Chapter 4 #2
Each of his footsteps rocked the dock, and yet Marlow didn’t move. Pausing, Cort took in her awkward posture slumped in the hard chair, and then he heard the low rough sound of her breathing, like a very feminine . . . snore.
His mouth twitched, and he couldn’t resist moving closer.
The sun would roast her in no time. Worse, she might get burned. He hated to disturb her, especially when he’d rather just look at her a bit.
Even in his own head, that thought sounded creepy, so he cleared his throat.
Nothing.
“Marlow?”
She shifted, snuggling more deeply into the chair, which seemed impossible given its hard lines, but she managed.
“Hey.” Kneeling beside her chair, resisting the urge to touch her, he said again, “Marlow?”
She briefly stirred.
“If you sleep out here, you’ll get a sunburn.”
Thick lashes fluttered, then lifted. For a moment, she squinted out at the lake with incomprehension before the spark of awareness entered her dark velvety eyes and she snapped her head around to stare at him.
“Oh, my gosh. Where did you come from?”
“I’ll assume that’s not a serious question.” Cort didn’t stand. Nope, he liked his vantage point right here beside her just fine. “You were out.”
“How long were you there?”
“Just walked up, but even though I said your name, you kept on snoring.”
“Ha!” With a luxurious stretch, she straightened herself. “Guess I was more tired than I realized.”
“Late nights at the tavern?”
“Just a few.” She ran a hand over her uncombed hair. “Ugh, I’m a mess.” Instead of dwelling on that, she smiled. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
“I saw you when I first came down, but you were focused on fishing.”
Not for a second had he been unaware of her. He’d felt her stare like a physical touch. Wasn’t easy, but he’d reminded himself of her newly widowed circumstances. Pouncing on her the moment she stepped out the door might make her wary of him. He didn’t want that, so he’d waited, letting her know that she could have her space.
He hadn’t counted on her falling asleep. The plan had been to wave to her as she headed back up to the cottage, then decide his next move based on how that went. If she was receptive, he’d have joined her. If she’d merely waved, he wouldn’t have intruded.
Now here he was, smiling at her while she smiled at him, and it didn’t feel awkward or intrusive at all.
It felt right.
His gaze went over her face, then her hair. Here in the bright morning sunshine, flaws would have been noticeable—only they weren’t, not on her. Oh, her face had character, for sure. A small worry line here, a smile line there, a lonely freckle or two.
What he really saw was the flush on her cheeks, the shine in her untidy hair, the depth in her eyes. “Not a mess,” he said, belatedly correcting her. “Sloppy looks good on you.”
With a quick grin, she reached for her coffee mug, tipped it up, and got only a drip. “I need caffeine if I’m expected to accept false compliments with grace.”
Wasn’t false, but he wouldn’t belabor the point. Cocking one brow, he said, “I have coffee in my thermos.”
She countered with, “I have cookies in my kitchen.”
An invitation? “I’ll share if you share.”
“Deal.” She held out her hand.
After rising, he accepted her hand and tugged her up. Given his way, he wouldn’t have let go. Her small hand fit into his perfectly, her grip firm and sure, her skin soft and warm. Just as it had in his truck, her touch ignited a sexual spark, one he hadn’t felt in far too long. Not that he’d been celibate. No reason for that. But this much sensation?
Few things took him by surprise anymore, but her effect on him was a shocker.
Again, he didn’t want to rush her, so he let her go. “You got more mail yesterday. I knew you were working so I held it until today.” At the end of the dock, he picked up the knapsack he’d left with his tackle box and rod. Two letters were inside, and both looked important.
“Did you catch any fish?”
“Nothing big enough to keep.”
“Bummer.”
“Fishing isn’t about the catch, really.” She didn’t ask for the mail, so he carried the sack, mail, and thermos, and together they started up the slight incline. “Even if I fish all day and don’t catch anything, I enjoy it.”
“No way. What’s the point if you don’t succeed?”
“What’s the point of sitting on the dock at daybreak even when it’s drizzling and you can’t see the sun?”
“Fresh air? Welcoming a new day, whether it’s rain or shine.”
