Stirring Up Trouble (24 page)

She froze in place, mid-tuck. Since when did she have a clue what the growth curve of a thirteen-year-old looked like? Four weeks’ worth of not endangering one kid didn’t exactly earn her the Caregiver of the Year award. She might do just fine helping out with essay questions and rides to the library or the movies, but that was a far cry from actually thinking she was any good at this.

Judging by the two missed calls from her mother that she had accidentally-on-purpose not yet returned this week, Sloane still wasn’t much of a candidate for good daughterhood, despite Gavin’s arguments to the contrary.

And yet, something about the way he continually trusted her with Bree’s well-being kept rising up in her mind, daring her in quiet moments like this one to believe that she might be good enough anyway.

“You’re losing it,” she muttered and silenced the radio with a flick of her wrist. After clicking off the light, she retraced her footsteps down the hall. Her stomach took a swan dive at the sight of the blank pages gracing the granite countertop, ones with headings that read
Hero’s Internal Conflict
and
Setting: Research and Description
.

She picked up the latter with a frown. Not since she’d started writing had she had a book fight her so hard on its way out. Short of being smack in the middle of Athens, Sloane had done everything she could think of to bring the beautiful Greek city to the forefront of her imagination. But the harder she tried, the more difficult it became, to the point that she was starting to feel like one of those salmon that fought tooth and nail just to get inches upstream.

Her only hope was to fight the good fight, the only way she knew how. Either that, or she was going to be eaten by a bear.

Sloane caught sight of her propped-open laptop on the kitchen table, and it stirred equal parts frustration and longing in the space beneath her rib cage. If the Greece book counted as a dry spell, then the unnamed project spilling out of her was a total deluge. Even now, the ideas called to her, begging to be splashed over the screen. As much as she’d thought she could get one book out of the way to pave the path for the other, she was starting to think that maybe there was more to it than that. She was beginning to believe the book that was taking shape in front of her was good enough to pitch despite the fact that it was the complete opposite of what her editor had asked for.

On pure impulse, Sloane’s fingers found her laptop keyboard, and she tapped the screen to life with a quick keystroke. If she could compose a smart enough proposal and put some extra polish on that first chapter, Belinda would have no choice but to see how good this project was. Okay, so it wasn’t Sloane’s usual fare, and yes, they’d have to work out a new spin on the marketing, but in the end, it would be worth it. Something about this book just sang, and while her others had certainly been strong, this one just felt
right
.

As if the ideas coming from within her really were good enough.

She angled the cursor over the icon for her e-mail, gaining momentum as she clicked. God, she couldn’t wait to tell Gavin about this. Of course, she’d probably have to endure some good-natured ribbing over not believing in herself in the first place, but that was fine. The look on his face when she told him she’d really pitched the book would be worth it.

Sloane’s computer dinged with an unread e-mail message, and she nearly laughed out loud when she clicked on her inbox and saw Belinda’s name flashing in bold, blue letters.

“Must be kismet,” she told the screen, clicking on the message with happy abandon. But what she found made her mouth go dry before she got past the second sentence.

She lifted her hands to her mouth, trying to swallow the bitter combination of unease and dread starting to form within her. Martin Abernathy, whom Sloane had met exactly once in her tenure with Morton House Publishers, was thrilled about her Greece book? According to his reputation, the serious-as-a-heart-attack editor in chief didn’t even crack a polite smile at the biggest of sales, and yet he was
thrilled
over the prospect of her project? And she’d barely been a blip on the big chains’ radar when her first book had been released. Now they wanted her for book signings in big cities?

All for a novel she hadn’t written a single word of, despite putting almost a month’s worth of effort into trying. Oh, God, there was no way Sloane could sell Belinda on the idea of this other story now, no matter how seamlessly it was falling out of her brain and onto the screen.

It made no difference how much she wanted to stay in Pine Mountain, to sit right here in the cottage with Gavin and Bree where she felt so completely at home for the first time in . . . well, ever, and write this book of her heart. All the pure, uncut happiness she felt when she talked about it with Gavin—hell, when she was just near Gavin—didn’t matter when held up against the fact that she was going to be jobless and homeless and maybe jobless again in a couple of weeks if she didn’t get her act together.

She needed the Greece book, and she needed it
now
.

Sloane pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger, using her free hand to close the e-mail from Belinda. She slid her mouse across the screen, and it only took a handful of clicks to pull up her favorite travel planning Web site. Locating a one-way flight to Athens proved all too easy, although her usual giddy anticipation at planning a trip was conspicuously absent, replaced instead by the dread bottoming out in her gut.

