Читать книгу Now You See Me - Kris Fletcher - Страница 12
ОглавлениеCHAPTER THREE
WHERE WAS SHE going to get the money?
Lydia gave the wheelbarrow a vicious push as it caught on a root hidden in the grass of her front yard. Officially, she was toting the embers from the evening’s barbecue out front to dump on the giant maple stump in the middle of the yard. In reality she’d jumped at the chance to gain a moment’s privacy—a moment to relive her conversation with J. T. Delaney.
“Another buyer, my left foot,” she muttered as she wheeled her load across the grass. “J.T. probably stands for Jerk the Tenant.”
She upended the barrow and carefully shook the coals onto the last reminder of the tree that had towered over the yard until a January ice storm brought it down. The hiss and spit of the embers as they hit moist wood was nothing compared to the hissing and snarling she longed to indulge in now that she had the chance.
Except she couldn’t.
Oh, she was mad, that was for sure. Angry at the way her new security was being yanked out from beneath her, frustrated that these changes were being forced on her, scared silly whenever she considered the money she would have to dredge up. That line about there being another potential buyer, well, that was just the whipped cream on the latte. Honestly. Did the man really think she would fall for that?
She pulled the wheelbarrow away from the stump and sighed. She was ticked at her new landlord, true. But she couldn’t work up as much steam as was currently billowing into the air before her. The man was infuriating, but at the same time, he was so different than she’d expected that she was kind of intrigued. Different wasn’t something that happened a lot in Comeback Cove. She was usually okay with that. Her life had been thrown into chaos once. Stability and routine were her good friends now.
She didn’t want that to change just because J. T. Delaney had skated into town, even if he was the most interesting thing she’d seen in ages.
She gazed up into the blue sky, focusing on a wisp of long, thin white cloud. “Glenn,” she said softly, “remember when you bought me that really awesome necklace for Christmas, and then you forgot all about it until I found it, like, two years later? Well, is there any chance you could have done that with some off-shore bank accounts, or—”
“Mommy!”
Lyddie’s focus jerked back to earth and the sight of her youngest child bounding across the yard with a cell phone in her hand, pigtails bobbing in time with her leaps.
“Slow down, Tish. These coals are hot. You don’t want to fall in them.”
“Mommy, I’m not a baby. I’m almost seven. I know how to walk.”
“Humor me, okay?” Lyddie walked around the steaming stump and met Tish on the safe side of the yard. “Who’s on the phone?”
“Aunt Zoë.”
“Thanks, kiddo. Go back inside and tell Sara to start your bath. I’ll be there soon.”
“Can’t I skip? I don’t want a bath.”
“Nope. School night. Hop to it.” Lyddie bestowed a loud kiss on Tish’s soft cheek, then patted her daughter’s denim-clad bottom before lifting the phone to her ear.
“Hey there, fertile one.”
A long groan was her answer, deep and painful enough to make Lyddie’s heart do a quick thud.
“Zoë? What’s wrong, are you in labor? Talk to me, Zo.”
“No.”
“No, you won’t talk to me, or—”
“No, I’m not in labor.” Zoë sounded more like her normal overwhelmed self now. Whew. “It’s these stupid Braxton Hicks contractions. Who invented them, anyway? I mean, what’s the point of a contraction if you’re not in labor? Is this supposed to be like the previews at the movies?”
Lyddie laughed and picked up a long stick to poke at the still-simmering coals. “This is your third kid. You don’t need a preview.”
“Damn straight I don’t. It took me years to forget what labor feels like. I don’t need reminders.”
“Cheer up. It’s going to get worse before it gets better.”
Zoë moaned and called Lyddie a name that would have earned her a bar of soap in the mouth if their mother had heard it. Lyddie merely giggled.
“So what’s up?”
“Nothing.” Her sister’s voice was a sound portrait of frustration.
“Nothing? That’s why you called?”
