Chapter 4
They climbed the steps, holding onto the handrail as they traversed the slippery stone treads, and Charlotte rang the bell. Another light came on, shining through the curtained sidelight before the porch light turned on over their heads.
The curtain moved to the side and an eye poked out, a muffled voice coming through the door. “Charlotte Grace?”
“Hi Grams.”
The curtain dropped, covering the glass again. The low rumble of conversation could be heard, a man’s deep voice punctuating his words, but nothing Charlotte could make out.
A sudden gust of wind nearly pushed her sideways, and she wrapped her arms around herself to stay warm. “Jesus, it’s cold.”
They stood there for another minute, then two.
“What’s taking her so long to open the door?” asked Cowboy.
Charlotte had just been wondering that herself, but rather than agree with his question, she snapped, “It’s not like she was expecting us.
” She licked her lips, knowing that doing so in this weather was begging for them to become chapped.
She shifted her weight. What the hell was she doing in there?
Finally, the deadbolt clicked and the door opened, her grandma’s face appearing and instantly lighting up with joy. “Get in here, you sweet thing.” She gestured for Cowboy to follow, then hugged Charlotte in a tight embrace. “What are you doing here?”
“That’s kind of a long story,” Charlotte said. “Grams, this is Leo. Leo, this is my grandmother, Loretta.”
The old woman smiled even wider. “Hello, Leo.” She shook his hand.
“Nice to meet you, ma’am. My friends call me Cowboy.”
“And any friend of Charlotte’s is welcome to call me Grams.” She turned back to Charlotte. “What on earth are you doing here? And why didn’t you call and tell me you were coming?”
“It was sort of a last-minute decision,” said Charlotte, slipping off her coat, irritated when Cowboy caught it.
“She sent you to deal with me, didn’t she?”
“Who?”
“Your mother.” Grams shook her head with an exasperated sigh. “Well, I’m glad you’re here, anyway. It’s always good to see my grandbaby, and you can meet Tom for yourself. Then you can report back to my daughter-in-law with the all-clear and call off the guards.”
A tall wiry man with salt-and-pepper hair and wire glasses stepped forward from a doorway.
A pronounced linear scar ran up his left cheek.
While her grandmother exuded warmth and welcome, this man did not.
He looked from Cowboy to Charlotte and back again.
“Hello,” he said quietly. A tingling sensation went up the back of Charlotte’s neck.
Grams put her arm around Charlotte’s shoulders.
“Tom, this is my granddaughter, Charlotte, and her friend, Cowboy,” she hesitated.
“This is Tom Vanderhoffen. As I’m sure you’ve already heard, we’re engaged to be married.
” The old-fashioned introduction wasn’t necessary, but that was Grams for you—she loved to stand on formality, then push it aside for an impromptu hug.
Cowboy shook the other man’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”
Charlotte turned to Grams. “I didn’t even know you were dating anyone.”
“We had a whirlwind romance. When he proposed, I accepted as quickly as I could.” She smiled, contentment and radiating from her pores.
“Come now, come in and get settled. You’re staying the night, of course.
You had to have been out of your mind to travel in this weather.
Your mother must have been beside herself for you to do it in the first place. ”
“As long as we’re not intruding,” Charlotte said, as if she would leave if they were. In reality, she had no intention of leaving, no matter what her grandmother said.
“Of course not, dear. I’ll put the two of you in the big guest room. The power went out a few hours ago, and there’s a fireplace in there to keep warm.”
Charlotte shot Cowboy an uneasy look. “Separate bedrooms would be better.”
“You’ll freeze to death if you do that. Besides, you don’t need to sleep apart on my account. You’re a grown woman—”
“It’s not like that, Grams.”
“Oh, I just assumed…”
Charlotte’s cheeks flushed as the other woman looked to Cowboy. “It’s no problem. I’ll just sleep down here,” he said.
Grams waved her hand. “Nonsense—”
“Grams, let it go.” A deep sadness punched Charlotte in the gut. A week ago she would have gladly shared that room with Cowboy, would have been wrapped in his arms before a raging fire in the wide old hearth as they made love.
Now all she wanted was to be alone.
Grams was talking. “…just about to eat a late dinner. It’s almost ready, and there’s plenty for everyone. Why don’t you two have a drink with Tom while I finish up the cooking? You can get to know each other.”
Tom looked even more uncomfortable than he had, if that was possible, but he led the way through the dark and shadowy foyer into a deep room with a tall fireplace.
A fire blazed, the room far warmer than the foyer before it.
A plaid blanket was draped over the couch, abandoned, two empty glasses on the coffee table.
Clearly, Cowboy and Charlotte were interrupting an intimate evening, and she felt a flash of guilt for arriving unannounced as they had.
“What can I get you two?” asked Tom, stepping to a sideboard covered in bottles and picking them up one at a time, inspecting them. “There’s an excellent Irish whiskey.”
Charlotte took a seat in a wing chair by the fire.
Her shoulders were high with tension and she forced them back down, a flash of longing for Cowboy’s powerful hands on her fisted muscles nearly bringing her shoulders back up again.
“I’d like a martini, please,” she said. “I’m guessing Grams has you well versed in how to make one. ”
Tom shook his head. “I’m afraid you’ll have to walk me through it.”
Charlotte watched as he poured two whiskeys, serving himself and Cowboy before making her drink. Did her grandmother come second in her dealings with this man, as well?
Cowboy gave her a knowing look over his glass before asking,“How did you two meet?”
Tom took a hefty sip of his whiskey before answering. “We met during college at Oberlin.”
Charlotte cocked her head. “My grandparents met at Oberlin.”
