by Loree Lough
“Only my pride,” she said as he wrapped his fingers around hers.
How had she managed to find the puddle, let alone fall into it, Parker wondered, with her car all the way on the other side of the yard? When he tried to gauge the distance, he noticed the little spare where her right rear tire should have been. “How long have you been driving around on that?”
Wiping her palms on her skirt, she followed his pointer finger. “Oh. That.” She shot him a sheepish grin. “Not long, thankfully. I was backing out of the parking lot at the convenience store. To head over here. And, well…” She shrugged. “Y’know.”
No, he didn’t know. Partly because he was too busy watching the muck squish between her pink-painted toes as muddy water dripped from the ruffled hem of her gauzy, now-muddy, white skirt.
“I sure hope your mom has one of those nifty beach showers, ’cause I’d sure hate to track this mess all over her spick-and-span house. I’d tidy up after myself, of course, if I did make a mess, but what if a prospective guest came in while I was fetching the cleaning supplies? Imagine the first impression they’d get!”
“Yeah,” he said, thinking that maybe instead of Holly Folly, he ought to call her Chip. Or Dale. Because Parker had never met anyone who did a better impression of the chattering cartoon rodents. His gaze traveled from the flowered flip-flops to her damp, curly hair. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “The, ah, the shower’s out back.”
“Excellent! Just let me grab a few things from my suitcase,” she said, backpedaling toward her car, “so I can change out of this mess and into something presentable once I’ve washed off your mom’s front yard.” Holly blinked up at him and smiled. “And then maybe we can start over. So I can prove to you that I’m really not always so…you know.”
A day like this would’ve instigated a full-fledged hissy fit from any other woman he’d known. At the very least, it would’ve brought them to tears. He walked beside her, hands out and nodding, ready to catch her in case she tripped over something, walking backward that way. There weren’t any more puddles for her to fall into, but he wouldn’t put it past her to find a clump of grass or a tree root and maybe twist an ankle.
Thankfully, she was still upright and in one piece when she popped the trunk. With her pinkies in the air, she used muddied thumbs and forefingers to unzip her suitcase. “Could I impose upon you to grab an outfit for me?” She showed him both still-grimy hands. “Please?”
The last thing Parker wanted was to paw through that tidy, multicolored stack of feminine clothing, but how could he say no, with her standing there looking so helpless and…and sweet?
“I packed all the blouses and shirts on the right side of the suitcase, and I put the matching skirts and pants on the left. So how about if I point and tell you what to grab?”
It took a couple of tries, but in no time, Parker found himself draping a navy-and-white striped shirt atop cropped red pants over one forearm as a pair of white sandals dangled from his fingertips. “Give me your keys,” he said, extending his free hand, “and while you’re hosing off, I’ll take your bags upstairs. Your room is at the end of the hall, first door on your right.”
While she searched for the keys in her seemingly bottomless purse, he added, “Mom’s in no condition to show you around, so whenever you’re ready, I’ll give you the nickel tour of the place. Oh. She couldn’t get to the store, either, so she put me in charge of buying things for the bathrooms. Shampoo, conditioner, soap, candles…” He groaned inwardly, remembering what a pain it had been—and how long it had taken—to decide among all the brands and scents on the drugstore shelf. “Not in my usual job description, so if I’ve forgotten anything, just holler.”
Holly closed her purse and looked up at him. “Thanks, Parker.”
Teachers, neighbors, ex-girlfriends…how many times had he heard a woman say his name? Hundreds? Thousands? So why, he wondered, did hearing Holly say it make his ears feel hot and his heart beat double time? The reaction stunned him, and he stood taller and cleared his throat to hide it. What are you, fourteen again?
She dropped the keys into his hand. “I sure hope you’re not one of those guys who judges people by first impressions, because if you are, I’m in biiig trouble!”
He’d been hurt and humiliated three times by ex-girlfriends, so if anything, the exact opposite was true. But rather than admit, Parker said, “While you’re settling in, I’ll see about patching your tire.”
Holly gasped then groaned and hid her face behind her hands.
