, she was a tourist. “I own a house on the island.”

Slowly he rose to his feet, a frown furrowing his brow. “I’ve lived on Prudence Island all of my life. I’m sure I would remember if I’d seen you before.”

It was a statement of fact. One that did not offend her. Instinctively she knew it wasn’t a matter of disbelief on his part. Rather, he merely seemed curious. “That’s because I’ve only recently inherited a cottage on the island. Though it’s been in my family for quite some time.”

“Which cottage is that?” he asked, his tone still polite, friendly, encouraging her to answer.

“Gull’s Cottage.”

His reaction was immediate. He flinched as though he’d been struck. She heard the sharp inhalation of his breath. His face paled beneath his tanned skin, his eyes widening in surprise. He looked stunned by the news. In a strained, almost harsh voice, he demanded, “What’s your name?”

“M-my name?”

He stared at her, not saying another word, his lips pressed in a firm, unrelenting line.

“It’s Jessie, Jessie Pierce. Why do you want—”

He didn’t wait for her to finish. Turning on his heel, he strode toward his truck. Jessie stared at him in disbelief as he climbed into the cab and slammed the door behind him. When he gunned the motor to life, a hot flush of anger melted her frozen limbs.

Her Good Samaritan was abandoning her.

“W-wait,” she called out, following after him. “Where are you going? My car…I’ve only got one spare tire. You can’t just leave me here.”

Glancing at her briefly, he forced his gaze to the road before him. His face stony with suppressed anger, he said, “I’ll send out a tow truck, as soon as I get to town. That’s all I can promise.”

With that he threw the truck into gear and peeled away from the shoulder, sending up a spray of crushed shell and dust in his wake. Jessie waved a hand in front of her face, trying to clear the air as she stood at the side of the road, unable to believe what had just happened.

One minute the handsome stranger had seemed polite, friendly, ready to help; the next, he’d become cool, distant. He had abandoned her.

Growling her frustration, she stamped a foot in a useless show of self-righteous indignation. For his sake, as well her own, it had better be the last time she ever laid eyes on—

Dammit, she didn’t even know the man’s name.

Well, hell! Whoever he might be, he’d just better stay out of her way from now on.

Samuel Conners glanced out the side mirror of his truck at the woman standing alone on the shoulder of the road. An arrow of guilt pierced his heart when he saw how vulnerable she appeared. Tiny and petite, she couldn’t have stood taller than five-three, or weighed much more than a hundred pounds. He almost smiled when she stamped her foot in a show of anger.

But he didn’t.

Instead, despite the sultry heat of the day, he shivered. And he knew that the coldness that had enveloped him had nothing to do with the weather. It had to do with a chilling memory from the past.

Jessie Pierce, all grown up and beautiful…

What was she doing here? Why had she come back after all these years? Why couldn’t she have just stayed wherever she’d gone?

If she had, he could have kept the past where it belonged…buried deep inside of him.

Her image disappeared as he rounded a corner. Taking the curve too fast, his tires squealed in protest. His load shifted in the bed, slamming against the side of the truck. Belatedly Samuel slowed to a more manageable speed.

Jessie had almost recognized him. After all these years, she’d seen his face and wondered if they’d met.

It would be only a matter of time before she figured out the rest.

Samuel’s muscles tensed reflexively. His knuckles were white as his grip tightened on the steering wheel. Prudence Island wasn’t very large, but it was big enough for two people to steer clear of each other if they really wanted.

For her sake, as well his own, he had no intention of ever crossing paths with Jessie Pierce again.

Chapter 2

“How long will it take to repair the tires?”

After waiting over an hour for the tow truck to arrive, plus enduring a long and bumpy ride over the bridge to Prudence Island, Jessie was impatient to get to Gull’s Cottage before dark.

The mechanic lifted the brim of his baseball cap and scratched his head as he studied the BMW. “Well, it’ll take me a while to get the tires off. Then I’ll have to see if they can be fixed. If they can’t, I’ll have to find new ones to put on and—”

“Could you just give me a rough estimate?” she cut in, her patience wearing thin.

“Probably an hour, maybe a little longer,” he said with a shrug, seeming in no rush to get started.

“Great,” Jessie said, sighing, as she glanced at her wristwatch. The sun would be setting by the time she arrived at the cottage. Thanks to the handsome stranger who’d abandoned her along the side of the road without a word of explanation, she’d wasted precious time.

