Solace Island Read online

  “Why, you self-satisfied, pompous peacock,” Maggie said, shaking her head. She couldn’t believe the nerve of this guy. “Yes, I am feeling a little emotional, but not because I’m going to miss you. Was it painful? Yes, but I’m glad my blinders were ripped off. I am angry I had such terrible judgment and didn’t see through you. I am pissed off that I let you talk me into plowing my entire inheritance from Great-aunt Clare into the start-up costs for this company. Our company. It’s amazing to me that I never noticed the timing between her death and our engagement.” Maggie had thrown that last comment in, hoping that she was wrong. That there had been something genuine in their relationship and that it hadn’t been all about money. Maybe Brett had truly wanted to marry her, and the timing of her inheritance and his sudden desire to get engaged and start their own company was a coincidence. But she could see from the expression on his face that it wasn’t.

  Maggie had thought she was fine. Now that the blinders had been ripped from her eyes, any kind of emotional tie would no longer have its talons sunk into her. But the knowledge that she had been played all those years was like a fist to the gut. “Did you ever love me?” she heard herself whisper.

  Damn. She hadn’t meant to say it out loud. That was a mistake. She knew it instantly. She could see Brett’s mind ticking over her question, figuring out how to use her vulnerability to his advantage. She’d seen him do it many times when they were negotiating contracts for the company.

  “Won’t work, Brett,” she said before he could open his mouth. “Don’t even bother.”

  He shrugged, giving her that boyish smile that used to make her go weak at the knees. “Maggie, come here. You look like you need a hug.”

  “Over my dead body,” she said as she took a step back and crossed her arms. “Back to business. The seed money was mine. You didn’t put a red cent into the start-up.”

  “I didn’t have—” Brett started to say.

  “I don’t want to hear your sob story, and neither do the courts. I’ve put my money and my sweat, blood, and tears into this company. Count your blessings I’m only asking for what we wrote down in the original contract. And yes, I still have it.”

  Brett’s fingers were tapping a staccato rhythm on his desk. He always did that when he was irritated.

  Maggie didn’t care.

  He leaned back in his chair, swiveled right and then left, eyes on her. “We have no idea what the current market value would be.”

  “No worries.” Maggie reached into her purse and pulled out a file. “I had ten whole days to cost it out while you and Kristal were frolicking in the sun.” She slapped the file on the desk and slid it over to him.

  “Forget it,” Brett said, crossing his arms, shaking his head. “Not going to happen.”

  Maggie shrugged. “Either you buy me out, or I’ll talk to Pondstone Inc. They were sniffing around last year, and I’m sure they would love to own my controlling shares. Though I can’t promise they won’t decide you’re useless and toss you out on your highly toned ass. That would be their call.” She arranged her features into a polite, civilized veneer and then straightened up to her full height. “Are we clear?”

  No answer.

  “Good.” Maggie dusted off her hands. “I’ll give you a couple days to mull it over. If you decide to move forward with the purchase of my shares, two weeks should be sufficient time to arrange a loan from the bank.”

  “Two weeks,” Brett choked out.

  “Yup,” Maggie said over her shoulder as she headed toward the door. “Better get cracking.” Her hand closed over the brass doorknob. It was odd to think that after all these years, she would never walk through these offices again. “Oh, wait.” She turned and went back to the desk. “I’m taking this,” she said, scooping up the sculpture and shoving it into her purse. “A souvenir.”

  Then she left with her head high. Too bad Mom and Dad couldn’t have seen me in action, she thought. They would’ve been so proud.

  Four

  SUPPORTING HER WEIGHT against the boat’s rail, Maggie tilted her head back and shut her eyes, enjoying the late-afternoon sun. She could feel the thrum of the ferry’s engine vibrating through the deck below her feet. The breeze off the Pacific Ocean was brisk, stinging her cheeks and making her snuggle deeper into her sweater. She was grateful for her hat. It was cold almost to the point of discomfort, but still she didn’t go in. Yes, the passenger lounge, with its thick, salt-splashed windows, was heated. But too many people were in there, families and couples laughing and living life, huddled next to the old radiators.

