Anna's Courage (Rose Island Book 1) (2 page)

I clenched my fist and pounded the railing in slow motion.
Way to go, Casanova. You really have a way with the ladies.

Loud music poured from my brother’s house, and I glanced over my shoulder to see Ethan and Ivana step onto the porch. My brother placed his hand on the small of his pregnant wife’s back and guided her across the deck.

“Happy New Year,” Ivana said, standing on tiptoes to kiss my cheek.

I forced a smile. “Yeah. Happy New Year.”

My brother grinned. “You weren’t scaring away the neighbors were you?”

I glanced at Anna’s house and shook my head. “Of course not.”

“That wasn’t you putting the moves on Anna Morgan?” Ethan’s eyes twinkled with mischief.

I shrugged, pretending I had no idea what he was talking about. “No.”

My sister-in-law’s face scrunched into that pitiful
Oh, Nick
look. Sighing, she patted my arm. “I can understand why you like Anna Morgan. She’s very sweet and pretty, but she’s an army widow. Her husband was killed in action several years ago, so she doesn’t date soldiers.”

“She doesn’t date
anybody
,” Ethan said, sounding put off. “We tried to set her up, but she wasn’t interested.”

Ivana rubbed her round baby belly. “She’s still in love with her husband.”

I glanced over at Anna’s cottage, empathizing with her loss. Despite my desire to stay unattached and focused on my career, I’d felt an intense emotional connection to her. And when we kissed . . . well, as corny as it sounded, it’d been a long time since I’d felt an attraction like that.

Ethan nudged his wife. “How long would you mourn for me if I died?”

“Don’t talk like that,” she scolded. “Don’t even go there!”

My brother tossed an arm over his wife’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I shouldn’t mess with a pregnant woman like that. How about I bring you another slice of your renowned caramel turtle cheesecake?”

Suppressing a smile, Ivana jabbed Ethan in the ribs and rolled her eyes. “You’re only offering because you want a piece for yourself.”

“Hey, the baby’s hungry.” He placed a hand over his own belly, which had expanded alongside his wife’s pregnancy. Yesterday, I’d asked when he was due, and he’d tackled me to the floor like we were kids instead of grown men with successful careers.

“I’ll get the cheesecake,” I said, heading back inside in order to distance myself from my brother’s happy marriage, this peaceful island, and the woman who’d captured my heart tonight.

Anna

Eleven Months Later

H
olding my morning
cup of coffee in one hand and my son’s stubborn tabby cat in the other, I stepped onto the sand-covered back deck of my beach house. I placed Felix on the ground, only to have him mock me by darting back inside. Defeated, I took a sip of my coffee and looked up at the gray sky. Such depressing weather for such a depressing day.

Rain wasn’t predicted for Rose Island today, but the smell of rain hung in the air. Besides, didn’t funerals require miserable weather to match the mourners’ somber moods? Closing my eyes, I offered a quick prayer asking God to comfort the Peterson family on this difficult day.

My son wandered onto the porch and snuggled next to me. I pulled him close and kissed the top of his reddish-brown hair, still mussed from sleep. I loved the innocent smell of Travis in the morning. Loved how Pert shampoo and Dove soap from his evening bath clung to him. Later, he would reek of elementary school pizza, dodge balls, and wet sneakers, but right now, he smelled delicious.

“Hey, isn’t that Hailey’s Uncle Nick?” Travis asked, pointing down the beach.

I followed his direction to see Nick Peterson running along the shore in shorts and a West Point T-shirt. My breath involuntarily hitched at the sight of him.

Travis looked up and crinkled his brow. “What’s wrong, Mom? Indigestion?”

Embarrassed, I tousled his hair. “No, nothing like that. Let’s go back inside for breakfast, okay?” Clamping down on my emotions, I turned away before Nick came close enough that I’d be forced to say hello. I’d have to face him soon enough at the funeral.

Inside, Travis and I sat at the sturdy, wooden kitchen table my husband and I had bought from a garage sale shortly before he died. The surface was now marked with gouges and cup rings. Recently, my sister-in-law Bianca suggested sanding down the table and re-staining it, but I wasn’t ready yet. Maybe next year. Maybe never.

Despite the unease in my stomach, I sprinkled walnuts over my oatmeal and forced myself to eat.

