A Home by the Sea (5 page)

Tatiana's eyes glistened with tears. “He wants us to start.” She put her hands flat on the counter, closing her eyes. “He would want us all to look forward instead of back.” She took a long breath. “Somehow we must try. Now leave the last pan, my love. We will have some tea and the rest of the poppy-seed cake while you tell me what
really
happened to you today at that job you never discuss.” Her eyes narrowed. “Do you think I did not notice how your right shoulder hurts you or you rub your wrist? You did something brave and I think that you were hurt.”

Noah muttered under his breath. “I slipped on an icy step, Mom. Nothing brave or serious about that. My job is usually boring.” He shrugged. “It's not like on TV. Mostly we sit and look at computers.”

“You are sure? You would not lie to me?” She stood very still.

Yet again Noah thought how fragile his mother had become in the year since his brother's death. “Of course I'm sure. I was grabbing for my pager and I didn't watch where I was walking. I landed on my arm, looking like a fool. End of story.” He carried his mother's tea to the table and then went back for his own.

“I see. But next time you will be more careful, please, and watch where you walk.” She stared out at the snow, still falling hard. “And when you—look at your computers, you will also be careful.
Promise
me this,” she said fiercely.

“I will be. McLeod's honor.”

“Good.” Tatiana squeezed Noah's hand hard and took a deep breath. “Now finish that cake before your father comes looking for it. He always knows when there is one piece left, and I must help his willpower a little.”

 

W
IND WHISPERED AGAINST
the windows, driving snow against the glass. The house was quiet except for the hiss and pop of the fire that was still going in the room next door.

Tatiana McLeod was not afraid of silence or the dark. She welcomed the shadows as a friend. Only then would she see her lost son.

Matthew?

She stared at his old chair, empty near the window. Always empty.

The house was quiet yet full of small sounds. The
settling of walls. Sleepy breaths that sounded against the snap of the fire. Even the restless kittens were finally asleep.

Tatiana stood in the dark kitchen, listening to all of it. This was hers, her oldest dream. This was the home that she had made by fierce effort, drawing her family around her, keeping them safe at all costs.

Except she had not kept her youngest son safe.

Matthew was gone, lost to the twisted fury of a man given over to hatred. He had graduated from the police academy at the top of his class and married two weeks later. His daughter, Sophie, was the light of his life and the joy of his parents. But his wife, society girl Miranda Dillon, had hated his job, hated the duty he took so seriously. Again and again she had tried to make him leave to work for her father in his huge plumbing fixtures business.

Matthew had always sidestepped the argument. On that one subject he would not bend.

Now his pampered widow was taking Sophie away with no concern for Matthew's family or what it would do to the little girl.

Tatiana clenched her fists in anger. She had to hold back her fury and the pain of her losses. She wouldn't let her family be torn apart. She would keep them safe, even if she had to…

Always so stubborn.

The words were soft, almost her imagination. But three times she had heard them in the haunting months since Matthew's death.

“I've had to be stubborn.” To make a family was simple. To keep it together was the hard thing.

A breeze touched her cheek. There might have been a glimmer of light near the stove.

You work too hard, Mother. You always did.

She signed, closing her eyes as a sudden warmth filled the air around her.
I miss you terribly, Matthew
.

It will be better. You'll see.

“Will it?” Her muscles clenched with anger that followed in the wake of sadness. “Why
you?
Why not someone evil? Or why not take me instead? You had your whole life to live.”

Her shoulders shook.

Shh.

Again she felt a current of wind on her face.
Everything happens for a reason. Now I see this all so clearly
.

“Well, I don't! I can't understand at all—and I can't forgive, either. Now your wife, cunning and quiet, plans to take your little daughter away, too.” Tatiana's voice broke. “Far away, Matthew. From us and your memory.”

She is doing what she thinks is best, Mother.

“Really? I thought she was doing what was easiest. She wants to make Sophie forget you. I hate her.”

As Tatiana's fists clenched in terrible anger, she knew the mistake she had made. He was silent then. He was always silent when she said something bitter or angry. It was as if he was held in a gentler place
and these darker emotions could not touch him there. So he simply slipped away.

Tatiana closed her eyes, hunched over the table. She leaned down to touch the chair where her son had always sat—until the night he was killed. “Stay, Matthew. I won't—that is, I'll try to find some affection for your widow. I'll try to understand why she is doing this cruel thing. But I won't let her cut Sophie off from you and us. We're in her blood, too. Miranda and I will have to come to some kind of compromise.”

