Falling For Zoe (The Camerons of Tide's Way #1)

by Skye Taylor

  Jake’s fingers curled into fists at the thought of Travis hitting on his baby. His Ava. Jake closed his eyes and counted to ten. Slowly.

  “Ava has a good head on her shoulders. You’ve done a good job with her. Now you need to have a little faith in her. Trust her to make some decisions on her own. And let her know you’re there for her anytime she needs backup.”

  When Jake opened his eyes again, Zoe had come around the island and stood in front of him. She had her hands on her hips as she gazed up at him with earnest intensity in her incredible hazel eyes. “She’s a remarkable young woman, Jake.”

  “Yeah. I—she is.” Jake swallowed hard against the confusing urge pull Zoe into his arms and hold on tight. “I guess I still owe you one.”

  Zoe tipped her head, her brow creased. “How’s that?”

  “Ava needs her mother, and I can’t do anything about that. But you’ve helped me see the error of my ways from a woman’s point of view. I appreciate your honesty.”

  “And I appreciate having a dishwasher that works. So we’re even.”

  “Not even close.” Jake moved toward the front door, and Zoe followed him. As he stepped onto the porch, he remembered the envelope he’d been instructed to give her. “Almost forgot. The twins asked me to give you this.”

  Chapter 11

  “JACOB ANDREW Cameron. Come down out of that tree house this instant!”

  Jake cringed at the sound of his godmother’s voice and glanced at Zoe. He’d been praying for the last half hour for a good excuse to get away from the tight confines of his daughters’ tree house where he’d been attending a tea party in Zoe’s honor. The scent of Zoe’s shampoo and the softness of her skin every time her arm brushed his kept triggering thoughts he had no business thinking. Be careful what you pray for, his father’s words echoed in his head. You just might get it! What he’d gotten was Aunt Catherine.

  “Jacob!” his godmother demanded again.

  Jake unfolded himself and moved toward the ladder. Unfortunately, that meant crawling over Zoe.

  “Sorry,” he muttered, working his way across her.

  Zoe folded her knees tight to her chest and leaned back against the wall of the tree house to give him more room. “Is something wrong?” she whispered.

  Jake sighed. “Something’s always wrong according to Aunt Catherine.”

  “Jacob!”

  “Hold your horses, Aunt Catherine. I’m getting there as quickly as I can.” When she spoke to him in that tone of voice, he felt about ten years old. It was embarrassing to say the least and irritating at the best of times. This wasn’t the best of times. He shoved his feet through the opening and lowered himself to the ground without needing to use the ladder.

  Catherine Cameron waited impatiently at the foot of the tree. Her elegantly coifed head was artificially blond, and her nails were professionally trimmed, painted, and buffed. In spite of the heat and humidity, she wore a tailored navy blue suit and high heels with a burgundy scarf and matching handbag. According to Jake’s godmother, appearances were everything.

  “Are you ever going to grow up and act your age?”

  “Not if I can help it,” Jake replied flippantly. Once upon a time he’d made an effort to answer as he knew she expected him to, but it had never resulted in her approval, so he’d long ago given up trying.

  “Don’t be rude.” Catherine turned with a haughty sniff and began walking toward the house. “I need your opinion.”

  Jake snorted. His godmother always needed his opinion, but never took his advice. He wondered why she bothered. As they approached the porch, Jake’s mother-in-law was making her way down the stairs.

  “Hello, Celia,” Catherine greeted the other woman.

  Celia frowned. “Do I know you?”

  “Of course, you do,” Catherine answered with barely curbed impatience.

  “Aunt Catherine!” Jake hissed in warning. He held his hand out to Celia. “Where are you going, Mom?”

  “Out to the garden. I thought I’d sit in the gazebo and wait for Richard.”

  The gazebo had been destroyed in Hurricane Bertha, and Richard had been gone even longer. Jake’s heart ached for his mother-in-law. For two years, drugs had kept the Alzheimer’s at bay, but recently things had seemed to take an alarming turn for the worse. How much longer before she didn’t even remember who he was?

