Once More From the Top (The Women of Willow Bay) Page 3

  Instead of driving back to the marina, he got out of the car, wandered out into the street, and took a turn toward the lake shimmering in the distance. Rounding another corner brought him to Waterfront Drive, where he settled on a bench by the water’s edge to finish his coffee. Boats filled the public harbor docks, and he craned his neck to catch a glimpse of his own yacht, docked at Dixon’s Marina. Everything was so close in this town. Eliot was right. He could have walked it in no time—which probably would’ve been better for him in more ways than one. Now his mind was a morass of memories and emotions.

  Reminiscences of Carrie washed over him. The two of them had been together every moment for an entire week. Endless walks across the McGill campus, talking for hours. Passionate kisses at the end of an evening. Time spent watching each other’s rehearsals. From that first moment, he had wanted to know more of her, wanted desperately to touch her—perhaps because she appeared so untouched. Her quiet grace and innocence had surrounded him with a warm glow that held none of the pseudo-sophistication and artifice of other women he had known.

  When he’d attended her audition, the music wrapped around him, the technique perfect, the emotion of the allegro coming through as she played the piece superbly—exactly as she’d played it at the bar. By the time the audition was over, his self-control was gone. They’d barely made it to his apartment, where he took her straight to bed. He hadn’t had a sexual experience like that before or since. Carrie gave herself to him freely, without a moment’s hesitation. When he loved her, he knew he had all of her.

  But now she’s closed up tight… unreceptive. What the hell happened in the intervening years?

  He finished his drink and tossed his cup into a nearby recycling bin. Still too restless to drive back to the boat, he explored the town, which was just waking up. The shops might not be open yet, but Willow Bay was already abuzz with activity. Sailboats skimmed across the surface as charter boats docked and offloaded their morning fishing parties. He wandered down Main Street, pretending he wasn’t looking for Carrie’s studio. It was closed up and there was no sign of her. But when he passed it, he peered in the window, checking out the portraits there. She was damn good if her storefront display was any indication.

  The townsfolk were friendly but not intrusive, smiling and nodding as he passed by. It was a pretty little village that seemed to be doing a thriving tourist business even this early in June. From what he’d discovered in his online reading, tourism was the area’s main industry. Willow Bay was known for being a four-season destination, offering everything from snow skiing to bicycling to boating and fishing.

  Just as he found himself back at the harbor side park, his phone vibrated in his pocket.

  Marty. Again.

  With a sigh, he reined in his growing resentment and answered the call. “Hi, Marty.”

  “Where are you, man?”

  “On vacation.”

  “Liam, do you think these orchestras are going to invite you back if you snub them this year? Do you?”

  “I’ve already spoken to Karen at BSO about Tanglewood—she understood perfectly, and she’s already invited me back next summer.” A dull throbbing started above Liam’s eyes, so he took several deep breaths as he paced along the wharf. How many more times were they going to have to have this particular discussion? “And Will’s been in contact with ISO, National, Atlanta, and the rest. They’re all fine with it. Why can’t you be?”

  Liam heard Marty light a cigarette and take a deep drag. He pictured him on the deck of his house in Malibu, sipping coffee and smoking.

  “What the hell are you and Will doing making calls to BSO or any other orchestra? That’s my job.”

  “You aren’t doing your job, Marty.”

  “My job is to get you booked, Maestro. To keep you working.” He coughed as he said it.

  Liam shook his head at the phlegmy sound. Marty had been a heavy smoker since the day they met, something that caused Liam great distress for the first few years they’d worked together. He finally figured out that he wasn’t going to stop his agent from lighting up, so he’d simply laid down some ground rules about where and when Marty could smoke. Not in Liam’s presence was basically the rule. “No, your job is to manage my career. My career, not yours. If I tell you I need a break, your job is to honor that request.”

  “Where are you?” Marty took a new tack, his voice softening to that persuasive timbre he’d used too many times in the past. But even over the phone, Liam could hear the anger simmering below the surface.

