Wandering Heart (9781101561362) (16 page)

Charlotte suddenly understood the crazy impulse. It wasn’t really stalking. She just wanted to see where he lived. She probably couldn’t pick out his house, but it would be fun to see the neighborhood.
Besides,
she reasoned as she started off,
he’ll be out on his boat on such a perfect day anyway. He’ll never even know I rode by.

Charlotte knew it would have been much better if she could just douse the attraction she felt, not feed it like a fire that was growing inside her. But she just couldn’t resist. Not as long as she was on this island.

The ride to the fishing village wasn’t as short as it appeared on the map, but the scenery was breathtaking and well worth the effort. She finally saw a small wooden sign for the little community stuck to a post in the main road. Charlotte turned down a narrow lane, following the arrow.

Cobblestone streets were not the best for bike riding. As soon as she steered onto the stones, the bike bounced wildly under her and pedaling became much harder. She steered onto a narrow road flanked by tall beach grass and trees, and a mass of low cottages came into view. The main road branched off into narrow lanes, with quaint names, like Teapot, Fish Bone, and Hasty. She was fascinated. She had never seen anything quite like this place, which felt as if it had emerged unscathed from the nineteenth century. It was better than a movie set.

She turned at the corner of Fish Bone Lane and rode along. Some of the mailboxes at the side of the road bore names, but most had only numbers.

She spotted the name North on a mailbox and realized it might be Claire’s cottage. It was just as Charlotte imagined Claire’s home would look, only better. The low white cottage was covered with rambling pink roses on one side and had a brick chimney on the other. The windows were flanked by dark green shutters and offered window boxes full of summer flowers. A few steps led up to a small porch that covered the front of the cottage. The front door was painted bright yellow and some wicker furniture, lanterns, and more flowerpots filled the space. But most remarkable was the garden that filled one side of the front yard and overflowed into the side of the property. Charlotte paused, straddling the bike to get a better look at the rows of carefully tended vegetables and flowers, all mixed together but probably in a carefully considered arrangement. Rows of sunflowers bowed their heavy golden heads in her direction, as if bidding a respectful greeting. Charlotte spotted big ripe tomatoes, curling green squash, and other ripening treasures she couldn’t identify.

Where did Claire get the time to work on this huge garden? she
wondered. She seemed to be working at the inn twenty-four hours a day. But she was a remarkable person in her quiet way; Charlotte was coming to see that.

She rode farther along, hoping Colin’s cottage would be as easy to pick out, but she did not see any mailboxes with the name Doyle. She wound her way around the narrow streets, stopping twice to take photos with her cell phone. Then she headed in the direction she had come, hoping she could find her way back.

She was pedaling slowly, feeling every bump of the cobblestone lane.
Maybe I should get off and just push the bike awhile. I’m going to pay for this adventure tomorrow morning,
she realized, nearly laughing out loud. Still she pedaled along, at a slow, shaky pace, slowing down even more as she came to a corner.

Do I need to make a left here … or right?

A big red pickup truck drove up behind her. Charlotte hadn’t even heard it coming until the last second. She felt a hot blast of air as it drove by. It came so close and she got so rattled, she lost her balance and felt the bike slip out from under her as she tumbled to one side.

It all happened so fast. She put her hands out to brace herself as the ground suddenly rushed up to meet her. The bike went forward and she slipped off sideways, tumbling onto someone’s lawn.

Finally, her flying body came to a stop. She felt the hard ground under her and smelled fresh grass and dirt; she even tasted some in her mouth. She felt a little stunned but pushed herself up just as the truck came to a screeching stop. Her knee stung and her chin hurt. She took a deep breath and bent her leg to take a look.

The driver of the truck jumped out and ran toward her. “Hey, are you all right? Should I call an ambulance?”

She looked up, about to give the guy a piece of her mind, when she suddenly saw that it was Colin.

He stared at her in total shock. He obviously hadn’t recognized her either, under the bike helmet and sunglasses.

“Charlotte? What are you doing out here? On a bike, no less.” He stared at her a long moment, shaking his head. “Can’t we just meet like normal people—without some life-threatening crisis?”