It’d been nearly a year since I’d last spoken to Nick. He’d called before returning to Germany, asking if we could write, but I told him no. Honestly, I liked him a lot and that tender kiss we’d shared at midnight had been wonderful, but Nick was a soldier. And I would
never
get involved with another soldier.
Never
. I couldn’t do that to Travis, and I definitely couldn’t do that to myself.

Seven years had passed since I stood on my in-law’s front porch, listening to the army’s casualty notification officers explain how my husband had bravely made the ultimate sacrifice for our country.

I should’ve been somewhat healed by now, but losing Marcus had broken me. Destroyed me. His death had left an enormous hole in my life, making me feel years older than twenty-nine.

Travis took a sip of his orange juice. “I guess Hailey’s Uncle Nick came back for the funeral.”

“I guess so.” My gut twisted. My next door neighbors, Ethan and Ivana Peterson, had died in a horrible car accident last week, leaving behind two daughters: ten-year-old Hailey and her baby sister Gabby. My heart broke for the Peterson family, but it also broke for myself as the memories of losing Marcus inundated me.

A loud drop of rain smacked against the window. I pulled my bathrobe tight, wishing Travis and I could stay home today drinking hot chocolate and watching old movies. This weather was perfect for a
Star Wars
marathon. Or endless episodes of
House Hunters
. I had an unnatural obsession with
House Hunters
and felt a personal interest in making sure each family found their perfect three-bedroom, two-bath dream home.

“Can we turn on the heater?” Travis asked, shivering dramatically. “I’m freezing.”

“Good idea.” I walked over to the thermostat and flipped the switch from cool to heat. It was early November, but yesterday, we ran the air-conditioning all afternoon. Today would be the first time I turned on the heat this fall. That was Texas for you. Hot one day and cold the next.

Feeling warm air flow from the vent, I snuck a quick glance out the kitchen window just in time to see Nick disappear through the dunes toward his brother’s house.
Still good-looking as ever,
I noted, finding it impossible to ignore the broad shoulders, narrow waist, and muscular thighs. Was there a reason he had to be so good-looking?

The cat wound his way through my legs, and I gently nudged him aside before rejoining my son at the kitchen table.

Frowning, Travis pushed up his thick glasses, smudged with all sorts of boy gunk. “What’s that smell?” he asked, panic lacing his voice.

“Just my coffee.”

His face grew serious, and he shook his head. “No, that
fire
smell. Is the house on fire?”

My pulse quickened. Was that smoke I smelled? Gripping my mug tighter, I imagined an old wire burning in the attic and the ancient beach house bursting into flames.

Forcing myself to remain calm, I exhaled slowly. While the cottage had been built years ago and didn’t meet today’s standards for new construction, the fire inspector had assured me running the heater was safe. Besides, my in-laws owned the house, and they would never allow us to live here if it was unsafe.

Reaching out, I patted my son’s hand. “Hey, everything’s fine. That smell is just dust in the vent. It will burn off eventually. This happens every year when we run the heater for the first time, remember?”

His face grew pale with a fear that’d exploded since the Petersons’ accident. He started coming into my bedroom in the middle of the night, refusing to sleep in his own room. And last night, he wet the bed. Something he hadn’t done in years.

“Turn it off,” he demanded.

“Travis—”

“No! I’d rather be cold than die in a fire.”

Giving in to his fear, I returned to the thermostat and shut it off. Guilt overwhelmed me because I’d been the one to make him fearful and neurotic.

I tried to hide my own anxiety, but underneath my calm demeanor, I was a complete basket case. I didn’t want to live in fear, and I certainly didn’t want to pass on my anxiety issues to Travis. Marcus wouldn’t have wanted that.

Before my husband’s death, I’d worked as a part-time helicopter pilot, ferrying tourists all over the island. I’d loved the challenge of flying and interacting with new people. I’d also enjoyed the flexible hours, not to mention the decent income.

Losing Marcus, however, changed that. Since his death, I hadn’t been able to drive through the gates of the airfield, let alone think about flying again. Constant unease dominated my thoughts. I worried about everything from Travis getting hit by the garbage truck to running out of money. The recent deaths of my neighbors only exacerbated matters, reminding me of life’s fragility.

