Butterfly Cove (13 page)

Suddenly Olivia wanted to touch that scar gently. She wanted to ask him how he had gotten hurt and where he had been and whether he had ever thought about her in the years since he had left Summer Island.

The curiosity and emotions welled up inside her and threatened to spill over until Olivia had to fight to hold them back. There wasn’t any point in asking questions. Whatever there had been between them was done.

* * *

W
HEN THEY REACHED
her house, Rafe insisted on walking her up to the front door. But he stopped when he saw more boxes in plastic containers in a neat stack on her porch. “What’s all this stuff?” He leaned down and picked up a round plastic container tied with a bright blue ribbon.

“Oh, it’s nothing. Probably Jilly came by.” Olivia reached down quickly, trying to gather up the anonymous food gifts that had been left that afternoon. Brownies, cupcakes and peanut brittle in this batch, she saw.

“Jilly left you all this?” Rafe moved around her and picked up two plastic containers, frowning. “There are too many.”

Olivia didn’t answer. Her shoulder had begun to throb more than ever and she wanted to sit down, preferably with a cup of hot tea and a heating pad on her shoulder.

“Oh. I get it.” Rafe stood in the clear afternoon sunlight, his arms full of food containers, an arrested look on his face. “You don’t know who sent them. You don’t need to know. It’s just their way of saying thank you. It’s because of what you did with that bus and the schoolkids. This is some town,” Rafe said slowly. “It may be crazy, but it’s never boring.”

After Olivia unlocked the front door, he held it open and followed her to the kitchen, stacking the food in a neat pile. “Nice room.” He looked around slowly. “I can see you cooking in here. I can see you keeping everything organized and straight.” He cleared his throat. “Not that it’s any of my business. Is there anything else I can do before I go?”

“You can do me a favor and take some of those food cartons. I can’t possibly eat all this.”

“They didn’t make that food for me, Olivia.”

“But it will go to waste. Besides, I think you could use it. You’re too busy to cook.” Olivia moved around him and found a paper bag. She packed half the food inside it. “I’m keeping the caramel apples. They happen to be a secret vice. I think I may have one for dinner. Actually, I’m probably going to have two or three.”

“Live dangerously,” he said dryly. “That’s probably your only vice,” Rafe muttered. He looked around the room and frowned. “It feels cold in here. Why don’t I start a fire in the living room. Do you still keep wood out on the back porch?”

“Yes, but—”

Rafe walked past her and vanished down the hall. “Fine. Go sit down and put your feet up,” he called. “I’ll get a fire going and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

Olivia frowned, listening to the back door open and the sound of Rafe stacking wood on the porch. Why did he think she needed to be
handled?
She was recovering perfectly well and he didn’t need to babysit her. It was demeaning, she thought irritably.

When Rafe stamped past her, half-hidden by a stack of logs, she followed him to the living room. Her anger was growing by the second. “You don’t need to do that.”

“When did you last have a fire in here? You need to be sure that everything is in good working order.” Rafe sank down before the fireplace and began stacking the logs expertly.

“I know that,” Olivia answered. “I had it checked three months ago. But I don’t bother to use it very often.”

“Well, you’re going to use it today. You’ll feel better. Go on, sit down and relax. I don’t need you hovering while I build this fire.”

“Me? Hovering?” This was the last straw. Olivia shoved her hands into her pockets, feeling her face flush. “What about you? You tear me away from the Harvest Fair early, saying that I’m pale and weak. You—you force me into your car and then you insist on bustling around and making a fire so I won’t be cold, even though I’m
not
cold, not at all, and I’m perfectly comfortable here and I hate it—I just hate it when people want to
handle
me,” she said in an angry, breathless rush.

“Do you think I’m handling you?” Rafe knelt on one knee before the fire. “I’d say it’s just being friendly. I’m sorry if it annoys you, but too bad. You’re going to have a fire and a cup of tea and a blanket and a good book before I go,” he said roughly.

It was hard for her to stay angry at him, Olivia thought. He was so calm. So damnably confident. Nothing seemed to bother him. Probably that was what had made her so angry before, because she so rarely felt calm and confident herself. She’d been working hard on that, practicing relaxation and meditation techniques, but the results seemed minimal.