  “I don’t think Richard’s coming today,” he said gently. He drew her hand firmly into the crook of his arm and steered her in the direction of the old oak tree. “Why don’t you sit in the chair under the tree where it’s shady. There’s a nice breeze, and you’ll be comfortable there.”

  Celia looked up into Jake’s face with a beaming smile. “You are such a dear boy. I do think that would be nice. Thank you.”

  Jake didn’t even bother to glance at his aunt. He didn’t want to see the patronizing impatience on her face. He settled Celia in an old Adirondack chair, asked if she would like a glass of sweet tea, and when she declined, left her there while he dealt with whatever his aunt had come to discuss. What Zoe must be thinking about all this, flashed through Jake’s mind, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it at the moment.

  Zoe overheard the conversation going on below her with a mixture of distaste toward the unseen woman, pity for Celia, and sympathy for Jake. She’d caught a brief glimpse of the woman as Jake dropped to the ground and recognized her as the woman in the photo on Jake’s mantle.

  What was wrong with Jake’s aunt that she didn’t understand that Celia couldn’t help her failing memory? For that matter, how could she treat her grown nephew with so little respect? Not that Zoe’s father was any better. I guess Jake and I have something in common after all, she thought as she accepted another cup of tepid chamomile tea from Lori and a cookie from the plate that Lynn held out.

  Zoe was still thinking about Jake and his aunt when she climbed the steps to her own porch twenty minutes later and found Celia sitting in one of her rockers.

  “Celia.” Zoe dropped into the other rocker. “I’m so glad you’ve come for a visit.” Does Jake know she’s here? “May I get you something to drink?”

  “I believe I would like a glass of sweet tea if it isn’t too much trouble.” Celia rocked gently, her gaze drifting from Zoe to the yard beyond.

  “Yes, ma’am. Coming right up.” Zoe hurried inside and grabbed the phone. She dialed Jake’s number while reaching for a glass and then waited impatiently for him to answer.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Jake. Did you know Celia’s sitting on my porch?”

  Zoe heard Jake sigh. “I thought she was still under the tree. Can she stay with you for a few minutes longer? I need to get my aunt taken care of, then I’ll be over.” The sound of Jake’s voice, even over the phone, sent a lovely warm feeling tingling through her. But she heard frustration and maybe a hint of sadness in his tone. She could relate to that. That was how she felt every time she had to listen to one of her father’s harangues.

  “Sure. No need to hurry. I wasn’t going anywhere anyway.”

  Quickly she hung up and filled the glass from the pitcher in the fridge, then headed back to the porch. “Here you are,” Zoe said, pressing the tall glass into the older woman’s hands.

  Celia brought her gaze back to Zoe. “Have you seen Martin yet?”

  “Martin?” Zoe felt her eyes widen in surprise at the suddenly clear and intense tone of Celia’s question. Zoe had never heard of anyone named Martin and had no idea to whom Celia might be referring.

  Celia leaned forward to whisper confidentially. “Martin grew up here.”

  Well, that explained not having met the man. He was another memory from Celia’s past.

  “Martin’s great-great-grandfather built this house, you know.”

  Zoe hadn’t known
. But who was Martin? Other than another Jolee family member?

  “Martin was a soldier,” Celia went on, as if reading Zoe’s mind. “He went off to fight in Korea. He never had a proper funeral because his body never came home. But his spirit did, and he sometimes appears around people he likes. This is the only home he ever knew, so I guess it’s natural he’d want to be here.”

  “How do you know all this?” Zoe felt more curiosity than alarm at the idea that the ghost of a young soldier might be skulking about her house.

  “I married Martin’s brother.” Celia smiled wistfully. “Richard was too young to fight in that war. He went to Vietnam instead. We were married as soon as he got out of the Army. Richard built a house for us right next door, and Marsha grew up in that house.” Celia frowned. “But she’s gone now, too.”

  Zoe still had a hard time wrapping her heart and mind around the idea of a woman who could turn her back on her entire family. Falling out of love with one’s husband was distressingly common, but to leave an ailing mother and three daughters behind? How could any woman be so uncaring and selfish?

