Summer Secrets Read online

"I told him to leave us alone. But --"

  Kate groaned. "Please don't let there be a but."

  "He might be able to do us some good. Dad would love to be in the spotlight again. It would give him a reason to get up in the morning. It could turn his life around."

  "It could turn his life upside down. Are you actually telling me you think that an article about us is a good idea?" Kate didn't give Caroline a chance to respond. "What do you think Dad will tell Tyler? What do you think he remembers about the race? About the storm? What do you think will come out when he's wasted out of his mind? It's crazy."

  "She's right," Ashley said. "We can't let a reporter into our lives. There are too many people who could be affected, like Sean. I knew the wind would bring trouble. I just knew it."

  "So did I," Kate agreed.

  "Well, I didn't. I thought it was a grand wind, and a great storm while it lasted," Caroline said. "You two have forgotten how to live. We used to be brave. We used to be adventurous. Kate, you used to climb to the top of the sail without any fear. Ashley, you used to dive to the bottom of the sea. What happened to us?"

  "You know what happened," Kate said pointedly.

  "I'm not sure I do, not really. We've never talked -- "

  "And we're not going to talk now," Kate interrupted. "We can't. There's too much at stake. We have lives to live, maybe not wild and adventurous, but good solid lives, the kind Mom wanted us to have."

  "I want more than good and solid. And you should want more, too," Caroline muttered.

  Maybe she did once in a while, Kate thought, not that she'd admit that to her baby sister. But Tyler Jamison's appearance in her bookstore had sent an unexpected burst of adrenaline through her bloodstream. And she'd enjoyed the heady rush far more than she should have.

  "I wonder why this reporter came to town now?" Ashley mused. "It's not the tenth anniversary of the race. Why is he interested in us? It seems like he came out of nowhere for no reason. And who does he write for, anyway?"

  "He's a freelancer, or so he said," Kate replied. "He told me that there is a lot of interest in sailboat racing, and because we don't fit the traditional mold of a racing syndicate, we're of even more interest to the general public. It makes some sense. I know short biographies are popular right now, but I still don't have a good feeling about this. My instincts tell me that he came looking for something in particular."

  "I agree," Caroline said. "The fact that he didn't tell me who he was, that he asked me out to dinner without revealing his identity, goes along with the idea that he's playing some sort of game. He's good at the game, too. He's very charming."

  And attractive, Kate thought. But it didn't matter. Charm and good looks would not destroy her family. He'd have to come up with something more than that.

  "If none of us talk, there won't be a story," she said decisively. "We have to stick together, protect one another, the way we used to do. Remember?" Kate walked over to the table and took each of her sister's hands in hers.

  "We're not kids anymore," Caroline complained, but she still slipped her other hand into Ashley's completing the circle they'd always formed.

  "All for one," Kate said.

  "And one for all," Ashley and Caroline repeated. A reassuring squeeze went from hand to hand.

  Their unity had gotten them past a lot of hardships. With any luck it would get them past one very persistent reporter.

  * * *

  It was past ten that night when Tyler finally picked up the phone to call his brother. He knew it wasn't too late to call. Mark bad always been a night owl. Catch him in the morning, and he was a grumpy bear. But, after nine o'clock at night, he was ready to party -- at least in the old days. Mark's life had changed drastically since the car accident a month earlier.

  Tyler could still remember getting the call. He'd been in a hotel room in London, covering a summit meeting. The phone had rung in the middle of the night and he'd known, even before he answered it, that bad news was coming. Those first words had stopped his heart: Your brother has been in an accident. You should come as soon as possible.

  His immediate reaction had been a silent, desperate prayer: Please let him be all right. Then he'd asked about Mark's eight-year-old daughter, Amelia, and Mark's wife, Susan. Amelia had made it. Susan had died on the way to the hospital. And Mark was in surgery to save his life.

  The time it took to get from London to San Antonio, Texas, had been the longest hours of Tyler's life. He'd made a million promises to God along the way, using every bargaining chip he could think of to plead for his brother's life. Amelia would need her father to help her get over the tragedy of her mother's death. Mark had to survive to take care of his child. And Tyler couldn't lose his brother. Not when they'd just begun to get close again. So he'd begged God for a miracle and promised he would do anything and everything he could to protect Mark and Amelia from any further pain. He would make himself responsible for them. He hadn't known then just how far that promise would take him.

  "Hello?" Mark said, his voice corning over the phone.

  "How's it going, little brother?" Tyler deliberately put a cheerful note in his voice, trying to sound casual, as if this was any other conversation they'd had over the years.

  "Not so good," Mark replied, making no effort to aid in the pretense of normalcy.

