At First Touch (The Malone Brothers) (19 page)

Hopefully, Reagan would understand the entire mess.

CHAPTER TWENTY

I
T
WAS
MORE
difficult to paint at night. The lighting was all off, and it made the small number of shapes she could make out much more murky and blurred. But she’d pushed herself this night because she was so close to finishing, and she was excited for Em to see it. A couple, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder in a rowboat as it eased through the creek. Again, inspired by her and Eric.

The night air had cooled and pushed through the screened-in haven she now called her studio. Her hair brushed over her collarbone, and she shivered, even with the USAF sweatshirt she wore. Her eyes were tired, though, and she was hesitating in her strokes. She’d have to finish up in the morning.

Just as she’d finished cleaning up and stood there stretching with her arms over her head, a voice startled her.

“Reagan Rose, can I come in?”

The sound of Eric’s voice made her heart flutter, and she stilled. “Eric? What are you doing here?”

“Well, it’s a long story, and I’d like to tell it to you. Can I?”

While she’d missed Eric fiercely, she didn’t want to become involved with...an involved man. And he was that and a box of cookies. There was something in his voice, though. Something like desperation that made her pause and consider.

Maybe this once.

“I guess,” Reagan agreed hesitantly. “Shouldn’t you be with your pregnant...person?”

The screen to the studio creaked open, and suddenly, his figure was there. “Well, she’s at the hospital having her baby, so—”

She nearly gasped. “Eric! Are you kidding me? Then why in the hell are you here?”

“Well, that’s what I want to talk to you about,” he said. “But from the look of disgust on your face I suppose I should tell you some of it now, so I can at least get in the doorway without being clobbered.”

“Yeah, you’d better do that,” Reagan agreed.

“The gist is, Celeste went into labor this morning. I took her to the hospital. A guy showed up tonight saying he was her boyfriend and the baby’s father. Celeste confirmed.” His figure moved a little closer, blurred and irregular. “Can we talk now?”

The news hit Reagan in the gut. She drew an inconspicuous breath, trying to calm her racing heart. How could someone do that? She inhaled and nodded. “Let’s go inside.”

“Is that us?” Eric asked, and Reagan knew he’d paused to look at the painting. “That night in the rowboat when I kidnapped you over my shoulder?”

A smile touched Reagan’s mouth. “Yeah, that’s right.”

“They just get better and better, Reagan Rose. It’s... No words...”

“Thanks,” she said quietly, and felt her way to the door leading into the house and opened it. Eric followed so close she could feel the air shift around his movements.

In the living room, Reagan sat on the sofa, and Eric grabbed the chair facing her. Not that she could see much better inside; it was still shady and blurred. She figured Eric did it for his sake, wanting to face her with whatever it was he had to tell her. She had no idea what it’d be, so she braced herself and waited.

* * *

E
RIC
’
S
INSIDES
FELT
like they’d been yanked into knots.

He knew this wouldn’t be an easy conversation. But as fate would have it, things suddenly changed tonight—and he hoped she’d listen.

“From the moment I came to the decision that it was my place to be with and support Celeste because of the child she was carrying, it’s hurt. It left a hole inside of me. I tried—to the best of my ability—to make things work with Celeste. From the very start, though, I knew things were different than they had been before. So different, it made me wonder how I’d ever felt the way I had.” He drew a deep breath, his gaze fixed on Reagan’s. He knew it was unfair—him being able to see and gauge her every reaction—but he couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

She sat still, cross-legged on the sofa, wordless.

“I’ve always wanted what my dad and grandpa had—a wife, family—the kind I’d protect, give my life for. A wife I’d cherish. But ever since Celeste returned, I couldn’t see that with her. Not anymore. And I knew it was because I’d become so crazy about you, Reagan Rose. I—” he sighed, rubbed his face “—I couldn’t get you out of my mind. Day. Night. Didn’t matter. And it wasn’t fair. For her, the baby or me. So today,” he continued, “I tried telling her. Wanted to talk to her about it. And she went right into labor.”