  A wistful look of rejection clouded Celia’s features, and Zoe hurried to banish the unwanted memory. “Tell me about Martin. What’s he like?” Might as well get the facts straight before she encountered any ghosts that might be lurking.

  Celia had lived on Awbrey Circle her entire adult life. In a house her husband built on Jolee land. And Jake is apparently living in his mother-in-law’s house rather than the other way around. I bet Celia could tell a lot of interesting old stories. If she could remember them.

  Celia’s smile returned. “Martin was so handsome, and he was such a sweet man. He was older than me. He was always nice to me, but he never noticed how we had so many things in common.” Celia sighed, then brightened again. “He loved animals. I love animals, too, you know. He had a dog named Pounce and a cat called Whiskers, and he fed the wild animals, too. Deer would walk right up and take food from his hand.”

  If ghosts really exist, I guess I can expect a visit one of these days. I’ve filled his house with half a dozen animals. Maybe I should set up bird feeders and start tossing nuts out for the squirrels.

  “He would never hurt you.” Celia patted Zoe’s hand. “So you needn’t worry. But, sometimes he forgets to close the doors.”

  Jake appeared and took the stairs two at a time, interrupting Celia’s wandering memories. “Hey, Mom. Ready to come home yet?” He bent to kiss Celia’s powdered cheek. Then he looked at Zoe. “Thanks. Now I really owe you.”

  A number of possible ways Jake could reward her flashed through Zoe’s mind, but all were X-rated. She chided herself for her silliness. “I’ve enjoyed our visit. Celia told me all about Martin.”

  Jake rolled his eyes. He apparently didn’t believe in Celia’s ghost.

  “She told me that she’s lived in this neighborhood most of her life.”

  “All her life,” Jake corrected. He gestured with the sweep of an arm, taking in the three homes that graced the little neighborhood. “Celia grew up in the Cliffords’ house and married the youngest son of the man who inherited yours. When they married, her husband, Richard, built the house I live in. Celia’s maiden name was Clifford, and Bill Clifford is her father’s much younger brother’s son. So Bill is her cousin, and I think that makes Bill’s son Danny her second cousin, or is that first cousin once removed? I can never get that straight. Anyway, we’re all related somehow.”

  “All except for me.” Zoe suddenly felt left out. Which was absurd. She had a family of her own. Just because they lived in Wilmington proper, and she’d moved to this little bedroom town where the old Jolee Plantation land once stood, didn’t mean she didn’t still belong.

  “Well, they adopted me, maybe they’ll adopt you. You can be an honorary Clifford, or a Jolee if you prefer. Personally, I’d stick with Clifford. I know you’ve met Danny. I’ve seen him playing with your dogs, but have you met Bill and Carrie yet?”

  “They had me over to supper the other night.” Zoe got to her feet. “I’ll have to ask about the adoption option next time.”

  “Jake?” Celia stood and frowned at Zoe. “Why am I here?”

  “You came to visit, Mom. Would you like to go home now?”

  “Yes, I think that would be best. I don’t think I should be here when Martin comes.”

  Jake glanced at Zoe and shrugged.

  “Please come again, Mrs. Jolee. I’ve so enjoyed your visit and hearing all about Martin.” Zoe bent to kiss the older woman’s cheek.

  Celia looked pleased with the familiarity and reached up to tuck a stray curl behind Zoe’s ear. “Please, just call me Celia. You’ll take good care of Martin?”

  “You can count on me, ma’am.”

  As she watched Jake guide his mother-in-law across the lawn, Zoe realized she should have asked if it was all the doors Martin tended to leave open or just one in particular. Then she gave herself a mental shake. There is no ghost, you idiot. I’ve been here the better part of a month. Surely I’d have noticed a ghost leaving doors open before now?

  BY THE END OF the week, Zoe was no longer so sure about the house not being haunted. The first morning after Celia’s visit, when Zoe had come down to breakfast, she’d found the front door ajar. She’d closed it carefully, trying to picture herself shutting and locking it the night before. But the more she thought about it, the less certain she was about what she remembered or didn’t remember.

