Masters of the Shadowlands 7 - This is who I am (35 page)

For a moment she wanted him with everything inside her.

She shook her head and changed to a new song. If her guitar wanted to mourn, then she should allow it. Over the years, she’d learned that her guitar always spoke truth—the truth in her heart. Her fingers slid into Joan Baez’s sad “Diamonds and Rust.”

“Yes, Sam, I did love you…oh so dearly,” she whispered.
But you didn’t love me.

It hurt—God, it did. Her chest felt agonizingly hollow, a grave that hadn’t been filled in. The first tear dropped onto the slick face of her guitar with a tapping sound. Another followed.

* * * *

When Linda walked into the coffee shop, the three customers in the room went silent. Their attention on her felt like sandpaper against raw skin. SueAnn, a woman from church who always acted as if Linda had cooties, sat with Patsy, a clerk from two shops down, and a stylish middle-aged woman.

Linda’s body stiffened as if chilled in the freezer. Patsy was just a gossip, but SueAnn could be hateful. Ignoring them, she gave Betty her order, glanced at the pastries, then shrugged. No appetite today. Again. Heck of a way to diet.

“How are you doing, Linda?” SueAnn asked, her voice even sweeter than her overly sugared desserts at potlucks.

“I’m fine.” Her lips felt stiff as if reluctant to form the words. Hadn’t Sam said just that to her?
“I’m fine.”
Hadn’t his face looked as frozen as hers was now as he spoke the same lie? “How are you?”

“Oh, good, good. But didn’t I hear that you and Lee broke up?” SueAnn’s face was alight with vindictive interest, and Linda remembered Lee had said SueAnn made a pass at him. “Does your new boyfriend like all the…special things…you learned when you were…away?”

I am not in the mood for this
. Linda planted her feet. As she’d come to acceptance with herself, she realized almost everyone in town had been supportive. There’d only been a few—like Dwayne—who behaved like gossipy, spiteful teenage girls. She’d tried to ignore them; obviously that wasn’t working.

She wished she could flatten the woman the way Sam had stomped on Dwayne. But no. Besides, SueAnn’s weapons were words. So be it. Linda gave the woman a toothy smile. “Oh, most men like variety.” Her voice came out even and pleasant. “Bless your heart, SueAnn. Maybe if you’d expanded your repertoire to something besides the missionary position, your ex wouldn’t have tried to fuck every female in town.”

As SueAnn went bug-eyed, Linda moved to the end of the counter, hoping her coffee was ready. But Betty had disappeared, and whoops of laughter came from the back room. Linda bit the inside of her cheek, half-appalled at what she’d said. Mostly okay with it.

She heard chairs scrape and the door open as SueAnn and crew fled from the battlefield.
What a shame
. Linda glanced over her shoulder and blinked.

The stylish woman remained at the table. “I’m Meredith Blake, the new owner of the swimsuit store.” She rose and shook hands with Linda. “That was the prettiest smackdown I’ve seen since I left Boston.”

“Wasn’t it though?” Flushed with laughter, Betty stood in the door of the back room. “Good to see you getting back to normal.”

Linda’s mouth dropped open. “I’m not—”

“Oh, you’re a polite woman, never said you weren’t. The look in your eye told people not to push you. But you’ve been slinking around here since you returned.” Betty’s grin widened as she handed Linda her coffee. “On the house. Welcome home, child.”

A few minutes later, Linda settled onto her favorite beachside picnic table and toed off her high heels. It was a cheerful day with a bright sun and a breeze strong enough to fling tiny grains of sand at Linda’s ankles and bare feet.

Along the boardwalk, tourists were window-shopping. Down on the beach, a toddler charged straight into the water, screaming in delight when a wave splashed up and over his stomach. His brother, a year or so older, held his mother’s hand, not wanting to get close at all.

An elderly couple—probably snowbirds from Canada—walked barefoot, letting the water roll over their ankles. Others stayed out of reach of the waves.

Linda always chose to get her feet wet. Which would Sam do—water or stay dry?
Water
. But probably he’d growl at her for having to take off his boots. Her lips quirked. Actually, he’d probably throw her in, then follow—just to be contrary.

