The Secret Sister (13 page)

And someone like Nancy would be particularly susceptible to his charm. That was why Maisey had to speak up. Nancy didn't have a fighting chance against someone so charismatic, not without some sort of guidance. “You seem like a nice person. I really don't want to see you hurt.”

Nancy was blinking rapidly, fighting tears. “It'll be okay. He'll repay me when he's back on his feet.”

Which would be when? At the rate he'd been going, it would be never...

“He cares about me.” She threw that out as a final defense, but Maisey could tell she was trying to convince herself more than anyone else. Keith took advantage of people and then moved on. It wasn't intentional as much as it was a matter of convenience. He'd never had to try very hard to get what he wanted, so it never meant a lot to him. He took the generosity of others for granted—and expected anyone he tossed aside to still be there if he decided to return.

“I'm sure he does,” Maisey said. “You're a very kind person. Just...do me one favor, okay? Don't send him any more money. You shouldn't have to do that.”

“How can I say no?”

“He has other options.”

“Like...”

“If he gets desperate, he can always come home.”

“And deal with your mother? I don't mean to speak ill of my employer. I'm grateful for my job. But he told me...”

The bell rang over the door. Raising one hand to indicate that she'd be right back, Maisey arranged a cheerful expression on her face, and walked out front.

It wasn't a customer. At least, it wasn't an ordinary customer. Vera Romero was there, with Laney.

“Surprise!” Laney cried as soon as Maisey said hello. Maisey had been relieved that she hadn't seen Laney since trying to teach her to braid. Laney was easy to love—but that was the problem. Maisey didn't want to fall in love with her or anyone else right now. And having a relationship with Laney would throw her into frequent contact with Rafe. “Hello.”

“I've been practicing.” She held up Maisey's book. “Doesn't Molly Brimble's hair look nice?”

Laney's braiding skills had improved. Rafe must've been working with her. Or Vera, if her poor fingers could manage it. “Definitely. You're doing a superb job.”

“She's spent
hours
on it,” Vera confided.

“She's getting good.” Maisey clasped her hands together. “So...what can I do for you? Do you need flowers? Is there a special occasion coming up?”

“The way I feel some days, I think my funeral will be the next special occasion I attend,” Vera joked, rubbing her gnarled hands.

Fortunately, Laney didn't seem to understand what her grandmother was talking about. “Ohh...it smells nice in here,” she said, preoccupied by her new surroundings.

“It's all the flowers,” Maisey told her. “Wait right there.” She went into the back and got several different kinds. “This is a rose.” She held it under Laney's nose. “You've smelled a rose before, haven't you?”

“Yes.” Her confident expression confirmed that she recognized it. “It has soft petals but sharp points!”

“Those are the thorns on the stem. You have to be careful of them, for sure. But this other flower doesn't grow thorns. It's called a gardenia.”

Wrinkling her nose, Laney pulled back.

“
Too
strong?” Maisey asked.

“I don't like it,” she replied.

“What about this one?” Maisey held out some wisteria.

“Nice,” Laney breathed. “It's...hardly there.”

Maisey guided her fingers to the small petals. “Feel how fragile these are.”

“Do you
make
flowers?” Laney asked.

“No. We buy them from the farmers who grow them on the mainland. Then I put them in pretty arrangements.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Because flowers brighten a room. And they make people feel good.”

“Oh! That's what I want to do when I'm big,” she said solemnly.

Knowing there was little chance of that, Maisey felt a weight on her heart. And then she heard herself say, “We can make one together sometime.”

Cursing herself for that stupid offer, she exchanged a smile with Mrs. Romero. “So what brings you in today?” she asked, letting Laney keep the wisteria.

“Laney and I were wondering if you might be free for dinner at my place this Sunday.”

“Me?”
Maisey brought a hand to her chest. Why on earth would Rafe's mom be asking
her
to dinner? He'd be there if Laney was, especially on the weekend. But Maisey was positive he hadn't put Vera up to this. He wouldn't even wave at her in the mornings.

“Sure. You've been gone for a long time and, the way folks come and go around here, I'm guessing a lot of your friends have moved on. We thought we'd welcome you back with a nice homemade meal. Of course, I can't compete with the kind of fancy meals your mother serves at Coldiron House,” she added with a self-deprecating gesture, “but...I'm not a
bad
cook. With these hands, it just takes me a bit longer than it used to, that's all.”

