Finding The Way Back To Love (Lakeside Porches 3) (38 page)

“To happiness,” Manda said as she raised her mug.

Haley, Bree, and Sara joined in.

As Bree set down her mug, she said, “Now if I could make Peter happy.”

“Gwen, too,” Manda said.

Haley told them, “Gwen said the other day that she is still in love with Peter, and that’s making it hard for her to date anyone else.” She raised her eyebrows at Bree.

“And Peter thinks I don’t notice that every morning before he goes to bed, and every afternoon when he gets up, he goes out on the porch so he can see across the lake to Gwen’s house. Even if it’s snowing or sleeting. What does that tell you?”

“And Sam told me Peter looked daggers at him last week when he tried to fix him up with somebody’s sister,” Sara said.

“So what do we do about it?” Manda asked them. “Are they just being stubborn?”

“No, it’s not just stubborn,” Haley said, with caution in her voice. “I saw the fight when they broke up. Gwen was devastated, and Peter looked like his world had come to an end. They are both really hurting.”

Bree agreed. “Peter’s really torn up about this. He needs a wife he can depend on and a family of his own. Part of him is scared to marry an alcoholic, but he knows he wants Gwen.”

“Gwen works her AA program really hard,” Manda said, “no matter what’s going on in her life.”

“I know,” Bree said. “I’ve seen how the women admire her. And my brother is finally learning about staying sober one day at a time. But, you know something else, he’s not sure she needs him enough.”

“What do you mean?” Manda asked.

“Every time he sees her in the news about Cady's Point, he says, ‘She looks good like that. She’s better off.’”

“What does he mean, ‘She looks good like that?’” Haley asked.

“Those gorgeous clothes she brought back from London?” Manda guessed. “It’s not the wardrobe you see on your average police officer’s wife.”

“Now, that’s just stupid.” Sara smacked her fist on the table. “Gwen’s focusing so much on Manda’s project at Cady’s Point because she doesn’t have Peter in her life. We all know she’s more comfortable wearing blue jeans, right?”

“Totally,” Manda said.

“Absolutely,” Haley agreed. “And she wants children. Soon. But first she wants a husband and a solid marriage.”

“Maybe we can get them in the same room so they
have
to talk to each other,” Haley said tentatively. All eyes turned to her.

Manda grinned. “I think I know how.” She waved them closer.

“Manda, wait up.”

“Hey, Peter, good to see you,” Manda said with a cheery smile. “Hi, Bree.”

Bree winked and headed toward the coffee pot.

“Listen, Joel told me he’s out of town this weekend,” Peter said with concern in his voice.

Manda glanced nervously at the coffee pot.
Do not blurt out that
Joel’s
not
out of town.
In fact, he was staying in his suite at the Manse to clear the way for Peter and Gwen to have 14 Lakeside Terrace to themselves. “Yeah, uh, he’s been out of town a lot lately. I sure am glad you and Bree live in our building.”

“That’s what I wanted to tell you,” Peter said. “Anytime you feel uncomfortable about anything, give us a call. I know I work most nights, but—”

“But you’re not working this weekend, right?”

“How did you know that?”

Oops
. “Oh, I guess Sara said something. You know we’re having a sleepover at Sara’s after the meeting. Sara’s engaged to your partner, Sam, and he must have said something about you being off this weekend.”
Shut up, he’s getting more and more suspicious
. “Gotta go.”

She rushed to join Bree at the coffee pot. “I blew it.”

“No, you didn’t. See?” Bree gestured toward her brother. His gaze was on Gwen as she and Haley swept into the meeting room.

“Gwen looks like the wind got the best of her.”

“It’s brutal out there tonight.” They watched Gwen unbutton her coat and loosen the big scarf around her neck.

“Good, she’s wearing jeans and a peachy, soft sweater.”

“See how hungry Peter is when he looks at her?” Bree said with a satisfied smile.

“Oh no, who’s that man? He’s going to ruin everything.”

“Gwen, a word?” Foster gripped her elbow as soon as she got her coat off.

“Sure, Foster.” Gwen turned to Haley. “Sweetie, I see Bree and Manda. Why don’t you join them, and I’ll catch up with you later?”

