For the immediate future, her solitude ought to be secure.
Settling her sunglasses on her nose, she stepped onto the small plot of manicured lawn that extended to the edge of the bluff. From there, according to the property management agent, a path led down to the trail for the beach. Since the secluded stretch of sand was only accessible from a handful of cottages, she should have it to herself most of the time.
As Katherine traversed the perimeter of the bluff, seeking a trailhead, the unbroken tangle of natural flora suggested that few renters ventured down to water’s edge, preferring instead to admire the view from on high.
She did a second pass.
Aha. There. That was sort of a path, tucked in among the brambles—wasn’t it?
She moved closer.
Yes.
As she prepared to plunge into the undergrowth, she gave her surroundings one more appreciative survey.
Below her, the glittering expanse of water stretched to the far horizon, where indigo sea and turquoise sky melded. Sea stack sentinels flanked the far edges of the sweeping curve of hillside that formed the cove below. In both directions, overlapping fingers of steep headlands jutted progressively farther out into the water. On the southernmost one, hazy in the distance, Pelican Point light presided.
The sheltered crescent of beach below was mostly hidden from this vantage point, but it was easy to visualize from the multitude of photos the agent had provided—and now that the weather was cooperating, she was itching to explore it in person.
Giving the edge of the property on either side of her a quick scan, she let out a slow breath. While there were a few other houses on this stretch of coast, the insulating layer of Sitka spruce, pine, and hemlock trees between them gave her absolute privacy.
Heaven.
Lips curving up, she pushed through the thigh-high foliage and began her descent.
Within fifty feet, the rough track dead-ended at a wider, more discernible trail.
Wind ruffling her newly shorn locks, she hung a left. As she strolled along, two gulls wheeled overhead and a chipmunk scampered across the path a few feet in front of her, a . . . blackberry? . . . in his mouth.
While the critter disappeared into the brush, she gave the brambles on either side of the narrow trail a closer inspection.
Good heavens.
There were blackberries everywhere.
In light of the name of the beach, their presence wasn’t a surprise—but this was a mother lode.
She stopped to examine one of the bushes laden with ripe, juicy-looking berries. Plucked one. Popped it in her mouth.
Oh.
My.
Word.
Intense flavor, amplified by an infusion of solar warmth, exploded on her tongue, sending sweetness ricocheting through her taste buds.
Store-bought berries never came close to offering such a sensory overload. And there were hundreds . . . thousands . . . here for the taking.
On her next beach visit, she’d have to bring a bowl and claim a small portion of the bounty.
In the meantime, why not eat her fill during the trek down?
Ten minutes later, fingers stained with berry juice, she emerged onto an empty stretch of beach that was utterly quiet save for the gentle lull of the placid surf in the protected cove and the occasional caw of a gull.
She stopped to drink it in.
Yes.
This was what she’d come to Hope Harbor for.
Striking out across the sand toward the water, she glanced toward her left. Jolted to a stop.
Well, crud.
She wasn’t alone after all.
Farther down the beach, a solitary man was sitting on a piece of driftwood, his back to her.
Katherine hesitated.
It was possible he wanted seclusion as much as she did—and if she walked the opposite direction, they could both enjoy their solitude. The expansive stretch of sand was plenty big for two people. They didn’t have to interact or invade each other’s space.
And on the off chance his presence wasn’t as innocent as it seemed? That he was the type who might be inclined to prey on a lone woman in this isolated location?
Katherine felt her pockets.
Cell in one, pepper gel in the other.
Check.
Her arsenal was in place.
It was always wise to be prepared, even in a peaceful place like Hope Harbor—a lesson learned after one too many dicey encounters in the world she’d fled.
Paranoid, perhaps—but better safe than sorry.
Pulling out the small canister, she continued to assess the baseball-cap-wearing man who remained oblivious to her presence.
He appeared to be harmless. No bad vibes were wafting her direction.
So she’d stay. Explore the intriguing flotsam that lined the surf line. Let the aerial acrobatics of the pair of gulls swooping overhead and the antics of a belching silver-white harbor seal on the rocks offshore entertain her.
But in case the guy perched on the sun-bleached log had more on his mind than innocent relaxation, she kept her finger on the trigger of the pepper gel.
And if he made one wrong move . . . if he came one inch too close . . . he was going to be sorry he’d ever ventured onto Blackberry Beach on this bright Tuesday afternoon.
The mystery woman was on his beach.
Zach stared at the slender figure in the distance as he did the math.
Since he knew the handful of other residents in this neck of the woods . . . and the house next door to him was the only rental property in this area . . . and there wasn’t any evidence of a boat indicating Kat had accessed the beach by water . . . that meant she was his temporary neighbor.
It also meant she didn’t have any money problems. The Clark house occupied the prime location above the beach, and its expansive views and amenities merited top dollar.
At least that’s what Charley, who lived farther up on this curving stretch of coast, had told him.
He propped his hands on his hips as he watched her peer into one of the pools that formed in the rocks at the far end of the beach during low tide.
Was the proximity of her accommodations to his home due to benevolent providence—or plain old good luck?
Based on her skittishness and attempts to remain anonymous, it wasn’t likely she’d consider the coincidence to be either.
Should he disappear back up the trail and leave her to her solitary endeavors . . . or try again to breach the wall she’d erected around herself?
In view of Charley’s conclusion that she was in need of a friend, there was no question what the renowned artist would recommend.
But in all likelihood, she’d rebuff an approach. She must have noticed him when she’d arrived at the beach—yet she’d walked the other direction.
Not a positive sign she’d welcome company.
On the other hand, she may have thought he was a stranger. It would have been difficult for her to identity him from the back. If she’d realized they’d met, it was possible she’d be receptive to an overture.
Or not.
He took off his cap and scratched his head. Either option could be the wrong one. There was no way to predict the outcome.
So instead of standing around debating his strategy, why not say hello? Give her an opening to display the latent sociability Charley was certain lay under her frosty surface.
Decision made, he tugged his cap back on and strode her direction.
She continued to explore the tide pool, giving no indication she was aware of his approach.
Ten feet away, he stopped. Should he wait until she noticed him, or call out a greeting?