Eden's Promise (3 page)

Eddie grumbled. “We don’t have the supplies.”

Sarah sat back and looked at Eden. “Eden and I have already talked it over. We can make several dishes that will stretch what we have on hand, supplemented by some fish, and I think it would be wonderful. Very first Thankgiving-y.”

“We can’t do the boat parade or the tree-lighting ceremony. And we don’t have presents.”

“We’ll find a way.” She waited expectantly, until he finally nodded.

Sarah flashed a triumphant grin at Eden. “We’ll get to work in the morning.”

Since Eden spent so much time emulating her father, she hadn’t known what a good party planner her mother was. Her mother had wanted her to join the Rainbow Girls when she was growing up, but they’d been, well, too girly for Eden. But as they planned the—Eden didn’t want to call it a party, maybe a celebration—she saw her mother put her leadership skills to use.

And having a purpose helped Sarah push aside her own mourning as she threw herself into the holiday. She recruited several women, including Mary Jenkins and Veronica Rayburn, and the new woman living with the Rayburns, Jessica Vaughn. Together they planned a meal that would use the least amount of rations. They decorated the town square with a small tree and ornaments, but no lights. They went door to door and collected gently used toys children had outgrown, to wrap and pass out. Eden stood amazed at the innovation her mother and these ladies exhibited.

On Christmas Eve, the town square was festive. The women had made candles out of cans of lard and set them on the long tables usually reserved for Fourth of July and other, warmer events. Despite the cold temperature, almost every family attended, standing in line for their servings of corn casserole and fried fish and home fries. Not the healthiest, or the most traditional, but the recipes fed a crowd.

“Where’s the mayor?” Veronica Rayburn asked, herding the children who’d come on that first boat ahead of her in line.
 

Eden and her mother exchanged a look of dismay. He hadn’t been particularly in favor of this dinner, but to shun it completely....

“He’s working on town business. I’m sure he’ll come down later,” Sarah said.
 

But by the time everyone had been served, there was no sign of Eddie. When the reverend stood to offer a blessing and a few words about the true gift of the holiday, when he thanked Sarah and the other women for their hard work, there was no sign of Eddie.
 

“It’s time now to think ahead, to our new life,” the reverend concluded. “We have all lost someone, but at least we have each other.”

Eden had taken the first bite of her dinner when a cry of delight sounded from a child at the table behind her. She twisted to look as that cry was joined by others.

“Santa! Santa!”

Eden half-rose from the bench seat as, indeed, a red-suited man with a white beard strolled into town with a sack on his back. He sauntered over to the Christmas tree, where the painstakingly wrapped-and-labeled gifts were placed. The children swarmed him, and when he straightened, he winked at Eden, and her heart warmed.
 

She’d known her father couldn’t stay away.

***

A week after Christmas, Eden was awakened by gunfire on the coast. Bleary-eyed, she grabbed a robe, shoved her feet in her boots, grabbed her pistol from the table by the door and raced out of the house. Muzzle flares flashed from boats off-shore, answering ones from the island. Her heart pounding, she stopped short, aware she was a clear target in her white robe in the moonlight when there was no other light. She shrugged out of the robe and shivered in her T-shirt and flannel pants, but at least she blended into the darkness.

Who was down there? Her father? Damien? And who was firing on them? People they’d sent away, or people they wouldn’t allow to land? The standing order was that no one was allowed to land at night.

The firing from the island was pretty steady, as the shooting from the boats became more intermittent. Tomorrow they’d be paying kids to pick up shells so they could reload them.

Shouts could be heard from the ocean, more from the town. Eden hoped the townspeople were wise enough to stay inside, out of the line of fire. She was heading down to the shore when running feet approached. She stepped off the road, into the trees, flipping the safety off her handgun before she recognized Joey Delmar, one of Damien’s friends. She stepped in front of him, startling him so that for a moment she was looking down the barrel of his .45, before he realized who she was.

“Thank God, Eden. I was coming to your house. Your father—he’s been shot.”

***

Her house became bedlam as Damien and Joey carried her father inside and upstairs to his bed. Blood drenched his clothing. Eden couldn’t see where he’d been shot, or even if he’d been shot more than once. Her mother’s screams rang through the house when Damien pulled her father’s shirt open. The four men in the room and Eden stared at the damage. She didn’t see how her father was still breathing, based on the entry wounds. And she wasn’t sure exactly what to do. She’d helped her father in the vet clinic with animals who’d been hit by cars, but never bullet wounds.

“The bleeding,” she said to herself, and turned to her mother, who started, paralyzed. She grabbed the woman by the wrists and shook her. “We need towels. Lots and lots of towels.” When her mother finally nodded her understanding, Eden turned to one of Damien’s friends, Josh. “Go get Vicky.” Dr. Hoyt’s nurse, the only other trained medical person on the island. “I need her help.” But even she was unlikely to know what to do with a trauma this big.

She knelt on the edge of the bed and watched blood pump from each of the four bullet wounds with each slowing beat of her father’s heart. Her mother returned with towels and Eden pressed one to his chest, causing him to gasp in pain. The towel was drenched in moments and she replaced it with another.

And another.

And another.

Damien joined her on the bed, across her father’s body, his expression bleak, hopeless.
 

“Do not give up,” she said through her teeth.
 

Her father’s eyelashes flickered and he looked up at her. “Eden. You have to promise me you’ll keep our town safe.”

“Of course, Dad, but you’re going to be fine. We’re going to get the bleeding stopped and the bullets out—” She swallowed the bile that rose with the lies. How would they repair the damage inside? No one had that kind of skill, and they had no place to get it done.
 

He grabbed her wrist with surprising strength. She looked into his eyes and saw the shadow of something lurking, something that made her want to scream just like her mother, scream until the shadow went away.
 