She felt a stirring of air touch her cheek. It might have been the movement of a hand passing in the darkness.

With her eyes closed, Tatiana heard her son's beloved voice beside her.
She's caught in darkness right now.
The words were a mere whisper.
She has lost me and she's lost her hope and she's lost the world along with it. Give her time, Mama. You are so strong…and she is not.

The wind stirred again, like a gentle hand at her shoulder.

And then he was gone.

Tatiana knew in an instant, because the kitchen suddenly felt silent and cold. Now the darkness was only darkness.

She was alone. No spirits walked to ease her sadness.

Strong? Yes, she had always been the strong one. She had fought for her family since the icy morning
when she had woken up in Ukraine huddled next to her grandmother and four sisters with one quilt between them. Tatiana had sworn she would make a better life. She had sworn to see that her family never went hungry. And she had vowed to pass on the memories and traditions of the homeland she loved, despite its years of war and unrest.

She had done all those things, through the blood and sweat of her body and her fierce will.

But she was strong no longer. The blow of losing her youngest son had bent her double like a birch tree in a spring storm, snapping her in two. Her family might believe she was strong. Her friends might marvel and offer compliments.

But inside, Tatiana's tears gathered into silver rivers. And she was broken, bent by the weight of sadness just like the ruined trees she remembered from her girlhood.

Two weeks later

H
E HAD CALLED HER TWICE
.
He had texted her once.

Grace hadn't returned any messages. She told herself it was better this way. More practical for both of them.

After all, what could come of a few dates? Hesitant pauses. Awkward conversations. Groping in the dark and then an embarrassed refusal?

No
. She had to have peace and order in her life, and her heart told her that Noah would upset her careful efforts at recovery. She had learned one thing over the past year:
you had to be strong before you learned to be vulnerable
.

Two weeks had passed since she had found the kittens—and met Noah. They had feinted through their snowball fight to the hilarity of Noah's family. At first Noah had held back, but Grace wasn't afraid to fight dirty, shoving snow down his collar, pulling his feet out from under him, rubbing snow in his face. With the noisy laughter of his family rolling in her ears, she had been declared the winner at
the start of round three, by unanimous vote. Noah had taken his defeat well, but hours later, standing on the driveway after he had returned Grace to her townhouse, he had taken his consolation prize.

The long, slow kiss began as snow fell gently, brushing their faces. He had murmured her name while his hand rose, cupping her cheeks. Then he turned her face up to his and tasted her mouth slowly. The hunger had slammed over her instantly. Grace had thought she remembered how it felt to be kissed and know the swift heat of desire, but her experiences with James hadn't really prepared her for Noah.

The rich, earthy feelings that followed his kiss had left Grace giddy and confused. They caught her when she least expected it, fogging all her senses and her normal caution.

And she needed to stay cautious and in control. She had been out of balance too long with James. She was getting her life back now. Once things had quieted down, she would call Noah.

Her computer, books and notebooks were stacked neatly on the table. She had an important meeting tomorrow, but she was well prepared. Yet the thought bothered her: Was that all she had in her life—work and meetings?

Suddenly restless, she grabbed her coat and gloves to take a walk. Maybe the brisk air would clear her tangled thoughts.

She closed and locked her door, then pulled on an
old knitted scarf. It was a simple lace stitch, nothing complicated, but it would always be special because it was the first lace she had ever knitted. You remembered the first times most, she thought wryly.

A car raced past and slush sprayed around her boots, but Grace trudged on, glad to be outside. At least her preparations were done. All she had to do was sell her idea. That wouldn't be easy because the competition for this particular project would be keen.

Lights flickered in the twilight. A car angled to the curb and stopped. A Jeep, Grace realized as the driver's-side door opened.

“What does it take to get a call returned, an executive order?” Noah jumped out and shoved his hands in his pockets. “You must be busy these days.”

Grace took a deep breath. He looked good—even better than she remembered. Snow dusted his broad shoulders as he studied her without moving. “You forgot these the other night.”

He dug out a plastic bag with Grace's favorite red fingerless gloves. “Mom wanted me to tell you. Since you didn't return my calls, I decided to swing by.” His eyes were wary. “And since you haven't asked, I'll tell you that the mom and all the kittens are doing fine. Puppy, too.”