That was a weird reaction to his offer. “What’s wrong?”
“The tire, that’s what.” She smacked herself in the forehead. “It’s in the parking lot. Down at the convenience store. Right beside my tire iron. And the towel I keep in the trunk for cleaning up after…” Eyes shut tight, she tilted her face to the sky. “Arrggh! I’m such a ditz!”
Cute and self-deprecating? “Aw, don’t be so hard on yourself. After getting lost as many times as you did today, something like that could’ve happened to anybody.” It wasn’t like him to fib, not even to spare a person’s feelings. But there wasn’t time to puzzle out why he chose to do so now, especially not with her standing there looking like a cross between a lost puppy and a deer in the headlights. “I’ll toss your bags upstairs and ride on up to the store.” Wasn’t like him to repeat himself, either. “Folly’s an honest town, so I’d stake my reputation on your stuff being right where you left it.” Parker wished she’d quit gawking up at him with those beautiful blue eyes, because if she kept it up, he was bound to say something really stupid. “I, ah, I’ve got some tire patches over at my place. If they’re not the right size, I’ll get some at Casey’s Garage.”
She took a step closer and laid a warm hand on his forearm, putting herself close enough to kiss.
Kiss? He’d known her all of fifteen minutes. Where had that crazy notion come from?
“Be sure to keep the receipt,” she said, giving his arm a gentle squeeze, “so I can reimburse you.”
Parker nodded, feeling like one of those back-of-the-car doggies. Her sweet, grateful gaze would melt him for sure if he didn’t get a move-on. Right now.
“Let’s follow this flagstone walkway here,” he said, pointing. Safer than the lawn, where she could very well find something to stumble over. “It’ll lead straight to the outdoor shower. There should be soap and shampoo in there, and a towel…” The second he realized she had to half run to keep up with his long strides, Parker slowed his pace. And that’s when he noticed that the top of her curly-haired head barely reached his bicep.
He jerked open the shower door. “Let me check it for spiders,” he said, stepping inside. She didn’t impress him as the type who’d get all squeally at the sight of a bug. Clumsy as she was, maybe he ought to be more concerned for the welfare of the critters. Grinning, he gave the all-clear sign. “Give ’er a few minutes to warm up. Takes a while for the hot water to make it this far from the basement water heater.”
“Cool showers are better for human skin, anyway.”
He handed her the outfit she’d chosen. As a former soldier, he’d always been partial to the Old Glory color scheme. The picture of her, all cleaned up and wearing it, made his mouth go dry. “I put a shelf in there,” he said, swallowing, “and hooks too, for your towel and the stuff you’re wearing and…” She could figure all that out on her own, if he’d just stop talking and let her get started.
“Thanks,” she said.
And then she winked, making Parker hope that his tan from hours of hard work under the Atlantic sun was deep enough to hide yet another blush. “So, okay, then,” he said, walking backward now himself, “while you’re in there, I’ll stow your bags.” He jangled her keys. “Upstairs. In your room. Top of the stairs. First—”
“—first door on the right, end of the hall.”
“Right.” Parker jogged back down the sidewalk. “And for the luvva Pete,” he said over one shoulder, “be careful, will ya?
If you fall in there, no one will hear you, and it could be ten, fifteen minutes before I get back.”
He hadn’t meant it as a slur, but the slanted grin and disappointed glint in her eyes told Parker that’s exactly how she’d heard it. And unless he was mistaken, she’d heard it before. Plenty of times. In the few minutes since they’d met, he’d felt confused, amused, guilty, and now surprised. Because it took all the strength he could muster to tamp down his desire to protect her from herself forever.
Chapter Three
On Holly’s first night at Coastal Cottage, she felt like a movie star vacationing at a private luxury resort. Following a light evening snack of cucumber sandwiches, cherry pie, and mint tea, she retired to her suite to enjoy the sea view from the balcony. Leaning back in a comfy Adirondack chair, bare feet propped on a matching footstool, Holly inhaled the perfume of the rose hedge surrounding the flagstone terrace below. How did her hosts expect her to concentrate on the leather-bound volume of A Tale of Two Cities she’d found on the well-stocked bookshelf in their parlor with all this to distract her?
