What the Heart Knows: A Milford-Haven Novel - Book One (17 page)

And today … today he hurt me
. She’d always known he had a past. That was part of what made any man interesting. But this! This was more than one of his playful-but-stinging slaps on the butt. This was more like a blow.

She began writing.
It was pretty hard not being noticed but I managed to overhear Jack talking to Kevin about how he used to be married to Samantha. Jack married to Samantha! Imagine that! And he never told me
.

But the thing is
, why
didn’t he tell me? So what, if he was divorced from someone? Why make it a secret? Especially when I have to deal with her all the time …in the restaurant, in the book club, and Jack know this. Does he have some kind of a deal with her? Does he still have feelings for her?

Whatever’s goin’ on with him, he just never told me. I guess he never really tells me nothin’!
Pausing a moment, she wiped a hot tear from the corner of her eye.

Anger began to rise in her, pushing in waves against the sadness and disappointment, like a competing tide. Guilt would intrude later, a terrible undertow. But for now, the anger was winning.
Today I think I found out how to get the Addition built. I’ve been waiting for this long enough
.

Sally slipped the diary back into its place, hiding it as she always did under her ledger book. Then she pushed in her desk drawer with a satisfying slam.

Miranda Jones clutched the inside handle of Zack’s Mercedes convertible as the car twisted its way down her hill toward Highway 1, trying to think what to say.
I could ask him more questions about the painting he wants me to do, but it’d make more sense to talk about that once we’re actually at the Cove
. “I usually ride my bike,’ she offered.
Geez! Talk about irrelevant and inane!

“You actually bike these steep hills?”

“All the time.”

“You must be an excellent biker.”

“Cyclist,” she corrected. “I mean, you know, ‘biker’ can mean someone who rides a Harley or something.”

“Right.”

Turning at the stop light that marked the entrance to the highway, he began to accelerate.
He didn’t even ask me if I wanted the top down
. She slapped a hand to her forehead as
wind whipped through the car, obliterating conversation.
Just as well,
she thought.
I really don’t know what else to say
.

The car’s interior bristled with gadgets and buttons she couldn’t identify.
It looks like the inside of the Space Shuttle. I’d need training to learn how to drive it
. She stroked the smooth leather seat, noticed how the arm rest contoured perfectly.
For my sister, this’d be an expression of perfection. For me, this is more of a gas-guzzling exhibition of conspicuous consumption
.

Buffeted by the wind, strands of Miranda’s hair escaped her barrette, and she tried to recapture them while looking for the Hearst Castle sign. Just then, something caught her eye—the flash from the lighthouse, like a ray of sun bouncing off a diamond. She saw it, then—the Piedras Blancas Light, a tiny, solitary figure at the end of another point of land.
Why do I love lighthouses? Is it because I grew up with them? I’ve always wanted to visit that one, but I’m told the whole peninsula is fenced off
. Distracted, she nearly missed the turnoff, but motioned just in time, and Zack slowed the sleek gray beast into the parking lot of the Santa Carlita Cove.

As he parked in the shadow of tall eucalyptus trees, a long, sickle-shaped leaf drifted down and landed on the windshield.
A little gift from Nature—my first good luck sign today
. Suddenly cheered by this small token, she bounded out of the car before Zack could open the door for her. She reached back in to grab her camera, dropped the strap around her neck and slammed the door. “While you’re closing the car, I’ll go on. See the pier straight ahead?”

“Yeah.”

“We could look from there later. I’m heading to the right, now, to see if I can get a different perspective for your
painting.” She started down the path that wound through the trees to the beach.

“You’re sure I should wear boots?” Zack called after her, “at the beach?”

“The beach is only the first part of the walk!” Miranda called back to him.

Zack Calvin stood there a moment, enjoying the mischievous tone in her remark. Then, realizing he’d have to hurry to catch up, he grabbed the workboots he kept in his trunk, laced them on, and took off after her.

Traversing the short path that arced over a small hill, he inhaled the menthol-aroma of eucalyptus.
Kind of medicinal, but nice
. As he crested the hill, his first glimpse of the Cove stopped him, literally, in his tracks.