I knew my reaction to stressful situations had a profound impact on Travis, and for that reason, I’d sought help for my anxiety via therapy, acupuncture, prayer, and medication. But nothing worked.

Several times a week, I’d awake in the middle of the night, my heart pounding and impending doom coursing through my veins. I’d turn on my light, read my Bible, and pray to God for healing. While that helped, the struggle continued.

For Travis’s sake, I needed to relax. I needed to cling to my faith and believe God would not abandon me. But knowing what to do and doing it were two separate tasks I seemed incapable of accomplishing.

Swallowing, I started to tell Travis that everything would be fine, but fear stopped me. Things weren’t always fine. People died. The world was a dangerous place. Death unexpectedly swooped in and took away the people you loved. And sometimes, no matter how much you begged, prayed, or cried, there was nothing you could do to prevent disaster.

“What time are you picking me up for the funeral?” Travis asked, returning to his breakfast now that the threat of fire had passed.

I rubbed my bare foot across the braided rug underneath the kitchen table. My mother and I had made the rug while I was pregnant with Travis, and it always comforted me. “I’ll pick you up after lunch, but are you sure you want to go to school today? You could come and hang out at the salon with me this morning.”

He shook his head. “No, thanks.”

Wanting to keep him close to me today, I resorted to bribery. “I bet Aunt Bianca will snag a donut for you from Vicki’s Bakery. Maybe the chocolate one with sprinkles you like so much?”

The donut comment caused him to pause, but he pressed his lips together and shook his head again. “Don’t make fun of me, okay? But I
need
to go to school today.”

I studied him carefully. “Why would I tease you for going to school? I think that’s very admirable.”

He tapped his spoon against the edge of his bowl and bit his bottom lip. Nervous lip biting was another bad habit he’d learned from me. “Hailey’s missed a lot of school, and when she finally comes back, she’s going to need my help getting caught up with her homework. Fifth grade is hard, and if I don’t go to school, I won’t be able to help her.”

I melted at my son’s explanation. “Honey, that’s so sweet. Why would you think I’d make fun of you for something like that?”

He groaned and buried his face in his hands. “Because everyone says that I like her. But I don’t. She’s my friend, and I want to help her, but I don’t
like
her.”

I smiled, finally understanding the problem. “All that matters is you’re a good friend, and she needs a friend like you right now.”

“Who’s going to take care of her and Gabby now that their parents are gone?” he asked, tossing a grape into the air and catching it in his mouth without choking.

I promptly covered his hand with mine. “Don’t. That’s dangerous.”

“
Mom.
”

I gave him my sternest look. “Kids choke on grapes all the time. I was just reading on Yahoo News—”

He moaned. “Grandpa says the news isn’t always true.”

Ignoring his comment, I shifted the conversation back to Hailey and Gabby. “To answer your question, I don’t know who will take care of the girls. I assumed their cousins in San Antonio would, but I’ve heard talk of other arrangements. One of my clients said the will named Nick legal guardian.”

“You mean he’s going to be Hailey and Gabby’s new dad?”

My son’s voice was so full of hope I hated to disappoint him, but how could an unmarried army officer take care of two little girls? Besides, from conversations with Ivana, I had the impression Nick wasn’t interested in being a father. So, why had they given him custody?

I set down my coffee mug. “I don’t think Nick is going to be the girls’ new dad.”

Travis’s face fell before brightening with an idea. “Maybe they could live with us. I could share a room with you, and the girls could have my room.”

I smiled at my son’s generosity. He had such a kind spirit, just like his father and the rest of the Morgan clan. “I know you want to help Hailey and Gabby, but they can’t move in with us.”

“Why not?”

“They just can’t, honey.”

Concern marred his innocent eyes. “Will they have to go to an orphanage?”

“No, I’m sure their uncle will find other relatives to take them.”

Travis’s brow furrowed, and he tapped his spoon a little faster. “What would happen if you died? Where would I go?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” I hated that the thought had crossed his mind. “You’d go live with one of your aunts. Or your grandparents. But I’m not going to die. I promise.”

His eyes narrowed. “Isn’t that what Dad told you before he left last time?”

I shivered. “Your father had a very dangerous job as an infantry soldier. I cut hair for a living, and last time I checked, people don’t die from carpal tunnel syndrome or sore feet.”