Reagan gave a short nod.

Eric went on. “When that guy walked into the waiting area and asked for Celeste, and told us who he was, I knew then I’d been taken for a fool. I took the guy to her room, her eyeballs nearly popped out of her head, then she burst into tears as they embraced. Then she apologized to me, said they’d gotten into a huge fight and she thought she’d have no one to help her. And she came to me. And so,” Eric said quietly, “I’ve come to you.”

Reagan sat quietly for a moment, the lines around her eyes and mouth tight, her expression unreadable. “Why?” she finally asked.

Eric almost jerked back. “To tell you how sorry I am. That I’ve missed you like crazy. And that I want, I mean, I’d hoped you would want to see me again.”

Reagan glanced to the floor, then unfolded her legs from beneath her. “Eric, I knew when you first made the decision that you were doing nothing less than what a good, honorable man would do. Never have I been angry at you for it. I understood. Completely.” She inhaled, her chest rising, then falling. “I guess I’d held on to some sort of hope. Hope that, I don’t know, we’d miraculously be able to brush away the events that took you away and start over. Or pick back up. But it was the night I sat in Jasper’s and heard Celeste announce that you’d asked her to marry you, and that you two were picking out a new house, planning a big wedding, that I couldn’t pine after you a minute longer. I had to look out for myself.”

“But none of that was true,” Eric insisted. He felt the conversation going in a direction he didn’t like. Made him on edge, like he should be braced for bad news. “She lied, Rea. To me. To everyone she encountered. Even to her boyfriend. I’m...sorry you had to hear that.”

Reagan nodded. “Well, it still woke me up regardless, and it’s led me to a decision that I simply can’t back out of.” She pressed her fist to her heart. “I’ve managed to pick up an art dealer who paid crazy money for my paintings, and commissioned me for four more—”

“Matt told me, and I’m so proud of you,” Eric interrupted.

“Thanks. But I also realized that I couldn’t be dependent on anyone. Not my sister. Not you. Not anyone.”

“What do you mean?” Eric said cautiously. This was definitely not going the way he’d hoped.

Reagan sighed. “I’m leaving Cassabaw Station, Eric. I’ve found a place in Caper’s Inlet and I’m moving in two weeks.”

It felt like he’d been hit in the gut.

For once, he was grateful Reagan couldn’t see his face.

“Why, Reagan?” he asked.

“Partly because I knew after that night in Jasper’s I could in no way live on the same small island with you and your new family. It hurt, Eric. I mean, I know we haven’t known each other for—”

“Only our whole lives,” he interrupted. “You don’t have to move now, Reagan. I could understand it...before, but not now.”

“How do I know that, Eric? You are one fantastic knight in shining armor, hands down. But I can no longer be one of your causes. I don’t want to be anyone’s cause. The other part, though, is my independence. I can’t live with Em and Matt. I don’t want to live with them. They’ll soon be newlyweds and they need their privacy. And so do I.” She sighed. “I have to do this, don’t you see? I have to prove to myself that I can make it without having a sister or her in-laws or...you to fall back on.” Her voice cracked. “I have to, Eric. My mind’s made up. I have to do this for myself. It’s something I have to prove or else I will always doubt. Always wonder. Or always feel, deep inside, that I’m a burden.”

“Reagan, you’re never a burden, to anyone,” Eric pleaded. “Don’t go.”

She stood then, and Eric knew his pleas were falling on deaf ears. She made her way to the front door. “I have to,” she said again. “Please don’t make it any harder than it already is.” She opened the door, his cue to leave.

He didn’t want the damn cue.

He wanted her.

At the door, the frogs croaked in the marsh, and the incoming tide lapped at the banks of the river. Eric stared down at Reagan, and then she grasped his hands and placed them on either side of her face.

“See me,” she said softly. “For who I am, and who I am determined to be. Please?”

