The Cottages on Silver Beach Page 8

  “Glad I could help,” he said, and meant it.

  As she sat beside him, a subtle, seductive peace seemed to twist and curl between them.

  When was the last time he felt truly at peace, free of the demons that pushed him on? It bothered him more than a little that he couldn’t remember.

  The live band playing on the patio shifted to something slow, quiet, romantic. He couldn’t help but notice how she tapped her toe in time to the beat.

  “Would you like to dance?”

  Again, she didn’t quite mask the surprise that leaped into her eyes. “Dance?”

  “Yeah. You know the basic concept, I’m sure. Though it can have wild variations, in this case, it’s when two people stand together on the floor and move around in time to the music.”

  “I’m familiar with the term,” she said, her voice dry. “I’m only surprised you asked me.”

  He was regretting the impulse more with every passing second. “You want to or not? It’s a simple question.”

  “Yes. I would love to dance. Give me a moment to put away my gear.”

  She set the camera bag on the bench beside them, opened it and tucked the camera body and lens into a padded slot. “I need to find somebody to watch my gear. Oh, there’s Andie. I’ll ask her.”

  Feeling stupid and wishing he’d never started this, he followed her to where his sister-in-law—pregnant and glowing with it—sat at a table talking to a few women he didn’t know.

  “Would you mind watching my camera equipment for a few moments? It might be a little bulky out on the dance floor.”

  “Sure.” As she glanced over and caught him waiting nearby, Andie’s ready smile suddenly turned speculative.

  Crap. He didn’t need his family getting the wrong idea about him and Megan Hamilton. He was the last unattached Bailey, and as far as he was concerned, that state of affairs was unlikely to change anytime soon.

  This was only a dance—though he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why he had asked her in the first place, especially when his shoulder was sulking at him.

  He didn’t have time to analyze his reasons now, when she was waiting for him. “Shall we?”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  He held out his left arm, which necessitated her having to move to his other side so she could tuck her hand in the crook of his elbow.

  She glanced across him at the sling. “You caught me so off guard when you asked me to dance, I totally forgot about your arm. We don’t have to do this, if you think it’s too much. I don’t want to hurt your shoulder.”

  “You won’t,” he assured her. “I’m tougher than I look.”

  “That would be quite an accomplishment,” she murmured.

  What did she mean by that? He wasn’t the tough Bailey. That honor undoubtedly went to Marshall. Elliot had always prided himself on his mind, though that seemed foolishly shortsighted right now when he was having a tough time stringing more than two words together around Megan.

  “Shall we?” he said, and led her out to the dance floor. The band was still playing a slow song that made him think of silky sheets and tangled limbs.

  “I’m not sure what to put where,” she said, her words conjuring up completely inappropriate images in his mind.

  “We’ll figure it out. We might have to improvise.”

  “Tell me if anything hurts,” she ordered.

  “You’ll be the first to know.”

  In the end, he grasped her hand in his and she put her other one on his right shoulder, several inches away from where the slug had scorched through.

  She smelled delicious, he couldn’t help but notice, of apples and sunshine and a little hint of something he thought might be vanilla.

  They didn’t speak for the first few moments of the song, a state of affairs he wasn’t inclined to change. He was rather appalled at his sudden urge to bury his face in her hair, tug her close against his chest, to hell with his sling, and spend the rest of the evening moving slowly in time to music.

  As they moved around the dance floor, he intercepted more than a few curious glances from his family, each of which he deflected with a steely-eyed glare.

  So he was dancing with a woman. What was the big deal?

  To his relief, Megan seemed oblivious to the undercurrents or all the interested gazes coming their way. She seemed completely lost in the music.

  From what he had observed while staying at her inn, Megan was always busy—working on the gardens, talking to guests, even cleaning rooms. At night, he would see her light on next door and guess she was probably hard at work on her photos into the early morning hours.

  Even here at this celebration for one of her friends, she didn’t stop moving. If he could give her a few moments of peace, he would welcome it.

  The band segued into another slow song. Since she didn’t seem inclined to end the dance and since he was enjoying having her close more than he wanted to admit, he decided to maintain the status quo.

  “Why are you hiding the truth about what happened to your arm from your family?”

  Her question, completely out of the blue, made him falter and miss a step.

  “Who says I’m hiding anything?”

  “Your family. Both your sisters say you are a genius at changing the subject whenever anybody asks you about your shoulder.”

  He couldn’t deny that. “Maybe I just like to keep my business to myself.”

  “Maybe you enjoy being an object of mystery. Face it, Elliot. You like being a conundrum surrounded by an enigma wrapped in a paradox, don’t you? It’s all part of your FBI agent mystique.”

  “Is it?” He couldn’t help a slight smile, amused despite himself. She teased him like no one else.

  “You have so many layers, I’m not sure even you know what’s beneath them all. Are you in trouble of some sort?”

  His smile faded. She had no idea. The temptation to tell her everything took him completely by surprise. He couldn’t. Once she started digging, she wouldn’t like what she uncovered.

