Briana thought she was strong enough. Trust me, she’d said. I won’t leave you. She was stubborn enough, determined enough to hang in there with him. But he couldn’t let her do that, to waste her life on him. There seemed no end in sight, the shame increasing. When would it end? Maybe never. He deserved to suffer, but she didn’t.
She was so very special, he knew, and he’d wanted her from the beginning. At first, he’d thought he wanted only sex, pure and simple. But that hadn’t been the half of it. Gorgeous as she was, she was so much more than a beautiful body. It was the way those huge brown eyes looked at him, sometimes so very serious, other times an extension of her generous smile. It was the way she smelled, the way she tasted, the soft sounds she made low in her throat when he moved within her. He wanted no other man to ever hear those sweet sounds, no one but him.
How could he let her go? Yet how could he keep her? She was too kind, too compassionate to walk away from someone in need. And God only knew, he was in need. But how could he chain her to half a man and live with himself? He was tortured, afraid to trust his own instincts, his judgment—and might never get over it. How could he ever forget the dead and broken bodies he’d left in his wake?
How to convince her, for he knew she cared. She’d almost said the words out loud tonight, he knew, but she’d held back. She was afraid he’d fall apart if she told him she loved him. Little did she know, nor would she believe, that he hadn’t heard those three important words in more years than he could recall. His mother had sometimes told him when she’d been in her cups and feeling sentimental. Rachel had never mentioned love, only that they were good together and should get married. The other women he’d befriended and sometimes bedded had all been content with good times and good sex. If they began angling for more, he moved on. That was the way his life had been.
Until Briana.
They’d met because of the proximity of his father’s house to her grandfather’s home. Circumstances had brought them to this island when they’d both been vulnerable. So they’d become closer than either had intended. And never should have.
If only a pleasant attraction and great sex were enough. But they no longer were, for either of them. He saw the way she looked at him, the concern in her eyes, the hope she couldn’t hide. And he had concerns of his own. Otherwise, he’d simply enjoy the woman and not overthink things. This time, with this woman, he couldn’t stop thinking.
Of what might have been if he were only a whole man free of guilt and ready for an uncomplicated future. She deserved more than him. She deserved a happiness he could never give her.
The raspy voice on the phone machine drifted into his memory. Was it a wrong number, a coincidence, a prankster? Or was Briana in danger? The very thought had his fists clenching as he straightened. He might not be able to be there for her for all time, but he could and would protect her until they got to the bottom of this mess. He wouldn’t let anything happen to her, not if he could help it. He’d failed before, let down people who’d counted on him. He wouldn’t fail Briana.
His thoughts as gloomy as the weather, Slade stood looking out.
In the bedroom, Briana lay awake, wondering whether to follow him or stay put. She didn’t know which would be right, but she knew she couldn’t go back to sleep and pretend nothing had happened. Moving to the closet, she shrugged on her terrycloth robe and padded out to the living room in her bare feet.
She found him at the front window, his very stance suggesting tension. Slipping her arm around his waist, she leaned her head to his shoulder. “Are you feeling better?”
Slade drew in a long breath. “I’m sorry I woke you. I get those nightmares sometimes and there’s not much I can do to stop them.”
Her eyes finally adjusted to the dark, she looked up at him, but his face was closed down, withdrawn. “Give it time.”
That’s what everyone said. “I just want to shut my eyes and not see the ghosts from my past, not hear them crying. Doesn’t seem like so much to ask, does it?”
“No.” She shifted until her head rested lightly on his chest as his arms automatically encircled her. “But I do know what you mean. I have nightmares, too, mostly about Bobby. And always, he’s just out of reach, calling to me, and I can’t get to him in time. The doctor told me that one day they would stop, but I’m not so sure.”
“You’re not blaming yourself for Bobby’s death, are you? How could you be at fault?”
“Logically, I know I’m not. But when someone we care for dies, we always find some way to blame ourselves. I felt that even when Gramp died. I should have come to see him more often, spent more time talking with him, listening to the stories he loved to tell. Guilt is a hair shirt most of us put on so often we no longer feel the itch. After a while, it becomes comfortable, a way of life.”
Looking down at her, he used both hands to brush back her hair, her beautiful hair. “So, Doc, what do you suggest we do about it?”
