Seaside Reunion (11 page)

He tucked the touchstones piece back in his pocket. “Thanks.”

At his cryptic response, her stomach knotted. She was blowing this. Big time. After his reaction yesterday when he’d found her in front of his computer screen, it was clear Nate wasn’t accustomed to baring his soul. Today’s venture outside his comfort zone deserved more than a commentary on writing skills.

“Nate.” Pulse pounding, she untwisted her fingers and reached over the bag of cookies to touch his forearm. “I’m honored you offered to let me read the piece. But can I tell you the truth? That gesture makes me a little nervous.”

His eyebrows rose. “Why?”

She moistened her lips. “Because it’s the kind of thing people only share with someone they care about a lot. And trust.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “That’s true.”

Suspicion confirmed. He liked her too much.

“I appreciate that. And I like you a lot, too. It’s nice to reconnect with a friend after all this time.” She gave a subtle emphasis to the word
friend
. “As long as we’re both clear about the status of our relationship.”

“There’s a connection between us, Lindsey. I know you feel it as much as I do.”

At the intensity in his eyes, and his unexpected candor, her breath caught in her throat. “It’s been twenty-five years. We’re almost strangers.”

“You don’t feel like a stranger.” He rested one hand on the stone seat beside the bag of cookies, his fingers a whisper away from her leg.

She eased away on the pretext of making room beside her for the binoculars. Yet she couldn’t deny the truth. The quarter-of-a-century gap in their relationship did seem to be imploding. She felt as comfortable in Nate’s presence as she had when they’d been kids—except for the unwelcome complication of grown-up hormones.

She cleared her throat. “But you won’t be here long. Don’t you think it would be better to keep things simple?”

“Probably.”

“Absolutely.” Before he could challenge her more definitive response, she nodded to the papers in his pocket. “So if that’s not your usual style, why did you write it?”

He hesitated for an instant, and she held her breath, praying he’d respect the boundary she’d set. Only when he retracted his arm did she exhale.

“I don’t know. I didn’t plan to. I came out here the other night after we had our little discussion about The Point, and the words started flowing. Even I didn’t know how strongly I felt about this place until then.”

“It’s a beautiful piece. The kind that would resonate even with people who’ve never heard of The Point. Everyone has touchstones.” She caught her lower lip between her teeth as an idea began to germinate. Dare she broach it? “I know you wrote that piece for yourself, but you have such a talent…a piece like that could touch a lot of hearts. Generate support for saving The Point.”

He stared at her, and she read the shock in his eyes—before they narrowed and grew cold. “Is that why you asked me out here tonight? To try and convince me to go public with this, based on the small part you read?” He tapped his pocket.

“No! I never intended to bring it up again until you offered to let me read the whole thing. The idea just occurred to me. You have a fabulous gift with words. If The Point disappears, won’t you feel terrible, knowing you might have been able to help save it?”

He rose abruptly and moved a few steps closer to the edge of the cliff, fists clenched at his sides. “I don’t need you to lay more guilt on me. I’ve got plenty already.”

“I’m not trying to make you feel guilty.” She rose, too.

“No?” He faced her, his expression as turbulent as the water crashing against the rocks below them. “It sure sounded that way.”

“Nate…” She held up her hands, palms toward him. “I don’t want to fight with you again. But I think people who’ve been given a talent like yours have an obligation to use it for good. Like you did on the battlefield, when you told those soldiers’ stories with such insight and compassion. This is just a different kind of battlefield.”

“It’s not my battle.” He folded his arms over his chest. “I don’t live here anymore.”

“But the place is important to you. And to me. And to a lot of other people.”

A muscle in his cheek jerked and he shook his head. “It’s not my battle.”

“It could be. Why are you afraid of letting people get a glimpse of the man behind that tough, ace-combat-reporter image? From what I’ve seen, he’s a great guy.”

“There’s a lot you haven’t seen.” He returned to the bench, picked up the binoculars and shoved them back in the case. “You ready to call it a night?”

“No.”

“I am.” He left the binoculars on the bench and started toward the gravel road that would take him back to the Orchid.

Lindsey planted her hands on her hips and huffed out a breath. Why did they end up fighting every time they got together? Whatever the reason, though, it was more proof they shouldn’t get involved.

“Fine.” Fuming, she grabbed the bag of cookies with one hand and the binoculars with the other, then circled the bench and stalked toward the path that led back to the heart of town. Ten feet into her trek, however, she paused to call out to his retreating back. “But you know what? I think you’re being really selfish!”

To her surprise, he stopped. Turned. Anger simmered in his eyes, and she could feel the tension radiating from him even across the dozen yards that separated them.

Yet in the depths of those blue irises, she also saw hurt.

Her throat tightened, and the pressure built behind her own eyes. If she could, she’d take back that childish comment. Nate wasn’t selfish. Far from it. His patient work with Jarrod proved that. But it was too late to retract the words.

And far too late to salvage the mess she’d made of this so-called appeasement outing—much as she wished she could.

Nate glared at Lindsey, equal parts guilt and fury nipping at the edges of his control.

Retreat or continue the fight?

No contest.

He never walked away from a fight.

Squaring his shoulders, he marched back to her. “How can you say I’m selfish? I’ve put myself in the line of fire for years, covering stories too risky for most reporters to sign on for.”

“I know. Look, I got a little—”

He cut her off. “Let me tell you something. I’ve spent a lot of my life tilting at windmills, putting myself on the line exposing corruption, graft, dirty politics and the horrors of war. And along the way, I’ve also tried to pay tribute to the valor and courage I’ve witnessed. A lot of it in Afghanistan. It ate at my gut to watch good men die. Better men than me. Do you know what it’s like to lie there, too stunned to move, too stunned to help, and watch someone bleed to death an arm’s reach away? Do you have any idea what it feels like to be that helpless? To know that…”

Lindsey swayed, and the harsh words died in his throat as her pallor, her taut features, and the sudden anguish in her eyes registered.

