Christine Scott - Safe In His Arms

More than curiosity, Jessie corrected herself, their reactions were out-and-out odd. A woman at the dairy section nearly dropped a carton of eggs when she looked up and saw Jessie standing beside her. An older man rammed his cart into a display of stacked canned goods as he watched her pass him by. For the first time in her life, Jessie actually felt paranoid. First she’d been slighted by one of the island’s citizens on the highway. Now, for apparently no other reason than her being new to town, she was being ogled like a mermaid in a fishbowl by her fellow shoppers.

What was wrong with the people in this town?

Unnerved by the unexpected attention, she concentrated on composing a mental shopping list. Deciding it best to buy only enough supplies for a couple of days, she picked up a small carton of milk, fresh fruit and bread. For dinner she bought chicken, a potato for baking and greens for a salad. Satisfied, she went to the front counter to check out.

An older woman, with coarse, steel-gray hair and sharp, green eyes, rang up her groceries. The task was accomplished in a strained silence, until the woman narrowed her gaze and barked out a sharp demand. “Where are you from, young lady? You’re lookin’ awful familiar.”

The question sounded more like an accusation. Jessie’s eyes widened in surprise. Flustered, she blurted out a stilted response. “Atlanta…I’m from Atlanta, Georgia.”

“Humph—I coulda sworn I’d seen you before,” the woman said, her skepticism obvious. Then, with a dismissive shrug, she continued, “So, you’re a tourist, eh? The resorts are on the other side of the island. What brings you clear over here?”

“My car. I, uh, sort of had an accident. It’s being repaired.”

The woman tsked loudly. “That’s too bad. Not a good way to start a vacation. Some of the hotels have shuttle services. You might be able to get someone to pick you up while you’re waiting.”

“Well, actually, I’m not staying at any of the resorts.”

“That right?” The woman raised one graying brow. “Where are you staying?”

Remembering the stranger on the highway and his reaction when she told him of her new residence, she hesitated. Another customer, a middle-aged, blond-haired woman, stepped up beside her, waiting her turn in line. Feeling uncomfortable, wishing the conversation to be over, Jessie murmured quietly, “Gull’s Cottage.”

She might as well have shouted her answer. Their reactions couldn’t have been any more extreme. Both women appeared shocked by the news. They exchanged quick glances, their expressions guarded.

The blonde standing beside her was the first to recover. She gave a nervous laugh. “I didn’t know Gull’s Cottage was for rent this summer.”

“It’s not,” Jessie said, still trying to understand the reason for their reactions. “I own it.”

The gray-haired woman blinked, not bothering to hide her disbelief. “You bought Gull’s Cottage?”

“No, I inherited it. It was my mother’s.”

Silence followed her announcement. The words hung in the air like a dark and ominous cloud. The gray-haired woman stared at her. Finally she said, “I thought I recognized you. You’re Eve Pierce’s daughter…little Jessie.”

“Y-yes, I am. But how—”

“Lord, help us,” the blonde murmured beside her. Her face paled; she looked as though she’d seen a ghost.

The gray-haired woman stared mutely.

Jessie glanced from one woman to the other, confusion building inside her. “I’m sorry. Should I know you?”

“No, you wouldn’t,” the gray-haired woman said finally, her searching eyes never leaving Jessie’s face. “You were too young, just a little thing when it all happened.”

Jessie’s confusion turned to unease. “When what happened?”

“Don’t you know, honey?” the blonde piped in.

She shook her head. “Know what?”

“About your mother,” the blonde said, her tone matter-of fact, as though she assumed Jessie had a clue as to what she was talking about.

“You mean, about Eve Pierce? I…I know she died here on the island…” Jessie hesitated. Just how much did she really want to tell these women? Was it wise to admit how little she knew of her past? But finding out about her mother and understanding her past was the reason she was here. Taking a chance, she drew in a breath and admitted, “The truth is, I was adopted when I was five. I really don’t have any memory of my birth mother.”

“Oh, honey, that’s too bad,” the blonde said. “Then you don’t know about Gull’s Cottage. About the way Eve was—”

“Sarah,” the gray-haired woman said sharply. Disapproval laced her tone. “We’ve kept this young woman long enough. There’s no need to fill her head with gossip.”

Looking contrite, the blonde glanced away, refusing to meet Jessie’s gaze.

What was going on here? What was it they weren’t telling her?

Stiffly the gray-haired woman handed her the bag of groceries. “That’ll be $18.50.”

Her hands shook as Jessie fumbled in her purse for the money. She wanted to demand that they finish telling her about her mother. But her instincts were telling her not to ask…that whatever they had to say, it was bound to be bad news.

After the day she’d already had, she wasn’t sure if she was ready to hear it.

Chiding herself for being such a coward, she handed the money to the gray-haired woman, mumbled a quick thank-you, then fled the store.

The sun was beginning to set by the time Jessie pulled her car into the lane leading to Gull’s Cottage, her new home for the summer. Still shaken by her encounter at the grocery store, she pushed the troubling events from her mind, focusing her attention instead on the narrow, rutted lane.