And he’d undoubtedly sit out here with her, drinking coffee. Sam always took the time to look at the world. How often had they sat on his porch to watch a sunset or a dawn?

Darn it, every other thought was about the stubborn man. With her elbows on the table, she rested her chin on her hands.
I love him.

He didn’t want me.

That was so strange, though, the way he’d changed. Her brows drew together. When she’d left him the morning after the disastrous scene, he’d not been cold. In fact, he’d teased her that she owed him for using his shoulder to cry on.

She’d been grumpy. Precoffee, not a good time. When she’d grumbled at him in bed, he’d rolled her over, spanked her bottom until she was blind with arousal, and indulged in a blazing quickie. Then he hadn’t wanted her to go to work. Had wanted her to spend the day with him. He hadn’t acted as if he wanted to pull away. To rethink their relationship.

Hours later, he’d been as warm as an ice cube.

She took a sip of coffee and smiled at the realization that Betty had added extra chocolate. Sam was thoughtful like that. Every time they’d been together, he’d cared for her. Protected her. He’d backed off if she was afraid. Pushed her when she wasn’t. He cared.

Yet he’d made it obvious that he was done with her.
“You’re better off without me.”
He never lied. She frowned. But what kind of a statement was that, anyway? As if he didn’t think he was good for her?

Her eyes narrowed, remembering how frozen he’d seemed. Not like himself at all. In fact, a normal Sam would simply say he’d decided not to continue the relationship. He’d be nice, but…blunt. Sam didn’t pull his punches.

And she couldn’t see him getting all frozen up over making that kind of decision.

But on Sunday, his expression had been like hers just now in the coffee shop. All cold and pulled in against being hurt. Defenses up.

Why would he behave like that with her? She had never hurt him. Maybe someone else had? It wasn’t as if the man gave much personal information. It would be easier to figure him out if he had.

But…from the hints she’d picked up of his past, maybe he didn’t know how to give, not without help. When she’d pushed him or kept him busy with food, she could get answers out of him. Only tidbits, but that was a lot for him.

Did that matter though? She pulled in a breath, remembering how she’d taken a chance. Told him she loved him. And he’d hurt her. Even now, her chest squeezed, tightening enough to affect her ability to breath.

Did she want someone who could change into a different person like that?

She stared at her hands. How many times had he held hers to calm her, support her? Was she being a coward now?

A relationship was a learning experience. She’d had to learn to trust him before she shared about her past. Maybe it would take more to get past Sam’s defenses. Her lips pursed as she remembered how he’d withdrawn when she said she’d visit his place. Because he didn’t have women out there, not since his divorce.

If she hadn’t caused his withdrawal, perhaps something else had. Maybe something from the past.

Idly rotating the cup, she considered. She’d never been a quitter, and she’d essentially done just that. He’d said she was better off without him, and she’d caved in and hadn’t fought at all. She deserved—no, they deserved—more of a fight. Then, if it didn’t work, at least she’d know she tried.

So how to go about this? Drive up to his farm? Her insides curled into a ball at the thought of confronting Sam. The cold Sam.

Maybe that was asking too much of herself. She’d rather find somewhere that her presence would open a dialogue. Somewhere he’d have to see her. Maybe want her. She could be like a ripe apple, dangling almost in his reach.

A moment of doubt struck. What if he really didn’t want her anymore? It was possible. It was a risk. She stared at the ocean. The child who’d been afraid of the waves was splashing his brother, both of them giggling, drenched head to foot.

Life was full of challenges.

And Sam was worth the risk. What they had together was worth the risk.

She tapped her fingers on the rough wood of the picnic table before straightening her shoulders. She had a task to do for the Feds. Maybe she could accomplish two goals simultaneously. Down two birds with one stone.

Ignoring the stares of the people around her, she laughed aloud and felt her heart lighten. Maybe this wouldn’t work, but she’d darn well try.
God, please let him be at the Shadowlands when I am.

Her jaw firmed. She’d teach that man to talk to her instead of shutting himself away.

She started to stand, then sat down slowly. Before she could begin the battle to win Sam, she had another issue to deal with. And she was in a pissy enough mood to want to kick some butt. Time for a quick change and then a drive.