“I don't want you to go to any trouble,” Maisey hedged, but Laney interrupted before she could firm up her refusal.

“Please?”
She folded her hands under her chin in a prayer-like pose. “I'm going to set the table. And we're going to have blackberry pie and ice cream at the end.”

Now Maisey wanted to say no more than ever. That sounded entirely too homey. She couldn't let herself be drawn into Rafe's life—not if she wanted to resist the sexual temptation he presented.

Problem was, she couldn't bring herself to disappoint his sweet, beautiful child.

“Sure,” she said. “What time?”

Vera handed her a piece of paper with an address on it. “Three?”

“Fine.” She wasn't scheduled to work on Sunday. The shop closed at noon, anyway. So even if Nancy got behind again and called Maisey in, she should be able to make three o'clock. “What can I bring?”

Rafe's mother glanced around. “How about some flowers?”

13

R
afe had gone out on a date. He'd taken a woman who worked at the building supply place where he shopped on the mainland out for dinner. What had happened with Maisey had sort of kicked him in the ass, reminded him that if he wanted to find a companion, he needed to keep looking. It'd been a long time since he'd made the effort; he'd been too complacent if not too busy.

He'd chosen a nice restaurant, where the food was good, but he hadn't enjoyed himself. He'd known even before he went to dinner with Gina Cook that she didn't really appeal to him. He'd only invited her because she'd hinted that she wanted him to when he was checking out yesterday—and his mother had been nagging him so much lately. Vera felt he'd be happier if he had a wife. And she was afraid that when she died, he'd have no one to help him with Laney.

“You need to get married,” she kept saying.

He agreed. He wanted to give Laney everything a child should have. Laney had it hard enough, being blind. But he couldn't change the kind of person her real mother was, and he couldn't marry solely for practical reasons. He hadn't met the right woman yet, hadn't fallen in love.

Gina Cook
definitely
wasn't the one. He hadn't found her remotely interesting. He'd realized almost immediately that he wasn't physically attracted to her, either. When she'd taken his hand or snuggled up under his arm as they walked, he'd been irritated instead of excited.

He considered going back to his mother's place in Keys Crossing to pick up Laney, figured he should've done that on his drive home. It was no fun spending Friday night alone. But when he'd left the island earlier, she'd said she'd be keeping his daughter overnight.

Rafe wasn't stupid; he knew Vera was trying to give him some privacy in case he did experience a romantic spark. He could tell Gina was hoping things would go that way, too. She'd invited him in, hinting that he could stay the night—and yet he'd declined. Since he wasn't truly interested in her, he didn't want to start anything. Having a daughter, and knowing he'd one day be at the mercy of the men in that daughter's life, had changed his perspective.

Besides, Rafe preferred not to create an awkward situation, since he knew that even if he did get naked with Gina, he'd be thinking of Maisey. He hadn't been able to get her off his mind after that first day, when he'd encountered her peering into the windows of the bungalow next door. Why he felt a certain...affinity for her, he couldn't say. And why he had to be perverse enough to want to see her again when she wanted nothing to do with him was even more baffling.

Maybe it was karma, revenge for his wild youth. Or she was getting back at him for the fact that
he'd
once brushed
her
off.

Hoping a swim in the ocean might siphon off some of the excess energy that kept him pacing, he pulled on his swim trunks and went down to the beach. But he discovered almost as soon as he got there that he wasn't alone. A sweatshirt and a set of keys sat on the big rock where he always put his own stuff.

Maisey had gotten there first.

He squinted, trying to distinguish her head in the roiling waves. The moon was full, but it still wasn't easy to see her among all those whitecaps...

Eventually, he spotted her. She seemed to be intent on her swim and completely oblivious to everything else.

He ordered himself to go home and leave her to her exercise. She'd made it clear that she didn't like his company. But swimming alone wasn't safe, especially so far out, beyond the breakers. The ocean could be changeable this time of year, when the colder weather was setting in. As frail as she looked these days, he wasn't convinced she was capable of fighting the currents.

