Heartsong Cottage (15 page)

It was true. While the story had begun as therapy to deal with her nightmares, over time it had grown to represent something bigger. For Shannon, the idea of The End had become intertwined with the end of a life spent looking over her shoulder. In her mind, it was as if bringing her fictional character to justice would somehow settle things with Russell.

Nonsensical, she could admit, but there it was.

Celeste had glided into the room as Shannon was speaking. “Now, dear. Don't be so hard on yourself. Keep in mind that as life pushes and pulls and sometimes shoves at us, a positive attitude can be the lift beneath your wings that helps you maintain your balance.”

“That sounds like excellent aspiring angel advice, Celeste,” Shannon replied, basking in the warmth of her friend's encouraging smile.

“Why, you're right. Let me make a note of that.”

While Celeste pulled a spiral-bound book out of her purse and jotted a few notes, Rose studied Shannon with a look. “You know what I think? You've just finished your first summer in Eternity Springs where you worked your tail off doing the jobs of three women. It's no wonder you are distracted. The pace of life slows down now and you won't have as many distractions. I'll bet you have it done by Easter.”

“I hope so.” She might be living somewhere else, but that'd be okay. Safety for her and her child was her most cherished wish.

Why Daniel's image flashed through her mind at that particular moment didn't bear dwelling upon.

The women got down to work. Shannon quickly lost herself in the dramatic tension Rose had created for her protagonist, a medical lab worker who had stumbled on a bioterrorism plot. The story was fast paced and vivid, and as usual, the plotting tight. Shannon found little to critique in this week's read from Rose. The new working routine was obviously working for her friend.

Upon finishing Rose's pages, Shannon turned to Celeste's offering. Written in her beautiful, easily legible longhand, Celeste Blessing's
Guidelines for Aspiring Angels
was a work of art itself. For every guideline, she added a few paragraphs of exposition followed by some concrete examples of implementation. She'd added three new guidelines this week, and as always, each of them resonated in Shannon's heart.

Number Fourteen: Acts of kindness are feathers for an aspiring angel's wings.

Number Fifteen: Friendship is the glitter that makes an angel's wings shimmer.

Number Sixteen: Clear the cotton balls of fear from your ears and listen to your inner angel's voice. It always speaks the truth.

“‘Cotton balls of fear'?” she asked when the discussion turned to Celeste's work. “Maybe a different descriptive term?”

“Shannon has a point,” Rose agreed. “‘Cotton balls' seems too soft and gentle for fear. Fear is … I dunno—”

The words tumbled from Shannon's lips. “Fear is a ragged shard of glass or rusty teeth on a saw blade that slices to your soul. Other times it's a chilling mist that covers you, sinking into your bones and seeping into your lungs and making it impossible to breathe. Always, it's a monster. Cold. Heavy. Harsh. Metallic.”

A million-pound monster draped around her shoulders.

She briefly closed her eyes, a bit embarrassed by her outburst. Celeste and Rose shared a glance, then gazed at her with expectant expressions. When she kept her mouth shut, Celeste nodded. “Thank you. You are right. I'll rethink the use of ‘cotton balls.' I have such a difficult time coming up with darker analogies.”

“It's because you are a creature of light, Celeste,” Rose said. “You warm and illuminate those around you.”

“Thank you, dear. That's such a nice thing to say.”

“There's another guideline for you,” Shannon said. “‘Aspiring angels light the way.'”

“Oh, that's nice.” Celeste made notes in her spiral-bound journal. “This is so much fun. I'm so glad you girls invited me to join your group. Although, I will admit, your pages this week are especially disturbing, Shannon.”

Rose nodded in agreement. “I'll say. The stalker's viewpoint is as creepy as anything I've read in a long time. You put us right there with poor Isabelle.”

Like they say, write what you know.

“Where are you going next, Shannon?”

To dinner at Daniel's. But of course, Rose spoke of her plot. “I don't know. I'm stuck. I guess that's why I produced so few pages this week.”

