Upon a Mystic Tide (43 page)

John squeezed Bess’s hand. “Thank you, Hatch.”

The old man cocked his head, stared at Jonathan a long moment, then nodded. “You go to the island, John Mystic,” he said, his voice gentle with an understanding and a grasp of the situation that went beyond Bess’s, “and you do what you’ve got to do there, then you bring that doubloon right back to me.” His voice turned hard. “Don’t take it to Seascape Inn, boy, and don’t ever mention it to Miss Hattie.”

“Why?”

“Because I said.” His expression shifted to enigmatic, his tone uncompromising. “Either give me your word or leave here without that coin and don’t ever come back. Those are my terms.”

Bess silently urged Jonathan to give the man back the doubloon. To turn and leave and not come back—to forget all this. Now. Before whatever was about to happen, happened. Her honed instincts were pounding out a distress signal, a warning more dire than any she’d ever felt before. But in her heart, she knew he wouldn’t do it. Her instincts screamed that, too, just as they screamed that Hatch’s little lady was indeed Dixie Dupree. And Bess held no illusions as to what this new development meant.

With this trip to the island, Jonathan would end his six-year search. He would fulfill his promise to Elise by solving the case. He’d no longer feel like a failure, which meant he’d no longer feel the need to prove his worth by controlling Bess. And that meant he’d no longer need her.

Their relationship would be over.

He’d leave here.

He’d leave her.

This time, forever.

The magic was strong, but not strong enough to hold him. And in keeping the news of the station sale to himself, he’d proven to them both that the magic was what they had together. The magic, but nothing else. Nothing
 . . .
more.

Jonathan stood rigid, his jaw as hard as the cliffs. “I accept your terms, Hatch.”

Inside, Bess crumbled and cried and begged him not to do this. Prayed for a miracle that would keep him from taking Hatch’s doubloon. But miracles didn’t happen for people like her. She knew it. She’d learned that lesson six years ago. Just as she’d learned that, regardless of how painful, acceptance is positive growth. And so outwardly, she slid behind her protective mask, appearing passive and accepting.

Like before, she’d mourn losing him, alone.

John
stood on the pier facing Bess, his back to the angry ocean, to the wall of fog seeping inland and enshrouding them to Aaron Butler who busily readied the boat.

She looked devastated, her eyes filled with so much pain it wrenched John’s heart. “I should be elated. I’ve worked a long time for this. Instead, I—”

“You’re grieving,” she said in a deadpan tone, distant and pulling farther away. “I’m grieving, too.”

He nodded, longing to reach out and touch her, to beg her to not hide from him behind that cool cashmere facade. The moment he’d taken the doubloon from Hatch, she’d summoned it back into place—and John had begun grieving. He didn’t know how to stop this. How
not
to lose her again.

If the woman buried on Little Island proved to be Dixie, irony would have come full circle. For years, he had been obsessed with solving this case. For Elise, yes. But also for him and Bess. She’d walked out on a failure. A failure who couldn’t crawl to her and ask her to come back. But a success could ask her to come home. If he solved this case, then he’d have earned the right to ask her again to be his wife. To hold his head up and walk back to her as a man she could be proud to call her husband.

Or so he’d thought.

Now, looking at her pain-filled eyes, at the resignation in her bowed head, in the aura of loss surrounding her, he grieved, just as she’d said, because he knew their situation was hopeless. He’d lost her again. She didn’t trust him, and he couldn’t blame her; he’d lied to her. Yes, out of fear of losing her, but still he’d lied. He hadn’t trusted her either. She’d been right about that. And without trust, what did they really have?

The magic.

Beautiful. Special. But not enough.

Santos calling her no doubt had brought him sharply to her mind, reminded her vividly of their relationship. She didn’t love him, but she cared for him. Him, she trusted. From him, she accepted gifts. Things were different for her with John. She likely regretted their agreement and them making love. Likely had decided, just as he had decided, that the magic wasn’t enough. God knew, she deserved more. She’d loved him
then.
Not now.
Then.

