Wind Chime Wedding (A Wind Chime Novel Book 2) (16 page)

It felt safe. Secure. Comfortable.

Exactly the way it should feel.

She thought about the way Colin made her feel whenever he was around—nervous, jumpy, edgy, confused. Yes, she was attracted to him. But, as Grace had mentioned earlier at Rusty’s, who wasn’t? It was just lust, she told herself. Nothing more.

“I have something for you,” Tom said finally.

She looked up at him.

“I was going to wait until the night of the wedding to give it to you, but I thought you could use a pick-me-up today.” He pulled a small turquoise jewelry box out of his pocket and handed it to her.

Becca took the box, surprised. He had never given her jewelry before.

“Open it,” he urged.

Prying the top open, she stared down at the Tiffany’s charm bracelet lying in a bed of white silk.

“I know it’ll never replace your mother’s,” he said, lifting the bracelet out of the box and fastening it around her wrist. “But I wanted you to have it.”

Touched, Becca looked down at the gleaming silver heart dangling from the shiny chain. There was nothing to be afraid of. No matter what happened, they would find a way to come through it together. They had weathered hard times before. They could do it again.

Besides, you didn’t second-guess a fifteen-year relationship just because you didn’t want to leave your home.

Home was wherever the heart was, right?

She laid her head on his shoulder, trying not to notice that the new weight on her wrist felt foreign, unwelcome. She stared down at the heavy silver heart dangling from the thick shiny links. Slowly, very slowly, she lifted her arm and shook her wrist, as she had so many times before when she’d still worn her mother’s bracelet, when she’d needed to hear the sound of the delicate, lightweight charms to bring her comfort.

She thought for a second, fleetingly, that she could hear it, as she had the night before when Colin had been at her house—the faint tinkling sound drifting over the flower-scented wind. But it vanished as quickly as it had come. And, then, all she could hear was the hollow clink of silver on silver, the steady beat of the rain against the roof, and the sound of the wind tearing petals off the wild pear trees.

W
ill Dozier woke to the sound of dripping. For a brief moment, he thought he was back in his house on the military base in Virginia Beach and one of the faucets was leaking again. Then he heard the wind chimes singing outside and felt the woman in his arms stir, and he smiled.

Pulling her close, he listened to the pitter-patter of rainwater falling from the leaves of the trees around the café. He wasn’t thrilled with the circumstances that had brought him back to the island on such short notice, but as soon as Annie had called him yesterday and told him what was happening, he’d arranged to take a few days off.

If any reporters decided to come to the island to try to talk to Annie or Taylor, they would have to answer to him first.

Wrapping his arms tighter around his fiancée, he wished he didn’t have to drive back to Virginia Beach on Friday. He wished he could stay through the weekend, to be here for Annie if she needed him. But he still had a few weeks of work left before he could move home for good, before he could wake up beside this woman every morning for the rest of his life.

When the phone on his nightstand buzzed, he reluctantly rolled away from her and reached for it. There was a text message on the screen from Ryan Callahan, his best friend from childhood.

I’m outside. You better get down here.

Slipping out of bed, he pulled on a pair of jeans and dragged a T-shirt over his head. When one of the wooden floorboards creaked under his weight, Annie opened her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, sitting up immediately.

“Nothing.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

“What time is it?”

“Almost five.”

She pushed the covers back, exposing a pair of long, lean legs. She’d worn one of his old flannel shirts to bed and the plaid material fell halfway down her slim thighs when she stood. He paused for a moment, watching her gather her thick red hair into a low ponytail, and felt a fierce swell of protectiveness toward this woman who had given him back the one thing he’d thought he’d lost forever—a family.

As long as she and Taylor were his, no one was going to hurt them ever again.

He reached for the doorknob. “Stay upstairs until I come back.”

A brief flicker of understanding registered in her green eyes. “Someone’s down there.”

He nodded, half expecting her to say she was coming down with him. Annie had been a single mother for a long time before he’d come into her life. She was used to taking care of things, of protecting Taylor on her own. It would be a shift for both of them when he moved back to the island. They were going to have to make some adjustments in their new lives together—adjustments and compromises. But she needed to let him do this. She needed to let him step into this role from now on.

It was what he did. It was what he’d spent his whole life doing—protecting people.

She crossed the room to where he stood and touched her lips lightly to his. “I’ll check on Taylor.”

Relieved, he opened the door, letting her walk through it first. She slipped quietly into Taylor’s bedroom and he crossed the small, second story apartment to the stairs. It was still dark out and Main Street should have been empty except for a few watermen heading down to the docks for the day. When he got to the bottom of the steps, he spotted Ryan’s silver Chevy parked in front of the café.

His friend was standing in the yard, talking to a woman with a stiff helmet of blond hair and a black suit that looked glaringly formal compared to his friend’s sweatshirt, Carhartts, and faded ball cap. Across the street, a man was unloading a giant camera bag from the back of a white Channel Six news van.

