Her House Divided (Beach Haven Book 1) (4 page)

At least, she hoped he wouldn't.

Regretfully, she pulled away from the kiss. Both hands planted firmly against his chest, she pushed him back against the couch cushions and tried to stand up.

"No… don't go," he said. He caught her wrist and looked up at her with such pain and loneliness in his eyes that she almost lost her resolve.

Then she remembered Randy's words when he left her at the hospital. 
"Why would I want to spend the rest of my life with you now? I can't have a crippled wife."

"Stop. This is a mistake," she told Ethan, prying his fingers away from her wrist. "Trust me; I'm not what you're looking for. Not after the beer wears off."

Chapter Six

Ethan woke up to an insistent pounding in his head, almost as if there was someone knocking at the door. He groaned and buried his face against the back of the couch until it gradually dawned on him that someone really 
was 
knocking on the door and he was waking up fully clothed on the couch at his grandmother's house.

"Hang on," he called. It hurt to sit up. Standing was worse. Yeah, he was definitely getting too old for mornings like this.

He staggered to the door and wrenched it open.

Two elderly women stood on his doorstep, looking positively scandalized by his rumpled appearance. He recognized them as friends of his Grandmother's, although he couldn't quite remember their names. In all honesty, he would have been hard-pressed to remember his own name at the moment.

"Lenora, he's forgotten all about it," the taller of the two women announced.

"Oh, dear. Bea would be so disappointed!" the smaller one wailed. "It's too late to reprint the maps. What are we going to do?"

"Terribly irresponsible. Just like everyone in his generation."

"Um . . . can I help you ladies?" he managed. He wondered if the sun was this bright 
every 
morning and he had just never noticed it before, or if the light was somehow reflecting off of the righteous indignation of the two old ladies.

"The Tour, Ethan," Lenora told him. "It starts in an hour, and you haven't hung the signs or opened your door, or—"

"The Seashell has been part of the Tour for a decade. What a shame to have to skip over it this year. I should have known he wouldn't follow through."

"Vernabelle, what are we going to do?"

"I just don't –oh. Oh, my. Lenora, we've come at a bad time." The elderly woman's face softened into a sly, knowing smile. "Perhaps he hasn't forgotten about the Tour. He's just been . . . distracted."

Lenora gasped, and then giggled. "We should go," she announced in a loud stage whisper.

"Yes. Yes, we should. We'll take care of the signage, and all you lovebirds have to do is be dressed and ready by nine o'clock sharp."

Ethan found himself staring at the inside of his own front door as it closed in his face. "What just happened?" he wondered aloud.

"We just started some gossip," Tara told him. She sounded suspiciously close to laughing.

He turned, and at least part of the conversation became clear to him. Tara stood in the entrance to the living room, wearing a short flowered robe. Her tousled hair and flushed cheeks made it obvious that she had just gotten out of bed, and he knew that he was probably looking pretty rough from his night on the couch.

"They thought we were—"

"Yep." She nodded.

"And the Tour? Any idea what they were talking about?"

"The annual Homes Tour," she said. She tugged at the neckline of her robe, and he realized he was staring. There was something familiar about the pattern, something that tickled at the edge of his memory. For some reason he suddenly thought about roses.

"H-Homes Tour?" He tried to focus on her words, but his mind started wandering to thoughts of soft, rose-scented skin pressed against him while his fingers pushed silken fabric out of the way. He stepped toward her, barely realizing that he was moving.

She stopped him with a firm hand against his chest. "Shower," she said. "You need a shower. I'll make the coffee while you get cleaned up, and then I'll explain about the Tour."

One very hot shower and two even hotter cups of coffee later, he was finally starting to understand. The Homes Tour was a day-long event that was a part of the Blueberry Festival. Twenty local homes were selected and put on a map that was then given to anyone who purchased a ticket to walk through them. Some of the houses were brand-new, some were unique in some way, and others had historical significance.

"All proceeds go to local charities," Tara finished. She had dressed in a simple green cotton top and a khaki skirt, and pulled her hair back into a long ponytail, and Ethan found that those strange memories were quickly fading. "You'd be surprised at how many people are willing to pay just to walk through and see the inside of some of the houses."

"So why is the Seashell on the list?"

"Probably because it's one of the last of the original beach cottages on Lake Shore Drive."

He nodded. Most of the others had been remodeled into modern showplaces or knocked down and replaced with vacation rental units, which was exactly the fate his ex-wife had planned for his grandmother's home.

"So, what are we supposed to do today?" he asked.

"Open the door, put on our best smiles, and prepare for the invasion, I guess."