Did she know what she was doing? She'd grown up on the island, was most likely a seasoned swimmer. She had to be aware of the risks. And yet...he couldn't walk away. He was too afraid she'd drown if he did.

He stood in the shadows, out of sight, and watched until she came out of the sea. She wasn't anything like the curvy women he'd always preferred, he thought distantly. She was too thin. But that didn't stop him from admiring her swan-like beauty. Seeing her put every nerve on alert; there was just...something about her.

She hadn't brought a towel. She merely yanked on a sweatshirt.

Afraid she might hear him if he tried to hurry back ahead of her, he remained hidden by the shrubbery, didn't move when she walked past.

She came so close he could've touched her. He was tempted to do that, to give her a good scare and teach her that danger lurked everywhere, even here—especially since she'd scoffed at him when he'd told her she shouldn't sleep out on the beach. But he refrained, and he was glad he had when, instead of going straight to her own bungalow, he saw her hesitate, then turn toward
his
house.

Curious to see if she'd knock, he followed as quietly as he could.

She got as far as the bend in the drive, until she could see the light in his house. Then she stopped, shifted from foot to foot, muttered something—a curse?—and pivoted so fast she would've seen him standing off to one side if she hadn't been so preoccupied with whatever was on her mind.

Had she been working up the nerve to offer him an apology?

He felt he deserved one...

Sighing at her inexplicable nature, he returned to the beach. But while he swam, he kept thinking about that box he'd found. It had been buried in that wall as if it contained some great treasure—or some great secret—no one was meant to see. But he'd looked through the contents and couldn't imagine why anyone would want to hide those pictures.

He'd been planning to deliver them to Coldiron House. It was obvious that they belonged to the Lazarows. But he hadn't done that yet. He'd been in too much of a hurry when he dropped Laney off at his mom's before his date.

And now he was glad—because it gave him the perfect excuse to visit Maisey.

* * *

Having just dried her hair, Maisey was sitting on the couch in a pair of pajama shorts and the only clean, dry sweatshirt she had left. Jack had sent her another text:
You can't tell me you don't feel anything.
She was thinking about whether to respond, and what she might say, when she heard the knock at her door. According to her phone it was 10:40 p.m.—too late for Laney to be out. And Rafe had spent the past few days ignoring her.

Had her mother driven over?

Josephine wouldn't come
this
late...

Maybe Nancy had spoken to Keith and he'd returned in a huff, eager to yell at her for warning off the woman who'd been helping him.

Leaving her phone on the coffee table, Maisey braced for a confrontation. She didn't want to deal with one of her brother's infamous rages. But at least then she'd know he was okay. And there was no way to avoid his mood swings; that was simply part of being related to him.

“Who is it?” she called.

“Me,” came the response.

Rafe.

She opened the door to see him holding something—a rusty iron box. “Hello.” She looked around but Laney didn't seem to be with him. “Where's your daughter?”

“At her grandmother's.”

“Does she stay over often?”

“Not usually. I had a date tonight.”

Maisey refused to believe the twinge of emotion she felt could be jealousy. She had no claim on Rafe. “How'd that go?”

His expression revealed nothing. “Fine.” He lifted up the box. “I came across something today that might belong to you.”

“What is it?”

“Baby pictures.
Your
baby pictures, from what I can tell.”

“Seriously? Where'd you find that?”

“Surprisingly enough, it was buried in a wall in Unit 1.”

“Buried?”

“Pretty much. There wasn't any indication this box was there. It was behind the Sheetrock, wedged between two studs.”

“That's so...odd.” Stepping back, she motioned him inside. “What would my baby pictures be doing
in a wall
?”

“I have no clue. I was going to take them to Coldiron House. But I figured you might like to go through them first.”

“Are you
sure
they're mine?”

“They have to be. I recognize your mother. She's in some of them, holding your hand. Keith is with you in others. And there's a man who looks like he might be your dad.”

“Oh.” Trying not to think about the fact that she and Rafe were alone for the first time since they'd been in his bed, she took the box over to the coffee table. “I was, um, having a little wine.” She gestured at her glass. “Can I get you some?”

He hesitated as if he'd refuse.