Her hand shook over the mouse, causing the tiny white arrow to waver over the
Confirm Flight Now
button. But all the self-belief in the universe wasn’t going to get her out of this, and to be honest, Gavin really had given her too much credit. She just wasn’t cut out for sticking around, not even when sticking around felt good, right down to her pedicure. It was time to face what she’d known was coming all along. Her time in Pine Mountain was drawing to a bittersweet close.

Sloane had no sooner clicked the button to print her confirmation and flight itinerary when Bree’s bloodcurdling scream ripped through the cottage.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Acting on nothing but sheer instinct and undiluted adrenaline, Sloane bolted through the kitchen at a dead run. Her bare feet slapped against the floor hard enough to send a jolt up the length of her spine, yet she didn’t break stride on her direct path to Bree’s room. She vaguely noticed that the front door was still bolted shut, just as it had been all night, and that nothing in the cottage seemed even a hair out of place.

Bree screamed again, an unholy sound that sent Sloane’s blood vibrating in her veins, and she ran even faster.

“Bree!” Sloane kicked through the entryway, far past the pleasantries of knocking. The door clattered against the adjacent wall in noisy protest, but Sloane barely heard the racket. She zeroed in on Bree’s bed, where she could just make out her shaking outline from the scant light filtering in from the hallway.

“Bree, what’s the matter? What is it?” Oh, God. She’d been sleeping like the dead only half an hour ago when Sloane had come in to turn off the light. What the hell could’ve happened this fast? She yanked back the quilt, determined to figure it out, but her movements skidded to a stop as soon as the image in front of her registered.

Bree was curled around her pillow, with her back to Sloane and her hands jammed over her ears, seeming to be caught in the limbo of dream-level sleep. She thrashed over the sheets, her damp hair sticking to her forehead as she jerked into full view, and it occurred to Sloane all at once that Bree wasn’t sick or hurt. Not in the traditional sense, anyway.

She was having the mother of all nightmares.

“Bree,” Sloane tried tentatively, afraid to scare her awake and do more damage. “Bree, can you hear me? It’s Sloane.”

Bree’s only response was to follow her writhing with a low whimper, and Sloane’s heart threatened to shatter.

“Don’t . . . don’t go . . .” Bree mumbled into her pillow, eyes squeezed shut as she grasped at the fabric around her. It was impossible to tell if she was waking up or still stuck in dream mode, and Sloane stood, mired to her spot with ice-cold fear. Clearly, Bree was so far in the throes of sleep that she thought her dream was real, but would waking her with a start knock her out of the nightmare, or make things even worse?

Bree twisted the edge of her pillowcase in a tight fist, her whimper growing louder, and Sloane moved on gut-driven impulse to make it stop. She rounded the far side of the bed to sit on the twin mattress right next to Bree’s curled-up form. A fresh round of cries began welling up from Bree’s chest, but this time Sloane was prepared. Bree might not be able to take on this nightmare, but Sloane sure as hell could.

No way was Bree going to be frightened like that. Not on her watch.

“Shhh. It’s okay, Bree. You’re having a bad dream. I’m right here.” Sloane reached down to smooth the wild threads of Bree’s hair back from her temples, repeating the same words over and over again. “Shhh, I’m right here.”

Bree’s sleep-furrowed brow softened for a breath before her eyes flew open with a gasp that sounded as if she’d surfaced from the bottom of the ocean.

“Don’t go!” Bree flailed for a moment, certainly stuck between sleep and waking, and she grabbed for Sloane with what had to be all her might. Sloane’s breath left her on a sharp exhale, but she refused to be toppled as Bree launched herself forward, hanging on for dear life.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m right here. It was just a nightmare.” Sloane pulled away to cradle Bree’s face between her palms in an effort to soothe her back to consciousness. It took every ounce of strength for Sloane to keep her hands from visibly shaking, but she dug deep. If she wasn’t steady, Bree might get even more frightened, and that just couldn’t happen.

“Sloane?” The thick veil of confusion began to lift from Bree’s features, and she blinked through the soft shadows as if trying to gain her bearings.

“Hi, sweetheart.” Sloane tried on a crooked smile, praying it would hold. “You okay?”

Bree exhaled and dropped her chin to the notch of her rumpled pajama top, realization trickling over her face. “I have nightmares sometimes.” Her body tensed as she let go of Sloane and curled back up against the mattress, and in that moment, Sloane caught a firm snapshot of the little girl she’d once been.

