Cover-Up. Ruth Langan
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a smile. “By the way, how’s your mom, Carrie?”
“Fine. Still working for the Osborns. She gives me a hand with Jenny on the weekends if I have to pull a double shift.” She walked away to wait on a customer. Minutes later she returned to continue the conversation as though there had been no interruption. “She keeps talking about retiring, but she just can’t do it yet.” She picked up the coffeepot and topped off his cup, then moved along the counter, filling others.
After ringing up several payments she returned. “You want something to eat?”
He shook his head. “I ate at the Harbor House. They make the best grilled salmon in the world.”
Carrie grinned. “You ought to try my grilled cheese. With bread-and-butter pickles. And for dessert, a hot fudge sundae with a sprinkling of peanuts.”
He grinned. “Nothing ever changes around Devil’s Cove.”
Carrie’s look grew thoughtful. She leaned closer. “I wish I’d had the courage to leave like you did, Jason.”
“You still can, Carrie.”
“No, I can’t. It’s too late for me.”
“It’s never too late.”
She huffed out a breath. “Now you sound like Mrs. B.”
“Do I?” He frowned. “I don’t know why that should surprise me. She colored every decision I’ve ever made. Even years after I left here, I could hear her voice in my head.”
“Is that why you came for the tribute?”
Before he could answer she excused herself to wait on another customer. Jason sat staring into his coffee and thinking about the question. He’d told himself a hundred times that he was coming here because of his old teacher who had made such a difference in his life. He owed it to her to be here. Hell, he owed her everything. She’d been his refuge from a nightmare life with a father who was a drunk and a bully, and a mother who was terrified to leave him. To spare his mother, Jason had often taken the beatings meant for her. And he had the scars to prove it.
His old teacher had been able to see through the wall of anger he’d built around himself. Anger that masked a bright mind and an iron will. Despite his bad-boy image, Mrs. Brennan had loaned him books, got him summer jobs and encouraged him when no one else did. When the opportunity to escape had been dropped into his lap, he’d gone to her for advice. She’d given it in a few terse words. “Take the gift you’re being offered. And hone your skills, boy.”
Hone your skills.
It had taken him a while to figure out what they were. He’d mended fences on a ranch in Texas, manicured fairways on a golf course in Arizona, bussed tables in L.A. And all the while he’d observed, and written copious notes in a journal. His first novel had been hailed as brilliant, his second riveting and his third had lifted him into the rarified stratosphere of superstar. His current book was considered by critics to be his best yet. Still, it was bound to make him a pariah in his hometown. He’d opened up old wounds by chronicling a string of murders that had happened right here.
He’d welcomed this opportunity to come back to Devil’s Cove and publicly thank the woman who had opened his mind to the possibilities. She’d been a refuge for a confused, angry boy. Without Mrs. B., there was no telling what choices he might have made. But there was another reason he was here. When he’d read the letter detailing the tribute planned for his old teacher, it was the name of the person chairing the committee that had leapt off the page.
Emily Brennan.
Emily was back in town. It might be his last chance, his only chance, to see her and try to make things right between them.
He had no idea how she would react. Or how he’d feel when he saw her again. He had, after all, left her without a word. And in the ten years since then, they’d had no contact.
A part of him hoped she had changed. Had become polished, sleek, sophisticated, maybe a little brittle, a little hard around the edges. It would be easier that way. He could go back to the life he’d made for himself without regrets. But in a small part of his mind he couldn’t help hoping that her sweetness, her kindness, her wonderful, simple optimism had remained. It had always been what had set Emily Brennan apart. Despite her family’s wealth and standing in the community, she’d seemed completely unaffected by it. There was a tenderheartedness about her, a way of accepting strays, both animal and human, that had always been so endearing to a boy whose life had been devoid of tenderness.
He had, quite simply, loved her. From the first time he’d seen her, seeking refuge in his hideaway, ignoring the scrapes on her knees to rescue a puppy, he’d fallen with a thud. By the time he’d left Devil’s Cove, he’d begun to believe that she loved him as well. But he’d learned that hearts, like people, change. He might be clever at mingling fact with fiction, but he was smart enough to know that it was impossible to revive something that was long dead.
And so he’d come back to Devil’s Cove to honor an old teacher and see an old love one last time. Then, he hoped, he could turn his back on the town of his childhood forever. This time, with no regrets.
Chapter 3
Emily fastened small diamond studs in her ears before stepping back to study her reflection in the mirror. Her dress was a long smooth column of emerald silk with a square neckline, long sleeves and a sweeping hemline that ended just above her ankles. It wasn’t the one she’d intended to wear tonight, but she’d decided at the last minute that the black silk with the lace jacket was too ordinary. After fussing with the decorations long after the rest of her committee had gone home, she’d realized that the last thing she wanted tonight was to appear ordinary. Since dazzling wasn’t her style, she had to settle for elegant.
Let Jason Cooper ignore her in this.
The thought had her going very still. Was that what this was about? Trying to get Jason to notice her?
She studied herself more carefully, then slowly shook her head. Not notice. Regret. She wanted him to regret having left her behind. Without a word. That’s what hurt the most.
She’d always known Jason would leave. Hadn’t they talked about it a hundred times? He’d always said he would leave as soon as he graduated and never look back. But always, when they’d talked of it, he’d promised to take her along. It wasn’t just his dream; it was theirs. And he’d robbed her of it.
Not robbed, exactly, she admitted. After all, her privileged lifestyle had allowed her to come and go at will, first attending the University of Michigan and later studying medicine at Georgetown. But until Jason’s first book had been published, amid a storm of publicity, she hadn’t known where he was, or even if he was alive or dead. That’s what had hurt the most. While she’d been worrying herself half sick, fearing the worst, he’d been traveling the country, having a grand old time, finding himself, writing books. But never writing to her. Not a letter. Not a postcard.
Some writer, she thought.
She picked up the small emerald beaded handbag and started down the stairs. With a wry smile she whispered, “I hope you eat your heart out, Jason Cooper.”
It was a perfect summer evening. The warm breeze off Lake Michigan was perfumed with the fragrance of roses that graced the gardens of Harbor House. Throngs of people lined the porch of the inn and spilled down the steps onto the sidewalk. The top of the porch had been strung with festive lanterns that winked and swayed.
Inside, people were lined up in front of a long table to present their tickets and collect their name tags before entering the ballroom. Emily was pleased to note that the welcome committee had added extra members to handle the crowd.
Libby Conway spotted her and hurried over, looking her up and down as she did. “Wow. You didn’t buy that in Devil’s Cove.”
Emily laughed. “New York. Last year when I was there for a medical convention.”
Libby