The Red Door Inn (8 page)

Jack's offer had only one string. And it was only for a couple months. By May the inn would open and she'd have enough in her pocket to move on. Enough in her pocket to find a new place for a fresh start.

When she opened her eyes, Jack grinned at her. “I won't make you sit next to Seth. I promise.”

She couldn't help but match his smile.

The light slowly dimmed in his eyes, and he squeezed her hand. “I don't know what's haunting you, girl, but you have a home here. As long as you need one.”

If only that were true.

T
he cross atop a white steeple pierced the cloudless blue sky, its call reaching far and wide and filling the unpaved lane with churchgoers. Marie leaned toward Jack and said, “I had no idea so many people lived around here.”

The wrinkles around his eyes deepened. “First Church has members from across the parish.”

They stopped in the green grass beneath the empty branches of an old tree, joining a line of smartly dressed middle-aged women leading to a man with salt-and-pepper hair. His black clothes and white collar gave away his role at the church, but his smile wasn't like that of any priest she'd seen at the cathedral in Boston.

After several moments, the women dispersed.

“Father Chuck.” Jack grabbed the other man's hand, pumping it several times in quick succession.

“Jack Sloane.” The younger man clapped Jack's shoulder. “Good to see you this morning, as always.”

When Father Chuck's eyes shifted to her, Marie sucked
in a quick breath. His eyes were the color of amber. Just like her dad's. He held out his hand, and she gave it a cursory glance, unable to shake it. That required touching this man who reminded her far too much of the past she'd much rather forget.

“Chuck O'Flannigan, parish rector.”

“Marie Carrington.” Her voice sounded hollow even to her own ears, but she didn't attempt to try again in a warmer greeting.

It took several seconds for him to realize she wasn't going to shake his outstretched hand, but his smile didn't dim as he dropped it back to his side. “What brings you to the Gentle Island, Marie?” Before she could come up with a useful answer, he turned to Jack. “Another family member helping you out? Another one of your brother's kids?”

Seth nearly coughed up a lung behind her, and she covered her mouth with trembling fingers.

“Not quite.” Seth snaked an arm around her, brushing the side of her arm, to shake Chuck's hand. If he noticed her jump, he didn't let on. “Just a friend.”

“A friend?” Chuck's tone turned teasing, only missing a wink and an elbow nudge to border on church social gossip.

Marie had wanted to ask the same question but for an entirely different reason. Friendship seemed like a bit of a stretch. Sure, they hadn't killed each other after two nights in the same house. But that wasn't exactly friendship. They'd gone antiquing together, but that was entirely at Jack's prodding.

If she had to guess, Seth wanted to be around her about as much as she wanted to be around him.

“Just friends.” Seth's tone brooked no argument or further teasing, firm and without doubt.

All right then. Just friends it was.

She could be friendly toward him. Well, at least nonantagonistic.

As long as he kept his space. And didn't insist on being alone with her for longer than a heartbeat. And never touched her again.

He pressed a hand to her lower back, the imprint of his fingers on her coat sending fire through her stomach. He yanked his hand away like the contact burned him too, and she stepped closer to Jack, away from Seth's touch.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye as Chuck and Jack chattered about the inn and renovations.

Seth stared at the wide palms and long fingers of his hands as though they'd betrayed him. Had they? Maybe brushing against her was a reflex, something he'd grown used to with someone else.

Well, it didn't mean she couldn't nip that in the bud right away.

Putting another foot between her and Seth, Marie slid closer to Jack. She nearly jumped out of her skin when a hand landed on her shoulder.

“Marie!”

She spun at the singsong sound of her name, catching the raised eyebrows and curious glances of Jack and Seth before coming face-to-face with the woman from the bakery the day before.

“It's Caden. Caden Holt.”

“Yes, of course.” Marie let herself be pulled into a quick hug, fighting the urge to push away. This was good. She should practice letting people touch her again.

As long as it wasn't Seth.

“I didn't expect to see you here.” Caden's bright eyes flashed toward Seth, then to Father Chuck, who earned a quick nod and a wider smile as he excused himself to prepare for the service. “You didn't come back to the shop yesterday, so I assume you found Aretha's.”

“Yes. Thank you for the directions. I did.” She waved a hand over her shoulder toward Seth. “We found some great pieces.”

“I'm so glad.”

An awkward silence settled over them before Marie's childhood training kicked in. “I'm so sorry. Where are my manners? Caden, this is Jack Sloane. He owns the Red Door Inn.”

Caden and Jack shook hands vigorously as she smiled. “Is that what you've named it? The Red Door?”

“Would seem so.” Jack chuckled.

Caden's cheeks, rosy from the morning breeze, drooped. “But the door isn't red, is it?”

Jack all-out hooted at that. “Not yet, my dear. Not yet.” As he wiped his eyes, he continued, “This is my nephew Seth. He and I have a lot of work to do on the old house before we open.”

Caden waved at Seth, flashing her teeth at him. “When will you open?”

“In May.”

The smile faded, leaving Caden with scrunched-up eyebrows. “May? That's two months away.”

Jack nodded with a wide grin while Marie pressed her hand over the stone rumbling in her stomach. Why did Caden seem worried that they wouldn't be able to get the doors open in May? Of course they could get the inn ready. Right?

“Well, I'm sure it'll be lovely.” Caden nodded toward
a row of redheaded little boys and girls standing at the stairs leading up to the front door. “Would you like to sit with us?”

“Are they yours?” Marie clapped a hand over her mouth. If her mother was still alive, she'd have been mortified. A lady didn't say things like that. She didn't act surprised at the thought of having half a dozen kids.

The other woman's laugh filled the churchyard. “Oh, no. They're my nieces and nephews. That's my brother and his wife over there.”

Flames brushed from Marie's collarbone up to her ears. “Of course.”

