Page 60 of Love, Lies, and Celtic Knots

“Leave.”

“As you wish.”

Fortunately, she complies. I expel a breath. It’s over.For now.

She turns on her heel and departs, the click of her stilettos echoing in the hallway and fading until I hear the front door slamming in her wake. But then a cold chill runs up my spine. I know better than to believe I’ve seen the last of her. She is indeed playing a game.What’s her next move? And what’s mine?

Joselyn’s face pops into my head again.Is she somehow a part of this game?It can’t be a coincidence that they’ve both shown up in town at the same time. Or can it?

Chapter 5

Joselyn

As I drive up the long lane leading to the main building of the Celtic Knot, time stands still. Through the open windows of my car wafts the natural fragrance of sea salt air and the sweet notes of grapes and flowers. The nine years since I stepped foot on this property disappear, and I’m suddenly the twenty-something version of Joselyn coming home from an errand. I halfway expect Brennen to come out of the main building to greet me with a kiss, telling me he missed me even though I was only gone a short while. But then I’m literally jolted back to reality when I hit a huge pothole in the road. I’m thirty-two, not twenty-two, and there’s no one to welcome me. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone charges me with trespassing if they catch me sneaking around.

My chest tightens as I chant to myself.Keep going. You can do this. You need to do this. Return to where it all happened. Remind yourself of everything you used to hold sacred. It’s time to heal.

I park in the customer lot, hoping no one recognizes my old convertible, the same one that’s taken me across the country and brought me back again. Avoiding the main building, I stroll along the side of the property toward the caretaker’s cottage myfather and I used to live in. At first glance, it looks unoccupied. I move closer, stepping onto the small porch and looking into the front window, the window to my past. A smile forms as I think back to when the tiny house was filled with love and laughter. Now it’s just an empty shell, an old remnant of my past. Just as quickly, the smile fades.

Stepping back from the cottage, I look out toward the rear of the property, taking in the expansive view of the pond, the horse stable, the storage barn, and a very special area, the garden. From where I stand, I can also see the back of the large main building which is the private entrance to the Murphy family home. Is Brennen still living there? I’m not sure I’m ready to find out.

Curiosity drives my feet toward the stable. Back in the day, Brennen had his own horse, and I would often ride his mother’s horse, Aisling. We’d take the horses out all over the property and on some trails nearby, often packing a picnic lunch and settling beneath the quietness of the tall pines at the rear of the property or in the solitude of his mother’s garden. As I approach the stable, the doors at each end are open, allowing the gentle breeze and the soft sound of a horse to drift through. When I step inside, I’m greeted by the low nicker of a horse in a stall. It’s Kerry, Brennen’s horse! He’s still here! His shiny black coat has dulled with age, but he’s still a stately, gentle presence. As I greet him, I see the flicker of recognition in the gelding’s eyes.He remembers me!

I carefully begin stroking his neck, so as not to startle him. He’s still got a beautiful thick mane and tail. He must be well over twenty years old. If he could talk, he might let me in on everything that’s been happening here since I’ve been gone. Instead, I start a conversation, as if he’s a long-lost friend.

“Hey, Kerry. How are you, boy? You’re looking good. Brennen must be taking good care of you. Looks like you’re all alone now. Where’s Aisling? I bet you miss her.”

My heart warms as the horse nudges me, acknowledging my words. I feel something brushing against my leg and look down to see a fluffy tortie barn cat. I reach down to give it a pet along its soft fur, prompting the cat to begin purring like a freight train. “Who’s your companion, Kerry?”

He gives me another soft knicker as if in answer. “Do you still like carrots?” I look over at the shelf beside the stall, and sure enough, there are carrots in the bucket, just like before. I grab one and offer it to Kerry, who takes it from me enthusiastically.

If only Brennen would be as happy to see me.

After one last affectionate pat for the horse and the cat, I wander back outside. As I circle the pond, I catch sight of tall sunflowers swaying slightly in the Florida breeze, and a sweet fragrance tickles my nose. Funny, I don’t remember the smell of the sunflowers being so potent. Perhaps some other types of flowers are now in the garden, in addition to Mrs. Murphy’s prize sunflowers.

As I enter the sanctuary of the plot, I’m surrounded by the tall stems, immediately feeling the change of temperature provided by the shade inside of the garden. As I walk through, I recall the game Emma and I used to play. We’d each steal one of the sunflowers and pluck the petals one by one, recitinghe loves me, he loves me not. I notice some different flowers that weren’t there previously, and near the rear, I spot some vines strung along a wooden trellis system. This is the source of the sweet scent! I move closer, rubbing my fingers along the vine with some flower clusters and tiny grapes.When were grapevines planted in here? And why?

As I exit the other end of the garden, I realize I’m not alone. Looking back at me is the face that’s been etched in my memoryand in the forefront of my dreams for the last nine years. But it’s an older, more mature face. Although his expression is neutral, like a mask, he can’t hide his features. His dark brown eyes are simmering and the beard scruff on his tanned face causes a fire within me that I haven’t felt in a long time—the burn of desire.

When he speaks, his tone is just as bland as the expression on his face. “What are you doing here?”

Does he mean here in Pelican Point or here in the garden? I suppose it doesn’t matter; I don’t think he’s happy to see me. But what did I expect? “I… I?—”

He cuts me off with a curt wave of his hand. “Save it. Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying it.”

His hand motion reveals a hint of emotion. The mask is slipping. If I leave now, I don’t think I’ll have the courage to come back and face him again. This is my only shot. “Brennen, please. I’m here to make amends. I’m tired of running from my past.”

He’s silent for a moment. Then the mask drops from his face completely. He barks out a laugh. Not because what I’ve said is funny. I’ve hit a nerve, and he’s not hiding it. “Tired? Let me tell you abouttired. I’m tired, too. Tired of trying to figure out why my fiancée left me as soon as times got tough. Tired of trying to save my family’s business and the legacy that my father tried to burn to the ground.”

He’s right. Why did I think this was going to be easy? I should turn and run, but my feet are stuck like they’re sinking in mud. A tear trickles down my cheek as I whisper, “I’m sorry. For everything that happened to you. All of it. Including what my father did. That’s why I had to leave. I felt like I was responsible for the sins of my father, and I thought I’d be blamed, too, because my last name is Vargas. I know it was a foolish, knee-jerk reaction, and I’ve spent years dwelling on it. Wishing I’ddone things differently. But at the time, I did the only thing I could think of—run.”

He responds through gritted teeth, his words burning me like acid. “You aren’t responsible for anything your father did. But youareresponsible for not sticking by me. For not trusting me. For not believing in me. You, of all people, should have known what that would do to me. You should have remembered that loyalty and trust are sacred to me. Now I don’t trust anyone, including my own family. So don’t be surprised when I say I don’t trust you. And I don’t know when or if you’ll ever win back that trust.”

Without another word, Brennen stalks away, taking with him any semblance of hope I had that I would be forgiven.

Chapter 6

Brennen

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