The Red Door Inn (10 page)

Seth couldn't help but laugh, despite the twist in his stomach that implied true regret. Of course he wished she'd go with him. He wanted answers.

Not a romantic stroll along the boardwalk.

His gut rolled again. Patting a hand over it, he said, “I guess I'm hungry. I'm going to take a walk. Do you want anything?”

Jack shook his white hair, resting a hand on Seth's shoulder. “They won't all run away.”

The old man had clearly lost his sense. He was talking like Seth wanted alone time with Marie for reasons far removed from revealing her true intentions.

Jack of all people should have known that he wasn't interested in another romantic relationship. At least not anytime soon.

His face must have telegraphed his confusion as Jack just patted his back and lifted a sloped shoulder. “We'll see about that, I suppose.”

There was nothing to see about. He had no deeper need to know about Marie's background except to protect Jack's investment. His rumbling stomach was just hunger. The sandwich and potato chips he'd had for lunch clearly hadn't lasted very long.

His concern—his only concern—was to make sure Marie didn't walk away with Jack's money. And that was plenty of
reason to spend time with her. He just had to keep reminding himself of that.

“I'll take care of that.” Jack nodded at the brush in Seth's hand. “Go get your cone.”

“You're sure you don't want anything?”

Jack shook his head as Seth handed off his paintbrush and strolled toward the front entry. After pulling his jacket over his sweatshirt and zipping it up to his chin, he grabbed a cap from the top shelf of the coat closet and pulled it low over his ears.

The wind whipped at his jeans as he left the porch's protection, and he squirmed deeper into the jacket, thankful for its wind-resistant lining.

He waited for a car to meander down the otherwise empty street before dashing across and trotting down the steps to the walkway. Leaning into the wind, he trudged toward the big yellow barn beyond the point where the path veered back across the road to the white sand beach.

He barely gave the sputtering fishing boat in the bay a second glance as it made a pass through the buoys marking the mussel-farm stockings, collecting the day's haul.

He had eyes only for the ice cream shanty.

And he couldn't seem to drop the thoughts of the girl who had so easily turned down his invitation. Whatever her past, whatever her plans, he'd figure them out. She may have turned him down this time, but he wasn't going to give up easily. There would be other nights of ice cream. And they had more rooms to paint. Of course, the upcoming auction meant time together too.

One way or another, he'd get her alone. And he'd get her to answer some real questions.

T
he morning sun hadn't made its first appearance over the wide berth of the bay when Marie closed the front door behind her. The latch fell into place with a soft snick, and she tiptoed down the steps in case her movement inside had stirred Jack or Seth.

She closed her eyes and sniffed the air. The breeze carried a familiar scent, but not quite like the Atlantic shore she'd grown up with. Even the sound of the waves was different, the force of the sea a gentle rocking against the coastline. She could hear the waves from wherever they lapped at the beach, singing a sweet song of peace.

The one thing she hadn't been able to find in Boston after that night.

The waves called to her, and she let her feet guide her across the street and then down the set of stairs she'd seen Seth use on his ice cream run.

Oh, how she'd wanted to go with him, to treat herself to her favorite dessert, the one her Boston friends had considered too pedestrian. Her school friends were crème brûlée
and tiramisu. And her father's business partners were more edible gold than waffle cone.

After three long days, caged by the rain and surrounded by paint fumes, all she'd wanted was a scoop of strawberry on top of a classic sugar cone.

But she'd turned down the offer.

She stomped her running shoes harder than necessary on the boards worn smooth by thousands of feet, lit by the brilliant moon and fading lamplights.

Why had she refused Seth's invitation?

He wasn't a threat to her. A bit grumpy maybe. What had Jack called him? Sour milk? Yes, that was about right. He could certainly be sour, and she didn't appreciate his nosy questions about her past. But those were easy enough to dodge. Besides, they would have been in public the entire time.

She'd sworn never again to put herself in a situation like New Year's Eve. But this wasn't the Old Liberty Hotel.

Her feet moved quicker, punishing the ground for her regrets.

And they hadn't been sipping champagne for hours.

Sweat beaded across her upper lip, and she wiped her sleeve across it.

And she hadn't gone to Seth's room to see the view.

Her heart thudded, building speed to equal the rhythm of her feet, matching the echoes of her shoes.

And she hadn't let him kiss her.

The wind chapped her lips, and she bit them together, pressing harder, pulling from somewhere deeper as the evergreen trees and a white gazebo flew past.

And Seth hadn't pushed her onto his bed. And then again after she stood, trying to slip to the door.

She had ears only for the waves, only for the never-ending ebbs and flows.

And he hadn't ripped the strap off her golden dress, sending a shower of beads across the hotel room's carpet.

