Those Cassabaw Days (28 page)

Not with Matt Malone permanently affixed to her brain.

Neither she nor his family had heard a peep out of him. Not even once.

She even dreamed about him, and that was almost more painful than anything. Because the dream would be all perfect, and then she’d awaken to realize he wasn’t really there after all...

“You know there’s only one place to watch the fireworks, right?”

Emily grinned. “Heck, yeah,” she said. “The Ferris wheel.”

Matt gave a single nod in that direction, held out his proffered arm and they started up the boardwalk to the little field by old man Catesby’s house, where the Fourth of July carnival was being held.

At the Ferris wheel, Matt led Emily into the car and climbed in beside her.

As they sat, awaiting the wheel to turn, she slipped her hand into his, and pulled it to her chest.

“You know what, Matt Malone?” she asked.

“Nope.”

“For as long as I can remember, you’ve been an important part of my life. In the beginning, one of the best, most important parts.” She smiled and kissed his knuckles. “Now?” She closed her eyes, then opened them again. The night air caressed her cheeks, and the Ferris wheel started its ascent, and the first of the fireworks shot into the air, raining down a myriad of red, white and blue.

Matt sat with her, looking as though he’d just stepped out of the 1930s, with his suspenders and white long-sleeved shirt rolled to his elbows and his trousers, and those emerald gems of eyes softening as he stared at her. “Now?”

Suddenly, she found herself speechless. “My cup runneth over.”

As the Ferris wheel climbed higher, Matt’s eyes grew softer, and he leaned close, captured her lips with his and drew close to her ear.

“I’ll love you till the day I die, Emily Quinn,” he whispered.

She’d barely heard it over the noises of the carnival, but she’d for sure heard right.

With a smile that didn’t seem to want to leave her face, she rested her head against Matt’s shoulder, he slipped his arm around her and pulled her close as the fireworks exploded over Cassabaw...

“Matt?” Emily sat up, her eyes darting around. Dazed by sleep.

A dream. And for the first time since he’d left, Emily cried.

Rising, she walked through her darkened house, slipped on her rubber boots and trudged up the dock. At the floater, she sat and watched the moon sift and shift and angle over the water.

It wasn’t fair. Why couldn’t Matt see what they had? Why did he have to leave?

With her knees pulled up, and her chin resting atop them, she sat until the sun began to edge its way over the horizon. It was Sunday—the only day the Windchimer closed its doors. She’d sit out on the dock for a while, maybe go crabbing.

“Emily?”

She jumped at the sound of Trent’s voice. Slowly, he made his way to her and sat down. “I see why you love it here,” he said, staring out across the river. He turned to her. “I’m...well, darling, I’m going back home.”

Emily nodded. “I’m sorry, Trent.” She looked at him. “My heart belongs elsewhere, I suppose.”

Trent smiled, leaned over and kissed her cheek softly. “I realize that now. I sincerely hope he deserves you, Emily-girl.”

She smiled in return. “Thank you for all your help. You’re a lifesaver.”

Trent rose, bent over and kissed her knuckles. “It was my pleasure. Take care, will you? Be happy. You deserve it.”

She nodded and watched Trent Hughes amble down her dock until the misty morning swallowed him up.

An hour may have passed as she sat there, her feet in the water, her eyes on the angry clouds moving in. The sun made small appearances, ducking behind fluffs of gray.

* * *

“
H
EY, THERE YOU ARE.”

Emily turned and watched Nathan stride toward her, his long legs eating up the newly planked dock. “Hey,” she said, and turned back to the water.

Nathan squatted beside her. “A storm might be headed this way, Emily,” he said. “A mild tropical storm right now—Henry—nothing to lose your head over. It’s aimed for Florida.” He turned her face to his, and he ducked and searched her face. “You okay?”

Emily gave a wan smile. “I’m not, really,” she said, and fought the burn in her throat. “You see, Nathan Malone, I’m in love with your brother.” She turned back to the saw grass swaying in the wind. “And my heart really hurts right now.”

“I know,” he said, and his words were gentle, and he draped an arm over her shoulders. “I don’t know what’s going on in that brain of his, and I don’t want to give you false hope, but—” he sighed “—give him a little more time. He’s fighting demons, Emily. Not all are of his own making.”

“I will.”