Eric’s eyes closed at the feel of her soft skin beneath his palms. Her words struck his heart, and he knew that at least for now, he’d lost the battle.

He’d never been one to throw in the towel too easy. Was Reagan right? Did he live his life being some knight in armor, out to save everyone? Except himself?

Raking his thumbs over her lips, he brushed a soft kiss there. “I do see you, Reagan Rose. I always have.” He kissed her once more, and he felt her intake of breath. “This isn’t over, Rea. Not by far.”

And with that, Eric turned and stepped out onto the veranda, the night air brisk and the darkness swallowing him up as he headed down the path between the Quinns’ and the Malones’.

He had two weeks. Two weeks to change Reagan’s mind.

He had absolutely no idea where to begin.

All he knew was that he couldn’t lose her. She had his heart.

He wanted to have hers.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“O
KAY
,” E
MILY
SAID
.
“Turn around slowly.”

Reagan gave a slow twirl, and her sister squealed and clapped. “Oh, my sweet Lord, you look just beautiful!” she exclaimed. “Gosh, I wish you could see it on yourself!”

“Well, describe it, since you’ve kept it a secret all this time,” Reagan said, smiling.

“Okay. It’s so perfect on you, I can’t stand it!” Emily giggled again.

Maid of honor dresses were in fact extremely important.

“It’s a vintage plum lace with a pearled Empire waist and darker plum velvet sash,” she said breathily. “You look like a dream!”

Reagan ran her hand down the front of the gown, feeling the texture of the lace beneath her fingertips. The neckline was low, as the vintage gowns tended to be. “My boobs aren’t hanging out, are they?” she asked.

Emily snorted. “Not too much at all!” she said. “Just think...Rose DeWitt Bukater.”

Reagan shook her head. “From the
Titanic
movie?”

“Exactly!” Emily clapped. “It’s perfect on you, Rea, seriously. You’re just breathtaking!”

Reagan smiled and stepped back into the dressing room to remove the gown. She was pleased that her sister was so happy. Emily had found a seamstress in King’s Ferry who specialized in tailoring vintage clothing and gowns, and now they were here, trying on the bridesmaid’s dresses. Reagan, being the maid of honor, had a slightly different one than the others, Emily had said, and Reagan did wish she could see herself in it. From the description, it sounded beyond lovely.

A far cry from her airman’s uniform.

She really did feel as though she’d stepped back in time.

And she couldn’t help but wonder what Eric would think when he escorted her down the aisle at the wedding. It was a month away, and already Reagan had the jitters.

And she wasn’t even the bride.

Her jitters came from something else entirely. Rather, someone else.

Eric Malone.

Although she’d been insistent on telling Eric she was indeed moving, she hadn’t counted on him leaving her completely alone. Not once had he tried to call. Text. Or sneak up on her while painting in the studio. It was unfair of her to wish it, but she’d wanted him to show up. She missed him. Which was making it harder for her to leave.

Something she knew she had to do. Had to prove to herself she could make it 100 percent on her own. It clawed at her, and although it’d be easy to lean on Emily, or Eric, her pride led her down a different path. One of total independence.

Unburdening independence, she liked to call it.

It’d become sort of an obsession, she figured.

“Hey, are you ready for some lunch? I know this teahouse that has scrumptious sandwiches,” Emily called from behind the curtain.

Reagan hung the dress back on the hanger and pulled on her clothes, then stepped out. “Ready,” she said, carrying the dress over her arm to the counter. The hem needed taking up quite a bit, so they left the dress and headed out into the afternoon, with air that smelled clean, cool and piney.

At lunch, Reagan and Emily chatted over turkey, cranberry and brie sandwiches, and a pot of crème brûlée black tea, sweetened with cubes of raw sugar and milk. The wedding would be themed, of course, vintage 1930s, and people were encouraged to come in full ’30s regalia. Emily was so excited, Reagan could feel her energy vibrating where she sat. She imagined Em would be a beautiful bride, with that dimpled smile and the glimmer of love in her eyes for Matt Malone.

