Rosemary Cottage

  ACCLAIM FOR COLLEEN COBLE

  “Coble’s atmospheric and suspenseful series launch should appeal to fans of Tracie Peterson and other authors of Christian romantic suspense.”

  —LIBRARY JOURNAL

  REVIEW OF TIDEWATER INN

  “Romantically tense, but with just the right touch of danger, this cowboy love story is surprisingly clever—and pleasingly sweet.”

  —USATODAY.COM REVIEW

  OF BLUE MOON PROMISE

  “Colleen Coble will keep you glued to each page as she shows you the beauty of God’s most primitive land and the dangers it hides.”

  —WWW.ROMANCEJUNKIES.COM

  “[An] outstanding, completely engaging tale that will have you on the edge of your seat . . . A must have for all fans of romantic suspense!”

  —THEROMANCEREADERSCONNECTION.COM

  REVIEW OF ANATHEMA

  “Colleen Coble lays an intricate trail in Without a Trace and draws the reader on like a hound with a scent.”

  —ROMANTIC TIMES, 4 ½ STARS

  “Coble’s historical series just keeps getting better with each entry.”

  —LIBRARY JOURNAL STARRED

  REVIEW OF THE LIGHTKEEPER’S BALL

  “Don’t ever mistake [Coble’s] for the fluffy romances with a little bit of suspense. She writes solid suspense, and she ties it all together beautifully with a wonderful message.”

  —LIFEINREVIEWBLOG.COM

  REVIEW OF LONESTAR ANGEL

  “This book has everything I enjoy: mystery, romance, and suspense. The characters are likable, understandable, and I can relate to them.”

  —THEFRIENDLYBOOKNOOK.COM

  “[M]ystery, danger and intrigue as well as romance, love and subtle inspiration. The Lightkeeper’s Daughter is a ‘keeper.’”

  —ONCEUPONAROMANCE.COM

  “Colleen is a master storyteller.”

  —KAREN KINGSBURY,

  BEST-SELLING AUTHOR OF

  UNLOCKED AND LEARNING

  ROSEMARY COTTAGE

  ALSO BY COLLEEN COBLE

  HOPE BEACH NOVELS

  Tidewater Inn

  UNDER TEXAS STARS NOVELS

  Blue Moon Promise

  Safe in His Arms

  THE MERCY FALLS SERIES

  The Lightkeeper’s Daughter

  The Lightkeeper’s Bride

  The Lightkeeper’s Ball

  LONESTAR NOVELS

  Lonestar Sanctuary

  Lonestar Secrets

  Lonestar Homecoming

  Lonestar Angel

  THE ROCK HARBOR SERIES

  Without a Trace

  Beyond a Doubt

  Into the Deep

  Cry in the Night

  Silent Night: A Rock Harbor Christmas Novella (e-book only)

  THE ALOHA REEF SERIES

  Distant Echoes

  Black Sands

  Dangerous Depths

  Midnight Sea

  Alaska Twilight

  Fire Dancer

  Abomination

  Anathema

  NOVELLAS INCLUDED IN:

  Smitten

  Secretly Smitten

  © 2013 by Colleen Coble

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of Thomas Nelson, Inc.

  Thomas Nelson, Inc., titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fund-raising, or sales promotional use. For information, please e-mail [email protected].

  Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Unless otherwise noted, Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Coble, Colleen.

  Rosemary cottage : a Hope Beach novel / Colleen Coble.

  pages cm

  ISBN 978-1-59554-782-8 (trade paper)

  I. Title.

  PS3553.O2285R67 2013

  813’.54--dc23

  2013001541

  Printed in the United States of America

  13 14 15 16 17 RRD 6 5 4 3 2 1

  For my aunt Edith Phillips.

  While she doesn’t surf cold water, every child gravitates toward her.

  You’ve always been my role model, Ede. Love you!

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THIRTY-SIX

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THIRTY-NINE

  FORTY

  DEAR READER

  READING GROUP GUIDE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  AN EXCERPT FROM WITHOUT A TRACE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  PROLOGUE

  The Atlantic water rushed past her limbs in a silken caress. Gina Ireland loved the water, the busy fishermen boating to and fro, and the blue bowl of sky overhead. She was the first to hit the water every spring in her new bikini. This might be her last swim of the season, and she intended to milk every second from the October sun overhead.

  She waved to her brother on the beach where he sat on the blanket with her tiny daughter. He was as crazy about their Outer Banks island as she was, and when he wasn’t working on the water, he was plopped on the beach. Seven-month-old Raine squawked, objecting to being corralled off the sand. She already had her Uncle Curtis wrapped around her finger. Gina too, for that matter. The baby had changed everything.

  Curtis waved in return, then squatted on the blanket with the baby. Other beachgoers splashed in the waves, and the distant roar of Jet Skis disrupted the serenity of her beloved Hope Island.

