in the meantime he was going to find out more about the woman in Castaway Cottage.
“HAS THE MAN GONE?”
“He’s gone.” But his face was still in her head. Remembering the encounter, Emily felt heat rush through her body. “I’m sorry he woke you.”
“He didn’t.” Those pale green eyes were ringed by tiredness, and Juliet’s long hair fell in tangled curls of gold past narrow shoulders.
Emily looked for signs of tears, but there were none.
The girl seemed remote. Self-contained.
That was good, wasn’t it?
She tried to ignore the simmer of unease in her belly that told her it wasn’t good.
“Was the bed uncomfortable?” Emily had tucked the girl up in Brittany’s old room the night before, covered with the patchwork quilt.
“It was noisy.”
“That’s the sea. You can sleep in a different room tonight if you like.”
“Can I sleep with you?”
Emily swallowed. “Sure.”
The little girl stood, staring up at the shelf in the kitchen. “Why are there jewels in a jar?”
“It’s sea glass.” Emily reached and picked up the jar. “It washes up on the beach. Sometimes it gets trapped in the pebbles and rocks. Kathleen used to collect it. Every time she went to the beach she came back with her pockets stuffed. She liked the colors, the fact that each piece has its own story.” Relieved to have something to take her mind of Ryan Cooper, Emily handed Juliet the jar and watched as the girl turned it in her hands, studying each piece of glass closely, absorbed by color and shape.
“It’s like a rainbow in a bottle.”
“Kathleen kept it by the window so it caught the sunlight. She called it treasure.”
“Does she live here?”
“Not anymore. She died a few years ago.” Emily wondered if she should have used a different choice of words. Maybe she should have talked vaguely about heaven and stars in the sky. “She left this cottage to my friend, and sometimes, when one of us has a problem, we come here.”
“Do you have a problem?”
Looking down at the problem, Emily felt compassion mingle with panic.
She didn’t know anything about children, but she knew how it felt to have something you loved snatched from you. She knew how it felt to learn, at a far too young age, that life was cruel and unpredictable. That it could take as quickly as it gave, and with no warning.
“No. There’s no problem now that we’re here.”
“Was she your family?”
“Kathleen? No. She was my friend’s grandmother, but she was like a grandmother to me, too.” And then she remembered “grandmother” probably meant nothing to a child whose short life had been spent among people paid to care for her and keep her away from a prying world. “Sometimes the people who are closest to you aren’t the ones you’re related to.”
Let’s make a promise. When one of us is in trouble, the others help, no questions.
The little girl held the jar to her chest. “You’re my family.”
“That’s right.” Her stomach lurched. Panic rose like the sea at high tide, swamping the deep fissures created by a lifetime of insecurities. She didn’t want that responsibility. She’d never wanted it. “Why don’t we explore the house? It was dark when we arrived last night.”
Nestled in the curve of Shell Bay, Castaway Cottage had ocean views from all the front rooms. It was easy to see why Kathleen had never wanted to leave, despite the relative isolation and the long winters. She’d made sure that whatever the weather, there was warmth in the house. Wooden beams and hardwood floors formed a backdrop for furniture carefully chosen to reflect a nautical theme. A striped wingbacked chair, a textured rug, framed photos of the seabirds that nested around the rocky coast.
Still holding the jar, Juliet went straight to the window and clambered onto a chair. “Can we go to the beach?”
Emily felt a pressure in her chest.
Soon, she’d have to work out how she was going to handle that inevitable request, but she didn’t have the energy for it now. “We need to settle in first. I have to unload our cases and unpack.”
“I’m hungry.”
Emily, whose usual caffeine-infused breakfast came in the form of strong coffee, realized she hadn’t given any thought to feeding the girl. “I packed a few things in the car, but this afternoon we’re going to need to go to the harbor and pick up some food.”
Which presented her with another problem.
“I was thinking—” They walked back into the kitchen, and Emily opened cupboards, hunting for food that Brittany might have left on her last visit. “Juliet is a pretty name, but how would you feel about being called something else?”
“Juliet is from Shakespeare.”
“I know, but—” Everyone else knows, too. “Do you have another name? I’m Emily Jane.”
“I’m Juliet Elizabeth.”
“Elizabeth. How about Lizzy? That’s pretty.”
“Why do I need a different name? So the men with cameras don’t find me?”
Emily favored honesty and saw no reason to alter that approach in this instance. “Yes.” She opened a cupboard and pulled out a bowl in a pretty shade of cornflower blue. “That’s part of the reason. I don’t want people asking you questions. It will be like a game.”
“I used to play games with Mellie.”
“Mellie?”
“She cooks. Sometimes she looks after me when Paula is in the bedroom kissing her boyfriend.”
“P—what? Who is Paula?”
“She’s one of my nannies.”
One of them? Still, at least Lana had arranged child care, which was more than their mother ever had. “So Paula looked after you?”
“Yes. And sometimes we watched my mom on TV.” Lizzy was still holding the jar clutched against her chest. “Paula says people take pictures because she was famous and beautiful.”
“Yes, she was.”
People will pay money to see my face. You’ll never be as pretty as me, and that’s why people don’t love you.
She tried to wipe the memory from her mind. “No one will take pictures of you here. People are