Despite her injuries, which she knew were minor, Charlotte had to laugh. “Good point. We need to work on that.”

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I should have been paying more attention. I must have been daydreaming or something.” He caught sight of her leg and winced. “That must hurt. You scraped your elbow, too.”

Charlotte bent her arm to look at her elbow. “Whoops, I’ll need a little extra makeup on that one. As long as there’s nothing on my face,” she said, feeling suddenly alarmed. “Do you see anything on my chin? I think I banged it on the handlebars.”

She held her face up to him and he leaned close to check. “Looks good to me.” He stared into her eyes a little longer than was necessary. Her heartbeat quickened.

“I’ll be in trouble if I look banged up on camera,” she explained.

Colin gave her a thoughtful look. She could tell he had no idea just how closely she was watched and micromanaged.

“Come on, let me help you up.” He stuck out his hand and she grabbed it, then was lifted off the ground with a single tug. “Can you get yourself over to the truck? I’ll get the bike. You can come back to my cottage and clean up.”

Her knee hurt a little as she limped over to the truck, but it was a small price to pay for a visit to Colin’s house. Despite her little aches and pains, she almost laughed out loud, realizing she had accidentally achieved her goal—though not at all the way she planned.

Colin drove a short distance, making a few quick turns, and finally pulled up to a whitewashed cottage that was set back from
the road and surrounded by tall trees. She caught a glimpse of sparkling water through the foliage and realized the back of the house faced the sea.

The driveway was coated with crushed white bits of seashells and made a crunching sound as the truck pulled up to the house. Colin climbed down from behind the steering wheel but Charlotte was slower, trying not to jostle her knee. Before she managed to get down, Colin had come around to her side.

“Here, let me help you. I feel so bad about this. It was so stupid of me.”

He put his hands on her waist and gently swung her down to the ground. They stood like that a long moment. Charlotte swallowed hard, unable to look up at him. She’d had her fair share of romances and wasn’t all that shy with men, but for some reason, it was very different with Colin.

He stepped away and cleared his throat. “Do you need help getting inside?”

“I can manage. All I need is an ice pack. My knee is just a little sore.”

Charlotte’s voice was light, but the blossoming bruises brought back bitter memories. She knew how to care for this type of injury all too well. She’d had a lot of practice hiding black and blue marks over the years. She was a pro at it, and so were her sisters and brother and her poor mother.

She found herself biting down on her lip, fighting back the sudden rush of memories. Colin glanced at her. “Actually, it hurts a lot, right? You just don’t want to tell me.”

He gently took her arm and led her to the front door. Charlotte stepped into a small foyer. A low wooden trunk with a cushion on top sat near the door. Above it she saw a row of hooks covered with
Colin’s jackets and sweaters, and above that, a shelf that held hats. A staircase faced the front door, leading to an upper floor. Charlotte guessed the rooms up there had pitched ceilings; from the outside, the cottage looked too small to have two stories. She also saw openings to several rooms: a sitting room, a kitchen, and another room with a closed door. The walls were whitewashed with dark wood molding that made her feel as if she were in the Irish countryside. The low ceilings and wooden floors topped by area rugs added to that effect.

“Let’s go in here and you can sit down,” Colin said, leading her into the sitting room.

Charlotte’s knee hurt more now, and after a moment or two of limping, Colin slipped his arm around her waist and practically carried her to a cushy leather chair next to the fireplace.

“Watch out for the books. I don’t want you to break a leg or anything.”

Charlotte feigned a smile at his mild joke. The truth was, she had only noticed the books in a distant, foggy part of her brain. His hard, strong body pressed close to hers was wildly distracting. By the time he set her down, she felt a bit light-headed. And she knew it wasn’t from the tumble off her bike.

She made herself focus on the room and saw a fireplace built of round gray stones with a stained-wood mantel. There were pictures on it and built-in bookcases on either side of the hearth. More books were scattered on every surface, on the tables and in stacks on the floor. There were even a couple of books on the couch.

Colin gently lifted her leg up on a hassock. “Stay right there. I’ll get some ice and a cloth.”

