Saving Sara (Redemption #1) (2 page)

1.

REDEMPTION, CONNECTICUT
12 MONTHS LATER

S
ara woke to the sun’s rays warming her face and a bird rapping at the window.

Confused, she rubbed her eyes and scooted into a semisitting position.

Her studio apartment in New York City didn’t have a large enough window for sun to stream in and birds sure as hell didn’t tap on her window thirty stories up.

She glanced around and reality crashed over her. This wasn’t New York City. It was her first morning in her grandma’s cottage in Redemption.

Twelve months ago, if anyone had suggested she’d be living in Connecticut after quitting her financial analyst position at a high-flying company, she would’ve laughed in their face.

But that was before Lucy’s death and more recently, Gran’s. She could’ve added the death of her marriage to Greg into the mix but she hadn’t grieved for that as much as the other two.

She’d moved out of their apartment after Lucy’s death and had thrown herself into work to quell the pain. It hadn’t worked. Nothing had. But she’d discovered that operating on autopilot was better than being surrounded by memories of Lucy in their home and Greg’s constant tiptoeing around her.

The isolation—from her husband, her colleagues, her friends—had been cathartic. She’d needed to be left alone to heal and they’d let her.

When Gran had died four weeks ago, she’d seen it as a sign. It seemed almost trite that she now resided in Redemption when it was what she’d craved most. Some kind of absolution from the ever-present guilt that constantly plagued her. The move wasn’t quite what she’d anticipated but it was a start. A new beginning, in a new town, in a house she’d always loved. The only place she’d ever called home. Gran had been supportive in a way her mother never had and the fact that Sara’s pyrography pieces adorned the walls in the hallway, kitchen, den and sunroom was testament to that.

It had been years since she’d picked up a heated wire tip to scorch designs into wood. Too many years. She’d buried her artistic talent when she’d met Greg. Corporate law and pictures of fairies and gnomes burned into bark didn’t mesh in his professional world.

He’d never been to this house, had never visited Gran. Sadly, Sara’s visits had tapered off once she’d had Lucy and begun the frantic act of juggling work and motherhood.

Gran hadn’t come to Lucy’s funeral. She’d been sick—an angina episode. Sara understood. What she didn’t understand, and couldn’t forgive, was her own mother not being there.

Vera could’ve come. She should’ve come. Then again, Sara’s childhood had consisted of being dragged from town to city across the States, wherever her mother’s whim took her.

When Lucy died, Vera had been in Atlantic City, her latest fad. Distance wasn’t the problem with her getting to New York City for the funeral. Selfishness was.

Sure, Vera had made all the appropriate platitudes when Sara had called to tell her the devastating news, and she’d sent a condolence card, but that was it. Then again, what had she expected, from a woman who’d met Lucy, her own granddaughter, a grand total of twice?

Sara had learned to harden her heart toward Vera a long time ago. Had accepted she’d never have a real relationship with her mom. But the fact Vera hadn’t shown up for Lucy’s funeral guaranteed she never wanted to speak to her mother again.

Her gaze landed on one of her creations, a strap of leather about four feet long, hanging on the wall opposite the bed.

It had been her last piece, a series of scenes burned into the leather from her time spent at Gran’s. Tending the garden. Picking herbs. Making bread. Pickling fruits.

Gran must’ve loved it, as she’d hung it in a place where she’d see it every day when she opened her eyes.

Tears clogged Sara’s throat and she swallowed.

No way would she cry the first morning of her new life.

She shrugged the covers off and padded to the window. The view made her chest ache. Countless rows of grapevines in the distance, as far as the eye could see. A small dam bordering Gran’s property with her closest neighbors. An apple orchard, a veggie patch and an herb garden that spread a good forty feet from the back door.

Sara loved this place. And it was all hers.

She’d make a new start here. It had taken her a long twelve months to realize she owed it to Lucy to start living her life rather than existing.

Increasingly maudlin at the thought of Lucy and how much she would’ve loved it here, Sara headed to the kitchen. She’d stocked up on groceries in town yesterday on her way here, knowing she’d be exhausted from the drive and the overwhelming emotion, a sense of coming home.

That’s exactly what had happened. She’d managed to unpack the car, put away the perishables and dump her suitcases inside the front door, before bone-deep fatigue had set in and she’d fallen into bed, half-clothed.

As she walked the long hallway, more of her pyrography caught her eye. A bunch of plump grapes embossed into birch wood. An intricate sprig of rosemary. A fruit bowl. A towering oak. She’d been going through a nature fad and Gran had adored everything she’d made.