  “It’s a very long story. I would tell you, but the song is over. Looks like the band is taking a break.”

  He stopped moving and dropped her hand, feeling the chill of the evening for the first time as she stepped slightly away.

  “That sounds like the excuse of a man with something to hide.”

  “Or maybe simply a man who doesn’t like blabbing about ugly business in the middle of a party,” he countered.

  “That’s fair, I suppose.”

  Again, he was shocked by the urge to tell her everything, suddenly. His stubbornness, his mistakes, and the fact that his entire career in the FBI hovered on a knife’s edge.

  Why Megan? It made no sense. Marshall or Cade would be the more logical confidants. They were both in law enforcement. They understood the hazards and complications of the job and how a few poor decisions could turn an investigation horribly wrong. He had been here for days, though. As Megan said, he had become an expert at disclosing no more than he wanted to about what had truly happened in Denver.

  Something about this woman who saw the world through such a unique perspective called to him. He didn’t understand it. Hell, he didn’t like it much, but it was becoming increasingly clear there was some intangible connection between them that went beyond the fact that he was staying at her inn.

  “Well, since you won’t tell me all your dark secrets, I suppose I should get back to work. Thank you for the dance. It’s been a long time since I’ve taken the chance to put down my camera for a moment to enjoy one of the many wedding celebrations I photograph around town.”

  “My pleasure,” he answered, and meant it.

  Something told him these moments on the dance floor with her would remain a cherished highlight of this evening in his memory.

  * * *

 
; AFTER WATCHING HER walk away, Elliot turned to find his youngest sister in front of him, bright and glowing and beautiful in her specially designed wedding dress.

  “I saw that. If you can dance with Meggie, you can dance with me,” Katrina insisted.

  He supposed he couldn’t argue with her logic. “Great party, sis,” he said as he took her in the same rather awkward hold he had with Megan.

  “It is, isn’t it? It’s a little odd to have a wedding reception months after the actual ceremony, but that’s just the way it worked out for us.”

  “I don’t have to ask if you’re happy with Bowie. Anybody looking at the two of you can see the truth.”

  “So happy,” she murmured. “I never imagined one heart could hold this much joy.”

  A hard knot lodged in his throat. He told himself he was only a little emotional in the face of his baby sister’s overflowing happiness, yet that knot felt suspiciously like envy.

  Where was that coming from? He didn’t envy Katrina and Bowie—or Cade and Wynona or Marshall and Andie, for that matter. As the oldest brother, he was happy his siblings had found love and were creating beautiful lives together.

  Love wasn’t for him. Hadn’t he proved that over the years? He wasn’t any good at relationships. As Megan said, he kept too many secrets. Some of that was the nature of the job while some of that was simply his personality, drilled into him from all the years of trying to be the responsible oldest son in a family of wild siblings.

  “I wish you could find somebody,” she said, then added pointedly, “You and Megan seemed to be enjoying your dance together.”

  He could feel his muscles tighten and had to force himself to relax before she noticed. “We did.”

  “Wow. From you, that’s practically gushing over the woman.”

  Her words stung. He had plenty of emotions about all kinds of things; he had simply learned early not to reveal them.

  Do your best, Elliot. We’re counting on you.

  Never a moment’s worry, our Elliot. We couldn’t ask for a better son.

  He forced the past away. “What do you want me to say? Megan is a friend. We danced. That’s all there is to it. I’m not in the market for more right now, Kat. Anyway, today is about you and Bowie.”

  To his relief, she let the subject drop and they talked about other things. They finished the dance and he returned her to her groom.

  After another hour of making small talk and visiting with friends of the family, Elliot decided he was done. His arm ached like a son of a bitch, he had a headache brewing at his temples, and he craved nothing more than the quiet and tranquility of his cottage by the lake.

  He headed over to Katrina and Bowie to say goodbye.

  “I really am happy for both of you, kiddo,” he said to Kat, kissing her on the cheek.

  He shook Bowie’s hand. “Since our father’s not here, allow me to stand in for him.”

  “That sounds strangely ominous,” his brother-in-law said with a grimace.

  “It should. I said this at the wedding and I’ll repeat it now at the reception. You mistreat our baby sister in any way and you’ll have the wrath of the entire Bailey family raining down on you. We are a force to be reckoned with.”

  To Bowie’s credit, he looked more amused than threatened. “I think I can hold my own against you and Marshall.” He paused. “Your mom and Wyn? They’re an entirely different story.”

  He had to smile. “Damn straight.”

  After kissing Katrina one more time, he headed over to say goodbye to Charlene, who was standing nearby talking to Barbara Serrano, McKenzie Kilpatrick and a group of other women from town.

  “You’re leaving?” His mother’s frown clearly showed her disappointment.

  “Yes. It’s a great party but it’s been a long day.”

  He almost used his aching shoulder as an excuse but knew that would only earn him more questions he didn’t want to answer.

  “Never mind. Get some rest. I’m glad you could make it at all,” his mother said. “It’s been wonderful having you in town, my dear, even if you do tend to spend most of your time hiding out at the inn, hunched over a computer.”