  She took a deep breath, filling her body to the very brim, then exhaled and opened her eyes. It was better out here. The view from the top deck was glorious. The deep, green-gray water rushing past the bow of the boat, leaving a frill of white in its wake; the birds spiraling higher and higher, then swooping down again; the purple-blue, shadowy shapes of islands beyond islands; and the sun partway through its downward arc toward the horizon.

  “I’m glad I left,” she said out loud, tossing the words onto the wind. Trying to rally the confidence with which she had stormed out of Brett’s office yesterday afternoon, but her throat suddenly felt constricted. “That spoiled trust-fund rich bitch Kristal can have him. Good riddance to bad rubbish, I say, because I really don’t care.” And then, inexplicably, her eyes filled with tears and overflowed. It must have been the cold wind, or the sun sparkling too brightly off the water—whatever it was, it was too much to bear. And she had to sit down and give way to the overwhelming sensation, sobs coming hard and fast, ripping through her body.

  Five

  LUKE BENSON SLID the last batch of bread dough into the retarder-proofer to rise overnight. Some bakers swore that one should proof dough for one and a half to two hours, but Luke preferred the flavor and consistency that occurred with a long, slow rise.

  He straightened and rolled his shoulders to release the slight tension that had accumulated there. He glanced out the window. The trail along the bay beckoned. The sun had already disappeared behind the mountainous peak of the neighboring island. Streaks of orange and gold with traces of purple slashed across the sky. He was grateful for the lengthening days that March had brought. It would be forty-five minutes to an hour before darkness descended on his Pacific Northwest paradise, and he felt restless. Years of intense physical training will do that, he thought. Like a damn gerbil in need of a wheel, my body’s desperately craving some kind of physical release.

  Since he’d sworn off women after his last train wreck of a relationship detonated in his face a year and a half ago, a hard run would have to suffice.

  He grabbed his sweater, slipped it over his head, and exited through the back door. His wolfhound, Samson, was close on his heels.

  Rather than go down to the beach, Luke turned right out of the door and took the path that ran along the bluff. It would make for a smoother run. Especially given the dimming light.

  He did a couple of stretches, then started at a slow jog, gradually building speed. The old injury in his leg complained violently, but as usual, he ignored it. He knew from experience that it was better to move than to not. For the first five minutes, there was always resistance. It would give way to the pleasure of the run, and he would enjoy the feeling of his lungs expanding. He picked up the pace, the sound of his sneakers making contact with the packed dirt of the trail accelerating, air rushing past him. He could feel his heart pounding, blood surging through his body, his arms and legs slicing through space. Samson galloped ahead, both on and off the trail, coming back to check in and then disappearing again, following some scent or another.

  Sometimes they would arrive back at the cottage together. Other times they’d go their separate ways, and Samson would arrive at the door much later, muddy, happy, and uninterested in dinner.

  Darkness was starting to settle around Luke, but his body had fallen into a familiar rhythm now, a
nd he was reluctant to turn back. So he kept running. And as he did, his mind drifted past thoughts of the physical exertion to the ferry ride home that afternoon and the woman weeping on the outside upper deck. He didn’t know her. She must have been one of the multitude of tourists that descended on the island.

  It was odd that he’d had the urge to go to her, offer comfort.

  He hadn’t. That would have been weird. Clearly, she had gone up there to be by herself.

  He’d stayed in his truck. Trying to fix the world was not part of his job description anymore. It was a waste of time. Most things were unfixable. He had sat there on his worn leather seat, Samson beside him, the dog’s large body sprawled across the width of the front seat, his shoulders and shaggy gray head warm and heavy on Luke’s lap.

  Luke stumbled over an exposed tree root and lurched forward, causing crippling pain to shoot through his left quadriceps. He managed to catch his balance.

