Shelter Me

by Allyson Charles

  “I’m good.” He strode into her house and grabbed his keys. “Good luck with your nonprofit.”

  You’re going to need it, was left unsaid, but she heard it all the same. Along with a permanent sounding goodbye. James didn’t even want to meet her eyes. Any chance for that hoped-for make-out session was clearly gone.

  She grabbed his arm on her front step. “I don’t get it. Why the huge rush to get away from me?”

  “Look.” He gripped the back of his neck. “I had a good time. You’re a nice woman. But I’ve got my own shit to deal with. I was hoping for something easy and fun, but you’re more complicated than a 1031 exchange.”

  Her stomach clenched. She agreed with him. Her life was too busy and complicated for romance, but the rejection still stung.

  “A 1031 exchange is a way to defer taxes—”

  “It doesn’t matter. I understood what you meant.” Clementine strolled past, and she bent to pick him up, holding him close.

  “It’s not you,” he explained, digging the knife deeper. “I’ve got a lot on my plate right now. I know we were both thinking a fling could be fun, but both our lives are too complicated to make that realistic. I don’t need”—he flapped his hand down the driveway in the direction Kimberlee had gone—“whatever that all was. I’ve got my own problems.”

  Her chest went tight. “First of all, I never said I wanted a fling with you.”

  He arched an eyebrow.

  It was definitely more irritating than sexy.

  She flushed. “Maybe a kiss or two, just to remember what it felt like. But if I wanted a fling, I would look elsewhere. To someone who I actually respected and liked.”

  He gave her a patronizing look. “Don’t lie to yourself. It’s not attractive.”

  “And you need to stop conflating rudeness for honesty.” She poked him in the chest. “Didn’t your parents teach you how to behave in polite society?”

  He stilled. “My parents taught me not to stick around. They taught me that family isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be. I learned that it’s best to be straightforward with people all on my own.”

  “Oh.” She rocked back on her heels. Well, that was just…sad.

  Huck twined his body around James’s leg.

  He gently removed the cat. “It’s been interesting, Sarah Martineau. But as I’ll only be in town for a couple more weeks, if you have more questions about nonprofits I’d suggest you contact a local attorney or CPA.”

  She caught his arm. “James, wait.”

  He turned, his face blank.

  I’m sorry was on the tip of her tongue. The urge to make sure no one was upset with her near overwhelming. But some things an apology couldn’t help. He wasn’t mad at her, merely unhappy. And there wasn’t anything she could do about that.

  She swallowed. “Thank you. For your help tonight.”

  He nodded. Lifting his hand, he picked up a strand of her hair and ran it through his fingers. “Goodbye, Sarah.”

  He turned and took the two steps down to the driveway. He climbed into his car and drove away.

  Her heart pinched. Nothing had started between them. There was no reason to be disappointed.

  But the back of James looked a lot like an opportunity slipping away.

  Chapter Eight

  “I have good news and I have bad news.” Cassie’s voice erupted through the phone. Sarah pulled it away from her ear and lowered the volume. “What do you want to hear first?”

  “Bad first, always.” Fiddling with a small gold chain around her neck, Sarah looked around the half-empty café and took another sip of her coffee. She’d been nervous about this meeting, so she’d arrived a good half hour before the appointment. Her best friend’s call was a welcome distraction.

  “It’s not that bad,” Cassie said. A soft clicking came over the line, and Sarah could visualize her friend biting her thumb nail. If it had descended to nail-biting, it was that bad. “But the price tag for the remodels I’d recommend is a teensy bit higher than your budget.”

  “Define teensy.”

  “Six thousand dollars,” Cassie said.

  That wasn’t so bad. Just one thousand dollars higher than the number she’d given Cassie. “Okay, so it will cost me six grand to remodel my office, assuming the landlord agrees—”

  “No, six grand more than your budget.” Cassie waited a beat. “Eleven thousand dollars.”

  A rush of air hissed out Sarah’s lips, and she slumped in her seat. She didn’t know if she could afford that, plus her rent, plus her house’s mortgage, plus all the additional supplies she’d need for the cats. And setting up the nonprofit, all the filing fees…

  “This is not good news.”