“You know what I think?” Celeste suggested. “I think you should give Isabelle a love interest.”

Rose nodded. “Ooh, I like that.”

“She had a love interest. The villain killed him.”

“Give her another one. She's grown strong over the course of the story. Give her a man who complements that strength. One who will help her defeat her foe.”

Shannon stiffened. “Isabelle isn't a damsel in distress. She can defeat her foe on her own.”

“Yes, but why should she have to? She's been alone long enough. She deserves happiness.”

“She doesn't need a man to be happy. She might have believed she did at the beginning of her character arc, but she's grown.”

“True, very true. I just think it would be a nice way to circle back around to the beginning of the story.”

“She has a point, Shannon,” Rose said.

“I'm writing a thriller.”

“So?” Rose shrugged. “Add a little romance and appeal to a broader readership.”

No one is ever going to read my book.
Even if this was the best thriller manuscript ever penned she couldn't publish it. She couldn't risk Russell recognizing himself in the pages.

Celeste reached over and patted Shannon's hand. “Think about it, dear. Satisfying endings are nice. Happy endings are better.”

Once she worked past her initial resistance, Shannon conceded that the idea did have appeal. “I will think about it, Celeste. Thank you. It's a direction I hadn't considered before, but I see how a love interest for Isabelle adds an opportunity for suspense.”

“Will she or won't she?” Rose drew a heart in the margin of Shannon's story.

“More likely will
he
or won't
he.
”

“Fall in love?”

“Fall to a serial killer's knife.”

Celeste reached across the table and patted Shannon's hand. “You must be willing to risk the fall in order to learn to fly.”

“Better write that one down, too, Celeste,” Rose said.

Shannon considered the idea of giving her protagonist a love interest as she walked home from the library. It was a clear, crisp night with the scent of wood smoke rising from hearths all across town drifting in the air. As she lifted her gaze to the heavens, she spied a shooting star, thought of Celeste's angels, and smiled. Maybe her friends were right. Maybe she
should
give her heroine a happy ending and begin a new story.

She placed her hand atop her womb. After all, the first chapter was already being written, was it not?

What if she told Daniel about Russell, and he agreed not to do anything about it? What if she told Daniel about the baby and he offered to marry her? What if they fell in love?

As she reached the intersection of Third and Pinion, an engine's backfire distracted her from her fantasy and she lifted her hand and waved as the mayor's old Ford pickup chugged past her. He tapped hello with his horn. She watched the red taillights disappear up the street and scolded herself for being such an idiot.

It was time she separated her plot from her life.

She repeated the admonition often during the days that followed. On Tuesday, she awoke wishing she'd gotten his phone number so she could call and cancel. Maybe she'd simply stand him up. There was a first time for everything, right?

Knowing her luck, he would decide she'd had a flat tire or wrecked her car or something on the drive out to the remote locale. The hero in him wouldn't rest until he'd tracked her to her home where, by that time, she would probably be in bed.

That's all she needed.

Toward the end of her yoga class she decided she'd just suck it up and go. It's not as if they'd be there alone together. This time she wouldn't be caught by surprise and agree to something she'd regret.

The question settled, she spent an hour on bookkeeping at Murphy's before heading out to Three Bears to prep walls. Her work there went well and she reached a good stopping point at two o'clock, which gave her enough time to go home and take a much-needed nap before her date.

Unfortunately, she overslept. She was just out of the shower, wearing her bathrobe with a towel wrapped around her wet hair, when a loud knock sounded on her door. Shannon scowled at her reflection in the foggy bathroom mirror. She was tempted to ignore the knock. Nine times out of ten, an unexpected knock on her door meant the school had a new fund-raiser going. What were the kids selling this week? “I don't need any more Christmas wrapping paper.”

Knock knock knock.

“Maybe it's the caramel corn,” she said to her reflection. She really liked the caramel corn.

She adjusted her bathrobe to make sure everything was covered and retied her sash, then grabbed up her wallet as she hurried to the front door. Expecting to find a four-foot-tall visitor, she aimed her gaze that way as she opened the door saying, “What are you selling today?”