“Kevin left early this morning and has a dinner meeting tonight, and Nick has a cold so he’s clingy and miserable, and Dusty decided that today was the perfect day to see what would happen if you cook Play-Doh in the microwave for ten minutes on high. I hurt all over. I can’t breathe. I’ve been having these stupid Braxton Hicks all day and it’s hotter than Hades here and if this baby doesn’t come out the minute Sara gets off the plane, I’m grabbing a knife and giving myself a homemade Cesarean.”
Lyddie pushed a coal farther over on the stump. “Congratulations. You’re having your eight-month breakdown.”
“You don’t have to sound so damned happy about it!” Across the miles, Zoë burst into tears. Lyddie sighed and sat on the ground. Might as well get comfortable.
Five minutes of soothing, empathizing and commiserating later, Zoë finally stopped crying.
“You okay now?”
“A bit.” Sniff. “It helps to hear another adult voice. I should have kept working right until I popped. I wasn’t made to be a suburban housewife. Tell me stories of the real world.”
Despite herself, Lyddie laughed. “The real world? Have you forgotten that I live in Comeback Cove?”
“It beats the hell out of the ’burbs. At least people talk to each other there. Tell me—anything. Make something up. Anyone interesting come into the store today?”
This time it was Lyddie’s turn to groan.
“That sounds promising. Now use words.”
“They won’t all be nice,” Lyddie warned, and after glancing around the yard to make sure none of the kids were lurking in the evening shadows, she gave Zoë the scoop.
“So that’s where I am,” she said. “You have a spare hundred grand or two tucked away with your cookie stash?”
“Sorry, I blew it all last week on nursing bras. But seriously, are you sure you want to buy the place?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Why? Wasn’t it obvious? “This is home now.”
“Is it? I mean, I know you like it there, but geez, Lyddie. Do you really want to tie yourself to a place where they call you the Young Widow Brewster?”
Oh. That.
“Not everyone says that.”
“But they think it,” Zoë pointed out, and Lyddie realized that what had intrigued her most about J.T. was the way he’d talked to her. There’d been none of the deference that characterized so many of her interactions with her fellow residents. Other than his brief condolences, there had been no mention of Glenn, no pity in J.T.’s gaze. It had been, well...refreshing.
Still, even if she sometimes felt a bit stifled by the way people dealt with her, she couldn’t discount the way she and the kids had been embraced by the town. “This is a good place. The kids need to be here.”
“That’s debatable. Sara seems awfully excited about coming here for the summer.”
“Sara is fourteen. Of course she wants to get away, it’s part of the adolescent code.”
“Are you sure that’s all it is?”
The question was so un-Zoë, so very much like something her mother-in-law would say, that Lyddie had to laugh. “Did Ruth pay you to do this?”
“Oh, my God. You mean Ruth and I actually agree on something?”
“Not precisely, but...” Lyddie sighed and leaned back until she was flat on the ground, staring at the pink-tinged clouds floating through the darkening sky. “Look, you know why I’m here. I agree it gets a little, um, claustrophobic at times, but everyone is really very nice. Plus it’s the closest I can come to keeping Glenn alive for the kids.”
“And there’s no other way that could be done?”
“Not nearly as well.”
There was a moment of silence, during which Lyddie could easily visualize her sister perched on the edge of her bar stool, one finger twirling her hair while the other tapped against the phone—Zoë’s favorite thinking position.
“Is he married?”
“Excuse me?”
“The landlord. Is he married?”
“What the heck does that have to do with anything?”
“Because if he’s married, I can’t tell you to jump him.”
“Zoë!”
“Oh, come on, Lyd. You said he’s kind of James Dean–ish, right?”
Lyddie remembered the shorts, the sass, the smile. The man did have a basic animal appeal. Maybe it was just the shock of seeing someone who obviously didn’t care what anyone thought about him—a rare find, indeed, in Comeback Cove.
“I am not going to jump him.”
“You sure? It would go a hell of a long way toward improving your negotiating position.”
“Positive.”
