True Devotion. Marta Perry

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      “Do you remember much about Trevor’s stay at the lodge in the spring?”

      “Sure I do. It was a pleasure to see that boy again.” He shook his head, smiling. “I don’t suppose he’d have appreciated my calling him a boy, but that’s how I remember him. Trevor wasn’t a man yet when the family stopped coming here in the summer.”

      “The vacation house burned down, didn’t it? I suppose that’s why they didn’t come back.”

      “I guess that was it. Anyway, it was nice to see Trevor again.”

      “What did he do while he was here?” She hesitated, wondering if she should try to explain that question in some way, but Daniel didn’t seem to think it odd.

      “Well, I’m not sure I know exactly. He went into town most evenings, as I recall. Oh, and I know he went to the ruins of the old house.”

      She frowned, trying to remember the last time Trevor had mentioned the vacation house. “Did he say why he wanted to see it?”

      He shrugged. “Sentiment, I suppose. Or maybe he was thinking about rebuilding.”

      “Maybe.” He’d have talked to Enid about that, surely.

      She tried to picture Trevor walking around Lakemont in the evenings, tried to imagine him visiting the ruins of the place where he’d spent summers as a boy.

      It didn’t seem to help much, but at least it gave her a place to start. She’d pay her own visit to whatever remained of the summerhouse.

      Daniel patted her hand. “If you want to talk about him anytime, I’m here. We’d all like to help you.”

      All but Nathan.

      “I’m afraid I make your son uncomfortable.” The words were out before she considered that they might sound critical.

      “Well, Nathan’s got his own set of problems.” He glanced at her, the look questioning. “You know about his wife, don’t you?”

      “I didn’t know he was married.”

      He nodded. “Married his high school sweetheart. He and Linda never seemed to have eyes for anyone else. She died five years ago.”

      Shock jolted her, and she clung to the railing, the wood rough on her palm. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize.” No wonder Nathan was edgy around her. “I suppose my being here, my grief, reminds him of his own loss.”

      “Well, it’s not just that.” Daniel hesitated, the lines in his face deepening. He seemed reluctant to say something he knew he must. “The thing is, Nathan and Linda lived in the cottage you’re staying in. And she was pregnant when she died.”

      The words hit her like a blow. For a moment she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even think.

      Poor Nathan. No wonder he hated being in the cottage with her. Hated seeing her there.

      “I—” She didn’t know what to say first. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “Why did Jen put me in the cottage?”

      “She didn’t know about Linda.” He shrugged. “And we do rent the cottage when someone wants it. It’s just unfortunate that—”

      “That it happened to be me.” She shook her head, feeling a little nauseated. “How did his wife die? What happened to her?”

      Sorrow carved deeper lines in his face. “The doctors said Linda had an undetected heart defect. One of those things that people never even know they have.” He paused. “It wasn’t anyone’s fault, but she and the baby both died.”

      She rubbed her arms, trying to ward off the chill that settled into her bones. Or her heart. No wonder Nathan was so protective of his father after his heart attack.

      “Should I move out of the cottage?”

      Daniel’s gaze was troubled. “I thought so at first. But it seems as if having you there is making Nathan face his feelings instead of locking them away. That might be a good thing.”

      “I can move into the lodge.” Her preference for the cottage paled in the face of this information.

      “If you’re okay with it, maybe you ought to stay where you are. Maybe it’s better that way.” He put the words cautiously, as if he thought she might be upset at knowing the pregnant woman who’d lived there had died.

      She was upset, but not out of any superstitious fear.

      “All right. I’ll stay at the cottage for now, but if you change your mind, just let me know.”

      He nodded, his face still troubled.

      Poor Nathan.

      The words repeated themselves in her mind. Was that what people were saying about her? She found she didn’t like the sound of it.

      She understood. Of all the people in the world, she understood what Nathan was feeling.

      That sense of intimate knowledge shook her. It might be better not to empathize so well. It might be safer for both of them.

      Susannah had come to the lodge for breakfast the next morning because she couldn’t face staying alone at the cottage any longer. But even an excellent breakfast hadn’t dispelled the cloud that hung over her.

      The dining room had emptied gradually. She was left alone with the server who was clearing tables.

      She couldn’t dismiss Daniel’s words from her mind. Nathan’s young wife, and his child, wiped out of his life in a moment.

      And how she was going to face Nathan again with this knowledge hovering in her consciousness—well, maybe it would be better if she didn’t see him for a while.

      “More tea, Ms. Laine?” The server hovered over her, teapot at the ready. Laine. She’d given up the pretence once Nathan and his father knew the truth. She’d probably stand a better chance of finding something out this way, in any case.

      “No, thanks, Rhoda.”

      The woman nodded, returning the teapot to her tray and removing Susannah’s dishes deftly. Rhoda Welsh apparently did just about everything at the lodge. She was quick and efficient, and she certainly didn’t chatter. In fact, Susannah hadn’t seen her exchange more than a couple of words with anyone.

      Susannah watched her idly. She was in her late thirties probably, with a fine-boned, impassive face that didn’t give anything away. She’d be an attractive woman if she weren’t so withdrawn.

      “It’s quiet after the weekend, isn’t it?”

      Rhoda looked startled to have a response expected of her. “I suppose so.” She set dishes on the tray. “Would you like anything else?”

      The woman’s bland politeness seemed to repel further comment. The impulse СКАЧАТЬ