Chapter 3

“Shh, Bea is napping,” Lizzie cautioned as she let Seth in. “She should be up in a half hour, though.”

Seth wanted to tease his twin sister about how much she’d changed in the last year—who would’ve imagined Lizzie worried about waking up a baby?—but considering what his sister would do to him if he woke up the baby…

“Trent’s at La Bonita until this evening. How are you? I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“It’s been a week, Lizard.”

Lizzie, with her dark hair and bright green eyes, looked like one of the Thorntons, although she and Seth only resembled each other in their hair and eye color. She was the opposite of him in every other way: slender and of average height, she was quite a bit shorter than him and had been since he’d outgrown her in junior high.

Despite having given birth only two months ago, Lizzie looked radiant. Tired, definitely, and a little harried: her hair was frizzy, and Seth saw what looked like spit-up on her t-shirt, but she was happy. After a long road of ups and downs, she and her soulmate, Trent Younger, had finally gotten back together.

Now they were married with a daughter. Seth felt old. Or maybe more left out. While his siblings married and reproduced, he was—doing what? Whittling and building tables?

“Have you been sleeping?” he asked Lizzie. Last time they’d talked, Bea hadn’t exactly enjoyed sleeping through the night.

“Somewhat. We’re getting three to four hours without her waking up. It could be worse. At least she isn’t screaming all day long.”

“Do babies do that?”

Lizzie laughed. “You’re such a guy. Yeah, some babies are colicky and scream no matter what you do.”

At the thought, Seth paled. He’d been to war, seen men die, yet the thought of an infant screaming nonstop for hours every day? He shuddered.

Lizzie cocked her head to the side. “Oh, she’s up. I’ll be right back.”

Seth hadn’t heard a thing, but he put it down to mother’s intuition. A few minutes later, Lizzie returned with Bea in her arms. At two months old, Bea still had blue eyes, although they’d turned a little grayer in the past few weeks. She had a shock of dark hair sticking from the crown of her head and the softest skin Seth had ever felt.

And clearly she was wide awake and in no hurry to go back to sleep.

“That’s your uncle Seth. Remember him? Here, can you hold her while I get us some tea?”

Seth took his niece without protest. He’d held her enough times not to freak out, although he still couldn’t believe how tiny she was. How fragile. Gazing down at her now, he took in her long, dark eyelashes and her rosebud mouth. He traced a finger along her forehead, which made her coo. She’d been making eye contact more and more and working on lifting up her head.

Before long she’d be a teenager and sneaking out of the house to meet her boyfriend.

Seth’s stomach turned. No way is any boy getting close to my niece, he vowed.

He let Bea hold his finger, which she quite happily gnawed on. Lizzie came back with tea for them both.

“You’re going to get baby slobber all over you doing that,” she warned, smiling. “We think she has a tooth coming in.”

“Isn’t she young for that?”

“Now you’re Mr. Baby Expert? Yeah, it’s early, but she wants to chew everything.”

Seth smiled. “Sounds like a puppy.”

They chatted, Lizzie telling him about her album sales, how Terry, her producer, wanted her to go on tour later that year but that she didn’t know how to do that except to take Bea with her.

“Even by December I’ll still be nursing her, at least on and off. And I’m not going to leave my kid behind for months on end. No way.”

Seth didn’t respond to the nursing remark. He’d learned all he ever needed to know about breastfeeding during one visit when Bea had kept kicking the blanket Lizzie had placed over her to give them both some privacy during a feeding.

“But I’ve been writing even more than usual, so that’s good. Now that I’m getting some sleep and Bea has more of a schedule, I can think about other things besides baby, baby, baby.” Lizzie tickled Bea under her chin, which made her gurgle.

“Are you happy, Lizard?” Seth asked suddenly. He’d seen his sister at her lowest, at her most brokenhearted, and sometimes he struggled to believe she’d overcome it all.

“Of course I am. I mean, I’m tired and I wish Trent would put the toilet paper roll on correctly and not leave beard hairs in the bathroom sink, but that’s life. I’m so grateful we found each other again. And made this little booger.”

Lizzie scooped up Bea, giving her kisses on her chubby cheeks.

“She’s pretty cute,” Seth allowed.

“You hear that, Bea-Bea? Your uncle thinks you’re ‘pretty cute.’ I think you’re adorable, but he’s a silly boy, so we’ll let it slide.”

When Bea started to fuss, Lizzie had Seth hand her a blanket nearby before starting to nurse, already getting over any self-consciousness that she might have had when she’d first started breastfeeding. It all seemed so normal that Seth felt guilty feeling a bit awkward about it all.

Then again, this was his sister. There were some things you didn’t think about in regard to your siblings.

“Tell me what you’re doing. And don’t tell me that all you do is go to the lake, or walk around, or stare at the wall.” Lizzie wagged a finger.