  “Which is why I called it the bad news.” A horn blared, and Cassie cursed. “Stupid driver,” she muttered. “Passing on a winding, two-lane highway.”

  “Focus, Cassie.” The door to the café opened and Sarah tensed, but a couple walked in, arm in arm. “What’s the good news?”

  “I ran into Melanie at the salon this morning.” Cassie’s voice turned silky. “She told me the hot accountant went home with you last night. Anything you want to share?”

  Sarah shifted on her seat. “Mel can’t know that. She left before James and me.”

  “Ha! So it’s true.”

  Sarah slouched. “Even if it were, how is that your good news?”

  “It’s good news whenever my friend gets lucky. You get laid as often as a blue moon goes into a full lunar eclipse.”

  “Is that a thing?”

  Her friend’s horn blared over the phone again. “I don’t know. But it doesn’t sound like it would happen often. Now tell your BFF all the smexy details.”

  A beat-up car chugged past the front windows of Java the Hut, belching exhaust. “I didn’t get lucky. Nothing happened. He came over, we discussed my nonprofit, he left.” He’d looked so defeated when he’d left. Whatever problems he’d had with his parents seemed to go way beyond her issues. Maybe she should call him. Take him some pie. No one could stay sad with pie.

  “You’re killing me here,” Cassie wailed. “You had that man in your house, all alone, and nothing happened?”

  Sarah was quiet for too long.

  “Ha! I knew it.”

  “You know nothing.” She glanced around the café. No one appeared to give a toss about her conversation, but still, she lowered her voice. “I might have decided you were right. I might have decided to make a move. But…” She chewed on her bottom lip.

  “He shot you down?” Outrage laced Cassie’s words. “I am going to kick his ass. No one turns down my friend. He’d be lucky if he got between your legs.”

  Sarah wrinkled her nose. “Thanks? But it wasn’t like that. Before anything could happen, we were interrupted. Apparently Kimberlee Owens doesn’t want me to help the feral cats and she came over to tell me we’re at war.” She shook her head. She wanted to laugh at the absurdity, but she had so much on her plate, even a silly, faux war seemed like another burden. “I’ll tell you all about it later.”

  “I’ll hold you to it.” Another horn blared over the line. Sarah sent up a prayer for the other drivers on the road. “You’re not really the war type. You’re more…”

  Sarah narrowed her eyes. “The surrender-at-dawn type?” She knew how she was perceived. As a push-over. But was it wrong to want to keep the peace? Life was too short to make everything a battle.

  Although, arguing with James had been kind of fun. Refreshing. She didn’t have to worry about staying in his good graces. He was leaving. When he pushed her, she could push back.

  Except, he didn’t want to see her anymore.

  The café door swung open, and an older man stepped inside, looking around. Sarah’s breath stuttered from her lungs. “I’ve got to go,” she whispered to Cass and hung up without waiting for a response.

  She stood on shaking knees. He caught sight of her, and a tenta
tive smile crossed his face. He made his way over to her table. His thinning, dyed-black hair and dark eyes were the same as his profile pic, but he looked different somehow. Faded.

  She swallowed, the coffee in her stomach threatening to make a reappearance. She wasn’t ready. She needed Brad here with her. What had she been thinking, agreeing to meet him after only a couple email exchanges?

  “Sarah?” he asked. He smelled of cigarettes, mouthwash, and wasted dreams. He ran a hand through his hair, the strands greased into place, and a large, gold watch flashed at his wrist. It was buffed to a sheen, and was so incongruous with his worn polo short and inch-too-short slacks, she couldn’t help but stare.

  She swallowed. She searched his face, looking for resemblances to her or Brad, but came up empty. She’d wanted instant recognition, a bond to pass between them. Even though she knew how unrealistic that was, the disappointment still stung.

  At least she didn’t have to look too far up to smile at him. She’d inherited his height. He leaned the slightest bit forward, as if to hug, and she stuck out her hand. “Hi. Yes. Hi. I’m Sarah. And you’re Harry?”