“Same with fishing.”
“So you like the sunrise, too?”
He could see the idea pleased her. “I do, but I also like the sound of the water, the breeze in the trees, frogs, and birds.”
Cort heard it all, but his awareness was tempered by Marlow’s nearness. When she was close, he felt her presence everywhere, like subtle static on his skin, sparking but not uncomfortable. “I like the smell of the fresh air. The sun.” He smiled at her. “Or the rain.”
They reached her enclosed porch, and she opened the door. “You make it sound really nice, but there’s still that part where a fish gets hooked.” She cringed. “And baiting the hook?”
He followed her in through the sitting room and to the kitchen. “It’s easy once you get the hang of it.”
She went to a cabinet and got down another mug, then uncovered a plate of cookies and set them both on the table with napkins. As she took her seat, she said, “Your turn. Pay up.”
He couldn’t recall ever finding a woman so amusing. He set out his thermos and her mail, then went to her sink to wash and dry his hands. Back at the table, he seated himself across from her and filled both mugs. “I make it strong.”
“Perfect.” She sipped, nodded, then added a spoonful of sugar from the sugar bowl. “Creamer?”
“I’m good.”
For a moment, she fidgeted, then her gaze met his. “I saw your photo on the tavern wall.”
Yeah, was bound to happen. The framed pic wasn’t so big that it drew attention, but he knew with her working there, she’d run across it sooner or later. “It was my mom’s, in her house. Private.” He picked up one of the chocolate chip cookies. “Mom told me her visitors always commented on it. The next time I came home, Herman had hung a copy.”
“He’s proud of it. Of you.”
So she’d talked to Herman about him? Interesting. “Mom thought it was hilarious to take me to the tavern and surprise me with it.” He rubbed a hand over his jaw, remembering how everyone had cheered him. His mom had glowed, and it was so nice seeing her happy that he hadn’t complained. “Herman’s great. He looked out for Mom when I wasn’t around. They all did.”
“Funny,” she said softly. “Herman told me you looked out for all of them.”
“It’s what neighbors do.” Not that he’d known it before moving his mother here. As a kid, he’d experienced only survival. Avoiding his father, dying a little inside when his mother couldn’t do the same. Once they’d escaped, things had still been difficult. Lying low meant avoiding neighbors, dodging questions, and scraping to get by. His mom had worked long hours in housekeeping at a rundown hotel, and he’d gotten hired for odd jobs wherever he could. They’d lived week to week, sometimes day to day.
Too many times, after paying rent and gas for their old Buick, there hadn’t been enough money for food. He could still recall finishing the can of soup and half a sandwich his mom had made for him, and then realizing there was no more. She’d claimed not to be hungry, but he’d known that couldn’t be true. From that day forward, he vowed to himself to be more aware, not just of meals but of everything and everyone.
Idly, he turned the coffee cup, wondering how much he should share with Marlow. He imagined Herman had already given her an earful. Would it hurt to make sure she had the facts?
“You’ve gone awfully quiet.” She tipped her head with a gentle smile. “More so than usual, I mean.”
“Thinking, actually.”
“About?”
“Being here was an eye opener.” He met her gaze. “I chose this place because it was obscure, private, and property was cheap.”
“Then,” she teased. “Not so cheap now.”
“Actually, because it’s watched so closely, it’s impossible to buy here now. Mom and I got in at the right time.”
“It was meant to be.”
Yeah, as he watched Marlow, he realized a few things were starting to feel that way.
“Herman said you brought her here?”
Good old Herman. He couldn’t even be bugged with the guy, knowing he’d just been reminiscing. “My father found her.” It still made his heart clench when he thought of it. “It was because of him I wanted to be a Marine.” When some kids watched movies about superheroes, Cort had watched videos on the Marine Corps. He’d needed money, training, a way to change his life and make things better for his mother. A way to defend. To serve. The only path he’d seen was to become one of the few. The proud. The Marines.
Reaching across the table, Marlow touched his hand, surprising him. “She was hurt?”
“He hurt her.” The words seemed to stick in his throat. “He was a drunken, abusive bastard—and I wasn’t around.”
“How did you find out?”