  “I’m cruising on the Allegro, exactly where I told you I was going to spend the summer.”

  “Hang on a minute. How the hell does Will know who to talk to? He’s a goddamn bean counter for Christ’s sake.”

  “He’s not just my accountant and financial advisor, Marty—he’s also my friend. I gave him the list. He made the calls. I had to head you off somehow. You weren’t listening to me.” Liam pinched the bridge of his nose in an effort to stave off the headache that always occurred when he tried to reason with Marty. “I need a break, okay? And not just from conducting.”

  “Then why are you doing the benefit in Michigan?”

  “It’s a favor for an old friend.”

  “What friend? How much are they paying you?” Marty’s voice rose a half step. “Where’s the contract? I need to go over it before you sign.”

  “There is no contract.”

  “You can’t perform without a contract. I don’t care what the reason is, you—”

  “I’m hanging up now, Marty. Enjoy your summer. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

  “Goddammit, Liam, wait—”

  Liam disconnected and shoved the phone in his pocket, heartsick at how their relationship had deteriorated. The summer concert circuit was only one more thing in the list of differences between him and his agent of nearly twenty years. Ever since… since the cancer scare six years ago, Liam had come to realize that he and Marty were poles apart about his career.

  But he couldn’t think about that now, not while his mind and heart were elsewhere. He made his way to his car, drove back to Dixon’s, and headed for the boat. Stopping on the dock, he stared up at the boathouse apartment for a long moment. It didn’t go all that well in the coffee shop earlier, but she’d had time to process his reappearance in her life. Maybe he could try again.

  When he knocked on her door, he received no answer, and when he tried the knob, it was locked. Her studio had been closed, too. He gazed around the marina, squinting in the bright sunlight that reflected off the water. The big red barn where he’d filled out the papers for the slip had a bait shop. Maybe Carrie’s Uncle Noah would know where he could find her.

  “Hi, can I help you?” The young man behind the counter gave him a smile as he scooped night crawlers into a container.

  “No, I’m just wandering around, getting acquainted with the place.” Liam extended his hand. “I’m in berth thirty-eight. Liam Reilly.”

  “Brandon Mc—oh. Oh!” The kid’s brows rose. “Very nice to meet you, sir. My mom’s gonna freak when she hears I met you in person. She’s a huge fan. She and Dad already have their tickets for your concert.”

  “That’s great. Tell your parents Lawson appreciates their support, okay?” Liam gazed around the shop. “Where’s Mr. Dixon?

  “He’s out gassing up a boat.” Brandon jerked his head toward the docks. “He’ll be right back in.”

  “Okay, thanks.” Liam wandered among the aisles of fishing gear, amazed there was so much paraphernalia available just to catch a fish. When he and his brothers fished in the farm pond as kids, they had cane poles with balsa wood bobbers.

  He walked back to the door and peered out at Noah, chatting with a customer as he filled the tank on a fishing boat rigged out with antennas and fishing poles of all sizes. A bright green bulletin board covered with photographs of people and their catches drew his attention. Right in the center was a print of a young man at the tiller of a wooden
sailboat and a girl riding in the bow.

  Liam squinted at the photo before pulling his glasses from his shirt pocket. Slipping them on, he plucked the thumbtack and took the picture over to the door to get a better look. God, the kid looked almost exactly like his nephew, Jamie—dark red hair, long, lanky limbs… the boy wore sunglasses, so he couldn’t see the color of his eyes.

  How weird.

  He shook his head with a smile. Didn’t they say everyone has a twin somewhere? Jamie would probably get a kick out of knowing that his doppelganger was here in Michigan.

  He started to pin the picture back up when his heart began to pound in his chest and his mouth was suddenly dry. He knew the girl in the front of the boat. It was Carrie—wearing the same gauzy flowered shirt she had had on at the coffee shop. Stepping out into the sunlight, he stared at it again. Yeah, it was Carrie alright. The boy looked to be about Jamie’s age, fifteen.

  Fifteen…oh, Jesus, no way!