She reached out and touched the first piece, traced the outline of a grape, her fingertip tingling with the urge to
feel
wood again.

As she stood in the hallway, surrounded by evidence of her past, she wondered if she could still do it.

If she found the perfect piece of wood and picked up her tools, could she create again?

Only one way to find out.

2.

C
illa Prescott felt more alive at dawn than any other time of the day. When the first streaks of mauve, marigold and sienna streaked the sky, she was already up, dressed and tending to the plants that were the basis of her naturopathy business.

Not that she could call it a business per se, considering she didn’t advertise or sell online. But she’d been helping the folk of Redemption cure their ailments for nineteen years and it made her feel worthy in a way that marriage or motherhood never had.

As she puttered among the sage, lemon verbena and tarragon, she spied movement next door. A good half acre separated her house from Issy’s, who’d passed away a month ago, and Cilla had been looking out for a glimpse of her new neighbor ever since.

There wasn’t much that happened in Redemption that Cilla didn’t know about, and Bud the lawyer had informed her that Issy’s granddaughter Sara would be moving in.

A sad business, Sara losing her young daughter a year ago. Issy had adored Sara and the old lady had been heartsore. On her philosophical days, Cilla liked to think Issy was playing ring-around-the-rosie with her great-granddaughter in heaven.

Cilla slipped off her gardening gloves and hung them on a hook by the back door. As she did, she caught a glimpse of herself in the window and chuckled. What right did she have to think of Issy as old when she wasn’t far behind? She’d turned sixty the week before and looked it. Short grey hair cropped into a spiky style, too many laugh lines to count and a chin that was fast defying gravity.

She’d never bothered about her looks, not since Vernon had died twenty years ago. She’d never forget that day when the local sergeant knocked on her door, telling her he suspected Vernon had deliberately driven his car into a tree at high speed.

No one was told the truth but her and Tam. No one needed to know. So Cilla had moved on. Completed the naturopathy course Vernon had deemed a waste of time. Started dispensing natural remedies to the community. Embraced her new lifestyle.

Every day when she looked in the mirror and saw her paisley kaftan tops and her striped leggings and her beaded sandals, it proved how far she’d come.

A car pulled up in her drive and she walked the length of the house, curious to see who’d be visiting her at eight a.m. As she rounded the corner, she caught sight of an attractive man. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Chiseled jaw. Expensive charcoal suit. Not the kind of visitor she was used to, and her hand unconsciously fluttered to her hair.

The closer she got, the more familiar he looked. When he flashed a welcoming movie-star smile, she recognized him.

Bryce Madden. A much older Bryce Madden since the last time she’d seen him, when he’d finished his medical degree and made a brief visit home to see his parents and friends before moving on to a job in LA.

He’d dropped by to see Tamsin, unaware that Tam hadn’t been home since she left for college. They’d been good friends once, Tam and Bryce. Tam had had the biggest crush on him and Cilla had seen the attraction.

Six-three, muscular, with wavy dark hair and piercing ebony eyes, Bryce had been memorable. Now, with the man in question smiling at her like she’d bestowed a gift basket of her best remedies on him, she could see that not much had changed. Sure, grey streaked his hair to make it almost match her color, and grooves bracketed his mouth, but he was just as handsome in an obvious kind of way.

“Bryce, this is a surprise. How are you?” She held out her hand, feeling foolish when he ignored it to step closer and kiss her cheek.

That foolish feeling was quickly replaced by another feeling altogether: shock. Since when did her daughter’s friend greet her with a kiss?

“It’s good to see you, Cilla,” he said, his deep voice triggering a memory of him strumming a guitar in her backyard, singing some soulful song that had Tam almost swooning. Her too, if she’d been completely honest.

Having Tam at eighteen meant she’d openly shared her daughter’s crushes on actors and rock-stars. She’d liked it. It had bonded them in a way she’d never envisaged, having a child so young. But she’d never had a crush on Bryce. It would’ve been too weird, secretly lusting over her daughter’s crush.

It should still be weird, despite the fact the eighteen years between them now didn’t seem as great as it had back then.

Increasingly uncomfortable under his scrutiny, she glanced past him to see an expensive black convertible parked in her driveway. “If you’re looking for Tamsin, she’s not here.”

“I didn’t come to see her.”