“Then I guess you’ll have to start researching mortgages.”
The shudder that rippled through Lyddie had nothing to do with the damp ground or the cool breeze coming off the river. Of course she had to get a mortgage to buy the building. It was the only way. She hated the thought of taking on that much debt, but she would do it. Even if it meant working until after she was dead to pay it off.
Her kids had already lost their father. They weren’t going to lose one of their strongest links to him, too. Not while she had any say in the matter.
* * *
LATE THAT NIGHT, Lyddie stared at the computer, the only light in the darkened den, and tried not to get too depressed as she focused on the sample mortgage payments in front of her. Amazing, how simple squiggles on a screen could generate such worry.
It hadn’t been like this before, when she and Glenn had bought their house. That research had been accompanied by giggles, nervous excitement and a bottle of champagne.
This time, each figure she took in seemed more overwhelming than the one before it. It was almost enough to make her seriously consider Zoë’s suggestion that she improve her negotiating position by jumping her landlord.
Right. And then she would pull a Lady Godiva in the middle of Main Street.
She minimized the page and clicked on the next bank in the list she’d generated. Maybe this one would have better terms. And maybe she could forget about J.T. And maybe she could even stop Zoë’s other question from surfacing every time she printed out another loan application.
Do you really want to tie yourself so permanently to a town where they call you the Young Widow Brewster?
“Yes,” she muttered as she stabbed her pencil against the notepad. Concentrate. That’s what she had to do now. Focus on the store, on her future, on building a forever life in Comeback Cove. All those other thoughts would have to wait until—
“Lydia?”
Until she dealt with her mother-in-law.
“Do you have a minute to talk?”
Oh, no. Not that tone. Not the I’m-alone-and-lonely voice.
“A minute.” She turned away from the computer, not certain if she were getting into something better or worse. “What’s up, Ruth?”
“I know you’re planning to send Sara to your sister’s for the summer, but is that carved in stone?”
Lyddie was tired and frustrated, haunted by questions she couldn’t answer and worries she couldn’t share, and all she wanted was to check out a couple more banks and then go to bed. She longed to tell Ruth that whatever it was, it would keep until a better time. But in all honesty, between the coffee shop, Ruth’s job and three kids needing to be carted around town and/or talked around, that “better time” was about twelve years down the road.
It looked as if she were going to have to get it over with.
“Her plane ticket is bought and paid for. Zoë is counting on Sara to help with the boys after she has the baby. So yeah, it’s pretty well definite.”
“I see. It’s just that...” Ruth paused as she walked into the room and sat in the desk chair beside Lyddie’s. “I talked to my sister today. She suggested that I bring the girls along when I go to Florida next month. Ben will be at camp and I thought it would be a nice treat for them.”
Florida in July? Ew. Tish wouldn’t mind the heat, she thrived on it, but Sara had inherited Lyddie’s love of cooler weather. She would wilt in two hours. Besides which—
“Ruth, that’s a wonderful offer, but Sara has her heart set on Vancouver. Zoë has arranged for her to have weekly lessons from someone who plays clarinet in the Vancouver Symphony, and you know Sara and music.”
“Clarinet lessons? I know everyone is making a big deal over her winning that orchestra award in school, but does she think she’s a musical genius now?”
“Actually, I think that being a musical genius is what led to her getting the award.” Lyddie spoke a bit more sharply than she’d intended, but tough.
Ruth shook her head. “I didn’t mean to dismiss her ability. You know I’m as proud of her as you are. But are you going to let one factor dictate her future?”
“Sara’s future is Sara’s concern. She loves music. She wants to make a career out of it.”
“But that’s ridiculous. She has her father’s brain—she could easily do anything she sets her mind to do.”
“And her mind is set on music.” Lyddie raised her hand before Ruth could speak again. “Look, she’s fourteen years old. She could decide next week that she wants to be a politician, or an undertaker or even a physical therapist, like Glenn. But right now she’s set on music and I have the chance to give my child something that could further her dreams. What kind of mother would I be if I didn’t do that?”
