The Welcoming
Authors: Nora Roberts
Nora Roberts
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Hot Ice
Sacred Sins
Brazen Virtue
Sweet Revenge
Public Secrets
Genuine Lies
Carnal Innocence
Divine Evil
Honest Illusions
Private Scandals
Hidden Riches
True Betrayals
Montana Sky
Sanctuary
Homeport
The Reef
River's End
Carolina Moon
The Villa
Midnight Bayou
Three Fates
Birthright
Northern Lights
Blue Smoke
Angels Fall
High Noon
Tribute
Black Hills
The Search
Chasing Fire
The Witness
Series
Irish Born Trilogy
Born in Fire
Born in Ice
Born in Shame
Dream Trilogy
Daring to Dream
Holding the Dream
Finding the Dream
Chesapeake Bay Saga
Sea Swept
Rising Tides
Inner Harbor
Chesapeake Blue
Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy
Jewels of the Sun
Tears of the Moon
Heart of the Sea
Three Sisters Island Trilogy
Dance Upon the Air
Heaven and Earth
Face the Fire
Key Trilogy
Key of Light
Key of Knowledge
Key of Valor
In the Garden Trilogy
Blue Dahlia
Black Rose
Red Lily
Circle Trilogy
Morrigan's Cross
Dance of the Gods
Valley of Silence
Sign of Seven Trilogy
Blood Brothers
The Hollow
The Pagan Stone
Bride Quartet
Vision in White
Bed of Roses
Savor the Moment
Happy Ever After
The Inn BoonsBoro Trilogy
The Next Always
The Last Boyfriend
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eBooks
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The O'Hurleys
The Last Honest Woman
Dance to the Piper
Skin Deep
Without a Trace
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The Donovan Legacy
Captivated
Entranced
Charmed
Enchanted
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Cordina's Royal Family
Affaire Royale
Command Performance
The Playboy Prince
Cordina's Crown Jewel
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The MacGregors
Playing the Odds
Tempting Fate
All the Possibilities
One Man's Art
For Now, Forever
The MacGregor Brides
The Winning Hand
The MacGregor Grooms
The Perfect Neighbor
Rebellion & In from the Cold
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Night Tales
Night Shift
Night Shadow
Nightshade
Night Smoke
Night Shield
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The Calhouns
Courting Catherine
A Man for Amanda
For the Love of Lilah
Suzanna's Surrender
Megan's Mate
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Irish Legacy Trilogy
Irish Thoroughbred
Irish Rose
Irish Rebel
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Best Laid Plans
Loving Jack
Lawless
Summer Love
Boundary Lines
Dual Image
First Impressions
The LawIs a Lady
Local Hero
This Magic Moment
The Name of the Game
Partners
Temptation
The Welcoming
Opposites Attract
Nora Roberts & J. D. Robb
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Remember When
J. D. Robb
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Naked in Death
Glory in Death
Immortal in Death
Rapture in Death
Ceremony in Death
Vengeance in Death
Holiday in Death
Conspiracy in Death
Loyalty in Death
Witness in Death
Judgment in Death
Betrayal in Death
Seduction in Death
Reunion in Death
Purity in Death
Portrait in Death
Imitation in Death
Divided in Death
Visions in Death
Survivor in Death
Origin in Death
Memory in Death
Born in Death
Innocent in Death
Creation in Death
Strangers in Death
Salvation in Death
Promises in Death
Kindred in Death
Fantasy in Death
Indulgence in Death
Treachery in Death
New York to Dallas
Celebrity in Death
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Anthologies
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From the Heart
A Little Magic
A Little Fate
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Moon Shadows
(with Jill Gregory, Ruth Ryan Langan, and Marianne Willman)
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The Once Upon Series
(with Jill Gregory, Ruth Ryan Langan, and Marianne Willman)
Once Upon a Castle
Once Upon a Rose
Once Upon a Star
Once Upon a Kiss
Once Upon a Dream
Once Upon a Midnight
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Silent Night
(with Susan Plunkett, Dee Holmes, and Claire Cross)
Out of This World
(with Laurell K. Hamilton, Susan Krinard, and Maggie Shayne)
Bump in the Night
(with Mary Blayney, Ruth Ryan Langan, and Mary Kay McComas)
Dead of Night
(with Mary Blayney, Ruth Ryan Langan, and Mary Kay McComas)
Three in Death
Suite 606
(with Mary Blayney, Ruth Ryan Langan, and Mary Kay McComas)
In Death
The Lost
(with Patricia Gaffney, Mary Blayney, and Ruth Ryan Langan)
The Other Side
(with Mary Blayney, Patricia Gaffney, Ruth Ryan Langan, and Mary Kay McComas)
The Unquiet
(with Mary Blayney, Patricia Gaffney, Ruth Ryan Langan, and Mary Kay McComas)
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available
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The Official Nora Roberts Companion
(edited by Denise Little and Laura Hayden)
THE BE
RKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have control over and does not have any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
THE WELCOMING
An InterMix Book / published by arrangement with the author
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Harlequin Books edition / August 2006
InterMix eBook edition / October 2012
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Copyright © 1989 by Nora Roberts.
