Briarwood Cottage (3 page)

“I know. And I’ve read enough studies on PTSD to know it’s unrealistic of me to expect a miracle cure. But it’s getting better.” At least she no longer felt as if she were viewing the world through a cracked, fogged-up lens. “Thanks to you for having given me this place to hide out.”

“To reboot,” Sedona suggested gently. “You’re doing so much better than when you first arrived, Cass. You seemed to be having a good time at Bon Temps the other night.”

“I was.”

When Sedona had first rescued her from the dark cave that had become her life, Cassandra had spent the flight from New York to Portland bundled in blankets with a sleeping mask over her eyes to avoid having to speak to anyone.

Gradually, over these past weeks, her cousin had introduced her to various women friends gradually, one at a time, until she’d finally been able to join the group for dinner at the local Cajun restaurant and dance hall.

Although she hadn’t danced, she
had
joined in the lively girl conversation and enjoyed her spicy shrimp jambalaya. Which was another change. When she’d first arrived, all her senses had been so numb she’d been existing mostly on a watery chicken soup delivered from the corner deli takeout. What was the point in eating when nothing had any flavor?

Of course, living with a baker who’d actually won ten thousand dollars on
Cupcake Wars
had helped her appetite to return. As had her more recent daily exercise. She’d been doing so well. Until that moment at the beach steps when everything had come crashing back…

Give it time
, she repeated her therapist’s advice.
Concentrate on how far you’ve come
.

“I had a thought driving back from the beach,” she said.

“Oh?”

“As much as being together again has been like old times, I decided that I’ve taken advantage of your hospitality long enough,” she said.

“You’re leaving? Where to?”

“Ireland.” She shared what she’d heard on the radio and read online.

“From what you’ve told me about Duncan, that doesn’t sound like him at all.”

“No. It doesn’t. But on the drive back from the beach, I decided I’ve been living in limbo too long and I’ll never be able to entirely move on if I don’t deal with my marriage.” Or lack of one.

“I think that’s a great idea.” Even as she voiced her enthusiasm, Sedona appeared uncharacteristically uncomfortable. “There’s something you should know before you go,” she said. “Something I’ve been holding back about the reason I showed up in New York in the first place.”

“You said you’d wanted to look at the new spring fashions on Fifth Avenue and see the daffodils in Central Park’s Conservatory Garden.”

“I did say that.” She sighed. “But the real reason I came when I did was because Duncan called me.”

“Duncan called? When?” And wasn’t this just a day of surprises?

Though, Cassandra belatedly realized, Sedona never had gone shopping. Nor, as far as she knew, to the park.

“The day he left the apartment. He said you were adamant about him leaving and was afraid that if he refused, you two would get into a big argument, which would only add to the stress and pain you were already dealing with. But he didn’t want you to be alone, so he asked me to come to New York and stay with you. Or better yet, bring you back here.”

“You lied to me?”

Cassandra belatedly realized that Sedona’s timing had been too coincidental and her behavior too spontaneous for a former accountant who, if she had a flaw, it was that she tended to over-analyze everything.

“There’s something else.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask.”

“He’s called every week since then. The only time he missed was last month when he was deep in Taliban country and couldn’t pick up a cell signal. He finally ran into a SEAL team and used their satellite phone to check in.”

“What?” Cassandra was stunned. “How could you have kept that huge a secret for so long?”

“Believe me, it wasn’t easy. And my only excuse, as weak as it might sound right now, is that when you arrived back to the States from the Middle East, you were so emotionally fragile.”

Cassandra couldn’t deny that. “I’ve gotten stronger. Yet you still kept your and Duncan’s subterfuge from me.”

“It wasn’t exactly my choice, but every time I’ve tried to bring his name up, you’ve steadfastly refused to talk about him.”

Another thing she couldn’t deny. Damn.

She dragged her hand through her still unfamiliar short hair.