The string of silver chimes hanging from the knob rang softly as Will opened the door and stepped out onto the porch.

The camera flashed through the darkness, blinding him. He waited for his vision to come back into focus, looking straight at the source, into the lens, not moving for several long beats until the man across the street slowly lowered the device.

A second man stepped out of a small blue sedan parked under the oak tree. He was wearing jeans and a button down shirt so wrinkled it looked like he might have slept in his car overnight. He carried a small tape recorder and a notebook in one hand—a newspaper reporter, most likely.

Ryan’s black lab, Zoey, let out a low growl when he stepped onto the lawn.

The man glared at the animal. “What’s wrong with your dog?”

“She doesn’t like you,” Ryan said.

“Well, hang onto her,” he snapped. “I came for breakfast, not to get attacked by some redneck’s dog.”

Zoey growled again.

“The café doesn’t open for another hour,” Will said, his voice measured and calm, despite the anger building inside him.

The reporter flashed him a smile. “I think I’ll sit on the steps until it opens. I heard this place has the best sweet rolls in Maryland. Don’t want to miss the first batch out of the oven.”

Will stepped into his path.

The reporter’s smile faded. “Look, man. I don’t know who the hell you are, but this is a public restaurant and I have just as much of a right to be here as you do.”

Will’s hand shot out, grabbing the recording device from the man’s hand before he had a chance to blink. Will snapped it in half, letting the pieces fall onto the lawn.

Before the man had a chance to say anything, the blonde jogged across the lawn, stepping between them. “Sir, excuse me. Hi.” She smiled, batting her eyelashes up at him. “I’m Miranda. I’m with Channel Six News out of Baltimore. My producer is willing to pay a very competitive rate for an exclusive interview with Annie and Taylor.”

She laid her hand on Will’s arm, giving it a flirtatious squeeze in case he hadn’t gotten the message. “If you’d just come back over to the van and let me discuss the terms, I think you’d be more than satisfied with the arrangement.”

Will looked down at where her fingers rested on his arm.

The blond helmet quivered as she quickly pulled her hand back.

The other reporter grabbed what was left of his recording device off the grass, narrowing his eyes at Will. “You’ll be getting a bill for this.”

Will barely looked at him. “I wouldn’t hold your breath waiting for a check.”

The man walked away and Will looked back at the woman. He didn’t smile. He didn’t say anything. He just continued to stare at her overly made up face until she huffed out a breath and stepped back.

Frustrated that he hadn’t fallen for her feminine charms, she tugged on the hem of her blazer, pulling the top down a half an inch to expose what, under different circumstances, he might have considered an impressive display of cleavage.

“Is that how you get your stories?” Will asked, his gaze flicking down, then back up with complete disinterest. “Because, if it is, that’s just sad.”

Her smile vanished, her face flushing bright red. She started to turn, but her heel wobbled over a loose patch of dirt and she stumbled. “Gary,” she said to her cameraman, as she tromped back across the yard. “I think we should go.”

The man stepped out from behind his camera, which he’d set up on a tripod aimed toward the front door of the café. “Our producer really wants this clip.”

Another car drove up the street from the opposite direction and pulled up to the curb outside the café. Della stepped out of the driver’s seat, her arms loaded with containers of fresh baked pastries. She took one look at the gathering of people in the yard and her eyes widened. “What’s going on here?”

The cameraman snapped her picture and Della staggered back, blinking against the bright flash.

Ryan walked over to her, taking the baked goods from her arms and holding her elbow to steady her until her vision came back.

Will crossed the yard slowly to where the cameraman stood. He held out his hand. The cameraman started to protest, but when he looked up and caught the expression in Will’s eyes, he simply handed his camera over.

Will unfastened the back, taking out the memory card and the battery, and pocketed them both. “Do you want to keep this camera?” he asked quietly, the threat unmistakable in his voice.

“It’s against the law to assault a reporter,” the man said, but his voice shook and he took a step back.

“I said,” Will repeated slowly, “do you want to keep this camera?”

“Yes,” the man squeaked.

“Then I suggest, you leave.”

The man snatched the camera back and grabbed his tripod, dashing back across the street to where the female reporter was already waiting in the van. Within seconds, his door had slammed and they were driving away.

Della walked over to Will, her expression livid. Rubbing her eyes to get the spots out of her vision from the blinding flash, she blinked a few more times, then took the container of scones back from Ryan. “When did this start?”

“A few minutes ago.” Ryan ran his hand over Zoey’s sleek black head when the dog walked over and nudged his leg with her nose. Looking out at the street as another flash of headlights came over the bridge, he shook his head. “Here comes another one.”

Will reached into his aunt’s container, taking an almond scone for himself and handing one to Ryan. “I hope you didn’t have any plans today.” Breaking off a corner of the pastry, he fed a bite to the dog. “I have a feeling we’re going to be doing this for a while.”