CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
SKYE WAS SITTING BEHIND the desk in the property management office, sifting through mail, when she heard a cheerful knock on the jamb of the open door. Gage? For a moment her heart shifted in her chest, but then it returned to its regular place. The way things had been left between them didn’t warrant anything “cheerful.” The ensuing twenty-four hours of mutual silence only cemented that fact.
Glancing up, she saw it was Polly hesitating on the tiny porch. “Busy?” the other woman asked, holding up a pair of to-go cups.
“Nothing that can’t wait,” Skye said, and managed to smile as her friend handed over one of the coffees.
Frowning, Polly dropped into the visitor chair on the other side of the desk. “What’s the matter? You don’t look happy.”
“Of course I’m happy,” Skye countered. “It’s summer, you brought me a free beverage and...” Her words faded away, but her inner voice kept talking...reckless Gage is going back to danger—and doing it in the most dangerous manner possible.
That was why she’d decided to put him out of her mind.
She sipped at the hot drink. “Perfect latte.”
Polly shrugged. “From your favorite barista at Captain Crow’s. He sends his best.”
“Mmm.” Skye sat back in her chair, her gaze running over her friend. “You look energized.”
“Yes. Well.” Polly shifted on her seat. “I have a confession to make.”
“You’re going out with Maureen’s brother again.”
“Who?” The other woman’s face went blank.
“Your teacher friend. Her cute brother. That blind date?”
“Oh.” Polly shook her head. “I’d completely forgotten about him.”
Skye set down her cup to play with the envelopes she’d yet to open. “I can’t say I’m sad to hear that. While he sounded nice, I got the impression there weren’t any sparks.”
Sparks. The word made her think of Gage and that final, fiery argument. After he’d slammed out of the house, the smoke of their last exchange had lingered in the air.
Didn’t I say you wouldn’t want to know!
I don’t want to know you!
“Skye, what’s wrong?” Polly’s voice interrupted the memory.
“Nothing,” Skye said. Using her letter opener, she slit the manila envelope on top of the pile. “Nothing at all.” She was forgetting about Gage.
“So, I came to say...” Polly’s head bent over her cup.
Frowning, Skye stared at her friend, sensing something amiss. “How was your bike ride this morning?”
“I’m afraid I crashed your bicycle.” Polly grimaced, her face going red.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes. I... Yes. Fabulous, actually.” She glanced up, her expression sheepish. “Teague ran me off the road.”
“What?”
“But he was very sweet about it...well, no, he actually was very angry, though—”
“Teague angry?” Even when he claimed to be heartbroken over Tess, he’d never shown a surfeit of emotion. Skye wasn’t sure the easygoing man had it in him.
“There might have even been a whiff of rage,” Polly confessed. “Then he became very, very determined.”
“Determined to do...what?”
A smile broke over her friend’s face, lighting her eyes, lighting the whole room. She put her coffee on the desk, then fluttered her left hand. “Determined to get me to say I’ll marry him.”
A diamond winked on Polly’s finger. Skye stared at it before lifting her gaze to meet her friend’s bright eyes. “Pol, this is great! He finally came to his senses?”
She nodded. “He built me a castle.” Then Always Private Polly burst into tears.
Of course tissues and hugs happened next, and Skye got the whole story from “friends with benefits” to the visit to a jeweler. She had to scold, however. “You didn’t tell me anything about going to bed with Teague.”
“You’ve been too busy doing the same with Gage.”
“Oh,” Skye said, returning to her seat without bothering to explain there’d been a change in circumstances. She wasn’t thinking about him anymore, she reminded herself, sliding a sheet from the envelope she’d opened.
“I still haven’t gotten to my confession,” Polly said, her voice going quiet.
Skye looked up. “What could be bigger than getting engaged to the man you were convinced you could never have?”
“I’m moving in with him. With Teague. This is official notice that I’ll be leaving the cove.”
Shadows invaded the corners of the room. Had a cloud passed over the sun? “O-of course,” Skye managed to say, casting a wary glance over her shoulder. “I’m so happy for you both.”
Polly bit her bottom lip. “Thank you...and I’m sorry. I realize I’m breaking our friends-before-men pledge.”