“In the hospital, she gave them my info, and they tracked me down. We were stateside, thankfully, so I was granted leave, got to her as quickly as I could, and relocated her in record time.”
“To Bramble?”
“Best decision I ever made.” There’d been so little time to consider things, to weigh the pros and cons. For a few seconds, he turned his hand so Marlow’s fit against his palm. It was nice having that connection to her as he dredged up ugly memories from his past. “I wanted to find my father and take him apart.” Being a Marine, he’d learned discipline, and thank God for it, otherwise his life might be vastly different now. “Instead, I made my mother and her well-being a priority, and we ended up here.”
“What happened to your father?”
As he drew in a deep breath, he released Marlow and put both hands on his coffee cup. “He’d stolen Mom’s car, and he did me a favor by getting stinking drunk in an unfamiliar bar. He started trouble with the wrong people, and the next day he was found in an alley.”
Her searching gaze read the truth on his face even before she said, “Someone killed him.”
“Yes, and good riddance.” It had saved him, and his mother, the trouble of filing charges against him and going through the legal channels to have him removed from their lives.
Needing something to do, Cort bit into the cookie, surprised again as he realized it was homemade. The cookie gave him the perfect opportunity to talk about something else. “Wow, this is good.”
She saw the change of topic for the evasion it was, but Marlow being Marlow, she accepted it gracefully. “I found a recipe online.”
“A recipe is only as good as the person following it.”
“I haven’t done much baking, but it seemed simple enough.” Folding her arms on the table, she watched him. “I want to tell you something, but I don’t want you to misinterpret what I say.”
Going on alert, Cort gave her all his attention.
“I think you’re fascinating.”
Okay, he hadn’t seen that one coming. He could make a lot of assumptions based on that simple statement, but assumptions were dangerous things. Instead, he asked, “How so?”
“Maybe it’s the way you see things, so black and white. You’re . . . Well, accepting isn’t the right word. It’s more that you seem to adapt to everything so easily.”
She couldn’t be more wrong. Nothing was ever easy, but he knew better than to waste his energy trying to change something that either wasn’t important or was set in stone. “What is it you think I’ve accepted?”
Silence ticked by while she continued to scrutinize him, and he let her.
Finally, she said, “Hardship,” as if that summed up a dozen different things.
And maybe it did. “The Marines taught me that you can take adversity and make it work for you. Losing my mother when she was finally happy—that was a blow, no way around it. I’m here, though, with all these people who knew her well and cared for her. The people who gave her life meaning. That counts for a lot.”
“I think you gave her life meaning.” Before he could find a single word to say, Marlow continued. “She lived for you, doing what she could to make your life better. When you were old enough, you did the same for her. Young people put in your situation often make a lot of bad choices. You joined the Marines. You brought your mother here and helped her to start that happy life. Now you stay here because these people care for you.”
Her eyes went shiny, as if she might cry, but instead she smiled.
Cort wasn’t sure what to say or do.
“Like I said, you fascinate me.”
They were still staring at each other, thoughts, emotions, and possibilities arcing between them.
Until the buzzing of her phone disturbed the moment.
She glanced at the counter. “Sorry. Let me make sure that isn’t Herman.”
Cort tracked her as she stood and lifted the phone. That’s when he saw her unopened mail. The packet was on the bottom, still sealed.
Groaning, she said, “It’s my mother-in-law.”
“She calls often?”
“Yes.” With the press of a button, she silenced the phone. “She hasn’t given up on the idea of my returning to the family business, only it’s not my family. Not anymore.” Grabbing up his thermos, she refilled her cup and then his.
Which told him she wasn’t ready for him to leave yet. Fine by him. “You haven’t opened your mail.”
“I know.” A wan smile gave away her thoughts. “Sandra said it’s some of Dylan’s things. I’m rarely a coward, I swear, but this time, I’m not sure I want to know what it is.”
“Dreading something is usually worse than facing it.” That had been true of his father. As a kid, he’d feared the man’s rages. Then when he was big enough, when he’d grown brave enough to fight back, instead of feeling dread, he’d been empowered. “Might be easier to get it over with.”