  He shook his head. Tripping was unlike him. Usually he was hyperaware of his surroundings. That was the problem with regrets and the past. If one dwelled on them, they could devour the present. A waste of time. Let it go. Be in the present.

  Again, Luke was back in his body, aware of his breath and his limbs moving. Thankfully, the strain and burn from the old wound, where the bullet had entered his left thigh and exited again, was easing. This allowed him to focus again on the thump of his sneakers pounding on the path.

  But within a few minutes, his mind had veered back to the same woman. I should have gone and offered help, he thought. Solace. No one should have to weep with that intensity alone.

  By the time he reached the Point, it was difficult to see. Night had fallen. Fog was rolling in, turning the trees and the Olympic mountain range beyond the bay into blurry charcoal ghosts, silhouettes against the sky. Luke glanced up. Soon, even the moon and stars would be obliterated.

  Although he was still heated from running, he could tell that the temperature had dropped considerably. His breath was turning into puffs of condensation as it left his mouth.

  “Think we’d best take the road back,” he said to Samson. “No cliff to accidentally plummet off.”

  * * *

  • • •

  IT HAD SEEMED like a good idea to stop in the little town and pick up a few supplies. Then, once Maggie arrived at the rental cottage, Rosemary & Time, she could tuck in and wouldn’t have to venture out until after Eve arrived in the morning.

  Eve loved vacationing along the Washington Coast. Adored Solace Island and had stayed at Rosemary & Time many times. “It’s magical, Maggs. Just what you need to soothe your aching heart and soul.”

  Which Maggie had thought was overpoeticizing the situation. “I’m not sad, Eve,” she had said. “There is no aching going on. I’m angry. There is an enormous difference.”

  “Ah . . .” Eve had said.

  Like her big sister knew better. Which made Maggie angrier.

  However, after her embarrassing meltdown on the ferry, she had to admit that perhaps her sister was right.

  It was interesting, actually, because the minute Maggie had driven her car off the ferry and onto the road that led away from the small town of Westford and Westford Harbor, she’d felt something lighten in her chest. The lightness grew as she followed the winding road past craggy mountains, lush valleys, and thick wooded areas.

  When she had arrived in the small, picturesque town of Comfort and purchased groceries, she found she was reluctant to leave. The idea of being in an empty, unfamiliar cottage, alone with her thoughts, was more than a little daunting.

  One thing had led to another. She enjoyed a delicious organic latte at Solace Given, which was full of warmth and baked goods and chatter. She nursed her drink for as long as she could, savoring the warmth of the mug in her hand, the creamy, spicy goodness as it trickled down her throat, warming her inside and out. When she had drunk the last drop, she went out onto the street and wandered through cute little shops full of whimsy and handcrafted goods.

  In hindsight, Maggie realized there’d been flaws in her hanging-out-in-town plan. Who knew it would get so dark while she ambled up and down the aisles, plopping groceries into her cart? Now she was careening down a bumpy dirt road, praying she wouldn’t get a flat tire or end up in a ditch.

  She was out in the middle of nowhere alone.

  She hadn’t thought to purchase a flashlight or matches and emergency candles. She wished she had. It was kind of spooky. She hadn’t realized just how dense, dark, and looming the forest was. Eve was nuts, vacationing out here. They could die or be carried off by a bear, and it would be years before anyone found their bleached bones.

  If only she had located the cottage in daylight, then she wouldn’t have had to deal with not knowing where she was going. Her night vision had never been the best, but out here in the boondocks, it seemed to be practically nonexistent.

  Apparently, the good folks of Solace Island didn’t believe in the modern magic of streetlights. Sure, the main town of Comfort had a couple scattered around, but out here? Zilch.

  Maggie had also never realized quite how dark the night could get. It certainly never got this pitch-black in Phoenix, and the stupid thick fog that had rolled in only exacerbated her vision challenges.

  Thank heaven for GPS.

