Safe In His Arms

On shaking legs she crossed the street to the parking lot, ignoring the glances of passersby. At first she’d attributed Samuel’s actions to rudeness. Now she believed recognition had played a role in his behavior. It would certainly explain his reaction to her identity—he’d been shocked.

Distractedly she unlocked the door of her car. Climbing inside, she started the engine and pulled out of the lot, not exactly sure where she was going. Then, as though the car had a mind of its own, she found herself searching the island for the address listed in the phone book.

Eventually she found Samuel’s house on the outskirts of town, near the docks. She slowed her car to a stop, her curiosity getting the better of her. It was an older home, but well taken care of. It was painted a creamy yellow, with dark-green shutters. Bright, multi-colored flowers spilled out of the window boxes lining the front of the house. A rustic brick walkway led to the door.

The familiar red truck parked in the driveway surprised her. It was still early, barely twelve o’clock, the workday only half over.

There were no other signs of life. No car, no swing set, no bicycles, nothing to indicate anyone else was around. She wondered if he lived alone.

Suddenly the front door swung open, and Samuel Conners stepped outside. He stood on the front porch, glancing at the street. When he spotted her car, a stormy expression crossed his handsome face. Before she realized what was happening, he strode angrily toward her car, making short work of the distance between them.

His face dark with fury, he placed both hands on the frame of her window, blocking her escape. With a harshness that sent a chill down her spine, he snarled, “What the hell do you want, Jessie Pierce? Why did you have to come back to Prudence Island?”

Samuel had had enough. One chance encounter was unavoidable. He’d even believed that twice was a mere coincidence. But three times in less than twenty-four hours was more than any man could accept.

The woman was following him…and he was determined to find out why.

Jessie stared at him, her mouth dropping open. She looked scared, rightfully so. He supposed he appeared a little wild and dangerous. He certainly felt on the verge of losing control.

But he would never hurt a woman….

Not that she would know that.

Samuel’s gaze remained hard, unwavering. Just what did she know? That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it? Everyone from the sheriff to the prosecutor to the defense attorneys had wanted to know exactly what young Jessie had seen the night her mother had died.

But no one had been able to discover the answer.

Unwanted memories flashed in his mind. He’d been ten years old when it had all happened. She couldn’t have been more than four or five. Too shocked and upset, in the end, for anyone to press for her testimony. Protected by her family’s wealth and standing in the community, she had disappeared from Prudence Island, leaving unanswered questions and more pain than she could have imagined.

Now she was back.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded, as the bitterness of his past threatened to overwhelm him.

“I found the article,” she whispered, her voice so quiet he could barely hear her. She had the scared, petrified look of a cornered animal. Shrinking back against the seat, she leaned away from him, away from his anger. “The newspaper, the picture of the man who murdered my mother. I know it couldn’t have been you, but it was your name, your picture….”

The words fell like a blow against his chest, knocking the breath from his lungs. Samuel bore the name and the face of his father. It had been his burden in life. He stepped away from the car, feeling sickened by this unwanted invasion from the past.

Resignation stole the heat from his anger. Still unable to accept the final verdict, he backed away from the car. “Samuel Conners was my father. He was a kind, gentle man. He couldn’t have done anything so vile, so brutal. He died for a crime he didn’t commit.” He pointed a finger at Jessie, not caring that his hand shook. Or that his voice was nearly choked by a lump of overwhelming emotion. “If anyone should know that, it’s you, Jessie Pierce.”

With that he turned on his heel and strode back to the blessed sanctuary of his house.

Chapter 4

My father…a kind, gentle man…he couldn’t have done anything so vile, so brutal.

Samuel’s final words played over and over in her mind, as Jessie slammed the BMW into gear and sped away from his house. Her tires squealed in protest at her rough handling, spewing out dirt and crushed shell. Within seconds the house disappeared behind a cloud of dust and debris.

His father. Of course. She should have known he’d been the man in the newspaper article. Who else could have borne such a striking resemblance to this man than his own father?

He died for a crime he didn’t commit. If anyone should know that, it’s you, Jessie Pierce.

She gripped the steering wheel tightly, trying to still her trembling hands. The look on Samuel’s face, the adamancy of his tone—he actually believed she knew his father to be innocent. That she’d allowed a wrongfully convicted man to die in prison.