“Oh.” Skye tried to laugh. “I didn’t take that seriously, no worries. I’m just thrilled you worked things out with Teague.” She hoped her voice didn’t sound as hollow as her stomach felt, and she dropped her gaze to camouflage her sudden dread.
Come fall, she’d be alone.
“Skye...”
She pretended to study the piece of correspondence in her hand. “Hey, look at this,” she said. “It’s an early copy of the Crescent Cove article being published in Sunday’s paper.” Thrusting it toward her friend, she jumped from her chair.
In the doorway, she inhaled great gulps of sunny, salt-laden air. “Tell me I don’t come off sounding like an idiot.”
She’d done so many idiotic things lately. Going to bed with Gage, not just once, but many times, letting him into her—
No, she had put him out of her mind.
“It’s a great article, Skye,” Polly said after a few moments. “Hits all the right notes. The devoted romance of your great-great-grandparents, the mystery of the jeweled collar. I predict you’ll be getting bookings for next summer as soon as it comes out.”
“Fabulous,” she replied, without enthusiasm.
Polly got to her feet and came to stand in the doorway, as well. “What are you looking at?”
Nothing. Skye was staring, unseeing, down the beach, trying to erase memories and fears from her mind.
“Uh-oh,” Polly said. “Someone’s climbing the bluff, despite those new signs you posted.”
Frowning, Skye narrowed her eyes. From here, the figure was of indeterminate size and had no distinguishing features, but it was definitely a person scrambling up the unstable side face. There was another route, leading directly to the top of the bluff, that most people used to enjoy the view. Those taking the alternative track were likely intent on cliff-jumping, not sightseeing.
“Hell,” she muttered, digging for her keys. She pushed Polly out the door and locked the office behind them. “I’m going to put a stop to this once and for all.”
“Once and for all” might be an impossible order, but that didn’t prevent her from stomping down the beach. It was time to get control of something in her world.
She didn’t spare a glance for Beach House No. 9, breezing right past it and starting up the side-winding trail better suited for goats. It stopped at several different outcroppings that intrepid visitors used as launching pads for their leaps into the sea below. Sharp rocks gathered at the base of the bluff, and while there weren’t a lot of them, a careless move could cause real harm.
There was no sign of the figure she’d seen before, but the person could very well be tucked against the cliff-face at a higher elevation or around the other side, out of her view. She was certain no one had jumped yet.
Fingers curled around the fibrous branch of sagebrush for stability, she sidled around a rock toward the next flat position, one of the lower and more popular jumping points. As she planted both feet on the shelf of rock, a strong breeze buffeted her, and she wobbled. A lean arm caught at her waist and pulled her into the shelter of hard, muscled warmth.
Another gust of wind tore at her startled cry.
“Relax, honey,” Gage said in her ear. “It’s me.”
She struggled against his hold, but it only tightened. Turning her head, she glared at him. “Let go.”
“There’s not a lot of room,” he said.
She answered with an elbow in his belly. His arm loosened as he oofed, and she sidestepped away from him. There was enough space for both of them on the ledge, and it had a protruding overhang that gave it the feel of a shallow cave. Refusing to look at him again, she directed her gaze out across the water. It stretched before them like liquid silk, rippling in colors that ranged from silver to blue to green. “I thought you told Rex cliff-jumping was stupid kid stuff.”
“You really were eavesdropping.”
“I admitted to it,” she said, defensive. “Now it’s your turn to confess. You came up here to jump, didn’t you?”
“What’s the big deal? I’m nostalgic, okay?”
“You’re...you’re something,” she shot back as the breeze blew her hair across her eyes. Gathering the long strands in her fist, she held them away so she could face him down.
“You shouldn’t be up here. Didn’t you see my warning signs?”
“Oh, baby,” Gage said, in his best Prince of Hell imitation, “surely you realize I’ve been ignoring all those ever since I came to the cove.”
Heat prickled across her skin now, as she remembered—no, she was pushing him out of her mind, kicking him out of her thoughts. “Just shut up,” she grumbled, and this time he did, subsiding into silence.
She stood without speaking, too, unsure of her next move. If she left, he’d probably follow through on his intention to leap into the water. Worse, he’d think she was running away from him.
Setting her jaw, she stood her ground and leaned against the warm rock at her back. The ocean’s wet rush filled her ears, the breeze blew cool against skin her temper had made hot. She found herself closing her eyes as the moment turned oddly peaceful despite the discord between them.
