Coming Home to Greenleigh

Chapter 17

[Some people are fated to always be stand-ins and never the star. Who's the stand-in in my story? And who's the leading man? Is Shawn just a stunt man or is he the true love in Beth's life? Or is Gunnar stepping in because Shawn is too stupid to do what he should have done all those years ago...maybe Gunnar is the leading man, for the reason that he ACTS like a leading man?]

As soon as he saw her face Shawn knew.

"Hi," Elisabeth said breathlessly.

"Beth," Shawn said. "I saw the light. There was a motorcycle outside, and I got worried—"

"I'm fine," Elisabeth interrupted. She wasn't meeting his eyes, and she wasn't inviting him in. And the confirmation was when he looked up and saw him.

He found himself momentarily unable to breathe, his next words dying in his throat without sound, the wind completely knocked out of him. The guy descending the stairs behind her was the kind of cocky thug he would have avoided on the subway in Boston for fear of getting a knife between his ribs. Dark haired with a flop of hair covering his brow and getting into his eyes, tattooed heavily on both arms, wearing a thin white tee shirt and jeans, he ambled easily down the creaky staircase, one hand sliding over the glossy wood of the rail almost lovingly. He was caressing it, running the palm of his hand back and forth as he glanced once at Elisabeth, carelessly, then fastened his gaze on Shawn and nodded.

There was the faintest touch of a smile on his lips.

What was that? A smirk? A challenge? A "welcome to my lair" nod?

Shawn transferred his shocked gaze back to Elisabeth, who didn't seem to know where to look.

They had been upstairs together. That pretty much spoke for itself.

His mind was trying to imagine them together, this thug with his well-muscled arms and the hair in his eyes, actually kissing Beth. Why he was torturing himself, he didn't know—just he felt as if he needed to actually see it in order to believe that this was really happening—

He felt as if he were going mad. What had he missed? There must have been something, a signal, a detail, a gesture. Beth must have tried to tell him, somehow, and he hadn't been paying attention. She wouldn't have abandoned him and his hopes without a word.

It was Christine, he thought. She was distracting, and it must have been her fault he had missed a signal somewhere. Jesus, was it that same day that he had been in this very house, meeting with Beth, Christine, and Bob Stewart? It felt like a century ago.

He tried to remember the last time he'd been upstairs in this house, and couldn't. Even when they were young and crazy in love, their kissing games had been restricted to the front room, the parlor, or on rare occasions, the kitchen. Her mother was often shut away in an upstairs room, doing God knows what. Upstairs was not an option for a couple of kids in love. Not in this house. In those days, they were forever sneaking around and laughing about it. He couldn't figure out what was funny, now that he was looking back on it. Sneaking around was not funny, not at all.

Maybe that had been the problem with their love, maybe the sneaking around had been the thing that killed it. Maybe if they had been more open, if they had challenged her mother and told her what they were planning—maybe then Beth wouldn't have abandoned him like that. Maybe he could have given her the courage to stand up to everyone around her.

He dismissed those memories out of his mind. They hurt too much.

When had this happened? This guy—where had he come from? How was Beth, his Beth, his innocent Beth—how was she mixed up with this tattooed monster?