He’d shoved his demons back for now, which was probably the best he could do, Briana thought. She would do the same. “Let’s go back to bed. Come morning, things will look brighter. At least, they usually do.”
“All right.” Arms entwined, he let her lead him back.
The news broadcaster’s nasal voice on the kitchen radio nearly quivered with excitement. “The hurricane of k38 was the largest single disaster to ever hit the New England area, killing over six hundred people. That storm, which was a category four on the Saffir-Simpson Scale, hit on September twenty-first. The weather bureau tells us that there’s a very real possibility that Nantucket may be in for another biggie.”
Plugging in the coffeepot, Briana glanced up as Slade walked into the kitchen. “Did you hear that?”
“I hope he’s wrong.” He finished tucking in his shirt and took the glass of orange juice she handed him. “Thanks.”
“That hurricane,” the announcer went on, “was followed by Carol, the first great named storm that hit the New England shoreline on August thirty-first, 1954. We enjoyed a six-year respite. The last one to brush along the coast of Nantucket was Donna, the hurricane that hit in early September of 1960. After leaving us, it hurtled north to cut a wide path through Massachusetts and went up as far as Maine. So, ladies and gents, time to batten down the hatches. This one’s been named Donald and he’s only a two so far, but moving up fast with winds already clocked at over eighty miles an hour. If Donald keeps on this northerly route, the leading edge will be arriving within thirty-six hours.”
“Plywood,” Briana said, then drained the last of her coffee. “We’ll need to get some sheets of plywood and lots of nails.”
Slade wrinkled his brow. “Plywood?”
“Yes, to cover the windows. Broken glass is just one problem a hurricane brings.”
“Is plywood strong enough?”
“Usually. I was here one fall weekend years ago when a huge storm was scheduled to hit. I don’t know if it had been labeled a hurricane, but Lord, it was bad. Everyone was running around nailing plywood over their windows, stocking up on food and bottled water. It hit and pounded on us for seven or eight hours. The electricity went out so my grandparents and I sat in the living room in the dark, waiting it out. I was about fourteen and plenty scared, never having experienced anything like it before. The worst was the sound of the wind. It was eerie, like nothing you’ve ever heard, and that wasn’t even a full-fledged hurricane.”
“I’ll bet on Jeremy’s house all I have to do is close the shutters on the windows that have them, right?”
“I think so. We can check at the hardware store. They’ll know.” She grabbed her keys and purse. “Can we take your truck?”
Slade glanced at his barely tasted coffee. “You want to go right now?”
“Yes, right now. I’m telling you, that timetable of thirty-six hours is only an estimate. It could hit much sooner. The shutters I ordered haven’t arrived.” Her frown was deepset and worried. “I … I really don’t want to lose this house.”
“Don’t worry. You won’t. Come on.”
But as Briana headed for the door, the phone rang. In the kitchen arch, she stopped to stare at it, the memory of that raspy voice sending a chill up her spine.
“Don’t answer it,” Slade suggested. “Let the machine take it.”
“No,” she said, suddenly straightening. “I’m not going to be frightened out of my own house. Let him confront me in person, the coward.” She grabbed the phone. “Hello?”
“Brie, it’s Craig.”
She nearly sagged with relief, fully aware that her bravado had been just that. Not that she wanted to talk with Craig, but it was far better to hear from him than the threatening stranger. “Craig, why are you calling?” Would the man just never back off?
“I’m calling with hat in hand again, Brie.” His voice was contrite, almost humble. “I had no business saying the things I said when you were here that day. Robert was as honest as the day is long, just like you said. I was just sort of playing devil’s advocate, examining things from all angles. Old man Brighton’s had us all on the carpet since this thing surfaced and I guess I’m a little strung out. Forgive me?”
She didn’t particularly want to, since he might take it as encouragement, but she’d never been one to hold a grudge. “We’ve all been under a strain, I guess.” She noticed that Slade stayed where he was, unabashedly listening. Not that she minded.
Craig had lost his cockiness, sounding almost pleading. “I hope you won’t hold that one conversation against me, Brie. I’ve finally got it in my thick head that there won’t be anything more between us than friendship. But I think so very highly of you that I’d hate it if we were no longer friends.”
As long as he didn’t cross the line, she could agree to his request. “We’re still friends, Craig.” Brie saw Slade turn his back to her and go look out the window.
