Page 22 of Moonlit Hideaway
“That’s right.” Hank placed a reassuring hand on Sierra. “We look out for each other here.”
Hank observed Jane wandering around the parking lot, staring at her truck. She seemed to be deep in thought, weighing her dwindling options. Rental cars didn’t originate on Hattokwa Island, and Jane was adamant about not asking him for a favor.
At least she had principles.
Sheriff Ruth had briefed him on their conversation, letting him know that she’d run a background check on Jane—for his safety and the community—but she wouldn’t speculate if the crime were random or targeting Jane. She only said that Jane was free to go if she wished, and knowing Ruth, he got the feeling she knew more but was tight-lipped about it if it didn’t concern him.
He couldn’t mope around all day like a lovesick teen. He had an inn to run.
He needed to fix the leak on the roof, so he set up the ladder, got his materials and tools, and went to work. From his vantage point, he could see Jane pace around the yard. She had nothing but her backpack and the clothes she wore—the cardigan, chambray shirt, and jeans that had been Chloe’s.
At some point, she’d wandered off toward the lighthouse. He’d peered after her as far as he could before losing sight of her. She wasn’t back by lunchtime, and he caught himself surveying the ocean, the inlet, and the woods surrounding the grove. Had she decided to stay, or had she hitched a ride and was, even now, sitting on the ferry on her way out of his life?
Hank finished the repairs and put his tools away. Life slowed down in October, and the subtle changes of the season out on the dunes dampened his spirits. It was the lull between summer and the holidays that dragged him down. Every October, he relived the time Chloe spent in the ICU before succumbing to her injuries.
He would mark the date in his mind and pay a silent vigil to her on the days leading up to the anniversary of her death. With grief clouding his mind, he knew he was vulnerable to emotional entanglements, and he needed to pull back where Jane was concerned. The pop star didn’t need him the way Emma and Mom did—to be the man of the house and provide for them.
“You’re worried about her, aren’t you?” Mom’s voice was gentle, laced with concern as he came in from the repairs. “It’s not just you, Hank. We all are. Emma’s been quiet all day.”
“I guess I just fooled myself into thinking she’d be around a bit longer,” Hank admitted. “It’s hard to accept she’s already leaving.”
“Where do you think she could have gone?” Mom’s voice was full of worry as she followed him upstairs. “Did she give you any hint? Any goodbye?”
“She barely said a word. Just a quiet thanks for keeping her secret. It might be better for the town if she left. Her secret’s bound to get out, and Sierra Rayne is such a big name we would be inundated with tourists hoping to catch a glimpse of her.”
“Might be good for business. I can’t see Maggie keeping her mouth shut.”
Maggie owned the town’s combination coffee shop and bar, Mugshots, where people gathered for gossip and brew.
“Nor the Thompsons,” he admitted. “They’d probably want to drum up business.”
“Maybe they won’t recognize her. You know how it is when you see celebrities without their makeup, and they look nothing like their images. Do you think Emma suspects?”
“We’ll have to let Emma know,” Hank said. “If Sierra stays. Otherwise, she’d blurt it out as soon as she realizes it.”
“Emma’s sharp; she might have already figured it out. And Howie, well, he’s not easily fooled. Sierra’s reaction gave her away,” Mom said thoughtfully.
“We need to help her feel safe,” Hank said more to himself than to his mother. “That is if she decides to stay.”
Evening came, and Jane wasn’t back. Emma went straight to her room, and even Howie stayed away from the TV lounge. Hank couldn’t take the gloom, especially his own heavy feelings. He put on a light jacket and headed out for a jog on the beach to clear his head.
She was gone, and even though he hadn’t known her long, he felt the loss of all the what-ifs. The surf’s rhythmic crashing was soothing as he pounded at a fast pace along the shoreline past clumps of sea oats protected by slats of sand fencing.
As he neared the lighthouse, he looked up at the majestic structure. A distant figure sat on a dune beneath the lighthouse, staring southwest toward the setting sun.
Something about the way she sat, with her hair flapping in the breeze and her posture ramrod straight, had his pulse quickening. And then he realized what she was doing. She rocked to a beat only she could feel and sang a song only she could hear.
Hank didn’t want to disturb her, so he slowed his pace and walked silently behind her, stopping once her mesmerizing voice carried over to him—a haunting melody, almost a dirge—singing the blues as the last light of day descended into darkness, but lighting an ember deep in his heart.
Chapter Nine
Sierra sensed Hank’s presence without having to turn around. It was as if the atmosphere expanded with a high-pressure wave and surrounded her with unseen arms. His large heart enveloped her with promises she couldn’t accept.
Her voice faltered as the sensation grew, and she tilted her head back, eyes closed to relish the moment before the spell was broken. The last mournful note ended in a bare whisper, and she inhaled deeply.
What did he want? And had he come looking for her?
He came closer, and there was no sense pretending he wasn’t present.