  "What's wrong?"

  "What isn't wrong? Do you have any news? Shelly said you found the McKenna sisters. Did you talk to any of them?"

  "Yes, I spoke to two of them, Kate, the oldest, and Caroline, the youngest. Kate runs a bookstore and appears to run the family, too. She's smart, responsible, wary, doesn't let her thoughts show. Caroline is a firecracker, impulsive, headstrong, wants to be taken seriously and doesn't like big sister calling the shots. I still have to track down Ashley."

  "Did they tell you anything?"

  "Not yet. They're not particularly interested in a follow-up story. In fact, they're more secretive than I expected. I also met their father, Duncan. He was bombed out of his mind. Kate was called to take care of him, and I got the feeling this was definitely not the first time. I think it's likely he has a drinking problem."

  "He's not important. I don't care about him. Its his daughters. One of them..." Mark's voice caught on a sob of emotion. "Amelia is all I have left. I promised Susan. She was dying, Tyler, and she knew it. I can still see the fear in her eyes. She was afraid, not for herself but for me and for Amelia."

  "I know," Tyler said tightly. "You won't lose Amelia. Trust me."

  "I do trust you. But it's a hell of a big problem even for you, big brother."

  And he'd been a hell of a big brother, Tyler thought, as a shaft of pain ran through him. He'd missed a lot of years of his brother's life. "Go to sleep," he said gruffly. "I'll call you as soon as I know anything. And I won't give up. No matter what the McKenna sisters throw in my path.

  Chapter Four

  Kate stared at the blanket tossed haphazardly on the living room floor. Her father was gone. She'd planned on offering him a cup of coffee, some breakfast, and a stern warning not to speak to Tyler Jamison. But Duncan had already left. He'd always been one to get up with the sun, hangover or not. He was probably on his way to his boat or maybe to the Oyster Bar for a Bloody Mary.

  As she picked up the blanket, she caught a whiff of her father's aftershave. The musky scent reminded her of childhood, the scent forever linked to her father, to childish hugs and Daddy's strong arms. He'd once been her hero, her protector, the man who stood taller than all the rest. She remembered sitting on the floor by his feet listening to him tell stories about his adventures. His words would sweep her away. She could smell the sea and feel the splash of the waves, and she would shiver with the imagined wind. She couldn't have stopped listening if she tried, and she never tried, because having her father at home was always special. He was gone a lot in her early childhood, running fishing boats, charters, whatever he could do to make a living. His frequent absences had made his rare presence
that much more special, a time to be treasured, as her mother often said.

  But those times of treasuring had created a man who took for granted the devotion of his family, Kate thought now. And once her mother had passed on, the responsibility of taking care of Duncan had fallen to her, the eldest child. She'd cooked and cleaned and mothered her sisters and tried to make sure her father's life always ran smoothly. She'd supported his every decision, including the one that had taken them to sea for three long years, always believing in her heart that Daddy knew best.

  As a grown woman, she realized that Daddy hadn't known best for a very long time, and somewhere along the way their roles had reversed. Duncan had become the child, and she had become the parent. It was not the role she craved. And she couldn't help but wish for the impossible, that he would wake up one day and be the father she craved, the kind of man who would listen and advise, who would laugh with her and come to her bookstore and tell her he was proud of her. But he had never been that kind of father. Proud of her, yes, but only when it came to sailing. The rest of her life -- her interests, her emotions, her ambitions -- had never been of concern to him. If it didn't touch his life, he just didn't care that much.

  Sometimes she hated him for not caring. But most of the time she loved him. He was her father, and she could still hear her mother's voice in her head: Your father is the most special man in the world. You are a very lucky little girl.

  Maybe she just hadn't figured out the special part yet. She sighed, as she took the blanket into the laundry room and tossed it in the pile to be washed. As for lucky, well, she could use a little luck, right now, because she had a feeling her father was the least of her problems. No doubt that reporter would be waiting for her when she got to the bookstore. And she needed to figure out how to handle him.

  As she returned to the kitchen, her eye caught on the laptop computer on the counter. She hadn't had a chance to look last night, but maybe she should make the time now.

  Taking the computer over to the kitchen table, she got it started, then poured herself a cup of coffee. When she was logged on to the Internet, she quickly did a search on the name Tyler Jamison. If he was a reporter, he'd no doubt published some stories somewhere, and she was more than a little curious as to where.

  The answer wasn't long in coming, but it was long in detail. The results jumped out at her.

  Tyler Jamison reporting from Somalia for Time magazine ...

  An in-depth look at India's Kashmir region by Tyler Jamison ...

  Japan's new royalty, Tyler Jamison, U.S. News and World Report ...

