Was she separated? Divorced? Widowed?
Why do you give a damn, Dane? You’re here to hide and lick your wounds, remember?
She stuck her head around the doorjamb. “Dane?”
Ignoring her familiar use of his name, he crossed the kitchen and entered a small neat office with a beat-up desk, two metal filing cabinets and a window viewing the circular driveway. Posters of her cabins and the main house, along with maps of the village of Burnt Bend and Firewood Island, decorated one wall. His gaze fell to a photo on her desk of a barrel-chested man in a fisherman’s hat, laughing at the camera, bear paw hand resting on the shoulder of a tow-haired preschooler. Husband and son?
Behind the desk, Kat O’Brien smiled. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
“Should I?” And then, because he’d grown up on the island, he added, “Did we go to school together?”
“I’m Lee Tait’s sister. You used to come to my mother’s house when you were in high school.”
Dane studied the woman across the desk, his memories scrambling back and back. And then it hit. Except…this woman couldn’t be the dark-eyed sprite once nagging her sister to be included in their group. Could she? “You’re…Kaitlin?”
“Kat,” she corrected. “When I turned sixteen, I wanted a name that sounded fun, so I resigned Kaitlin to the…” her fingers made air quotes “…official drawer.”
When he said nothing, when he could only stare, her smile slipped. Setting a pen on the registration book, she said, “I’ll also need to include your driver’s license on your registration form. Then I’ll show you the cabin.”
He felt those keen eyes observe his gloved hands as he wrote. Forcing himself to keep his head down, to not blurt, Be thankful you can’t see the scars, he focused on his breathing. In his peripheral vision, he saw her turn momentarily to one of the metal cabinets.
“Your key,” she said handing it over the instant he completed the information. Then, chin up, spine stiff, she led him out the door. “If you choose to eat with us,” she said, locking up the office, “breakfast is at eight a.m. each morning, except Sunday when it’s at nine. Lunch and dinner are your responsibility. However, I will set out refreshments and snacks at four p.m. on the dinner table.” She nodded to the dining section where a long table, stationed in front of a wall-size, country-paned window, faced the circular drive. “You’re also welcome to use the guest living room, back deck or sit on the porch gliders. The rest of the house is off-limits.”
“Does the cabin have a kitchen?” he asked. Standing in her kitchen with its floor to ceiling cupboards, he noted the bow of her mouth, the way it tilted at the corners as though anticipating that fun she mentioned.
“Yes, both cabins are fully outfitted.”
He glanced at her commercial Sub-Zero refrigerator, imagined the food inside, the ten summer guests seated around her table, chatting, laughing, asking each other questions. Though a stab of guilt pierced him, he was infinitely glad the current cold temperatures would give him an excuse to stay in the cottage and refrain from her listed amenities.
He headed for the mudroom, intent on leaving for the privacy of his cabin.
She followed. “I’ll show you the way.”
Before he could say, I know where it is. I booked the smaller cabin, remember? she zipped past him, grabbed the umbrella and was out the back door, her baked cookie scent swirling in his lungs.
Dane stepped onto the deck. Thankfully, a wet gust of wind eradicated her from his nostrils and he inhaled deep to ensure no trace remained. He did not want her image branded into his brain.
Yet he trailed her and that silly umbrella across the strip of wet lawn, up a flagstone path, to the log building sporting another rain-drenched flag, although smaller than the one welcoming visitors onto the veranda of her house.
Kaitlin O’Brien was a patriot.
He couldn’t get inside the safety of the cabin fast enough.
Before he heard it all again. The roar of the improvised explosive device, an IED. The shattering glass. The deafening blast ripping metal, wood—bodies—into a trillion bits.
Before he heard Zaakir’s screams, saw the flames destroying—
Stumbling on the first step leading up to the porch, Dane grabbed the newel post. The familiar knot in his throat had him swallowing. Not now. Not while she’s watching.
“Dane?” She hurried back down the stairs. “You okay?”
“Must’ve slipped,” he lied.
She looked at the step he’d stubbed with his toe. “I’ll have someone put down some new weather stripping right away.”
Ashamed of his deception, he shook his head and took the steps two at a time. “No need. I’m just tired, is all.” Half turning, he looked back. She stayed on the stairs, her fine dark brows puzzled, the rain a wet curtain around her and the pumpkin umbrella. “It’s okay,” he assured. “And thank you for letting me in a day early.” He inserted the key, opened the door.
Guilt pressed hard, crushing his chest. Still, the up-bringing he’d had before he’d left the island for the military had him hesitating. He nodded politely. “Goodbye, Kaitlin.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
He studied her for a moment. He should explain. He should tell her he was a loner. That life had changed him, Iraq had changed him, war had made him see things in ways she would never understand. He should present some guarantee he wasn’t completely crazy. To ease the uncertainty in her eyes.
You don’t need to fear me, he wanted to say. I’m not one of those types.
She hoisted the umbrella higher, took the lower step. “If you need anything…”
“I know where to find you.”
She offered a smile. “Enjoy your stay.”
As he watched her walk through the drenched woods, he wondered what she’d say if he told her joy was no longer part of his vocabulary.
Chapter Two
Two days later, the Do Not Disturb sign remained on the exterior doorknob of Dane Rainhart’s cabin.
Kat could see her commercial yellow-and-white notice from the corner window by the enamel sink where she scrubbed egg from her son’s plate. She had walked Blake to the end of her wooded lane ten minutes ago, then returned home the moment they heard the school bus rumbling along Shore Road.
Since his tenth birthday, Blake no longer appreciated his mother waiting in full view of the other bussed kids. Yet, he hadn’t wanted to let go entirely of their ritual. Thus, they waited in the lane’s bend, and when the bus approached, Kat turned back, out of sight. Sometimes, she caught herself blinking to dispel the sting of tears; soon even this small daily routine would disappear forever.
Nothing stays the same, she thought.