She couldn’t love Santos. Or could she? She had changed. When she’d believed Santos had bought the station, she’d turned to John for comfort. He loved her, and yet he’d betrayed her, hurt her. And, from the look in her eyes now, he didn’t stand a prayer of being forgiven. Ever.

His eyes burned. “You’re not coming with me, are you, Bess?”

“No, John, I’m not.”

John
not
Jonathan.
His heart sank.

Bess’s heart shattered. She fisted her hands behind her back, praying she wouldn’t humiliate herself further by crying in front of him now. “You going out there, well, it closes this chapter of our lives.” A repulsive shudder trying to deny the truth rippled through her. She stiffened against it. Acceptance was positive growth. She
must
accept. “All that’s left is for us to go ahead with the divorce—”

“But we made love, Bess.”

“No, John.” Lord, how that truth hurt. “I thought we had, but it wasn’t honest. It wasn’t making love.”

He stared out at the water, his eyes as turbulent as the violent waves crashing against the shore. “It was for me.”

“We have to be realistic.” The wind tugged at her hair. She pulled it back from her face and held it with her hand. “We tried and we failed. We have to accept that and to go on our separate ways.”

His jaw went rock hard. “We can work this out.”

“No, we can’t. There’ll always be a case, John.” She’d always rank second. He’d always omit telling her whatever might bring them discord. There was no trust. There was magic, but no trust.

“We can,” he insisted.

“All right, maybe we can.” She looked him straight in the eye. Arguing with him wouldn’t work, but proving her point would. “When do I meet your parents?”

The color drained from his face. “You don’t.”

She’d expected it, and yet the flat-out denial stung. It stung, then burrowed in and hurt deeply, filling her with a pain so fierce and forceful that she feared she’d stagger and fall to her knees. Ashamed. “That’s why we can’t work it out.”

“Mr. Mystic?”

John turned. “Yes, Aaron?”

“Boat’s ready. We better hurry if we’re gonna beat the storm.”

John looked from Aaron to the thunderheads swirling ever closer, then back to Bess, his expression torn. “Tell me you’ll be here when I get back. Tell me—”

Her heart breaking, she raised her hand.

He pressed his to it, palm to palm.
“Please, Bess.”

The temptation burned so strong, so strong she almost gave in to it. But that would only delay the inevitable. Only prolong the intense pain that would demand its due before the healing and acceptance could again begin. He knew it, just as she did, and one of them had to be strong enough to do what was best for both of them. One of them. Her. But once more, once more, she had to have the words. “I loved you.”

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple rippling his throat. “I loved you, too.”

She drew the words in, deep into her heart, where she could always cherish them. Then, burying her emotions more deeply than ever before, she shored up her courage, stepped back, and lowered her hand, fisting her fingers into her palm to hold his warmth to her a moment longer. Her chest went tight, her muscles stiff. Her heart numb. “Good-bye, John.”

Resignation burned in his eyes, settled over him, dark and oppressive, and he lowered his hand. “I’ll miss you, Bess
,”
he said softly, his eyes bright.

She’d miss him, too. God, but would she miss him, too.

He paused to look at her, then blinking hard and fast, he turned and stepped into the boat. “Let’s go, Aaron.”

Bess stood on the dock, demanding her feet to stay planted to the planks and not run after him. She laced her arms tightly over her chest, as if trussed they could hold inside the pain exploding in her. The fog thickened, and with it came the first sprinkle of rain. Blinking against the pelting drops, she held her gaze on John, praying he’d turn around and come back. Praying that just this once he’d put her first.

He didn’t look back.

The tears in her heart welled, sheening in her eyes.

If you want him, then you’ve got to fight for him, Bess.

Tony. How like him to sense her in trouble and to come. She blinked and thought back. He always had. Since his first phone call to the station, whenever she’d needed him, Tony had been there. “I can’t fight for him, Tony.”