Lifting her chin, she said, “You know what? You’re right.” She stretched out an arm and snagged all the mail, bringing it to the table, and adding the new mail he’d brought along that morning to the top of the stack. “This, at least, looks interesting.”
He’d noticed it was from a bank when he’d received it at the post office. He watched her carefully tear the envelope open, scan a few pages, and then smile.
“The sale of my house was finalized with a remote closing.” She waved the paper. “I’m not going back, and I’d still like to pay you in advance. What do you say?”
“I’d say that you fascinate me as well.”
She beamed at him. “I’m going to choose to take that as a compliment.”
“You should.” He nudged the rest of the mail at her. “Would you rather do that in private?”
“Nope.” She tore open the next piece of mail, then another. When the stack dwindled, she had two neat piles—one she threw in the trash, and the other she set on the counter.
All that was left was the packet.
Drawing a bracing breath, she opened it and pulled out several documents. As her gaze went over one paper, she started to frown. By the third paper, livid color slashed her cheeks and her lips were compressed.
Cort couldn’t imagine what she’d received, but he could see how it affected her. “Marlow?” he said quietly.
She jumped as if she’d forgotten about him, her gaze clashing with his.
“One thing at a time,” Cort said. “Whatever it is, you’ve got this.”
Giving a firm nod, she said, “I do. It’s just . . . it doesn’t end.”
Keeping his tone gentle, he asked, “What doesn’t?”
“The lies. The betrayal.” Lifting one page, she said, “An apartment he rented that I knew nothing about.” She slapped the paper on the table. “A car he purchased that I never saw.” It joined the other paper. “A credit card, probably to buy gifts for the other woman.”
Damn. Pushing his coffee cup aside and sitting forward, Cort considered how to reassure her.
She spoke again before he had a chance. “I’m sorry. None of this is your problem.”
“I encouraged you to open it.”
She shrugged. “Not opening it was only prolonging the inevitable, so I’m glad I did.” Wearily, she rubbed her forehead. “You know what annoys me the most?”
He said nothing, leaving it up to her to continue.
“Me. I’m most annoyed at myself. How could I have been so clueless? He was carrying on a separate life, and I just blithely went about my business as if everything was fine and dandy. It wasn’t, I knew it wasn’t, but I also didn’t want to rock the boat.”
If they were a little more familiar, he’d give in to temptation to leave his chair, lift her from her own, and just hold her. Sadly, he didn’t have that option. “Enjoying the peace isn’t a crime.”
“It is when it’s not real peace, when it’s just . . . existence with a lie.”
Cort couldn’t disagree. For a long time now—since he’d turned twelve, really—his preferred method of dealing with trouble was to face it head-on. Grief, however, wasn’t that easy to conquer. “How’d you find out?”
Issuing another fake laugh, one that sounded close to a sob, she dropped her head back and closed her eyes. In a small voice, she confessed, “It’s almost too humiliating to share.”
Dark suspicions rose, and with them, a lot of anger directed at a dead man. “You don’t have to share anything if you’d rather not. But if you do, know that I won’t judge.” At least, he wouldn’t judge her. Her dickhead husband? That man he’d already tried and convicted in his head. “I’ll just say one thing.”
Marlow opened an eye to peer at him.
It was the perfect reaction, one that said it all in a simple and lighthearted way. She’d listen, but she was skeptical.
Challenge accepted.
Cort gave himself a moment to think, then decided to just go with his gut, say what he knew to be true. “Sometimes talking about something makes you realize it wasn’t as bad as you thought. It’s keeping it in here”—he touched his forehead—“and in here”—he touched his chest, over his heart—“that makes the hurt fester and grow.”
Tension eased from her shoulders, and the slight tilt of her smile was more genuine. “See, you’re fascinating.”
“So are you.”
Her smile warmed even more. “Ugh. The awful truth is that Dylan started insulting me. I think he was bothered that I hadn’t noticed, or hadn’t bothered to comment on, his growing lack of interest in me. I was so wrapped up in my work, mostly because it was all I had. That sounds pathetic, doesn’t it? Again, my choice, something I accepted.”