She squinted at a cluster of brightly painted buildings beginning to take shape ahead and leaned toward them. Her arms pumping faster and stronger. Her breaths coming sharper and harder.

He hadn't whispered slurred commands to her to be quiet as he pawed at what was left of her dress.

Even when the wooden boardwalk turned into the paved road, she never stopped running. Answering the call of the waves. Craving that song she'd heard even a mile away and the peace it promised.

Seth hadn't held her shoulders down, his forearm pressed against her throat.

Her shoe caught a patch of loose sand spread over the pavement, but she didn't slow down as she crested the gentle hill before a white shoreline.

He hadn't pushed his hand over her mouth and slapped her face when she bit him. Or ignored her sobs as she begged him to stop.

Seth hadn't done any of those things. He wasn't Derek.

She fell to her knees at the cusp of the wet sand. Through pinched eyelids, tears somehow managed to leak down her cheeks, mingling with the spray of the waves. Her heart still thumped painfully, and a familiar tightness in her chest promised another panic attack.

She sucked in several quick breaths, waiting for the air to turn off and the pain she knew so well to begin. She'd wait it out, kneeling before the lapping waves.

Pressing crossed hands to the base of her throat, she prayed the ache wouldn't come. That it wouldn't leave her more depleted than the memory had already.

Still she waited. It was useless. Prayer hadn't stopped Derek from stealing her hope and leaving her broken. God hadn't even been listening when her mom died. Maybe he just didn't hear her anymore.

If he did hear her, he didn't care enough about her pain to step in.

Once Father Niles, with his clipped British accent and handsome flourish of salt-and-pepper hair, had told her God was her heavenly Father. He'd compared God's love for people to the love fathers have for their own kids.

That made sense. Her dad didn't care much for her either. At least he didn't care enough to stand by her when she'd tried to tell him the truth. He'd told her they'd find a way to make it right. And she'd believed him. She'd thought they would go to the police station together, that he'd hold her hand while she made her statement. Each time she suggested it, he told her it wasn't the right time. They'd have to wait.

That was what she'd done. Despite her therapist's encouragement to report the crime, she'd waited.

Until she'd overheard his phone call with Derek's dad and the threat to use her pain as leverage for the land he wanted.

He'd picked a business deal over her, profit over his only child.

And she couldn't wait anymore. She wouldn't be a pawn in her father's sick game.

If that was how God cared for her, no amount of prayer could stave off the dizziness and narrowed vision or the knot
in her stomach. No amount of begging would heal what had been broken. No amount of crying would restore her heart.

If God was like her father, he cared only about himself.

She focused on the orange glow peeking over the horizon as it slowly broke free of the fog. As the sun rose, donning all of its pink and purple glory, she didn't move. One little movement could trigger the attack, one hiccup could make the world black.

Then again, waiting helplessly for its imminent arrival wouldn't make the assault any less painful or end any faster. Delaying the inevitable wasn't her style. Better to just get it over with. So she took a slow breath through her mouth.

The misty air swirled inside her, filling her chest, pushing against the restrictive band.

Strange.

After exhaling through tight lips, she risked another breath that pushed even harder against the crushing pain in her chest.

With each gulp of air, the weight lifted until it vanished like the darkness as the sun displayed its power.

“Good morning.” Marie nearly jumped into the water at the sound of another voice. “Isn't it beautiful today?”

She nodded mutely at the woman in a black wetsuit, who dipped her toe into the water before yanking it back quickly and wrapping her arms around her middle.

“It's a bit cold, eh. But there's nothing like the North Shore in the morning.” Her gaze was curious but kind as she nodded toward the water. “Are you swimming today?”

Marie shook her head, and the woman smiled widely before wading into the water. “Well then, have a good one.” Then she was gone, her flapping arms heading toward the end of the rock jetty the only trace of her.

Pushing to her feet, Marie stumbled in the loose sand and backed away from the waves with each easy breath. And they were so easy. Unencumbered by the usual tightness.

Her panic attack hadn't come. For the first time in more than two months, her body hadn't shut down at the very thought of Derek or hint of danger.

Maybe there
was
something special about this place. Just like the books had claimed.

She'd return to this spot, but she couldn't linger just now. She hadn't told Jack where she was going, and if she disappeared, he'd worry. And Seth would assume the worst of her—whatever he thought that was.

As she hurried back along the boardwalk, she took the time to soak in the island's beauty. The majestic green trees thrived even this early in spring. And the sun reflected on the water, leaving the inlet a rich sapphire that belonged in the best Tiffany necklace money could buy. The sputtering hum of a fishing boat on the far side of the water set a rhythm for her slow jog, the whistle of the morning birds a bright soundtrack.

