Driftwood Cottage

by Sherryl Woods

  “It’s not the stairs,” she retorted. “At least not entirely. It’s the stairs combined with the way I feel on these crutches and with this stupid cast, which must weigh a thousand pounds.”

  “It doesn’t,” he assured her. “How are you going to get used to it if you don’t practice?”

  “I did practice before I left the hospital, but that was on flat surfaces. Those stairs out there look like a death trap to me.”

  “So, like I said, I’m just in time.”

  “In time for what?” she asked suspiciously.

  “To rescue you.”

  For some reason the response made her see red. “You did not just say that,” she said. “Since when have I ever needed to be rescued?”

  “By your own calculations, since four days ago,” he taunted.

  She was about to snap out a particularly nasty expletive or two, but he waved a finger at her. “Remember, you have a son. You don’t want to get in the habit of saying bad words in front of him. Otherwise, we’ll spend all our time trying to explain why our kid has a potty mouth.”

  Even though she was beyond annoyed, even though she wanted desperately to stay mad at him, Heather couldn’t help chuckling. “You have a point. He’s just starting to mimic everything I say.”

  “Well, there you go.” He met her gaze. “So, how about it? Care to go out with me?”

  She thought of declining just on principle, but what would that accomplish? Her already sour mood would only get worse if she rejected her one chance to break out of here. If she didn’t accept now, it could prove to be a very long six to eight weeks until the stupid cast was removed.

  “Where?” she asked warily. “And more importantly, why?”

  “For a ride and then to the beach. The humidity’s low, there’s a wonderful breeze. It’s a perfect day for a picnic. As for why, it’s because I thought it might cheer you up to have a change of scenery.”

  “Who’s been complaining about my mood?”

  He grinned. “No one had to. I know you. You’ve never been good at being idle. Me, I would have thought this would be the perfect time for you to create one of those amazing quilts you make, but I remember how your mind works. It’s a little twisted.”

  She scowled at him. “Did you just insult me?”

  “Nope, just telling the truth. Instead of seizing this as an opportunity, you can’t get past the fact that you’re feeling as though you’re trapped in this apartment. Am I right?”

  “Okay, yes, but you were never one bit better at forced relaxation than I am.”

  “True, but we’re not talking about me. Now, about the beach—yes or no?”

  Closing her eyes, she could practically see the waves on the bay, smell the salt air, feel the breeze against her cheeks. It sounded heavenly. Then she sighed. “I can’t.”

  “Why not? Do you have other plans?”

  “Of course not.” She gestured toward the door. “In case you haven’t noticed, there are steps. Haven’t you been listening? I can’t manage them,” she admitted with frustration.

  “Which is why I will carry you in my big, strong arms,” he said. “Try not to wiggle and get me too excited.”

  Again, a laugh erupted before she could contain it. “As if.” She looked into his eyes. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because someone very wise asked me what I thought you’d want more than anything about now. I realized you were probably going a little stir-crazy.”

  “More than a little,” she said.

  “Then you’ll come with me?”

  She weighed the danger—letting herself be drawn right back into Connor’s world—against her desire for a change of scenery. The danger didn’t seem that extreme by comparison with her total boredom.

  “Let’s go,” she said, and struggled to her feet, determined to maintain at least a shred of independence. She made it across the room on her crutches, and Connor let her do it. Only when they’d stepped onto the landing outside did he scoop her up as if she were weightless and carry her down the stairs.

  Snuggled against his chest, she allowed herself to bury her head against his shoulder for just an instant so she could breathe in the wonderfully masculine scent of him, a blending of soap and a faint hint of familiar aftershave. Buried deep in her closet, she still had one of his shirts, stolen when she’d left him, that smelled exactly like this. In moments of weakness, she dragged it out and slept with it. It had given her comfort on some of her darkest nights since the separation.

  When they reached his car, she caught him grinning. “What?” she demanded.

  “You were sniffing me.”

  “I most certainly was not,” she said indignantly and felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment.

  “You always did like that aftershave. You said it reminded you of margaritas, which for some reason I could never figure out.”

  “The limes,” she said without thinking, then winced at the revealing statement.

  He gave her a smug look. “You know, it was a funny thing. When you left, my favorite green flannel shirt disappeared.”

  She refused to meet his gaze. “Really? What do you think happened to it?”

  He shrugged. “I can’t say for sure, but I seem to recall coming home late from the office a couple of times and finding you all curled up in bed in that shirt. You said it smelled like me.”

  “I’d forgotten that,” she claimed.

  “I’m sure,” he said wryly, settling her carefully into the passenger seat of the car, which he’d thoughtfully moved back so her casted leg could extend straight out.

  “Why are you making such a big deal about a stupid old shirt?”

  He leveled a look into her eyes and made sure she was looking back before responding. “It’s not about the shirt, and you know it.”

  She managed a defiant tone. “Then what is it about, Connor?”

  “You miss me.”

  She swallowed hard and prayed that neither her voice nor the color in her cheeks would give her away. “Do not.”