Excerpt from
The Perfect Hope
copyright © 2012 by Nora Roberts.
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Cover design by Sarah Oberrender. Photo: Highway 101 © aceshot1/Shutterstock.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
ISBN: 978-1-101-56968-9
INTERMIX
InterMix Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
INTERMIX and the “IM” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
For my friend Catherine Coulter,
because she's always good for a laugh.
Chapter 1
Everything he needed was in the backpack slung over his shoulders. Including his .38. If things went well he would have no use for it.
Roman drew a cigarette out of the crumpled pack in his breast pocket and turned away from the wind to light it. A boy of about eight raced along the rail of the ferry, cheerfully ignoring his mother's calls. Roman felt a tug of empathy for the kid. It was cold, certainly. The biting wind off Puget Sound was anything but springlike. But it was one hell of a view. Sitting in the glass-walled lounge would be cozier, but it was bound to take something away from the experience.
The kid was snatched by a blond woman with pink cheeks and a rapidly reddening nose. Roman listened to them grumble at each other as she dragged the boy back inside. Families, he thought, rarely agreed on anything. Turning away, he leaned over the rail, lazily smoking as the ferry steamed by clumpy islands.
They had left the Seattle skyline behind, though the mountains of mainland Washington still rose up to amaze and impress the viewer. There was an aloneness here, despite the smattering of hardy passengers walking the slanting deck or bundling up in the patches of sunlight along wooden benches. He preferred the city, with its pace, its crowds, its energy. Its anonymity. He always had. For the life of him, he couldn't understand where this restless discontent he felt had come from, or why it was weighing so heavily on him.
The job. For the past year he'd been blaming it on the job. The pressure was something he'd always accepted, even courted. He'd always thought life without it would be bland and pointless. But just lately it hadn't been enough. He moved from place to place, taking little away, leaving less behind.
Time to get out, he thought as he watched a fishing boat chug by. Time to move on. And do what? he wondered in disgust, blowing out a stream of smoke. He could go into business for himself. He'd toyed with that notion a time or two. He could travel. He'd already been around the world, but it might be different to do it as a tourist.
Some brave soul came out on deck with a video camera. Roman turned, shifted, eased out of range. It was in all likelihood an unnecessary precaution; the move was instinctive. So was the watchfulness, and so was the casual stance, which hid a wiry readiness.
No one paid much attention to him, though a few of the women looked twice.
He was just over average height, with the taut, solid build of a lightweight boxer. The slouchy jacket and worn jeans hid well-toned muscles. He wore no hat and his thick black hair flew freely away from his tanned, hollow-cheeked face. It was unshaven, tough-featured. The eyes, a pale, clear green, might have softened the go-to-hell appearance, but they were intense, direct and, at the moment, bored.
It promised to be a slow, routine assignment.
Roman heard the docking call and shifted his pack. Routine or not, the job was his. He would get it done, file his report, then take a few weeks to figure out what he wanted to do with the rest of his life.
He disembarked with the smattering of other walking passengers. There was a wild, sweet scent of flowers now that competed with the darker scent of the water. The flowers grew in free, romantic splendor, many with blossoms as big as his fist. Some part of him appreciated their color and their charm, but he rarely took the time to stop and smell the roses.
Cars rolled off the ramp and cruised toward home or a day of sightseeing. Once the car decks were unloaded, the new passengers would board and set off for one of the other islands or for the longer, colder trip to British Columbia.
Roman pulled out another cigarette, lit it and took a casual look aroundâat the pretty, colorful gardens, the charming white hotel and restaurant, the signs that gave information on ferries and parking. It was all a matter of timing now. He ignored the patio café, though he would have dearly loved a cup of coffee, and wound his way to the parking area.