“Actually,” Haley told her. “I’m going back to Sara’s with them for an overnight. Didn’t I tell you?” She patted her backpack and sauntered away.

Gwen stood with her mouth open.

Foster’s hand on her arm urged her out to the hallway. “Let’s chat a minute,” he said and led her to a bench away from foot traffic.

Gwen dumped her coat and folded the scarf on top. “What’s up?” She fluffed out her hair and smoothed it into place.

“None of my business, but I see your friend Peter here, and I wondered . . .”

“Here?” She croaked.

“If you don’t want to see him . . .”

“I do.” Gwen pressed Foster’s arm. “I do want to see him. I just never thought I’d see him at a meeting.” She searched Foster’s face. “You just met Peter the one time. How did you know it was him?”

“He’s been driving Bree to this meeting,” Foster told her, “and a few of us men talk out here in the hall while the women meet inside.” He added quietly, “I understand he’s working hard on his own recovery as well.”

Did he just wink?
“I won’t ask how you know that,” she said with a chuckle. “God, I’m shaking.”

Foster stood up. “It’s cold here in the hall. I’ll bring you something hot to drink while you get back your composure.”

“Thank you.” She drew the silk scarf around her shoulders, the oversized peach-and-gray she’d found in London. A few latecomers stomped snow off their boots and hustled into the meeting room. The hallway grew quiet. Gwen closed her eyes for a quick meditation.

Finally, he sat beside her, and she felt the warmth of his body.

“It’s hot,” he said.

Not Foster’s voice
. “Peter. Why, how?”

“Foster said you needed tea with sugar. He didn’t explain.”

Gwen’s cheeks flamed. Her gaze probed his green eyes, and they mirrored her own wariness. “We’ve been set up.” She smiled as she accepted the tea. She sipped some and set it on the bench to cool.

“Joint effort.” He laughed softly. “My first clue was Sam telling me I was off the schedule this weekend, overdue for a few days off. Then Bree decided to do a sleepover at Sara’s.”

“Haley must be in on it, too. She’s riding back with Manda.”

“And Joel’s even out of town. Gwen, if you wanted to talk . . .”

“I do,” she said. “Peter, I was so wrong not to tell you I’m in recovery myself.”

“I should have known from everything you said.”

“But I should have told you. I wa
sn’t upfront about that.” She shook her head. “And I haven’t been honest about the problems in my marriage. It’s—” She waved her hands in circles, at a loss to explain. “I didn’t know how much I was hiding, even from myself.” Tears sprang to her eyes.

He searched her face. “We have a lot to talk about. Bree’s in recovery, and I’m getting help, too.”

“I love you,” Gwen whispered. “Peter, I—”

He caressed her cheekbones, touched a tear as it spilled from her eye. “I need you, Gwen. Nothing makes sense without you.”

She lifted her face, and he crushed her mouth with a kiss.

A young woman giggled as she slipped past them to the restroom.

“Let’s leave,” he said. “I’ll follow you to your house.”

Gale-force winds flung snowflakes at the Range Rover’s headlights and animated the thin snow cover into sinister, white snakes that writhed in her path. To calm her anxiety, Gwen switched on the radio to a classical station. When a gust buffeted the Range Rover over the centerline, she tightened her grip on the steering wheel and checked the rearview mirror. Peter’s headlights were still in view.

She caught herself wishing she’d worn sexy underwear and the perfume she and Lorraine had picked out in London.
God, don’t let me go right to sex tonight. We have so much we need to talk over
.

When the country road curved, the squall slammed from a new direction.
Thank God the roads aren’t icy
. She glanced in the rearview mirror. There was no sign of Peter’s Jeep. She slowed, until his headlights came into view, and kept her speed to the posted limit. At the stop sign for East Lake Road, she waited for a few cars, then made her left turn. Peter would have to wait for another break in traffic. A mile later, she signaled for her road and slowed for the sharp right turn.

As she plunged down the hill, the wind hurled a dead branch across the hood of the Range Rover. She shivered. Down on the flat, middle section, a massive limb lay in her path.
One of the big old oaks,
she judged from its bulk and twisted form.

She shifted into ‘park’ and got out to haul the downed limb off the road. Wind tore at her hair and blinded her. She paused to tie the scarf around her head and tuck the ends into the collar of her turtleneck. It was just a few seconds without gloves, but her fingers turned to ice.