  “You’re lying through your teeth, sweetheart, but it’s okay. I’ve missed you, too. Now let’s just go to the beach and enjoy the day.”

  “If you’re going to be making arrogant claims all afternoon, I’m not sure how much enjoyment we’ll have.”

  “Oh, come on,” he teased. “There’s nothing you love more than bringing me back down to size. I’m doing you a favor by saying stuff like this. It gets you all riled up. I doubt you’ve felt this alive in ages.”

  Sadly, it was true, but not even the threat of torture would have made her admit it. “This is a bad idea,” she muttered, even as she settled back into the seat, ready to see what the afternoon would bring. Sometimes going with a bad idea was the only way to live.

  19

  Rather than going to the main beach in the center of town, Connor opted for a more secluded stretch of sand just outside of the Chesapeake Shores city limits. Here the homes were smaller and, in many ways, less pretentious than those in Chesapeake Shores. Many had been around for years, owned by families and passed from generation to generation. In some cases the paint had been neglected and the porches were weathered, but despite that, there was an undeniable, old-fashioned charm about them.

  He’d always liked it out here, especially during the week, because the beach was deserted then. He could recall coming here to get some privacy with his latest girlfriend when he was a teenager.

  “Why haven’t I been here before?” Heather asked, glancing around curiously as they drove along a beachfront lined with weeping willows.

  “There’s not too much out this way, just these scattered houses on some prime real estate. At one point when he was developing Chesapeake Shores, Dad wanted to buy up the land and incorporate it into the town, but the owners united and held out. Drove him crazy, but personally I’m glad they did.”

  Heather regarded him with surprise. “Why? You almost sound nostalgic.”

  “I suppose I am. I like
the fact that the houses along here are pretty much the way they were fifty, even seventy-five years ago,” Connor said. “Same families, too, at least for the most part. You almost never see a For Sale sign along here.”

  “Really?” Heather said, then peered through the windshield. “Connor, wait! There’s a For Sale sign. It’s just up there at the bend in the road. Let’s go look.”

  Admittedly intrigued himself, he drove a few hundred feet, then pulled to the side of the road and turned off the engine. His enthusiasm died as he got a closer look.

  “It’s not much,” he said, disappointed to see how badly the house had been neglected.

  “It’s charming,” Heather contradicted, her eyes alight. “Look at the yard. It’s filled with lilac bushes.”

  “All overgrown,” Connor noted. “And I doubt the house has been painted in years. It’s probably riddled with termites.”

  Heather gave him an exasperated look. “Aren’t you cheery?” Her expression brightened. “Look, it’s called Driftwood Cottage. How perfect!”

  Connor finally spotted the sign dangling crookedly from a single nail above the door. “Looks more like it’s been cast adrift to me.”

  “Now you’re just being mean,” she chastised. “I wish we could see inside. Do you suppose anyone’s home?”

  “Not if they value their lives,” Connor muttered, not sure why he found the place so depressing. Heather was right. It did have the charm he’d been talking about only moments ago, even if it required some serious attention.

  “Help me get out of here,” Heather said, ignoring his comment. “Let’s go knock on the door.”

  He actually studied her face then, surprised to find that her expression was more animated than he’d seen it in ages. “You’re serious about this?”

  She nodded. “I can’t explain it. I know it’s a bit of a mess, but I love it.”

  “How can you?” he asked, bewildered. “You have a lovely, modern apartment right above your store. I thought you liked it there.”

  “I do.”

  “Then why would you be even remotely interested in this?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I just feel as if it’s calling out to me.” Her expression turned dreamy. “I’ll bet there’s always been a family staying here in the summertime. Look at that old porch swing. Can’t you just imagine kids in that, or teenagers courting on a summer night?”

  “Heather, it’s one thing to rescue some mangy little kitten off the street.” Something she’d done too often for his comfort, he recalled. At least she’d been persuaded to find homes for them rather than insisting on keeping each one. Using the same firm voice that he’d used when it came to the cats, he added, “It’s another thing entirely to try to save a wreck of a house. Making this house livable would cost a fortune. Ask my dad.”

  She gave him a defiant look. “That’s just what I’ll do,” she said. “I bet it has great bones. Now, are you going to help me get a closer look, or do I have to struggle over there on my own?”

  Connor shook his head, but he dutifully climbed out of the car and went around to the passenger side. After all, today was supposed to be all about making Heather happy, and, for reasons beyond him, this house seemed to make her very happy. In fact, she was already trying to stand up and steady herself on her crutches.

  “Will you just hold on a minute,” he grumbled. “If you’re not careful, you’ll wind up with your other leg broken.”

  He walked with her across the street, but halted at the bottom step leading to the porch. “That wood is rotted right on through,” he declared. “You’re not going up there.”

  “Then you go. See if anyone’s home.”

  “You expect me to risk my neck…” Her imploring look silenced him. Choosing his steps cautiously, he went up and knocked on the door. “No one’s here,” he said eventually.

  “Let’s walk around back. Maybe we can see in the windows.”