She could only hope to find such love, one day.

Well, she knew she’d found it.

Only she wasn’t too sure it was reciprocated.

As Emily discussed floating lanterns, a wishing well for guests to toss pennies and words of marriage wisdom into, and cocktails, Reagan’s thoughts wandered back to the few nights earlier, when Eric had begged her not to leave. He’d been genuinely distressed. And when she’d placed his hands on her face, and insisted he
see
her
, he’d assured her that he did. He’d told her how crazy about her he was.

He hadn’t told her he loved her.

And frankly, she wished he had.

She’d already admitted to herself that she was in love with Eric. A fact she’d keep to herself, too. She couldn’t imagine how awful it would feel to profess something so grand, only for it not to be reciprocated. No way, not Reagan. But perhaps his love wasn’t strong enough in the first place. He’d quickly left their relationship to save another woman in distress. She knew how badly Eric Malone wanted love. But how absolute true was it?

* * *

L
ATER
THAT
EVENING
, after changing into her comfy boyfriend jeans—kind of an ironic thing to have, seeing as how she didn’t have a boyfriend—and her favorite USAF hooded sweatshirt, she pulled her hair into a loose ball on her head, set up her studio and got to work.

Her mind, her thoughts, though, despite the comforting sounds of the marsh and breezy September night, always slipped back to Eric.

* * *

“W
ELL
,
NOW
,
LOOK
what the tide washed up,” Ted grumbled.

“Ha-ha, boy, what are you doing out here this time of morning?” Mr. Wimpy asked.

“I guarantee it’s either to talk baseball or girls,” Dub commented.

Sidney just sat there, grinning.

Eric wiped at the smile on his face. The old guys were looking older every time he saw them, but they were still hanging in there, and as feisty as ever. They never ceased to fascinate him. All brothers. All in the war. Two of them at Utah Beach on D-Day, June 6, 1944. And here they were, slow but there, having their morning coffee and gossip on the veranda at the Windchimer. Soon, though, the cold would run them inside. He patted Mr. Wimpy on the shoulder.

“How are you handsome devils doing this morning?” Eric asked.

“Old as hell but still here,” Ted grumbled good-naturedly. “So, what is it, boy?”

Eric studied the faces of the men who’d survived the trenches from 1942 to 1944. Each one told a story, and each pair of aged eyes waited for him to speak.

Eric drew a deep breath. Let it out. Then began.

“I’m crazy about this girl,” he said.

All the guys chuckled, and Ted let out a whistle.

“But,” Eric continued, “she is determined to leave Cassabaw.”

“You’re talking about Emily’s little sister, right?” Mr. Wimpy asked. “She’s blind. Where is she going off by herself?”

“She’s determined to move to Caper’s Inlet, to make it on her own,” Eric said.

“We heard about your scandal,” Dub said. “Quite the hubbub of the island. Did that have something to do with her decision?”

Eric shook his head. “Tell me about it.” He held his hands up. “I’m clear, though, baby’s doing well, and mother and father and baby are leaving Cassabaw. And yes, it did. I can’t blame her. I might have done the same thing.” He sighed. “But now it’s about her independence, and I can’t fault her for that, either.”

“But you want to change her mind,” Mr. Wimpy said.

Eric nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“So what’s your plan, son?” Ted asked. “Sit on your hands and cry?”

Eric gave a quiet laugh. “No, sir. That’s why I’m here. To ask you fine gentlemen for advice. Since you’ve lived a hundred years already.”

They all laughed.

“Well, boy,” Mr. Wimpy said. “Just so happens the wife and I have a house, just at the north end of the beach. Our granddaughter’s been renting it, but she left a month ago.” Mr. Wimpy’s blue eyes, although watery with age, sparkled. “Thinking about selling it. It’d be a good investment for a young man like you.” He wiggled his old bushy gray brows. “You could even fix her up. Rent her out.”

