27. Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Seven
Henry
W atching Juliet’s cautious progress toward being comfortable with a serious relationship was far more rewarding than I ever expected. Day by day, she softened, opening up to me by slow degrees. Sometimes she would visit me at the inn, bringing a tote bag full of Nan’s journals to peruse as she curled up in a chair in the corner of my office.
Those were some of my favorite afternoons—the quiet comfort of her company, the little smile that played across her lips at Nan’s sharp commentary, the way her eyes lifted to meet mine over the top of a leatherbound book, twinkling with amusement whenever she caught me staring.
We talked about her plans to start painting in the garden next week, ventured into Mark’s shop to sniff every bar of soap he had for sale, held hands as we wandered down Main Street with ice cream cones. I replaced the curtains in her bedroom, but it didn’t matter much, since she spent her nights in my bed.
Even though she was no closer to uncovering her father’s identity or her mother’s reason for leaving town, Juliet seemed happy.
I knew I was—blissfully, exquisitely happy.
She was so easy to be with, such a startling contrast to our first couple meetings. Or maybe because it was such a contrast, it became a soothing balm against those sparks that had threatened to burn us both before they took on an entirely different kind of heat.
While she clearly enjoyed every moment we spent together, she confessed one night that she still worried. She blamed it on her mother’s note, planting the prospect of danger in her mind, so she couldn’t help but feel like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Toward the end of the week, just after three-thirty in the morning, it finally did.
We awoke to the insistent buzzing of my phone, still tucked in the pocket of my jeans where they’d been thrown to the floor in a rush the night before. Juliet murmured sleepily against my shoulder and I pressed a kiss to her temple before slipping out of bed to locate the phone.
The buzzing stopped just as I read my grandfather’s name on the screen, then started up again when he called back a second time. Expecting the worst, I answered it.
“Gramps, what is it?” I asked, my voice low.
Panic seeped through me, alleviated only slightly by the sound of his voice on the other end. My eyes shot to Juliet as I listened. She sat up, wrapping the sheet around her bare torso. With the phone tucked between my ear and shoulder, I pulled on my jeans, then knelt on the bed to cup her face in my hands.
“Yes, she’s here with me. We’ll be right over. Thanks, Gramps.”
“What happened?” she asked, all trace of sleep replaced by sudden tension as her eyes widened with panic.
“There’s a fire at the cottage,” I said gently. “One of the guests at the inn saw the smoke. I don’t know how much damage there is, but Gramps wanted to make sure you weren’t inside. The fire department is already there.”
Juliet drew back from my hands, her eyebrows angled down in confusion as she struggled to make sense of the words.
“The cottage,” she whispered. “Oh, no.”
In the next instant, she scrambled off the bed to pull on the clothes we'd scattered throughout the bedroom. All those boxes of memories, the old pictures on the mantle, Nan’s beautiful painting in the bedroom—I saw Juliet fighting back waves of grief that had her hands trembling as she dressed.
I wasn’t sure if any of it could be saved. My own heart broke at the potential loss.
“Maybe it isn’t that bad,” she ventured. The hopeful note in her voice gutted me. “Maybe they caught it fast enough.”
I squeezed her hand and said nothing as I led her out to the truck. We made it to the cottage in record time, but I knew before we even turned up the driveway that it was, without a doubt, as bad as we feared.
Through the trees lining the driveway, the glow of the flames rose up behind them, the acrid tang of thick smoke hanging in the air. Juliet clasped a hand over her mouth to keep from crying out, even as her eyes filled with tears.
I pulled off into the grass, well away from the two fire trucks that were parked in front of the cottage. The cheerful wildflowers Blue loved to explore were blackened and trampled. Juliet slipped out of the truck and watched the scene with wide, horrified eyes while I spoke quietly with a police officer, then my grandfather.
When I returned to her side, I wrapped my arms around her, holding her tight through the tremors that wracked her body.
“I’m sorry, Red,” I said against her hair. “I’m so sorry.”
Those simple words caused the floodgates to open and she crumpled against me. All I could do was hold her as she wept. I rubbed my hands over her back, murmuring senseless, soothing words against her ear.
Never in my life had I felt so helpless.
The police would need to ask her some questions later about what had been inside, but for now, I simply tucked her against my chest and thanked all the forces of the universe that she’d been with me tonight instead of inside the devastation that was Nan’s cottage.