  Two days later the French doors in the study were open, and the long lacy curtains wafted gently in the morning breeze. That incident had been pretty easy to justify since the afternoon before Zoe had stopped on her way home from work to get the new bird feeders. After she’d hung them along her back fence, she distinctly recalled standing at the porch railing admiring her magnificent view of the waterway and the dunes beyond. But when she had retreated to the study to watch out the partially open doors as the birds began to discover their new feeding stations, a squirrel had shown up. His antics as he tried to hang upside down to shake seed out of the feeder had made her laugh out loud, which prompted Polly to join in with raucous laughter. Zoe’d had to restrain Jet from taking off in a mad dash to catch the squirrel before it made it back to safety. She must have gotten sidetracked by the dogs and forgotten to return and latch the doors.

  Besides, she kept telling herself, if there were really a ghost, wouldn’t the dogs have barked at it? Scotch at least. He barked at everything. Even the cats had continued strutting about with their noses in the air as if they owned the place with no one and nothing to challenge that belief. Surely, the cats would have noticed an unexplained presence in the house and meowed their disapproval. Wouldn’t they?

  On Thursday, after a quiet day at work, Zoe decided to organize the closet under the stairs. At the far corner, hidden in the shadows, she found a box and dragged it out to investigate. Old newspapers with headlines from significant dates in history filled most of the box. Neil Armstrong’s first steps on the moon. The assassinations of JFK and Martin Luther King. Zoe scanned through the yellowed reminders of America’s past, then at the very bottom of the box she found a framed photo of a young man in uniform. Zoe carried the frame to the kitchen and cleaned the glass. He was a handsome young man, dressed in old-fashioned army greens. Was this Martin Jolee? Or perhaps his younger brother Richard?

  For reasons she didn’t totally think through, Zoe took the photo into the living room and set it on the mantle next to a wedding portrait of her parents and a group snapshot of her siblings, her sister-in-law, and her nephew taken the previous Christmas.

  Zoe’s gaze lingered over the group photo, marveling for the zillionth time how beautiful both her sisters were and how different she was. Erin and Kelly had smooth ink-black hair and clear ivory complexions, while Zoe’s flaming red mop frizzed out of control and a thousand freckles marched
across her face. She was definitely the changeling in the family. No wonder no man had ever looked at her with desire in his eyes.

  With a sad snort of self-mockery, she returned her gaze to the young soldier.

  “Are you Martin?” she asked the silent, solemn man. “Did you leave my doors open? Because if you did, I’d prefer you leave them shut. You can come and go any time you like, but if you don’t mind, could you please make sure to close the door after you?”

  Zoe laughed out loud at her absurdity, and Jet tipped her head at the sound of Zoe’s voice.

  “I know.” Zoe scratched Jet’s ears. “How dumb is that? Talking to a ghost. The picture of a ghost even!”

  The following morning, the kitchen door was ajar.

  Chapter 12

  ZOE HAD JUST finished painting the cabinets a clean, crisp white when a soft knock came from outside her kitchen door. Scotch started barking. Hoover began to wag his tail, and Jet ran to find a toy. That meant friend, so Zoe hurried to open the door. Scotch dashed out and immediately began dancing around Jake’s legs. With a tool belt slung around his lean hips and a tank top that showcased his muscular torso, he looked wonderful. Zoe pushed the inevitable mop of escaping curls back into her elastic and wondered if he’d ever get a chance to see her at her best, rather than at her frumpiest. Then she noticed his eyes.

  She stepped aside and invited him in. “Don’t tell me Celia’s ghost was haunting you, too?” Smudges of exhaustion colored the skin beneath his eyes.

  “Martin wouldn’t bother me, even if I did believe in his ghost. This the door that’s giving you problems?”

  “This is the one. Doesn’t want to stay shut, but you didn’t have to come over today to fix it. It could have waited.”

  “Waited for what?” Jake’s eyebrows rose into questioning little arcs. “For someone to break in and rob you? Or worse?”