  Kate's jaw dropped farther with each entry. It couldn't be the same man. A foreign correspondent, a man who covered war, whose words had been printed in every national magazine -- that kind of reporter didn't write about sailboat races in Puget Sound. Something was definitely wrong.

  Either Tyler Jamison wasn't really Tyler Jamison, or he'd come to Castleton for another reason.

  Maybe there was a photograph of him somewhere, she thought, hastily clicking on each of the entries and scanning the articles for a picture. She had barely started when the doorbell rang. Her nerves tensed as she went to answer it, suspecting the worst, and her instincts were right on the money.

  Tyler Jamison wore jeans and a short-sleeved polo shirt. His eyes didn't look nearly as tired as they had the day before, and he'd obviously showered only a short time earlier, as his dark hair was still damp and there was a glow to his cleanly shaven face. Or maybe it was just the glow that came from his eyes. He really had incredible eyes, a much darker blue than her own. They reminded her of the deep waters of the ocean. She just hoped he wouldn't prove as dangerous or as deadly as the sea.

  "Good morning. Can I interest you in some bagels?" He held out the white paper bag in his hand. "I don't know about you, but I always think better on a full stomach."

  "Were you hoping to bribe me with food?"

  "Did it work?"

  "Come in," she said, waving him in. "How did you find me?"

  "The island isn't that big, Kate, and everyone knows you. You don't mind if I call you Kate, do you?"

  "Would it matter?"

  He smiled in reply. "Are you ready for your interview? You did tell me we could talk today."

  "I said you should come by the store, not my house."

  "We'll have more privacy here." Tyler walked into the living room and glanced around.

  She knew what he saw -- a comfortable, warm room, with pastel colors, puffy white couches, throw rugs that warmed up the hardwood floor, and small lamps on every table. This was her haven, her home, and she'd make no apologies for the decor. Her years on a sailboat had left her with a distinct longing for a place of her own that didn't rock with the waves or blow in the wind, a house she could make a home, with a garden and trees, with roots that went deep into the ground.

  "Landscapes," Tyler mused, surprising her with his words.

  Kate followed his glance to the pictures of hillsides and meadows, flowers and trees on the walls. "You don't like landscapes?"

  "They're okay. But where's the sea, the lighthouses, the boats?"

  "Just a few miles down the road."

  "No reason to put them on the wall?"

  "None whatsoever." She met his gaze head-on. "Do you find that surprising?"

  Tyler nodded. "Among other things. Are you going to talk to me, Kate?"

  "I might." She still didn't know what to do about him. She'd dreamed about him last night, the first time in a long time a man's face that wasn't Jeremy's had appeared in her dreams. But she didn't want this man in her dreams, or in her house for that matter.

  Tyler walked over to the mantle and studied the portrait hanging over the fireplace. It was Kate's favorite picture of the McKenna women, her mother and her sisters and herself. They'd had the portrait painted for her father's birthday when Kate was fourteen years old, Ashley twelve and Caroline ten. She could still see her father unwrapping the portrait, the love, joy, and pride lighting up his eyes when he saw it. He'd jumped to his feet, grabbed her mother in a huge bear hug, and swung her around until she was dizzy. Next he'd picked up Kate and spun her, then done the same with each of her sisters. There had been so much laughter that day, so much love.

  "Your mother?" Tyler asked, drawing her attention back to him.

  "Yes."

  "You look like her."

  "I've always thought Ashley looked the most like her."

  "I haven't met Ashley yet."

  And it was going to stay that way, if Kate had her wish.

  "What happened to your mother?" Tyler asked.

  "She died of cancer when I was seventeen years old."

  "I'm sorry."

  "So am I."

  "Was she a sailor?"

  "Yes, but she didn't like sailing far from home. A spin around the islands was enough for her. She was an artist, a dreamer. She used to design sails, not for money, just for friends. She was more of an armchair adventurer than anything else." Kate let out a small sigh, feeling a wave of longing and nostalgia that never seemed to go away completely. It had been years since her mother's death, but she still missed her. "I wish she could have seen my bookstore. I think she would have liked it." She stopped abruptly, remembering whom she was talking to.

  "Don't stop now. You're on a roll." Tyler sent her a curious look. "We don't have to be adversaries. I'm not sure why, but I get the feeling that you don't want me here. In fact, I believe you'd like to send me away as quickly as possible. I just don't know why."

  "What are you really after?" she asked, deciding it was time to turn the tables. "You don't write stories about ocean racers, not even world-class ones. You write about wars and international economies. You've had bylines in every national magazine. And I think somewhere along the way you've won a journalistic award or two."