They soon discovered that their early-morning callers had made good use of their time, hanging a sign over the front porch railing and taping another to the wall near the courtyard entrance. Both signs were emblazoned with the words "Proud Member of Beach Haven Homes Tour!" in red, white and blue letters.

“Wow, they really go all out for this, don’t they?”

Tara chuckled.  “It’s one of their most successful fundraisers.  The only one that brings in more money is the Fall Ball in October.  It’s a formal event held at the Yacht club and the tickets are absolutely astronomical, so they really haul in the big bucks with that one.”

Ethan stifled the tiny flash of jealousy at the thought of her attending a fancy ball with another man.  “Must be fun,” he muttered.

“I wouldn’t know.  I’ve never gone to it.  I usually volunteer on the decorating committee, but I could never get my f-- I could never get anyone to go with me. I actually splurged on tickets for this year, but . . . well, I doubt I’ll go now.”

The first visitors arrived then, and continued in a steady flow throughout the day. Ethan watched Tara play the part of the perfect hostess, greeting strangers and guiding them through the house.  She smiled and chatted easily with everyone, answering questions or deferring to him when she didn’t know the answer.  She was charming and vivacious in a way that he hadn’t seen her before.

Most of the tourists were sincerely interested in the beautiful old cottage, and had plenty of questions about its history. Many of them, having met Bea in previous years, were quick to express their sympathies or share their memories of her. A few visitors were realtors and developers who had heard of her death and wanted to check out the property.

Vultures
, he thought.

Tara had disappeared out onto the back patio with another group when he saw a familiar figure strolling through the door toward him. He stifled a groan.

"What are you doing here, Jacqueline?" he asked.

His ex-wife smiled and waved her map. "I bought a ticket, just like everyone else," she said smoothly. "It's such a good cause, don't you think?"

"You've seen the inside before."

"Ah, but I haven't seen it since you turned it into a little love nest." She wagged a finger in his face. "Really, Ethan, I'm a little embarrassed for you."

"What are you talking about?"

"I got an interesting phone call from Vernabelle Hyde this morning. 
Very
 interesting. I know you've always had such poor self-control, but I thought you'd last at least a few weeks before jumping into bed with the little gold digger. Tell me, did you make it all the way home from Ben's office on Friday, or did you stop for a quickie in the car on the way here?"

"We're not—"

"Oh, defending her honor already? How predictable. For God's sake, Ethan, don't tell me you've been taken in by her little victim act."

"Don't you have nineteen other houses to look at?" Ethan took hold of her elbow and tried to guide her toward the door without calling any more attention to the conversation. People were starting to stare, and he wanted her out of his home. Now.

Jacqueline laughed. She reached into her bag and pulled out two manila envelopes. "I'll leave you with some reading material, 
Honey
. This envelope has a list of the annual property taxes on your new home, along with an estimate of yearly maintenance costs for the next five years. When you and Tina manage to come up for air, you might want to put some thought into how you two sweethearts plan on paying for all of this on your teacher's salary. 
She
 certainly won't be helping with any of the expenses."

"Jacqueline—"

“And 
this 
envelope has a copy of her credit report and bank account information, showing just exactly how much debt your new darling is in.  She's 
broke
, Ethan. Evicted from her last apartment when her fiancé got tired of supporting her. Before that, she lived with her boss. That's what she does: goes from one man to the next, always looking for someone to sponge off of. She just changed it up a little this time by conning a feeble-minded old woman into pitying her. She's got no job, no money, nothing. She flashes those great big eyes and works up a few tears, and people fall all over themselves in a rush to take care of her. You're not the first to fall for it, and I'm sure you won't be the last."

He heard a gasp. Tara had led her group back into the room. She stood as if frozen, the color draining from her face.

"Oh, have I said too much?" Jacqueline sounded contrite, but there was a triumphant gleam in her pale blue eyes. "Oh, dear, 
Tina
, you hadn't told him about your money troubles or your broken engagement, had you? My bad."

"Tara, is any of this true?"

Tara looked up at him, her lips moving soundlessly as she struggled for words.

Her silence told him everything he needed to know.

"You're out of luck this time,” he said flatly. "I'm broke, too."

Chapter Seven

Tara was furious. At Jacqueline, for manipulating the facts. At Ethan, for believing his former wife. And at herself, for standing there with her mouth hanging open like a fool instead of standing up to both of them.

She had never been good at confrontations; she knew that. It had gotten worse in the months since her accident, when it seemed as though she faced a battle at every turn – at a time when she just didn't have the strength to fight. She'd had to defend herself against everyone from insurance bureaucrats to bill collectors to her idiot ex-fiancé, but somehow none of them bothered her as much as having to face the accusing look in Ethan's eyes.

They avoided each other for the rest of Sunday, and she awoke early on Monday to find that he had gone out somewhere. Good. She knew they had things to discuss, but she just wasn't ready yet.

