Family Trees (14 page)

“On what?” she asked in a hush.

Beneath the blanket, Ryan reached his hand across until he touched hers. When her fingers entwined with his, the chill between them melted away. “Was it a mistake for me to come back?” he whispered, wanting to kiss her.

“Probably,” she said, turning to look into his eyes.

“Are you still angry?”

“You're forgiven.”

Ryan smiled and pulled her closer. Forgiveness. Promise. Change. It felt liberating to chart his own course, away from the Chambers family and the public eye. He pressed his lips gently upon the cool softness of Shelby's cheek. He heard her slowly exhale and felt her body sink into his. He gently tucked her hair behind her ear and took his time exploring her neck with light kisses. When she reached her hand up to touch the side of his face, he leaned in to kiss her lips, softly, tasting the sweetness of apple and wine. He forgot about the cold as they kissed away the misunderstandings.

Together, under the blanket of a starry October sky, they embraced the possibilities.

C
HAPTER
15

“W
ell, whad'ya know,” Nic said, settling into a quiet corner table with Shelby at Spill the Beans, Bayfield's one and only coffee shop. “Will Chambers—back in town.” The petite young woman with a loud mouth and a love for gossip was wide-eyed and eager for details. “You have to tell me
everything
. Don't leave out a single detail.” Nic slid her hand into her canvas bag and Shelby knew her friend was rummaging for the cigarettes she had given up in July. Coming up empty-handed, Nic grabbed her mug with two hands and took several eager slurps of coffee. Black. No sugar. Nic always said that sweeteners were for chumps.

“There's not much to say, really,” Shelby explained while unabashedly stirring sugar into the froth of her cappuccino. “He arrived a few days ago. He came down to Applefest to say hello. And now he's staying on a sailboat over at South Point Marina.”

Shelby loved Nic, but she wasn't ready to tell her everything. Ryan planned to stay aboard the
Spindrift
through the week. After that, he would return to the cottage he had rented with his friends back in August. While Shelby worked on the farm, Ryan had mainly kept to himself, spending his time sailing the Dufour and experimenting with the aperture settings and lens filters on his camera while photographing the lake. Shelby doubted anyone other than her family, Boots at the grocery store, and the gal at the marina knew he was back. And Nic, of course. But that wasn't a surprise—Nic always seemed to know what was happening in town.

“How long will he be here?”

“I'm not sure,” Shelby said, licking her spoon before setting it down on the saucer. “A while.”

“A while. What does that mean—a week? A month?” Nic was tapping her fingernails on the tabletop in an agitated rhythm. “This is major.”

Shelby smirked behind the brim of her coffee mug before taking a sip, enjoying her friend's impatience.

“He's back because of you, isn't he?” Nic asked with a knowing nod. “Holy crap—Will Chambers!”

“He's here to do some work.”

“Jesus. Do you think I just fell off the turnip truck? This is
me
you're talking to,” Nic burst out in a voice loud enough to turn the heads of the three other patrons in the coffee shop.

Shelby looked over her shoulder and threw up her hand to quiet Nic.

“Oh. I get it, I get it.” Nic became overly theatrical, lowering her voice and leaning forward across the table as if she were in on a conspiracy. “You're keeping this all on the down low, aren't you? A clandestine romance?”

“Hardly,” Shelby muttered, now rubbing her thumb along the handle of her ceramic mug.

“Come on, I know you're dying to tell me . . .” Nic said, with an unnaturally sweet smile mounting across her elfish freckled face.

Shelby took a drawn-out sip of her cappuccino.

“Hang on a second.” Nic's eyes lit up. “You like this guy!”

“I hardly know him,” Shelby said, shaking her head slightly.

“That's it! Oh my God, Shelby—you're really into him, aren't you?”

“Seriously, Nic, can you please keep it down?”

“Have you told John?” Nic whispered.

Shelby cringed. She hadn't returned any of John's calls since she'd left him at the apple stand. Ginny had spoken with him and said he was sounding increasingly concerned. And insistent. “I should probably walk down to the shop to see him.”

“He's not going to take it lightly, you know.”

“I know. After everything I said to him about Ryan, John will think I'm crazy for giving him a second chance.”

“That's not the half of it.”

“Why? What do you mean?”

