Читать книгу Daddy's Choice - Doreen Malek Owens - Страница 9

Two weeks went by, during which the roof was reshingled, the new back deck took shape, and Jane arrived to study every day. Tay Kirkland came and went like clockwork, directing his men, talking to Carol only when it was necessary, interrupting her routine as little as possible.

It was exactly what she had requested, but she didn’t like it. She longed for an interlude of personal intimacy like their meal in Avalon, some indication that he knew she was alive, but he stayed out of her way. She caught glimpses of him, but the most she received in response to her greetings was a nod. Jane constantly urged Carol to go outside and talk to Tay, but she couldn’t strike up a conversation with all of his employees looking on like a studio audience.

Maybe Jane could, but Carol couldn’t.

One day when Jane had decided to spend the morning at the law library in Cape May, researching a point of the New Jersey criminal code, Carol noticed that Kirkland arrived alone. She watched as he left his truck and disappeared around the corner of the house. Curious, she opened the door to the back deck and found him crouched on the ground, filling a crack in the foundation with what looked like grout.

He glanced up as she emerged.

“What are you doing?” she asked, leaning over the railing to get a better look.

“Sealing the cellar wall. We disturbed the ground and caused a few fissures in the stone. If I don’t fill them with this stuff, water will seep in and cause problems in the future.”

“Where are the guys?”

“They’re finishing up another project on the west side of town. This is a one-man job anyway.” He looked over her shoulder. “Where’s your buddy?”

“She went to look something up in the Jersey archives. The procedure for bringing cases into court varies from state to state and we have to bone up on the local methods.”

He nodded one of his frustrating, noncommittal nods. Carol mustered her courage and said quickly, “Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee?”

He looked up from his work and studied her with such intensity that Carol grew uncomfortable. Was this a major decision? Had she asked him to marry her?

“Sure,” he finally said shortly, putting down his grout gun. He rose in one smooth motion and took a rag from his back pocket, wiping the gray gunk from his fingers as he came up the steps. He paused on the landing next to Carol, looking down at her. She was tall, but he was taller. It was an unusual sensation for Carol to look so far up into a man’s eyes.

“Come in,” she said hastily to break the spell. When she opened the door he put his arm above her head to hold it for her, and she caught a brief scent of soap and sun-warmed male flesh. Then he moved and the moment passed.

“Have a seat,” she added.

He pulled out a chair and dropped into it, easing down onto the base of his spine and stretching his long legs in front of him. Today he was wearing an aqua T-shirt, faded from many washings, which dyed his eyes the color of a Bermuda inlet at dawn. He watched her move around the kitchen, pouring coffee, setting out a plate of cookies, and she fancied she could feel his eyes boring into her back. When she sat across from him he took a bite of one of the cookies and said, “Good.” He smiled. “She cooks, too.”

“Not really. They’re from a mix.”

“Well, you didn’t burn them.”

“True.” She watched the working of his throat as he swallowed. “How long do you think it will take to wrap up this job?” she asked.

“Still trying to get rid of me?” he countered.

Carol looked at him directly. “No.”

He shrugged. “It’s hard to say. A lot of variables are involved—the efficiency of the crew, the quality of the materials, the weather…”

“The weather? It’s been nice every day.”

“Hurricane season is coming soon, and this house is in a bad spot.”

“Why?”

“The locals call this inlet Hurricane Bay. The close headlands on either side of it create a funnel that narrows to a point just past your place. It makes a wind tunnel in a storm. The schoolhouse roof has blown off several times in the last ten years.”

“I didn’t know that. We never had any trouble when I came here as a kid.”

“The weather pattern has shifted. A friend of mine is a meteorologist at a radio station in Atlantic City and he’s been tracking it.”

“I see.” Their eyes met, and Carol knew that neither one of them was thinking about the weather.

He held the ensuing silence for a long beat and then asked, “You doing anything for lunch?”

“Peanut butter and jam?” Carol suggested.

He grinned. “I’m not fond of peanut butter myself. I think I ate too much of it as a kid. Would you like to go out and get something?”

“Where?”

“The only restaurant in town is Cater’s, and it doesn’t open until three,” he said, laughing. “We’d have to drive to Avalon.”

“Why don’t we stay here? I could make lunch, if you’d like to join me.”

“Don’t go to any special trouble.”

“It’s no trouble.”

He rose, draining his mug. “Is twelve-thirty okay?” he said, setting the cup back on the table.

“Twelve-thirty is fine.”

“See you then.” He sauntered across the kitchen and out the back door, letting the screen door slam behind him.

Carol smiled to herself and began to clear the table.

The morning progressed with glacial speed; Carol kept glancing at the clock, only to discover that just a few minutes had passed. She finally gave up trying to study. She prowled the house, straightening things that didn’t need moving, shuffling books on the shelves, watering the plants she’d brought from her apartment, listening for Tay’s movements outside. At twelve o’clock she made the salad and sliced the strawberries for dessert. At twelve-twenty she heard the gush of the lawn hose and looked out the window to see Tay stripped to the waist, washing under its stream.

Carol stood to the side and watched as he let the water cascade over his hair and torso. There was a ring of sunburn around his neck and his whole upper body was a golden brown, his arms below the biceps several shades darker. Carol studied the movement of the muscles framing his spine as he thrust his free hand through his damp hair, then she looked away as he turned off the tap and hung up the hose. She ran to the mirror and fluffed her hair, checking her lipstick and looking up with a smile as he tapped on the door.

“Hungry?” she said.

“You bet.” He’d put on another shirt he must have had in the truck, a yellow polo that highlighted his water-darkened blond hair and contrasted with his tan.

He seemed to look wonderful in everything.

“Can I help?” he asked as she set the table.

“No, everything is done.”

“Looks good,” he said, sinking into the chair she indicated. Carol put a glass of iced tea in front of him and then sat across from him as he lifted a fork and dug into the salad. She waited for his reaction. He looked up and saw her watching him.

“Great,” he pronounced. “What is it?”

“Salade niçoise.”

“From a mix?” he said, and she laughed.

“No, that’s my own concoction.”

“And this?” he asked, gesturing to his other plate.

“Cold chicken. Doesn’t it look familiar?”

“Oh, I just wondered if there was anything fancy going on there. I liked to be warned.”