Page 13 of Save the Dance

“Not exactly,” he corrected. “In 1897, when the Captain’s ship was overdue, a late-season hurricane struck. She had the servants lash her to the posts. She was sure he’d shipwreck at Heart’s Cove.” He pointed to a jagged outcropping that was barely visible in the rain.

“Was it a bad storm?”

“When you’re at sea in a wooden boat, there aren’t any good ones.” He’d gotten caught out on the open water in a squall when he was fifteen. The experience had given him a wary respect for the ocean. “This particular hurricane sank the Triton off Pinar del Rio. One hundred-eighty-eight men died that day. Fortunately for us, the storm died down a bit before it hit Block Island. By then, the winds had dropped to below sixty miles an hour.”

“The Captain made it home, I take it?”

“He did. A good thing, too. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here. Mary gave birth to a son nine months later. He became my great-great-grandfather.”

He closed the door and led the way across the room. “We’ll come back another day when it’s bright and sunny.” By then, he hoped to learn whether or not Tara had a hidden agenda.

The tall man on the staircase beside her exuded poise and charm, but Tara sensed a vulnerability beneath his cool exterior. Did he feel threatened by her presence in his house? Silly question. He’d be a fool not to, and she had the unshakeable feeling that Jason Heart was no one’s fool. He was well aware that, with the stroke of a pen, she had the ability to change the face of Heart’s Landing until the next review. Or longer.

Unfortunately, that was exactly what she was here to do and, in her position as a junior reporter, she didn’t have much of a choice. Which was a shame, because everything she’d seen so far told her the town deserved to hang on to its designation as the best wedding destination in the country. From the gently rolling hills surrounding Heart’s Landing to the vast ocean at its back door, from the quaint shops and tree-lined streets to the many restaurants she’d spotted during her taxi ride and the people who’d made her feel welcome despite her unexpected appearance, every detail had been picture perfect. And that was before she’d stepped foot in the Captain’s Cottage, which was truly show-stopping.

She trailed Jason down the flight of stairs, imagining herself making the same descent a hundred years ago. She’d have chattered with a bevy of girlfriends and sisters as they descended, each dressed for paying calls on friends and neighbors in full satin skirts and blouses with big, puffy sleeves. Hats piled high with feathers and flowers. In the Roaring Twenties, she’d have made a grand entrance dressed to dance the night away, wearing that incredible beaded frock she’d pulled from the wardrobe. After all this time, the silver fabric had still shimmered, the silk had rustled beneath her touch, the beads had clinked softly. Had she imagined the faint whiff of cologne that perfumed the air? She must have.

She cupped her jaw between her thumb and her finger. What had Mary worn during the storm? Had she stood at the edge of the railing, the rain pelting while her ribbons and bows rippled in the wind? Anyone seeing her there would think she’d gone mad, soaked to the skin with her long hair whipping about her. Clinging for dear life to the railing while she prayed for the safe return of her man.

Of course, that was a bunch of hogwash. Jason had all but admitted the story couldn’t be true when he’d cautioned her about the dangers of venturing onto the widow’s walk in the rain. Then there was the path Mary had supposedly worn. Tara didn’t care how often the story had been repeated. Slate was hard. That was why they used it for roofing material. It was preposterous to think that Mary had worn grooves in the tiles. Not when the woman had had a dozen mouths to feed and an enormous household to run. In that day and age, someone—her housekeeper, if no one else—would’ve barred the door and kept the mistress from doing something that would end up getting her put away “for her own good.”

She had to admit, though, the story was intriguing. A real Heart’s Landing love for the ages. Did Jason know it was a lie? Was that the reason for the streak of vulnerability she felt wafting from his wide shoulders? Or did it have to do with something else entirely?

She palmed one hand to her face. In all the excitement of her arrival, she’d forgotten the message she was supposed to deliver. She cleared her throat. “Georgia at the train station said to say hello. She thought I was someone else at first. She asked me to tell you she’d let you know as soon as Clarissa arrives.”

“I didn’t realize.” Jason’s foot hesitated the tiniest bit before it landed on the next step. “I’ll have to give Georgia a call. She has enough to do. She doesn’t need to waste her time.”

Jason’s abrupt dismissal tingled her reporter’s antenna. “Who’s Clarissa anyway? A friend?” A girlfriend? Not that it was any of her business.