Tom’s mouth moved into a shape that might pass for a smile. “Yes.” He turned back toward the bar. “Tell me what goes in a martini.”
“Two parts gin to one part vermouth,” she said. “Add five or six olives and a splash of the liquid from the olive jar. Did you know my grandfather?”
“I did. We both majored in poli-sci, both played on the football team.” He picked up the completed martini and headed toward her, his own drink clenched firmly in the opposite hand. “We had a lot in common. I daresay your grandmother may have a soft spot for a particular type of man.”
This time, his smile appeared genuine. He handed her the martini.
It was a classic love story, but Charlotte could smell bullshit a hundred feet away. She had a bad feeling about this one, and she’d long ago learned to listen to her gut. “And now you’re marrying one of the wealthiest woman in the state,” she said, raising her glass. “Cheers.”
Tom’s eyes narrowed, but he raised his glass as she’d done with hers. “I have my own money, Charlotte. Not as much as your grandmother, maybe, but you needn’t worry that I’m after her money.”
Assessing him cooly, she sincerely hoped he was being truthful. Because if her grandmother’s new fiance proved to be a gold-digging prospector, Charlotte would hammer him into the ground, no questions asked—and she wouldn’t even need Cowboy to do it.
“Then I won’t have to break your kneecaps,” she said sweetly.
Taking a sip of her martini, she felt the tang of the olive brine bathe her tongue as Tom’s expression hardened into a forbidding mask.
In the moment it took for Charlotte to swallow, the look was carefully erased from his features, but she hadn’t imagined that gleam in his eye—and she knew exactly what it meant.
This man wasn’t worth the time of day.
Tom downed the rest of his drink in one fluid motion, then set the glass down on an end table. “I think I’ll help your grandmother with the meal.”
“Good idea,” said Charlotte, watching him go.
When he was gone, Cowboy said in a sing-song voice, “You should behave yourself.”
She scoffed and set her martini down. The sip she’d taken felt like battery acid in her belly. “Women who behave get trampled in this world. I will not stand idly by while that jerk takes advantage of Grams.”
“What makes you think he’s a jerk?”
“Just a feeling.”
“Want to know what I think?”
“Not particularly.”
He raised one eyebrow, and she frowned. They often disagreed, and as much as she hated to admit it, he was right more often than not. Crossing her arms over her chest, she said, “Fine. What do you think?”
“I think you’re projecting the stress you feel over our relationship onto your grandmother’s relationship with Tom.”
She nearly choked. “Excuse me?”
Those blue eyes of his seemed to look right through her in that unnerving way of his. “Think about it. Grams is the woman you most relate to, even more than your mother.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes. “I relate to my elementary school bus driver more than I relate to my mother.”
“Grams is tough, but loving. Kind, but shrewd. Smart, but forgiving.”
She let her arms unfold, her hands landing on her hips. “And how exactly would you have any idea what she’s like? You just met the woman.”
“Because you told me how you feel about her on the plane. She obviously has your love, but she also has your respect. And you would never respect a woman who doesn’t have her shit together.”
The room felt empty, like a mic had been dropped. How did he do that? Distill an entire relationship down to its essence, or even worse, know her so well? It was unnerving to have someone see inside your soul like Cowboy saw inside Charlotte. Upsetting, even.
It was good they were taking a break from each other.
She needed to take a step back, to evaluate where they were in relation to where she wanted to go.
Untangle herself from this man and count her fingers and toes, remind herself who she was without him.
She recrossed her arms. “Yeah, well, that doesn’t mean I’m projecting anything. ”
From somewhere in the house, Grams’s voice could be heard calling, “Dinner!”
“If Grams could make a mistake this big,” he said, moving toward her. “If she could totally misjudge the character of the man she believes she’s in love with, then so couldn’t you. If she’s wrong about Tom, that gives you permission to see me as the bad guy.”
Her eyes closed on a long sigh. “That’s not what I’m doing.” When he spoke again, he was just a few feet in front of her, and her eyes popped open with a start, locking with his.
“I think it is. I think you’ve decided love is the enemy, that the only thing relationships do is tie you down and keep you from getting what you really want out of life.”
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
“Name one thing you don’t like about Tom.” He was just a foot or two away from her now, the scent of him reaching her nose.
She worked to put her finger on it, some tangible piece of evidence that would prove he wasn’t worthy of her grandmother’s love.
But Cowboy’s nearness was distracting, the familiar heat of his body warming the air between them, and she felt her cheeks flush.
“I don’t have to have a reason. I just don’t like him. ”
“Okay,” he said in a voice that bordered on patronizing, but held that firm grip on respect that he never relinquished.
“That’s all fine and good, as long as you can acknowledge there’s nothing wrong with relying on someone else.
” His voice was hypnotic, cajoling, alluring.
“That love exists, and that it makes life better for people who are willing to let it in.”
She took a reflexive step back, breaking the spell that had held her in its grasp. “We should go eat.”
“They just might be good for each other, Charlotte. You have to be willing to accept the possibility, for Grams and Tom.” He sighed heavily. “And for you and me.”
Straightening, she spun and headed for the doorway, talking over her shoulder. “I hardly think you and I are the perfect example for a couple who made it work.” Her steps were solid and sure, her gait the practiced sway of nonchalance that insisted his words had zero effect on her.
But as she entered the darkened hallway, her eyes stung and her lower back tightened in the fisted grip of anxiety.
In that moment, she hated Leo Wilson, hated him with all her might.
Because anyone who could string words into sentences and rip the very marrow from her bones had no business being anywhere near her heart.
Not now, and not ever—the storm and this blasted little island be damned.