She should be miffed at the man and rightfully so. After all, it was his slow driving that had caused her near wreck in the first place. Then he’d had the nerve to leave her stranded. Most disconcerting of all, she didn’t have a name on whom to pin the blame. While he’d insisted that she identify herself, he’d never bothered to return the favor.

Somehow that omission of common courtesy seemed an even worse offense than his unexplained abandonment, striking a blow to her feminine self-esteem. It was as though she were unimportant, as though she didn’t matter to him.

No, Jessie told herself, with an uneasy frown, that wasn’t true. The stranger cared. In fact, he’d cared a great deal who she was. She doubted if she would ever forget the look in his eyes when she’d told him her name—that stunned, almost devastated look—and she couldn’t begin to understand its cause.

“There’s a coffee shop around the corner. And the beach isn’t too far, if you’d like to take a walk while you’re waiting,” the mechanic said, drawing her out of her thoughts.

Jessie considered the possibilities. “Is there a grocery store nearby?”

“Right down the street,” he said, pointing to a weathered wood building a block away. “It’s just a local store, nothing fancy. But it’s got everything a person might need.”

“Thanks, I’ll be back when I’m finished.”

As long as she was waiting, she might as well kill time by doing something constructive. It had been hours since she’d had a meal. She would be hungry by the time she got to the cottage. Grabbing her purse from the back seat of the BMW, she headed for the store.

A rush of cool air met her at the door of the building, evoking a sigh of delight from Jessie. After sitting outside in the hot sun, the air-conditioning was a welcome relief. The building was older, nothing more than one large room. The wood-planked floor was worn smooth with age. But the store was clean, and the shelves appeared well stocked. Grabbing a basket, she made her way down the narrow aisles.

There was a handful of shoppers in the store. Since the store wasn’t close to any of the resorts, Jessie assumed them to be locals. Their curious stares at her appearance gave credence to her suspicions.

More than curiosity, Jessie corrected herself, their reactions were out-and-out odd. A woman at the dairy section nearly dropped a carton of eggs when she looked up and saw Jessie standing beside her. An older man rammed his cart into a display of stacked canned goods as he watched her pass him by. For the first time in her life, Jessie actually felt paranoid. First she’d been slighted by one of the island’s citizens on the highway. Now, for apparently no other reason than her being new to town, she was being ogled like a mermaid in a fishbowl by her fellow shoppers.

What was wrong with the people in this town?

Unnerved by the unexpected attention, she concentrated on composing a mental shopping list. Deciding it best to buy only enough supplies for a couple of days, she picked up a small carton of milk, fresh fruit and bread. For dinner she bought chicken, a potato for baking and greens for a salad. Satisfied, she went to the front counter to check out.

An older woman, with coarse, steel-gray hair and sharp, green eyes, rang up her groceries. The task was accomplished in a strained silence, until the woman narrowed her gaze and barked out a sharp demand. “Where are you from, young lady? You’re lookin’ awful familiar.”

The question sounded more like an accusation. Jessie’s eyes widened in surprise. Flustered, she blurted out a stilted response. “Atlanta…I’m from Atlanta, Georgia.”

“Humph—I coulda sworn I’d seen you before,” the woman said, her skepticism obvious. Then, with a dismissive shrug, she continued, “So, you’re a tourist, eh? The resorts are on the other side of the island. What brings you clear over here?”

“My car. I, uh, sort of had an accident. It’s being repaired.”

The woman tsked loudly. “That’s too bad. Not a good way to start a vacation. Some of the hotels have shuttle services. You might be able to get someone to pick you up while you’re waiting.”

“Well, actually, I’m not staying at any of the resorts.”

“That right?” The woman raised one graying brow. “Where are you staying?”

Remembering the stranger on the highway and his reaction when she told him of her new residence, she hesitated. Another customer, a middle-aged, blond-haired woman, stepped up beside her, waiting her turn in line. Feeling uncomfortable, wishing the conversation to be over, Jessie murmured quietly, “Gull’s Cottage.”

She might as well have shouted her answer. Their reactions couldn’t have been any more extreme. Both women appeared shocked by the news. They exchanged quick glances, their expressions guarded.

The blonde standing beside her was the first to recover. She gave a nervous laugh. “I didn’t know Gull’s Cottage was for rent this summer.”

“It’s not,” Jessie said, still trying to understand the reason for their reactions. “I own it.”