Why not?

The rain came harder and faster, and still she stood there on the pier, looking out at the fog. The storm outside paled to the one raging within. The boat was now only a vague outline on the horizon, and its image was dimming. “Because if I do,” a sob tore from her throat, “I lose him
 . . .
and me.”

I don’t understand.

“He doesn’t love me, Tony. He desires me, but he doesn’t love me. He can’t because he doesn’t love himself.”

He wants you to be proud of him, Bess. Is that so wrong? For a man to want to be respected and admired by a woman who means so much to him?

“He lied.”

He feared losing you.

“No, Tony.” The sadness in her soul seeped into her voice. “He feared me learning the truth.”

The truth?

A gust of wind tugged at her clothes. She lifted her face to it, welcoming the stinging rain because it she only could feel outside, not within. “He’s ashamed of me.”

No.

“If he weren’t, he wouldn’t separate me from his family,” she insisted, straining to catch one more glimpse at John. The fog swallowed the boat, and it disappeared.

Bess, listen to me. No, just listen. Is sex or control or shame powerful enough to touch a man so deeply at loving a woman that he sheds a tear?

“Don’t, Tony, please.
Please.
I don’t dare believe. I don’t dare.”

You don’t dare not to believe. The sand has shifted, Doc. Leap. Leap and have faith that an island will appear.

Uncertainty stabbed at her. Was there a chance for them? No. No, there couldn’t be. Even after all they’d been through, still John had refused to let her into his family’s life. But Tony seemed so sure. Once, she’d been sure, but she’d been wrong. And yet, John
had
cried. He had explained that he’d not put Bess’s needs but her desires second because he trusted her capabilities.

Trusted her capabilities.

A spark of hope ignited in her heart. He
trusted
her capabilities. A man who trusted a woman capable of caring for her needs wasn’t a man ashamed. He was a man who had faith. And yet . . . he acted ashamed. Why?

The spark grew to a flame. She tried to tamp it. She’d only get hurt. Only be wounded more deeply. “I don’t understand.”

Don’t you? Maybe you don’t want to understand. Maybe it’s emotionally safer not to understand.

Thunder rumbled overhead. No, a boat. Her stomach in knots she watched it break through the fog, slicing through the waves. Aaron. Alone. Her hope died.

Remember what Hattie said about pride, Bess?

Oh, God. “It can’t hold you.”

Neither can fear.

His words cut through her like a sharp knife. Fear? Was that it? She loved John Mystic. Had she succumbed to letting the fear of being hurt again steal the joy of them reuniting? Had she used his lying about the station as an excuse? One to protect herself from pain?

She could leap. Could give them another chance. She could go to him and tell him that she loved him, and then ask again about his family. If he was sure of her love, and he loved her back, then he’d share his reasons for the separation with her. And maybe he’d let her into all those closed parts of his life he’d forbidden anyone to enter.

Aaron pulled up alongside the pier, grabbed the rope, and started tying the boat to the dock.

Decision time, Doc. Do you take one more chance on love? Or do you forfeit it in fear, and mourn?

“Aaron!” She hurried down to the end of the pier. “I need to go to Little Island.”

“But I just got back—”

“I’ll pay you double.” Double should appeal to a boy not yet in his teens. Good grief, she’d stooped to bribing a minor? Awful. Scrap grace, but desperate circumstances call for desperate measures.

“I dunno. It’s storming, Mrs. Mystic.” He shrugged, lifting his slender shoulders.

Mrs. Mystic. It felt right. Comfortable on her shoulders. “Please, Aaron. It’s very important.”

He scratched his head and checked the sky. Bess prayed it wouldn’t be too dangerous to make the crossing. Now that she’d made her decision, she wanted to carry it out immediately. She couldn’t wait. John had looked so devastated. So hopeless.

“All right, Mrs. Mystic. Fish prices at auction being down, I’ll do it. But it’s gonna cost you triple.”