Page 48 of Seaside Cowboy's Marriage of Convenience

And that was it. She started hoping again. To find Zoey. To see her uncle get better. And deep down, to make this marriage work.

Austin held her gaze, making her heartbeat erratic, unnerving her and exciting her at the same time. “Yes. There’s hope.”

In a matter of days, she’d gotten attached to him so much it rang alarms louder than the dogs barked. She was yielding so much power to him already as if power were some protons going from her hands to his, and she jerked hers back, breaking the connection.

As his eyes dimmed, she gestured to the white wrought iron table with matching chairs surrounding it. “Let’s sit.”

He pulled out a chair for her, then sat once she did. For a few moments, everything was quiet. She’d never been a chatterbox, and she guarded her space with as much ferocity as people in medieval times guarded this castle. Her heart constricted. Would he get bored with her soon? Stop knocking on a door she’d always kept locked?

The breeze caressed her skin, but not as gently as Austin had. Leaves on faraway trees whispered something, maybe gossiped about how silly this woman was to keep pushing away a great guy.

He never seemed to have a problem starting a conversation. And to her relief, the apprehension disappeared from his eyes nearly immediately. “If it’s okay to ask, what happened to your uncle’s ex-wife? I mean, I know they got divorced and she left, but not the details.”

She traced the table’s filigree surface, skidding from one knobby wrought iron band to another. The neutral question didn’t concern her directly, so he must be giving her space. Did he ask because his mother was spending more and more time in Uncle’s company? And after all, Austin had a right to know about the man who was in essence, if not officially, his father-in-law.

She must’ve let the pause stretch too long because Austin added, “You don’t have to answer if the memory is unpleasant. I, um, I’m asking because Mom talks about your uncle a lot. And her face lights up when she does.” He looked away. “Probably like mine does when I look at you.”

Her face heated at the last sentence, but painful memories rushed over her like a cold shower. This was another loss she’d pushed away and never allowed herself to grieve.

She touched a thorn on the rose, examining the pain, then started with a prelude instead of the main symphony. “She was a much more protective mom than mine was. I mean, Zoey had a nanny, but her mother still spent a lot of time with her. And with me, because I hung out at their place a lot. I called her Auntie.”

“You loved her like a mom.” Soft and compassionate, his voice almost undid her, and his blue eyes nearly made her believe healing was possible.

But if he wanted this story, she had to remain detached as much as possible. “Mine didn’t seem to want to spend time with me.” A lump grew in her throat, its edges as prickly as thorns. “As Auntie seemed to enjoy spending time with us girls, I took to her like a flower turns to the sun. I was too little to protect my heart at the time.” The last words she added in a much lower voice.

Based on his darkened eyes, he heard her. “It must’ve been difficult when she left.”

“At first, I couldn’t understand how she could do that. At almost the same time, I lost two of the few people who cared about me. My friend disappeared, all because of me. Heartbroken, Auntie and Uncle offered rewards and hired private investigators to augment what the police and FBI were doing, but still, they couldn’t find their daughter. Uncle became a shadow of his former self, and to distract himself, he worked so much that he barely came home. Auntie was crying often, until she broke down and said she couldn’t stay where everything reminded her of her daughter.”

Kennedy had to stop. She let out a shaky breath, then pushed through more of the past. “Instead of uniting them, grief drove them apart, creating an ocean between them. I also think Uncle blamed himself for what happened. He had an early breakfast with an important client that day where the presence of a glamorous, elegant wife was advantageous, but the presence of children would be a nuisance. He asked her to go with him, though she wanted us all to go to the beach. He said the nanny could take the girls to the beach. I have a feeling he never forgave himself for that and neither did she.”

“But it’s not his fault Zoey was kidnapped.” His hand moved toward hers, but he seemed to stop himself as if remembering her previous reaction.

Regret tightened around her rib cage. “We often blame ourselves for illogical things.”

“That sounds familiar.” His caring gaze was opening a door she didn’t deserve to touch. Not the door in, but the door out.

Forgiving herself was another thing too painful to examine, a sword like those on the castle’s walls. Even after such a long time, it had never dulled or rusted. It could probably split her silk scarf—or her aching heart—in two.

She wasn’t sure she was ready. The cool of the picking-up wind and cloudy sky gave her an excuse to stand. “Let’s head inside. It might rain soon. And we need to give the dogs a bath.”

“Okay.” He helped her herd the pets inside the castle.

“Good night.” Rachel disappeared into her room, and Kennedy suspected they wouldn’t see her again this evening. Rachel was quiet like a shadow, easily disappearing into a crowd, her footfalls silent, so Kennedy sometimes forgot the bodyguard was even there. But that was probably the point.

Rachel had a squeaky-clean background and stellar references, but Kennedy wondered about her story.

Once Austin and Kennedy had bathed the dogs, unpacked in their respective rooms, and accomplished a few other things, Kennedy felt drawn to the living room fireplace, another modern addition that still reflected something from the past. She found Austin already there, sitting on the couch, staring at the fire, nursing a glass of chocolate milk. She froze.

Normally, she loved all things chocolate, but milk wasn’t one of them.

He lifted his gaze, his expression more thoughtful than usual. Was he having regrets, asking himself what he’d gotten into? The rich girl with oceanfront properties people envied had turned out to be an emotional mess.

“Would you like me to make you some chocolate milk?” He placed his half-full glass on a coffee table.

She weakened. “N–no.”

He got up from the sofa fast. “Why did you pale? Did I say something wrong?”

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