Nantucket Romance 3-in-1 Bundle (17 page)

She pulled a bag from the cardboard container and snapped it open. The first drawer contained long white socks. She shoved them into the bag, suppressing the shudder that rose in her. Just touching his things made her long for a shower. He’d worn those white socks with everything: shorts, jeans, dress pants. White socks and those brown leather boat shoes. She hadn’t seen those lying around, but then, he’d probably been buried in them.

A drawer on the chest squawked as Landon pulled it open. She opened the next drawer and grabbed the stack of clothes, dumping them into the sack. Something in the pile caught on her fingers. She lifted her hands and saw a dainty gold chain dangling from her fingers. At the end was a locket. Her mom’s.

Her dad had given it to her one Christmas. It became like an extra limb, tucked inside her mom’s winter sweater, swinging from her neck as she leaned over the garden, lying cockeyed on her pillow first thing in the morning.

Sam never knew she hadn’t taken it with her. The oval pendant’s gold plating was faded on the side she’d worn against her skin. On the front, tiny swirls were etched into the brushed gold. Sam remembered running her little fingers over the designs when her mom held her as a child. She’d open the locket and show Sam the pictures. Sam had forgotten that until now.

She slid her stubby thumbnail into the groove and pried it open. On the left side was a picture of her around the age of eight. Her mom had updated it at some point. Sam had never seen the photo before and didn’t remember the occasion.

On the right side, where her dad’s photo used to be, a picture of Emmett stared back, mocking her. She didn’t know why she expected her dad’s picture to be there still, but the fact that it wasn’t angered her.

Her mom left the locket behind, just like she’d left Sam. Had it been so easy for her to discard them from her life?

“What’d you find?” Landon set the garbage bag on the bed and looked over her shoulder.

Sam snapped the locket shut, opened the bag, and tossed it in. “Nothing.”
I can throw things away too, Mom.
Her mouth felt like sandpaper, and where was the stinking breeze? It was like breathing in an ashtray around here.

She hauled open the next drawer and shoved clothes in the bag as fast as she could. She wasn’t stopping to look at anything else. She didn’t care anymore. It was all going out the door.

When she filled the bag, she grabbed another and continued. There were cards and junk in the bottom of some of the drawers. She gathered and tossed them without looking.

When they finished the chest, Landon carried the full bags out to the front room to give them space to work in the confined quarters. She slid the last empty drawer of the dresser shut and moved on to the nightstand on her mom’s old side of the bed. With any luck, it would be empty.

Landon knelt on the other side of the bed and opened the nightstand drawer. “There’s a lot of junk in here. Do you want to go through it?”

Sam opened the top drawer and sighed. Emmett hadn’t bothered to get rid of her mom’s things. On top of the pile was an old copy of
Ladies’ Home Journal
with Nancy Reagan on the cover. “Just pitch everything.”

She snatched a fresh bag and started grabbing things. The magazine, an old Harlequin novel, its pages yellowed by time.
Don’t look,
Sam; just throw it all away.

A tube of hand lotion went in the bag, followed by a tea light and a lighter. She scooped up the rest of the contents and dumped them in the bag, shutting the drawer.

“Sam?”

The second drawer was as full as the first. She reached in. “What?”

“I think you should see this.”

“Just pitch it.” There was nothing from her past she wanted to see. Not pictures, not memorabilia, not anything. She just wanted to trash everything and get out of this room. Out of this cottage. Off this island.

“It’s a letter.” Landon held up an envelope.

“I don’t care.” She was tired of being pulled down nightmare lane. She refused to go any farther. Her past was bad enough the first time around; she had no desire to repeat it.

“It’s from your mom, Sam.”

All the more reason to get rid of it. “Throw it away.” Her tone was sharp, but she didn’t care at the moment. Why should she pore over an old letter? It was probably one her mom had written Emmett when they were dating. He’d lived on the mainland then.

“When did your mom leave?”

Sam leveled a look at him. Why couldn’t he just drop it? “The summer after fifth grade. You know that.”

He looked at the envelope.

A strange knot started in her throat and worked downward like a braid, twisting tightly.

“It was written after she left.”

An earthquake rumbled inside, shaking her to the core. Sam stared at the letter but saw nothing. Her mom had written Emmett after she left? How come he hadn’t told her? She scratched the last question. Why would he have done anything kind toward her?

“He never told you?” Landon asked.

“No,” she whispered.

He stood and held it out to her.

Sam shook her head. She didn’t want to read it. Not now.

Landon set it on top of the quilt. She wondered that it didn’t burn a hole through the fabric. Her hands shook as she opened the last drawer of the nightstand. She grabbed the whole drawer and pulled it out, then upended it into the bag, banging the bottom so every last scrap of paper fell.

Why had her mom written after she left? Did she regret leaving? Did she ask about Sam? Did she want Sam to come and live with her? The questions haunted her like a merciless ghost. But she was afraid to know the answers.

She heard the floor squeak and wondered when Landon had come to be behind her. He squatted on the floor and leaned against the side of the bed. “You’re
upset.”

“I’m fine.” It was her mantra, and she saw no reason to ditch it now. She gathered the ends of the bag in her hands and started to rise to her feet.

Landon put a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s talk.”

“I don’t want to talk.” She wanted to leave, go outside and breathe fresh air again. “We need to clean out the closet.” She stood, and his hand fell away.

Sam set the bag out of the way, then opened the closet door. Clothes and boxes and assorted junk filled the space from top to bottom. Her energy left her at the sight, drained away like someone pulled a plug on the ocean. And the smell. Musty Old Spice and sweat. The stench penetrated her nostrils, filled her lungs, and leaked into every cell of her body.