Before she knew it, darkness settled around the cottage, and Holly headed inside for a relaxing soak in the claw-foot tub. She’d left the French doors ajar so the sound of the waves could entertain her as mounds of rainbow-sparkling bubbles tickled her chin. When at last she snuggled into the big canopied bed, she luxuriated among eiderdown pillows, Egyptian cotton sheets—hand embroidered by Maude’s grandmother—and colorful quilts.
Maude had thought of everything to make her guest feel welcome and right at home, from the scented candles on the dresser to an old-fashioned double-belled alarm clock on the nightstand. As she snuggled in, Holly pictured Parker—her boss and partner for the next three months—and wondered what event from his past had made a man his age seem so stodgy and serious.
Well, she thought, burrowing deeper into the pillows, maybe by the time my work here is complete, I’ll have the answers to those questions…and hundreds of others that are bound to crop up as the summer slides by.
When the clock clanged at five thirty, Holly at up, stretching and yawning, and remembered that twice last night, her dreams had taken her to those warm moments out on the front lawn, alone with Parker. She’d never gone for the stereotypically tall, dark, and handsome type, but, she supposed, there was a first time for everything. Besides, after losing her precious Jimmy, and then the humiliating breakup with Ethan, she’d sworn off men forever. If Parker’s finer qualities were more than purely physical, what did it matter?
“We’ll make better use of our time in Charleston,” he’d told her last night, “if we leave here by seven.” And then he’d donned the orange-billed baseball cap—a larger version of the one she’d tucked into her suitcase—and left her alone in Maude’s parlor to contemplate the weird blend of anticipation and loneliness swirling inside her. Maybe later she’d ask him why a deep-fried Southern boy seemed to be a die-hard Baltimore fan.
For the time being she focused on the question at hand. “But Maude’s brochure says that breakfast is served between seven and nine.” If she had it to do over, Holly would have zipped her lip instead of adding, “How on earth will your mom get a full meal on the table—for eight guests—in her condition?”
The moon had slid behind the clouds, so she couldn’t see him or his truck, which was parked near the end of Maude’s drive. His voice slid through the dark, though, and eased into her ears like velvet. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it,” he’d drawled, “I’ve got it covered.”
She’d taken him at his word, and although the first night in a strange bed usually found her tossing and turning, Holly had slept soundly. Feeling rested and refreshed, she all but bounced down the stairs and followed the scent of fresh-brewed coffee straight into the kitchen. The clatter of stoneware lured her into the dining room, where she found Parker neatly positioning hefty ironstone place settings on crisp white tablecloths.
“You’re up early,” he said without looking up.
It was six fifteen, if the clock on the white-marble mantel was correct. She watched him stuff an accordion-folded napkin into a juice glass. “Well, you said you wanted to hit the road by seven, and, well, I guess I’m a bit overeager to get started here in Folly Beach.” Stepping up to the table, she added, “And…and I thought maybe Maude could use some help.” She glanced around. “Where is she, anyway?”
“Maude,” he echoed, one brow high on his forehead, “is sleeping in.” He jabbed a thumb into his chest. “Doctor’s orders.”
She couldn’t be sure, but Holly thought maybe he’d grinned. Just a little bit. She spied a row of thick mugs stacked pyramid-style on the sideboard across the way. Hanging two from each forefinger, she carried them from table to table, placing one beside each plate. He was watching her—closely. He probably thinks you’re going to drop them and make a mess all over the carpet. And why wouldn’t he, after the way she’d behaved yesterday?
“Will her friend Henry stay with her while we’re in Charleston today?”
“Nah.” Parker shook his head. “And Henry prefers Hank, by the way. He works weekdays. Desk clerk at—”
“Really? Wow. Your mom showed me a picture of the two of them. Just goes to show you, I guess.”
“Show you what?”
“That you can’t judge a book by its cover. I would’ve guessed that when he retired from the FBI, he really retired.”