  His hand shook as he tried to swallow the panic that welled up in his throat and attempted some quick calculations in his head. Fifteen years and nine months ago, he and Carrie Halligan were in his bed in Montreal.

  FOUR

  Clouds played tag with the early afternoon sun as Carrie walked along the hard-packed sand of the Lake Michigan shoreline, her thoughts consumed with Liam—and Jack—as they had been most of the day. She didn’t keep regular hours at the studio, so when she finished her appointment, she’d locked up and run to the one place she knew she’d find peace—the lake. The lake, the beach, and a camera could always soothe her when she was stressed or feeling blue.

  Rounding a curve in the shore she spotted the old lighthouse in the distance. This was her favorite stretch of beach because it was usually quiet and deserted. A freighter moved along the horizon and she watched for a moment, her hand shading her eyes. Lifting the camera, she took several shots of the boat and then turned to get some pictures of the lighthouse.

  She had hundreds of photographs of Willow Point lighthouse—shots of the water, the rocky shoreline, the old lighthouse perched on the top of the cliff. But still, she always took pictures whenever she came out to this spot. Each time the light was a little different or the clouds created new shadows on the dunes where the Queen Anne’s Lace and beach grass she loved grew wild.

  Carrie spread out her beach towel and plopped down on the sand, dropping her canvas bag beside her. Rummaging through the bag, she found the water and apple she’d packed when she got home from work. Not much of a lunch, but her stomach was still uneasy from her encounter with Liam. All morning, she’d replayed the brief meeting, wishing she’d been braver and simply told him everything. Then it would be over and maybe the knot in her belly would subside.

  She’d seen him peering in the studio window as she hid in the back room, peeking around the curtained doorway. What a coward she was. Hell, she hadn’t even mustered the courage to talk to Eliot yet. No, she’d escaped to the beach the minute she finished for the day, ready to let the lake work its magic on her frazzled nerves.

  She munched thoughtfully, unable to get her mind off Liam. She had to tell him about Jack—and probably soon—but not now. And there was more… the whole mess with Marty and the money…

  Dammit.

  What a tangled web she’d woven by not revealing her pregnancy to Liam from the very beginning. Would it have been easier? Maybe. But what did it matter now?

  She finished the apple, took a sip of water, and pulled off her sweatshirt. Using it as a pillow, she lay back in the sand, closing her eyes against the bright rays of the sun. Until a few hours ago, she would have denied vigorously that she was torch-carrying for Liam Reilly, but she had lived almost like a nun, never allowing another man to get close to her, devoting herself entirely to her son. His effect on her was beyond disturbing. She hated that he could still stop her dead with just a smile. Too much to think about right now…

  * * * *

  The sharp tingle of sand on her bare legs woke Carrie. Opening one eye, she squinted sleepily at the silhouette towering over her, blocking the afternoon sun. Both eyes flew open when she recognized the fiery highlights in Liam’s hair.

  “Don’t you think it’s dangerous to fall asleep alone on an empty beach? Anyone could attack you or steal your stuff.” His voice was rough.

  “I’m on this beach almost every day.” She pulled herself to a sitting position, wishing she’d worn something nicer than crumpled denim shorts and a faded yellow T-shirt. “No one bothers me. Usually.”

  He’d changed into khaki shorts and a green polo shirt under a lightweight navy windbreaker. Worn leather sandals showed his long feet, and his tanned legs were dusted with gold-red hair. A memory of those legs tangled with hers came unbidden to her mind. She sent the picture packing. “What can I do for you, Liam?”

  “This morning when we bumped into each other at the coffee shop, I… um… I thought we could get to know each other again.” He sat down in the sand a few feet away from her. “We moved so fast in Montreal, it was crazy, but I believed it was real. Then you just... blew me off. I never knew why. When I saw you playing Saturday night, it all came back to me.” Pausing, he gazed out across the lake. “I was also pretty surprised by the fact that when I sat down at your table this morning, all I could think about was kissing you.”

