Irish Eyes (Stolen Hearts Romance) (23 page)

“Oh, Cameron,” she turned to him, her whole face lit up with wonder. “Have you ever seen anything so amazing?”

“Tis lovely,” he murmured, his gaze never leaving that face. She turned around but Cameron could not look away from her until the sounds of other people intruded and his senses went on alert. He stepped behind Julia again. He wrapped his arms around her. He told himself that was the best way to keep her safe but when she leaned back against his chest, he rested his chin against her hair.

They stood in tranquil communion for a while, enjoying the peace and beauty of the sight. Cameron cherished the nearness of Julia, not knowing what she was thinking or feeling. He hardly knew his own mind or heart, except that for this one moment he had Julia in his arms and they seemed in perfect sync with each other and a world that was neither his nor hers.

This,
was his treasure. This moment. Whatever happened after, wherever their lives directed them from here on, he would always have this moment buried deep within his heart.

He drew in the scent clinging to her hair and shut his eyes. The only thing that would make the moment more special was if he knew that Julia felt as he did. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking…” She took a long, slow breath.

The glimmering white mist arced in all its splendor in the full moonlight.

Cameron waited not sure if she would pull away from him or maybe sink further into his embrace.

Julia exhaled and shook her hair back from her face, the back of her head rustling over his chest as she finally said, “I’m thinking that maybe I should think of my life more like this river.”

“Like…?”

“The river, all the force of flowing water, wears down stone. It cuts through the earth. Nourishes plants, animals, and people, always moving on relentlessly, always working. Then it comes to this place where the earth and plants and stones fall away.” She moved just enough to look at him over her shoulder. “For all its constant exertion, Cameron, the river doesn’t make the moonbow.”

He shook his head, still not sure what she was driving at.

She wrapped her fingers around his hands clasped in front of her and looked out, speaking with quiet dignity. “The moonbow happens when the river lets go.”

There was nothing more to add to her analogy so he simply stood there with her a while longer, thinking, absorbing the surroundings.

Finally, he shifted away.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

Nothing that being able to hold you forever wouldn’t fix.
He shook his head. “Nothing is wrong, but we need to get back. I have an early day planned.”

“You do?”

You do, she had said. Not
we
do as he had braced himself to hear. Perhaps Julia had really begun to let go of her need to be in on everything—if only just a bit. He ran his hand through his hair. ‘Yes, I do. I have to scout around a bit in the morning. I have a hunch about something.”

“Oh?” She stepped back, close enough to fill the shelter of his arms, but he resisted the urge to embrace her.

Instead, he explained his thinking on the case in an almost inaudible whisper. “I keep going over in my mind some of the things my nephew said on the phone.”
He stole a quick peek around them to ensure that no one was eavesdropping.
“At first, when Devin dropped the hints about his spring break plans with Michael I was thinking of them coming here to hide, not to find something already hidden.”

‘You think your friend suspected the gold was here even before he ever found that note on my desk.” Her hand pressed against the padding of his thick parka. “Then why didn’t your friend just come down here right away?”

“Cat and mouse,” he reminded her.

“Which are you?”

He arched an eyebrow. “Depends on your point of view. But if a certain ‘cat’ had been stalking me—and he had—he might be the kind of feline who feared taking the bait and finding a red herring.”

She placed her hand on his chest and tipped her face up, her inviting lips curved. “Is this the way you spy types always talk?”

“Yes, we try to work in a whole slew of buzz words whenever we can. That’s how we spot one another,” he teased, grateful for the levity. “Do you like it?”

“It’s dreamy,” she cooed through her sly smile. “Tell me more—and start with why you have to go scouting around.”

“Trying to pry more vital information out of me, eh?”

“It’s useless to resist my charms,” she purred in an accent stolen straight from a bad cold-war spy spoof.

Despite the cornball routine they were playing, he had to admit her last remark had some truth to it. One look from those eyes and he was ready to tell her just about anything.

“If you must know,” he said, “I’ve been bothered by the fact that all the boy’s clues fit. He talked of southern fried chicken.”

“Kentucky is south of Ohio and famous for its fried chicken,” she said.

“Exactly. And he emphasized the word
following.”

“A warning that you were being followed?”

He nodded. “And then he told me exactly what to do to speed things along—get moving.”

“You aren’t kicking yourself because you didn’t pick up on that right away, are you?”

“I was too focused on my own plan. I should have listened more carefully from the start.” He forced down the wave of guilt rising in his stomach. “But that’s behind me now. I have to move forward.”

“By scouting around?”

He glanced at the base of the falls. “One thing didn’t fit with the rest of Devin’s hints—the continued reference to fishing.”

“You’re going fishing?”

“No." He shook his head. “But I think Michael is—for gold.”

*

Julia sat up in her bed and threw off the thick layer of covers.
For an instant a wave of panic hit her. What did she have to accomplish today? Was she already running behind? She reached out to check her phone and a beam of sunlight from between the heavy curtains glinted off the glass on the unfamiliar nightstand, reminding her of where she was and the conclusion she had come to last night at the falls.

She smiled and laid her head back on the soft, fat pillow. Who would have thought that letting go of her drive to do too much would bring such joy?

Cameron, that's who.
She gazed up at the white ceiling and sighed. Cameron O’Dea. How blessed she was to have him in her life.

She laughed at the memory of his face last night when she had told him she didn’t need to go with him on his scouting trip. He’d gaped at her in disbelief. He’d checked his hearing. He’d made a crack about her secretly scheming to arise before dawn, chart out the entire park, then present him with a strategic operational grid and relief map. Then he’d grinned
that
grin.

