“Hang on. Don’t you dare leave me. I promise to get that son of a bitch if it’s the last thing I do, but I need you to stick with me. We’re going to get him together. I swear to God no one is ever going to hurt you again. Are you listening? Stay with me!”
She slipped in and out but watched her battle to keep her focus on his face. Seconds felt like hours, and then the shrilling siren pounded in his ears, and there was a rush of emergency medical workers who pushed him aside and took over trying to keep her alive. Jack stood, dripping in blood, the knife at his feet, and watched them work. Then the sound of another siren pulling in front of the cabin, and two cops rushed through the door.
“Get down! Get down now!”
Jack hit the floor, hands on top of his head, as two cops trained their gun on him and cuffed him. His last image before things went black was not his cousin’s face as he used the knife, or the terrified look on the woman’s face, or the gushing blood.
It was Julianna’s face.
Chapter Eight
Tomorrow was her wedding day.
Julianna stared at the simple white gown hanging by the closet. Clean lines flowed from a strapless neckline and gathered in a bow in the back, then spilled to the floor in a rush of lace. The dress screamed elegance and practicality, especially for a small garden wedding with a few guests. She had no maid of honor, no close friends or family. Her lunch friends were acquaintances she kept up for appearances’ sake and no one knew the extent of her desperation. She’d invited a few neighbors and co-workers from the college in an effort to make memories of the only wedding she’d ever have. She couldn’t stand the idea of a justice of the peace. Much too impersonal. So she’d say her vows at the Cliff House, drink some champagne, and pack her bags for England.
Julianna sat on the edge of her bed and stared at the gown. An emptiness had taken root and grew hungrier with each passing day. She wondered if Jack had sailed away yet. Maybe another waterfront town in the hopes of finding something better than his home. Someone better than her. A woman like the one he’d shared dinner with that night.
Choose me.
His plea echoed in her head like a mantra with no ending. He’d called her a hero, yet she’d known the truth. She was a coward. Afraid to really live on her own terms. Afraid to choose the unknown over the dependable. A martyr to the end, she was willing to marry to give her father what he wanted. She was exchanging one prison for another without a fight. She placed no value upon herself.
Until Jack.
How had he suddenly made her feel important? Worthwhile and deserving of love? He’d challenged her body and her mind, pushed her boundaries, and had the gall to ask her to come away with him. Was there another man alive with such audacity? Was there another man alive who was meant to be her true love?
Her nerves raw, she wandered to the sunroom, desperate for a few moments of peace. She sought out her thick poetry book, cracked the spine and opened the page.
And came face to face with Ralph Waldo Emerson.
Juliana fought for breath as her gaze rested on the title, Give All to Love. And then she read.
The hard shell cracked and exposed a vulnerable, gooey center. The realization slammed through her like a hurtling racecar, crashed, and left a trail of crumbled debris in its wake. He’d given her everything he was, offered his heart, and she’d told him he wasn’t enough. Visions of her past flickered before her eyes. How many times had she given up her dreams for the sake of someone else? She had no one to blame, yet she found herself with no one to take care of while still seeking to be a caretaker. She didn’t want to marry someone socially acceptable that she didn’t love. Someone she felt lukewarm with.
She wanted to marry a man who would ignite the night, hold her accountable during the day, and see beyond the surface to the woman she really was. No other man had given her such a gift. Jack Wolfe had looked hard, and loved her anyway.
The room spun and she clutched the book to her chest for support. What good was owning the Cliff House without love? How could she spend the rest of her life regretting her choice and trying to live with a man she never truly wanted?
The answer was simple, held in the pages of poetry, held in her heart.
She’d cancel her wedding, find Jack Wolfe, and beg his forgiveness. She’d sail away with him and let the bank take her home. She didn’t need a home. She needed Jack.
Her legs shook when she stood and made her decision.
First she needed to find Jack. Then she’d speak with Bryce and tell him the truth. He didn’t deserve a wife who couldn’t give her heart to him and make a valiant effort at this marriage. Julianna was positive he’d find another suitable wife in order to inherit his family estate. After all, he was charming, polite, and kind.
Julianna raced out of the house and slammed the door behind her.
Jack sat on the deck of the boat. A forgotten beer lay beside him on the table, and his head thrummed in rhythm to the screech of seagulls. He sucked in a breath of salt air and his stomach steadied. The hours had passed in a whirlwind, from his arrest, the questioning, and tracking down Bryce. Thank God for the video camera hidden in the trees. Without the tape, the woman could have testified against both of them. She hadn’t known Jack was there to help, and her terror could have easily slanted the situation to make it look like they were working together.
After a few strategically placed calls to England, Bryce’s private investigator was a prime witness against his cousin. The trail of violence and abuse winded long, and hard evidence was needed. Bryce wouldn’t be claiming any family legacy. He’d be spending the next several years in jail. Jack would focus all his energies into making sure justice was served.
As for the woman, he found out her name was Charlotte, and she was going to be fine. He moved quickly to make sure her medical bills were paid, and a sizeable fund was ready to help her transition when she got out. Not that money would help her sleep any better at night. Still, he intended to make sure she got a proper job and anything she needed.
“Jack?”
He jumped and whirled around. Julianna stood on the dock. Her feet shifted back and forth, but her raven gaze was steady. “May I come aboard?”
Jack wanted to say no. He wanted to say yes. The sight of her made the wound throb and re-open. His need for her, and her need for another man’s money. He forced the word out. “Sure.”
She moved with a feminine grace, her white canvas shoes spotlessly clean as she jumped onto the gangway. A simple white t-shirt and cropped shorts covered her body. Her thick dark hair was pulled back in a pony-tail, and her face was scrubbed free of make-up. Jack spotted the telltale freckles sprinkling her nose and noted she’d spent too much time in the sun. Her familiar scent of vanilla and spice rose to his nostrils on the tug of the ocean breeze.