Shrugging, Parker said, “If we’re not back by five, he’ll stop by to relieve Maude’s cousin.” He chuckled. “Knowing Hank, he’ll stop by anyway.”
“Goodness. All that schedule rearranging, just so you can give me a tour of Charleston?” Holly sighed. “That’s just as silly as silly can be.”
“Silly?”
And there it was again, the frown that etched the number eleven between his eyebrows.
“It’s just, well, we have all summer to see the city. We don’t have to go today.”
“The longer we wait, the hotter it’ll get. And the more tourists we’ll have to deal with. To tell you the truth, I’d just as soon get it over with.”
Almost immediately, he winced. Did he regret the words—or just his curt delivery? Holly glanced at the mantel clock. “So, you’re serving breakfast, then?”
“Once I set up the buffet, I’ll roll Maude’s wheelchair in here, so she can do the hostess thing while her cousin does the rest.” He got onto all fours to plug in the coffee urn. “Opal has worked here part-time since her husband died, so she knows the routine almost as well as Maude does.”
“Oh my. A widow? I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. Amos was a bum. A drunken skunk. Cheated on Opal every chance he got.” He slammed a salt-and-pepper shaker onto the center of the table with enough force to rattle the flatware. “She’s better off without him.”
He faced the wall to arrange sweet rolls on a paper doily–lined tray. And a good thing, too. “Every thought in your head,” her mom loved to say, “is written all over your face.” Holly didn’t think she wanted Parker reading her mind just then, because she might have to tell him about who she was better off without, and…
And she’d rather not dwell on that episode from her past, let alone talk about it. “So, what can I do next?”
“You’ve already done enough,” he said, sliding each mug she’d set out an inch to the right. “Guests don’t work at Coastal Cot—”
“I’ll be here all summer, so I’m not a guest in the traditional sense of the word.” She paused and, smiling, added, “Don’t you abide by the ‘customer is always right’ rule?”
Parker rewarded her with one of those rare, striking smiles, and her heart responded by counting out an extra beat.
“Have it your way, then,” he said, nodding toward the kitchen. “I’ve got biscuits in the oven. Maybe you could see how many minutes are left on the timer.”
Even before she took a step toward the heavy swinging door, his expression changed from sunny to cloudy
again. “And for the luvva Pete, don’t burn yourself or anything, okay?”
Holly pretended she hadn’t heard him and focused on the quiet beeps emanating from the timer. She scanned the room in search of oven mitts and, seeing none, opened and closed doors and drawers until she found a pair. It wasn’t until she slid the baking sheet from its rack that she realized Parker hadn’t left an inch of counter space free. It didn’t take long for the 450-degree heat to seep through the pot holders; if she didn’t find a spot soon…
“Yikes!” she said through clenched teeth, dropping the tray onto a cutting board. There just had to be a Murphy in her lineage. How else could she explain that she’d grabbed the only pair of oven mitts with a threadbare thumb? She shook her hand, sending the mitt flying into the suds-filled sink, and glared at the ugly red blister already forming on her skin. Oh, she’d be a big help to Parker now. Her very first thought was to cancel the trip to Charleston, because only the good Lord knew what crazy, clumsy, klutzy thing she might do next!
What choice would he have but to question his judgment in hiring her? And who would blame him?
“So how are those biscuits coming alo—”
The sight of her at the sink, running cold water over her hand, cut his question short.
“Good grief, what have you gone and done to yourself this time?”
As he sidled up to her, Holly matched his frown with one of her own. “You sound just like my dad. And trust me, that isn’t a good thing.”
Gently, he turned her hand over to get a better look at her injury. Grimacing, he shook his head. “No wonder I smelled meat cooking.”
She saw the teasing glint in his chocolate eyes and smiled too. “Am I hearing things, or can Mr. Serious crack a joke after all?”
For an instant, she thought her question might change his mood back to no-nonsense. “Yeah, Miss Accident-Prone, Mr. Serious is capable of humor.”
Well, at least he hadn’t called her Holly Folly.
Yet.
She put her hand back under the cool stream of water. “So when do folks start coming down for breakfast?”