  She glanced down at the dashboard of her rental car, and her heart sank.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” she muttered.

  Yes, the GPS screen was still lit up, but between the last time she had glanced at it and now, it had stopped functioning. It showed a lazy blue arrow sailing in the middle of nothingness. There was the outline of where the land ended. Apparently, the ocean was somewhere to her left, but there were no roads showing up on the GPS. No markings. Nothing.

  “Seriously?”

  Really, it was ridiculous for her to feel so surprised. The way things had been unfolding for her in the last few weeks, of course her GPS would malfunction right when she needed it most.

  “GPS . . . fiancé . . . what’s next?”

  She blew out a puff of air. Tried to make her hands not grip the steering wheel so hard.

  “No big deal,” she said. “I just need to find a place to turn off. I can plug the address into my cell phone. Problem solved.”

  She drove farther.

  There was no turnoff.

  “No worries,” she said, sounding extra loud and overly cheerful, even to herself. But she had to do something to counterbalance the slight panic that was beginning to bubble up within her. “Ho hum . . . a little fog. It’s dark, and you don’t know where you’re going. So what? What do you care that there are thick woods all around you and maybe bears and mountain lions? Hungry mountain lions . . .” This sort of talk was not helping.

  “Stop . . . right . . . now,” she told herself firmly. “You’re a grown woman of twenty-seven, not a frightened five-year-old. So you don’t know where you’re going, and there’s a slight glitch with the GPS. So what? You could have been in a crash. Your car could have caught on fire. There are a million things worse than this minuscule problem.”

  The fog shifted, and for a second Maggie could make out a driveway up ahead on the left before it was swallowed by the mist again, but she had seen it. It was there: a place to pull over. Slowly, she drove forward, trying to peer through the darkness and fog, her body hunched over the steering wheel. Ah! There it was! She eased her rental car into the driveway and turned the engine off and her emergency lights on. She got her cell phone out of her purse and hit the power switch.

  The signal-strength bars were nonexistent; however, the phone was searching.

  “Come on,” she said, giving the phone an encouraging jiggle.

  The jiggle seemed to help. The “searching” disappeared. Unfortunately, the tiny, depressing words “no service” arrived in its stead.

  She s
at there for a few moments while the reality of her circumstances set in. She ran several scenarios through her head. She shouldn’t continue on in the same direction. The fog made driving conditions dangerous and house numbers hard to read, and she wasn’t sure she was still headed in the right direction. Walking would be a mistake, as visibility was an issue. She might get hit by a car. Then there was the small matter of wildlife roaming about, looking for dinner.

  Maggie quickly realized that her best option was to stay put. She would wait for the fog to lift, and then she could be on her way.

  She didn’t know how long she’d be stranded. However, she had seen a wilderness survival show on TV once. The host had stressed that if one found oneself stranded out in the wild, one must find a way to maintain one’s body heat. Otherwise, hypothermia could set in. The handsome host, with gleaming white teeth, had shown how to make a bed of leaves and branches. Ha! Maggie could do better than that. Granted, it was a bit chilly, but there was no need for her to roll around in dead leaves and muck. She had a trunk full of resources!

  She got out, opened her trunk, and rummaged around in her suitcase until her hands landed on a few items that seemed to have a little bulk and warmth. She grabbed them and walked speedily—okay, she ran—back and hopped into her car, slamming the door behind her. She locked the doors. Yes, there didn’t appear to be any signs of a living being for miles, but one couldn’t be too prudent.

  Then she carefully wound the articles of clothing around and around her, paying special attention to her head. She had once heard that a lot of heat escaped through the top of one’s head.

  Yes, it was a little scary being stranded in the wilderness, but Maggie felt good, too. Like an adventurer. A problem solver. A woman in control.

  Six

  “GREAT,” LUKE GROWLED, glaring at the abandoned car blocking his driveway, its red emergency lights flashing. “There’s a perfectly good turnout twenty yards down the road, but this idiot decides to abandon his car here.”