This morning she didn’t make him wait long. She hurried into jeans and a sweatshirt then pulled her hair back into a ponytail and grabbed her parka against the still-cold March mornings.
Conan danced on the end of his leash as she opened the door to Brambleberry House, then even he seemed to stop in consternation.
The yard was a mess. The storm must have wreaked more havoc than she’d realized from her spot on the seaward side of the house. The lawn was covered with storm debris—loose shingles and twigs and several larger branches that must have fallen in the night since she was certain she would have heard them crack even from the other side of the house.
Okay, she was going to have to put her tentative seduction plans for Harry Maxwell on the back burner. First thing after walking Conan, she was going to have to deal with this mess.
Chapter Eleven
She cut Conan’s walk short, taking him north only as far as Haystack Rock before turning back to head down toward home and all the work waiting for her there.
At least it was an off-season Sunday, when her schedule was more flexible. As a small-business owner, she always felt as if she had one more thing she should be doing. But one of the most important things Abigail had taught her was to be protective of her time off.
You’ve got to allow yourself to be more than just the store, Abigail had warned her in the early days after she purchased By-the-Wind. Don’t put all the eggs of yourself into the basket of work or you’re only going to end up a scrambled mess.
It wasn’t always possible to take time off during the busier summer season, but during the slower spring and winter months she tried to keep Sundays to herself to recharge for the week ahead.
Of course, cleaning up storm debris wasn’t exactly relaxing and invigorating, but it was better than sitting in her office with a day full of paperwork.
Her mind was busy with all that she had to do as she walked up the sand dunes toward the house. She let Conan off his leash as soon as she closed the gate behind her and he immediately raced around the corner of the house. She followed him, curious at his urgency, and was stunned to find Max wearing a work glove on his uninjured hand and pushing a wheelbarrow already piled high with fallen limbs.
Her heart picked up a pace at the sight of him greeting Conan with an affectionate pat and she thought how gorgeous he looked in the warm glow of morning, lean and lithe and masculine.
“Hey, you don’t have to do that,” she called. “You’re a renter, not the hired help.”
He looked up from Conan. “Do you have a chain saw?” he asked, ignoring her admonition. “Some of these limbs are a little too big to cart off very easily.”
“Abigail had a chain saw. It’s in the garage. I’m not sure when it was used last, though, so it’s probably pretty dull.”
She hesitated, trying to couch her words in a way to cause the least assault to his pride. “Um, I hate to bring this up but don’t you think your shoulder might make running a chain saw a little tough?”
He looked down at the sling with frustration flickering in his eyes, as if he had forgotten his injury.
“Actually, she also had a wood chipper,” she added quickly. “I was planning to just chip most of this to use as mulch in the garden in a few weeks’ time. The machine is pretty complicated, though, and it’s a two-person job. To tell you the truth, I could use some help.”
“Of course,” he answered promptly.
She smiled, lost for just a moment in the memory of all they had shared on the porch swing the night before.
She might have stood staring at him all morning if Conan hadn’t nudged her, as if to remind her she had work to do.
“Let me just find my gloves and then we can get to work.”
“No problem. There’s plenty out here to keep me busy.”
She hurried inside the house and headed for the hall tree, where she kept her extra gardening gloves and the muck boots she wore when she worked out in the garden.
The man had no right to look so gorgeous first thing in the morning when she could see in the hall mirror that she looked bedraggled and windblown from walking along the seashore.
The idea of a casual fling had seemed so enticing this morning when she had been lying in bed. When she was confronted with six feet of sexy male in a denim workshirt and leather gloves, she wondered what on earth she had been thinking.
She had a very strong feeling that a casual fling with a man like Lieutenant Maxwell would turn out to be anything but casual.
Not that a fling with him seemed likely anytime in the near future. He had seemed like a polite stranger this morning, in vivid contrast to the heat between them the night before.
She sighed. It was a nice fantasy while it lasted and certainly helped take her mind off Grayson Fletcher and the misery of the trial, which would be resuming all too soon.
When she returned to the yard, she couldn’t see Max anywhere. But since Conan was sprawled out at the entrance to the garage, she had a fairly solid idea where to find him.
Inside, she found him trying to extricate the chipper, which was wedged tightly behind an old mattress frame and a pile of two-by-fours Will had brought over to use on various repairs around the house.
The chipper had wheels for rolling across the lawn but it was still bulky and unwieldy. She stepped forward to give him a hand clearing a path. “I know, this garage is a mess. With every project we do on the house, we seem to be collecting more and more stuff and now we’re running out of places to put it all.”
“You’ll have to build a garage annex for it all.”
She smiled. “Right. A garage for the garage. Sage would love the idea. To tell you the truth, I don’t know what else to do. I hate to throw anything away. I’m so afraid we’ll toss an old lamp or something and then find out it was Abigail’s favorite or some priceless antique that had been in her family for generations.”