Gage was the first to break the quiet as he began singing in a low croon. “‘Beautiful dreamer, queen of my song...’”
Her heart lurched in her chest. She pressed tighter to the rock, her eyes still shut, frozen as if under a sudden spell. Those were lyrics to Stephen Foster’s classic “Beautiful Dreamer.” In a fit of whimsy, she’d written them to him in a letter, relating how her mother had sung the song for her and her sister, claiming it was the anthem of the merfolk of the cove.
“‘List while I woo thee with soft melody; Gone are the cares of life’s busy throng.’”
Skye felt him move, and the light on the other side of her eyelids dimmed; the wind no longer stroked her body. He surrounded her, protecting her from the breeze, her face delicately caged by his hands. Then it was he who stroked her, his thumbs caressing her cheekbones.
“‘Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me,’” he murmured in that soft, musical murmur.
And Skye obeyed, opening her eyes to take him in, his attention focused on her face. He was so impossibly handsome, a thousand times more beautiful than in the fantasies she’d woven when they were only paper acquaintances.
He smiled at her now, then sang the final line a second time. “‘Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me.’”
That’s what she’d done, she thought, struck by the sudden truth. She’d been slumbering, her whole self in hiding, until Gage had arrived at the cove and shaken her from sleep.
She stared into his eyes, knowing that all the warning signs in the world could not offset the essential attraction of some things. As risk takers were drawn to the bluff, Skye had no protection against Gage’s cell-deep allure.
I’m in love with him, she thought, unsurprised, and already half resigned to it. I’ve fallen in love with him.
“Skye,” he whispered, and she read the words on his lips. “You’re my very own mermaid.”
Then he bent his head, and the kiss was tender and slow and she floated away on the sweetness and the possibilities. When they came up for air, her fingers were curled in the soft cotton of his shirt. She gazed up at him, bemused, and maybe more than a little be-spelled.
“There’s something I need to ask you,” he said.
“Mmm?” The wind caught at his hair, lifting the back of it into a rooster tail. She smiled at how boyish it made him look—so like her long-ago summer friend.
“You won’t tell Griffin or anyone about my little...uh, event, right?” He kissed her nose, her right eyebrow and then her left.
“What?”
His lips feathered across her brow. “God, I’ve missed you. Let’s not fight ever again.”
“What?” she repeated, her fingers tightening into fists.
“Missed you.” He drew his mouth along the edge of her cheekbone. “Let’s not fight.”
“No. The other,” she said, pulling away from his distracting kisses.
He still wore a half smile as he caressed her face again with his thumbs. “I’m just saying the family knowing about the...the...”
“Kidnapping.”
“Could ruin the we’re-about-to-have-a-wedding mood.”
She looked at him, temper beginning to rekindle. “Oh, I can see that it would. Not to mention the truth about the way you handle yourself when you’re on assignment. I’ll bet that would worry the whole lot of them just as you’re about to embark again.”
He looked relieved. “I knew you’d understand. Thank you, baby.” His lips bent toward hers.
She held him off, her palms pressed to his chest, both disappointment and fury now roaring through her. He was Satan, all right. The Prince of Hell. Or maybe just a plain old dog.
Because now she recognized what all the crooning, the kissing, the sweethearts and the babys were about. Her cooperation. He wanted her complicit in the dangerous decisions he made for himself.
His mermaid? Ha. His stooge was more like it.
Scalding tears pricked the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them back. She wouldn’t let him see them! Her pride deserved better.
His brows drew together, as if he was beginning to sense her mood. “Skye...”
Before he could guess, before the tears had a chance to spill, she had to act.
And so she did, without malice aforethought...or not much anyway. Giving a mighty shove to his shoulders, she sent him stumbling back. It only took a second to push him over the bluff.
Without even waiting to hear the resulting splash, she scampered down the trail toward home, not the least bit satisfied, only unhappily aware that while her vengeful action might have saved face—it had done nothing to expel him from her head.
Or her heart.
* * *
SKYE DECIDED ON A NIGHT of wallowing in lonesome self-pity after her encounter with Gage on the bluff...and her acknowledgment of her feelings for him. Her hand had hovered over her phone, coming a hairbreadth away from calling her sister for a couple of woe-is-me hours. Meg had loved and lost once upon a time.