He spotted the van easily enough, the white-and-blue American model with Whale Watch Inn painted on the side. It was his job to talk himself onto the van and into the inn. If the details had been taken care of on this end, it would be routine. If not, he would find another way.
Stalling, he bent down to tie his shoe. The waiting cars were being loaded, and the foot passengers were already on deck. There were no more than a dozen vehicles in the parking area now, including the van. He was taking another moment to unbutton his jacket when he saw the woman.
Her hair was pulled back in a braid, not loose as it had been in the file picture. It seemed to be a deeper, richer blond in the sunlight. She wore tinted glasses, big-framed amber lenses that obscured half of her face, but he knew he wasn't mistaken. He could see the delicate line of her jaw, the small, straight nose, the full, shapely mouth.
His information was accurate. She was five-five, a hundred and ten pounds, with a small, athletic build. Her dress was casualâjeans, a chunky cream-colored cable-knit sweater over a blue shirt. The shirt would match her eyes. The jeans were tucked into suede ankle boots, and a pair of slim crystal earrings dangled at her ears.
She walked with a sense of purpose, keys jingling in one hand, a big canvas bag slung over her other shoulder. There was nothing flirtatious about the walk, but a man would notice it. Long, limber strides, a subtle swing at the hips, head up, eyes ahead.
Yeah, a man would notice, Roman thought as he flicked the cigarette away. He figured she knew it.
He waited until she reached the van before he started toward her.
Charity stopped humming the finale of Beethoven's
Ninth
, looked down at her right front tire and swore. Because she didn't think anyone was watching, she kicked it, then moved around to the back of the van to get the jack.
“Got a problem?”
She jolted, nearly dropped the jack on her foot, then whirled around.
A tough customer. That was Charity's first thought as she stared at Roman. His eyes were narrowed against the sun. He had one hand hooked around the strap of his backpack and the other tucked in his pocket. She put her own hand on her heart, made certain it was still beating, then smiled.
“Yes. I have a flat. I just dropped a family of four off for the ferry, two of whom were under six and candidates for reform school. My nerves are shot, the plumbing's on the fritz in unit 6, and my handyman just won the lottery. How are you?”
The file hadn't mentioned that she had a voice like café au lait, the rich, dark kind you drink in New Orleans. He noted that, filed it away, then nodded toward the flat. “Want me to change it?”
Charity could have done it herself, but she wasn't one to refuse help when it was offered. Besides, he could probably do it faster, and he looked as though he could use the five dollars she would give him.
“Thanks.” She handed him the jack, then dug a lemon drop out of her bag. The flat was bound to eat up the time she'd scheduled for lunch. “Did you just come in on the ferry?”
“Yeah.” He didn't care for small talk, but he used it, and her friendliness, as handily as he used the jack. “I've been doing some traveling. Thought I'd spend some time on Orcas, see if I can spot some whales.”
“You've come to the right place. I saw a pod yesterday from my window.” She leaned against the van, enjoying the sunlight. As he worked, she watched his hands. Strong, competent, quick. She appreciated someone who could do a simple job well. “Are you on vacation?”
“Just traveling. I pick up odd jobs here and there. Know anyone looking for help?”
“Maybe.” Lips pursed, she studied him as he pulled off the flat. He straightened, keeping one hand on the tire. “What kind of work?”
“This and that. Where's the spare?”
“Spare?” Looking into his eyes for more than ten seconds was like being hypnotized.
“Tire.” The corner of his mouth quirked slightly in a reluctant smile. “You need one that isn't flat.”
“Right. The spare.” Shaking her head at her own foolishness, she went to get it. “It's in the back.” She turned and bumped into him. “Sorry.”
He put one hand on her arm to steady her. They stood for a moment in the sunlight, frowning at each other. “It's all right. I'll get it.”
When he climbed into the van, Charity blew out a long, steadying breath. Her nerves were more ragged than she'd have believed possible. “Oh, watch out for theâ” She grimaced as Roman sat back on his heels and peeled the remains of a cherry lollipop from his knee. Her laugh was spontaneous and as rich as her voice. “Sorry. A souvenir of Orcas Island from Jimmy âThe Destroyer' MacCarthy, a five-year-old delinquent.”
“I'd rather have a T-shirt.”
“Yes, well, who wouldn't?” Charity took the sticky mess from him, wrapped it in a tattered tissue and dropped it into her bag. “We're a family establishment,” she explained as he climbed out with the spare. “Mostly everyone enjoys having children around, but once in a while you get a pair like Jimmy and Judy, the twin ghouls from Walla Walla, and you think about turning the place into a service station. Do you like children?”