Nic leaned forward again. “He's been waiting for you to move on after Jeff and take notice of him. The guy has been interested in you for, like, forever!”

“That's not true.”

“You wanna know why he'll get bent out of shape? Jealousy.”

“John?” Shelby put her hand to her forehead and winced.
John?
she repeated inside her head, trying to make sense of it. “How could you possibly know that? You two can hardly stand to be in the same room together, let alone talk about his feelings.”

“Shelby, you know I love you. But seriously. You can be clueless.” Nic's chair creaked as she leaned back, reaching her clasped hands behind her head. “Ever since Jeff died you've basically been going through the motions. It's time the old Shelby came back, don't you think?”

First being oblivious about Ryan. And now John?
Shelby thought.
Am I really that unaware? And if I am, what else am I missing?

“It's time to take the blinders off, girlfriend,” Nic said.

“I never imagined that he . . . really? John?”
We
have
been spending a lot of time together, especially this past year. And I do love him. But not in the way I loved Jeff.

“You'll sort it out with John. He's a big boy,” Nic said. “But back to a more interesting topic—what are we going to do about Will-slash-Ryan?”

“
We
aren't going to do anything.”

Nic sighed. “Fine. What are
you
going to do?”

“I'm not sure.” She contemplated Nic's question while rubbing her thumb over her warm mug. “The thing is, I don't think he usually associates with people like me.”

“What kind of people does he associate with?” Nic raised an eyebrow and pushed her finger to the side of her nose. “Chicago mafia?”

“Of course not.” Shelby laughed. “The type of people who are followed by paparazzi, that's who.”

“Eh. That's nothin',” Nic said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “When will you see him next?”

“Actually, he has asked me to go sailing with him today—an overnight.” Shelby tried to sound casual, but the thought of it made her nervous. The night before, Ryan had said he wanted to spend more time with her, but he wasn't ready to be public. When she questioned him about it—saying that nobody would care—he shook his head and asked her to trust him.

“So, you're going, right? I mean, you
have
to go!”

“How am I supposed to just pick up and go? Leave my family when we're at the height of the harvest?” Shelby shook her head. “It would be irresponsible. I'm not like you. I have responsibilities.”

“Excuse me? First of all, I have plenty of responsibilities, thank you very much. I just have different priorities,” Nic said. “And second, you'd be a flippin' idiot to pass this up. Fall colors, a cozy little sailboat, a drop-dead gorgeous man . . . it would be as romantic as hell! You have to live a little, Shel. Come on—let me live vicariously through
you
for once!”

“What's that supposed to mean? I don't live vicariously through you.”

“Uh-huh. I saw the look on your face when I told you about my road trip to the Sturgis Bike Rally.” Nic wagged her finger in Shelby's direction, saying, “You totally wished you had been on the back of Hank's Harley—wind in your hair, rockin' a leather jacket, bugs in your teeth.”

“You know me so well,” she said with a chuckle.

“It's settled!” Nic announced, suddenly standing up and grabbing her coat. “Here's the plan. I'm going to take over for you on the farm and do my best to drive your grandparents crazy, and you're going sailing with Mr. Wonderful. Let's get your bags packed!”

 

It was to be an easy trip. Ryan and Shelby set sail by noon and spent a leisurely day on the water. Shelby enjoyed taking the wheel whenever Ryan photographed the islands, which were dressed in autumn foliage that was ablaze in orange and gold with splashes of pomegranate red. At the end of the day, they dropped anchor in Julian Bay at Stockton Island. For dinner, Ryan deviated from picnic fare and prepared steaks on the grill, which he rigged off the stern, and they shared a bottle of wine—“I brought a red,” he said with a wink, and without ostentation. It was a tranquil evening—there wasn't another boat anchored in the bay. In the absence of distractions, pressures, or pretense, the couple continued to fall deeper into a relationship.

“Are you up for a sail around Devil's Island tomorrow?” Ryan asked playfully, holding her open hand in his and following the lines in her palm with his finger, like a captain would mark a nautical chart. “We could anchor off Bear Island for the night, and I'd get you back to Bayfield before Sunday dinner.”

“And what if we get to Devil's and end up with dead winds?” Shelby asked seriously. “Or worse? The weather on this lake can change on a dime, especially when cold fronts move across the islands. Devil's is the last place we'd want to be.”