Her heart stirred at the recollection. She clutched the covers to her chest. How blessed—but for how long?
She chased away the temptation to worry over how soon she would be losing Cameron. For the first morning in oh so long, she awakened from a truly restful night’s sleep to no pressure, no responsibility, nothing but peace. All at once she recalled the prayer for peace she had uttered on her doorstep a week ago…just before Shaughnessy had shown up.

She shuddered, then hugged her arms tightly around her body. She’d found peace and maybe even a new way of approaching her work, and yet Shaughnessy was still out there. That thought unsettled her a bit.

“Miss Reed?” A brisk, businesslike knock jarred her from her thoughts.

She jumped, her legs jerking under the cool sheets.

“What is it, Carl?” she asked, her hand pressed to her T-shirt. Thanks to her new attitude, Julia had even made friends with her bodyguard.

“It’s time for me to go off shift. I’m gonna hurry, see if I can still get in on the hot breakfast bar but don’t worry,
Cameron just came in. He said he’d get cleaned up real fast and grab you some breakfast and bring it up.”

“Thanks, Carl.” She wondered if he could hear the contentment in her tone.

She threw back the covers and climbed out of bed, wanting to be dressed before Cameron showed up.

Jeans. Camp shirt. Socks. She wriggled into each item in haste then turned to her personal grooming in leisure. The hard plastic bristles of her hairbrush made her scalp tingle as she stroked through her thick, black curls. Her lotion saturated her cheeks and chin and throat with cool softness. She inhaled

the subtle scent, then let it out slowly.

She rarely wore makeup, but today she decided on a touch of mascara and a bit of lip gloss to complement her buoyed spirits.

She stood back from herself in the mirror and surveyed the results.

“You,” she waggled one finger at her reflection, “look more like a woman in love than one steeped in international intrigue.”

She put her hand to her lips but, of course, the word was already out there. She watched the flush of happy color drain from her face. “Love?” she whispered to the image of her stunned face. “It can’t be.”

“Julia?”

Her name, refined by the lilting Irish of the hushed male voice, stirred something deep within her.

Maybe she did love Cameron O’Dea, but that didn’t mean she could—should—let him know it.

“Um, just a minute, Cameron.” She lurched for the hiking boots he had given her, deciding it best to meet him ready to go rather than to allow him inside the close quarters.

She tucked one shoe under her arm then lifted her foot and set to work getting the other shoe.

He knocked lightly a few times. Paused, then knocked again.

She began to hop furiously around, trying to work her toes inside the stiff new shoe. She tried and failed, tugged at her sagging sock, then tried again.

A barrage of light taps fell against the locked door.

Her heart seemed intent to mimic the insistent rat-a-tat-tat. Cameron wasn't usually so impatient. She hopped up and down, struggling with the shoe. “Just a minute. I’ve almost got—”

The shoe slipped from her grasp and thumped on the carpeted floor, bumping her shin along the way

“Julia!” he rasped. Probably he wanted to hurry in before he drew a lot of attention.

“Oh, all right.” She tossed the second shoe alongside its mate and hurried to the door, confident she now looked more battle-fatigued than love struck. “But I’m warning you, when you hustle a girl around this way you’d better be ready to back yourself up with a really terrific surprise.”

She flung open the door.

“Surprise.” Michael Shaughnessy grinned.

*

“Do you want coffee with that, sir?”

Cameron squinted down at the ample breakfast he’d ordered on Julia’s behalf. “I’ve never seen the lass drink coffee,
but that doesn’t mean she wouldn’t like a cup on a fine spring morning like this.”

“Perhaps if you took up a serving pot of hot water and a selection of instant coffees and teas?” The young man held up a small stainless steel pot with a black handle. “Or we have some really good flavored coffees.”

“Flavored?”

“Irish mocha creme,” the waiter said, lifting the small packet up as though tempting a pup with a treat.

Cameron smiled. “Well, now, how can I refuse that?”

As the young man prepared the sweet-smelling brew, he edged closer to Cameron, as if creeping into his confidence. “You’re looking for dead bodies, aren’t you?”

The question so took Cameron aback, all he could manage was to blink at the young man and mutter, “Bodies?”

“It’s okay. You can trust me.” The young man with the serious brown eyes and the name badge identifying him as James sidled closer. “I saw you go out with several park security officers before dawn this morning. I guessed from all the trail charts and terrain maps that you were looking for something.”

The inference, despite the wrong conclusion, made Cameron freeze.

“And when some guests came back and said that security had blocked off parts of the park, it didn’t take much to put it all together.” James glanced to the left, to the right, then to the left one more time.

Cameron felt compelled to do the same.

When James spoke again, it was a subdued whisper from the comer of his mouth. “Gotta be bodies. Every few years you hear of some maniac burying bodies in some secluded park somewhere. I figured this year it was our turn.”

“You watch a lot of television, don’t you, son?”

“I get it. You can’t talk about the case until you’ve got some evidence—a
body
of evidence, maybe?”

Cameron shook his head and picked up the silver plate cover on the counter. He placed it over Julia’s breakfast.

This was the last thing he needed this morning, some zealous kid thinking he’d stumbled into an episode of a true crime drama. James and his misinformation could well cause problems for Cameron and his real case. The young man’s suggestion that the police were digging up anything could spread through the lodge staff, then on to the guests, and then to other tourists and further.