“Oh?” It came out an odd squeak and Cilla cleared her throat, wondering what it was about Bryce that had her so off-kilter.

He took a step closer. “I came here to see you.”

Cilla wondered if it was his proximity and the intoxicating smell of his crisp, citrus aftershave or the fact she hadn’t been this close to a man in twenty years that overpowered her sensibilities, but she found herself actually grinning at his bizarre proclamation.

“Why on earth would you want to see me?”

He touched her arm, a glancing brush that made her skin tingle. “Because I’m the new locum in town and I want to hear more about the amazing natural remedies my patients raved about yesterday.”

Cilla didn’t know which snippet of information to process first. The fact Bryce had moved back to town. The fact he’d be here for the foreseeable future. Or the fact he’d come to see her on his second day here. Albeit professionally, and for an insane moment she was almost disappointed.

Heck, what had she expected—that he’d actually come all this way out of town to see her?

She really was turning into a silly old woman.

“Sure, come on in. I’ll make coffee and we can talk.”

He glanced at his watch. “Actually, I’ve got a home visit to make shortly, so I was hoping you’d agree to have dinner with me.”

“Dinner?” Cilla mimicked, making it sound like he’d asked her to run through her herb garden naked.

The smile that curved his lips transformed him from handsome to devastating, and damned if her heart—and other body parts long neglected—didn’t twang. “Yeah, dinner. You do take time out from curing the town to eat?”

“I don’t cure the town,” she snapped like a schoolmarm, sounding every one of her sixty years and way too defensive. “That’s your job, isn’t it?”

“It will be for the next three months.” His smile broadened. “I’ve got loads of catching up to do with patient files, trying to familiarize myself with everything, so I’m busy the next few nights. But how about Friday? Dinner at seven?”

For an insane second, Cilla found herself contemplating his invitation. How long since she’d been out to dinner, to any kind of meal that didn’t involve sitting in front of the TV? Vernon had been stingy as well as mean and since he’d died, she’d preferred her own company for meals than to have people pity her at a restaurant’s table for one.

“It doesn’t have to be in Redemption,” he said. “We could drive to Fairfield or Bridgeport.”

“But locals eat there too and might see us,” she blurted, then wished she hadn’t said anything when he laughed. A rich, genuine laugh that tugged on something deep inside, demanding a response.

“It’s only dinner. It’s not like I’m asking for anything else.” He ducked his head to murmur near her ear. “Yet.”

Cilla had to say no. Bryce was flirting with her, for goodness’ sake, and he was young enough to be her son.

But as he stepped back and stared at her with nothing but kindness, the sort of kindness she’d never had from a man, ever, she found herself wishing she could say yes.

“I’m sorry, I can’t,” she said, adding a frown along with a glower for good measure.

He nodded. “Fair enough, but I’m not giving up,” he said, with a brisk salute before strolling away, whistling under his breath.

“Don’t waste your time,” she yelled at his retreating back.

He whistled louder, as if trying to drown her out.

As her wistful gaze focused on his butt for a moment, and registered how taut it was, she knew she’d done the right thing in refusing him.

Hadn’t she?

3.

T
he moment Jake Mathieson heard his sister murmur, “I need your help, I’m desperate,” over the phone, he’d broken the land speed record to get to her crummy studio apartment in Manhattan.

As his nephew, Olly, opened the door to him, wearing torn shorts and a grubby T-shirt streaked with ketchup down the front, Jake sent up a silent prayer of gratitude.

Rose had problems, always had, yet she’d never approached him for help despite his many overtures. So the moment he’d heard her heartfelt plea, he’d known things had to be bad and his first thought was for this innocent six-year-old who didn’t deserve to suffer because of a troubled parent.

If anyone knew what that was like, he did. He’d borne the brunt of his father’s abuse, trying to deflect attention off Rose and protect her. He wanted to be Olly’s protector too but he couldn’t be there for the kid twenty-four-seven because Rose wouldn’t let him. It broke his heart, looking into Olly’s big brown eyes. Eyes that seemed to bore right down to his soul and find him lacking.

“Hey Ol, where’s your mom?” He ruffled Olly’s curls, glad when the kid didn’t shrug away like he did sometimes.

“She’s lying down.” Olly’s somber tone made the dread in Jake’s gut solidify. “In there.”

Increasingly worried, Jake pulled a chocolate bar from his pocket and presented it to Olly. “I’d love one of your great shark pictures, so why don’t you go draw me one and eat this while I chat to your mom?”

