by Sandra Hill
“What? You know what they say. It’s as easy to love a rich man as a poor man.”
“I am not in love, or about to be.”
“Well, all I’m gonna say on the subject, is, it’s ’bout time you got over that loser, Davie Zekus.”
“Oh, Gram. I was over him more than five years ago.”
Her grandmother reached over and squeezed her arm.
“Have there been more calls from the prison?”
Her grandmother nodded. “Once a week. Every Saturday. I just refuse to accept the calls.”
Davie had the nerve to not only want her to visit him, but his daughter, as well. That was going to happen on—what was it Gram said?—the fifth of Never.
Just then she saw two vehicles drive up and park in front of the motel. Merrill and some other man got out, had a discussion, pointing at the various units, then began to unload things which they carried into the first two rooms.
“Another hottie,” her grandmother observed.
She supposed the man was attractive in a buff, military sort of way. High and tight haircut, muscle definition in a tight T-shirt, and shorts that showed off a set of long hairy legs. “I think it’s K-4, Kevin Fortunato, a Navy SEAL buddy of Merrill’s. He’s going to join the salvage team.”
“Your hottie is a Navy SEAL?” her grandmother asked, impressed.
“Was. Not is,” Delilah told her, “though none of the SEALs identify themselves that way. All hush-hush. They usually just say military or Navy.”
“Got it,” her grandmother said.
“I better go over and talk to Merrill. We have a lot of shopping to do today before going back on the ship tomorrow.” She looked at her grandmother. “That’s another problem. I have to go out on the salvaging operation. You’re going to have to stay here until this job is over. I haven’t made any plans for child care before school starts.”
“A couple weeks here in the boonies won’t hurt me.”
“Please don’t use that term when talking to people here. They would be offended.” Or maybe not. To them, it might seem a compliment.
Delilah went inside to get her shopping list and check on Maggie, who was still sleeping. Back outside, she asked her grandmother, “Will you be okay?”
“Of course. I might even lie down with Maggie for a little beauty nap.”
“This discussion is not over, Gram.”
Her grandmother sighed. “I’m doing the best I can, girl.”
Feeling bad, she reached down to hug her grandmother. “I know you are, Gram. You always have.”
Delilah walked across the yard that separated the motel office from the units themselves. At one time, it probably had a flagstone sidewalk and pretty flowering bushes. Maybe even a fountain. Now, it just looked like a sad, neglected yard. Someday, she promised, it would look good again. Maybe she’d even plant a few shade trees, or fruit trees. She smiled at a sudden thought. Maybe even a lemon tree, to remind her of . . .
Merrill was standing in the open doorway of the end unit, the one named “Blue Moon.” He grinned at her and said, “Welcome to my humble abode.”
“Humble it is,” she noted after she entered. The curtains and bedspreads hadn’t yet arrived, but there were crisp blue linens on the two double beds and their pillows, with a darker blue, loose-woven summer blanket folded at the bottom of the mattress.
“I don’t know,” Merrill said. “It looks a helluva lot better than it did when I first saw it. At least it’s clean and functional. Everything seems to work.”
“So much to do, though,” she disagreed, sitting down on one of the beds to survey the room. “The dressers and bedside tables need refinishing, and new drawer pulls. The ceiling light is pure 1930s, and I don’t mean vintage quality. I suppose I should refinish the floors, too, or put some tiles down. And those little patios facing the bay will need umbrella tables and chairs, maybe a lounger.” And I can barely afford toilet paper.
“Give it time, babe. I’ll help, and so will a lot of other people.” He’d just put the last of the clothing from a duffel bag into the dresser drawers and he leaned against the wall.
“But I don’t want help. I want to do it—”
“On your own, I know,” he said. “You shouldn’t have moved to Bell Cove, then. By the way, Mildred and her gang are anxious to help with the grand opening of your diner, when you’re ready. She said to tell you that they’re willing to act as waitresses and waiters to help serve the super crowds you’ll have at first. Free of charge. The guys will even dress up in glitzy Elvis jumpsuits and grow long sideburns, and the ladies will wear wigs and skimpy Ann-Margret utfits.” He grinned as he relayed that message.