* * * *

Half an hour later, after a call to Gabi’s Master Marcus, she parked in front of the small brick newspaper building. Crossing the parking lot, she realized she was singing “Eye of the Tiger” under her breath.
Yeah, just you wait. I’m on my way
. The air coming off the Gulf was sharp and salty, like a brisk slap in the face.

She tugged her suit jacket straight. One severely cut black suit, one dark, dark red—aggressive—silk shirt. No cleavage. Hair pulled back. Gold stud earrings and watch.

The look obviously worked, since when she strode into the building, the receptionist took her right into the owner/editor’s office. Curtis Bentley rose as she entered and shook her hand.

“What can I do for you, Ms. Madison? Are you here about the secretarial opening?”

“No.” As they both sat, she gave him a small smile. “I’m not sure if you recognize my name. My house has been spray-painted several times with foul language. Your paper has run at least three articles about the problem. More articles about my history. Quite sensational articles.”

His eyes widened, and he straightened. “Ah, I’m sure the facts were correctly reported.”

“Oh, the facts were correct. However, the sexual innuendoes could be construed as libelous, especially since I’d broken off dating the reporter and he resented the fact.”

Mr. Bentley’s back got straighter. “I’m sure that wasn’t rele—”

“I believe the law frowns upon a newspaper that commits a crime in order to increase sales.”

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

Of course not. Dwayne had been the one who checked the police blotter for arrests. Probably no one had since. “Your reporter, Dwayne Cowper, has been spray-painting my home with words like ‘Filthy slut, Burn in hell.’ Both for revenge and for a good story.”

Mr. Bentley rose. “I don’t believe that for a minute.”

She rose as well. “Believe it. He was caught in the act. And told us his motivation. ‘Us’ includes the police.” She fixed the man with a cold, cold look. “I’m afraid a jury would find it appalling that a victim of a crime is victimized by a newspaper trying to increase sales.”

“Now wait. I had no idea the man—”

“Perhaps. My lawyer will be happy to discuss both criminal and civil charges with you, I’m sure.” She marched out of the office, imagining Dwayne’s career squishing to mush with each click of her heel.

If only her battle for Sam could be won as easily.

The night was dark and cold as Sam strode past the few cars in the parking lot toward the Shadowlands. The black wrought-iron sconces on the stone mansion walls gave off an ominous, flickering light that matched his grim mood.

For the last few days, all he could think about was the hurt in Linda’s eyes. Dammit, he wanted her back, but how could he put her through this kind of crap again? Any reminders of Nancy—let alone visits—had an adverse effect on his mood, but he sure as hell hadn’t realized how that mood could affect others.

And every time he thought about trying to explain, his throat turned dry as Death Valley.

He couldn’t tell her. Wasn’t good for her. Best to leave things the way they were or he’d end up hurting her over and over.

Being in the Shadowlands wasn’t going to be easy. He scowled. Damn Z for calling at the last minute to tell Sam that he needed to supervise the trainees tonight.

They’d probably already be lining up.

* * * *

Linda knelt in the cold entryway in the line of trainees. The subs knew why she was here, and she could feel their silent support.

Sally leaned her shoulder against Linda’s and whispered, “I changed my mind. This is totally not a good idea. What if the watcher guy figures out you’re trying to ID him?”

Wow, way to bring her worst fear right out into the open. “Guess I better not jump up and yell, ‘Here he is! It’s the bad guy.’”

Sally sputtered, then said, “We’ll all be here for you. But don’t you go anywhere isolated.”

In the clubroom? Fat chance. “You’re quite the mother hen, aren’t you?”

“Jessica’s not here, so I figure it’s my job.”

I always thought that was my job
. It was nice to be worried about. “Thank you. So what happens now with the trainees?”

“Master Cullen inspects us and gives us our assignments. Half of us are barmaids, and the other half are free to play. Then we switch off.” She lowered her voice. “As long as you’re polite, Master Cullen isn’t too fussy. Not like some of the others who care about what we wear too.”

“What—”

Sam walked into the entry.

The air clogged in Linda’s throat. She hadn’t seen him since he’d handed Dwayne over to the police. Since he’d said she’d be better off without him.

I want him to be here. Remember?
But her resolve drained away, right into the wood floor. Not wanting him to see her nervousness, she dropped her gaze, but the glimpse of him was burned into her brain.