  He nodded.

  “Have a seat.” She pulled out a chair, the legs scraping against the tile floor. “Can I get you something to drink? A slice of cake?”

  “A coffee would be great. Black.”

  She skittered away, relieved to have a moment to collect herself. Placing his order, she tapped her fingers against her thigh and snuck glances. He was nervous, too, his foot bouncing up and down, tugging at the cuff of his sports jacket. But he looked normal enough. Like an average middle-aged guy. Not like he’d been abducted by a biker gang years ago and forced to live a life on the run.

  Yes, that had been one of her fantasies as a child of why her father had left her.

  She twisted her lips. That was going to be one of her first questions. Why?

  Taking a deep breath, she picked up the order and made her way back to the table. “Here you are.” She sat across from him. “How was your trip? Did you drive all the way from Ventura today?”

  Taking a sip of coffee, he shook his head. “I spent the night in San Francisco. The traffic was hell this morning getting out of there.”

  “It usually is.” She gripped her empty coffee mug, rubbing her thumb back and forth over the handle.

  “So, you’re an animal doctor, huh?” He looked her up and down, appraising. “It’s nice to know my kid made a success of herself.”

  “Thanks. I love my job.” She cleared her throat. “What do you do?”

  “I’m retired. Went on disability about ten years ago.” He shrugged. “Bum back, you know.”

  “Do you have any family? Other than me and Brad, I mean.” Her face heated, but she wanted to know if there were any more brothers or sisters out there.

  He chuckled. “Not that I know of, but you never can tell, right?” He swallowed some coffee. “Hey, how’s your brother? You said he was Navy?”

  “Yes, but he’s out on a medical discharge. There was a training accident, and he had to eject from the plane he was flying. He busted his leg when he landed.” She sucked on her lower lip. “Maybe that’s something you guys could talk about. When he comes around to the idea of meeting you. You know, with you retiring on disability, it’s something you might have in common.”

  “Sure. Sure.” He leaned forward, and the smell of cigarettes assaulted her nose. “Is he taken care of? You don’t make much in the military, do you?”

  Brad would kill her dead if she told their bio father he needed any help. “He’s fine. He’s doing odd jobs while he’s recovering. Brad always makes out.”

  Harry nodded. “Making do, is he? I understand how that is.” He settled back in his chair, drumming his fingers on the table.

  Sarah sucked in a deep breath. “Harry, I wanted to ask you—”

  An alarm on his watch beeped. He turned it off and reached into his inside coat pocket, pulling out a plastic baggie filled with pills. “Sorry, time for my meds.” Digging out a green pill, he sucked it down with some coffee. “I tell ya, getting old isn’t for pansies.” After tucking the baggie away, he pulled out a box of cigarettes, and tapped it on the table. “I don’t suppose you smoke?”

  “No.”

  “That’s good, that’s good. Bad habit.” He looked out the door. “Look, kid, I’d really like to spend some time with you. Get to know my daughter better, you know?”

  A flutter started deep in her belly. She wanted that, too.

  “But I can’t afford to stay in a hotel too long.” He looked down at his hands. “I don’t know if you have time to come down and see me—”

  “You can stay with me.” The words burst out of her. “I have an extra bedroom. It doesn’t make sense for you to stay in a hotel.” She held her breath. This could either be a really good step for them or really stupid. Really, really stupid.

  “You’d do that for your dad?” His face creased into a smile. “That’s sweet of you. I’d love to stay at your place.”

  “Great. That’s great.” She clenched her fingers, willing them to stop shaking. Why was this so hard? And why hadn’t she thought ahead? Her cupboards were bare and her mustard was growing mold in the fridge. She’d have to go shopping after work. After filling out all those blasted forms for her nonprofit. And figuring out a way to entertain her new guest.

  “Why don’t you follow me over there now and settle in while I go back to work? I’ll give you my spare key when we get there.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” He pushed to his feet and shuffled to the trashcan with his coffee. He followed her out and to her car. “This is your car?” He sniffed. “Well, at least it’ll be easy to follow.”