“I see that. It’s kind of scary, huh?” She reached around and placed a hand on Bree’s back, rubbing a gentle circle between her shoulder blades just like her own mother used to do when Sloane was a kid.

“I guess,” Bree said, in a clear bid to try to appear tough. She hugged her knees to her chest, capturing the pillow in the unyielding knot of her arms. “Sorry if I made a lot of noise.”

Tears pricked Sloane’s eyes. “It’s all right. You filled my excitement quota for the night.”

She felt the razor-wire tension start to slip from Bree’s shoulders, one tiny degree at a time. Hushed quiet folded around them, punctuated only by the whisper of Sloane’s hand on the flannel as she continued her soft, steadfast circles. Finally, just when she thought maybe Bree had dropped back off to sleep, the girl’s barely there voice broke the silence.

“Am I ever going to stop missing my mom?”

Sloane halted, but didn’t remove her hand from Bree’s back. “I still miss my dad sometimes,” she admitted on a quivery breath. “And it’s okay to miss her. You don’t have to pretend that you don’t.”

Bree nodded into her pillow. “So what do you do? When you miss your dad?”

“I write to him,” she confessed, surprised at how easily the admission flowed out of her.

“But he can’t get the letters,” Bree said, her confusion plain even in the dim light from the hallway.

“I know. But the letters aren’t for him, really.” Sloane turned the idea over in her mind with a wistful smile. She’d never told anyone about the letters she wrote to her
papa
, not even her mother or sisters. Somehow, it had never occurred to her that anyone would really get the importance of it—until now.

Bree peered up at Sloane, her brows knit together. “I don’t understand. You write the letters to your dad, right?”

“Well, the letters are
to
him, but they’re more for me. To help me feel close to him still. Like I’m filling him in on my life. I know he can’t answer, but it makes me feel that he’s heard me anyway. And then I miss him a little less.”

Bree hesitated before eking out a small nod. “Do you think that would help me? If I wrote to my mom, I mean?”

“That’s really a question only you can answer. But I don’t think it would hurt to try,” Sloane said, pulling the quilt around Bree’s shoulders.

She burrowed down into the covers, the traces of brutal sadness disappearing from her face. “Sometimes I . . . think about talking to her. You know, when no one else is around.”

“It’s the same idea. And a good one.”

“You don’t think I’m crazy? For wanting to talk to my mom when she’s not here?”

Sloane shook her head, meeting Bree’s eyes even though she had tears in her own. “Not at all.”

“Oh. Well, maybe I could give it a try, then.” Bree’s eyelids drooped, but she fluttered them open in a battle against her exhaustion and emotions.

“You should get some sleep.” Sloane fought the urge to give an ironic laugh. Never in a million years had she thought such motherly advice would come out of her mouth. Kind of funny how much sense it made, though. The poor kid looked weary to the point of being wrecked.

“I know,” Bree said, yet still, she struggled to keep her eyes open, darting her gaze around the darkened room as if she was trying to keep her eyes busy.

Not one for pretenses anyway, Sloane threw them to the back of her mind, simply asking, “Are you afraid to go back to sleep?”

“No. Not really. It’s just that normally when I have a really bad dream, Gavin, um . . . stays with me for a while.”

Her heart smacked against her ribs. “He does?”

Bree nodded, her hair whispering against the bedsheets. “I don’t think he knows I know. But he stands in the doorway and waits for me to go back to sleep.”

Realization hit Sloane with the full force of the implication, but she didn’t even hesitate. Right now, in this moment, Bree needed to be taken care of. Not by grabbing a ride to the mall, and not by getting help with an essay, but by having someone she trusted protect her heart.

And she wanted Sloane to do it.

“Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll be right here for as long as it takes.”

 

 

Sloane fought the urge to drift into twilight sleep, even though Bree had conked out about four seconds after Sloane settled into the overstuffed chair by her bed. The sound of Bree’s slow, rhythmic breathing was the calm on the surface of Sloane’s churning mind, like a summer breeze over deceptive undertow.

The idea of leaving now made Sloane’s heart ache, but she’d be a fool not to face facts. Yes, she’d been able to wing her way through comforting Bree, but in two weeks, Gavin’s regular babysitter would be back in the picture. It would probably be a matter of days before Bree readjusted to the older, more experienced woman again. And no matter how purely good being with both Bree and Gavin felt, she still needed a job. She hadn’t worked endlessly to carve out a successful career only to toss it aside at a little writer’s block that could be easily fixed on location.