“A mother who wants to keep her child safe at home.”
In a moment Lyddie’s budding anger drained into understanding. Ruth had Lyddie, the children and her sister in Florida. That was it. The core of her world—her husband and her son—had been ripped from her. Lyddie couldn’t blame her for wanting to hold on as tightly as she could.
But as much as she felt for Ruth, her needs could not override Sara’s.
“Ruth.” Lyddie placed a hand on the older woman’s arm. “I’m going to miss her, too. It won’t be the same without her. But she’s at the age when she needs to spread her wings a little. Florida would be wonderful, and I’m sure she’ll be torn, but this trip to Vancouver is making her happier than she’s been in months. I know you wouldn’t want to take that away from her.”
Ruth sighed and patted Lyddie’s hand. “I suppose not. Just promise me she’ll come home in September.”
“She’ll come home if I have to fly there myself and drag her back by the hair.”
“Good.” She waited, then said, “What about Tish?”
For a moment Lyddie’s own desire to be the one to introduce her child to the wonders of Disney made her hesitate. Then she gave herself a mental slap. Who was being selfish now?
“How long will you be gone?”
“Just over two weeks.”
“At the end of July, right?”
“That’s right. The second half of the month. The dates are marked on the calendar.”
With just the slightest lump in her throat, Lyddie said, “It’s up to her, but I think she’d be delighted to go. Let’s iron out the details tomorrow, okay? It’s been a long day. I’m wiped.”
Ruth looked as though she wanted to say more, but Lyddie turned back to the computer. She bookmarked the pages she needed, shut down the computer then dragged herself up the stairs, wondering who on earth had ever thought that a two-story house was a good idea.
Before she could collapse into her own bed, however, she had one more job to do. Barefoot, she padded down the hall for her nightly peek into the kids’ rooms.
Ben had fallen asleep with the light on, as always. A copy of Carl Sagan’s Cosmos lay on the bed near his outstretched hand.
“Good night, my little brainiac.” Lyddie eased the book from its landing place and set it on the dresser where Ben would be sure to see it as soon as he woke. She smoothed the hair from his forehead and tiptoed to the door, where she paused to look back again.
“Glenn,” she murmured softly, “he’s getting too smart for me, hon. I can’t understand the things he talks about anymore, and he figured out that I’ve been faking for a while now. Could you maybe send him a friend? Preferably one who understands all that physics stuff, so he doesn’t walk around feeling so alone?”
Book safe, light out, she moved to the big room shared by the girls. Tish had kicked off her covers. Lyddie smoothed the blankets over her once again and kissed the sleeping child gently on the forehead. A glance across the room showed Sara curled in a fetal position, slumbering peacefully under the Clarinets RULE poster she’d tacked above her bed.
Ruth was right about one thing. Letting Sara leave, even for the summer, was one of the scariest things Lyddie had ever done. In her heart of hearts she knew that Sara was going to fall in love with Vancouver, with the opportunities, with the sights and sounds and offerings that awaited her.
She was prepared to do anything—go into debt until she was ninety-two, bind herself to a town where she would always be the hero’s widow—to make sure her children had every possible chance to connect with the father they’d lost. But what would she do if Sara didn’t want to come home?
* * *
TWO DAYS AFTER making an ass of himself in River Joe’s, J.T. made his first foray to the post office. Conversation dropped a bit when he walked through the door, but didn’t come to a dead halt the way it had at the coffee shop. He wasn’t sure if that was good or not.
He nodded in the general direction of the room and took his place at the end of the line. He didn’t recognize any of the people ahead of him. Of course, from their surreptitious glances, he saw that they certainly knew who he was.
“Morning,” he said when he caught the woman ahead of him giving him the once-over. She blushed and inched away. It seemed public opinion had indeed taken his measure and found him wanting, even when he was wearing regular street clothes.
