Chapter 5
She made her way back through to the train station parking lot, carefully crossing the tracks and disappearing into the woods like a child. Despite the time that had passed since her last foray through these trees, Gwen knew she could find the house with her eyes closed.
Set back some two hundred feet from the river on a small hill, the Mitchell home stood separate from the more modern developments that had sprung up since it was built at the turn of the century by Colin's great grandfather, a retired shipping captain.
It was a unique home with a four-story round turret that was part of the lower two floors, and extended beyond them like a lighthouse.
The front of the house faced the water, a wide veranda reaching toward the lustrous river below.
A winding driveway connected the house to the street, but this direct route through the forest was the path she had always taken with David.
Ducking under the branch of an oak tree, Gwen enjoyed the intimacy of her backwoods approach, feeling like a child crossing the backyards of her neighbors to visit an old friend.
Rowan Mitchell. She smiled at the name. Her husband's best friend, Rowan and David had been inseparable until life took them in different directions.
David became a musician, primarily working in New York City, then a composer of soundtracks for theater and film, while Rowan took over the business world.
The last Gwen knew, Rowan was the Chief Financial Officer for one of the largest publishing houses in the world, living and working somewhere in California.
He'd been David's best man at their wedding.
The house came into view, its pale green exterior shining in pleasant contrast to its darker green surroundings.
A large weeping willow graced the west side of the property, its branches waiting to shade the veranda between the house and its million-dollar view.
Stone steps extended from a lower lawn up to the house proper, edged with a grand-scale garden of rhododendrons and small round azaleas.
The flowers were new and lovely, showing an awareness of form that Gwen's artist's eye could appreciate. She struggled to reconcile the obvious talent of the gardener with the businesslike image she held of Rowan, and decided he must have hired someone to care for the property.
Gwen's feather-light touch graced the bold magenta of the rhododendron as she swayed up the steps, their fruity scent reaching her nostrils in abundance. She inhaled deeply into her lungs, releasing the disappointment of the day, and worked to open her mind to new possibilities.
A movement in the distant yard caught his eye and he squinted, trying to make out whomever had wandered onto his property.
It wasn't unheard of for an interloper to appear, with the house so close to the train station and the Chapel Restoration.
Rowan had several times suggested their grandmother fence in the land, but she had refused, saying she would miss the deer and other wildlife making their way to the river.
It was a woman, blond with a bright orange dress. She moved with a casual grace that was vaguely familiar, heading directly for the stairs that rose to the lawn and veranda.
Colin turned off the tap and leaned toward the window.
Gwen.
The word was a breathless wish, an aching curse. His heart lurched, even as reason slammed down on his thoughts with a heavy foot. He turned away from the window and spun in a circle.
He lifted his head to the window again, expecting not to see whatever had reminded him of Gwen and froze, his mouth falling open. She stopped to smell a bright purple blossom next to the stone staircase, her eyes closing and a smile spreading across her lips.
His body clenched, blood pumping. He knew her like he knew his own reflection.
Had seen her countless times in dreams, in waking awareness so keen he would swear she must be feeling it right then, too.
Colin never had a psychic feeling about anything else in his whole entire life, but everything about Gwen transcended his ordinary experience.
Sweat broke out on his hands as he clenched and opened them. He walked to the door and stepped outside just as she stepped onto the veranda, their eyes meeting across the small space.
“Gwen,” he said, his voice husky and bare. He lifted his arms ever so slightly, opening to her in invitation, watching her face as she wavered before closing the distance and settling against his chest.
He was on fire, her unique scent encompassing him as he held her. A long curly lock of her hair stuck to the stubble on his cheek.
“I've missed you,” she whispered, and his heart swelled. She had come to him. After so much time, so many rebuffs, Gwen Trueblood was finally where she belonged.
Gwen reveled in the feel of his muscled torso against her softness, the strength of his solid arm holding her to him.
Lust came quickly, and she daringly welcomed it like a hand trailing behind a boat in the ocean.
Deliberately she leaned into him, her hand trailing up his bicep to rest at the base of his neck, grazing the bare skin there with the lightest of touches.
She knew she stood at the threshold of something she could not rescind.
Colin had always been her downfall, her temptation, her weakness.
His spirit was as familiar to her as the scent of her own home, and she rejoiced in seeing him again, even knowing as she did so that it was like playing with a deadly snake.
You could only do so for so long before it would strike you.
They stood in the summer sunshine in this place of her youth, their bodies gently swaying.
Gwen heard the low moan of attraction deep in his throat, and battled the urge to return it.
It would be so easy to turn in his arms and bring her mouth to his.
With more strength than she knew she possessed, she lifted her head and smiled at him casually.
“Hello, Colin.”
His voice was intimate and deep. “Hey there.”