Eric’s hopes rose, and he shot out of his chair. “Can I take a look at it?”

Mr. Wimpy laughed, adjusted the USS
Arizona
cap he wore on his head, pulled his key ring from his pocket, jingled it around until he found the right one and pulled it off. He handed it to Eric. “It’s the last house on the hill, just beyond the fort and jetty. Built her myself when I came home from the war.”

Eric took the key, then shook Mr. Wimpy’s hand. “You, sir, are a lifesaver! Thanks!”

The old, wheezy laughs sounded behind him until he reached his truck, jumped in and took off for the north end of the island.

Eric pulled down the single private lane to the old cottage that Mr. Wimpy had built and then simply stared. A whitewashed concrete house with dark blue shutters, the front flanked by large camellia bushes, it sat facing the ocean, a white fence separating the property from the downward grade into the hills of sea oats, then the water. He’d seen it a million times doing maneuvers and flybys of Cassabaw with the Coast Guard, and always thought it was nice. He’d never known who it belonged to, though. Just another rental.

The wind had picked up as he followed the footpath to the small door at the fence and let himself through. He climbed the porch, and at the front door, he pushed in the key and opened it. The moment he stepped inside, he knew he had to buy it.

No, he’d known that the moment he saw it sitting on the hill.

Inside, it was a nautical-themed two-bedroom cottage, with white kitchen cabinets, modern appliances, a small living room and two small baths. The master bedroom had a small veranda off a set of French doors, and they opened out onto the back deck, which faced the sea.

Perfect. It was...perfect.

And so was his plan.

Quickly, he went through the house again, testing doors, drawers, showers and toilets, sinks and appliances, and the wood on the porches. Mr. Wimpy had kept it up pretty good, and for a cottage facing the sea it was sturdy and in seriously decent shape.

He had plans, though, for that back veranda.

Letting himself out, Eric locked the door and headed back to the Windchimer.

He and Mr. Wimpy needed to talk sale.

* * *

“Y
OU
KNOW
YOU
got this for a damn steal, right?” Matt asked as he secured one section of the screen on the veranda.

It’d been a week since he’d purchased the sea cottage from Mr. Wimpy. And thanks to his dad and brothers, he was nearly finished with the veranda renovation.

“I do know,” Eric said with pride. “I know Mr. Wimpy let me have it,” he confessed. He stopped hammering and paused, grinning at his brother. “I think he saw the love in my eyes.”

Matt grinned—barely—and shook his head. “I hope you know what you’re doing, little brother. Reagan’s pretty damned determined. Can’t say that I blame her.”

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” Eric stated. He finished installing the built-in workstation and bench and stepped back. “No way will she be able to refuse.”

“Have you even talked to her?” Matt asked. “She’s made a down payment on the rental in Caper’s Inlet.” He shook his head. “Her belongings are packed, bro.”

“I’d figured as much,” Eric noted. “But I appreciate the heads-up.”

Matt just grumbled something under his breath and continued working on the screen.

Eric hadn’t spoken to Reagan. Not once.

And it was killing him.

He’d be lying to say he hadn’t been a voyeur. He’d caught her a few times sitting on the end of the Quinns’ dock. Sitting there so pretty, and he imagined her eyes had been closed against the breeze as it blew her hair, and then he recalled other memories.

Like the night they’d made love.

That plagued him more than anything. He remembered every second. Every touch, every taste, every kiss. But it wasn’t just the sex that plagued his mind. Everything about her did. Her tenacity. Her doggedness not to give up, to face the world with a handicap that most would cower behind. She tackled her new shadowed world head-on, fearless and with hope. Hope that she could make it into something she loved.

Eric was in love with her. Not crazy about her. Not in like.

He was crazy in love with Reagan Rose Quinn.

And now that his devious plan to keep her on Cassabaw was nearly complete, it was high time he let her know it.

Before it was too late.