Craig exhaled noisily. “Great. I feel a whole lot better. Say, I hear your weather’s not the best over there.”
“No, it isn’t. We’ve had a lot of rain, and now they’re predicting a hurricane may be headed this way.” And she was anxious to get moving, to get her plywood so she could secure the house. It was a strain to continue to be polite. “How is it there?”
“Gray skies but no rain so far. Maybe you should consider coming home?”
Same old tune, Brie thought. “Listen, Craig, I’m on my way out. I’m glad you called, that we cleared the air. I’ll be in touch soon, but I’ve got to run for now.”
“Yeah, sure. You be careful, you hear?”
“I will, thanks.”
“Any message for your folks? I can call them for you.”
Impatiently, she frowned. She could damn well phone her own parents. Why was he so solicitous? She fervently wished he’d find someone else to hover over. “No, thanks, I’ll be talking with them myself, probably tonight. Good-bye, Craig.” Hanging up, she shook her head as she walked to the living room where Slade was waiting for her.
“You’re nicer to him than I would have been.”
Brie shrugged. “What’s the point? Maybe now he’ll find someone else to pester.”
“Doubtful.” He remembered the arrogant way Craig had marched in and pulled Brie into a hard, fast kiss. It rankled every time he thought of that jerk’s hands on her. “He’s got a real case on you.”
Dangling her keys, she looked up at him. “Jealous?”
“Yeah, sometimes I am. But not of some guy who wears
ironed
khakis and loafers with tassels.”
“Who’d have believed you’d be a reverse snob?”
“I wouldn’t say that. I’ll bet he wears paisley suspenders with handkerchiefs to match, am I right?” He shoved open the door and walked through the porch and outside.
Actually, she’d seen Craig in exactly that, Brie thought, following. “You don’t like him because he dresses out of
GQ
?”
He stopped, turning back to her. “I don’t need a reason to dislike him. I just do. Now, are we going to stand around discussing Craig’s wardrobe down to his underwear, or are we going to get moving?”
“I’ve never seen his underwear.”
Slade opened the truck’s passenger door for her. “I’m relieved to hear it.” Once inside, he turned the key. “Where we going?”
“Wilkins Lumber and Hardware. Just head toward Main Street and I’ll tell you where to turn off.”
As the sturdy truck bounced through the puddles, Brie forgot about Craig and stared up at churning gray clouds. How much time did they have? she wondered. “I know you think I’m being silly, but this hurricane could be serious. Besides, there’s only so much plywood around and …”
He touched her arm. “It’s okay. I understand.” She’d lost her grandparents, her ex-husband, her son, and had two homes invaded by strangers. She couldn’t face another loss, even if it was just a house. She was entitled. “Actually, I sort of envy you. I’ve never been attached to a place, hardly been in one long enough to get that way.”
“Even now? What if Jeremy’s house got hit and turned into a pile of rubble? Wouldn’t that bother you?”
Turning on the windshield wipers against a light sprinkling, he shrugged. “I suppose. But not the way it would bother you if Gramp’s house got hit. I haven’t any memories wrapped up in that house. Well … maybe one.” He glanced at her, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “The master shower and bed, now there’s a memory that’ll warm you on a cold night.”
Despite all they’d done together, all they’d been to each other, Brie felt the heat rise along her throat and into her face. The first time they’d made love. Would he hold the memory dear if he didn’t care? “Yes, that’s a special memory for me, too.”
Slade’s big hand reached over and scooted her closer to him on the bench seat. “There, that’s better.” He placed her hand palm down on his thigh and laced his fingers with hers.
Memories, he thought as he followed the curve of the road. He’d best stockpile some special memories for the time when they’d be all he’d have.
Two hours later, they parked in Brie’s driveway so Slade could unload the sheets of plywood into Gramp’s open garage. The newscast on the car radio had sounded ambivalent, the announcer noting that tracking the probable path of capricious Donald was confounding the best forecasters because of its erratic nature. The uncertainty had nearly everyone on edge, some pounding nails already, others doing nothing, sure the hurricane would hug the coast of the mainland and bypass Nantucket. Squinting into a shifting sky, Slade had a tendency to agree with the latter group, but for Briana’s sake, he’d do what she thought necessary.