“Noah, I—” Grace flushed. “I'm sorry. I
should
have called. That was very rude of me. And you know that I can't thank you enough for keeping the cats.”

“Hey, don't apologize. You made it clear when
you said you didn't want to get involved. As for the cats, we love them. The puppy is great.” He shrugged. “So I'll be getting back. It's been a busy week.”

“Noah, wait.
Please.
” Grace put a hand on his arm and felt the muscles flex sharply. “Look at me.”

After a moment his dark eyes settled on her face, focused but completely unreadable. “I'm looking.

But what is there to say?”

She felt his muscles tense again and noticed there was a cut above his eyebrow that hadn't been there before. “What happened to your face?” Without thinking, she touched the healing skin gently.

“Cut it shaving,” he said tightly. “So what did you want to tell me, Grace?”

She felt low and cravenly, embarrassed at her behavior. “Look, I'm just trying to do the right thing.

I didn't
plan
to meet someone. I didn't want to get involved when I'm still tangled up inside.” Grace looked down at her fingers, opened on his arm.

“And then I met you. I saw how gentle and careful you were with the kittens and how far you went to make me feel comfortable with your family. And suddenly—” She stopped, feeling heat fill her face.

But she owed him an explanation—and an apology.

“Suddenly
you
were there, and I was being pulled in, caught up in emotions I couldn't understand or trust.

I couldn't stay aloof or in control around you. So I chose not to call or have any contact. That was my
decision, and it was very badly done. I hope you'll forgive me.”

“There's nothing to forgive,” Noah said tightly. “You were protecting yourself in the only way you could. You were being practical.”

“I wish it were that simple,” Grace said. “I should have explained and then trusted you to understand. I took the cowardly way out.”

Some of the wariness left his eyes. “Yes, you should have trusted me. Because I do understand.” His eyes darkened. “And I suppose if I ask you to go for a walk, you'll say no.”

She didn't want to say no.

Surely she could handle a few minutes in his company without coming unglued. “I'd say yes, actually.” She hesitated, then slid her arm through his. “And you can tell me about the cats. I miss them.” She took a breath. “After that you can explain what really happened to your face. I don't believe your story for a second.”

 

T
HEY WALKED FOR FIFTEEN
minutes, sometimes talking, sometimes silent. At first Grace felt uncomfortable and self-conscious, but slowly the silences grew more comfortable, like the kind between old friends. Feeling comfortable like this didn't make sense.

But maybe not everything
had
to make sense.

“So I want to know all the details about the little guys. Are they healthy? Growing a lot?”

“My mother has been giving them a special mix
of broth and egg yolks. She swears it will help them grow. All I know is it smells nauseating. Then yesterday my father took Ivan the Terrible for a short walk on the back patio.” He gave a dry laugh. “Don't worry. It was only for a few minutes, just enough to give the little guy a chance to work on his muscles. He's the most uncoordinated animal I've ever seen.”

As they walked it began to snow lightly. Grace watched car lights glow red in the twilight as commuters headed home or out to dinner or to the ballet and opera. It was all so different from the quiet harbor community where she'd grown up in Oregon. Back on Summer Island there were no secrets, no blessed anonymity. Everyone knew everyone else's business.

She had been thrilled to escape to culinary school in New York and then head on to the Cordon Bleu in Paris. The world had called to her and her year of study at the Sorbonne had been heaven. When work brought her here to Washington, she found the same kind of anonymity, and she had felt right at home.

Except lately her trust level was at rock bottom. Since learning about James, she questioned every statement and every motive, her own as well as everyone else's. She searched for odd nuances and tallied up whatever didn't make sense.

That kind of negativity drained you fast, she had discovered. It left you only half alive.

As she studied the hard angles of Noah's face captured in the light of passing cars, Grace realized that
right now at this moment, one place felt safe. Noah had a knack for paying complete attention to those around him. When you talked, he listened as if no one else existed or mattered. It was a novel and very heady experience, she discovered.

Not that it changed anything. Tonight was a pleasant adventure, nothing more.

“You want to talk about him?” Noah was watching her, his eyes grave. “Him?”

“Your fiancé. You were thinking about him just now, weren't you?”

“Yes, but how did you—”

“Your eyes. You looked like someone had kicked you in the chest and you were choking,” Noah said roughly.