Prince Edward Island. It was at once everything that she had imagined as a child and far beyond anything she'd dared to hope.

Could any place be so beautiful
and
have the power to lift the weight of her nightmares and a father's betrayal from her shoulders?

As she climbed the steps to view the Red Door Inn, she sighed. Only time would tell if the island's magic held more than pretty views and rolling ocean swells. If they were to have the inn ready to open in two months, there would be little time to think about it.

She swept through the front door into the foyer, only realizing the force of the wind when she was free of it. Her cheeks stung in the warmth of the home as she hung up her jacket, thankful she'd left Boston with at least some protection from the elements. She'd only brought three pairs of pants and four tops. That was all that would fit into her backpack. Running away with a Louis Vuitton roller bag just hadn't been inconspicuous or practical.

People always assumed that a woman with designer luggage would have more than three hundred dollars to her name. But that's all the ATM had allowed her to take out before hopping that bus to Bangor. She didn't need bus drivers asking why she was taking the bus toward Canada while raising their eyebrows about her bag. As far as the border agent who had checked her passport in Woodstock, New Brunswick, was concerned, she was just another tourist visiting his country, traveling in a bus full of the same. Anything more would have raised a few eyebrows.

And those sorts of things always had a way of getting back to her dad. He needed her in Boston, needed to dangle her in front of Derek Sr. He'd be looking for her, and flying under the radar meant giving up the amenities she'd long enjoyed.

Except she didn't really miss them. Not at the Red Door.

She walked into the kitchen, surprised that she hadn't heard the men's voices, as they looked up over their cups of coffee.

“Up early?” Jack's morning conversation was more clipped than usual.

She pointed over her shoulder. “Went for a run.”

Seth lifted his eyebrows. “So you found the boardwalk?”

What gave her away? She smoothed her hands over her
wind-whipped hair and fought the urge to drop her gaze to the floor. That was what she would have done a week before. But today she'd already run more than two miles, seen the sun rise over the ocean, and conquered a panic attack.

It was going to be a good day. No matter what.

“We're just making a plan for today.” From on top of his daily
New York Times
, Jack picked up a white sheet of paper, the simple kind she'd use in a printer. Or a typewriter.

Maybe she could track down a sheet of that and get to see the shiny black Underwood in action.

“What's on the list?”

Jack pointed one corner of the paper in Seth's direction. “He's going to install a closet rod in the bedroom upstairs and finish the grout work in that first-floor bathroom.”

“I'm going to have to go pick up another tub of grout today.” Seth disappeared behind his mug, white curls of steam spiraling past his temples.

“What about you, Marie?”

She glanced toward the dining room. “I guess I'll put another coat of paint in there. And then I thought I'd visit Aretha. After spending a day in the dining room, I realized that we don't have any dishes or flatware. Maybe I can pick some out. And I can stop by the grocery store on my way home and pick up a few things.”

Seth's eyes brightened, his brows disappearing into the wrinkles on his forehead. He looked surprised. Did he think she didn't know how to fend for herself?

“Good. Good.” Jack nodded, scratching notes onto his list. “Been too long since we had enough decent food in the house.” He dug into his pocket and handed her several bills. “First week of work.”

He shoved the money at her, and despite suddenly numb fingers, she accepted it. The bills lying against her palm weren't much, but they brought a smile to her face. She didn't have a desk or her name on a door. She hadn't swindled or coaxed this money from anyone. This was hers because she'd earned every penny.

Jack shoved another wad of cash at her. “And here's for the grub.” Seth's gaze came down heavily on her, but she did her best to ignore it. He couldn't possibly be angry that she was going to stock their pantry. Then again, he might not appreciate it if she tried replacing his sour milk with something more fresh.

As if on cue, her stomach rumbled, upset at still being empty after a run. Marie chuckled, pressing her hand to her middle. “Maybe I'll go shopping before I paint.”

Seth nodded, his eyes flat and the merest hint of a smile playing across his face. It was clear he didn't feel it, but apparently he was trying. She offered him the same grin in response. She could try too.

He wasn't Derek.

She blinked several times against the punch to her stomach and swallowed the bile that rose to the back of her throat.

It was best not to think about him. Best to forget Boston, except to stay a step ahead of it.

Folding the money carefully in half and then in half again, she backed toward the door. “I guess I'll get going.”

“Do you want a ride?” Seth's words were quiet and about as soft as cement. He wanted to offer her a ride about as much as he wanted to smile at her.

In spite of that apparent truth, the simple offer caught her off guard, and she bumped into the door in her hasty escape.
Getting the groceries home would be a lot easier in his truck. It would also necessitate one-on-one time.