  He said his final goodbyes, then headed for the pathway that would take him back to the inn, only about a ten-minute walk from here.

  Apparently, he wasn’t the only one escaping the party. He had only gone a few hundred feet along the path that wound around the lake when he encountered Megan moving in the same direction, carrying two bulky bags of camera equipment.

  She looked startled when he caught up with her. “Oh. I thought everyone would still be partying for a bit longer,” she said.

  “You’re leaving early?”

  “I lost the light and I figured Kat wouldn’t need my flash going off every second. I got the cake cutting ceremony. The rest is just the party and there are enough people taking candids with their phones to cover that.”

  “Here. Let me take something.”

  “I’m fine. I carry my gear all the time. Anyway, I don’t want to hurt your shoulder.”

  “I’ve got two, remember? The other one is fine.”

  She hesitated for a moment, then handed him the longer of the two cases. “If you don’t mind carrying the tripod, that would be great. It’s not heavy, just awkward.”

  He hefted it onto his shoulder. “I don’t know how you haul all this stuff around.”

  “This is my workout. Carrying my gear around.”

  “And cleaning hotel rooms.”

  “When the need arises, yes.”

  They moved together along the path and he thought again how lovely it was here in Haven Point. The air was sweet and cool away from the kerosene heaters at the party. The water lapped softly at the shore and the full moon gleamed on the ripples. Across the water, the mountains loomed, solid and imposing and still snowcapped, yet somehow comforting in their bulk.

  “Can I ask a stupid question?” he asked after a moment.

  “Sure.”

  “Why did you walk over to Serenity Harbor with all this gear?”

  She sighed. “I’ll give you a stupid answer. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I figured parking would be an issue, plus every inch of my SUV is filled with framed photographs I’m taking to Colorado tomorrow.”

  “You’re leaving tomorrow for your exhibit? When we were talking earlier, I didn’t realize it was so soon.”

  “The show doesn’t open for another week, but Mary Ella needs my prints early so they can figure out where to hang everything.”

  “At this moment, which emotion is winning? Excitement or panic?”

  “Hard to say. Do I have to choose?”

  He couldn’t hold back his smile. “They can both exist simultaneously.”

  They walked a few more moments in a not uncomfortable silence. He could see the lights of the inn twinkling above the treetops.

  He was fiercely aware of Megan—each quiet breath, the moonlight catching strands of her hair, the soft, apple-spice scent of her swirling around him.

  He wanted to kiss her.

  “Is this a good time?”

  He started at her words, wondering if she could read his mind. “A...good time for what?”

  “You told me earlier you didn’t want to talk at the party about how you were injured and whatever else is going on with you. We’re not at the party now. I have to ask if this is a good time for you to tell me.”

  “No,” he said promptly.

  “How about now?” she asked.

  He grunted, half-amused, half-annoyed by her persistence. “No.”

  “Now?”

  She would only grow more persistent. He might as well tell her all of it, especially as he could be out of a job in a matter of weeks.

  He opened his mouth but she cut him off before he could respo
nd.

  “I’m sorry. I’m teasing. You don’t have to tell me. I believe we recently removed the section in the rental agreement that says you have to spill all your dirty secrets.”

  She made him smile. He didn’t know how she did it but Megan always seemed to fill the world around her with sunshine. When he was with her, he never felt like a dour, stiff, humorless FBI agent. Mr. Roboto.

  “Probably for the best. Who knows what kind of scandalous tidbits you might hear from some of your tenants?”

  “You’ve got that right.”

  He wanted to tell her. He wasn’t sure why but again he couldn’t shake the urge to confide in this woman.

  “I let my emotions get in the way,” he finally said.

  She stumbled over a root but caught herself before he could drop the tripod and lunge to her rescue.

  She stared at him, eyes wide in the moonlight. “You? You let your emotions get in the way?”

  “You don’t have to sound so shocked. It happens. I’m not some kind of robot, contrary to what you and my family seem to think. Yes, I tend to be serious about some things, but that doesn’t mean I have no feelings. Maybe I’ve only had to become adept at hiding them.”

  For a moment, he wondered if he had revealed too much. She studied him, those photographer’s eyes sharp. “I imagine you have,” she finally said. “What happened? Can you tell me? How did you let your emotions get away from you?”

  They were almost to their side-by-side cottages. He could see them just beyond the trees. He was silent for a long time, then finally decided he had come this far—he might as well tell her the rest of it.

  “I disobeyed a direct order, interfered in a case that wasn’t my jurisdiction, blew up a months-long investigation by another agency and ended up killing a man.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  SHE BLINKED AT his harsh words. Of all the things she might have expected him to say, such blunt honesty completely astonished her and she had no idea how to answer.

  Elliot might come across as rather scholarly. He was a writer with the uncanny ability to convey pathos and heart in stories about grim and difficult events. It was easy to forget he was also a trained law-enforcement officer, that he was, in fact, a very dangerous man.