She shut the door and spun on her heels. The living room passed in a blur, then she was outside. She leaned against the screen and filled her lungs with the night air. The door clacked shut behind her.

She heard Landon’s footsteps and closed her eyes. The wind whistled through the tree branches, swishing the leaves together. She listened to the sound of a wave colliding with the shore, waiting for the ocean’s music to soothe her. Somewhere in the distance, a car’s tires squealed.

Just another week. You’re almost done. You can make it that long.

But she pictured that letter on the bed, waiting to be read. Part of her wanted to burn it. Another part—the insecure eleven-year-old with a hundred ever-present questions—begged to tear open the envelope and get her answers.

Landon’s hands settled on her shoulders, squeezing gently.

“I don’t want to talk,” she said, just to clarify.

He kneaded her shoulders. “I know.”

She relaxed a bit, letting him soothe muscles she hadn’t known ached until he touched her. She remembered the day her mom had left and the way Landon was there. He didn’t talk or make her talk. He was just there.

He was always there, comforting in a way no one else ever had. She leaned back against him, wanting to soak in his presence for just a little while. She was tired of being independent. So tired. What would it hurt to lean on him for a while? To fully surrender? If she couldn’t trust Landon, who could she trust?

His arms came around her, wrapped around her middle, and his head rested on hers. His musky cologne filled her senses. Sweet peace enveloped her, and she imagined it was how a baby chick felt under her mother’s wing. Safe. Sheltered. Loved.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time. It’s okay to feel,” he whispered against her hair.

She knew it was true. But she’d lost the ability somehow. She was like a wick clipped too short to hold a flame.

He pressed a tender kiss to the top of her head, and she melted.
Why can’t life be like this? Why can’t I stay here forever and let him love
me?
Only when he held her did she realize she was a starving beggar, and he was the bread she so desperately needed.

She clutched his arms, hoping he wouldn’t let her go. Her fingers intertwined with his.

He pulled her into him, holding her tightly. His flesh was warm against the chill of the night, his breath moist against her temple.

“You deserve so much, Sam.”

The knot inside her loosened. And a different kind of ache began. One that quickened her heart and stole her breath. It was better than the high of alcohol, more real, more . . . everything.

She turned into him, wrapping her arms around his waist. His heart thudded against her ear. He was warm and solid. Her hands moved against the ripples of his strong back.

His arms cradled her head, the same way he’d held her when he released her from the shed. He saved her then, like he’d saved her from childhood bullies, like he was saving her now. From loneliness. She was dying of it, but here he was, like always, giving her what she needed.

Sam leaned back and looked at him. She allowed herself to touch his jaw, feeling the rough stubble against the pads of her fingers. She explored the planes of his face, angles so familiar she saw them in her sleep.

The line of his upper lip was a sharp edge, and she let her finger trail down to the fullness of his lower lip, then to the tiny cleft in his chin.

Their eyes met and clung. His palm cupped her chin, and her heart forgot to beat. He leaned down, and she arched toward him, aching to feel his lips on hers. They touched her gently, no more than a whisper, testing the waters. But she felt it down to her toes. His lips moved over hers again, slowly, giving, not taking.

He was Landon, her trusted friend, but in that moment he was so much more. He was passion, he was affection, he was mercy. She wanted it all, and she wouldn’t stop until she had it.

She leaned into him, her hands sliding around his back. He deepened the kiss, and her world was a kaleidoscope of color and light. All of it beautiful.

“Sam.”

She felt her name on his lips and relished it. But she didn’t want to talk. She wanted to feel. It had been so long since she was able to.

He pulled back a fraction of an inch, until only their noses touched. Their breath mingled in an intimate dance. His hands framed her face. “Sam,” he said again. His lips brushed hers. “I love you.” He kissed her again. “So much.”

She let the words sink in. Soothe her. But instead of settling in a deep sea of pleasure, they begged an answer. Did she love him?

Before she could explore the thought, Emmett’s words taunted her. “
Don’t ever let yourself love, Sam
.
Just soon as you do, they leave
you. Love never brings anything but pain.”

The words caught in her mind. Her lips moved mechanically against Landon’s.

Her stomach twisted. The pleasant sensations flowing through her battled with the bitter reality of life. When had love ever worked out for her? What good was love when it ended in pain? She didn’t need Emmett’s words to teach her. She was a capable student in the school of life.

Get away, Sam. Before it’s too late.

Panic bubbled up inside until she thought she’d burst. She broke the kiss, stepping backward until she connected with the screen. Her chest heaved.

Landon’s eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong?”

Sam shook her head. This was wrong. The confusion on his face tugged at her, breaking her.
Be strong, Sam. Protect yourself. No one
else will. Not even Landon.

“What, Sam?” He reached out his hand.

Sam flinched away. She couldn’t let him touch her again. She’d almost lost her head, and she wasn’t sure she could trust herself. She needed to get away.

But she remembered the letter lying on the bed, the smell of Emmett’s presence, the locket her mom had left behind.

She wanted to go someplace far away. She turned and opened the porch’s screen door. “I have to go.” Her feet scrambled down the steps and took her to her bike.

“Wait, Sam.”

She hopped on the bike, straddling the seat.

Landon took her arm. “It’s dark. I’ll leave; you stay here.”

“I have to go.” She didn’t know where, hadn’t thought that far ahead. Her foot fumbled to find the kickstand.

“I can take you. It’s late.”

His presence, so reassuring and peaceful moments before, now felt like a heavy fur coat on a scorching August day.

Sam shook off his hand and glared at him. “Let me go.” She steeled herself against the hurt in his eyes as his hand fell away.