No wonder he held such animosity toward her.

Golden rays of the midday sun glinted off the road, turning the pavement up ahead into a shimmering mirage. Yet she felt none of its comforting warmth. Jessie drew in a shaky breath. She felt chilled by the elusive memories of her past.

Too soon she spotted the lane leading to her cottage. She slowed the car, carefully making her way over the deep ruts. Even at high noon the towering, moss-covered live oaks and the thick underbrush cast huge shadows, choking out any filtering light. The house, despite its brilliant coat of white paint, wore an ominous pall.

Unable to face the darkness that surrounded the house, Jessie parked her car in the driveway and walked the short distance to the beach. A few feet past the boardwalk, her strength gave out. She sat down hard on a cushion of soft, warm sand, her muscles shaking with relief. Blindly she stared at the undulating waves of the ocean.

Her mind still reeling, she forced herself to go over the events of her disturbing encounter with Samuel. He had said that his father had died for a crime he did not commit. Which meant Samuel believed someone else had murdered Eve Pierce.

Or did it?

Mixed in with the anger and the bitterness, Jessie had seen another emotion shadowing Samuel’s eyes. An emotion so raw and painful, it had hurt for her to witness it. An emotion so intense, she had wanted to reach out and ease his suffering.

There had been a guilty uncertainty in his gaze.

Despite his protests to the contrary, Samuel was not completely sure of his father’s innocence.

Jessie’s breath caught painfully in her throat. More than anything else, her own reaction toward Samuel’s anguish had disturbed her. Caring didn’t come easy for her. Her protective instincts usually kept her aloof from others and their problems. Better to live an isolated life, she reminded herself, than to risk the pain of caring too much. Especially not for a stranger, a man whose father may very well have murdered her own mother.

That is, if the newspaper accounts of her mother’s death had been accurate. She frowned. Could they have been wrong? Could the person who murdered her mother still be at large?

Jessie shuddered at the possibility that such a devastating mistake could have been made. Slowly she became aware of her surroundings. The foaming waves of the ocean formed a jigsaw pattern against the beach. The air was heavy with the scent of salt and the live fish of the sea. In the distance a mother and child laughed in delight as the winds carried their kite high into the sky.

Everything seemed so normal, so peaceful. It felt odd that the lives of others went unaffected while her life had undergone such a complete and staggering change.

Her mother had been murdered in Gull’s Cottage. That much she knew for sure. The truth of whether or not she’d been a witness to the horrible crime was still buried deep inside her. According to the newspaper’s account, Samuel’s father was found guilty of the murder. But the little voice in the back of her mind told her that something wasn’t quite right with the story. That there was more to the events of the past that hadn’t yet been revealed.

Unfortunately Samuel’s father was dead, as was her mother. Did that mean the secret behind her mother’s death would forever be buried?

She closed her eyes against the emotions roiling inside her. In Atlanta she’d learned to cope with her fears by distancing herself from her own emotions. Though her adoptive mother had constantly tried to bring her out of her shell, Jessie had stood firm in her belief that if she didn’t allow herself to feel, to get close to others, then she would never be hurt.

In her own way she had become an island.

Until she’d returned to Gull’s Cottage, she’d never realized how fragile her world had become, how successful she’d been at denying the truth. Clearly, the emotional problems of her adulthood were tied to the one traumatic event of her childhood—the event that she’d tried so hard to suppress—her mother’s death.

Drawing in a steadying breath, Jessie slowly opened her eyes. She hadn’t been the only one whose life had been changed by that violent act. Samuel had been deeply affected by his father’s conviction of guilt.

Through the actions of their parents, her past and Samuel’s were irrevocably connected. He was the key to the answers she sought. No one else would know as much about his own father as he did.

Whether she liked it or not, the path to the truth passed through Samuel Conners.

The next morning Jessie steeled herself for what lay ahead. She’d risen early, even before the sun. Now, with the dawn stretching ribbons of purple and pink throughout the lightening sky, she walked along the beach, heading for the one place where she knew she would find Samuel.

The docks brimmed with activity as she approached. Crews of fishermen called out to one another, laughing, joking as they prepared for their morning’s work. Boats rocked against their moorings, the water slapping against their hulls. Gulls screamed overhead, as though impatient for their chance at scraps from the morning catch.