It was kind of like back when Pluto was demoted from planetary status. Science and reason were nothing compared to long-standing opinion. He’d had to endure many a tirade from folks who insisted that Pluto was and always would be a planet, simply because that was what they believed.
He never thought he would empathize with a dwarf planet, of all things, but something about being on the receiving end of those glances had him feeling sorry for old Pluto.
The line moved quickly. J.T. stepped up to order his stamps but was stopped by a shriek that echoed through the room.
“J. T. Delaney, it’s you!”
He blinked and focused on the smiling face on the other side of the counter. It took a second to subtract twenty-five years and about that many pounds from the woman beaming at him, but once he made the connection, recognition flooded through him.
“Tracy?”
If anything, her grin grew wider. “You old dog. What took you so long to come and say hello?”
“How about, I was saving the best for last?”
It wasn’t until he saw her smile that J.T. realized how much he’d needed a friendly greeting. It was nice to know that at least one person remembered him with something other than loathing.
Tracy laughed and swatted his shoulder. They passed a couple of pleasant minutes playing catch-up before the door opened to admit the next customer.
“Oh, geez,” Tracy muttered. “Incoming.”
J.T. glanced over his shoulder to a most unwelcome sight. Jillian McFarlane was advancing on the counter with a smile more synthetic than that on any of the themed Barbie dolls she used to collect.
“Hello, Tracy. Hello, J.T. Lovely day, isn’t it?”
J.T. refrained from pointing out that the cold front accompanying Jillian would cast a pall over any day. He couldn’t believe she’d actually been elected mayor. All he could think was that nobody else had wanted the job. Either that or she scared all the other candidates away.
“Mornin’, Jelly. Good talking to you, Tracy. I’d better hit the road.”
“Don’t be a stranger, J.T.” Tracy waved. J.T. thought he was free and clear until he felt Jillian’s hand on his arm.
“Hang on. I need to talk to you.”
Talk to Jillian? Alone? Not without body armor.
“Sorry. Have to run.”
“Tracy, would you excuse us for a moment?”
Tracy crossed her arms and smirked.
“I don’t know, Jillian. What if someone comes in? I could be accused of deserting my post.”
Jillian shook her head so hard that her hair broke loose from the coating of spray holding it in place. The resulting wave of fumes was probably enough to be federally regulated.
“Honestly, Tracy. Go sort something, will you?”
“Whatever.”
Tracy wiggled her fingers in a lazy farewell and ambled to the back room. The minute she was gone, Jillian tightened her grip on his arm.
“I had an interesting phone call this morning, J.T. From Randy Cripps down in Brockville.”
It sounded familiar, but for the life of him he couldn’t place it. Jillian heaved a major-league sigh.
“You know. Cripps Chips?”
Oh, right. The potato-chip guy who had been interested in buying the coffee shop. “Why did he call you? Complaining that I’m taking so long to get back to him? I thought I’d wait until I heard from Lydia Brewster before I—”
“He wasn’t complaining. He wanted me to listen to his plans for expanding here.”
“Oh. Well, good for him, but I’m not doing anything until I hear from Lydia.”
“J.T. Pay attention. Lydia Brewster is a very nice woman who had a very rough time. I’ve had no problem encouraging the town to support her and Ruth, and she’s become an active, valuable member of the community. We’re glad to have her.” Jillian raised a finger. “But she runs a very small operation with only two permanent jobs and a handful of seasonal helpers. Cripps wants both buildings—River Joe’s and Patty’s Pizza. One would be a retail outlet and one would be a production site. Do you know how many jobs that could bring in?”
“Wait. Neither of those properties is big enough to put a factory in it.”
She sighed again, this time speaking as if he were a particularly obtuse toddler. “It’s a small-batch company. They don’t need a huge amount of space. But he wants to expand, get his product in front of a larger audience so he can begin to add new markets. We have enough tourists to make that possible.”
“Okay, so, good for him, good for the town.” He crossed his arms. “But Lydia has first crack at it.”