As she tugged at the stubborn limb, she wished they’d agreed to go to Peter’s instead.
We could still do that
. She paced back to her car, planning to wait there, and switched on the four-way flashers.

After a minute with no sign of Peter’s headlights, she returned to the limb. She tried to lift it, but it was too heavy for her. With a growl, she tried again to tug it, but the more she dragged, the deeper it dug into the gravel. She howled in frustration.

An answering crack from the woods drew her full attention.
Two of the largest ashes plummeted toward the road, one ramming the other from behind, like forty-foot dominoes.

Propelled by some unseen hand, Gwen stumbled down the road toward her house while, behind her, wood splintered and limbs snapped and thudded. Lights flared behind her.
Peter. He’s driving into it
.

Heart pounding, she turned halfway around and danced to keep her footing. “Peter.” She waved her arms and screamed to stop him from colliding or being buried, although he could not have heard her over the roar of the wind. Her momentum carried her a few more yards until she tripped over another fallen branch. She reached out with her right hand to break the fall, enough to keep from slamming her head into a rock.

She lay on her back and cradled her damaged wrist to her side.
Dad, help me
. Above her on the road, metal crunched and glass smashed. With her heart in her throat, she pictured the Jeep colliding with the fallen tree. “Peter!” she sobbed.
God, protect him
.

As its last act of destruction, the second of the rampaging ash trees sheared a heavy limb off an old oak. Gravity deposited it on Gwen’s outstretched foot and spread its branches over her legs. She screamed with pain.

She was sure her foot was both stuck and injured. She lay on the cold ground, unsure how to help herself. Branches skittered across the road, flung by the howling wind.
God, help me, help us
.

Rather than freeze to death on her own road, she propped herself up on her good elbow and surveyed the pile of debris blocking the road above her. Below her, the house was a quarter mile away, but the road was clear.

Breathing heavily, she scanned the tangle of branches for Peter’s headlights. A faint glow shone through the pile.
Maybe he stopped in time
. “Peter?” she yelled.

“Gwen,” he bellowed, “are you all right?”

Oh, thank God
. “I’m halfway down the road. Where are you?”

His high beams flashed.

“I see your lights. Are you hurt?”

“The Jeep’s okay. Where’s your car?”

“Under the tree.” She burst into tears.

“Are you hurt?” This time, his voice came from somewhere in the woods.

Maybe he’s going around
. “Not really, but my foot’s stuck.” Her voice squeaked with panic.

“What does ‘not really’ hurt mean?”

“I sprained my wrist, and I can’t get to where my foot is stuck.”

“It’s caught in the branches?”

“Under a limb.”

She heard him quietly giving information to someone. “I’ll alert Phil,” he said.

His voice was close enough now that Gwen heard the next conversation. “Phil, it’s Peter. I’m next door with Gwen, who is caught under a tree that fell on her road. Some EMTs will arrive in your driveway very soon. If we’re lucky, I’ll meet you all there with Gwen over my shoulder. If not, I need you to show them the path along the shore. Thanks, buddy.”

Something man-sized rustled through the undergrowth on her left, and flashlight bobbed toward her. Peter emerged from the woods and squatted beside her. When he commanded, “Lie down,” she did. He lifted her left hand and checked her pulse.

“Who were you talking to?”

“911. Then Phil. Lie still.”

His flashlight probed the debris that covered her legs. “I can see exactly where the limb has you trapped. I’m going to clear away some of these branches so I can get closer and get a good handle on it. Then I’ll try to lift it myself. If anything I do causes you pain, holler.”

“Okay.” She tried to sit up.

“Stay down,” he said. This time he held her down with a hand on her forehead, “and lie still. You need every ounce of strength, Gwen.”

“I’m really cold.”

He dragged over a rock as a perch for his flashlight and tucked his parka around her torso. “Do not move.”

“Okay.”

“Promise.”

“I promise.”

He stripped aside branches as he worked methodically toward the trapped foot.

“Can you feel the ankle and the foot?” he asked.

“Believe me, I can feel them,” she moaned.

“That’s good, right?” he cajoled.

“You’re right.” She lay still and breathed through the pain. “Thank you.”