“You can’t keep the house like a museum for her.”
“I know. She wouldn’t want that and what little family she had doesn’t seem to care much about maintaining their heritage. But I still worry. My parents brought very little with them from Mexico when they came across the border. Their families were both poor and didn’t have much for them to bring but sometimes I wish I had more old things that told the story of my ancestors and what their lives might have been like.”
An odd expression crossed his features and he opened his mouth to answer but before he could, she pulled the last obstacle out of the way so they could pull out the chipper.
“Here we go. That should give us a clear path.”
They pulled the chipper out of the chaotic garage and into the sunshine while Conan watched them curiously.
“Any idea how to work this thing?” Max asked.
She smiled. “A year ago, my answer to that question would have been a resounding no, but I’ve had to learn a few things since I’ve been at Brambleberry House. This home ownership thing is not for the weak or timid, I’ll tell you that much. I’ve become an expert at removing wallpaper, puttying walls, even wielding a toilet snake. This chipper business is easy compared to that.”
For the next two hours, they worked together cleaning up the yard while Conan lazed in whatever dappled bit of sunbeam he could find. It was a gorgeous, sunny early spring day, the kind she always considered a gift from above here in Oregon.
When the fallen branches were cleared and the beautiful wood chips from them stored at the side of the garage for a few more weeks until she had time to prepare the flower beds, Max helped her gather up the loose shingles and replace the gutter that had blown down.
“Anything else we can do?” he asked when they finished and were sitting together on the porch steps taking a breather.
“I don’t think so. Not right now, anyway. It’s an endless job, this home maintenance thing.”
“But not a bad way to spend a beautiful morning.”
She smiled, enjoying his company immensely. Even with only o
ne good hand, he worked far harder than most men she knew. He carried heavy limbs under one arm and though he quickly figured out he couldn’t push the wheelbarrow with one hand without toppling it over, he ended up dragging out Abigail’s old garden wagon and pulling the limbs and wood chips in that.
“I used to hate gardening when I was a kid,” she told him. “My parents always had a huge vegetable garden. We would grow peppers and green beans and sweet corn and of course we kids always had to do the weeding. I vowed I was going to live in a condominium the rest of my life where I wouldn’t have to get out at the crack of dawn to pick beans.”
“But here you are.” He gestured to the house.
“Here I am. And you know something weird? Taking care of the garden and yard has become my favorite part of living here. I can’t wait until the flowers start coming out in a few weeks. You will be astonished at Abigail’s garden. It’s a magic place.”
He made a noncommittal sound, as if he wasn’t quite convinced, and she smiled. “I guess you don’t have much opportunity for gardening, living in base housing as you said you’ve done.”
“Not in the army, no,” he said in what she had come to think of as his cautious voice. “Various places I’ve stayed, I’ve had the chance to do a little but not much.”
“You can do all you want at Brambleberry House while you’re here. All hands are welcome in Abigail’s garden, experienced or not.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Conan brought over a sturdy twig they must have missed and dropped it at his feet. Max obliged him by picking it up and tossing left-handed for the dog to scamper after.
It was a lovely moment and Anna found she didn’t want it to end. “Do you feel like a drive?” she asked suddenly.
“With a specific destination involved or just for the ride?”
“A little of both. I need to head down to Lincoln City to drop off some items that were delivered by mistake to the store up here. I’d love some company. I’ll even take you to lunch at my favorite restaurant at Neskowin Beach on the way down. My way of paying you back for your help today.”
“You don’t owe me anything for that. I didn’t do much.”
She could have argued with him but she decided she wasn’t in the mood to debate. “The offer’s still open.”
He shifted on the step and looked up at the blue sky for a long moment and then turned back at her with a rather wary smile. “It is a gorgeous day for a drive.”
She returned his smile, then laughed when Conan gave two sharp barks, whether from anticipation or just plain excitement, she couldn’t guess. “Wonderful. Can you give me about half an hour to clean up?”
“Only half an hour?”
She grinned at him as she climbed to her feet. “Lieutenant, I grew up with three brothers in a little house with only one bathroom. A girl learns to work her magic fast under those circumstances.”
She was rewarded with a genuine smile, one that warmed her clear to her toes. She hurried through her shower and dressed quickly. And though she would have liked to spend some time blow-drying her hair and fixing it into something long and luxurious and irresistible, she had to be satisfied with pulling it into a simple style, held away from her face with a yellow bandeau that matched her light sweater.
She did take time to apply a light coat of makeup, though even that was more than she usually bothered with.
“It’s not a date,” she assured Conan, who sat watching her with curious eyes as she applied eyeliner and mascara.
This is not a date and I am not breathless, she told herself when the doorbell rang a few moments later.
She answered the door and knew that last one was a blatant lie. She felt as if she were standing on the bluffs above Heceta Head with the wind hitting her from every side.
