Greg had no idea how long it went on.
But somewhere along the way, they ended up on the pillows, Rachel’s soft curves molded against his harder planes.
Like in the early days of their marriage, before an IED changed everything.
And as her birthday waned . . . as he demonstrated just how much he loved this woman who’d stood by him with love and fidelity through all the difficult months they’d endured . . . gratitude overflowed in his heart.
It might be his wife’s special day, but the gift she’d given him was one he would treasure every single moment for the rest of his life.
25
Ben drew in a lungful of the bracing salt air and forged up the path to the lighthouse, waiting for the invigorating hike to work its usual magic and take the edge off his nerves.
But on this bright Saturday morning, the strenuous climb wasn’t reducing his stress level one iota.
Not yet, anyway.
Halting at the halfway mark up the path to Pelican Point, he surveyed the placid sea and fisted his hands at his sides.
It had been bad enough to find Nicole on his doorstep eight days ago.
But he could deal with that far better than he was handling her sudden interest in Marci.
The very notion that the woman who’d captured his heart was in the sights of the blonde troublemaker chilled him to the core.
Yet the Herald editor hadn’t been at all perturbed when he’d called yesterday to pass on Lexie’s news that Nicole had staked out a bench on the wharf across from her office. Apparently she’d spotted Nicole herself on Thursday afternoon and hadn’t considered it worth mentioning to him.
Nor had she seemed too concerned that one of the Hope Harbor police officers had seen the Impala parked on Pelican Point Road, near her house.
Another shiver rippled through him—and it had nothing to do with the cloud that scuttled across the sun, blocking the warming rays.
Ben shoved his fingers through his hair. This hike was a lost cause. He wasn’t going to relax until Nicole was gone.
But who knew how long she planned to hang around?
Farther up the path, another hiker lifted a pair of binoculars and focused on a fishing boat churning the waters offshore.
Binoculars . . .
He propped a foot on a nearby rock as an idea began to percolate.
Maybe it was time for some intimidation tactics of his own.
Instead of standing by passively while Nicole watched them, why not start watching her—and be very visible doing it.
After all, two could play the stalking game . . . and as long as he stayed in public view, where there were witnesses, she couldn’t launch another smear campaign like the one she’d manufactured in Germany.
The strategy might accomplish nothing—but it was better than letting her call all the shots, as Marci had said a couple of days ago.
Resolve firming, he retraced his steps down the path and followed the coast trail until it merged with Sea Rose Lane, at the edge of town. From there, he headed toward the wharf. Marci had said she was going to work most of the day on lighthouse business, so if Nicole was still on her trail, that’s where the woman would be.
As he reached the tiny park on the north edge of town, the smell of tacos wafted his way.
Charley was cooking.
Food wasn’t high on his agenda, but that aroma was hard to resist . . . especially in light of the meager bowl of Cheerios he’d wolfed down hours ago.
The taco chef raised a hand in greeting as he caved to temptation and veered toward the food truck. “Morning, Ben. I was beginning to think I’d lost a customer.”
“No way. I’ve just been . . . occupied. With matters far less pleasant than one of your tacos.” He surveyed the wharf as he spoke. A blonde woman was sitting on a bench near the Herald office. Her back was to him, but he had no doubt about her identity—or what she was doing.
“I’ve noticed some unsettling vibes in town myself the past week or so.”
Ben pivoted around to find Charley scrutinizing Nicole too.
“Have you met her?” No sense pretending he didn’t know the woman.
“She stopped in for an order of tacos once.” Charley looked back at him. “And she asked a lot of questions.”
“About what?”
“You. And our Herald editor.” Charley inclined his head toward the grill behind him. “Would you like some lunch?”
Yeah, he would—but he was far more interested in what Charley had told Nicole.
“Sure.” He checked on her again before picking up the conversation. “She and I have an unpleasant history.”
“So I gathered.” Charley pulled some fish fillets out of the cooler.
“She told you about us?” Why would she do that, when all of her claims had been invalidated?
“No—but people communicate in many ways that don’t involve words.” He sprinkled the fish with some of his special seasoning and studied Nicole again, faint creases denting his forehead. “She’s a troubled soul.”
At the very least.
“Also dangerous.”
“Those kinds of people often are. You should be careful.”
“Trust me, I am. I’m more concerned about Marci.” No reason to pretend he wasn’t interested in the local newspaper editor. As soon as Nicole was history, the whole town would know. “She tends to be a bit on the impulsive side.”
The corners of Charley’s eyes crinkled. “Ah, but impulsiveness has its charms—and its merits. She dived headfirst into the lighthouse project, and look where that led.”
“I’m not saying it’s a negative trait. I love her spontaneity and enthusiasm. But with someone like that woman”—he nodded toward Nicole—“it can get you in hot water.”
“I’m sure Marci realizes that.”
As if on cue, the Herald editor appeared in the doorway of the office down the block and strode their direction.
Ben straightened up.
If she was in the mood for tacos for lunch too, he needed to get out of here.
Fast.
Either that, or hope she noticed him and altered her route.
A few seconds later, Marci did glance his direction.
But instead of beating a hasty retreat, she lifted a hand in greeting