The gray-haired woman blinked, not bothering to hide her disbelief. “You bought Gull’s Cottage?”

“No, I inherited it. It was my mother’s.”

Silence followed her announcement. The words hung in the air like a dark and ominous cloud. The gray-haired woman stared at her. Finally she said, “I thought I recognized you. You’re Eve Pierce’s daughter…little Jessie.”

“Y-yes, I am. But how—”

“Lord, help us,” the blonde murmured beside her. Her face paled; she looked as though she’d seen a ghost.

The gray-haired woman stared mutely.

Jessie glanced from one woman to the other, confusion building inside her. “I’m sorry. Should I know you?”

“No, you wouldn’t,” the gray-haired woman said finally, her searching eyes never leaving Jessie’s face. “You were too young, just a little thing when it all happened.”

Jessie’s confusion turned to unease. “When what happened?”

“Don’t you know, honey?” the blonde piped in.

She shook her head. “Know what?”

“About your mother,” the blonde said, her tone matter-of fact, as though she assumed Jessie had a clue as to what she was talking about.

“You mean, about Eve Pierce? I…I know she died here on the island…” Jessie hesitated. Just how much did she really want to tell these women? Was it wise to admit how little she knew of her past? But finding out about her mother and understanding her past was the reason she was here. Taking a chance, she drew in a breath and admitted, “The truth is, I was adopted when I was five. I really don’t have any memory of my birth mother.”

“Oh, honey, that’s too bad,” the blonde said. “Then you don’t know about Gull’s Cottage. About the way Eve was—”

“Sarah,” the gray-haired woman said sharply. Disapproval laced her tone. “We’ve kept this young woman long enough. There’s no need to fill her head with gossip.”

Looking contrite, the blonde glanced away, refusing to meet Jessie’s gaze.

What was going on here? What was it they weren’t telling her?

Stiffly the gray-haired woman handed her the bag of groceries. “That’ll be $18.50.”

Her hands shook as Jessie fumbled in her purse for the money. She wanted to demand that they finish telling her about her mother. But her instincts were telling her not to ask…that whatever they had to say, it was bound to be bad news.

After the day she’d already had, she wasn’t sure if she was ready to hear it.

Chiding herself for being such a coward, she handed the money to the gray-haired woman, mumbled a quick thank-you, then fled the store.

The sun was beginning to set by the time Jessie pulled her car into the lane leading to Gull’s Cottage, her new home for the summer. Still shaken by her encounter at the grocery store, she pushed the troubling events from her mind, focusing her attention instead on the narrow, rutted lane.

It looked as though it had been a long time since anyone had traveled this way. From what she’d learned, she would be the first to stay in the house in nearly twenty-five years. She couldn’t help but wonder what kind of condition the cottage might be in. If the lane were any indication, she expected the worst.

The lot was pie shaped, with the widest part of the slice at the entrance. The tip was at the end of the lane, where she assumed the property emptied out onto the beach. In between, there was a thick tangle of towering oaks, palmettos and untamed underbrush. The dense mixture cast the grounds into a premature darkness, giving the property a haunted, eerie feel.

Jessie shook off her discomfort, telling herself her unease was nothing more than the wearing effects of a growing headache and an empty stomach. Both of which would be taken care of once she’d unpacked her bags and had settled in for the night.

The trees thinned and the waning sunlight peeked through, relieving her anxiety. The reprieve was brief, however. Within moments the house came into view.

Jessie blinked once, twice, unable to believe her eyes. She checked her map, making sure she had the right address. But there was no question. This was Gull’s Cottage.

Cottage…a misnomer for sure. It was the most beautiful beach house she’d ever seen. A large, one-story home, painted white, with a high, slanting roof and a wraparound porch. There were floor-to-ceiling windows on the sides she could see. The view of the ocean must be breathtaking, she thought.

It was much more than she’d expected. Obviously, over the years, someone had taken a great deal of care of the house. She wondered what other surprises awaited her.

Jessie parked the car in the circle drive, as close to the house as she could. As the sun began to sink into the horizon, she felt an urgency to hurry and unpack, to go inside where it was safe.

Frowning, she turned off the ignition and stepped out of the car, wondering where these feeling were coming from. Her only true fear was that of complete darkness. But she had ample time before the sun made its final descent. For now, there was plenty of lingering light in the dusky sky. So why was she suddenly so unnerved?

