We’ll see.”
He caught a trace of resentment in her tone as she dropped his hand and took a step away from him. She probably thought he was being unfair. Maybe so.
But the bottom line was that he had trouble enough living a necessary lie as it was. If he had to contend with this memorial—
He wouldn’t. Which meant that Tory Marlowe, with her determined air and her lonely eyes, had to go back where she belonged.
He hadn’t recognized her. Once both men were gone, Tory sank down in the nearest pew, hands clutching the smooth seat on either side of her. Adam Caldwell hadn’t recognized her.
Well, of course not, some rational part of her commented. It was fifteen years ago, after all.
She’d seen a brief flicker of vague query in Adam’s face when he’d looked at her. He’d asked if they’d met. Her response had been out of her mouth before she’d considered, but it had been the right one. If he didn’t remember, she wouldn’t remind him of that night.
It was silly for her to look back, sillier yet that Adam Caldwell sometimes drifted through her dreams like a Prince Charming she’d encountered once and lost.
She stared across the curving rows of empty pews, then focused on the window in front of her. In an example of stained-glass artistry that made her catch her breath, Jesus walked on the water of a glass sea, holding out His hand to a sinking Peter. Her gaze lingered on the gray-and-green glass waves.
Real waves had been slapping against the dock the night she’d pushed open the yacht club door—a fifteen-year-old visitor on her way to a dance, knowing nothing of the Caldwells for whom the island was named. One of her stepfather’s golfing buddies had thrown out a casual invitation, probably because he’d wanted to make a favorable impression on a wealthy visitor.
She’d stood for a moment, watching couples move on the polished floor and be reflected in the wide windows that overlooked the water. The strains of music flowed over her, and her hands clenched nervously. She was an outsider, as usual.
Then someone tapped her lightly on the shoulder. She turned, heart thumping, to find a tall stranger holding out his hand.
“Dance?”
She looked into sea-green eyes in a boyishly handsome face. He smiled, and her heart turned over. Holding her breath, afraid to break the spell, she took his hand and followed him onto the dance floor. When his arms went around her, she felt as if she’d been waiting all her life for that moment.
They’d danced; they’d talked. They’d gone onto the veranda and watched the moonlight on the water. Adam had plucked a white rose from a table arrangement and tucked it in her hair, calling her Cinderella, because she was the one unknown at the dance. It had been a fairy tale come true.
Right up until the moment she’d called to ask permission to stay later. She’d heard her mother weeping, her stepfather shouting. She’d raced out, hoping to get to them in time to avoid the inevitable. She hadn’t.
She leaned back in the pew, staring dry-eyed at the window. That night had cut her past in two as cleanly as any knife, but she didn’t cry about it any longer.
Probably she remembered Adam because she’d met him that particular night. She didn’t believe in love at first sight or fairy-tale endings—they were for dreamy adolescents. Life had taught her that love, any kind of love, inevitably came with strings attached.
Adam didn’t remember her, and that was for the best. If he had, it could only have led to an awkward conversation.
Of course, we danced together one night, didn’t we? Whatever happened to you?
No, she certainly didn’t want to have that conversation with an Adam Caldwell who was considerably more imposing than the seventeen-year-old he’d been then. Imposing, that was definitely the word. She glanced at the spot where he’d stood, frowning at her as if he didn’t believe a word she was saying.
The friendly voice she remembered had deepened to an authoritative baritone, and Adam’s hair had darkened to chestnut brown. He seemed broader, stronger. Life had given more wariness to his open face, added a few lines around his ocean-colored eyes.
But he still had that comfortable-in-his-own-skin air that said he was sure of himself and his place in the world. He was a Caldwell of Caldwell Island. And he still had that honeyed drawl that could send shivers down a woman’s spine.
Maybe she’d better concentrate on the reasons she’d come back after all these years. With this commission, her fledgling stained-glass business was on its way. She’d never have to work for someone else or let another take credit for what she’d done.
For an instant her former fiancé intruded into her thoughts, and she pushed him away. Her engagement to her boss had confirmed a lesson she should have learned a long time ago—love always came with strings attached. Jason Lockwood had shown her clearly that he’d only love her if she did what he wanted.
Forget Jason. Forget everything except the reason you’ve come here. This memorial was her chance, and she wouldn’t let it slip away because Adam Caldwell was, for some inexplicable reason, opposed to it.
More important, being here would let her fulfill the promise she’d made last year when her mother was dying. She’d finally erase the shadow Caldwell Island had cast over both their lives for too long. She wouldn’t fail.
She focused on the image of Jesus’ face in the window, the silence in the old church pressing on her. Fredrick Bauer, her teacher, had always said a person couldn’t work constantly in sanctuaries without being aware of the presence of God. Somehow she’d never been able to move past an adversarial relationship with the One Fredrick had insisted loved her.
Still, she knew God’s hand was at work in bringing her here. Why else would she have found Mrs. Telforth’s ad when she’d needed a reason to be here? Why else would her talents have been just what Mrs. Telforth needed?
You brought me here. If this is Your will, You’ll have to give me a hand with Adam Caldwell. I don’t know why, but I know he’ll stop me if he can.
Tory was ready to take on Adam Caldwell again. She looked over the items she’d spread across the round oak table in the Dolphin Inn’s small sitting room that evening. Her credentials, photos of windows she’d designed, the four-page spread in Glass Today magazine featuring a project she’d worked on.
Miranda Caldwell, who’d been working at the desk when Tory checked in, had insisted she use the sitting room for this meeting with Adam. The Caldwells who owned the island’s only inn turned out to be Adam’s aunt and uncle, making Miranda his cousin. The sweet-faced woman had been only too happy to talk about Adam.
He and Lila were so happy—her death devastated him.
Was that the reason for Adam’s reluctance about the memorial window? Did he find his memories too painful? She paced restlessly across the room, stopping at the window to brush aside lace curtains and stare at boats rocking against a dock. Across the inland waterway, lights glowed on the mainland.
Adam’s a real sweetheart, Miranda had said. Everyone’s friend, the person the whole community relies on. And the family peacemaker, as well.
Tory didn’t have much experience
