Raquel Byrnes (9 page)

The other man, familiar somehow, put his hands out, palms down, in a calming gesture which only seemed to set Simon off again.

I stood frozen on the path not sure whether I should keep going as if I didn’t see them or call out.

Taking a step back, I disturbed a nest of ring-necked quail. They flew out of the brush tittering and fluttering angrily. I flailed at them, half falling into the bushes. My hair and shawl caught in the low branches.

Simon’s gaze snapped to me, startled at first, and then irritation spread across his face.

I stopped struggling, my hair still caught over my head in the branch, shawl pulled akimbo. I shrugged, helplessly embarrassed. I was ensnared and couldn’t keep the tears from spilling down my enflamed cheeks. I stood under the tree, surrounded by the flying feathers and angry squawks. The confusion and stress of Nalla’s weird outburst, the disturbing tone of the warning from Yasmine and the others, all rode up on me, and I let the ragged sobs of frustration and worry bubble out.

Simon said something to his companion and strode over.

The other man left in the opposite direction, the tears blurring my view of him over Simon’s shoulder. When he got to me, his face looked more worried than angry. A good sign, I hoped.

“What are you…are you OK?” He reached up, freeing my hair. “How did you get so tangled up in this branch?”

“I just…” I wiped my face with my hands. “The dumb birds freaked out and…”

“Be still.” Simon’s voice sounded gruff, and I glanced up. He looked tired, a slight purple hue under his blue eyes from lack of sleep. Pale scruff from his chin brushed against my forehead as he worked.

“I didn’t mean to mess up your…meeting.” I sniffled.

His arms reached to the branch caught with my shawl, and he looked down at me, his face unreadable. “I wasn’t in a meeting.”

“I just meant—”

“What are you doing out here anyway, Rosetta?” he cut in. “It’s supposed to rain any second.”

Simon undid the snag, and my shawl dropped back down.

I adjusted it, my breath still hitching from crying. “I just want to go home,” I whispered. “I wish I could just go home.”

“Well, yes,” Simon said and rubbed his face with both hands, tired. “We should get back.”

Dabbing my eyes with the shawl, I shook my head and struggled to control the emotion bubbling in my chest. A desperate prayer rose to my trembling lips, and I silenced it with a sigh.

What am I doing here? Why did You lead me here to be frightened and alone?

“That’s not what I meant.”

Where I’d hoped to find a friendly face, I only saw distance in Simon’s eyes.

What was it about everyone in this place?

Noble Island only seemed to grow darker and darker.

9

A jagged fissure lit up the sky. I flinched. The clouds, dark and roiling, rumbled with thunder a second later. Slivers of rain sliced through the trees and spiked at my flesh like tiny icicles. I shivered, my heart falling.

“Great.”

“Follow me,” Simon said, looking up. “We’re not going to make it in time.”

“What are we doing?” I struggled to catch up to him. “We’re almost two miles from the house.”

“There’s a greenhouse.” He looked back at me, raised a brow, and then took my hand. “Quickly, Rosetta.”

We dashed along the path, my heart ramming as we ran. More lighting snapped across my vision, and I smelled the ozone, hairs spiking across my neck.

“Simon, where are we going?”

“My mother kept a greenhouse out here.” He tugged me along, his large hand encompassing mine. “Just over there.”

Rain needled down, pricking on my forehead and nose with cold, as we hopped over a small creek bed. The rain loosened the dirt, and I slipped and slid in my flip-flops.

Simon’s grasp steadied me.

All around us, the sound of rain filled the air.

“It’s coming down hard.” My breath came in a vapor, and I realized the temperature had dipped, also.

“Almost there.”

Ahead, the angled roof of a metal and glass structure came into view. The greenhouse looked old. Rusted white iron and wavy glass enclosed a space as large as my living room.

We ran to the door, and Simon wrenched it open. A loud screech of metal sounded as we pushed through. He shut the door.

We stood panting and listening to the rain tapping on the glass panels.

My pulse thrummed in my head.

“There’s a leak,” Simon said and pointed to a cracked section of glass just over the door and another in the corner. “But most of the panels are OK.”

“Better than being out there,” I said and wondered if lightning was likely to hit us in this metal cage. “Thanks.”