She groaned. “See what I mean. And don’t you dare mention this around my grandmother, or she’ll be planning the whole shebang.”
“Where’s your grandmother now?”
“She and Maggie are taking a nap.”
His eyes lit up. Pushing away from the wall, he walked over to the door, put the chain lock in place, then turned to her. “What say, we create our own shebang?”
She laughed. “My daughter and my grandmother are here. Your friend is next door. We have a ton of shopping to do this afternoon. You need to go into the office, and I have arrangements for Maggie’s school looming. You can’t be serious.”
He was.
His clothes were off and folded on the other bed so fast she was lost for words for a minute—because of his speed, and he’d actually taken the time to fold his clothes, probably a military habit, and because of the really sexy body he was exposing. Yeah, she’d seen it last night, but the light in her bedroom had been dim. And, in the close confines of the shower, she’d barely been able to move her head, let alone give him a full-body appraisal. But now—oh, my!
“We don’t have time for this,” she protested.
Not only did they make time, but he tortured her until she choked out in surrender, “Shebang!”
Chapter 13
Being a sugar daddy isn’t always sweet . . .
Knowing that Delilah was anxious to get back, to spend as much time as possible with her daughter before returning to the salvaging site tomorrow, Merrill did his best to help speed their errands. Trips to the supermarket; the elementary school where Delilah registered Maggie for kindergarten; and the lawyer Matt Holter’s office, where Delilah picked up reversal of guardianship papers for her daughter.
He had some questions about that—why Delilah had needed to grant her grandmother guardianship for the short time she’d been in the Outer Banks, but he supposed it was a necessary precaution where a kid was concerned. Emergency medical care and all that.
He’d even bought a half dozen stackable plastic patio chairs in vivid colors of red, blue, green, and white, at the supermarket of all places. Amazing what they sold in grocery stores these days! The hard resin chairs, along with a matching chaise, coffee table, and utility stand, would serve their purpose temporarily until better quality outdoor furniture could be bought, he’d told Delilah, who protested every little purchase he’d made.
She’d insisted that they separate their orders at checkout so that he wouldn’t be paying for anything going to her place, not realizing that the plastic furniture was for her place, not the motel units. The only thing she had there now was an old metal patio table and a couple folding chairs.
“How am I going to make a hamburger feast for me, you, K-4, Maggie, and the Glam Gram with one flimsy table and two rickety chairs?” he asked.
“Feast . . . what feast?” she sputtered, then repeated, “Glam Gram?” and had to smile, despite herself.
The unexpected arrival of her grandmother and daughter posed problems for Delilah that she refused to discuss with him. He didn’t have to be a genius to see how conflicted she was about leaving her daughter so soon. He’d already suggested that she take a few days off, but she’d refused, as he’d known she would. She was bound and determined to earn that advance salary he’d given her.
A
salary which he was beginning to suspect had gone to her grandmother for debts yet to be explained. He was pretty sure he’d heard the words loan shark mentioned.
Truth to tell, Merrill was enjoying the hell out of this whole melodrama that had become his life. Especially now that he’d scored in the sex department.
When they were on their way to Bell Forge to drop off those items destined for the boat, Delilah turned to him and said, “Do not . . . I repeat, do not dare buy a dog for my daughter.”
“Huh? What? Me?” He put a hand to his chest in fake offense.
“Yes, you! I mean it, Merrill. You’ve become like a good fairy. All a person has to do is rub your lantern and poof you’re off to grant wishes. The sugar daddy for all mankind!”
He laughed. “I think you’ve got your fairies, genies, and Daddy Warbucks confused.”
“Bite me!” she said, and didn’t even try to correct her language, like she usually did.
“Anytime, sweetheart,” he tried to joke.
She didn’t smile. “If, or when, I decide that Maggie should have a dog, I’ll be the one to get it.”