“Come on. You can't stay mad at me forever. At least, I hope you can't. And I owe you for the Frosted Flakes.” She offered him a grin, hoping she could convince him to stay. Maybe if they had a talk, they could get past the other morning. She didn't want living next door to each other to be uncomfortable—not to mention that she'd be having dinner on Sunday at his mother's.

He gave a curt nod. He didn't seem sure he was making the right decision, but happy that she'd received the answer she was hoping for, she hurried to the kitchen and poured him a glass.

She pointed to the chair beside the couch as she brought it out. “Please. Have a seat.”

“Aren't you being a bit formal?” he asked.

She glanced at the box he'd brought. She was eager to look through it. Finding photographs of her in a wall seemed rather mysterious, but she could see her brother pulling a prank like that. Maybe Keith had felt their parents favored her or had taken too many pictures of her, so he'd decided to punish Josephine by hiding them.

She couldn't imagine why they'd been in the wall, but whatever the reason, she'd have time to sort through them after Rafe left. Right now, she wanted to deal with the problem she'd created by sleeping with him.

Swallowing because her throat was so dry, she said, “I'm sorry about the other day.”

He held his glass loosely. “We're going to talk about that?”

“I think we should. If you don't mind.”

“Actually, I'd
like
to understand. So why don't you start by explaining what you're apologizing for?”

“All of it,” she said. “I had no business...being as aggressive as I was and—and getting physical with you.”

He chuckled humorlessly. “In case you couldn't tell, I was fine with the physical part. But acting like you hated me after? That was a little...unexpected.”

“I understand. It would be confusing to have a woman seem so...interested and then—”

“Cold as ice?” he finished when she paused to search for the right words.

She took a sip of her wine. “If that's how you'd like to phrase it.”

“How would
you
phrase it?” He sounded genuinely perplexed. “I mean...what'd I do?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. It—it wasn't you.”

“Who was it, then? From what I remember, there were only the two of us, doing a whole lot of panting and moaning. I was pretty sure you enjoyed yourself.”

“Of course I enjoyed myself,” she said with an embarrassed grimace. “I'm not pretending I didn't.”

“Then what?” he asked.

Her phone buzzed, signaling another incoming text, and they both looked down. Rafe was a few feet away and probably couldn't read what Jack had sent, since Maisey grabbed the phone right away and cleared the screen. But the speed of her reaction had tipped him off.

“You're already seeing someone,” he guessed.

“Not exactly. But I am, um, considering getting back with my ex-husband.” She wasn't considering that at all—not in her saner moments—but she thought it might give her the battle shield she needed against this new threat.

“I see.” He rubbed a hand over his mouth and chin. “That explains a lot. How long have you been divorced?”

“Not quite a year.”

“Where is he now?”

“In New York.”

“That's where you used to live? I think I heard Keith mention New York when you first arrived.”

She nodded, and silence fell while he stared into his drink. Then he said, “How long were you married?”

“Almost a decade.”

“That's more than a minute or two.”

“A third of my life.”

He drained his glass. “You're still in love with him, then?”

She wanted to say that she wasn't sure how she felt, that she was trying to figure it all out. But those words wouldn't be decisive enough. In spite of everything, she could feel the attraction whenever Rafe was near. “Yes.”

Leaning forward, he set his empty glass on the table. “Does he know you had sex with me?”

“No. And I doubt I'll tell him. It's not necessary.”

“Since you split up.”

“He left me for another woman, after he'd been having an affair with her for several months. I hardly think he can expect
me
to remain faithful.”

Rafe clasped his hands, which had hung loosely between his knees. “He cheated on you?”

“Yes.”

“So I was...what? A revenge fuck?”

She felt her face heat. “No. Not revenge. I don't...I don't have a way to...classify it.”

He said nothing. He just rubbed his palms on his thighs. Then he pushed to his feet. “Thanks for telling me.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't worry about it. I guess I deserved it, huh?”

She followed him to the door. “No, I... What we did had nothing to do with before.”

He didn't respond.

“Rafe, listen. I just want to put my life back together. As you probably guessed when you found me sleeping on the beach my first night here, I'm not in the best shape. I'm not ready to get involved with
any
man. What happened near the end of my marriage was—” she didn't even want to remember the past two years in order to explain it “—a challenge for me.”