“I know I taught you better than that,” he said, his voice gruff. “I love you, Eden. I’m sorry this is the life I’m leaving for you. But I need to know you’ll carry on.”

“I will, Dad.” She cursed the tears that blurred her vision, that obliterated her view of her father as he closed his eyes and breathed his last.

Chapter Two

Eight months later

Eden put her weight into the punch, only to have it blocked by a solid muscular palm. An answering fist swung toward her head, but she ducked, jamming her shoulder into the solid middle of her opponent, who grunted and staggered back, releasing her fist. She brought her head up fast, but not fast enough to connect with his chin—his instincts were too good. She reached one arm behind his shoulder, levering him off balance before sweeping his legs out from underneath him. He fell onto his back with a
whoof
and she dropped over him, pinning him.

“Well done,” Damien wheezed, looking up at her from the grass. His gaze flicked to her breasts, heaving in the tank top she wore.
 

Her nipples hardened at the glance, which she felt like a caress, and she felt his body respond beneath hers.
 

They’d been working out like this for weeks, as she tried to convince him to let her go on a supply run with him. He, Josh and Joey had gone a few times as supplies dwindled. They were facing their second winter since the everything went to hell. They’d lost some good people for want of basics like insulin and antibiotics. They’d had a few on-hand, as well as the antibiotics that were used in fish tanks that her father claimed were nearly identical to what one received from a pharmacy. That hadn’t worked for Debra Stark, who had been allergic to penicillin and died from a sinus infection.

The island was self-sufficient for the most part, with gardens and canning and the chickens and the bees, not to mention the fish and the wells. But they needed medicine and blankets and warm clothing as what they had grew worn, as another winter approached.
 

And Damien, Josh and Joey had grown restless, wanting an excuse to go to the mainland, staying longer each time.

Eden understood their drive. She was going crazy on this island. She’d convinced Damien of her proficiency with a weapon, but he insisted hand-to-hand combat was a skill more necessary when facing the desperate people on the mainland. So he’d promised to help her work on it, and each session grew a bit more intimate.

Like now, with her straddling him and him growing hard beneath her.
 

He flipped her onto her back and looked down at her, blue eyes glinting. “You let your guard down.”

This time, she was the breathless one. “Yes,” she said, and angled her chin up in what she hoped was invitation. It had been so long since she’d been kissed, since she’d been touched.
 

A smile quirked the corner of his mouth and he lowered his head.

Just when his breath brushed her lips, a shout came from her left.

“Boat!”

Damien scrambled off her, immediately all business. Rising, he picked up the pistol he always carried that he’d set on the ground when they were fighting, and headed toward the shore.
 

Since the night her father died, they’d been more vigilant about how close they’d allow boats to the shore. Eden insisted they didn’t want to warn everyone away—since her father’s death, the only person on the island with medical experience was his assistant, Vicky, and she was limited. Some people, like the first boat, brought medication when they arrived, in payment. That, they could always use.
 

She followed Damien after retrieving her own handgun from the grass. She had felt odd at first, carrying it around the town where she’d grown up, but the boats had been coming with such regularity for awhile, Damien didn’t want her without one. She hadn’t, thank God, had to use it. And though boats came rarely anymore, she’d gotten used to wearing it.

“One man,” Josh announced when Damien approached, holding the binoculars so Damien could have a look. “Sail boat.”

Damien studied the incoming vessel a long time. “Take him out.”

“Wait! He could be a doctor,” Eden said, grabbing his arm. “You can’t just kill him.”

“One man coming like that? Bad news. Take him out.”

“Let me see.” She held out her hand for the field glasses.
 

Damien looked at her, amusement quirking his lips. “Think you’ll be able to tell if he’s a doctor from here?”

“Ha ha. Just let me see.”

He handed over the binoculars and she aimed, focused.
 

“Oh my God. That’s Mary Jenkins’s son, Aaron.”

Damien grabbed the binoculars. “The soldier? The one who’d been stationed overseas? That’s impossible. There’s no way he’d be able to get across the ocean and, hell, across the continent. Not based on stories we’ve heard, on what we’ve seen when we go over there.”

“I swear to you it’s him. I’ve lived here all my life. I know everyone.” And she’d had a secret crush on the older boy who had dated Kelly when Eden was in middle school and he was in high school. “And since he’s military, he might have some medical training.”

“Fine. But we’re meeting him at the dock.”

“Should I go get Mary?”

“Not until we’re one hundred percent.” He softened his words with a smile. “Don’t want to get her hopes up if it isn’t him.”

But it was him, Eden was certain, though he was drawn and worn, like he’d been through hell. So certain she led the way down to the dock, though Damien tried to pull her behind him.
 

She couldn’t imagine what picture they must have made to Aaron, five of them on the dock, four with guns aimed, hers holstered, her hands on her hips. He eased up to the dock and reached to moor it.

“Hello, Eden. Been a long time.”

Her teenaged-girl heart pattered that he would remember her name. Yes, it was a small island, but she hadn’t seen him in perhaps a dozen years.
 

“Aaron. About time you found your way home.”

He tied off the boat, whistled sharply and a dog appeared from belowdeck, a brown and white mongrel with some sort of terrier blood who stiffened when he saw the strangers. Aaron scooped the dog against him and stepped onto the dock, petting the dog’s head reassuringly. His face was narrower than it had been, but otherwise he was thrilling as ever, muscular in a shabby olive drab T-shirt, broad shouldered, arms sculpted, though thinner than he should be. His brown hair was shaggy, and stubble bristled along his jaw. His hazel eyes were shadowed, but reflected relief at arriving home. She couldn’t imagine what he’d endured to get here. A smile curved his lips, and he didn’t acknowledge the men with guns, just focused on her.