  “Mind if I borrow one of your crutches to beat a path through the jungle?” he inquired, not entirely in jest. The yard was a tangled mess of weeds. If this had been inside the town limits of Chesapeake Shores, the owner would have been put on notice to clean it up immediately.

  Amazingly, though, as they slowly circled the house, he began to see why Heather was intrigued. Driftwood Cottage was bigger than it had appeared from the street. Under the out-of-control weeds, the backyard was huge, perfect for children and fenced to keep them from wandering across the road to the beach. Though the windows were grimy, there was a large sunroom across the back.

  “Oh, my,” Heather murmured when she saw it. “Connor, isn’t it wonderful?”

  “It has potential,” he grudgingly admitted.

  Back in the car, she dug in her purse and wrote down the Realtor’s name and number. “Do you have your cell phone with you?” she asked. “I forgot mine.”

  “You want to call now?”

  She nodded at once. “Please.”

  Connor gave in and made the call. Fortunately from his perspective, he got voice mail. Maybe Heather would come to her senses once she’d had a little time to think this through. She couldn’t possibly afford a potential money pit like this.

  But he could. The thought came to him out of the blue, like a bolt of lightning when the skies were still clear. What was it Jess had told him—to go for broke to prove to Heather that he was listening to her? This ruin of a house certainly had the potential to break a man’s bank account, but even he could see it also had the potential to show Heather that he was in this relationship for the long haul.

  He left a message for the Realtor, including his own number, rather than Heather’s.

  When he’d disconnected the call, she was scowling at him. “You should have left my number,” she said. “You’ll just tell the woman you made a mistake or something.”

  He frowned at the accusation. “Have a little faith in me. It doesn’t really matter which one of us she calls. I know the right questions to ask, and I’ll pass the information on to you.”

  She continued to look annoyingly skeptical, but she let it drop.

  “Can we have that picnic now?” he asked. “I remember a perfect spot just up the road.”

  Heather nodded, but cast one last look of longing over her shoulder as they drove on. Even when they were finally settled on the beach in the chairs Connor had thought to bring along, to sit atop a blanket to avoid getting sand in Heather’s cast, she couldn’t seem to stop talking about the house. She had a million ideas about what she could do with it if it were hers. By the time they’d finished dessert, Connor could envision it all, from the white paint and bright red shutters on the exterior to the sun flooding into the rooms onto highly polished hardwood floors.

  Most of all, what he could see with heart-clutching clarity, was the three of them living there. And no matter what reservations he might have about the soundness of Driftwood Cottage, he knew he had to make that happen.

  “There hasn’t been a house for sale along that road for ten years or more,” Mick said when Connor described it later that evening. “Are you talking about the old Hawkins place?”

  “I guess,” Connor said.

  “Looks like a stiff breeze would blow it down,” Mick assessed. “Agatha Hawkins died two or three months ago. She was in her nineties. With her health declining and no family around to help, she hadn’t done a thing to keep it up.”

  “I didn’t see any other place in bad shape along there, so that’s definitely the one. If I get in touch with the Realtor, can you go with me tomorrow to take a look at it?”

  “Of course, but if you want a house, why not buy one right here in town? They’re newer and I can vouch for the quality of the construction.”

  “Dad, believe me, I know your houses are in better shape, but Heather likes that one,” Connor finally admitted. “Has her heart set on it, in fact.”

  Mick studied him with a narrowed gaze. “So which one of you is considering buying it?”

&
nbsp; “I am,” Connor said. He hesitated for a minute, then added with a touch of defiance, “For us.”

  Mick let out a yelp, then shouted for Megan. She came rushing into the living room, looking alarmed. “What on earth is going on in here?”

  “Connor’s finally seen the light! He’s buying a house for him and Heather,” Mick announced as if he personally had made it happen.

  His mother’s eyes lit up. “You are? Oh, Connor, it’s wonderful that you two are finally getting married. I’m so happy for you! I’ll call Bridget first thing tomorrow and see what I can do to help with the wedding.”

  Connor closed his eyes against the powerful tide of parental enthusiasm. “Slow down,” he warned them, hating to put a damper on their excitement. “I never said anything about marriage.”

  Both Mick and Megan regarded him with confusion.

  “Then what the devil are you talking about?” Mick demanded, looking as if Connor had pulled some sort of bait-and-switch con on him. “Living together didn’t work out so well before. What makes you think Heather will agree to that again?”

  “She won’t,” Connor conceded.

  “But you’re not getting married?” Megan said, clearly bewildered.

  “Not yet.” He finally sighed. “I’m hoping the house will get her to take my proposal seriously.”

  “Now I really am confused,” Mick said. “You proposed?”

  “And she said no?” Megan looked shocked.

  “Pretty much,” Connor told them. He didn’t think his pride could take explaining yet again that she’d turned him down more than once.

  His parents exchanged a look. “Buying a house worked for Trace,” Mick commented, his expression thoughtful. “It got Abby’s attention. No reason to think it won’t work in this situation.”

  “It is a dramatic gesture,” Megan added approvingly. “Women love things like that.” Then her brow creased with worry. “Are you sure Heather likes this house? I’ve driven by there. It just strikes me as sad.”