“I thought so, but not anymore.” He turned to her. “I might as well tell you. You’ll probably find out anyway. Clarissa and I had been seeing each other for quite some time. She was supposed to be here this week to help with the evaluation. We were going to perform together at the Smith wedding on Sunday, and she had the lead part in the pageant next week. But business kept her in Boston, and we’ve had a, uh, falling out. My cousin Evelyn will take her place.”

The intensity of his gaze sharpened, but she only shrugged. One of the most important aspects of putting on a large event like a wedding was the ability to roll with the punches. Something always went wrong. The wedding cake tumbled off its pedestal. The bouquet wilted. The train ripped away from the bride’s gown. A good staff addressed the problems with no one being the wiser. They served cupcakes adorned with tiny sparklers. They tossed the brown blossoms in the trash and had the bride carry her family Bible down the aisle. They reached for an emergency sewing kit and repaired the errant fabric. Being able to cope with a change in plans was an asset, not a detraction, and Jason’s backup plan sounded solid.

“I’m sorry she cancelled on you,” she murmured while he waited for her to say something more. “Sometimes there’s no telling who’s going to let you down.”

“Yeah. Better to find out now than later, I guess.” He paused at the landing. “I suspect she was just waiting for the right opportunity to break things off. It’s true what they say—long-distance relationships are impossible to maintain.” He straightened. “The upside is that with Clarissa out of the picture, I’ll have more time to devote to my responsibilities around here.”

Tara had to give the guy credit. When she’d discovered the numbers of dozens of other women in her boyfriend’s phone, when she’d learned he hadn’t even listed her as one of his Favorites, she’d cut that relationship off at the knees. It had been the right thing to do, but it had still taken two boxes of tissues and a vat of ice cream before she was over him. Jason’s breakup had to sting, too, but he wasn’t moping around like someone who’d recently had his heart broken. Quite the opposite. She doubted he’d have mentioned it at all if it hadn’t been for Georgia. Was that a guy’s perspective? Or had he sensed something wrong in the relationship all along? Whatever it was, when she looked up, he’d moved on. She followed him into the comfortable seating area that filled a cozy nook on the floor below the attic.

In a gilt frame, a large picture mirror hung over a narrow table. The strategically placed counter made a convenient place for storing items ready to take downstairs. Books, photos, and a knitting basket gave the area a personal feel.

“Originally, this floor was reserved for guests,” Jason said. “Once we opened the Cottage to the public, the family moved to the third floor. My quarters are on this side.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder at a crooked corridor. “Evelyn’s are on the other.”

Tara glanced down a hall that seemed to stretch forever. “Do you use the entire space?” A dozen apartments the size of hers in New York could fit into each area, with room to spare.

Her question drew another healthy chuckle from Jason. “No. Most of the rooms are closed off to help keep expenses down. You wouldn’t believe what it costs to heat this place in the winter. Summers are almost as bad, although this year, we’ve been lucky. It hasn’t gotten too hot yet.”

She’d noticed that on her way in from town. Thanks to an onshore breeze, temperatures outside had hovered near a comfortable seventy degrees. Regina had warned her that, because the short summers tended to be mild, many public places in Rhode Island didn’t offer central air-conditioning. But the Captain’s Cottage did. She was glad. For herself and for the women who chose this venue for their ceremonies. There was nothing worse than a testy, over-heated bride on her wedding day.

“We reserve one room for guests. We can open the others anytime, of course. There just doesn’t seem much point, considering Evelyn and I are the only ones left in the family.”

It seemed a shame that after generations of Hearts had given the mansion such tender, loving care, there might not be anyone else to preserve the family’s legacy. She flipped a page in her notebook. “What’ll happen to the Captain’s Cottage after the two of you are gone? Assuming, of course, neither of you marry and have children.”

“I wouldn’t rule that out for Evelyn.” Jason’s lips slanted to one side. “But it doesn’t look like marriage is in the hand I was dealt.”

She hardly thought that likely. Why, she could name a dozen women who’d jump at the chance to go out with the smart, educated owner of a successful business. Toss in the fact that, with his regal bearing and winning smile, Jason was easily one of the most handsome men she’d ever met, and she’d bet once word of his new single status got out, every unattached woman for miles around would find some excuse or another to stop by the Captain’s Cottage.

Her focus had drifted dangerously afield. She reeled it in and listened carefully to the rest of his explanation.

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