“But—”
“Don’t waste your breath trying to talk me out of it, Jelly. River Joe’s has been there forever. If she wants to keep it there, she should have that right.”
“We’ll help her find a new place.”
“Where? You know as well as I do that the riverfront area is full up. That was probably your doing, and if so, then let me be the first to say, good job, Madam Mayor.” He meant it. No matter what had or had not happened in the past, he still wanted the town to thrive. “Lydia deserves that tourist traffic just as much as Mr. Crispy does.”
Jillian’s eyes sparked and she spoke through a jaw so tight he could probably bounce a loonie off it. “We will take care of Lydia. We owe her. But you owe this town, J.T., and this is your chance to help make things right. Think of it as balancing your karma.”
“My karma’s in great shape right now. Giving a widow the heave-ho just to bring someone else into her place, well, that sounds like something a whole lot more likely to feng my shui and all that jazz.”
“But you—”
“Need to get going. You’re right.” He waved his stamps in the air, but with Jillian about to blow her top, he wondered if he was just wiggling a matador’s cape in front of an enraged bull. “My dad’s old boathouse is available. Some cabins, too. If Mr. Chippy is interested in any of those, let me know. Otherwise, sayonara, Jillian.”
* * *
THE NEXT MONDAY, Lyddie hung up the phone in her so-called office and tried to keep from either screaming, swearing or sobbing. All were appropriate reactions to the news she’d just received, but none would do a bit of good.
She balled up her apron and threw it into the far corner. It hit the wall with a highly satisfying smack before slithering down to the floor.
“Damn, damn, damn...”
Her volume increased with each utterance, forcing her to clamp her lips tight before she totally lost it. If she started yelling now, she knew it would be heard in the dining room. The last thing she needed was Nadine asking questions. Not yet. Not until she’d had a chance to vent in private.
Lyddie marched to the front of the kitchen and forced herself to take one of those deep, cleansing breaths that the Lamaze instructor had insisted would get her through the worst contractions. It had proven to be a bald-faced lie during labor, but at least now it enabled her to maintain some control as she pushed open the door to the dining room. When she peeked in she was relieved to see that business was still light. The midafternoon lull meant this was her best chance for escape.
“Nadine, will you be okay alone for a few minutes?”
“Sure thing, boss. You got a hot date you have to squeeze in?”
“Yeah, Ryan Gosling’s yacht is passing through and he has a few minutes free for a quickie. Call me if you need me. Otherwise I’ll be back in a few.”
Without waiting for Nadine to respond, Lyddie retraced her steps through the kitchen to the back door. She shoved it open and was hit by a blast of humid heat, the scent of fresh pizza in the air and Jimmy Buffett begging for a cheeseburger in paradise. If she hadn’t been in such a pissy mood she would have reveled in the assortment. As it was, she turned to glare across the parking lot at the reason for her dismay—Patty’s Pizza—then cursed in frustration.
She needed to get away. Needed to vent. Alone.
Something near Patty’s caught her eye. It was a man. A tall, confident, complicate-your-life-beyond-reason man, walking down the street without so much as a glance at the people he was passing.
“Typical,” Lyddie said, and booted it until she was in J. T. Delaney’s face.
“Hold it right there,” she said without preamble.
He raised his focus from the sidewalk to her face, clearly startled. Something like pleasure flashed in his eye. It was gone in the instant it took her to scowl.
“We need to talk. Now.”
“Is it something I said?”
“More like something you didn’t say. Get in my car. We’re going for a drive.”
“I love a woman who takes charge,” he said, but followed obediently as she fished her keys from her pocket and led him to her minivan.
“In.” She pointed to the front seat, not even bothering to clear away the pile of library books Ben had left for her to return. This was a grown man. He could push books off the seat as well as anyone else.
She let herself in her side, slammed the door and had the car out of the parking lot before he had his seat belt fastened.