  Carrie’s jaw dropped as he continued in a monotone. He wasn’t even looking at her. “Ten seconds in the same room and I wanted to drag you away and—well, you get the picture.” His mouth twisted. “But you were so cool. You acted like we didn’t even know each other.”

  She dropped her gaze, unable to look him in the eye. Not while she lied through her teeth as she was about to do. “It was a long time ago. I don’t remember everything, but I do remember feeling that I didn’t know you back then. I didn’t want to follow you all over the world, waiting in hotel rooms or backstage like some groupie. That wasn’t who I wanted to be.”

  “Really? You certainly had me fooled when you let me send you a ticket to London.” His voice was cold. “Yeah, we fell fast and hard. But I opened up to you like I never had with any other woman. We might’ve made it.”

  Her heart was pounding so hard, she was amazed he couldn’t hear it. “Liam, listen, I—”

  He held up one hand as he stared out across the water. Even though they weren’t touching, she could feel the tension coiled in his body. Why wouldn’t he look at her?

  “That’s my boat at your uncle’s marina and Eliot told me where you lived. When I walked around town earlier, your studio was closed so I came back to your apartment. I guess I thought maybe we could try it again, but you weren’t there. So I went down to the bait shop to see if your uncle might know where I could find you.”

  Now, he was eyeing her. An inkling of fear niggled at her as he continued with almost deliberate indifference. “He was out with a customer, so I wandered around.”

  Her heart hammered, and her mouth went dry. Still she managed to remain outwardly composed.

  What had he seen?

  She tried to picture the shop, but her mind was a jumble of fear as he went on, his voice rising.

  “You’ll never guess what I found on the bulletin board next to a flyer for the fish taxidermist.” He pulled a photograph from his pocket and tossed it in her lap.

  She already knew what it was. The photo of Jack. Margie had taken it just last week when they launched the Penguin, the sailboat he and Noah had refurbished. Apparently, Noah had pinned the picture on the bulletin board. She sat in silence, trying to calm the clutch of fear in her stomach.

  “Where’s my son?” Liam demanded. “And don’t even bother denying he’s mine. My half-blind granny would recognize that boy as a Reilly.”

  Carrie raised her eyes to his, expecting anger. Prepared for fury. And clearly, he was furious, but the pain in his expression shocked her speechless—pain so raw it cut through her like a knife.

  “Why would you do that?” His voice was so quiet she
had to lean closer to hear his next broken question. “Why? Why would you have my child and not tell me?”

  There was no point in denying any of it. “I considered telling you.” She slid her eyes away from his rage and anguish to stare at the photo. “More than once.”

  “What the fuck, Carrie?” He was trembling. “It’s been fifteen years. You’ve hidden my son from me for fifteen years.”

  “I was afraid.” Her response was barely audible above the water lapping on the shore. Liam put one finger under her chin, forcing her to look at him.

  “Afraid of what?” Tears shimmered in his eyes, and bewilderment triumphed over outrage for second.

  She bit the inside of her lower lip, trying to control its tremor. She couldn’t speak.

  “Jesus!” Liam’s grip on her chin tightened. “What did you think would happen? Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?”

  “I–I didn’t want you like that—not forced into a relationship with me because we spent one afternoon in your bed. We’d only known each other for a week. It would’ve changed your career. Everything you’d worked for. You–you’d end up hating me,” she stammered, twisting her head away.

  “But you didn’t think I’d hate you if you had my baby and never told me?” His hands clenched into fists, turning his knuckles white. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  Carrie swallowed hard, determined not to let the tears flow. “I don’t know. I thought we were over. Then when Jack was born, you were becoming this—this celebrity. I knew we’d never fit into that life, not a wife and a baby.” Pausing, she searched for words to defuse his anger. “Later, I suppose I could’ve called you. Okay, I should’ve called you, but there was no right time. I was so scared of losing him. He’s all I have.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Confusion and fury flashed in his eyes. He shoved his fingers through his hair, pressing it back against his head.