“You coped—until you stopped coping.”
“Well, it was tough to stay in denial when he’d tell me my hair was a mess or he’d comment that I was gaining weight. In the guise of a gift, he wanted me to go to a salon for a complete makeover. He said I looked dated and older than I actually was. His exact words were, ‘You look like a forty-year-old housewife.’ On behalf of tired women everywhere, I was insulted.”
“You should have suggested he see an eye doctor.”
Another quick grin, there and gone. “He insisted that I join a gym to get in shape and shed a few pounds.” Bracing an elbow on the table, her chin in her hand, she half laughed. “I took those shots badly, I’m afraid.”
It was only because he’d had a lot of practice that Cort was able to keep his thoughts contained. If her husband was sitting here right now, he’d probably punch him in the nose. “Please tell me you got in a few shots of your own.”
“He already went to the gym daily—at least, he said he did—but I told him he was wasting his money.” She wrinkled her nose. “I accused him of being flabby.”
Silently cheering her, Cort asked, “Was he?”
“Little bit.”
Cort grinned with her. He liked how she fought. “Good on you for pointing it out.”
“It was hurtful of me, I know, but it was starting to dawn on me why we were arguing. So many little things came together. I started to pay closer attention, to him but also to myself. In some ways, he was right. I hadn’t changed my hair in forever, and my wardrobe was always whatever the stylist said was business fashionable. But it wasn’t me. It didn’t reflect my real personality or my preferences. Somehow, in my marriage, I’d lost myself.”
Cort had zero personal experience in the marriage arena, but he had friends—some with happy marriages, some with marriages that fizzled out, and some that imploded in the most godawful ways.
And then he had his best friend . . . who’d made the ultimate sacrifice. Cort lived with that guilt every single day. It was his burden, though, not hers, and he wanted to keep her talking about herself.
Getting to know Marlow better, seeing what made her tick, enthralled him. “Seems to me that marriage should be give and take, and both people might have to change now and then to make it work.”
“That’s what I thought, too. Only I didn’t change in good ways. That’s why, after everything that’s happened, I’m most disappointed in myself.”
Marlow set a high bar. From what he’d seen so far, she excelled at everything.
Except a happy marriage.
For her, that’d be a tough loss. “He sounds infantile and obnoxious, and you sound rightfully reactive, but none of that was humiliating.”
“Yes, well, the worst part was the night I tried to seduce my own husband. What a fool I was.”
Cort tensed. He hadn’t known Marlow that long, and yet it bothered him to know she’d put herself out there for a jerk who didn’t deserve it. She deserved someone who would see her for the bright light she was.
“I changed my hair,” she explained, “but it was a style I liked.”
“The way it is now?”
“Pretty much, minus the bedhead tangles.”
“I like the look.” He liked everything about her. “Go on.”
For only a moment, she appeared sidetracked by his compliment. He saw the moment she decided to let it go, choosing to finish her explanation instead. “I chose a sexy dress and heels—which I didn’t like, because it felt like I was trying too hard, which, clearly, I was. I waited at home for him, with a romantic night all planned.”
Picturing that, Cort almost felt sorry for the man who’d thrown it all away. “Didn’t go well?”
Her laugh held no humor. “What an understatement. He was four hours late. I tried calling him a few times, but the calls went directly to voice mail. When he finally got home, I was in the kitchen drinking a little too much wine. He assumed I’d be in bed and was surprised to see me, but mostly he was confrontational because he knew he was busted.”
His chest tightened at the wounded look on her face. His muscles tightened, too. Resisting her was getting harder by the minute. Holding her seemed as important as his next breath.
Marlow looked away from him. “He laughed at me, at my hair and my dress, asking if I was making some feeble attempt to keep him.” As she spoke, her voice got quieter until she nearly whispered. “He told me not to bother, that he’d already had better and wasn’t looking for round two, at least not right then.”
Fury gripped Cort. “What an asshole.”
She shifted her gaze to his. “He told me I could try again the next day, that he might be willing by then. Instead, I went into the bedroom and packed. He heckled me the whole time, saying a lot of vicious things. I could tell he wanted a fight, or at least a strong reaction.” Again, her chin lifted. “I didn’t let him see me cry.”