But now her sister was in a blissful new marriage, and not only did Skye not want to be the dark cloud in her sister’s sunshine, but she just wasn’t in the mood to witness—even via telephone—someone else’s happy pairing-up.
Yes, Skye thought with a grimace. Woe is me.
It wasn’t even six o’clock, but she’d pulled the drapes and flipped on the TV when the cowbell she’d hung on her front knob started clanging. Bolting from her couch, she approached the entryway. “Yes?” she called through the door, wary.
The bell’s clapper began another racket, joined by louder knocking. “Open up,” a familiar female voice called. “Long John Silver and Peg Leg Polly are itching to come in.”
Frowning, Skye put the cowbell aside, then unlocked and inched open the door. All she could see was her best friend in one of her kindergarten costumes—a black felt pirate hat with luxurious red feather—and a man standing behind her. “Uh, isn’t it too early for Halloween, Peg Leg?”
Polly-Peg wouldn’t be deterred. She pushed on the door, forcing Skye to step back. Then she marched in, a troop of people behind her. Well, Teague, Jane and Griffin, who was helping elderly Rex Monroe with a hand under his elbow.
They brought the smell of fried chicken with them.
“We’re having a treasure-hunting party,” Polly said, practically dancing into the kitchen. She was flying high on fiancée fumes, Skye figured.
Teague grinned as he carried in beer in one hand and a pair of wine bottles in another. “Isn’t she something?” he asked Skye, pausing to buss her on the top of her head. “That’s the woman I’m marrying.”
His happiness was adorable enough to make her cry. Refusing to give in to tears, though, Skye pasted on a smile and watched Griffin escort Rex to a comfortable chair. “I appreciate the intrusion—”
“She’s calling it an intrusion,” Griffin called toward the kitchen. “Jane, I told you and Polly we should have called her first.”
Heat crawled up Skye’s cheeks. “I meant, uh, interruption.”
“She meant interruption,” Polly repeated, bearing a glass of white wine that she passed to Skye. “And it doesn’t matter what she thinks now, she’ll be thanking us later.”
“If I knew what this was about, I might thank you sooner,” Skye put in, but she was ignored as the kindergarten teacher directed the action. Soon the guys had carried a long picnic table from the side yard to the front so they could enjoy the sunset. Then paper goods, the buckets of food and the drinks were all paraded outside again and placed on the table. They gathered around it, Rex given a place of honor at the head, to share the feast.
Skye’s self-pity didn’t abate, though she laughed when it appeared appropriate and tried to smile the rest of the time.
A body slid onto the bench beside her. “Don’t let that smile drop,” the man she’d tossed into the ocean that afternoon murmured against her ear.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” She slid Gage a glance, steeling herself not to react to his delicious spicy scent. He didn’t look any worse for his impromptu dunking. Was that what had held him up? He was probably late to the party because he’d had to shampoo the salt water out of his hair, and she didn’t feel the least bit guilty about that. “What would I have to frown about?”
Except for the fact that you made me love you while all along making clear you were leaving me.
“Here’s the deal.” He was still murmuring. “They all pronounced dire consequences if we slept together, and I, for one, don’t want to give them the satisfaction of being right.”
Her smile’s wattage went into the mega range. “Of course. Especially when they are wrong. Nothing dire, nothing consequential.”
“Except for my half a lung of seawater,” he muttered.
Again, not a single pang of contrition. “That’s what happens when you do stupid, childish things.”
“Or consort with childish women.”
“What are you two whispering about?” Rex demanded from his end of the table.
“I thought Gage might explain exactly what treasure you hope to find,” Skye said, raising her voice.
“The jeweled collar, of course,” Polly answered. “When I read the newspaper article today, it got me thinking. If it’s never been found, not in a safe-deposit box, not among any family effects, it must be somewhere in the house itself.”
“I don’t know...” Rumors of the famous piece of jewelry had been more interesting to the public than to Skye’s relatives. None of them, in her memory, had actually believed it might still exist. Maybe Edith had thrown it into the ocean, as she’d once considered. Maybe Max had dismantled the piece and sold it off, stone by stone.
“Well, it’ll be exciting to look anyway,” Polly said. Beneath her ridiculous pirate hat, her gaze settled on Skye’s face. “I think you could use some fun.”