He knew from having seen Miranda’s painting that there was something mysteriously appealing about the place. But he was altogether unprepared for the heart-pounding recognition that surged through him.
Did my folks bring me here when I was a kid? If so, I don’t remember
. Yet, seeing the curve of the beach, the frame of the peninsula, he seemed to be experiencing
défà vu
.

By now, Miranda was halfway across the beach. She turned toward him, waving him on. Zack registered the fact, and began moving through the scenery as if in a dreamscape, lifting each foot with effort, trudging his heavy boots in the sand. She stood on the flat arc of sand, facing the gentle, incoming waves of the small bay. Beyond her, and jutting out into the ocean, rose the cliff that formed the peninsula, upon which crowded a forest of tall trees running along its heights.

Where they’d started out at the south border, the incline of
the cliff seemed modest. But at the north border—which she’d now almost reached—it rose a hundred feet off the sandy floor, making the Cove seem cozy from a distance, but rather dramatically foreboding the closer he approached.

Zack attempted to sprint the rest of the way, but found it exhausting, the sand pulling at the treads in his soles.
If this is a competition, she’s already won. Still, gotta catch up
. Finally, he stood beside Miranda, gasping.

She smiled at him. “There’re several different views from the forest up there. Ready to start climbing?” she asked.

There’s that mischievous twinkle again
. “Climb this?” Zack panted, shaking his head while she began scampering up the steep incline. Without catching his breath, he began following as best he could in her sure footsteps.

Scaling the dirt wall—rutted by last year’s mud slides and with only the occasional tree root for footing—seemed a foolhardy mission. At first, Zack could scarcely believe anyone had ever successfully ascended it. But as they continued, the thread of a trail appeared, and Miranda planted her feet along it.
That expertise must’ve come with plenty of practice,
he decided, after his own feet lost traction more than once.

When they finally reached the top, they were met with a barbed wire fence placed so close to the cliff’s edge, that Zack could get no more than a toehold. Teetering, he waited speechlessly as Miranda held her camera with one hand and, with the other, tested the pegs holding the fence in place. Finding a loose one, she lifted it, and ducked under the barbs in a fluid move, motioning Zack to do the same. He imagined himself rolling over backwards and sliding all the way back to the beach, but managed to get under the wire with only a minor
snag in his sleeve.
One Polo shirt bites the dust
.

When Zack stood, he found himself in a forest of eucalyptus. He looked over at Miranda, who stood with her eyes closed, inhaling deeply. “What is this place?” he asked.

“Shh,” Miranda replied. She walked over to him and whispered, “This is what the locals call the Enchanted Forest.” And with that, she moved away, treading softly on the blanket of fallen leaves. Zack followed, still slightly winded, inhaling deeply of the pungent trees, utterly intrigued by these new surroundings.
Where we’re going from here I can’t imagine, but I don’t care, so long as she’s leading
.

Miranda turned to touch his sleeve, then gestured in a wide arcing motion. “See?” she asked quietly. “It looks different from up here … maybe even more beautiful. The perspective of your new painting could be from this edge—the curvature of the peninsula, the waves below, the pier in the distance.”

“Gorgeous,” he agreed. “But I’m not sure this view is quite what I had in mind.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Sorry, I—”

“—No, that’s good. The more you can tell me what you want, the better job I can do.” Now she pointed upward, and when he looked, he noticed they’d moved into a different kind of forest altogether: this one of tall pines that soared upward fifty feet or more.
Tall isn’t quite the word … they seem to have almost a mythic proportion
. Although the Cove had been sunny, mist now hung in the upper branches.
How could there be mist only here, and nowhere else
? As they watched, an owl winged by overhead, hooting.
Was that a greeting—or a warning?

Miranda led on through an obstacle course of felled trees,
majestic even in their demise, their huge, exposed root systems standing taller than a man. She picked up a pinecone the size of a pineapple.

As they moved farther along the peninsula they came into a tangle of low cypress. To keep following her, Zack had to hunch over and scratch his way through a thicket of wide branches that arced away in covered corridors. When he managed to look up, Miranda was nowhere to be seen.
I feel like I’m playing hide-and-seek. I don’t want to lose sight of her, but I don’t want to call her name either
.

