Author: Robyn Carr

“Good. Let’s talk. I can feel the rough edges, Ellie. You’re worried about taking advantage of me, about eating my food and straining the space in my house. I want you to let that go. I asked for this arrangement because, selfishly, all my life I have wanted to have family around. And even though we’re not related by blood, we’ve become good friends. Please, don’t be in a hurry to leave as some favor to me.”

“This will be resolved soon, Jo. The judge isn’t going to have any excuse to keep me from having custody…”

“I know,” Jo said. “But nothing has to change, Ellie. Even Nick is happy with our situation. Can’t you tell? I’m certainly not going to pressure you to stay—it’s your life and your family. But, if you’re okay with this—”

“Jo, I can’t let you feed us, shelter us, drive my kids around forever. It would be irresponsible of me.”

“Fine,” Jo said. “Pay your rent on time. Go to the grocery store sometimes. Help with chores, just like you’ve been doing. Earn your keep. But what we have here is a safe environment for you and the kids, comfortable living conditions, and you even have a little privacy with that room over the garage—a single woman your age should have a little privacy now and then. Ellie, you’re not a burden. You fill a place in my life that’s been empty for a long time.”

“You know we can’t live like this forever.”

“If things work out for you, even if you don’t live in my house, we might be in the same town for a long time. I might be able to meet the school bus while you’re working. We might shop together, have tea on the porch, and I’d love to teach you to quilt, if you’re interested. My mother was a master quilter. And have you ever canned? Because the fruits and vegetables from the farmers’ markets and roadside stands in this part of the country are just incredible. I’ll show you how. Oh!” Jo said, noticing a tear on Ellie’s cheek. “I’m being too pushy, aren’t I?”

Ellie shook her head. “I don’t deserve you,” she said in a whisper. “I think you’re the best friend I’ve ever had. At least since my gramma…”

Jo shrugged. “Honey, you’re my only shot at something that resembles a daughter and grandchildren. And I intend to nurture the opportunity. I’m just saying—this is your home for as long as you want it.”

Ellie hugged Jo good-night at the front door and went to her room—the room she loved. She took a book with her—a romance novel that Jo thought she might enjoy. She put on her comfy boxers and T-shirt, propped herself up in her double bed with the firm mattress and read for a couple of hours, feeling completely decadent and self-indulgent. And relaxed.

There was a soft knock at the door and she glanced at the time on the bedside clock radio; it was after ten. She opened the door and smiled at Noah.

“Never do that again,” he said sternly. “We don’t really know how far we can trust Arnold.” And then he brushed past her to enter.

“I knew it was you, Noah,” she said, closing the door. “I could hear Lucy panting.”

“You thought you knew it was me. It could have been Arnold panting. I don’t think it would take much to say, ‘Who’s there?’ before you open the door.”

“I can do that,” she said, smiling. Lucy made herself comfortable at the foot of the bed on the corner of the area rug. “What are you doing here, Noah?” she whispered.

“You going to make me say it?” he asked, and couldn’t suppress a smile against her lips. “I’m here to make that kind of love you like, when it’s a little wild and out of control, which is just how I feel when I’m close to you. Out of control. Desperate. Famished. Starving for you.”

“Okay,” she said in a breath, her eyelids dropping closed. She leaned into him. “Only if you have protection….”

“Of course, sweetheart. I wouldn’t put you at risk.” He kissed her deeply, licking her lips apart to let him inside. “Why aren’t you on the pill?”

“Hmm. Because I gave up men….”

He chuckled, low in his throat. “How’s that working out for you….?”

“I was fine until you. You’ve messed up a lot of my plans.”

“You played hell on mine, too,” he groaned, lifting her T-shirt over her head, tossing it and steering her toward the bed. He eased her back and kneeled over her, kicking off his shoes and tugging at her boxers. She didn’t even think about resisting him, but rather lifted her hips so he could slide them down. “I guess we both have to be flexible.”

She laughed at him, reaching for him. “Flexible? Come here. I just can’t resist you.” She pulled him down and tugged his shirt out of his trousers and he finished the job, tossing it aside. Her hands were on his belt buckle. Then the button. Then the zipper. Then inside, causing him to draw in his breath sharply.

As her hands ran down his hips, pushing his pants down so he could kick them free, he fell on her, taking her mouth almost savagely. “You. Taste. Wonderful,” he said. “The best thing about going crazy wanting you is the way you want me right back. This feels so right…” He scrambled through his pants pockets for a condom. “I crave you, and I love the feeling.” And that fast, he was inside her, buried deep in her, moaning with the pleasure it gave him.

“And I love you,” she said softly.

He was utterly still. Even his breathing stopped for a moment. He knew he was unresponsive for too long, then he gently lowered his lips to hers and in a solemn whisper he said, “I love you, too, with my whole heart. I wondered if you were ever going to say it.”

“I don’t know if loving me is one of your smarter moves,” she whispered. “It’s like trouble follows me wherever I go.”