Charlotte nodded. She felt a bit overwhelmed by all this
attention. So far, all he did was take care of her. This was getting embarrassing.
He probably thinks I’m some sort of flailing, damsel-in-distress,
she thought. Though the truth was Charlotte had taken charge of her own life at eighteen and had been running it quite successfully ever since.

No help for that now,
she thought with a sigh.
He won’t know me long enough to realize I’m not like that
.

She glanced around, noticing the room seemed very much like him. Comfortable but masculine; orderly but not too perfect. It was a lot like the cabin in his boat. The décor wasn’t any one style; it was sort of a cozy mishmash, but what could you expect? She was sure the good folk of Thompson’s Bend didn’t hire decorators, like all her friends in L.A.

Her eyes were drawn to the framed photographs on top of the fireplace mantel. She wished she could get a closer look at them, but she didn’t dare get up and bend her knee again. The bleeding had just about stopped.

On the other side of her chair, she saw a tan couch with loose throw pillows, and a rocking chair. She could easily picture Colin in the rocker, stretching out his long legs, or taking a nap on the couch, his feet probably hanging off the armrest.

At the opposite side of the room, a long wooden table stood in front of several windows that framed an ocean view. The table was obviously used as a desk, its wood surface displaying a laptop, a brass reading lamp, neat piles of papers and folders, and yet more books.

She wondered if he was going to school part-time, in between his fishing trips. It looked like a lot of books and writing going on here, for a man who made his living on the sea.

He soon returned with a tray that held two glasses of iced tea and a pile of first-aid supplies. It looked as if he had emptied out his entire medicine cabinet.

Charlotte nearly laughed. “Does it really look that bad? Just a bandage and some antiseptic cream would do.”

“I have it here somewhere,” he promised, setting the tray on a low table that appeared to be made from an old battered door. “Here’s a washcloth. You can clean out the scrapes. I don’t want to hurt you,” he admitted.

Charlotte took the damp cloth and got the dirt out of her cuts. Then she dabbed on some antibiotic cream and covered her knee with a big bandage. Her elbow had already stopped bleeding and only needed the antiseptic. “Thanks,” she said when she finished. “You run a good clinic here, Dr. Doyle.”

Colin winced. “This place is a mess. I wasn’t expecting company.”

“It looks fine to me. You do have a lot of books, enough for a library,” she added. She leaned over and sipped her iced tea. “I guess you like to read. I do, too. I’ve loved books ever since I was a kid. It was a big escape for me,” she added, though she stopped short of admitting just what she needed to escape from.

“Me, too. I hate TV. I don’t even own one. You don’t get very good reception out here anyway. I’d rather read a good book. There’s plenty of time for that in the winter.”

“Because you can’t fish?”

“Not unless I go south. Sometimes I do, but fishing year-round is not really my plan.”

“Your plan? Hmm … That sounds mysterious. I guess I did sense something else going on with you. Do you lead a double life?”

He made a mock mysterious face, then moved closer to whisper
his answer. “Not so loud. You’ll blow my cover. I do lead a double life. I fish in the summer and write in the winter. I moved out to the island after I got my MFA in creative writing.”

He had a master’s degree? Charlotte was impressed. She had only finished two years at a community college in California, and taken some acting classes.

“I had a job at a boating magazine for a while after school and I tried to write at night,” he explained. “But that was too draining and boring. So I came out here and decided to earn a lot of money fishing in the summer, then live off it the other months and write. It’s been working out all right so far.”

“That’s an original solution.” Charlotte knew a lot of fledgling writers, working on screenplays mostly. They all faced the same problems: bringing in an income to support their creative work and having enough energy left to write after a workday.

“What kind of writing do you do?” she asked.

“Fiction, mainly. I’ve had some short stories published. I’m working on a novel. It’s almost finished. I’ve been trying to work on it a little this summer, but I hardly have time. I’m looking forward to getting back to it soon. It should be done by spring.”

“That’s exciting. What’s it about? I know some writers don’t like to talk about their work,” she added quickly. “They think it will jinx it or something.”