“I’ll keep you updated on the storm,” Nathan offered. “Tourists have been warned to leave the island. Hard to tell what Henry might do so we’re taking the usual precaution. Jep wants you to come have supper with us tonight, too.”

She looked up at him and smiled. “Tell him I’ll be there.”

* * *

O
VER
THE NEXT
WEEK
, Emily moved like a robot. She spent most, if not all, of her time at the café. She really loved the place, loved the people, but afterward, when she was alone? A sadness, an overwhelming gaping hole, seized her, stretched wide, threatened to cave in and suck her entire soul in with it. She fought it—truly, she did.

She missed Matt. Her heart literally ached for him.

Whether he’d intentionally done it or not, he’d hurt her. Terribly.

She walked alone, along the edge of the low tide at Cassabaw’s shoreline, barefoot, her toes digging into the sand. She walked for some time, until all was dark around her except the light piercing the sky from the light station.

Would she ever get over Matt?

Rain began, soft, feathery plops of mist falling sideways from the heavens. In the fading light, she glanced down and saw something. An angel wing, and she lifted it up and clutched in her palm. By the time she headed home, the feather drops had soaked her skin.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

E
MILY TOOK A LONG,
hot shower, added her damp clothes to a load of laundry and changed into a gauzy white sundress she’d purchased from Catesby that buttoned up the front. With her hair wet, she’d gathered it atop her head and eased out onto the porch.

The weather report had confirmed Henry’s upgrade from a tropical storm to hurricane status, but luckily it was still headed for Florida. Jep swore it would turn and hit Cassabaw, and Owen had decided not to take any chances on their trawler. Two days earlier he’d had it lifted and stored inland until the storm did whatever it was going to do. Eric thought it’d pass them. So they all prepared. And waited.

She didn’t know the time; didn’t care, really. Exhaustion swamped her, and she sat on the swing, leaned over and closed her eyes, and allowed the sounds of the wind and leaves and ebbing tide against the marsh lull her to sleep.

“Em?”

Emily heard Matt’s voice, plain as day, in her sleep. What sort of cruel joke was it? That she’d dream so viciously about the man that she’d actually hear his voice?

“Em? Wake up.”

Her eyes fluttered open then, and it took her only a moment for the webs to clear her mind.

Matt kneeled beside the porch swing, his eyes fastened on her. She blinked several times as she focused on his face in the shadows. “Matt? What time—what are you doing here?” She sat up, confused and excited. “Where have you been?”

She blinked when he didn’t answer. Peered into the darkness. Both eyes were blackened, and he had a cut to the jaw, one to the forehead that had stitches. “Matt!” Her eyes grazed him. “I’m scared to touch you! What happened?”

“I’m okay,” Matt answered. “I have to talk to you, Em,” he said, his eyes pleading. “I have to—are you and Trent? Or Jake?”

Emily shook her head. “No, Matt. We never were.”

He closed his eyes briefly, and sighed. “Good.”

Tears burned her throat. “Are you going to tell me we can only be friends again?”

A vague smile tugged at a cut lip. “Never that again.”

She looked at him. Dressed in black, head to toe. Combat gear. Gun belt, no gun.

“Matt, what’s wrong?”

“I’ve been...stupid,” he said, and lowered to the swing beside her. He looked at her. “Stupid to take for granted what I have here. My family. My brothers, grandfather, dad.” He grazed her jaw. “You.”

“I don’t understand.” Her heart thumped a million times a minute. “Are you in trouble?”

He smiled then. “I could’ve been. Luckily the men I was with had my back.”

“Men?” she asked.

“Before, when I’d insisted on remaining friends? It was because I just didn’t know what I wanted to do with myself.” He sort of laughed. “Didn’t think I wanted to stay here. Was positive I wanted to be called back to duty. Civilian recon. Top secret rescue missions.” His gaze darkened. “Until I was.”

Emily remained silent, allowing him to speak.

“I can’t tell you details, Em. It’s classified. The night I was called out, I’d decided to come clean with you. Tell you how I really felt, and that the whole friend thing was nothing but a load of horseshit. Me, being too afraid to take a risk. Or to put you at risk.”

She tilted her head. “Risk?”