“Okay.” Olly grabbed the bar with eager hands and proceeded to tear the wrapping.

“Manners?” The gentle admonition slipped out but Jake wasn’t sorry. He tried his best to instill values into the boy whenever he was around.

“Thanks, Uncle Jake,” Olly said, cramming half the bar into his mouth in one go before bounding toward the kitchen.

Olly was a good kid but he didn’t have a lot of friends and was behind in class. Rose didn’t seem to think this was a problem. Then again, his sister was becoming increasingly self-absorbed and he knew why.

He’d seen what too much alcohol had done to their father and he could see the signs in Rose. Not good.

Jake dragged in a deep breath and blew it out. He’d always been gentle with Rose. Supportive. Because of what they’d been through growing up. He’d backed her when she’d left home at sixteen and worked in a local diner. He’d financed her cooking course at night school. He’d been there for her during her accidental pregnancy by a celebrity chef who’d died of a drug overdose at a fancy party in the Hamptons before Olly was born.

And he’d been around ever since.

A sliver of guilt wormed its way into his conscience. He hadn’t always been there for Rose and Olly. He’d been AWOL the last six months, too caught up in his own misery to give a crap about anyone else.

He’d been selfish and he hoped Olly hadn’t paid the price.

Rolling his shoulders to release some of the tension, he took a few steps into the living room. When he saw Rose lying on the sofa, pale and lifeless, his chest squeezed.

“Rose?” He ran to her, unable to breathe until her eyelids fluttered open. “You scared the crap out of me.”

“Sorry.” She winced and struggled into a sitting position. “So tired. Can’t keep my eyes open.”

Then stay off the booze
, he wanted to say, but considering she looked as disheveled as Olly, it wasn’t the time.

For Olly’s sake, Rose kept it together. She worked long hours at an all-night cafe, she provided good meals for Olly and she always dressed them well on a budget.

Today, she wore a faded grey T-shirt and sweatpants, and her hair hung in lank strands around her heart-shaped face, devoid of makeup. She looked . . . ill.

“What’s going on, Sis?” He reached for her hand and she let him hold it for a few seconds before yanking away.

She glanced over her shoulder toward the kitchen, half-fearful. “I want you to take Olly.”

“Sure, I’m happy to give you a break.” He’d offered many times before but Rose had always refused. “Do you want him back today or can he stay overnight—”

“You need to take him for a month or two,” she murmured, her hands unconsciously wringing the end of her top. “While I’m in rehab.”

Jake heard Rose’s heartfelt plea but it took a few seconds for the enormity of what she’d asked to compute.

“Rehab?”

Were things that bad? Hell, he knew Rose drank but she’d been able to control it. He’d suspected she might have a problem from a few of their late-night conversations but he’d put it down to her using alcohol as a way to wind down after work.

She functioned well regardless, taking Olly to school and holding down a job. Alcoholics couldn’t do that. Their father sure as hell hadn’t been able to and it had made him all the meaner, taking out his frustrations on them.

“Something happened today . . .” Rose covered her face with her hands and Jake’s heart twisted.

She looked so small, so sad, so bereft, curled up on the sofa, and he knew he’d do whatever it took to help her.

“What happened?”

She lowered her hands and this time, when he took hold of one, she let him. “I forgot to pick Olly up from school.”

Jake let out a relieved breath he’d been unaware he was holding. “That’s not so bad. I’m sure plenty of parents have done that—”

“I was passed out after going on a bender,” she said, self-loathing lacing every word. “I got fired last night and I drowned my sorrows.”

Jake knew if Rose had got to the stage of benders, she needed help. There had to be more she wasn’t telling him but he needed to broach the subject carefully.

“Passed out?”

“Not literally. Just so tired from drinking too much last night that I needed an afternoon nap and ended up sleeping for hours.” Tears filled her eyes and spilled onto her cheeks as she gripped onto his hand for dear life. “The last few months have been tough. Olly’s a handful and the new boss at work was constantly on my case no matter how many extra shifts I did, so I drank to make myself feel better.”

Sorrow lodged in Jake’s throat and he swallowed. “You know that’s not the answer—”

“Of course I bloody know.” She scowled and tried to remove her hand from his. He didn’t let her. “I hate myself every freaking day when I look in the mirror, see the bloodshot eyes, my sallow skin, and know I look like
him
.”

Jake squeezed her hand, encouraging her to continue. The more she talked, the more time he had to formulate a response that wouldn’t have her pulling back when she’d finally reached out.