A few weeks ago, after finally noticing her long, lank, unwashed hair in the mirror, Cass had impulsively whacked away at it with a pair of Sedona’s cooking shears. When her cousin had returned from selling cupcakes, instead of freaking out, she’d calmly called a stylist at the Cut Loose salon, who’d come over to the apartment and rescued the long strands from the bathroom wastebasket.

“It’s so hard to find virgin hair these days,” the woman, whose own spiky hair was bright fluorescent blue, had said with a warm smile. “You’re going to make the people at Locks of Love very happy.”

Then she’d gotten busy with her scissors and razor and ten minutes later, looking ever so pleased with herself, she’d declared the new short style a success.

“You look just like Tinkerbell.”

Cassandra hadn’t felt like Tinkerbell. Though, the prospect of going to Never Never land and never having to grow up, was admittedly appealing. Unfortunately, she was too late for that. “I want to be angry with you.”

“I’d be angry and hurt if I were in your place, too,” Sedona said. “If it makes any difference, I’ve felt miserably guilty. But I promise that I haven’t broken any confidences about your life or anything you’ve shared with me. I’ve only reassured him that you’re doing better every day.”

“In large part because of that therapist you nagged me into seeing,” Cassandra admitted. “Along with working on not blaming myself for what happened, Dr. Fletcher has me trying to live in the minute. And right now I’m going to focus on the fact that I’m fortunate to have a cousin who’s my best friend.”

Sedona’s eyes glistened. “Ditto.”

Cassandra blew out a breath. As they shared a hug, she realized how true that was.

“Okay. So, now that we’re moving on, I’m going to go book a flight,” she said as they separated. “Then pack.”

“Will you get mad at me if I say one more thing?” Sedona asked.

“Could I stop you?” Cassandra’s smile took the accusation from her tone.

“Probably not,” Sedona admitted. “Now that we’ve gotten my confession out of the way, I just want to state, on the record, that I realize people think I’m crazy to have a spreadsheet for men.”

With boxes for the attributes the man that Sedona would accept to settle down with. Cassandra had seen the first sheet, created back when Sedona was still in high school. Over the years, she’d altered the criteria a bit, but the standards had only become more rigid. Perfection was one thing. Perfectionism was, after all, responsible for both her cousin’s success as a corporate accountant and her insistence on never scrimping on the very best ingredients that had made her bakery extremely profitable.

But Cassandra had often thought that no mortal man could ever live up to Sedona’s exacting standards.

“Not crazy,” she hedged now. “Perhaps a bit choosy.”

“I’ve begun to consider that,” Sedona surprised her by admitting. “Especially after having become locally infamous for my dates from hell while watching friends find happiness with men I wouldn’t have thought they’d connect with…

“But here’s the thing…if I ever found a man who obviously loved and cared for me the way Duncan obviously does you, I’d do whatever it took, including moving heaven and earth, to get him back.”

Easy for her to say, Cassandra thought. Sometimes love just wasn’t enough.

“So.” Sedona put her hand on Cassandra’s arm. “All I’m asking is that you consider not just the past, which was admittedly problematic, but the future you might be throwing away before you close that final door to your marriage.”

“I won’t do anything rash.” That much Cassandra could agree to, having thought about little else than her and Duncan’s marriage over the past months.

“I’m so glad to hear that. You deserve to be happy again.” Sedona’s dazzling smile could have lit up all of Shelter Bay for a month of rainy coastal Sundays. “Here’s hoping that famed Irish magic will spin a reconciliation spell for the two of you.”

“I suppose anything’s possible.”

Because her cousin looked so pleased with that idea, Cassandra opted against revealing that her reason for going to Castlelough was to hand-deliver their divorce papers. Then she was standing over Duncan until he signed on the dotted line.

Castlelough, Ireland

O
utside Brennan’s Microbrewery
and Pub, rain was falling from a leaden sky. Inside, a turf fire in a large open hearth warmed against the chill. The whiskey bottles behind the bar gleamed in the glow of brass-hooded lamps; the walls were covered in football flags, vintage signs, and old photographs. The stone floor, Duncan learned as he sat at the bar watching Patrick Brennan pull a row of pints for a group of senior citizens who’d gotten off a Lady sightseeing tour bus, went back to 1650.