“I checked the weather broadcast on the marine radio an hour ago. There's nothing but clear skies ahead. Five- to ten-knot winds. It will be perfect,” he assured her. “I'd love to get some shots of the caves on Devil's north shore.” He wrapped both hands around hers with a tenderness that eased her fears enough to reconsider. “What do you say?”

She hesitated. There was nothing beyond the northern tip of Devil Island's but unforgiving lake water that stretched far beyond the horizon. She had several reasons for saying no—those waters were treacherous, temperatures were dropping, and the weather on Lake Superior was never predictable—even with a favorable weather forecast.

While a voice of reason screamed inside of her head to say no—
Suggest somewhere else. Anywhere else!
—the other voice, the one that sounded oddly like Nic's, told her to take a chance.
Don't be so afraid of life. Be bold!

“Sure,” she conceded, looking down at their clasped hands and then into his eyes that seemed to sparkle with the excitement of a child. “Let's do it.”

 

When Shelby and Ryan headed out to Devil's Island the next morning, the sky was clear and the wind was steady. They traveled at a steady six-knot clip in full sail with a fully battened main. Once they reached Devil's, they dropped the sails and anchored offshore in water that was so clear they could see the lake's rippled, sandy floor beneath the boat. Shelby relaxed onboard and watched as Ryan rowed the dinghy into the caves, disappearing and reappearing, gesturing to her with his arms and hands that the experience was spectacular.

Once the exuberant photographer was satisfied and back onboard, they lifted anchor and traveled along the eastern side of Devil's Island. They had been sailing for less than an hour when Shelby felt a sudden drop in air temperature that sent a shiver through her core. She instinctively looked skyward.

“Ryan? Turn the radio from Sixteen to the weather station,” she said gravely, facing west above the island's thick tree line. Shelby sensed that just beyond the island, out of sight, something ominous was coming. And it was building strength over the lake.

A monotone, computer-generated male voice broke through the radio static to broadcast the weather alert. “Doppler radar indicates a line of thunderstorms. Capable of producing water spouts. Mariners can expect sustained winds of nearly thirty knots gusting to fifty, small hail, four- to six-foot waves, lightning, and heavy rain. Boaters should seek safe harbor immediately. Locations in line of the storm include Duluth, Herbster, Port Wing, and Bayfield. Moving east to southeast at thirty-five miles per hour.” Just then, as the weather report droned on, Shelby and Ryan saw the base of a massive, greenish-black wall cloud appear over Devil's Island.

“Oh . . . My . . . God,” Shelby gasped, staring at the largest storm she had ever seen from the water. Like a Goliath rising up over David, the cloud grew in height and width. Although the weather was almost upon them, everything was eerily quiet except for the frantic call of seagulls flying ahead of the impending storm.

For a moment, she stood frozen in fear as every thought in her head fell silent....

 

“Shelby, we need to move fast!” Ryan's voice snapped her back to reality with a jolt. “The motor will be useless in this weather. I figure we can furl the jib and use a storm-rigged mainsail,” Ryan said urgently. “The storm is going to come up behind us real fast. We don't have a chance of outrunning it. I need you to find a sheltered area!”

“Right!” They had to make a run for it, and Bayfield was a harrowing twenty miles away. Since Devil's didn't have any protected harbors, Shelby knew their choices were limited.
Think!

“Shit! This thing is going to be a monster,” she heard Ryan curse under his breath as he worked swiftly on the lines.

Damn it!
Shelby thought, seeing the storm surging angrily behind them. It began to rain hard, as if the entire sky had opened up and was spilling down upon the lake. She had to keep calm. Ryan was an experienced sailor, and she knew the Apostle Islands well. They had a chance.
Think!
screamed her thoughts as she cinched her life jacket tighter around her chest.
We can do this!
She quickly scanned the chart while hearing the whizzing, flapping sound of Ryan furling the sails. Shelby pressed her finger firmly on the chart to mark their course. Taking a quick look around to get her bearings, she began to shout out directions loud enough to be heard over the downpour and howling wind. “Okay! Keep this tack. We need to get to the southeast point of Rocky Island. There's a small bay where we can try to anchor. It's our best shot!”

“Got it!” he called back, working frantically and stumbling in his haste.