Simon nodded, his gaze gliding away.

I wondered what was bothering him and whom he’d been yelling at in the woods.

I scanned the shelves and wood work table, puzzled. If it weren’t for the cobwebs and dust, I would assume the gardener would be right back. A trowel lay beside a glazed pot half-filled with soil. Gloves, one on top of the other, as if recently taken off, sat beside the pot. A small metal spray bottle, its delicate nozzle gone rusty, hung on an ornate hook protruding from the wall.

“Did your mother fall ill suddenly?” I asked.

Simon whirled, a look of shock on his face.

“She did.” He cleared his throat and brought a wood stool over. “A sudden fever overtook her. Tuttle found her on the ground just outside the door there.”

“I’m sorry.” My stomach sank at the look on his face. Why did I have to bring that up? “I didn’t mean…”

“It’s OK, you just took me by surprise.” Simon patted the seat. “Here you go.”

“Thank you again.”

“I hadn’t thought of her in a while.” He winced. “She’s been gone only seven years and already…” He hopped onto the wooden table, and sat facing me, his flaxen hair falling over one eye. “I used to come here and spend time with her as a child. She and I would plant species we collected from our visits around the world and try to grow them in this greenhouse. Sort of a way of remembering our adventures together.”

“She sounds like a wonderful mother.”

He looked exhausted.

“Are you warm enough?”

“Yes.” I held up the corner of my shawl and smiled. “I’m in official Noble Island wear today.”

“I see that.” He chuckled. His white button oxford and khaki slacks bore the wet slashes of the sudden downpour. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure, Simon,” I said and raised a brow. “You, on the other hand, look worn. Is the appraisal not going well?”

“I’m fine.” His smile faded.

“I don’t want to pry—”

“No, it’s OK.” Simon whipped hair from his eyes with his hand. “I’m not sleeping well, truth be told.”

“I can’t sleep, either,” I confessed. “All the wind and rain keep me up. Too much noise at night for you, too?”

“I’m used to that.” Simon shook his head, his gaze in the middle distance, as if he was trying to remember what he’d been saying. A shadow of something crossed his features…worry? “It’s not the noise.”

He didn’t explain and sat in silence while he looked out the window lost in thought.

I watched him, concern clouding my mind.

He was more than distracted. He was confused somehow.

The wind whipped a flurry of leaves against the glass and sputtered rain water through the cracks.

“What did you get in town?” He cleared his throat, speaking as if he just realized I was there. “Anything good?”

“Uh…” I lifted my bag. Should I tell him about the weird warnings and Nalla’s tirade about his wife? One glance at his weary expression and I decided to hold off. “I got some goldenseal tea. Actually, it’s good for sleeping if you want some.”

“I already drink enough tea.” He hopped off the table and did a turn around the greenhouse, restless.

“Oh, yeah. The strong one you gave me the other day. What kind of tea is that?”

Because it tasted like window cleaner.

“It’s, um…” He fiddled with the trowel handle, distracted. He really needed to sleep. “Amanna used to make it. She said it would keep my immune system going. It’s some kind of herb or flower.”

I didn’t know what to say about that, so I nodded. I wondered about his wife and how she died. Davenport said accident, but Nalla was vehemently sure it wasn’t. And then there was Lavender. Her nightmares of her mother falling broke my heart.

“Why were you walking home?” Simon looked at me, his eyes clear. “Tuttle said you went with O’Shay.”

“Oh.” I shook my head. “It was something that happened at the village.”

“What?” Simon’s brow furrowed.

I was warned that Shadow Bay Hall was evil.

“Nothing, I just…got a bit flustered,” I said instead. “I should have waited for O’Shay.”

Simon circled the work table and leaned against it. His gaze wandered my face, from my eyes to my lips and back. His gaze was so magnetic I had to stop myself from leaning in towards him.

“I read about the trial,” he said.

I sucked in my breath. The familiar tightness in my chest crept forward at the mention of the trial.

“Oh.”

“You did the right thing, testifying for that accountant. He was innocent.”

I stood abruptly. I didn’t want to talk about how I imploded my own family. I didn’t want to remember. Meaning to leave, I stopped when he reached out and touched my wrist.

“Where are you going?” he intoned. “You don’t have to talk about it, Rosetta.”