  Her two-door hatchback had more rust than paint, but it still got the job done. “It’s safer than it looks. It runs like a dream.”

  “If you say so.” He jerked his head at a dented silver sedan. She didn’t see where he had call to look down on her car, but she kept quiet. “I’m over there. See ya at your house.”

  Sarah pulled out, making sure to keep the sedan in her rearview mirror all the way home.

  And wondering just how she was going to tell Brad that their father was in town.

  Chapter Nine

  Fog hung heavy on the horizon, and the air was clammy on James’s skin. He hopped over a low stone wall and continued jogging on the path along the bluff. He wound down into a patch of cypress trees and stopped behind the leaning wooden shack that represented Shelter Bay’s tourist bureau. Two picnic tables overlooked the inlet between two cliffs, one was empty of all but sticky lumps of sap. Sarah sat at the other, a three-ring binder and a yellow pad of paper before her, a pen clamped between her lips.

  He shifted his weight between his feet and tried to even out his breathing. He should keep on jogging. Leave her to her work.

  A loose piece of yellow paper blew off the table and headed for the cliff. Darting forward, James bent to catch it, missed, and pinned it to the ground with his sneaker. He picked it up and brushed off a smudge of dirt.

  Sarah looked up, a delicate flush darkening her cheeks. She bit down on her bottom lip, the pink swell of flesh plumping beneath her teeth.

  The muscles of his lower abs clenched. He strolled toward her and stopped on the other side of the table. “Hi.”

  Brilliant. His conversational skills got all the ladies. He shook his head. It was a good thing he wasn’t trying to get Sarah.

  “Hi.” She fiddled with the end of her braid. She jerked her head at the paper in his hand. “Thanks for getting that.”

  He passed it across to her. “More lists for your shelter?”

  “Shopping list.” Nudging the large binder, she sighed. “This monster is my nonprofit to-do list.”

  He flipped open the cover and cringed. Messy stacks of papers were shoved inside. Pink post-its were smacked at random angles on the inside cover, illegible scrawls written across them. “Ther
e are rings and dividers in the binder for a reason. To keep things organized.”

  She pulled the binder from his hands and held it to her stomach. “It’s fine. I know where everything is.”

  James crossed his arms over his chest. “Okay. I see the Secretary of State form on top. Where’s Form 1023 for the IRS? The application for an EIN?”

  “I haven’t filled those out yet.” She rubbed the bridge of her nose. “This process takes time.”

  “I know that. I go through the process frequently.” He swung his leg over the bench seat and straddled it. Pulling the binder from her grip, he ignored her scowl. “I told you to file the form with the IRS before we file this one”—he shook the top form—“with California.”

  “All right.” She tried to tug the binder back, but James swatted her hand away. She huffed. “Can you stop being a pushy bugger for one hot minute?”

  “Stop doing things the wrong way.” He licked the tip of his finger and flipped over another page. He’d been clear about the steps she needed to take, and the order in which to take them. It was a good thing she worked with animals and not numbers.

  The wind shifted, and a breeze caressed his face. He sniffed. Leaned forward. “Why do you smell like smoke?” He tilted his head. Her shoulders were rounded. Dark smudges marred the skin under her eyes. She looked exhausted. Her hair was tied back in its usual braid, however, and he longed to wind it around his hand.

  Her thick blond hair had played an increasingly large part in his nightly fantasies. He imagined it trailing over his bare chest. Trailing lower.

  Her lips thinned. “I have a houseguest. I’ve asked him to go outside when he smokes, but sometimes he forgets.”

  Something shifted in his stomach. “Boyfriend?” It had only been a week since their date, but a woman like Sarah probably had her pick in this backwoods town.

  “No.” Sarah hunched over the table, squinting at a form.

  “Who’s staying with you?” It shouldn’t matter to him. It didn’t matter to him. He was only mildly curious.

  She looked up, narrowing her pretty eyes. They were a swirl of different shades of brown, of whiskeys, caramels, and tobaccos.