Still, that was no reason for her to be angry at Rafe. That was her problem, not his.

She blew out a breath and sat down on the couch. He had offered her simple friendship, and there was no reason for her to be so stirred up about it. “Okay. I’m sorry if I was...short-tempered and rude like that. I guess my shoulder is taking longer to heal than I thought and it makes me angry. I hate being dependent and asking for favors.”

“Actually, you didn’t ask. I just did it anyway. So don’t feel bad about it.” Rafe looked up from the growing fire and gave a cocky grin. “As for rude—attack away. You don’t have to put on an act with me, Livie. I figure we’ve seen each other at our best and at our worst. No lies or pretenses are necessary. If it makes you feel better to rant at me, go right ahead.”

“I wasn’t
ranting.
” Olivia started to snap at him again, but the idiocy of her outburst caught her and she laughed instead. “Okay, maybe I was ranting. Just a little. But you do stir me up. And it makes me crazy when you take charge in that cool way of yours and start moving people around like they’re chess pieces.”

Rafe didn’t answer, staring at the fire. “I’ve gotten used to giving orders,” he said quietly. “It comes with the territory and the job I had to do. It’s going to take me a long time to change, I think.” His eyes narrowed on the fire and Olivia sensed he was a million miles away, back in the dust and noise of a war zone.

As the fire caught, light flickered over the room, casting his hard face into sharp lines and dark angles. Olivia wondered what he had seen and done and whether there had been a woman’s soft arms and willing body to soothe his nights.

Dangerous thoughts.

“Did you mean that, Rafe? About no lies and pretense necessary between us?” Olivia knew she shouldn’t pursue this topic. It was too personal, and emotionally charged. But she couldn’t seem to let it go.

“I meant it. You always did put other people first, and you’re still doing it. That makes me angry. I say it’s time you put yourself first. You’ll feel a lot better.”

“Thank you for the therapy.” Olivia frowned. “As it happens, I am seeing someone about...coping. She said pretty much the same thing you just did.”

Rafe nodded and added another log on the fire. “I’m glad to hear you’re talking to someone. Talking is good.” He stood up and looked down at the dancing flames. “We used to talk about everything, you and me. Any topic at all. Or maybe that’s just my imagination and it wasn’t really like that.” He turned then, his expression thoughtful. “I’ve imagined a lot of things since I’ve been gone, but distance can distort memories.” He handed Olivia a blanket from a nearby ottoman and then glanced at the wall clock. “I’d better get moving. Tom may want me back at the fair to keep an eye on things. Anything else you need before I go?”

There were a lot of things she needed, Olivia realized. She could use a friend to talk to, someone who wouldn’t judge her or expect pretenses—just the way Rafe had described. Olivia loved her friends and cherished their support...but having Rafe to bounce ideas off would give her an entirely different perspective on her problems.

Yet Olivia knew better than to get close to him. He wouldn’t be staying here, and she’d made that mistake once before.

So Olivia summoned up a friendly smile that neither asked for nor offered anything personal. “No, I’m fine. Thanks for...everything. And I’m sorry I was snappy with you.”

“Forget about it.” Rafe smiled slowly. “By the way, I should be thanking you. You made me fifty bucks today.”

“Me?”

“Tom and I had a bet going about who you would choose as the winner. He figured you for
Polar Express,
because it had all that emotion and drama, but it kept bringing things right back to home and family. He said that you cared about those things most.”

“You don’t agree?”

“No. You’re all about tradition and you’ve got an amazing imagination. I was holding out for Dr. Seuss.” Rafe smiled at her. “As soon as I saw that father and his kid dressed up as wacky birds, I knew they were going to win.”

“Because I’m traditional and predictable,” Olivia said stiffly.

“That’s
not
what I said. Because you believe in tradition. But you have the imagination to look beyond it. That’s a very powerful combination.”

Olivia thought about that. She didn’t feel very imaginative. Her job had ground her down with office competition and politics and uncertainty about her future. Though she loved the abstraction of designing buildings, Olivia wasn’t so sure she enjoyed the thousand details like feasibility reports, water usage and materials assessments.