His hand on me, my gaze caught up in his, and how close he was all collided with the intensity of sorrow over my family’s destruction.

“No, it’s just still so fresh…”

Simon watched me, his light brows furrowed. He let go.

“I’m sorry I upset you. It’s not my business.”

The heat of his hand was still on my skin and I rubbed my wrist. How could I tell this beautiful man that I wrecked people’s lives…that I caused pain to people who loved me? Still, I reached out and rubbed the scar on his jaw with my fingertips, not wanting him to step from me.

“You look like you’ve been working non-stop. Maybe—”

He placed his hand over mine, holding me against his skin, and I burned with the feel of him, unable to finish my sentence. We stood there in silence, our gazes locked, the sound of the rain pounding overhead. And then, just as suddenly, he moved away, clearing his throat. He shoved hands in his pockets, and blew his breath out slowly as he walked a few paces to look out the windows.

“What is it about you, Rosetta…” Simon’s voice trailed off.

“What do you mean?” I asked, the breathless quality to my voice embarrassing. Did he know the effect he had on me?

“Ever since you showed up, I can’t think straight.”

Not sure if that was a compliment, I watched his jaw work as he kept his gaze on the storm outside. Simon made me feel like I was on a merry-go-round going faster and faster and out of control. With music and lights and the heady feeling of being made weightless by an unseen force, and yet there was an underlying worry—a fear that all was not right.

He turned, a strange look on his face. “In your botanical studies, have you ever come across something that messes with—”

“You trying to kill me?” O’Shay’s voice made me jump.

Simon and I turned to face the drenched Irishman, his face red with exertion as he glared at us through the windows. “I been looking all over for ya. What happened to meeting me?”

“I—I didn’t—”

He leveled an irritated scowl in my direction, and a rush of guilt fell over me.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s letting up,” Simon said. “We should get going.”

“I got the cart near the road if you want a ride to the house.” O’Shay took another long look at me, hiked up his trousers, and stomped off.

Simon looked sad, the blue of his eyes dark as he walked past me and pulled the door open.

I shook my head remembering the pictures on the library mantel of him as a happy boy and a loving father.

“Thanks for keeping me from getting washed away,” I said, following. Self-consciously, I smoothed my tussled hair. “I must have looked ridiculous hung up in that tree.”

“You were a sight, for sure.” The spark in his eyes from earlier was there for a fleeting moment.

“What?” I stopped short, and he leaned forward, his face inches from mine.

I swallowed hard, a ripple of excitement running through me. “You’re teasing me, now.”

“You, under the tree with the birds fluttering in the background.” He held me with a smoldering gaze. “Beautiful.”

I stared at him, speechless, until O’Shay called from the road.

Sitting next to Simon, his warm leg against mine as we jostled in the golf cart, I had trouble thinking straight. Tired and grumpy to charming and flattering inside a couple of minutes?

When he was near, in my space, I only saw him. I could only respond to what his presence did to me, but when I thought about it, something was wrong. I cast a glance at his profile.

His distraction, the quick change in his moods, and the argument with the man in the woods all worried me.

Something was off with Simon.

10

Simon

He opened his eyes, suddenly aware of a whisper-soft flutter as leaves floated down towards him. Treetops swayed overhead. Simon sat bolt upright, confused, and realized he’d been sprawled on the forest floor. Judging from the number of leaves resting on his legs, he’d been there for some time.

“How?” He rubbed his eyes, stomach sinking with the knowledge that it had happened again. Twice now and it seemed to be getting worse.

The sun angled low through the trees. It was evening. Hours. He’d lost hours this time. The last thing he remembered was getting up in the morning and starting to work on the urn in the workshop.

“What is happening?” he yelled at the empty woods. “Wha—”

Pain hit him like a blow and his hands flew to his head. He staggered in the leaves, reeling from the headache. He rested, panting back the nausea. Something sticky on his hands made him look, and he sucked in a breath. Blood, dark and crusting, smeared both palms. Panic surging, Simon spun, searching the ground. Nothing. Burning in his side made him pull up his shirt, and he breathed with relief at the sight. The blood was his. A slice marred his skin. The wound, already clotting, wouldn’t need stitches, he hoped.