She lowered her arms and stepped back. “You weren't supposed to be here.”
“What do you mean?”
“I heard you were living in Italy, married with a young son.”
“Rowan's living in Italy, married with a young son.”
She smiled wide, showing her teeth. “Ah. But not you.”
“Nope. I'm right here. Same place I've been since the last time you saw me.”
The words strummed through her head like a chord, and she caught herself. She wasn't interested in Colin. It was just exciting to feel something—anything—for a man.
He reached down and took her hand in his, leading her to a seating area. “I wondered if I would see you again.”
“Yes,” she said, sitting down on a wrought iron loveseat with a plush yellow cushion. “I wondered that, too.”
“How've you been?”
“Good. Still in Vermont. Still in the same house.” Of course, Colin hadn't been there. He'd been absent from their lives since the day the two of them had stood in this very spot, nearly touching in the warm evening's breeze.
If Rowan hadn't come along...
She stopped her thoughts from going down that path yet again.
She focused instead on memories of Rowan, such a good friend to her David through the years.
He had stayed in touch when they moved to Vermont, visited them every fall before David died.
He hadn't left her side at the funeral, when she had so desperately needed his strength.
David's father had passed away when he was in middle school.
There was no other family, and Rowan had asked his grandmother if his best friend might have a home with them.
The way David told it, Dottie Mitchell never even considered saying no.
Rowan and David's friendship had grown to include the younger Colin, and the three became close as family.
Until I came along.
She thought she had let go of the guilt, but sitting here with the man who had paid the biggest price for her transgression, she was acutely aware she had not.
She met his eyes, seeing myriad emotions reflected in their golden brown depths. “I'm sorry, Colin.”
“What for?”
“Everything. That you and David weren't close in the years before his death.”
He stared at her for some time without speaking, then nodded. “That wasn't your fault. I did miss him though. I missed you both.”
“It was David I came to talk to you about.” She tucked a wayward curl behind her ear, words rushing to her mouth before she considered their import.
“Why didn't you come to the funeral?” It wasn’t what she’d planned to say.
She had no intention of broaching the subject, but there it was, begging for her attention. “It hurt me, Colin. It hurt Rowan.”
He stood up, shoving his hands in his pockets and turning away from her. He stared at the horizon for minutes without answering.
Gwen leaned back into her seat and let her eyes fall to the river. So many things hung between her and Colin. So many words unsaid, so many thoughts unspoken.
David, forgive me for coming here. She opened her eyes, shaking her head at her own ridiculous thoughts.
“Do you want a glass of wine?” he asked, ignoring her question.
She nodded and watched as he went inside. From the warm glow of the kitchen window, she watched him remove the cork with punishing movements, the muscles of his forearm standing out against his skin.
Mercy, that man is sexy.
He walked back outside and handed her a glass of something dark and spicy.
“I was at David's funeral.”
She tilted her head and eyed him curiously.
“I was there, Gwen. He’s buried in the garden at your home, with the little black gate around it.”
She couldn’t have been more shocked. “Why didn't I see you?”
“I hung back.”
“Why?”
His mouth remained closed, his lips pursed, then relaxed. “I didn’t think you’d want to see me. Besides, I was there on official business.”
A stillness overtook them both as they stared into each other's eyes.
“Then it's true. David was in witness protection.”
He nodded. “How did you find out?”
“I was told by a friend,” she said, her tone implying he wasn't much of one for keeping it from her. “He was concerned that David's death might not have been accidental. I came here to find out what you know about David's past, if anyone might have wanted to hurt him.”
“I've sworn an oath, Gwen. One that I take very seriously.”
“I need the truth, Colin.” She walked toward him, her eyes pleading. “You're the only one who can tell me what I need to know.”
He cursed under his breath. “It's not that easy, Gwen.”
“Don't make me beg.” She stepped closer to him. “You're going to tell me. I can see it on your face, I can see it in the way you're holding yourself,” she said, her eyes roaming the length of him. She was angry that he was toying with her, keeping the information she so desperately wanted to know.
He grabbed her wrist and met her stare, his eyes mirroring her anger. “You can feel it, Gwen. Just say it. You know I'm going to tell you because you can feel it in your bones, just like you've been able to feel me since that day on the train.”
In her mind she was in the train car, the seat swaying beneath her semi-sleeping form as she reveled in the fantasy of making love to this man. Embarrassment and lust mingled, flushing her cheeks with heat.
Not a fantasy at all.
“Stop,” she whispered.
His stare dropped to her lips. “No,” he said firmly.
“Not this time, Gwen.” He dropped his head and took her mouth in a kiss of determined pleasure.
The intensity of it wiped rational thought from her brain, leaving only her animal self to respond to his lips on hers, his body pressed against her in a crushing embrace.