Kate replied, looking pleased at the compliment. She looked towards the door Ben had exited through. ‘You dated Ben, didn’t you? Poor guy. He’s had it tough.’
‘Tough?’
‘You don’t know?’ The other woman’s voice was almost accusing.
How would she know what had gone on in Ben Morgan’s life in the twelve years since she’d last seen him?
‘Lost his wife and child when the old guesthouse burned down,’ Kate continued. ‘Jodi died trying to rescue their little boy. Ben was devastated. Went away for a long time—did very well for himself. When he came back he built this hotel as modern and as different from the old place as could be. Couldn’t bear the memories...’
Kate Parker chattered on, but Sandy didn’t wait to hear any more. She pushed her chair back so fast it fell over and clattered onto the ground. She didn’t stop to pull it up.
She ran out of the bar, through the door and towards the steps to the shoreline, heart pumping, face flushed, praying frantically to the god of second chances.
Ben.
She just had to find Ben.
CHAPTER TWO
TAKING THE STEPS two at a time, nearly tripping over her feet in her haste, Sandy ran onto the whiter-than-white sand of Dolphin Bay.
Ben was way ahead of her. Tall and broad-shouldered, he strode along towards the rocks, defying the wind that had sprung up while she was in the hotel and was now whipping the water to a frosting of whitecaps.
She had to catch up with him. Explain. Apologise. Tell him how dreadfully sorry she was about Jodi and his son. Tell him... Oh, so much she wanted to tell him. Needed to tell him. But the deep, fine sand was heavy around her feet, slowing her so she felt she was making no progress at all.
‘Ben!’ she shouted, but the wind just snatched the words out of her mouth and he didn’t turn around.
She fumbled with her sandals and yanked them off, the better to run after him.
‘Ben!’ she called again, her voice hoarse, the salt wind whipping her hair around her face and stinging her eyes.
At last he stopped. Slowly, warily, he turned to face her. It seemed an age until she’d struggled through the sand to reach him. He stood unmoving, his face rigid, his eyes guarded. How hadn’t she seen it before?
‘Ben,’ she whispered, scarcely able to get the word out. ‘I’m sorry... I can’t tell you how sorry I am.’
His eyes searched her face. ‘You know?’
She nodded. ‘Kate told me. She thought I already knew. I don’t know what to say.’
* * *
Ben looked down at Sandy’s face, at her cheeks flushed pink, her brown hair all tangled and blown around her face. Her eyes were huge with distress, her mouth oddly stained bright pink in the centre. She didn’t look much older than the girl he’d loved all those years ago.
The girl he’d recognised as soon as she’d come into the hotel restaurant. Recognised and—just for one wild, unguarded second before he pummelled the thought back down to the depths of his wounded heart—let himself exult that she had come back. His first love. The girl he had never forgotten. Had never expected to see again.
For just those few minutes when they’d chatted he’d donned the mask of the carefree boy he’d been when they’d last met.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said again, her voice barely audible through the wind.
‘You couldn’t have known,’ he said.
Silence fell between them for a long moment and he found he could not stop himself from searching her face. Looking for change. He wanted there to be no sign of the passing years on her, though he was aware of how much he had changed himself.
Then she spoke. ‘When did...?’
‘Five years ago,’ he said gruffly.
He didn’t want to talk to Sandy about what the locals called ‘his tragedy’. He didn’t want to talk about it anymore full-stop—but particularly not to Sandy, who’d once been so special to him.
Sandy Adams belonged in his past. Firmly in his past. Water under the bridge, as she’d so aptly said.
She bit down on her lower lip. ‘I can’t imagine how you must feel—’
‘No, you can’t,’ he said, more abruptly than he’d intended, and was ashamed at the flash of hurt that tightened her face. ‘No one could. But I’ve put it behind me...’
Her eyes—warm, compassionate—told him she knew he was lying. How could he ever put that terrible day of helpless rage and despair behind him? The empty, guilt-ridden days that had followed it? The years of punishing himself, of not allowing himself to feel again?
‘Your hands,’ she said softly. ‘Is that how you hurt them?’
He nodded, finding words with difficulty. ‘The metal door handles were burning hot when I tried to open them.’
Fearsome images came back—the heat, the smoke, the door that would not give despite his weight behind it, his voice raw from screaming Jodi’s and Liam’s names.
He couldn’t stop the shudder that racked his frame. ‘I don’t talk about it.’
Mutely, she nodded, and her eyes dropped from his face. But not before he read the sorrow for him there.
Once again he felt ashamed of his harshness towards her. But that was him these days. Ben Morgan: thirty-one going on ninety.
His carefree self of that long-ago summer had been forged into someone tougher, harder, colder. Someone who would not allow emotion or softness in his life. Even the memories of a holiday romance. For with love came the agony of loss, and he could never risk that again.
She looked up at him. ‘If...if there’s anything I can do to help, you’ll let me know, won’t you?’
Again he nodded, but knew in his heart it was an empty gesture. Sandy was just passing through, and he was grateful. He didn’t want to revisit times past.
He’d only loved two women—his wife, Jodi, and, before her, Sandy. It was too dangerous to have his first love around, reminding him of what he’d vowed never to feel again. He’d resigned himself to a life alone.
‘You’ve booked in to the hotel?’ he asked.
‘Not yet, but I will.’
‘For how long?’
Visibly, her face relaxed. She was obviously relieved at the change of subject. He remembered she’d never been very good at hiding her emotions.
‘Just tonight,’ she said. ‘I’m on my way to Melbourne for an interview about a franchise opportunity.’
‘Why