She grabbed the groceries from the front seat. Forcing herself not to hurry, she strode up the uneven brick walkway to the front porch. Unlocking the door, she let herself in.

The rooms, dark and thick with shadows, set her nerves even further on edge. Groping for a light switch, she said a quick prayer of thanks when the entryway emerged from the shadows, glowing warmly beneath the overhead light. Before leaving home, she’d checked to make sure the utilities were in service. The lawyer for her parents’ estate had assured her that the cottage was being looked after by a caretaker, that its power and water were hooked up and that someone came in monthly to clean.

The heels of her sandals tapped against bare wood as she walked slowly through the house, her footsteps echoing loudly in the quiet rooms. The floors were golden, heart of pine planks. Even a thin coating of dust couldn’t hide the richness of their patina. Sheets covered most of the furnishings, giving the place a ghostly ambiance.

As she continued to explore, she was struck by an uneasy feeling of déjà vu. It was as though she’d been there before…which she had, she reminded herself. After all, she was supposed to have spent the first five years of her life in this house.

The thought sent an unexpected shiver of apprehension down her spine.

Forcing herself to continue, she made her way to the back of the house, turning on more lights as she went. When the wooden floor gave way to a burnt-red flagstone, she knew she’d stepped into the kitchen.

She felt along the side of the wall until she found the electrical switch. A pair of twin lights over a large center island came to life. The cabinets were carved of oak, the countertops a snowy white ceramic. Though yellowed with age, a delicate floral-print paper covered the walls. The room appeared cozy and inviting. She glanced outside. Even in the growing darkness that pressed against the windows, the view of the ocean was amazing.

But the beauty of the room didn’t matter, once she stepped farther into the kitchen.

Without warning, the room spun beneath her feet. A fist of anxiety squeezed her chest, making it impossible to draw a breath of air. Her heart pounded so quickly, so hard against her rib cage, she was afraid it was going to explode.

Suddenly her head felt light, as though it was floating. The room slowly darkened. Dropping the groceries, she reached out, flailing her arms for something, anything to support herself…because in another minute she was sure she was going to faint.

Somehow, through the sheer strength of willpower, she made it to the glass-paned door that led outside. Struggling with the lock, she stumbled out onto the porch that overlooked the beach. There was no furniture, nothing to collapse onto. Instead, she headed for the railing, leaning her weight against it for support.

Gulping in deep breaths of air, she willed her racing heart to slow. Never in her life had she experienced such a blind sense of fear. What in the world could have provoked such a panic attack?

Too overwhelmed to consider the possibilities, she closed her eyes and slowly slid downward, until she felt the solid wooden deck beneath her. How long she sat there, listening to the pounding of the surf against the shore, she wasn’t sure. By the time she felt strong enough to open her eyes, the night had gotten a firm foothold in the sky.

Compared to the pounding fear that had gripped her earlier, the momentary flutter of apprehension at the unexpected darkness seemed insignificant. Besides, it wasn’t completely black outside. There were stars twinkling overhead. And a full moon glowed in the night sky.

The air had grown colder, also. She was shivering—from the chill or from shock, she wasn’t sure which. But her heartbeat was steady, and her breathing had returned to normal. The soothing night air had worked its magic. She felt calm enough to go back inside.

Pushing herself onto unsteady feet, she walked slowly to the door. Her hand on the doorknob, she hesitated. Once again her heart jackhammered in her chest, telling her she wasn’t in complete control.

Unexpected anger surged deep inside her. All day long she’d backed down from one challenge after another. First she’d allowed the man on the highway to take advantage of her helplessness. Then, the women in the store. Because of her own timidity, she’d passed up an opportunity to find out more about her birth mother. She’d had enough of playing the part of a wilted Southern flower.

Forcing herself to face her fear, she threw open the door and stepped inside. While she didn’t suffer another panic attack, she wasn’t comfortable, either. Her appetite had fled, right along with her composure.

It had been a long day, she told herself. Perhaps the best thing would be to unpack her groceries and suitcases, then call it an early night. Right now all she wanted was a hot shower and a soft bed. Then she’d try to forget about what promised to be one of the worst days of her life.

“She’s dead,” a deep, male voice called out.

“No, she can’t be,” Samuel growled, refusing to accept the verdict. Stubbornly he turned the ignition one more time. Once again his attempt to start the engine of his shrimp boat was met with complete silence.