He wore Levi’s and a brushed-cotton shirt in a color that matched the dark spruce outside. Hunger and anticipation curled through her insides.
“Do you need more time?” he asked.
“Not at all. I only have to grab my purse. Oh, and Conan’s leash. Are you okay with him coming along? He pouts if I leave him alone too long.”
“I expected it.”
That was one of the things she appreciated most about him—his wholehearted acceptance of her dog.
Conan raced ahead as they headed out to her minivan and waited until she opened the door. His customary spot was in the passenger seat but he seemed content to sprawl out in the cargo area this trip, along with the boxes she had carefully strapped down the day before.
She backed with caution out of the driveway and waited until they were on the road heading south before she spoke. “I know you’ve been at least as far south as Neah-Kah-Nie Mountain. Have you gone farther down the coast?”
“Not this trip,” he answered. “It’s been several years.”
“I’ve been driving to Lincoln City two or three times a week for nine months and I still never get tired of it.”
“Is that how long you’ve had the store there?”
She nodded, then fell silent, remembering her starry dreams of last summer, when she had first opened the second store. She had wanted so desperately for the store to succeed and had imagined opening a third and maybe even a fourth store someday, until everywhere on the coast, people would think of By-the-Wind when they thought of books and unique gift items.
Now her dreams were in tatters and most days when she drove this road, she arrived with tight shoulder muscles and her stomach in knots.
“Did I say something wrong?” Max asked, and she realized she had been silent for a good mile or more.
“No. It’s not you. It’s just…”
She hesitated to tell him, though the trial was certainly common knowledge.
No doubt he would hear about it sooner or later and it was probably better that she give him the information herself.
Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. “My professional life is a mess,” she admitted. “Once in a while I’m able to forget about it for an hour or so at a time but then it all comes creeping back.”
She was almost afraid to look at him to gauge his reaction but she finally dared a quick look and found his expression unreadable. “Want to talk about it?”
“I don’t want to ruin your enjoyment of the spectacular coastal scenery with such a long, boring, sordid story.”
“Can a story be boring and sordid at the same time?”
The tongue-in-cheek question surprised a laugh from her when she least expected to find much of anything amusing. “Good point.”
And a good reminder that she shouldn’t take herself so seriously. She hadn’t lost any team members to enemy fire. She hadn’t been shot down over hostile territory or suffered severe burns or spent months in the hospital.
This was a tough hurdle and professionally and personally humiliating for her but it wasn’t the end of the world.
She didn’t know where to start and she didn’t want to look like an idiot to him. But he had been brutally honest with her the night before and she suddenly found she wanted to share this with Max.
“I trusted the wrong person,” she finally said. “I guess the story all starts with that.”
Could the woman make him feel any more guilty, however unwittingly?
As Max listened to Anna’s story of fraud and betrayal by the former store manager of her Lincoln City store, shame coalesced in his gut.
She talked about how she had been lied to for months, how she had ignored warning signs and hadn’t trusted her gut.
How was Max going to tell her he had lied about his identity?
He had a strong suspicion her past experience with this charlatan wasn’t going to make her the forgiving sort when he came clean.
“So here we are six months later,” she finally said. “Everything is such a disaster. My business is in shambles, I’ve got suppliers coming out of the woodwork with invoices I thought had been paid months ago and worse, at least two dozen of my customers h
ad their credit and debit cards used fraudulently. It’s been a months-long nightmare and I have no idea when I’ll ever be able to wake up.”
Max remembered his speculation when he read the sketchy information online about the trial that maybe she had been involved in the fraud, a partner who was letting her manager take the fall while she reaped the benefits.
The thought of that now was laughable and he was sorry he had even entertained the idea. She sounded sick about the trial, about the fraud, especially about her customers who had suffered.
“You said this Fletcher jerk has been charged?”
“Oh, yes. That’s part of the joy of this whole thing, out there in the public eye for everyone to see what an idiot I’ve been.”
“It’s not your fault the guy was a scumbag thief.”
“No. But it is my fault I hired the scumbag thief to mind my store and gave him access to the personal information of all my customers and vendors who trusted me to protect that. It’s my fault I didn’t supervise things as closely as I should have, which allowed him more room and freedom to stick his fingers in as many pies as he could find.”
“That’s a lot of weight for you to bear.”
“My name is the one on the business license. It’s my responsibility.”
“When will the trial wrap up?”
“This week, I think. Closing arguments start tomorrow and I’m hoping for a quick verdict soon after that. I’ll just be so glad when it’s over.”
“That bad?”
She shrugged and tried to downplay it but he saw the truth in her eyes. “Every day when I walk in the courtroom, I feel like they ought to hand me a dunce cap and a sign to hang around my neck—World’s Biggest Idiot.”
“You’ve sat through the entire trial?”
“Every minute of it. Grayson Fletcher stole from me, he stole from customers, he stole from my vendors. He took my reputation and I want to make sure he pays for it.”
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