Even though he was driving the pickup, he raised his hands, momentarily, in surrender. “Okay, okay. But there is this cute little schnauzer puppy in a litter over on Nags Head that I just happened to see on my computer this morning.”
“I knew it! Don’t. You. Dare.”
K-4 was putting together the grill when they got back, per Merrill’s instructions.
Which caused more scowls from Delilah. She stalked inside with some groceries while he unloaded the plastic patio furniture, which K-4 deemed, “Cool!” Then he went to get his laptop from the truck and placed it on the patio table, while K-4 continued to screw some side tables onto the grill, pretending not to notice the little drama taking place between him and Delilah.
On her second trip to get her personal groceries from the truck, having already declined his offer to help, she got her first good look at the grill, did a double take, then sliced another scowl at Merrill. “Could that damn badass grill be any bigger?” she asked. Again, no backtracking on bad language. “The local fire department might want to borrow it for their barbecue grill-off.”
He thought about quoting that proverb about sarcasm being a poor substitute for gratitude, but figured he’d go for that other proverb: Clueless men should stop when they’re ahead. And midmorning sex, after a night of passionate lovemaking, was definitely “ahead.” And, yeah, shoot me for a testosterone-loaded brain, but I meant that literally, as in giving—never mind.
He couldn’t stop grinning.
Which caught K-4’s attention. He just shook his head at Merrill’s hopelessness.
Back to the grill. It was a nifty piece of equipment, all shiny red, six feet long with enough space to grill two hundred hot dogs in five minutes, or so its label said. With the attached side tables, it was actually closer to ten feet long. It even had a—No shit!—built-in satellite radio, which was currently set on a country station playing a Toby Keith marathon.
K-4 had managed to find a cooler which he’d filled with ice and a dozen cans of beer and soda. Which was a great idea, considering that the temperature was still in the mideighties.
“What’s that smell?” he said as K-4 handed him a cold one.
“My Prime.”
“Prime what?”
“Cologne. ‘Prime’ cologne is for the bold and masculine man, dontcha know? An aromatic blend of lavender, spearmint, and cedarwood.” He smirked at Merrill.
“Let me guess. Avon?”
“Ding-a-ling! Avon calling!”
Merrill took a long drag on his beer, which really hit the spot, and opened his laptop. He had a lot of incoming mail, but the one that jumped out at him came from Bonita. The subject line read: “Good and Bad News!”
“Uh-oh,” he said.
K-4 fired up the grill, now that it was assembled and the propane tank hooked up. With a whoosh, the burners came on. He adjusted the knobs, closed the door, then sat down at the table with Merrill. “What’s up?” He pointed at the laptop with his own can of beer.
“The bad news is that the objects brought up this past week are not from the Three Saints, but are from roughly the same time period. A wreck about two years later, in 1864. The good news is that they might have come from a French privateer that was attempting to swerve around the Yankee blockade during the Civil War. Which might mean chests of gold from a group of textile manufacturers in desperate need of Southern cotton.”
“Like a lot of gold?”
Merrill shrugged. “Still have research to do. The ship in question was Le Faucon, or the Falcon. Not as big a prize as the Three Saints, but still conceivably worth millions.”
“This is exciting, man!”
“Yeah, it is.”
Before they had a chance to discuss the project more, Maggie came out, dragging a huge stuffed dog, who might be Pluto, or maybe Marmaduke. Her hair was all rumpled from a recent nap, and she looked downright grumpy.
“I don’t like you.”
“Wow! That’s harsh. What’d I do?”
“Yer gonna take my mommy away tomorrow.”
“Just for a week or so.” Merrill didn’t know much about kids, but he recognized how lame that answer must seem to her. A week would seem like a year to a five-year-old, he supposed, or at least a month.
“Five years without a mommy is tooooo long. Now I have her, I don’t want you taking her away . . . you . . . you poopyhead.”
Well, that was certainly telling him off! But wait. Five years without a mommy . . . what does that mean? She probably just means that she’s five years old, and . . . whatever! “Where’s your mom?”