“You’re very good at that.” He’d always believed in giving credit where credit was due, and the publican not only brewed the best beer Duncan had ever tasted, he had an artist’s hand when it came to creating a perfect pint.

“I’ve had enough practice,” Patrick said. “And it’s important to respect the ale.”

“I imagine that’s even more the case given that you’re the brewer,” Duncan said as his phone chirped.

When Diane’s photo appeared on the screen, Duncan pressed the button. “Checking up on me to make sure I haven’t busted up another tavern?”

The question caused Patrick, who’d returned to the beginning of the row of glasses, to lift a brow. There was an art in pulling pints, and now that the Brian Boru Black Ale had settled, he’d begun topping them off, leaving a creamy crown of froth.

“You may be crazy, but I’ve never gotten the impression you’re suicidal,” she responded.

“Tell me you’ve called with the news that my sentence has been commuted and, as soon as we end this call, I’ll be placing another expensive one to Tiffany to buy you a bauble.”

“Promises, promises.” Her laugh was warm and rich. “And as lovely as that sounds, I might have a problem explaining to my husband why I’ve let another man, especially one with your dicey reputation, buy me jewelry. So, unfortunately I’ll have to turn the enticing suggestion down…

“No, I’m calling to warn you that Cassandra’s on her way to Castlelough.”

Emotions too complex to catalog, ones he’d think about later, when he was back in the solitude of Briarwood Cottage, slammed through Duncan like a cluster bomb.

“I suppose that’s not surprising,” he managed to say even as explosions went off inside his head. “A lake monster is right up her alley these days.”

“Beastie,” Patrick murmured.

“I don’t think the Lady of the Lake is her sole purpose in going.” She paused. Duncan tried to remember another time he’d heard his employer’s executive assistant so uncomfortable and came up blank. “She asked me where you were staying.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No, I’m not. And promise me you won’t yell at me?”

“In all the years you’ve known me, have I ever yelled at you?”

“No, but you’ve never exactly been Mr. Rogers, and even less so the past few months… I told her about the cottage.”

“Okay.” Possibilities began spinning wildly in his head, but Duncan kept his tone neutral. “When is she arriving?”

“She didn’t say, but I got the impression that she was going to book a flight out tonight. Which means she’ll be at Shannon in the morning.”

Duncan had no idea what his estranged wife’s intentions might be. The woman who’d been forced through that incredibly painful crucible in Egypt had, understandably, changed. Perhaps she was coming to insist he sign those damn divorce papers she’d sent him. The ones he’d burned in a wastebasket in his Damascus Four Seasons hotel room, setting off the sprinkler system, which had not pleased a staff already tense from the street battles taking place.

Or perhaps she’d tracked him down because having finally overcome her grief, she was ready to move on with her life. He’d kept in touch with her cousin, who, while not at all happy with the idea, had promised to keep their conversations secret. At least for now. But from what Sedona Sullivan had told him, Cass was receiving therapy and had begun to return to the living.

If
that
were the case, the question on the table was whether his wife intended that life to include him.

Damn. Although walking away from their apartment that day had not only ripped his heart to shreds and taken all meaning from his life, Duncan had struggled, against nature, to be patient as her cousin kept counseling restraint.

Now, as thoughts of a possible reconciliation teased seductively in his head, Duncan was relieved, yet again, that Briarwood Cottage was free of the Irish kitsch he’d feared. Thankfully, there wasn’t a ceramic leprechaun anywhere in the place. On the contrary, it was a remarkably comfortable two-bedroom home that managed to blend both old and new in perfect harmony. With the view of the lake and castle ruins from the bed, he couldn’t have chosen a better location for a reunion. Surely it would remind her of their honeymoon. Of those days and nights when they’d laughed and loved, and the future lay in front of them like a sweet, ripe passion fruit, waiting to be devoured.

Unfortunately, not only did he not have any tropical fruit handy but, except for coffee, his cupboards were bare.

*