It looked as though it had been a long time since anyone had traveled this way. From what she’d learned, she would be the first to stay in the house in nearly twenty-five years. She couldn’t help but wonder what kind of condition the cottage might be in. If the lane were any indication, she expected the worst.

The lot was pie shaped, with the widest part of the slice at the entrance. The tip was at the end of the lane, where she assumed the property emptied out onto the beach. In between, there was a thick tangle of towering oaks, palmettos and untamed underbrush. The dense mixture cast the grounds into a premature darkness, giving the property a haunted, eerie feel.

Jessie shook off her discomfort, telling herself her unease was nothing more than the wearing effects of a growing headache and an empty stomach. Both of which would be taken care of once she’d unpacked her bags and had settled in for the night.

The trees thinned and the waning sunlight peeked through, relieving her anxiety. The reprieve was brief, however. Within moments the house came into view.

Jessie blinked once, twice, unable to believe her eyes. She checked her map, making sure she had the right address. But there was no question. This was Gull’s Cottage.

Cottage…a misnomer for sure. It was the most beautiful beach house she’d ever seen. A large, one-story home, painted white, with a high, slanting roof and a wraparound porch. There were floor-to-ceiling windows on the sides she could see. The view of the ocean must be breathtaking, she thought.

It was much more than she’d expected. Obviously, over the years, someone had taken a great deal of care of the house. She wondered what other surprises awaited her.

Jessie parked the car in the circle drive, as close to the house as she could. As the sun began to sink into the horizon, she felt an urgency to hurry and unpack, to go inside where it was safe.

Frowning, she turned off the ignition and stepped out of the car, wondering where these feeling were coming from. Her only true fear was that of complete darkness. But she had ample time before the sun made its final descent. For now, there was plenty of lingering light in the dusky sky. So why was she suddenly so unnerved?

She grabbed the groceries from the front seat. Forcing herself not to hurry, she strode up the uneven brick walkway to the front porch. Unlocking the door, she let herself in.

The rooms, dark and thick with shadows, set her nerves even further on edge. Groping for a light switch, she said a quick prayer of thanks when the entryway emerged from the shadows, glowing warmly beneath the overhead light. Before leaving home, she’d checked to make sure the utilities were in service. The lawyer for her parents’ estate had assured her that the cottage was being looked after by a caretaker, that its power and water were hooked up and that someone came in monthly to clean.

The heels of her sandals tapped against bare wood as she walked slowly through the house, her footsteps echoing loudly in the quiet rooms. The floors were golden, heart of pine planks. Even a thin coating of dust couldn’t hide the richness of their patina. Sheets covered most of the furnishings, giving the place a ghostly ambiance.

As she continued to explore, she was struck by an uneasy feeling of déjà vu. It was as though she’d been there before…which she had, she reminded herself. After all, she was supposed to have spent the first five years of her life in this house.

The thought sent an unexpected shiver of apprehension down her spine.

Forcing herself to continue, she made her way to the back of the house, turning on more lights as she went. When the wooden floor gave way to a burnt-red flagstone, she knew she’d stepped into the kitchen.

She felt along the side of the wall until she found the electrical switch. A pair of twin lights over a large center island came to life. The cabinets were carved of oak, the countertops a snowy white ceramic. Though yellowed with age, a delicate floral-print paper covered the walls. The room appeared cozy and inviting. She glanced outside. Even in the growing darkness that pressed against the windows, the view of the ocean was amazing.

But the beauty of the room didn’t matter, once she stepped farther into the kitchen.

Without warning, the room spun beneath her feet. A fist of anxiety squeezed her chest, making it impossible to draw a breath of air. Her heart pounded so quickly, so hard against her rib cage, she was afraid it was going to explode.

Suddenly her head felt light, as though it was floating. The room slowly darkened. Dropping the groceries, she reached out, flailing her arms for something, anything to support herself…because in another minute she was sure she was going to faint.

Somehow, through the sheer strength of willpower, she made it to the glass-paned door that led outside. Struggling with the lock, she stumbled out onto the porch that overlooked the beach. There was no furniture, nothing to collapse onto. Instead, she headed for the railing, leaning her weight against it for support.

Gulping in deep breaths of air, she willed her racing heart to slow. Never in her life had she experienced such a blind sense of fear. What in the world could have provoked such a panic attack?

Too overwhelmed to consider the possibilities, she closed her eyes and slowly slid downward, until she felt the solid wooden deck beneath her. How long she sat there, listening to the pounding of the surf against the shore, she wasn’t sure. By the time she felt strong enough to open her eyes, the night had gotten a firm foothold in the sky.

Compared to the pounding fear that had gripped her earlier, the momentary flutter of apprehension at the unexpected darkness seemed insignificant. Besides, it wasn’t completely black outside. There were stars twinkling overhead. And a full moon glowed in the night sky.