  Gina flipped to her back and closed her eyes as the waves carried her on the whitecaps. She was different now, new and clean. The future looked bright. The water held no fear for her. Once she’d entertained dreams of winning an Olympic gold medal in swimming until life intervened, but contentment curled along her spine. No need for a medal when she had everything right here.

  The island had receded in the distance when she opened her eyes and turned to her stomach again. She started back toward the beach with long, sure strokes. When the shore was no nearer five minutes later, she paused and trod water in the riptide that had seized her. She experienced only a momentary stab of disquiet. The boating lane was near, and if the current didn’t release her, she could hail a passing fishing boat. She swam parallel to the shore, then tried again, only to be thrust back by the strong tide.

  The rumble of an app
roaching ski boat wasn’t nearly as annoying as usual as it zoomed toward her. She waved and shouted. The man’s eyes narrowed as he looked at her and nodded. Good, he’d seen her. She waved again so he didn’t lose her in the waves.

  The boat’s engine roared to a higher pitch as the man aimed the craft toward her. The nose on the thing rose in the air as he forced it even faster. Sea spray foamed around the boat.

  “Slow down!” She made a cutting motion with her hand, but the man merely smiled and stared at her.

  When he grew closer, she frowned. What was he doing out here and why wasn’t he pulling back on the throttle? She tried to dive to escape the big boat barreling down on her, but her head was only a foot under the waves when the great blades came at her. If only she’d had one last glimpse of her baby girl.

  ONE

  The distant sound of the sea blended with the hum of bees seeking the spring flowers. The clumps of blue-green vegetation gave off a spicy fragrance Amy Lang recognized as rosemary. Rosemary for remembrance. She stood on the stone walk beside her friend Libby and stared at the house with memories washing over her.

  The old Hope Beach cottage in North Carolina’s Outer Banks was just as beautiful as she remembered but sad somehow. As if the cottage knew Ben was gone and mourned with her. The two-story’s soft gray siding blended with the slate roof, but the red door and shutters added a punch of welcoming color. The flower boxes at the windows held the dry remains of last year’s annuals. The detached garage, in a carriage-house style, sat behind the house and off to one side.

  Libby Bourne rested her hand on the belly that swelled her sundress. Her baby was due in two weeks. She wore her long brown hair in a ponytail, and her amber eyes smiled when she stared at the house. “I’ve always loved Rosemary Cottage. That circular porch is so unique. I did some research and discovered it was built in 1883, but I suppose you know that.”

  Libby was an architectural historian, and she knew more about old buildings than most architects. The two had become acquainted last summer when Amy and Ben met for their annual vacation at the cottage. Both in their early thirties, the women became instant friends when Amy saw Libby trying to learn to surf and had shown her a few tips.

  Libby shifted her purse to the other shoulder. “Earth to Amy. Where did you go?”

  “Sorry, I was woolgathering.” Amy recovered her composure. “Our ancestor, Oscar Lang, was a sea captain.” The gray metal roof was new.

  “It has so much character and detail,” Libby said, pointing. “Look at the scrollwork under the eaves and the fretwork on the porch. No house has as much charm as a Victorian.”

  Rosemary Cottage had been passed down through the Lang family for generations, usually jointly owned by siblings. Now it was Amy’s alone since her brother’s death four months ago. She didn’t know if she could open that door and step into the echoing silence of the house where she and Ben had spent so many happy summers. Her eyes stung, but she tipped her chin up.

  Libby touched Amy’s arm. “Is this all too upsetting? You can come back to Tidewater Inn if you’d rather ease into this whole thing.”

  Amy shook her head. She didn’t want Libby, of all people, to see any weakness in her. “No, I’m going in. I’m just checking out what needs to be done. I really appreciate you coming with me.”

  Libby frowned at the yard. “It’s a little overgrown. I should have gotten a gardener over here.”

  “Overgrown is an understatement.” Amy forced levity into her voice. “The plants all need to be cut back, but I like doing it myself.”

  Roses rambled up the wall that surrounded the home, and wildflowers covered most of the front yard. Flyspecks marred the windows, and the clapboard siding needed to be spray washed, but the house called to her. If she opened the door, would she hear Ben’s laughter, smell his cologne?

  Amy pulled the key from her purse and marched up the three steps to the expansive porch. She stepped to the red door, then quickly inserted the key and twisted it. The door resisted her effort for a moment as if giving her time to change her mind. But she was determined to get past this, to get to the truth.

  The stale scent of disuse rushed past her on its way to escape into the sea air. Inside the house, the sound of the waves faded and became a pleasant murmur. She shut the door behind them and glanced around. A layer of dust covered the hardwood floors in the entry. The pale yellow walls gave a sense of welcome. This was home. Just as much as it had ever been.

  Libby followed her as she wandered through the living room, its furniture draped in sheets. “I wish I’d had a key. I would have made sure it was cleaned and ready. You should stay with me until we can get it spiffed up.”

  “It’s only ten. I have all day to get it ready.”