“Of losing you. Of you not wanting me for more than a friend. Of losing you to Trent. Or...Jake.” He swallowed hard. “We saved some lives. I got my ass kicked. And we almost didn’t make it back out.” He looked at her. “The whole time, I kept thinking ‘I gotta get back to Em. I gotta tell her. Just...let me tell her.’”
He drew in a deep breath. Let it out. “I love you, Emily Shay Quinn. I always have. Only now it’s...consuming. I’m sorry I left on your grand opening. And that I wasn’t there to help you. To experience it. I can never get that back and I’m sorry as hell that I hurt you.”

Tears began to flow from her eyes as Emily’s heart soared. “Matt?”

“Yeah?” His raspy voice caught, cracked.

“Are you too injured for me to make love to you? Because I swear—” she leaned close, brushed her lips to his “—I’m so in love with you—”

With a gasp he scooped Emily up and held her close, inhaled as though her scent were life and walked her inside the darkened river house. Only the lamp in the kitchen corner threw any kind of light on, and she smiled and snuggled against him. “I need you, Em. Always have.”

In her bedroom, he stood still in the darkness, holding her close, and his heartbeat sounded against her ear. “Only you,” he whispered against her hair.

Matt eased her down, moved his mouth to her ear. “Don’t move.”

He disappeared, and within seconds one of the vintage vinyl records played a soft, tinny melody from the thirties, and then he was back by her side. His strong fingers threaded through hers, and they stood there in the darkness, their breathing mingling with the wind outside, the horns from the record.

“Em,” Matt said quietly. “This doesn’t have to happen now.”

“Oh, Matthew Malone,” she responded, barely above a whisper. “It really, really does.” She rose on tiptoes, brushed a soft kiss over his lips. “It really, really, really does.”

With the old music playing softly and the wind outside picking up, Emily lifted her fingers to the gun belt at Matt’s hip, loosened it and dropped it to the floor. She grasped the bottom of the snug black shirt he wore, and as he held his arms up, and she pulled the shirt off, he hissed. She inspected his fresh wounds, an angry gash to his ribs, freshly stitched, and wondered briefly what had happened to him. Ran fingertips lightly over his skin. She felt him shudder, and inside, she did, too. In anticipation.

She kissed an old scar. “I’m so glad you’re safe. But I’m scared, too.”

“Of what?”

“That you’ll change your mind again.”

Matt’s profound stare held hers. Clear. Steady. And it reached deep inside her. “I will never change my mind again, Em. Ever.”

She was Matt’s girl. He loved her, even.

Matt picked her up, covered her mouth with his and held her against him, the decades-old classic wafting through the house, his tongue seeking hers, tasting, suckling, starving, desperate.

Emily grasped his head, slid her hands over the buzzed hair and held him still while she kissed him back, deeply, with a hunger that surprised even her. Slowly, Matt let her slip to the floor until her bare feet touched, then he scooped her up and laid her across the white down duvet on her bed.

A shaft of moonlight, going in and out of the clouds, beamed across the floorboards and cast only a small amount of hazy light against the walls and across Matt’s handsome face.

“Every time I look at you my heart does the strangest thing,” she whispered, and kissed his ear. “It skips beats. Makes me lose my breath.”

Matt didn’t answer. Simply breathed. Ran his calloused hands along her arms, then nimble fingers eased to the buttons on her dress. One by one, he loosened them, until he pushed the gauzy material open, exposing her skin. His fingers trailed her ribs, her navel.

Rough fingertips slipped over her hips. “Christ, Em,” he whispered against her throat. “You’re beautiful.” He pulled back, looked at her, and his eyes were pools of syrup. He traced her collarbone. “Soft. Flawless.” His fingers dragged over her shoulder. “Perfect.”

Emily smiled as her head fell to the side.

Matt braced his weight with his hands on either side of her head and tasted her throat, and his mouth pulled against her skin as he smiled. “Uh-huh.” His fingers moved to the clasp between her breasts that secured the lacy floral bra she wore, and he pushed the straps off her shoulders, and his breath audibly caught. He said nothing; barely breathed after that. Just...stared.

“I can’t stop staring at you,” he said in that raspy voice she loved. “Like this isn’t real.”

Emily pushed the shirt off his shoulders, traced the strong column of his throat with her fingertips and smiled up at him. “I feel the same way,” she said softly, and reached for the buttons on his recon pants. “Like no one else has what we have, Matt.”