She took her morning coffee out on the front porch and settled back into one of Bea's wicker rocking chairs. The air was still oppressively hot and humid, but at least there was a little bit of a breeze coming in off the Lake this early in the day. For the first time since moving into her new home, Tara had the time to enjoy the spectacular view and appreciate just how lucky she was to live here.

Even if she couldn't afford to stay for long. Jacqueline had been truthful about that, at least. Property taxes on prime beachfront property like this were astronomical and she had no income to help pay the costs. Maintenance was going to be rough, too; storms coming in off of Lake Michigan could do some pretty severe damage, and she realized that the utility bills were going to be out of control when winter hit.

She shook off the thought and watched a few early morning beachgoers. There was an elderly man with a metal detector, and a few people walking their dogs. A vacationing family stood near the boardwalk and tossed bread in the air for the seagulls, which wheeled and screeched above them for a moment before landing and feasting while the children wailed in sudden fear.

Near the shoreline, a lone jogger made his way along the hard-packed sand. As he drew nearer, he turned and made his way through the loose, softer sand in front of the Seashell. There was something familiar about him; as he drew nearer, she recognized Ethan's friend Sean.

He returned her wave. "Mornin'," he panted.

"Morning."

"Sand . . . works different muscles," he explained. "Not . . . usually this . . . winded."

Tara hurried inside to get him a glass of water, which he gulped down gratefully before dropping into the other chair.

"Where's Ethan?"

She shrugged.

"Uh-oh, trouble in paradise?"

"It's not Paradise, Sean. We're roommates. He doesn't have to tell me where he goes." Tara watched a seagull for a few minutes and tried to think of something polite to say. "Thanks for helping Ethan home the other night," she finally said.

"He'd do the same for me." Sean shrugged it off. "I'm just sorry I had to leave him with you like that. When the pager goes off, I have to go. I'm a volunteer firefighter."

"That's why you look familiar!" she cried. "You were there the night of my accident! You're 
that
 Sean." Of course. She closed her eyes, remembering.

It had been so dark in the twisted remains of her trusty little car. Dark and lonely, while the lightning flashed and the thunder boomed and her cries went unanswered for what seemed like forever. Then the red and blue flashing lights showed up and she heard shouts from the rescue workers. Someone crawled into the wreck and put his hands on either side of her face to hold her head steady.

She caught glimpses of his face in the lightning flashes, and she remembered his voice promising not to leave her side until she was safe. 
I’ve got you. My name’s Sean,
 she could still hear him telling her.

"Tara? Are you all right?"

She opened her eyes and realized that he was leaning over her.

"I – I'm sorry." She hated the catch in her breath that sounded like a sob. "I'm fine. I just . . ."

"It's all right. Take it easy." He touched her wrist, counted her pulse for a moment and then leaned back, apparently satisfied. "Does Ethan know about your accident?"

"No."

"You can tell him, you know. He'll understand."

"Understand what?"

They hadn't heard Ethan's car in the driveway, or his footsteps on the walk. He stood behind Sean, his face dark with anger, and Tara flinched as she realized just how things looked.

"We weren't—" she began, and stopped. She owed him an explanation for several things, but this was not one of them. Her conversation with Sean was none of his business. She stood up carefully. "It was nice talking to you, Sean. I've got things to do."

"Are you feeling all right now?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Thank you." Tara managed to shut the door behind her without slamming it. Barely.

The man had absolutely nothing to be jealous about. He had made it clear, absolutely clear, that he felt nothing but scorn for her. Even those early, tentative gestures of friendship meant nothing now. They were roommates, plain and simple. Nothing more, nothing less.

She tried not to think about his touch the other night, the way his fingers and lips had felt on her skin. She'd behaved foolishly, melting into his caress like that. No wonder he had been so ready to believe Jacqueline's poison about her. He believed she was the kind of woman who used her body to get what she wanted from others, and she'd all but proven him right. And now he'd come home to find his best friend leaning over her, holding her hand and murmuring soft words to her only hours after she'd been confronted by Ethan and his ex-wife.

She growled impatiently. Men were idiots, she decided. She didn't need any of them, especially not Ethan.

* * *

Ethan glared at his buddy, not liking the way he felt at that moment. Jealousy was not an emotion he was used to feeling, and besides, Tara was nothing to him. Nothing more than a roommate that he was stuck with for the time being, thanks to his grandmother's foolish matchmaking attempt.

"That looked pretty cozy," he said, through clenched teeth.

"Back off, buddy. She almost fainted, and I was helping her out. I 
am
 a Medical First Responder, remember?"