“I never pegged you for the dominatrix type,” he said over her squealing tires. “Guess you never can tell.”
“This is not a good time for jokes.”
“Fine. No problem. Can I ask where we’re going?”
She stared out the window, bit her lip. “I don’t know.”
“You said we need to talk.”
“Yes.”
“You want privacy for this discussion?”
She swallowed hard, nodded. “Yes.”
“Fine. My dad’s old boathouse is empty and I have the keys. You know where it is?”
She did. She passed it every day on her way to and from work. She didn’t bother to answer, just stepped on the gas and carried them out of town and down River Road in record time.
She parked the car in the lot and hopped out, crossing the rutted dirt and gravel in long strides, letting her anger build as she waited by the door. For a second she realized that if anyone were watching—and in Comeback Cove, that was more likely than not—then the gossip network would soon be buzzing with the news that she and J. T. Delaney had been alone together in a deserted building.
Well, that would be one way to get folks to stop calling her the Young Widow Brewster.
It took J.T. a minute to find the right key, another couple of tense seconds to convince it to work in the stubborn lock, but at last the door was open.
“Careful,” he said as she stepped inside. “I haven’t been in here yet. It might not be in the best shape.”
His warning was justified. Standing behind her in the half-open door, J.T. blocked a good deal of the sunshine from outside. Dust motes danced in the weak light of the sole unshuttered window, drifting slowly down to earth. Deep shadows hovered outside that small patch of light. The mingled scents of grease and gas and the sound of water lapping at boards reminded her that this was a boathouse—meaning one wrong step in the unfamiliar darkness could land her in even deeper water than she faced already.
“Hang on.” J.T.’s voice, low and subdued behind her, was oddly reassuring considering he was the reason for her misfortune. “I doubt there’s any electricity, but I’ll try the light—wait—no, nothing. There should be a flashlight up on the shelf. Just give me a...”
The door slammed closed, plunging them into darkness.
Lyddie yelped. J.T. cursed.
“Don’t move,” he said.
“I won’t.”
“Let me get the door open again.” He moved slowly behind her. Something warm—a hand, probably—grazed the small of her back. And all of a sudden, it wasn’t nervousness about the dark and the water that was making Lyddie’s heart do double-time in her chest.
For the first time in four years, she was alone in the dark with a man. And all she could hear was Zoë’s voice, laughing on the phone, telling her to jump him.
Oh. Dear. God.
Four years of zero interest in anything sexual ended in the space of a breath. Every erogenous zone roared back to sudden, urgent, demanding life.
She must have made some sort of sound, for in an instant he stopped his slow walk.
“Mrs. Brewster? Are you okay?”
“Fine.” Except she kept remembering the way he had looked when he first walked into the shop, before she knew who he was. And the way he grinned. And the slight suggestion in his voice when she told him to get in the truck and he said he liked a woman who took charge.
Most of all she kept feeling that touch on her back, over and over. Heat pooled low in her belly. Her skin prickled with awareness. Even without contact she felt him moving. Every hesitant footfall echoed through her, pulling her focus back to that spot where she could still feel him. And each time it replayed in her mind her breath came a little faster.
“You’re sure you’re okay? You sound like you’re hyperventilating or something.”
Hyperventilating? More like panting with excitement. All she had to do was turn around and he would be there.... It could happen. It would be so easy. In less than a heartbeat she could be running her hands up that chest, pulling his shirt up to feel hot flesh against her, around her, maybe even in her....
“Lydia?”
“I’m fine. Really.” At least she would be, if ever there was some light to break this spell. “Can you find the door?”
“Hang on. It’s a little stiff. One good shove should—there!”
With a grunt from him and a squeal from the hinges, the door gave way. Light poured back in. Lyddie squinted against the brightness and saw J.T. outside, hunting on the ground, then propping a rock against the door.
“There.” He brushed off his hands and stepped back inside. “Sorry about that. Caught me by surprise.”
He wasn’t the only one.