“Not anymore, Ellie. From now on, it’ll only be the good stuff. For the rest of our lives together, only the good stuff.”

“Right now I’ll try to concentrate on good stuff for one more day, maybe one more week. I’m afraid to think any further ahead than that.”

“I understand, but I want you to know that I’m thinking lots further. And, honey, I don’t see any dark clouds. Maybe pretty soon you’ll forget to be afraid….”

She smiled and pulled his lips back down to hers, wrapped her legs around his waist and moved against him in a powerful way that had him gasping for breath and groaning with desire. Her eyes were opened enough to watch the clenching of his jaw as he held himself back, waiting for her. And the wait was not long; she exploded into pleasure so blinding, her back arched beneath him and she threw her head back, baring her throat.

He put soft kisses on her neck and shoulder while she shuddered. And then, his movements slow and luxurious, he joined her. And then he stayed with her until the wee hours of the morning.

Once Vanessa and Paul got to Grants Pass and could leave little Matt with Paul’s mom, they were off to the nursing home. Vanessa put Hannah’s cutest outfit on her along with her new high-top sneakers—good ballast for those early steps. When they got to the nursing home, they left the box of pictures in the car. Vanni carried Hannah on her hip. Hannah clutched the stuffed puppy that had been Terri’s. Vanni, a woman on a mission, went directly to the receptionist and asked if someone could direct her to Roberta Bradford. A nurse’s aide was called to the front and when she arrived, she reached a hand out to shake Vanni’s. “This is a good thing you’re doing, Mr. and Mrs. Haggerty,” she said.

“Hannah and her grandmother need this time,” Vanni said.

“You have no idea,” the aide replied. “We’ve all been so concerned about her since the loss of her daughter. Come with me. She’s been waiting in the lunchroom.”

Vanni followed along. There were a few elderly people playing cards, some watching soap operas on TV. Over by the window, in a wheelchair, was an attractive woman in her midsixties; she looked across the room at them.

Vanni walked toward Roberta, Paul following closely. When she was right in front of her, Vanni said, “Mrs. Bradford?”

A couple of large tears ran under her thick glasses and down her cheeks. She reached trembling hands toward them and said in a soft voice, “My God, thank you for bringing her. It’s like a trip into the past. Hannah looks just like her. My sweet little Terri.”

And Vanni was reminded, not for the first time, that the loss of a child is probably the most brutal loss of all, no matter that child’s age.

A couple of days later when Noah went to the bar for breakfast, Paige came out from the kitchen with a file folder containing some papers. It contained information from her visit with Arnold Gunterson at the private elementary school. “I found him likable,” she said. “This is a guy who padlocked his unsupervised children into a house and I found him likable? What’s going on with him?”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Noah said. “Not only the padlock deal, but he followed Ellie and I at a deadly pace—we were in her little PT Cruiser and he was in a huge, black SUV with darkened windows. There were only inches between us. No telling what he’s capable of.”

“The scariest thing is, I’d put my son in his school in a second. The only good news is, John didn’t like him, almost on sight.”

“But why?” Noah asked.

“The handshake, he said. First of all, it was too firm, and second, it was a politician’s shake—Gunterson used two hands and squeezed John’s hand real hard. Who would dare do that to John? What if he squeezed back? And John said that while Gunterson smiled, his pupils shrank to pinpoints. So, look through this stuff. It’s all yours. I hope it tells you something.”

“I can’t thank you enough, Paige. We have to figure this out, get ahead of him, for Ellie’s sake.”

“Didn’t you tell me Ellie said he came from Southern California?” Paige asked.

“That’s what she said, yeah.”

“Well, not this Arnold Gunterson. He came from Maine.”

“Maine?” Noah repeated. “Maine?”

“Yeah,” Paige said. “Think he could’ve gotten any farther from home? You know, every time I hear some news story about a creep who’s hurt or molested a kid, he or she’s in a position to work with kids and they were supposed to be fingerprinted, but they weren’t. Do you think maybe it’s possible that this guy should have been checked out and wasn’t? Because he can be convincing?”

“I’ll look into that,” Noah said.

“Well, go get ’em, Noah.”

Noah looked at his watch—it was only noon, which meant 3:00 p.m. on the East Coast. He looked through Paige’s collected papers and notes. Then he called the private university in Maine where Arnold Gunterson had obtained his degree in early-childhood education. He was directed to the office of the dean.

“Hi, my name is Reverend Noah Kincaid of the Virgin River Presbyterian Church in California. I’m looking at a private elementary school in Redway, California, for some children in our church, and the director and principal is a graduate of your college. I just want to verify that, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all, Reverend,” the woman on the line said. “We’re a small school. The name?”

“Man by the name of Arnold Gunterson,” Noah said.

“Yes, he’s a graduate with an advanced degree in clinical psychology. He specializes in children’s art psychology.”

“Wow,” Noah said. “You looked that up fast.”

She laughed. “I’m afraid you must have the wrong Arnold Gunterson. Dr. Gunterson is still here, teaching.”