Cold Case Affair

“Muirinn!”

She jumped, banging her head on the undercarriage. Cursing, she backed out from under the vehicle and sat up, heart thumping.

“Is that you, Muirinn?”

She blinked up into bright sunlight at the silhouetted form of an old woman bent double, peering down at her with a bunch of purple flowers clutched in her hand.

“Mrs. Wilkie?” she said, rubbing her head. “My God, you half startled me to death!”

“Are you all right, dear? Did you hurt yourself?” she said in a warm, gravelly voice that Muirinn remembered so well from her youth.

“I’m fine.” She got to her feet awkwardly, dusting her knees off. “I was just checking out the oil leak.” The back of her head throbbed where she’d banged it, and her baby was kicking. Muirinn placed her hand on her belly, calming her baby and herself.

“I heard you’d come back, sprite.” Mrs. Wilkie angled her head as she spoke, wrinkles fanning out from her intelligent gray eyes. Quicksilver, who’d materialized from nowhere at the sound of Mrs. Wilkie’s voice, was purring and rubbing against the old lady’s legs.

“I was just coming up to feed the cat, and to put some fresh flowers inside your house. I’ve also got some new herbs for tea. Sorry I scared you, dear.”

Muirinn noted that Mrs. Wilkie’s body had bowed even further to age, like a gnarled tree that had spent its life on a windswept shore. But she was still beautiful, her face tanned and creased in a way that spoke of kindness, her eyes still bright and quick. A thick gray braid hung over her shoulder, and she wore a long gypsy skirt, riotous with color. Muirinn wondered just how old the woman was now. To her mind, Mrs. Wilkie had seemed old forever, like a mythical crone.

She gave the hardy old dear a shaky smile, adrenaline still coursing through her body. “Thank you. It’s good to see you, Mrs. Wilkie. I heard from the lawyer that you’d been taking excellent care of Gus, and I see you’ve been feeding Quicksilver, but I—”

Muirinn was about to say she no longer needed daily housekeeping services. Guilt stopped her. This woman had been here for Gus—she’d been a companion to him. Which was more than Muirinn could say for herself.

Mrs. Wilkie had lived in a small cottage down by the bay on Gus’s property as long as Muirinn could remember. Even though it was now Muirinn’s land, there was probably an official lease that still needed to be honored. Plus, the woman likely relied on the minimal income Gus had paid her, whatever it was.

Muirinn needed to go easy, go slow. Give things time.

“You were saying, dear?” Mrs. Wilkie was watching her intently, waiting.

“It’s … nothing.”

“Well, it’s a terrible thing about Gus. I miss him. But it’s good to see you back, Muirinn, and to see that you are expecting, too,” Mrs. Wilkie said softly. “Are you going to have the baby here in Safe Harbor?”

Muirinn realized that she hadn’t really thought that far ahead. “I. yes, I am.”

“Well, if you go running into any trouble, you know where to find me. I’ve helped deliver my fair share of children, including my two nephews.”

“I know. Thank you, Mrs. Wilkie.” Muirinn was aware that Lydia Wilkie had once been a nurse who’d moved gradually into midwifery and naturopathy. She’d always had a keen interest in herbs and the natural healing practices of aboriginal peoples. When they were kids, Muirinn and Jett used to peer into her cottage window down by the water, pretending they were spying on the Good Witch because she was always boiling some herbal concoction on her blackened wood stove.

“Now, you call me Lydia,” she said.

Muirinn smiled. “I can’t. You’ve been Mrs. Wilkie to me forever.”

Mrs. Wilkie’s face crumpled into a grin. She took Muirinn’s hand firmly in her gnarled one. “It’s so good to have you home, sprite. Gus would be mighty pleased. Especially to have a small one around the house again.”

Muirinn nodded, emotion prickling into her eyes again at the sound of her old nickname. Damn these pregnancy hormones and this trip down memory lane. “I know he would,” she answered quietly.

I just wish I’d come home sooner.

Mrs. Wilkie turned, her gypsy skirt swirling around in a rainbow of color as she scuttled up the steps toward the front door. She unlocked it with her own key.

“Do you know any decent mechanics in town?” Muirinn called after her, vaguely uneasy with the idea of this woman coming and going into her house at will.

“Why, Jett next door could fix that truck for you, Muirinn. I’ll just go right on inside, put these flowers down on the table and call him.” She disappeared through the front door.

“Mrs. Wilkie! Wait—”

The old woman peeked back out the door. “What is it, love?”

“I … I’d rather call a mechanic from town.”

“What nonsense. You’ve been away too long, sprite.” She smiled. “We look after each other out here.” And with that she vanished into the house.

Muirinn sank onto the bottom stair, tears threatening to overwhelm her again. She dropped her face into her hands fighting to hold it all in.

Pregnancy was making her so darn emotional about coming home.

So had seeing Jett.

Her feelings for him were still powerful—feelings for a man she could never have again.

A man she’d never stopped loving.

Jett found her sitting on stairs, crying.

His heart torqued and his throat tightened—the old Muirinn had never cried.

He shut of his ignition and got out of his truck. As he approached her, he felt his mouth go dry. She was wearing a chiffon skirt in pale spring colors. She had dirt on her smooth legs and he could see way too much of her thigh for male comfort. Her fiery hair hung wild and loose around her slender shoulders, glinting with gold strands in the sun.

“Hey,” he said softly, sitting awkwardly beside her, trying to restrain himself from putting his arm around her and comforting her. “What’s up?”

She sniffed, then laughed dryly as she smeared tears and dirt across her face. “God, I’m a stupid wreck. It’s … it’s the hormones.” She nodded toward the truck. “Gus’s truck didn’t start. It was just a last little straw …” her voice faltered, hitched and flooded again with emotion. “I … miss him, Jett.” Tears came again. “I really miss him.”

And then he did touch her. He put his arm around her shoulders, drew her close and held her while she left her grief out. And he knew it was a mistake.

The warm curve of her breast, the firm swell of her belly against his torso, the exhilarating sensation of her thigh against his jeans … they did things to his body. Clouded his mind. With them came a raw and powerful protectiveness that surged through his chest, and Jett felt afraid—of what this could mean to all of them.

He was crossing a line. One look at her and he was falling in love all over again, when all he wanted was a reason to push her away, a reason to hate her, to despise her for what she’d done in the past.

But in this moment, the lines between past and present were blurring.

“I just wish I could have been here for Gus, then maybe … maybe this wouldn’t have happened.”

“What do you mean? His death?” Jett’s voice came out thick.

She glanced up, luminous eyes red-rimmed from crying, and his heart squeezed all over again.

“You led the search-and-rescue team that found Gus, Jett. Tell me about it. Where exactly did you find his body?”