“I’m doing some woodworking, got a commission for a dining room table. Alan wants me to work with him full-time.”

Alan Devinson was a middle-aged man who’d owned a small carpentry business for two decades, and he’d actually taught the woodworking class when Seth was in high school. Seth had taken to woodworking, but he’d been out of practice for so many years he hadn’t been sure if he could make himself truly useful.

After some practice, though, the movements, the skills, the feeling of the different types of wood in his hands had returned to him. He was far from Alan’s ability, but Alan recognized talent when he saw it.

“That’s great! See, I told you it’d be worth trying out again. You were so good at it in high school.”

He smiled. “High school was a long time ago.”

“Was it? I mean, yes, it was, but we aren’t that old. Sometimes I wonder if you’re just an old man stuck in a twenty-seven-year-old’s body.”

“If I am, it’s because you sucked out all of my energy.”

That resulted in a small tiff, with Lizzie writing a list of every stupid thing Seth had ever done while Seth started his own list about Lizzie. By the time Trent came home, Lizzie was in the lead for Stupid Things She’d Done.

“Do you see this? What kind of a brother creates a list like this?”

She gave Trent the list, rolling her eyes. Bea had nodded off in her arms, but at the sound of her father’s voice, her eyelids fluttered.

“Wait, why is ‘dating Trent’ on the list of stupid things?” Trent asked.

“Because it was stupid,” said Seth.

The trio bantered, Trent and Seth ribbing each other, Lizzie rolling her eyes the entire time. Trent finally got up, kissed his wife’s cheek, and said he’d be out back.

Lizzie turned her attention back to Seth, and when he saw the serious look in her eyes, he braced himself.

“You know how worried I am about you,” she said quietly. “I’m glad to see you doing something, but is it enough?”

“Do we need to keep having this conversation?”

“Yes, until you give me a good answer.” Her eyes creased. “What about a family, Seth? Are you going to be alone forever?”

“Trying to play matchmaker?” he quipped.

“Maybe. I mean, you don’t have to get married to be happy, but you’ve never been a loner until you came back from your last tour. I just worry, that’s all.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her about Rose, but that would only lead to more questions. He’d asked Rose out for drinks; that didn’t mean marriage and babies. But Lizzie would get overly excited, and when things ended, she’d just be disappointed.

Better to keep his mouth shut.

Or you just don’t want to admit that Rose shot you down and probably will if you ask her again.

That, too.

Seth stayed for dinner, and Lizzie kept adding to his list of Stupid Things, Trent contributing where he could. After they’d eaten, Seth kissed his niece goodbye, let Lizzie hug him, and took the long way back to his apartment. The moon was full, and he meandered, letting his mind go.

When he got home, the quiet of the night was soon shattered when he heard banging next door, then someone slamming a door. Listening more closely, he realized it was coming from Rose’s apartment. His other neighbors were an elderly husband and wife who went to sleep at eight o’clock every evening.

He waited, listening. When he heard another noise, he left his apartment. Knocking on her door, he called, “Rose? Rose, are you okay?”

He expected an unhappy Rose, or maybe a tearful one.

One thing he didn’t expect?

Seeing Rose open the door and point a gun straight at him.

Rose yawned as she walked up to her apartment. It had been a long shift: first one patron had complained about his steak being first too rare, then too overdone before giving Rose all of one dollar as a tip. Then another patron had decided to pay in spare change, forcing Rose to count out ten dollars’ worth of quarters, dimes, nickels, and pennies. By the time her shift had ended, she’d been dead on her feet. Even Trent had said she looked exhausted and had ordered her to go home.

When she smelled cigarette smoke wafting near her just outside her apartment complex, she stilled. It wasn’t the usual type of smoke, as it had a sweetness to it that turned her stomach. Clove cigarettes—she’d know that smell anywhere.

“Johnny,” she said as she came around the corner. “Do you still smoke those disgusting things?”

Johnny Porter, now in his midthirties, had remained handsome despite the passing years. He had sandy brown hair, brown eyes, and a wiry build. But what had fascinated Rose so many years ago—what had caught her in his web—was his smile. One of his front teeth had been chipped long ago, but when he smiled, it exuded pure charm.

His smile had taken down many strong men and women.

Johnny blew out a puff of smoke, which trailed into the night air. “Hullo, Rosie. Long time no see.”

Rose had her hand on her gun, which she carried in her jacket. She always carried her gun when she left her apartment.

Johnny smiled and tossed the cigarette, grinding it into the cement with his bootheel. “Aren’t you pretty? Did you do your hair yourself?”

“Did you come all the way here to talk about my hair?”

“Maybe.”