Even though she was needed in the here and now, Sloane knew better than anyone that the here and now couldn’t last forever.

The sound of movement at the front door pulled her from her gloom, and the familiar cadence of Gavin’s footfalls through the cottage told her that he was home. Sloane’s heart kicked in her chest. Even though she wanted to do its bidding and wrap herself up in Gavin’s safe, experienced arms, she also realized that doing so would only prolong the inevitable. They might not have any commitment to each other beyond the next two weeks, but she owed him the truth. Telling him about Greece was long overdue, and she had no choice but to go.

“Is everything okay?”

Even though she’d heard him enter the cottage, Gavin’s troubled whisper still startled her. He stood in the doorframe, his pale blue dress shirt not showing nearly as many creases as his worried brow.

“Oh.” Sloane snapped upright in the chair, nodding a quick reassurance. She whispered back, “Yeah. She had a nightmare.” She gestured to Bree and unfolded herself from the cream-colored cushions of the chair, pausing to tuck the quilt a little tighter over the girl’s shoulder before moving toward the door.

But Gavin stood there, stock-still. “She hadn’t had one in a while, so I thought maybe she was past them. But I should’ve told you, just in case. Was it bad?”

His sculpted jaw ticked with worry, and Sloane slipped an arm around him for comfort before it struck her that she shouldn’t. But God, he felt so warm and undeniably good pressed up against her, each of them giving the other the perfect amount of support, and she simply couldn’t let go.

“She’s okay now. I just figured I’d stay with her until she fell back to sleep.”

“Thank you.” He guided her into the hallway, reaching back to close Bree’s door with a hushed
snick
.

“Just doing my job,” she said, but he stopped her short in the shadowy entrance to the foyer.

“You’re doing a lot more than your job, Sloane. Bree trusts you. She needs you.”

Gavin’s words brought her feet to a clumsy halt. She blinked in the ambient light. “It was just a little comforting. That’s all. Anyone would’ve done it.”

He pinned her with a dark gaze that arrowed right to her very center. “But she wouldn’t have
let
just anyone do it. It’s not about having whoever’s available sit by her bedside when she has a bad dream. It’s about you. She wants
you.
”

Something Sloane couldn’t name rushed through her, but she couldn’t look away, not even when Gavin stepped so close she could feel the intensity of the heat coming off of him.

“And
I
want you. I want you to stay, here with us. Just like this.” He stroked her face, skating his fingers down the line of her neck to rest right over her heart. “Please. Say you’ll stay.”

Sloane’s time-tested defenses formed the word
run
in the back of her mind, but she knew all at once she wouldn’t honor them. Not this time. Despite the near-impossible odds stacked against her, she had to find a way to stay in Pine Mountain, to soothe Bree’s nightmares and spend her nights in Gavin’s arms. There had to be some way to make it work.

Because she’d finally found where she belonged, and in this place, despite it all, she was good enough.

“Yes.” She wrapped her arms around him, diving in headfirst even though she couldn’t see the bottom.

“I’ll stay.”

 

 

Sloane reached up in one fluid surge, fitting herself against him with gorgeous precision that could only belong to their bodies, and she slanted her lips over his in just a hint of a kiss. Breath left her body on a sigh, twining around his softly until he couldn’t tell where she ended and he began, and he realized in a rush that it didn’t matter.

Sloane, with her go-where-the-wind-takes-me lifestyle, wanted to stay, to hold on to something right here with him and Bree.

And despite his fear of screwing things up with his emotions, Gavin didn’t want to ever let her go.

He cupped her face between his palms, capturing her lips more fully. Each stroke of his tongue against hers, every taste of her exquisitely plump bottom lip held gently between his teeth, all of it made him want her with raw intensity he couldn’t explain. And the more he had, the more he wanted, until he was certain that the only way he’d slake his need for her was to just have her indefinitely.

Starting right now.

Gavin guided Sloane wordlessly to his room, pausing only long enough to shut and lock the door before turning his attention back to her. He could just make out the lean silhouette of her body in the scant glow of moonlight spilling in from the windows, but his mind’s eye filled in the blanks with luscious detail. The golden, graceful column of her neck, the tight curve of cinnamon-sweet skin where her shoulder eased into her collarbone, the waterfall of delicate bones in her spine—each lay unfurled in front of him like a feast. And knowing it was all right there, covered in nothing more than shadows, made him desperate to start tasting, layer by flawless layer.