Ethan snorted. "I'm sure she did," he spat. "She's so 
helpless
. That's how guys like us get sucked in. We all just rush in to take care of her."

"Pretty harsh judgment, Pal."

"You don't know the kind of stuff I found out about her. She's nothing but a gold digger, just like I thought. The whole little helpless routine is just an act."

"Where did you find out all of this 'stuff'?"

"Jacqueline was here yesterday. She told me –"

"
Jacqueline
? You're trusting information from 
Jacqueline
?"

Ethan stopped short.

"Don't take this wrong, Ethan, but you're an idiot."

"Hey –"

Sean put his hands up as though protecting himself. "I don't know about anything that happened in her life before, but I know that she really 
was
 in a horrific accident. I didn't recognize her at first, but I was there that night, and she's lucky to be alive. I can't say anything more than that, but it's no wonder she's having flashbacks. And I'm no doctor, but I have enough training to recognize a real faint when I see one, and that girl just came damn close to passing out, right here on the porch."

Ethan said nothing.

"What's happened to you?" Sean finally asked. "When did you get so cold-hearted?"

"Being married to the Ice Queen for five years will do that to a guy."

"Maybe you haven't noticed, but you're not married to her anymore." Sean patted his arm and gave him a quick smile. "I'm outta here, Dude. Some of us have jobs to go all year 'round."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever." Ethan couldn't help but smile as his friend trotted away. The smiled faded, however, when he thought about Tara.

He had called Ben Jacobs first thing that morning, and the attorney had agreed to meet with him. According to Ben, Bea had changed her will only a few weeks before her stroke; she had told him that Ethan was getting remarried soon, and she insisted on including her future granddaughter-in-law in the will. Although the attorney recommended that she wait until after the wedding, Bea was adamant about updating the document, "just in case."

He was baffled by his grandmother's actions. She had always been an irrepressible matchmaker. He smiled, remembering some of the "accidental" encounters with pretty young things who just 
happened
 to be at the Seashell when he showed up for Sunday dinners after his divorce from Jacqueline was final. Bea was a hopeless romantic who couldn't stand the thought of her only grandchild being alone.

But lying to her attorney about Ethan and Tara seemed a bit extreme, even for her. Ethan doubted if he would ever know whether it was a wild matchmaking attempt or if his grandmother had perhaps been in the early stages of dementia.

The attorney also informed him that Jacqueline would most likely use that as part of her legal action to contest the will. If she could prove that Bea wasn't in her right mind, then they would have to revert back to the earlier will, which left everything to Ethan and his ex-wife.

Ethan squinted out across the water. It was calm, almost glassy in the morning light, but he thought the color shifted gradually from a deep blue to a more menacing greenish-grayish-blue out toward the horizon. There was a storm coming in, he realized. He couldn't tell how fast it was moving, but it was definitely coming this way.

He didn't know who –or what – to believe about Tara. He couldn't remember ever being so confused about a woman, not even his ex-wife in the final days of their marriage. With Jacqueline, it was over for him when he realized that she cared more about money than she cared about him. It hurt at the time, but that hurt had quickly been replaced by dislike and eventually relief when it was over.

But Tara was different. He wanted to believe that she was as money-hungry as Jacqueline; he had certainly seen enough evidence to support that belief. At the same time, her vulnerability seemed so real, so genuine, that he had a hard time believing that it was just a part of a con. Every time he saw her, he felt a desire to protect her, to take care of her, and at the same time he felt a desire to call her out as a fraud.

There was an entirely different kind of desire going on as well, one that he was reluctant to face. Sure, she was curvy in all the right places and she had the kind of full, lush lips that could mesmerize any man. But he'd seen beautiful, desirable women before without losing the ability to think clearly. He had to face the fact: he 
wanted
 her. In his arms, in his bed. Hell, on the floor, for that matter.

Ethan flopped back into the wicker chair she had recently abandoned. He 
wanted
 her. Damn it all.

It had been a long time since he'd been with a woman. Sex with Jacqueline had stopped long before their divorce. He told himself that he only wanted Tara because she was there, in the house with him. There was nothing special about her. He would have reacted the same way to any female living in such close quarters.

That was all there was to it. Proximity.

He closed his eyes and tried to remember Saturday night more clearly. His fantasy about her that night seemed so real. He could still feel the warmth of her breast in his hand, taste the sweetness of her skin on his tongue. He imagined that he could feel her weight on his lap as she leaned against him, and he could swear he recalled the sound of her moaning softly.

This was 
not
 helping.

He needed to talk to Tara and find out if they were on the same side or not. And he needed to tell her about Ben's not-so-subtle hints of a possible way to defeat Jacqueline. He didn't know Tara very well, but he knew her well enough to know that she wasn't going to like the suggestion any more than he did.