As he came into the light, Rose saw that he had a bruise marring his right cheek, and his lip was healing from a cut. ​When he noticed her looking at him, he smiled that smile that had once sent her to her knees.

Now she felt nothing at all, except a vague kind of disgust with herself for letting him take her in the way that he had.

“You’re a hard girl to find, you know. You bounce from Seattle without a word, and you end up here. In little ole Fair Haven. Who would’ve thought? Then again, I always knew you’d go back to your brother eventually. Your dear, dear brother.”

Rose’s grip tightened on the barrel of her gun. Johnny tilted his head to the side, studying her. Assessing her. She refused to tremble in front of him, or let him know how much she truly hated him.

“I almost have your money,” she said in a tight voice. “I just need another month or two.”

At that, his smile widened until his eyes were like slits. “Didn’t I tell you this isn’t about the money? Keep your money. Spend it on some furniture.” At her widening eyes, he just shook his head. “You know what I want, Rosie. I already told you.”

“I already told you I’m never going back to you.”

He clucked his tongue. “Never say never.” When he took a tendril of her hair between his fingers, she barely repressed a shudder. “We had good times together, didn’t we? You even told me you loved me, if I remember correctly.”

“I was stupid.”

His grip tightened on that strand of hair, but only slightly. He let it go with a shrug. “I’m a patient man, but I’m not that patient. Either you give me your answer, or I’ll make it for you.”

At that, she drew her gun from her jacket. No surprise registered on Johnny’s face, although Rose saw a flicker of admiration in his eyes.

“I told you that I’ll have your money, with interest. After that, we’re done.” She unhooked the safety; her aim was true and steady. “Because I’m not that girl anymore.”

“No, you’re definitely not that girl anymore. You’re gorgeous when you’re angry, by the way.”

She didn’t move, just kept her aim trained at his heart. “Get out of here before I have you arrested.”

“And then have all of your brother’s secrets revealed? I doubt it.” He pushed the gun down, shaking his head.

Rose wanted to shoot him straight through the heart. Her finger ached to pull the trigger, to the point that her eyes watered. It could all be over in one instant.

“You’re not a killer. Now, how about you stop acting like an idiot and give in?” He still had his hand on the gun, but then his fingers inched up until they gripped her wrist, his fingers digging into her skin so hard she had to stifle a gasp of pain. “How about you stop fucking with me and come back to Seattle?”

She tried to pull away, but in a swift movement, he took her gun, pulled out the bullets, and tossed them down into a nearby stairwell. He handed her back the gun with a sad smile.

“Make a decision. I’ll be waiting.” He moved so close to her that she could smell his clove-scented breath.

He’d once told her he smoked clove cigarettes for the novelty of them, and because he wanted people to remember him every time they met. I am memorable, aren’t I, Rosie?

“You have two weeks. I have to go back to Seattle for some business. Lucky you. But after that?” He smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “You’re mine.”

Rose only moved from her spot when she heard a car driving off into the night. She knew she was trembling, but somehow it didn’t register that she was the one shaking. She knew she was disassociating—she’d heard the word from a therapist she’d gone to all of two times when she’d had the money.

She didn’t want to associate with her body, with her mind, with her memories. It made sense to separate herself, didn’t it?

She didn’t remember moving from that spot, or unlocking her apartment door, or going to her bedroom to load her gun again. She only came back to herself when Callie barked a warning at her. That was when she had to kneel on the floor to catch her breath. Dizziness swamped her, but mostly it was the fear that clutched at her throat until she was sure she was drowning.

She went to the kitchen, slamming cabinets. She shut her bedroom door until it shook her apartment. It was as if she needed the noise to confirm she was still alive. That she was still here.

When she heard the pounding on her door and then someone calling her name, she didn’t hesitate. Adrenaline raced through her, and as anger burst inside her in waves, she hoped to God that it was Johnny returning so she could go through with shooting him in the heart.

“Rose, are you—?”

And without blinking an eye, she leveled her gun not at Johnny’s heart this time, but at Seth Thornton’s.

Seth, being the soldier that he was, didn’t yell or freak out. He stilled, slowly raising his hands to show that he didn’t have a weapon.

Logically, she knew he wasn’t a threat, yet she couldn’t lower her gun. Fear and anger filled her, and it was like she and Seth had become statues in some bizarre pantomime.

Neither moved for a long moment.

“Rose, lower the gun. I’m not going to hurt you.” When Seth moved toward her, Callie growled a warning. He stayed put.

Then, once again: “Rose. Hey, it’s me. Seth, your neighbor. Put the gun down.”

She lowered the gun. She put the safety back on and set it on a nearby table.

“What do you want?” she asked Seth in a hoarse voice. Callie stayed by her side, her constant guard.

Seth shrugged. “Well, all things considered, I’d say you owe me a glass of something hard. Got any whiskey, by chance?”