Page 37 of Save the Dance

Common sense told him that acting on his growing feelings for Tara was the worst thing he could do. Not only did she hold the fate of Heart’s Landing in her hands, but in a matter of days, she’d return to New York. He had no business even thinking of getting involved with yet another woman who put a different zip code in her return address.

But, no matter how he fought it, he couldn’t deny that he was attracted to her. She drew him to her like no woman he’d ever known before. And, on the off-chance that she felt the same way, didn’t they deserve to give things between them a chance?

The question had plagued him all night. Rather than sleeping, he’d remained on edge, unable to get her out of his mind. Somewhere around four this morning, he’d finally come to the realization that he had to face the truth. Despite his efforts to the contrary, he was falling for Tara. And that was a bad thing, a very bad thing. By doing so, he was putting his heart in jeopardy. Worse still, he’d be putting the fate of Heart’s Landing on the line. Neither was a risk he could afford.

There was only one course of action open to him. He’d have to be stronger. Have to bury his feelings for her. Have to hide them so deep, they’d never trouble him again. His course set, he squared his shoulders and slipped the key ring into his pocket. It’d be better if he could avoid her altogether, but he’d promised to escort her during her stay. He couldn’t break his promise. Not with all of Heart’s Landing counting on him. But today, while he and Tara visited the widow’s walk and, later, when they worked in the library, “cool” and “detached” would be his watch words. No matter what.

Minutes later, he cleared his throat in the lobby and stared over Tara’s head. One look at her eager face had nearly been his undoing, but he was stronger than that. He wouldn’t give in to temptation.

“I checked the weather,” he announced. “The skies should remain clear for the next hour or so. That’ll give us plenty of time before the rain starts.”

Tara lifted the camera she carried like other women carried purses. “Lead on,” she said with the grin that warmed his heart despite his best efforts to remain aloof and distant.

Side by side, they headed for the stairs. Once in the attic, he wasted no time cutting through the storage area and opening the door to the widow’s walk. There, safety overtook chivalry and he stepped onto the deck first, using his shoulders to block the door while he gave the exposed roof a quick study.

No water pooled on the slate tiles. He’d personally checked the railing around the widow’s walk before he’d retired last night. It appeared as sturdy today as it had then. A bank of low clouds hugged the horizon, but only a few white wisps dotted the blue sky overhead. Satisfied that all was as it should be, he stepped aside and let Tara pass.

His chest clenched at her soft gasp. Had she tripped? He reached to steady her, only to have her slip beyond his grasp.

“Well, I’ll be …” She stared at square tiles closest to the railing. Cracked and broken, they outlined the circular track Mary had followed while she’d watched for Captain Thaddeus’s ship from the widow’s walk. “When people said she’d worn a path in the slate, I expected scratches and scrapes, at most a faint indentation. Not this.”

Dredging up what he knew about the tiles, Jason chuckled. “Slate is one of the toughest, most durable materials known to man. It’s practically impervious to wind and rain. But for all that, it’s surprisingly fragile. Especially when struck repeatedly by hard-soled shoes, like the ones Mary wore.”

Tara lifted her camera. “I owe you an apology,” she murmured as she snapped pictures of the broken pieces.

“How so?” She’d done nothing wrong. Quite the contrary. After Clarissa, Tara’s honesty and forthrightness were a refreshing change of pace.

“To tell the truth, I never bought into the story that Mary stood watch for her husband’s ship. Not until now.” She pointed toward the circle of broken tiles. “If I hadn’t seen this with my own eyes, I’m not sure I’d have believed it. It’s hard to argue when the evidence is right in front of you.” She toed a loose shard. It fell back into place with a soft chinking sound. “Why didn’t anyone ever replace them?”

Jason shrugged. Of all his ancestors, only Thaddeus had made his living on the sea. Once he’d retired, the widow’s walk had fallen into disuse. Decades had come and gone while the isolated spot remained undisturbed. “My dad would tell you that they’re part of the history of the house. They give it its character. While that’s true, there’s another, more practical reason.”

“What’s that?”

A gust of wind whipped a strand of hair onto his face. He tucked it behind his ear. “We can’t get our hands on the same color slate. The tiles you’re standing on came from a quarry north of Philly. They were hand-shaped before being shipped here in horse-drawn carts over a hundred years ago. That mine has long since played out and closed.”

“Which explains all these broken pieces.”

“For now. As durable as slate is, it doesn’t last forever.” He gestured toward the pitched roof behind them. Here and there, empty squares dotted the surface. In other spots, whole sections had been smashed. “I’ve started getting bids for a new roof. It’s a horrifically expensive undertaking.” One he wouldn’t be able to afford if Heart’s Landing lost its title as America’s Top Wedding Destination.

“Watch your step,” he cautioned as Tara moved to the railing overlooking the ocean. Though the slate looked dry, appearances could be deceiving.

Tara nimbly picked her way to the rail. “Is this where Mary stood to watch for Thaddeus’s ship?”

“In all likelihood, yes.” Tara had chosen a spot that provided the best view. “In her day and age, wives with seafaring husbands kept one eye on the horizon and one eye on their children.”

The pages of Tara’s notebook ruffled in a gusty wind. In fits and starts, the breeze tugged strands of hair from her ponytail and sent them streaming out behind her in twisting ribbons. He longed to capture them in his hands, but a renewed promise to keep his emotional distance stilled his fingers. To avoid temptation, he forced his focus on the birds that wheeled and turned above the waves. He pointed out a porpoise that broke the surface of the water. Below them, cyclists and the occasional jogger moved along the path that followed the curve of the land.

“Do you spend a lot of time out here?” Tara asked after they’d lingered at the railing for a while.

“Not as much as I’d like, but I make a point of it when the fog rolls in. On mornings when it’s thick as clam chowder, the railing disappears, and it’s just you and the mists. They deaden the sound of the ocean.” He liked days like that, when the damp fog wrapped him in a blanket. “A passing ship blew its fog horn one time, and I swore it was right on top of me.”

“I’d like to see that. If I lived at the Cottage, this would be one of my favorite spots.”

“It could use a little sprucing up.” Other than the occasional coat of fresh paint, the secluded area remained exactly as it had been in Mary’s day. The wooden railing and the slate tiles were a history unto themselves, but they didn’t create much atmosphere. Nothing prevented him from hauling a couple of lounge chairs out onto the deck, though. He could install a cabinet and stock it with snacks and beverages. Maybe add one of those round tables with a wide umbrella to protect Tara from the sun’s rays.

He stopped himself. His thoughts had veered toward a cliff, something they’d started doing whenever a certain blonde was near.

Standing beside him, she mopped her face with one hand. “I can almost feel the salt spray on my face.”

---