“Good for you,” he replied with feeling.
“First thing the next morning, I filed for divorce. He didn’t expect that, and he tried an immediate turnaround, saying he’d been drunk, that I’d surprised him. None of that mattered to me. It was over, and I knew it. Every day since then, right up until he crashed his car and died, it was a battle.”
Which had only obligated her further, Cort knew. “Stupid men say and do stupid things.” And sometimes those stupid men needed their asses kicked. “I hope you didn’t put any stock in his insults.”
“Maybe a little.”
He sat forward. “Your hair is incredible.”
“It’s plain old brown.”
“Not even close. It reminds me of a fawn. Golden brown and soft, with subtle reddish highlights.” Color tinged her cheeks, but she said nothing. “Gorgeous eyes, too.”
“I’m tempted to say they’re also plain brown.”
“And I’m tempted to convince you otherwise.” So damn tempted. “If you stay in Bramble, I probably will.”
Her lips twitched. “You probably will convince me?”
“Or at least try. And since you were concerned that I’d misinterpret your comment, let me be clear that you can interpret what I’m saying any way you want. Odds are, you’ll be right.” With that laid out there, he waited to see what she’d say or do.
Her mouth opened and closed, and she angled her chin. “I’m staying.”
Satisfaction burned through his bloodstream. “There you go.” Another special moment, one of many that were starting to add up, at least by Cort’s count.
He was pretty sure they’d just taken a step past friendship and into the realm of something far more intimate. That suited him just fine.
“So all those papers you received. What are you supposed to do with them?”
“I’m assuming the apartment and car were for the woman he was seeing, only with him gone, the bills haven’t been paid.”
Incredulous, Cort asked, “And you’re supposed to pay them?”
“Or at least settle the accounts. I got multiple death certificates so I could respond to situations like these. Well, not exactly like these, but for bills I expected.” She fanned out the papers. “The car, apparently, was repossessed, but with money owed. The apartment has been abandoned, yet the lease wasn’t canceled. The credit card is maxed out. As his wife at the time of his death, I have access to his accounts.”
“Your mother-in-law sent those to you?”
“Yes.”
“And she’s wealthy?”
“Very.”
It was manipulation of the worst kind. “She claims to want you back at the company?”
“Family business and all that. I know what you’re going to say. It doesn’t add up. It’s an insult for her to send these bills to me, especially while she’s pretending her son was perfect and all the blame belongs on Pixie Nolan.”
Cort went still. “You know her?”
“I’ve seen pictures.” Again, she wrinkled her nose. “It came up in the divorce, and at that point, Dylan was more into bragging than discretion. I almost felt sorry for his lawyer, except that he was a sanctimonious jerk, too.” She paused, frowned some more, then smirked. “Of course, I imagine all women feel that way when facing an unfaithful husband and the person defending him.”
“You’d have to be a saint not to.”
“And I’m far from sainthood, believe me.” She gave him a grim smile. “Ms. Nolan worked in one of the company’s warehouses at a different location, one I never had reason to visit, but apparently Dylan did. Or maybe he met her through someone else. I don’t know, or want, the particulars.” Indicating the papers, she said, “I’m guessing Sandra sent the stuff to me because she wants me to see Ms. Nolan as the villain. Sandra hates her, and she likely wants me to hate her, too.”
Cort searched her face, but he saw no hatred. He wasn’t sure such a negative emotion was even in Marlow’s DNA. “You don’t hate her?”
“I don’t want to be her friend or anything, but why should I hate her? Dylan was the one who cheated on me. If it hadn’t been Ms. Nolan, it probably would have been someone else. Seems to me that Dylan used her, too.”
That was such a kind, generous attitude, Cort was certain he lost a piece of his heart to her right then and there.
“I know,” she said. “You think I’m foolish.”
“I think you’re . . . astonishing. Beautiful. Wise. And you have great hair.”
She laughed.
“You fit here in Bramble, Marlow. Perfectly.”
A bright smile lit up her dark eyes, making them even prettier. “Thank you. That is, by far, the nicest compliment yet.”