“I thought I could control it.” She swiped at her tears with her free hand. “Because of Olly. I’d never do anything to put him in jeopardy. But today . . .” Self-disgust twisted her mouth. “The thought of that poor kid waiting for me to turn up . . . alone . . .”

Her solemn stare fixed on him and he read her silent plea. “I need help, because I’ll be damned if I end up like our old man. Olly deserves better than that.”

“He does.” Jake nodded slowly, the enormity of what his sister had been going through making his bones ache. Or maybe that was the guilt, because he hadn’t been around when she’d needed him the most. “You’ve found a place?”

“Yeah, a recovery center, one of those holistic places that focuses on general wellbeing rather than addictions only, and I can check in as soon as you take Olly—” Her voice broke and her eyes grew glassy again. “I can’t imagine life without him, even for a day, but I have to do this, for both of us.”

“Have you told him?”

She shook her head. “I wanted to make sure it was okay with you first.”

“Of course it’s okay.” He ducked down to kiss her cheek. “I’m always here for you, Sis. Whatever you need. Any time.”

“Thanks.” She hugged him, a rare show of affection that made him wish he could fix everything with a simple embrace.

When she eased away, her relief was palpable. “I know you’ve got your own stuff to deal with at the moment, so are you sure this is okay?”

“Absolutely,” he said, knowing that looking after a kid was probably the last thing he needed right now but unable to say no to Rose.

He’d been through hell the last six months, wallowing in guilt on a daily basis, but no way would he let Rose know that. She needed him. He’d be there to help. It was the way it had always been from the time they were kids and living in a nightmare after their mom died.

“I’m fine,” he said, so brusquely that Rose startled. “Let’s tell Olly he’s going on a little holiday with Uncle Jake.”

Thankfully, Rose allowed the abrupt change of subject. “I hate lying to him, so let’s tell him the partial truth, that I haven’t been well and need some medical help.”

Jake frowned. “Won’t that scare him?”

“He’s a smart kid,” she said. “He’s seen the bottles. He’s seen me blurry-eyed sometimes.” She hesitated, before continuing. “I knew about Dad’s drinking when I was Olly’s age.”

“That’s because he was a nasty bastard, but you’re nothing like him,” Jake spat out, his fingers curling into fists as he wished for the umpteenth time that he’d retaliated earlier when his father came at him rather than waiting until his teens to stand up to him physically.

“I’d never hurt Olly physically, but what do you think seeing me like this all the time is doing to him?” Rose’s eyes teared up again and she blinked rapidly. “I’m telling him the truth.”

Jake knew nothing about raising kids so he had to give his sister the benefit of the doubt. Because despite her drinking, she had done a good job raising Olly.

“Okay.” Jake stood and stretched out the kinks in his back. “I’ll go get him.”

“Jake, wait.” Rose snagged his hand. “Do me a favor?”

“Bigger than the one I already am?” He’d aimed for levity but it fell flat when the corners of Rose’s mouth turned downward.

“Don’t let the guilt eat away at you.” She released his hand to pat her chest. “All I’ve done for the last few months is feel guilty. Over doing a lousy job as a mother, over not providing enough for Olly, over not being here for him every night because I have to work.” She shook her head. “That guilt has got me to this point and I don’t want you to suffer the same fate.”

“But I don’t drink,” he said, almost defiantly, wearing his teetotaler status like a badge of honor.

He’d never touched the stuff after he’d seen what it did to their father. Mainly out of fear he might not be able to control himself and stop at one, like dear old Dad.

“I’ve hit rock-bottom, Jakey, and it’s not just because of the alcohol.” She struggled into a standing position, her legs wobbly, and he helped her. “You’re a good guy. You don’t deserve to feel like this.”

“I’m fine,” he said, for the second time in as many minutes. It was the same trite response he’d trotted out to concerned colleagues for a month after the accident until he couldn’t take it anymore and had finally quit. “Now let’s go tell that son of yours he’s in for a world of fun with Uncle Jake.”

Rose’s lips compressed into a thin line, as if biting back whatever she wanted to say.

Good. Because Jake didn’t want to rehash what he’d gone through the last six months. The vivid nightmares. The avoidance of friends. The struggle to get out of bed most mornings.

As Olly strolled into the room, chocolate stains around his mouth, Jake knew he’d have to get his act together now.

He had a kid to care for and he was determined to do a damn sight better job than his father ever had.