  A photo arrested Amy’s attention, and she picked it up. It was of her and Ben last summer. Surfboards in hand, they were coming up from a dip in the sea. Both looked immensely pleased with themselves. Amy put the photo back down. She had many more pictures of her brother that she’d brought with her, from babyhood to the last week of his life.

  Amy moved toward the door. “Let’s get the cleaning supplies.”

  Libby shook her head. “Let’s hire it done.”

  “I want to do it myself. It will be part of the remembering.”

  Libby’s expression was troubled. “Amy, don’t get me wrong. I love having you here, but you said something on the phone about needing to know the truth. The truth about what?”

  Amy held Libby’s stare. “I need to find out what happened to Ben.”

  “I—I don’t understand.” Libby touched her arm. “He died surfing. The Coast Guard said the rip current dragged him out to sea.”

  “I don’t believe it. Ben knew these waters, knew how to deal with currents. There has to be more.” She turned away from the pity in Libby’s face. Libby would understand when Amy let her read the e-mail that had come last week, but she wasn’t ready to talk about it yet. Something had happened here four months ago, just offshore in those clear blue waters. And she intended to find out what it was. No matter what it took.

  Amy moved toward the kitchen. “Let’s get the bucket and cleaning supplies.”

  Libby gasped and pressed her belly. “Oh no.”

  Amy tensed. “The baby? Are you having contractions?”

  “I think that’s what it was.” Libby’s eyes widened, and she stared at the floor where a pool of water began to spread.

  “I think your water just broke, Lib.” Amy took her arm and led her to the sofa. She whisked the sheet off of it and sat Libby down on the leather. “Let me get my bag from the car.”

  Libby’s amber eyes were panicked. “It’s too soon!”

  “Only a couple of weeks, and your baby will be fine. Relax, breathe. I’ll be right back.” Amy dashed out to the car and grabbed the suitcase that held her midwife instruments. Back inside, she unzipped the case and found her Pinard stethoscope, a trumpet-shaped device.

  She hurried back to the living room and knelt beside Libby. “Doing okay?”

  “I—I think so. Should I call Alec?”

  “Hang on a minute. The baby is going to arrive today, but I want to see if we can safely transport you to the hospital or if I need to ready a bed here.”

  “Alec is going to freak! He wanted me to go to the mainland and stay until the baby was born, and I told him I was sure we had another week at least. I’d read that first babies are usually late.”

  Amy nodded. “It’s common, but babies are unpredictable.” She lifted Libby’s top and pressed the stethoscope to her belly, then listened. The reassuring thump, thump made her smile. “The baby’s heartbeat is strong.” The skin of Libby’s belly contracted, and Libby inhaled sharply. Amy patted her. “That was a strong one.”

  Libby bit her lip. “What should we do?”

  “Without checking your cervix, I don’t know how much time we have.” She watched Libby’s face contort again. “It’s only been a minute. That was another contraction
.”

  “I didn’t want to say anything, but I’ve been feeling pressure in my back since about two this morning. Could it be labor?”

  Amy didn’t answer. She cupped Libby’s stomach and waited for the next contraction. It showed up right on time about a minute after the last one. A small moan escaped Libby’s lips.

  Amy reached for her cell phone. “I think we’d better get Alec here.”

  It was Curtis Ireland’s first day off in weeks, but he laid his Coast Guard pager on the beach towel beside his one-year-old niece, Raine. He prayed it wouldn’t summon him to his duties. With any kind of luck, no boats would be in distress and no swimmers would need to be rescued. They would have a perfect day to themselves.

  Raine had transferred enough sand to the towel to bury herself. He picked her up and tucked her under one arm, then snagged the towel with the other and shook it out.

  She wiggled. “Down!”

  “You’re bossy.” He deposited her by her bucket and shovel. “Do you want to get in the water?” The Atlantic waves were gentle swells. His aunt was out surfing those swells with his friend and coworker Sara Kavanagh. He itched to plunge into the refreshing water himself.

  “Ga,” Raine said.

  He took that for agreement, so he shook the blanket more thoroughly, then spread it out. She lifted her arms, and he picked her up and carried her to the blue ocean. They wouldn’t be able to go out too far, but a dip would feel great. He waded into the sea foam with Raine in his arms. She shrieked with delight and batted at the water. She’d been born a sea nymph and had never shown any fear of the ocean.

  Edith waved at them, then let the surf carry her toward the shore. His mother’s sister was a widow and had been quick to offer to move in with him to help care for Raine when Gina died four and a half months ago. Curtis didn’t know what he would have done without her. Edith was fifty with merry hazel eyes and a constant smile. All children loved her on sight.

  Raine saw her and squealed. She kicked her feet and reached for Edith. “Ede.”

  Her hair plastered down and her face pink from the cold water, Edith smiled as she came up out of the water. She scooped Raine out of his arms. “There’s my little pint-sized general. I missed you.” She gestured toward the water. “Go have some fun, Curtis. I’ll watch her. There are some pretty girls on the beach.”