“So, would you like to sit with us?”

Marie stared at Seth, who had twisted toward his uncle, his shoulders pulling tight against his button-up shirt. Those shoulders probably took up more than their fair share of a church pew.

“That would be very nice.”

But as they settled into the wooden pew, worn smooth over the years, those imposing shoulders were right in front of her. Jack turned and gave her a smile, but she could only glare at the back of Seth's head as it blocked her view of Father Chuck.

Why was he always in her way? And he was far too close for anyone's comfort.

A little finger poked her leg, and she glanced at the child sitting next to her. With red braids and freckles dancing across her nose, she was as close to a living version of Montgomery's fictional orphan as Marie had ever seen.

“I'm holding the hymnal, so you've got to turn the pages.”

“What?”

The girl shook the book in her hands, yellowed pages flapping as the melody from the piano began to fill the square room. “It's two pages. You have to turn the page when it's time.” Her little eyes squinted hard as if she wasn't sure Marie was up to the job.

“All right.” She leaned toward the girl and lowered her voice, but it still filled the silence in the split-second pause before nearly one hundred people began singing.

Every eye within a two-row radius spun toward her.

Every eye except the ones right in front of her.

The pianist pounded out a lively tune, his foot stomping with the crescendo. He sounded like he belonged at a piano bar rather than a Sunday morning church service.

There had been a pianist at the New Year's Eve party two months before. Of course, he'd been playing classics in the hotel ballroom. He hadn't even deigned to play a Billy Joel or Elton John song. Too bawdy for the tuxedo-clad guest list. Too common for the exceedingly expensive tastes of Boston's elite.

She'd heard that music deep in her toes. Her laughter had mingled with it as she let
him
kiss her, let him dance her out of the room. Let him lead her to the elevator. He'd promised to show her the view of the fireworks from his balcony.

From the penthouse the city shone like a sparkler on the Fourth of July. They could even make out the roiling, teeming crowd in the square. Another year about to begin. Another year—

“Now. Turn the page.” The whisper in her ear and poke in her side sent her nearly to the ceiling, and she pawed at the page, ripping it at the top near the center.

Caden's niece scowled at her, but she could only shrug
and mouth her apology before it was time to flip the page back for the start of the second verse.

There'd be no tuning out during this song. Or the sermon either, given the pointed fingers and even more pointed glares of her pew neighbor.

That was all right. She'd rather not dwell on New Year's Eve. She was much better off forgetting Boston. For the moment she could rest in Rustico. And when she needed to leave, she'd go. If the memories got too close or the nightmares too strong, she'd go.

If she stayed put too long, her father would track her down and convince her that he needed her help to close the land deal. That he needed her presence in his office in order to make his threat viable.

She couldn't let that happen. She'd find the right time to move on, before it was too late.

But in this moment she'd turn the page. Very carefully.

After the service ended, Aretha bid Father Chuck a good day before sailing down the stairs. She brushed past Betty Robertson with little more than a pat on the back, her gaze never wavering from Marie, her tall young man, and the silver fox next to them.

She was still several meters away when they turned toward the parking lot. Throwing decorum aside, she waved and hollered, “Marie, honey.”

The girl's chestnut waves flopped over her shoulder as she turned, clearly surprised at first. Then she bestowed a rich smile, as though she'd long missed having a friend with whom she could share it.

Aretha hustled across the lawn, her breaths coming in quick gasps.

A woman her age was inclined to avoid exercise at every opportunity. But a single man in Rustico, well, he was worth a bit of a jog.

“Aretha.” Marie greeted her with an outstretched hand that she quickly pulled back then held forward again. As though to cover her indecisive movements, she hurried to add, “I wasn't sure I'd see you here today.”

“And why not? Did you think me such a heathen that I wouldn't even attend a church in my own backyard?”

Marie's eyes opened wide, her mouth pumping like the handle on an empty well and her cheeks turning red. “I just meant, maybe we wouldn't bump into each other.”

The poor girl thought she was serious. Aretha tossed her head back and let her laughter bubble over. For several seconds, she could only pat Marie's arm as she let the mirth overtake her.

Finally she wiped the pool of tears from her eyes and leaned into the mute girl. “I'm only teasing you, child. We must teach you to loosen up.”

Fear flickered in Marie's eyes, and Aretha's humor vanished. Whatever had caused this girl so much grief still haunted her. It had probably chased her all the way to the island. All the way to North Rustico. In good time, she'd have to address that. But she was young. There would be time to uncover the pain, lay it bare, and reveal the truth. And then she'd learn to find joy again.

Aretha knew a thing or two about finding joy. And about the pain that made it so hard to claim.

But that had been so long ago. Now she had the store of
her dreams, a new little friend, and a very handsome man standing right in front of her.

Wrapping a loose arm around Marie's shoulders, she nodded toward the two men shooting her strange glances out of the corners of their eyes. “Seth, it's good to see you again.”

“You too, ma'am.”

His handshake was stiff. Overly formal. Like she hadn't swiped his credit card for more than a thousand dollars the day before. Like she hadn't asked him to knock on the restroom door to check on Marie. Like she hadn't seen the tenderness in his touch as he helped Marie to his truck.

His smile was as stiff as his shake, his gaze bouncing from her to Marie and back.

Where was that gentleness and concern today?

But the man on his other side didn't have to force anything. His teeth shone in the noontime sun as he leaned forward, the crinkles in his cheeks deepening where he once probably had dimples. Now they were covered with lines of age and life.

“I'm Jack Sloane.” He bowed ever so slightly, a mere slant at his waist.

Boys didn't do that anymore. Neither did most men, for that matter.

But clearly courtesy wasn't a lost art. Jack knew how to introduce himself to a lady. Even one pink in the cheeks from a jog across the lush grass.