He scratched on through the duff, his shirt now a total loss, as he tried to keep the sharp branches from his face. In the next moment, he gasped, reeled and clutched at the nearest tree trunk. The path, such as it was, abruptly fell away. Zack found himself at the edge of the peninsula, looking straight down at a hundred foot drop to a beachless, rocky coastline.

Scrambling away from the edge, he let go his stranglehold on the tree trunk, found solid footing, then looked around to recover his bearings. He stretched, and laughed out loud with relief. Turning his head, he surveyed a 360-degree view: a primeval forest at his back, and a sweeping panorama of Pacific before him.

Just then, a flock of pelicans propelled themselves across the sky, and, far below, the Cove’s water sparkled, a safe haven from the jagged outcroppings, wave-bashed just below where he stood.

He inhaled a deep breath.
Got more than I bargained for on this jaunt up the coast. Never knew a place like this existed. Enchanted, as she called it
. He glanced around.
Where is she
? He felt a sudden touch on his shoulder. Startled, he whipped his
head around.

“Fantastic, isn’t it? Especially with the light going gold.”

It’s her skin that’s turning gold
, he thought.
She glows. Maybe she’s the Nymph of the Enchanted Forest
.

“Earth to Zack? You okay? Not short of breath, or anything?”

“No! Fine. Good. Great. Just … just impressed with … with the scenery.”

“I know what you mean. So, what do you think? Is this the view you want for your new painting?”

“Uh … God, this’ll sound inconsiderate after you brought me all the way out here, but I … I don’t think so.” He saw a trace of disappointment flit through her eyes. “To be honest, I think I’d love
any
painting you did of this amazing scenery. It’s just that … I don’t know … when I saw your
Cove
painting in the gallery, and then again right after I parked the car and started to follow you—”

“Got it! That’s the perspective that works for you. Well, let’s head back, then maybe walk out on the pier. Maybe that’s the angle that’ll work for you.”

“Thanks. I appreciate your—”

“Let’s hurry, though, so we can catch the light.”

Once again, Zack had to hussle to keep up with her as they made their way back. This time, rather than pushing through the thicket, she led along a foot-wide track that hugged the southern rim of the peninsula. In another twenty minutes, they’d made their way down the cliff and crossed the expanse of sand—which was rapidly disappearing in a tidal shift.

He followed as she took the small path through the trees to the parking lot, passing his Mercedes. He walked beside her as
she stepped onto the pier that jutted out into the small bay. Bringing the camera up to her eye, Miranda turned back to face the forest they’d just left. Following her gaze, his eyes widened. “Yes! This is it!”

“Thought it might be,” she said, still snapping photos.

This really is it,
he confirmed.
I wish I could take the painting home with me tomorrow. But it’ll be worth the wait
.

Wind rose off the water, whipping a strand of hair across Miranda’s lens. She lowered the camera, a look of consideration coming into her face.

“Think you’ve got the photos you’ll need?”

“Well, I’ll probably want to come back another day, choose the lighting, check the tide schedule. You weren’t thinking of a sunset painting, were you?”

“I never thought about it, but no, I don’t think so.”
What am I remembering … a sunny day, yes, and something about playing. With a bucket? Maybe. There’s sand, shiny water, and the cliff beyond
. “Uh, a sunny day, right.”

“Just lemon-colored, clear daylight, then, right?”

“Uh, I’m not sure I ever thought about daylight being lemon-colored.”

Miranda laughed. “Technical stuff. And the ratio? I mean, you know, how high the tide is determines whether there’s more sand or more water in the image.”

“Just as it is right here, right now.”

“Okay. I think I have a pretty clear idea what you want.”

The comment, along with her smile, seemed to hover in the breeze.
I could sure use that remark for an opening, but I better not
. “Are you hungry? Could I take you to dinner?”
Jesus, I just can’t seem to help myself
.

She brought her eyes up to his. “Not tonight, thanks. I really have to get some work done.” She reached for her lens cap, snapped it in place and turned toward the parking lot.