Best friends often saw way too much. Or maybe it was the kindergarten teacher in her who could sense tantrums and crying jags in the offing. “Sure,” Skye said, suppressing her sigh and pinning on another carefree smile. “Sounds great.”
Gage spoke up from beside her. “I call her underwear drawer.”
“Ha-ha.” Skye slid him a lethal look. “If you guys are serious, it’s not going to be hidden in the furniture. The older pieces went with my parents to Provence.”
“So we’ll check walls and built-ins, then,” Teague said.
Skye faked another smile. “There’s a plan.”
After the food was consumed and cleaned up, they really went at it, her friends. Tapping, knocking, running fingers over rough plaster walls and cupboard seams. All their banter and enthusiasm brought Skye’s mood to a new low, as she realized that if—when—she left the cove, she’d be leaving them, too.
It seemed a given, though, that she’d end up traveling to France to be near her parents, or San Francisco, where Meg was living. Staying in the area would only make abandoning her heritage that much more difficult. Goodbye, Edith, goodbye, Max, she thought, trying out the words. She’d be walking out on all they’d first dreamed of and then established at the cove, as well as the efforts of the generations that came after.
There’d be no one left here to remember her own family or the tribe of never-never land kids that had made it back this summer: Tess, Griffin, Teague and Gage.
As the treasure seekers finally called it quits two hours later, Skye couldn’t help following her former lover with her gaze. He’d done his share of good-natured searching, but now he was helping Rex out of the chair from where he’d played a supervisory role. “I’ll take him back to his place,” he told his twin. His eyes flicked toward Skye, then darted away. “Night, all.”
There was an echoing chorus before the rest exited, as well. Polly was the last to cross the threshold. “We didn’t find the collar,” she said.
“Did you really expect to?” Skye asked.
“I expected to cheer you up.”
Skye smiled. “I’m cheered.”
Polly snorted from beneath her pirate hat. “You can do better than that,” she said, then headed next door, where the love of her life waited.
Skye watched until her best friend’s jaunty feather disappeared. Then she spent an hour returning the house to its former order as Polly’s words echoed over and over in her ears. You can do better than that.
Maybe she could, she thought. Maybe instead of standing here mired in self-pity, she should do something proactive, like walking down the beach to No. 9 to give arrogant and annoying Gage Lowell a piece of her mind. Before she had a chance for second thoughts, she was jogging down the moonlit sand.
She’d start by telling him he was crazy for going back to that ransom farm, perhaps putting himself in harm’s way. He could be recaptured. Or even killed in retaliation for getting the police involved.
You of all people should understand that, Skye. You should get that I can’t allow anyone to keep a piece of me.
Fine. Instead, she’d point out how wrong he was to ignore the customary foreign correspondent protocol.
Except that he did so in order to protect his family from difficult, torturous decision-making. Mara’s face, weary with pain and racked with guilt, floated in Skye’s mind’s eye. Some days I have a hard time forgiving myself.
Still, she didn’t hesitate to mount the steps leading from the beach to the deck. At the top, she paused, taking a minute to steady her heartbeat and smooth out her breath. Automatic landscape lights washed along the boards, a pale glow that illuminated the patio furniture: umbrella table and chairs, two single chaises and double-wide lounger.
Eyes closed, Gage lay stretched on the latter’s cushions, a blanket over his legs and bunched at his hips. Beautiful dreamer.
Her mouth went dry as she stared at his face, studying the lean planes and the curves of spiky lashes. His hair was rumpled over his brow and she walked forward, her fingers itching to push it off his forehead.
She gazed down at him. His relaxed hands were linked over his belly, and his chest rose and fell in a slow rhythm. He was asleep, and she knew that didn’t come easy to him.
But she had something to get off her chest. She should shake him awake, stare straight into his amazing, laser-blue eyes and tell him that leaving her wouldn’t be right. Perhaps she’d even tell him why.
But he would end up leaving anyway, she thought, resignation a heavy weight on her shoulders. Because that’s who he was, who he’d always been: an adventurer, a risk taker. He’d been clear on that from the very beginning. He lived for the adrenaline rush, and only one thing would prevent him from seeking out the next thrill.
If you love somebody enough, you won’t chance putting them through that.
If he was going back, it was because he didn’t love anybody enough to stop him.
Including her.