The anger drained out of him.

“What’s wrong?” He gripped her arms to steady her.

Instead of responding, she jerked out of his grasp, stumbled back a couple of steps, and lost her balance.

He lunged, grabbing her just in time to keep her from falling backwards. Shudders rippled through her, and he tightened his grip, his alarm ratcheting up. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Ignoring his request, she yanked free, turned and took off for the path to town, dropping the bag of cookies as she fled.

What in the world was going on?

He didn’t have an answer to that question. But he didn’t intend to let her run away without getting one. Though they’d both lost their tempers, anger didn’t explain her sudden distress.

She had a head start by the time he took off after her, but she was no match for his long legs. In fifteen seconds he was beside her, his hand on her arm, tugging her to a stop.

“Lindsey, wait. Talk to me, okay?”

She dropped her chin, but she couldn’t hide the tears streaming down her cheeks, her heaving chest or her silent sobs.

At her traumatized face, his stomach twisted. “Hey, come on.” He gentled his voice, trying for a soothing tone. “We’re old friends, remember? Even if we do fight a lot. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Let me go.” She tried to pull free.

“No. I can’t let you leave like this. Tell me how I can help.”

“You c-can’t. N-no one can.”

With a sudden jerk, she broke his hold on her arm. She twisted away and attempted to flee again, but he grabbed her around the waist, his hand pressed against the small of her back.

Against something hard.

Something that felt a lot like a…gun?

His childhood friend—the one who rescued stranded seals—carrying a lethal weapon?

It didn’t compute.

“Lindsey?” He stared at her, his fingers locked on the compact object tucked inside the back of her jeans. “Is that a gun?”

With one more hard wrench, she pulled free and tore off for the woods, her hair streaming behind her.

Too stunned to follow, he watched until the forest swallowed her up.

Lindsey had a gun.

Why?

Shoving his fingers through his hair, Nate turned toward the church, silhouetted in front of the setting sun and jammed his fists in his pockets. Nothing about this trip had been easy. He’d come here looking for answers. For a return to a simple life where all the pieces fit. Instead, he’d found more questions. Knotty complications. Puzzles with missing pieces.

As he slowly retraced his route toward the gravel road, he passed the abandoned bag of chocolate chip cookies on the neglected lawn. He bent to pick it up, hefting it in his hand. Once upon a time, a chocolate chip cookie and a glass of milk had gone a long way toward solving life’s problems. Not so anymore.

But he had other problem-solving resources at his disposal these days, at least when it came to Lindsey. He’d been curious about her past since he’d arrived in Starfish Bay, but he’d waited, hoping at some point she might share it with him. That hadn’t happened.

Now it was time to take matters into his own hands.

And before this day was out, he intended to use his best investigative skills to see if he could ferret out the trigger for the dramatic end to their contrived whale-watching session.

Chapter Eight

“E
verything okay, honey?”

Lindsey tucked her hair behind her ear and wrapped the fingers of both hands around her cup of tea. “Sure.”

Her father eased into a chair across from her at the kitchen table. “I thought you were going out to The Point with Nate.”

“I did.”

He checked his watch. “Fast trip.”

“It was a little windy.”

“Never stopped you from enjoying a sunset out there before, near as I can recall.”

At his speculative expression, she took a sip of her tea. “I saw some storm clouds gathering on the horizon, too.” True enough. Though they’d been far too distant to justify cutting short a sunset show.

“Hmm.” Her father rose. “Think I’ll have some coffee.”

As he puttered about the kitchen, Lindsey prayed he’d let the subject drop.

“So did you and Nate have a fight?”

She closed her eyes. So much for that hope.

“Why would I fight with him? We’re practically strangers.”

“You don’t act like strangers.”

She shot him a cautious look as he finished measuring instant coffee into a mug and filled it with water. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ve seen the way you two look at each other when you think I’m not watching.” He set the mug in the microwave and pressed the beverage button. “A person would have to be dead not to notice the sparks flying between you two.”

Her cheeks warmed, and she dipped her chin to hide the telltale flush. She might have felt the vibes, but she’d hoped no one else had.

“He hasn’t even been back two weeks, Dad. Isn’t this conversation a little premature?”

“Is it?”

“Yes. Besides, I’m not in the market for sparks.”

“Maybe you should be.”

She shot him a startled glance. “How can you say that? I still love Mark.”

“And you always will. That doesn’t mean you can’t love someone else, too.”

The microwave pinged, giving Lindsey a few seconds to try and regroup as her father retrieved his coffee.

“You’re feeling guilty about being disloyal to Mark, aren’t you?”

She stifled a sigh. How had they gotten into this conversation, anyway?

“Dad…” She leaned toward him, tightening her grip on her mug as he sat. “I haven’t seen Nate in twenty-five years. He’ll be gone in a week or two. It’s a moot point.”

“No, it’s not. I’ve been thinking about this for a while, long before Nate came back to town. You’re too young to spend the rest of your life alone, Lindy. You should be sharing a house with a husband, not a father. Raising a family. Living. Loving. Mark was a wonderful man. One of the most unselfish people I ever met. And because he was unselfish, I know he wouldn’t want you to waste your life grieving. So for the past year, I’ve been asking the good Lord to bring a new man into your life. Then along comes Nate. Your old friend. Seems more than coincidence to me.”