“She matters to me more than this farm, more than my debt to Ted and more than anything else that I thought was important before I met her.”
“You have to tell her that.” Trey stabbed his finger toward the camera. “That’s the stuff she needs to know. How she’s important and how much you care. Anything that you think is practical, like, logical reasons you belong together—I don’t think that matters to women.”
Damien remembered telling Miranda how much he wanted to keep her safe. Maybe that hadn’t been the right approach. For that matter, he recalled how he’d sent her out the back window when the press arrived. That distinction—her going out the back alone while he talked to the media out front—had felt like a statement to Miranda. Maybe he should have walked out the front door with her. Put his arm around her during that press conference and made it clear she was off-limits, instead of sneaking her out the back.
Maybe he’d arranged the kind of escape he’d dreamed of as a kid instead of thinking about how Miranda wanted to handle it. He’d definitely never asked for her input.
“I don’t know if anything I say is going to make a difference.” Still, he stared at the tea and wondered if he could have told her how he felt. If he could have tried to put into words how much he cared about her already. How much more there could be for them.
“But you’re a total stooge if you don’t at least try. I’d even go so far as to say you might never forgive yourself if you don’t try harder.” Behind Trey, a pretty brunette with wide gray eyes approached the camera. She wore a pink bathrobe, her hair in a ponytail that lay on one shoulder. She waved into the camera even before Trey knew she was behind him.
Damien tried to find a smile for Courtney, but all he could think of was Miranda wearing his bathrobe this morning. Miranda smiling. Miranda twirling on the lawn and telling Violet Whiteman what a great place Fraser Farm was, and offering to make her tea.
“You’re right, Trey.” He needed to find her, tell her how he felt and keep telling her. “Thanks, man.”
His brother wished him luck before disconnecting the call, Trey’s eyes already on his fiancée and his future, while Damien sat alone in a kitchen that was way too big for one person. He just hoped it wasn’t too late to tell Miranda that he wanted her back and it wasn’t about keeping her safe. It was about building a life with her, since he couldn’t imagine the days ahead—the years ahead—without her.
* * *
DAMIEN’S DRIVER PARKED MY SUV in the far corner of the lot behind the Sea Wind hotel after I left Fraser Farm, hoping to keep the vehicle out of the overhead lights in case the media knew what I was driving.
“I’ll just walk you to the door.” The driver, a young guy who’d been a particular fan of the Gruyère quiche, had been nice enough company for the ride over here. “You need anything from the back?”
“Yes.” I started to open my door to retrieve it. “I’ll grab it.”
“Let me,” he protested, levering open the driver side door. “What is it you need?”
“Floral print backpack. Lots of pins on it. It’s hard to miss.”
Bill grinned and passed me the car keys. “Sure thing.”
I stuffed them in my purse and grabbed a few things from the console while Bill got the bag. No one had followed us from the farm. I felt sure of that, since I’d been in and out of Damien’s house with lightning speed, eager to go before any reporters slowed my escape. If I didn’t leave then, I might have been tempted to stay as he’d asked. And I knew that wouldn’t be good for either of us.
Now I levered open the passenger door and hopped out.
“Do you see it?” I called, surprised Bill hadn’t found it already.
True to the hotel name, sea wind coated my cheeks with damp, salty air as I moved toward the back of the vehicle.
“Bill?” A prickle of warning tripped over my senses even as I said the name.
Was it just me, or did the night seem unnaturally quiet?
“Hello, Shaelynn.” A male voice sounded close to my right elbow.
I nearly leaped out of my skin. I hadn’t heard that voice in person for six years, but I’d know it anywhere. I felt a cold, sick fear in my gut.
And why the hell had he just called me Shaelynn?
“Rick?” Turning, I found Nina’s ex-husband beside me, his hands in the pockets of a denim jacket, where I couldn’t see them.
I realized I was shaking, inside and out.
“Where’s Bill?” I looked around wildly, scared.
“Down for the count, but definitely breathing.” Rick pointed to a dark shadow on the ground. “Let’s keep things quiet—you and me—to make sure he stays breathing. Okay?”