“I guess you know me better than I thought,” she said slowly.

“I remember a lot of things. I remember that big apple tree in spring and the way pink flowers fell on your hair after you walked back from the library. I remember the way your eyes always seemed to shine when you talked about Italy. I’m glad you got to go there. I hope it was all you dreamed it would be.”

“It was. The food. The architecture and its sense of age. Everything was so...civilized. I loved all of it.” Olivia flushed, remembering her embarrassing near encounter with an attractive Frenchman she had met in a bookstore in Florence. “I never got to Umbria in spring, though.”

“There’s time. You’re young.”

“Did you...go to those places you mentioned? Machu Picchu? The Loire Valley?”

“Some of them. I still have a list.”

“I guess you’ll be leaving soon. Going to see the rest of the places on your list.”

“That depends.” Rafe’s eyes hardened. “Since I got back, you’ve never asked me what happened that night I was supposed to take you to the prom. The night I never showed up,” he added slowly.

Olivia had buried those memories. She had tried to bury the hurt, too. “Since you didn’t come, I figured you had a good reason.”

“Oh, there was a good reason,” Rafe said grimly. “But I’m sorry I hurt you, Livie. You had everything planned—your dress. A necklace. I know your father was furious and he tried to keep you from accepting.”

“He kept expecting that I would give in. When I didn’t, it made him furious. But at the least, I should have been able to go to my junior prom with the person I wanted. And that was you.” Olivia studied Rafe’s face in the firelight. “Was he involved somehow? Did you go away because of something he said?”

“No.” Rafe’s voice was flat. “I went away because of something stupid. I was stupid most of the time back then. I hurt people that I shouldn’t have.” He took a rough breath. “I hurt you that night. I hope you didn’t hate me after that.”

“I could never hate you,” Oliva said softly. “Growing up, the only time I felt alive was when you were there.”

A muscle moved at Rafe’s jaw. “I’d probably say the same.”

Olivia moved restlessly, afraid of the emotions stirring to life inside her. She winced a little as her shoulder began to ache again.

“Sorry. You’re tired, so I’ll shove off. Do you want some tea first?”

“No, I’m good. I think I might just nap right here.” She managed a little smile. “If I’m lucky, I’ll dream of the Loire Valley. Or Umbria in the spring,” she said quietly. “Because someway or another I’m going to get to those places.”

After Rafe left, she watched the flames dance. She thought about why Rafe had left Summer Island and where he would go next. But her dreams, when they came, were closer to home.

She walked into the velvet darkness and saw a big apple tree raining pink petals in spring, while Rafe walked toward her from the shadows.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

O
LIVIA’S SHOULDER CONTINUED
to heal, but her brace had to stay on for another week. Its removal was her one bright spot, signaling that she could finally knit again. Even if her shoulder was stiff and her movements clumsy, Olivia delighted in every slow stitch she finished.

During that week, she and Jilly interviewed four different private detectives. The options ranged from laughable to far beyond Olivia’s price range. Two of them had been personable and experienced. They advised her that she didn’t need a private detective for this kind of work. What she really needed was a good financial forensic expert with lots of access. They also advised her to tap into her father’s email.

Did he have email? Olivia had no idea. That was another thing they had never discussed.

She was trying to make sense of this advice as she sat in her big, quiet kitchen overlooking the ocean. She figured she might as well spend as much time as possible cleaning the house so she could sell it.

An hour earlier, Jilly had arrived to help her sort out food from the big pantry.

“I’ve been thinking, Jilly. I want to call Walker’s sister for a consultation. Maybe she could tell me where I should be looking. I think I should be given more time to pay the bills my father left. A lawyer would know how to arrange that, right?”

Jilly nodded. “She’s not licensed in Oregon, as far as I know. Legal requirements are different from state to state, but I’m certain she could tell you how to start. She would make the necessary calls, too. I think Walker invited her for a visit next month.” Jilly looked away, hesitating.

“What’s wrong, Jilly?”

Jilly shrugged. “It’s...complicated and I don’t really want to go into it now.” She tossed an old box of soup into the garbage. “This one says 2009. Your dad was really slipping.”