Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Marnie loved the little house on the river.
It was exactly what she needed—seclusion and privacy and a little bit of a fairy tale.
The stone cottage was nestled behind a bank of trees, invisible from the road.
In fact, she’d missed her turn into the narrow drive on more than one occasion, the entrance hidden by overgrown willows that brushed the roof of her van as she passed beneath them.
The stone was dark gray, weathered by decades of mountain winters, and black shutters flanked the windows.
The sidewalk was graveled and snaked to the little front porch where a pair of rocking chairs sat waiting for someone to fill them.
Inside, the house was furnished simply—just as Blaze had told her it would be—and she’d been able to find plain white cotton sheets at the mercantile and a set of towels in the same color.
Everything was simple and comfortable, exactly as she preferred.
She’d turned the second bedroom into a small office where she could edit photos and handle the business side of things.
But the master bedroom was her favorite.
The walls were painted a smoky gray and trimmed in white.
The bed dominated the room—ornately carved posts thick as tree trunks—and the bedspread was a waterfall of gray shades that matched the walls.
But the centerpiece of the room was the large picture window that looked out over the river.
There was a window seat with stuffed cushions and pillows, perfect for relaxing with a good book.
She especially loved it first thing in the morning, when the fog crept over the water and through the trees like smoky fingers reaching for something just out of grasp.
She was an early riser, but this morning she stayed in bed a little longer, watching the show until the sun’s rays shone through the window and prodded her to get up.
The wood floors were cold, so she put on the slippers she’d left by the side of the bed and bundled up in her robe to go start the coffee maker.
Part of Marnie wished she could avoid Beckett forever.
Life had taught her some hard lessons. The most important being that the only person she could ever truly trust was herself. The second being that everyone had an agenda—something they wanted from you, whether they admitted it or not.
Her father had kept her around as a punching bag, and every once in a while he’d ask her a question like she was his own personal crystal ball.
But she’d rarely been able to give him the answers he sought, and the beatings that followed had taught her to keep her visions to herself.
Clive had wanted to possess every part of her.
To own her. And he had. She’d let him because there had always been that fear lurking in the back of her mind—the fear that if she did the wrong thing or displeased him, he’d turn into a version of her father.
She didn’t know what Beckett wanted from her yet, other than the obvious. Back before she’d left, Beckett had been as young and na?ve as she was. But he was a man now, and she wondered what his ultimate goal was where she was concerned.
The other part of her—the less cautious part—longed to see him.
The visions had led her back to Laurel Valley, but they hadn’t shown her future clearly.
Only that she was where she belonged. She knew their paths would cross again.
It was inevitable. But it would be on her terms. She wasn’t willing to give any part of herself away again.
She’d already given too much, and there wasn’t much left to give.
Her focus was going to be her business and making a life for herself in this little house by the river. Maybe once she was feeling more comfortable, she’d socialize outside the O’Hara circle. But for now, she was content with her own company.
She stood at the kitchen window, drinking her coffee and letting her mind wander, when she heard the crunch of tires coming up the drive. A white Jeep she didn’t recognize skidded to a halt, and she recognized the woman who hopped out and slammed the door.
Hazel Trout.
Marnie set down her coffee cup and stepped out onto the front porch before Hazel could come inside. She seemed like the kind of person who would enter without an invitation.
“You have some nerve!” Hazel said as she marched up the sidewalk and onto the porch steps. “How dare you think you can horn in on my man. He’s mine! Do you hear me?”
Marnie stared at her for several seconds, long enough to have Hazel shifting from foot to foot as she waited for the argument to escalate.
“I hear you,” Marnie said calmly, “But interestingly enough, I don’t know you. Maybe you’d like to introduce yourself before you start yelling at me on my own property.”
“Don’t act all high and mighty with me. My brother told me you were nothing but common trash. As for my name, it’s soon to be Hazel Hamilton.”
“Ah, yes. I recognize the voice from your little episode in town the other day.” Marnie leaned against the porch railing, deliberately casual.
“And I suppose your brother is right. I grew up about as poor as anyone could. But at least I had manners. Is that all you came to say? I’ve got to get ready for work. ”
Hazel’s eyes narrowed at the dismissal and her face turned red, like a child throwing a tantrum. Marnie realized that’s exactly what she was—a spoiled brat who’d never been told no.
“You were all anyone could talk about last night down at Duffey’s. How your daddy beat up Beckett back when you were kids because you two got caught together.”
“Is that what they say?” Marnie asked, her brow raised in mild curiosity.
“Well, I’m here to tell you to think twice about rekindling old flames. They were also saying he was sniffing around you yesterday afternoon and you were ready to throw yourself at him right there on Main Street.”
“Must be an interesting crowd you run with. So full of information.” Marnie straightened and moved toward the door.
“Like I said, I’ve got to get ready for work, and I’m not in the mood for tantrums. Actually, if you’ll hold on a second, I’d love to get my camera.
I make my living snapping interesting pictures of faces. I’d call yours ‘Petulance.’”
Hazel let out a shriek and her fists bunched at her sides. “You think you’re so clever!”
“You’re starting to repeat yourself and I’m bored. Go home to your mother and grow up.”
Hazel took several steps forward and Marnie straightened to her full height. “Don’t take another step. You’re on my property and I won’t hesitate to have you thrown behind bars.”
“I bet the sheriff would love to hear your side of things,” Hazel spat.
“I’m sure he would. His mother practically raised me, so I imagine he’d be very interested in pressing charges for trespassing and harassment.” Marnie tilted her head, studying Hazel the way she might study a particularly interesting insect.
Hazel stamped her foot and fisted her hands on her hips. “I’m going to make you wish you never stepped foot back in Laurel Valley.”
“Little girl, I grew up under the fist of Harley Whitlock. If you think your tantrums scare me, you’ve got another thing coming.
” Marnie’s voice was quiet but steady, carrying the weight of everything she’d survived.
“Go lick your wounds in private and stop making a fool of yourself. Maybe find someone who’s actually interested in what you’re offering. ”
Hazel turned sharply on her heel and stomped back to her Jeep, slamming the door and revving the engine before she sped away in a spray of gravel.
Marnie watched the dust settle, then let the screen door close softly behind her as she went back inside. She picked up her coffee cup, but it had gone cold.
“Yet another reason to stay away from Beckett Hamilton,” she muttered, pouring the coffee down the drain and starting a fresh pot. He was nothing but trouble.
But even as she said it, she knew it wasn’t true. Beckett wasn’t trouble. He was the opposite of trouble—steady and reliable and good in a way that made her chest ache.
The trouble was her. The trouble was always her.
She’d brought chaos and violence into his life once before, and she wasn’t about to do it again. No matter how much the visions insisted their paths were meant to cross.
Some things weren’t worth the risk. Some people weren’t worth the pain.
She’d learned that lesson the hard way.
The coffee maker beeped and she poured herself a fresh cup, then stood at the window watching the river flow past. Somewhere out there, Hazel Trout was probably already spreading new rumors. And somewhere else, Beckett was probably already planning his next attempt to get her to say yes to dinner.
She should be annoyed by his persistence.
Instead, she found herself smiling.
Just a little.