With a shudder, my arms tightened around her.
She’s safe, I reminded myself, but it didn’t quiet my panicked thoughts.
It was nearly dawn by the time the fire was completely contained. Once Juliet finished talking to the police officers lingering on the property, I gently touched her cheek with my fingertips.
“Libby texted me as soon as she heard. She brought a bin of clothes for you over to the house. I know it’s not—” I broke off, running my other hand through my hair. “I know what you’ve lost is so much more than just that, but it’s a start.”
“That’s really sweet of her,” she said, her voice thick with emotion.
Another car pulled in behind us and Chief Roberts stepped out onto the lawn. With the emergency lights blinking across his face, the man looked like an avenging angel as he met my eyes over her head. He grew up in Oakville, but like everyone else here in Spruce Hill, he had come to love Nan Montgomery like his own grandmother. His role was mostly administrative these days, but I wasn’t surprised he’d shown up in person.
When we arrived, I’d told the Spruce Hill PD’s senior detective, Rose Hanson, about everything that had happened so far, whether it seemed pertinent or not, including Melissa’s warning to Juliet.
If the chief’s stony expression was anything to go by, Detective Hanson had already relayed those details to him—and he believed it was all related.
“Chief,” I said when he approached us. “This is Juliet Morrison. Juliet, this is Chief Roberts.”
His expression was gentle, his voice low, but nothing could cover the fact that Juliet had experienced another loss, gained one more thing to mourn.
How much more could she take?
“Nothing I can say will give you back what was inside the cottage, Juliet, but I assure you both I’ll keep you informed about the investigation.”
I flinched at the shudder that trembled through Juliet’s body and murmured, “Thanks, Chief.”
“We will get to the bottom of this. I won’t rest until we do.”
All Juliet managed was a nod, her hair tickling my throat, as Roberts inclined his head and walked away. We watched in silence as the police cruiser pulled back down the gravel drive, followed by a parade of emergency vehicles.
Entering the cottage was strictly off-limits for now, but Juliet gestured to her little green sedan.
“Do you think I should leave it parked here?”
“Mark and I will come get it later,” I replied.
We’d check over the car top to bottom before Juliet got anywhere near it. Maybe I'd seen too many movies, read too many thrillers, but I would protect Juliet from whatever threat was out there. I just hoped I was up for the job, because now that I'd found her, I absolutely would not risk losing her.
She gave another weary nod, so I bundled her into the truck, buckling the seatbelt around her still form.
As soon as we returned to the house, I tucked her back into my bed—she might not sleep with the images of the burning cottage seared into her mind, but the dark smudges under her eyes practically begged for rest. Though I wanted to stay, to hold her, shield her, she shook her head and whispered that she wanted to be alone, so I simply pressed my lips to her forehead before heading downstairs.
Sighing heavily, I sat down on the couch with my laptop to do some research. I needed to distract myself, to keep from thinking too long about what might've happened if Juliet had been asleep there when the cottage caught fire instead of safe in my bed.
It was all too easy to imagine a very different phone call. I forced myself to swallow down the tide of raw fear that threatened to choke me and dropped my face into my hands. Each breath that wheezed from my lungs was a revelation, not entirely unwelcome but still unexpected.
I'd fallen head over heels for this woman who’d swept into my world like a tornado.
The spectrum of emotions she inspired in me over that short period of time was impressive. As my pulse steadied, I rubbed my jaw and smiled a bit grimly. I’d told Juliet I didn’t expect her to profess her undying love for me, and that was still true. I never promised not to fall in love with her, though.
With a tiny smile lingering at the corners of my mouth, I turned my focus to researching the information we’d found in Nan’s little lockbox, the news clippings that had assuredly been destroyed in the fire.
After sending a dozen articles to the printer, I checked my watch. It was almost noon, so I tracked down the phone number for Lewis Zoratti and set up a time to drop by after lunch. The Zorattis’ oldest son was the same age as Aaron, so they knew me well enough to welcome a social call.
The sooner we got to the bottom of this, the better. If that meant talking to everyone in town who’d known Melissa Montgomery before she left Spruce Hill, so be it.
Juliet had come here for answers, and I’d be damned if I let her keep trudging along without them.