Had he really seen all that in her face? If so, was her pain so visible to everyone around her?

Grace felt a wave of nausea. The truth was that all of James's friends had known what he was doing. Only
she
had been blind to the scattered signs. They were apart for weeks while he was working, so it had been easy to miss the other demands on his time and emotions.

But over the long months Grace had stopped hating him. She had even stopped hating herself for missing the signs until he was dead. And now she was moving forward. She wasn't going to let bad memories destroy her trust and hope. She wanted her life back.

She took a shaky breath, trying to smile. “That easy to read, am I?”

“Maybe not by others. But you're doing it again,” Noah said quietly. “That struggle to breathe. The tension in your hands. Talk to me, Grace.”

Memories of loss made her throat tighten. She hadn't talked about the dark details with anyone, not even her closest friends. Definitely not with her grandfather, who would have been horrified by James's behavior. “I—I can't.”

“Talking will help.”

“What does it matter? He's gone. All the damage is done.” She felt tears burn suddenly. “Before he died he slept with half of my friends. Maybe
all
of them. What did I know?”

“The fool,” Noah's voice was hard. “The cold-blooded idiot.” A muscle clenched at his jaw. “A man would have to be blind—and very sick to hurt you that way. He hurt himself, too, even if he couldn't see it.” He took her hand, helping her climb over a mound of snow at the edge of a driveway. They walked for a while, neither speaking. “So how did you find out?” Noah finally asked.

“The first clue? I was going through some of his old clothes after he passed away, and I found a letter in the pocket. There was no stamp. He was always a little forgetful that way.” Grace stared down the street, reliving that moment of her searing disbelief. “I was certain it was a mistake, so certain that some friend of his had given him the letter to drop off.
Just a favor, right? Then a mutual friend, who happened to be the woman he'd written the love letter to, called me in Paris.” Grace had to stop and concentrate on the words. “She was devastated. She let it slip that he had been with her the day before the crash. He had visited her at least once a month. She said she was…pregnant. She hadn't told him yet.” Grace blew out a shaky breath. “I couldn't help her. I couldn't console her. I should have, but I couldn't say a word of sympathy. I was still sure it was a mistake.” The street blurred suddenly. “It had to be some other James. Not
my
James. It just wasn't possible.” Grace stumbled. Dimly, she felt Noah's hand grip her waist. “Not the man I was going to marry as soon as his humanitarian missions in the Sudan were done.”

The bitterness rose and tried to take control, but she fought it back. It was getting easier every day. She was finally starting to move on.

If she could just let the memories go.

She rubbed her neck and glanced at Noah. His hand was still on her waist, offering silent support. “So there it is, the whole sad cliché.”

“You're no cliché. And you'll get through this.”

“I'm working on it, believe me.” She stood taller, feeling the cold wind bite against her wet cheeks. Some days she even thought she
was
over it. There had been too many tears, Grace thought.
No more of them.

“You're a very good listener, by the way.”

“I try.”

“And you certainly succeed. I haven't told that to anyone.” She chewed on her lip and dug for a tissue in her pocket. “So now it's your turn. Tell me what really happened to your face.”

“I told you. I—”

“Yeah, right. Like I believe that. You're the steadiest, most coordinated man I've ever met.” Grace eyed him without blinking. “You said you work for the government.”

After a moment Noah nodded.

“And?”

“And nothing.”

“Because you can't talk about it?”

Noah released her waist and studied the street. “That's right.”

Grace blew out a little breath. More secrets. She'd had enough of them, thanks to James. But these secrets were different. They were meant to protect, not harm. That was important.

“So…did someone attack you? Was it dangerous?”

Noah said nothing.

“Did you have to kill someone?” she asked quietly.

His eyes cut to hers. She thought she saw wariness. “What if I did? Would you walk away?”

She heard his anger, but something told her he was baiting her. “Maybe I should. I don't have a high threshold for secrets these days, Noah.”

After a long time some of his tension faded. “Understandable.” He rubbed his wrist, frowning.

Something made Grace reach over and push up his cuff. Before he could react, she saw a band of bluish bruises and a long cut along the top of his hand. “You fell,” she said quietly. “It must have hurt.”

Noah stepped back and smoothed his cuff down. “Not so bad.” He rolled one shoulder slowly. “As these things go.”