“It should stay open now, but if you’d rather go someplace else, I wouldn’t blame you.”
“No, I...” Oh, great. She was so befuddled from the hormone surge that she could barely remember why she’d brought him here. Was this how it felt to be a man, left temporarily brain-dead when the blood headed south?
Breathe, Lyddie. You are not some idiot teenager in the middle of her first infatuation, you’re a grown woman with an adult job in front of you. Get with the program.
“It’s hot in the sun. Let’s stay here.”
“You’re sure? I don’t dare offer you a seat. I didn’t expect it to be so dusty. It’s not the way I remembered it.”
For a moment she forgot about the sale. This was the first time he’d been in his father’s boathouse since Roy’s death. Probably the first time he’d been here in twenty-five years.
Her heart ached for him. She knew all about those firsts.
“I’m sorry. We can leave if you’d rather.”
He shrugged, but without any of the cockiness she’d noticed in their earlier encounters. “I had to come back sometime.”
That he did. And that, too, she understood, all too well.
“So what was on your mind?”
She dragged her gaze away from his face—that way lay danger, which she could tell by the low current of warmth still humming through her when she looked at him—and focused on the patch of sunshine in the far corner.
“I called my lawyer today. I asked him to read over my lease and see if I had any rights of first refusal on the property.”
“You don’t. I already checked.”
Give the man credit. At least he wasn’t gloating.
“I know that now. Anyway, he let me in on another little item he thought I should know about.” She crossed her arms as the memory stabbed her once again. “He told me that all sales in the business zone must be approved by the planning board.”
“Right.”
“And that they would never let me buy just my building, because I share a parking lot with Patty’s Pizza.”
“You’re kidding.”
Another bonus point. He sounded truly, sincerely astonished by this news.
“Are you really surprised, or are you just a great actor?”
“You thought I knew?”
She turned to face him. Mistake. The swaggering jokester had disappeared, replaced by a sincerity that made her catch her breath. She had a feeling that she was seeing the real J. T. Delaney for the first time. And it was a damned intriguing sight.
She spoke carefully, uncertain how to proceed. “It’s your property. It would make sense that you would know.”
“I’ve looked at some of the papers, but not everything yet. I never had to know this before.”
That made sense. Damn.
“So I guess the price of my building has just jumped.”
He hesitated before nodding. “If this is true, then yeah. It will have to.”
Her throat tightened. She could have managed payments on her building alone. But hers and Patty’s? The possibility was looking slimmer by the minute.
“Let me guess. You just got off the phone when you ran into me in the parking lot.”
“Right in one.”
“That explains a lot.”
He was being way too understanding. Though maybe she could twist that logic for her own benefit. Maybe that overwhelming desire she’d felt when the lights went out had nothing to do with him. Maybe it was just a by-product of the frustration she’d felt, a kind of emotional leftover that misfired.
She risked another glance at him—strong arms, firm chest, a mouth that begged to be explored.
Nope. Not a leftover.
She sighed. “I need to get back.”
“Maybe we could—” He stopped abruptly, then ducked his head. “You’re right. We’d better go.”
They walked to the van in silence, which persisted through the drive back up River Road. Despite the circumstances, it was a surprisingly comfortable silence. Lyddie almost wished for the pure, hot anger she’d felt a few minutes earlier. That was a lot easier to understand than the mix of despair, hopelessness and residual lust still swirling inside her.
She pulled into the lot that was the source of this latest dilemma. They were sure to be spotted. If she acted like there was nothing to hide, maybe the gossips would go easy on her.
She reached for the door handle, then stopped. It had to be said. “J.T.?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry I dragged you off the way I did. That was wrong.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve been expecting to get lynched ever since I walked back into town.”
That sounded more like the J. T. Delaney she knew. Especially when he slid out of the van, then poked his head back in to flash her that killer grin and added, “But if I’d known it was gonna happen in broad daylight with a pretty woman, I would have offered myself up a whole lot sooner.”