He glanced up as he slipped the tire into place. “From a safe distance.”
She laughed appreciatively at his answer. “Where are you from?”
“St. Louis.” He could have chosen a dozen places. He couldn't have said why he'd chosen to tell the truth. “But I don't get back much.”
“Family?”
“No.”
The way he said it made her stifle her innate curiosity. She wouldn't invade anyone's privacy any more than she would drop the lint-covered lollipop on the ground. “I was born right here on Orcas. Every year I tell myself I'm going to take six months and travel. Anywhere.” She shrugged as he tightened the last of the lug nuts. “I never seem to manage it. Anyway, it's beautiful here. If you don't have a deadline, you may find yourself staying longer than you planned.”
“Maybe.” He stood up to replace the jack. “If I can find some work, and a place to stay.”
Charity didn't consider it an impulse. She had studied, measured and considered him for nearly fifteen minutes. Most job interviews took little more. He had a strong back and intelligentâif disconcertingâeyes, and if the state of his pack and his shoes was any indication he was down on his luck. As her name implied, she had been taught to offer people a helping hand. And if she could solve one of her more immediate and pressing problems at the same time . . .
“You any good with your hands?” she asked him.
He looked at her, unable to prevent his mind from taking a slight detour. “Yeah. Pretty good.”
Her browâand her blood pressureârose a little when she saw his quick survey. “I mean with tools. Hammer, saw, screwdriver. Can you do any carpentry, household repairs?”
“Sure.” It was going to be easy, almost too easy. He wondered why he felt the small, unaccustomed tug of guilt.
“Like I said, my handyman won the lottery, a big one. He's gone to Hawaii to study bikinis and eat poi. I'd wish him well, except we were in the middle of renovating the west wing. Of the inn,” she added, pointing to the logo on the van. “If you know your way around two-by-fours and drywall I can give you room and board and five an hour.”
“Sounds like we've solved both our problems.”
“Great.” She offered a hand. “I'm Charity Ford.”
“DeWinter.” He clasped her hand. “Roman DeWinter.”
“Okay, Roman.” She swung her door open. “Climb aboard.”
She didn't look gullible, Roman thought as he settled into the seat beside her. But then, he knewâbetter than mostâthat looks were deceiving. He was exactly where he wanted to be, and he hadn't had to resort to a song and dance. He lit a cigarette as she pulled out of the parking lot.
“My grandfather built the inn in 1938,” she said, rolling down her window. “He added on to it a couple of times over the years, but it's still really an inn. We can't bring ourselves to call it a resort, even in the brochures. I hope you're looking for remote.”
“That suits me.”
“Me too. Most of the time.” Talkative guy, she mused with a half smile. But that was all right. She could talk enough for both of them. “It's early in the season yet, so we're a long way from full.” She cocked her elbow on the opened window and cheerfully took over the bulk of the conversation. The sunlight played on her earrings and refracted into brilliant colors. “You should have plenty of free time to knock around. The view from Mount Constitution's really spectacular. Or, if you're into it, the hiking trails are great.”
“I thought I might spend some time in B.C.”
“That's easy enough. Take the ferry to Sidney. We do pretty well with tour groups going back and forth.”
“We?”
“The inn. Popâmy grandfatherâbuilt a half dozen cabins in the sixties. We give a special package rate to tour groups. They can rent the cabins and have breakfast and dinner included. They're a little rustic, but the tourists really go for them. We get a group about once a week. During the season we can triple that.”
She turned onto a narrow, winding road and kept the speed at fifty.
Roman already knew the answers, but he knew it might seem odd if he didn't ask the questions. “Do you run the inn?”
“Yeah. I've worked there on and off for as long as I can remember. When my grandfather died a couple of years ago I took over.” She paused a moment. It still hurt; she supposed it always would. “He loved it. Not just the place, but the whole idea of meeting new people every day, making them comfortable, finding out about them.”
“I guess it does pretty well.”
She shrugged. “We get by.” They rounded a bend where the forest gave way to a wide expanse of blue water. The curve of the island was clear, jutting out and tucking back in contrasting shades of deep green and brown. A few houses were tucked high in the cliffs beyond. A boat with billowing white sails ran with the wind, rippling the glassy water. “There are views like this all around the island. Even when you live here they dazzle you.”