“On the phone. And Gramma is paintin’ her toenails. Peach passion. She’s gonna do mine later.”
She took great care in placing her dog on the chaise, then sat her little rump on the bottom edge, staring up at him, expectantly. She was barefoot but still wearing the red dress.
“What?” he asked when she continued to stare at him.
“Mommy tol’ me to come outside and help you put together the friggin’ grill.” She was still giving him the stink eye.
“Oh, she did, did she?”
“What’s a frig?”
K-4 exchanged a look with him and chuckled.
“It’s not a nice word for little girls to use,” Merrill said.
“Mommy did.” More stink eye.
“Well, it was probably just a slip of the tongue.”
She giggled. “Tongues can’t slip.” She stuck out her own tongue and tried to look at it, to no avail.
Merrill wasn’t much into kids, but this one, despite her attitude toward him, was really cute. Looked just like her mother, except for the golden blonde, rather than silver blonde hair. And she had a few freckles across her nose and cheeks.
“Tell you what, kiddo. You can watch me make my world-class black and blue burgers, and if you’re really good—”
She perked up at that and finished for him, “. . . you’ll get me a dog?”
“No. No dogs from me. Only mommies buy dogs. What I was going to say was, if you’re really good, I’ll tell you my favorite story.”
“Please, poopyhead, don’t let it be the one about how you captured a bunch of tangos in Peru just by fucking up their computers,” K-4 said, low enough that Maggie couldn’t overhear.
“You already know the story of Little Orphan Annie,” he started.
Maggie nodded.
“Oh, man! You’re going to tell her about that porno flick, Annie Does the Orphanage. Not appropriate, my poopyhead friend!”
“Shh,” he warned K-4, then continued addressing Maggie, “but have you ever heard of Little Orphan Andy?”
“Was he Annie’s big brother, who came searching for her, forever and ever, but couldn’t find her, and that’s why she had to live in an orphanage, where she had a hard-knock life for five whole years?”
“Um, probably.”
&n
bsp; “Can I have a dog?”
“You expect a poopyhead to get you a dog?”
“You wouldn’t be a poopyhead if you got me a dog.”
“Nice try, monkey, but no bananas today.”
The devious little imp frowned with confusion, then stomped inside where she yelled, “Mommy! Mister Merrill called me a monkey.”
Later that evening, everything had been cleared up from what everyone agreed were the best hamburgers ever. The side salads they’d bought in the supermarket deli, along with dishes of Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia ice cream added to the feast, but it was his burgers served on fresh rolls with lettuce and tomato and spicy mayo that had been the big hit.
K-4 had gone off to some local singles bar to check out the action, and had only teased Merrill a little when he’d said he wasn’t interested. Maggie and the grandmother were in the bedroom, which they’d taken over, Maggie already fast asleep and Sal, as she preferred to be called, was reading several back issues of Cosmo. Don’t ask!
Delilah would be sleeping on the pullout sofa bed in the living room. But for now, she’d come out and was sitting at the patio table across from him, going over some last-minute details for tomorrow’s return to the site. He was drinking the last beer, and she had a tall glass of iced lemonade.
“Congratulations on the great meal,” she said once again. “I’m going to dream about your hamburgers tonight.”
I’d prefer you dream about my other meat, he thought and bit his bottom lip to ensure he didn’t let such a crude thought escape aloud. Really, I’ve been living in a male horndog society—SEALs—way too long. I need to relearn gentility. Hah! That’s a word my mother liked. I’m becoming my freakin’ mother. No, no, no! I will not become genteel. I will maintain my rude, crude roughness, on the inside, anyway.
“Maybe you should be doing the cooking on Sweet Bells.”
“Oh, no! I’m a one-dish wonder. Besides, the team members would shoot me if you didn’t come back. You promised them a special batch of your cinnamon rolls.”
She nodded. “I’ll make them first thing in the morning. Several varieties.”
“Lemon?” he asked, hopefully. “I only got those two this morning before your visitors arrived, and I saw K-4 scarfing up the last few this afternoon.”