Standing on her front porch, Daniel Garrett replied, “What would you like?”

 

Chapter Seven

Daniel watched color bloom on Shannon's cheeks as she jerked her gaze up from his crotch. What a gorgeous picture she made, all clean and fresh and damp.

“Daniel. I thought you were a school kid.”

“Not for many years.” He shifted the bag of groceries in his arms. “Superior detective that I am, I deduce that you didn't see my note.”

“What note?”

“In your mailbox? A folded sheet of yellow paper?”

He followed the path of her gaze toward the small table beside her door where a stack of envelopes and circulars sat. “I'd have called, but I don't have your phone number.”

“I know the feeling,” she muttered.

She looked so disgusted that he had to smother a smile. “May I come in?”

Wordlessly, she stepped aside and he strode into Heartsong Cottage. Immediately, a sense of homecoming, an air of belonging, enveloped him.

“I didn't look at my mail when I got home.” She picked up his note and read through it. “You want to fix dinner here?”

“Either here or at one of the cabins at Angel's Rest. I can't cook at the cabin. It's uninhabitable. I had a wildlife issue. Dead raccoon in the attic. It's gonna take a few days for the place to air out.”

“Oh, yuck.”

“The cabin I've rented has a kitchenette so I can cook there. You tell me what you'd prefer.”

Her gaze flicked down to the sack of groceries then up to him again. “Here would be fine, except my table is tiny. I don't have room for four.”

“Do you have room for two?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Then we're set. It's just you and me for dinner.”

She went still. “What about Linda and Benny?”

Now he gave his smile full rein as satisfaction rolled through him. “My guard duty is done. They've gone home.”

“Her husband's been arrested?”

“Yep. I'll tell you the whole story over supper. Now, if you don't mind me making myself at home in your kitchen, I'll get dinner started.”

“Already?” she asked, a squeak in her voice. She glanced toward the clock. “You said seven.”

“It's even more delicious when it simmers.”

The flush on her cheeks showed that she heard the unintended innuendo. She gestured toward the doorway to the kitchen. “Make yourself at home. I'll go get dressed.”

He bit back a suggestive comment that came to mind and carried his sack of groceries into the kitchen, saying, “Take your time.”

A moment later he heard her bedroom door shut with a
snick
.

Not for the first time, Daniel wondered what the hell he was doing. He had no business being here. He'd gone to Murphy's this morning to call off the date, but he'd missed her. He'd driven out to Three Bears to cancel, but he'd missed her there, too. When he knocked on her door earlier today with the hope of catching her at home, he'd had every intention of begging off. But standing on her front porch, on the outside peering through her front window looking for a sign that she was home, he'd had a change of heart.

There was nowhere else on earth he'd rather be right now than standing in Shannon O'Toole's kitchen.

And what a kitchen it was. He set his grocery sack on the little kitchen table and took a moment to study the room. She'd fitted a lot of kitchen into a little space. High-end appliances, quality cabinets. Bet Gabi or Cicero had made the glass globes for that light fixture. His gaze dropped to the backsplash and he hummed the notes, recognizing the song in the first few bars. “You're a romantic, Shannon O'Toole.”

And he'd better damned well be careful tonight.

Not that he thought she'd try to seduce him. Only a blind man wouldn't have seen her reluctance to let him stay. Nor had he missed her muttered remark about not having his phone number. A hundred bucks said she'd have canceled on him had she known it.

Her prickly attitude actually made it easier for him to relax. He decided to simply enjoy the evening here at Heartsong Cottage and not overthink the situation.

He went to work. First he opened the wine to allow it to breathe. Next he got the rosemary-roasted potatoes ready to go into the oven and the asparagus ready to sauté. He was dredging the veal marsala in flour when Shannon joined him. She'd dressed in black slacks and a crisp white blouse and black ballet flats, and she wore them like armor. “It smells delicious. I love the aroma of rosemary. What can I do to help?”