by Loree Lough
She glanced over her shoulder then bobbed her head as understanding dawned. “Remember when I said my friend’s dad could get you an audition at his comedy club?”
“Yeah…”
“Well, I take it back.” Her merry laughter drew the attention of several other shoppers—one who smiled, one who frowned, one who rolled her eyes. “Oops,” she said, slapping a hand over her mouth.
Why did he still have one hand on her shoulder and the other on her hip, when she’d regained her balance a full minute ago? He let go of her and reached into the cart, rearranging the loaf of bread and package of biscuits she’d tucked into the kid compartment. Admittedly, his hands weren’t anywhere near as warm now as when they’d been in contact with Holly. The thought, for some odd reason, reminded him that she’d kicked off this whole scene by asking him about his favorite ice cream. “Fudge ripple,” he said again, hoping to distract himself from the weird emotions roiling in his heart. “The more fudge, the better.”
“Wow.”
“Wow?”
“Yeah, wow.”
“What on earth does that—”
“It’s my favorite too.” She met his eyes.
Coincidence? He didn’t think so. Considering the hundreds of flavors out there, he had to agree. “Wow.”
Grinning, she tossed a half gallon of the stuff into the cart. “We have everything on the list,” she announced, “so I guess we’re finished.”
What a shame, he thought, because he would have been content to follow her around the store for another hour—or two—without complaint. That surprised him, because Parker had always hated shopping. Hated stores and standing in line and parking lots too. He shrugged. Yeah, there was a whole lot to like about Holly Leonard, all right.
Chapter Twelve
The volunteers had ripped an enormous pile of plant material from the sand, and it continued to grow as the morning progressed. Vitex, Holly knew, was sometimes used by beachfront communities to aid in erosion control. It had earned its nickname as “the kudzu of the coast” because it grew fast, covering the dunes and choking out more desirable plants like sea oats and grass. Worse, it hampered the loggerheads’ ability to nest.
Strike one.
Folly Beach was prone to erosion, and the dunes weren’t particularly stable either.
Strike two.
The weather this May had also hindered the loggerheads’ activities. Unusually cool and stormy, the air and water temperatures delayed the turtles’ approach.
Strike three.
Thankfully, the volunteers’ determined efforts kept the negatives under control, and there was evidence, finally, that the turtles had begun their annual trek ashore. Ruts carved into the sand by front flippers and heavy-shelled bodies led straight to the nests, where mothers used their back flippers to dig nests then deposited a hundred eggs or more before covering them up and heading back out to sea. The eggs on the bottom had the best chance of hatching… provided that heat, bacteria, ghost crabs, and other invaders didn’t interrupt the growth cycle.
Even with the hard work of volunteers, only a small percentage of the eggs would hatch to make the long crawl to the Atlantic. Of those, even fewer would survive sharks, fishing nets, boat propellers, and pollutants. Without them, the endangered loggerheads would sink into extinction. Holly said a silent prayer of thanks to the dedicated people who’d joined the Folly Beach Turtle Watch program, because despite what the name hinted at, their duties were rooted in determined, vigilant beach preparation rather than turtle watching.
She used her cell phone to take pictures and scribbled copious notes into her spiral tablet. Thirty-one nests at last count—not bad, so early in the season. In another forty-five days, sixty at most, the babies would start the great migration that, thanks to inborn tracking talents, would lead surviving females back again when it was their time to nest.
Holly hoped she’d be one of the lucky volunteers who, while reminding tourists and residents to turn off their porch lights and shooing dogs, raccoons, and birds from nests, would witness one of the miracles of God’s creation. If she was fortunate enough to see one of the enormous females lumbering in from the Atlantic, so much the better.
Parker limped up the beach, dragging a wad of Vitex. He tossed it onto the already-huge mound collected by other volunteers then trotted up to Holly. “You ready to head out?”
“Sure. But we’ll come back, right—tonight?”
“Won’t be anything to see tonight.”
“We could get lucky and spot a loggerhead on her way to build a nest.”
He nodded. “We could, I suppose.” He waited until she stuffed her supplies into her backpack before sliding an arm around her waist and leading her toward the dock and the planking that led to where he’d tied up the Sea Maverick. “I figured we could motor out to Morris Island so you can get an up-close-and-personal look at the damage. And photographs. We’ll need those for the book too.”
Their outline included a whole section about the lighthouse and another about the turtles. There would be twelve chapters in all, starting with the name change from Coffin Island to Folly Island. The famous Edwin S. Taylor Fishing Pier and pavilion, the board-walk and amusement park, the story of how Gershwin rented a cabin in Folly and wrote Porgy and Bess, even the hurricane-battered boat that had become a Folly landmark would be featured. Parker’s goal, he’d told her by e-mail even before she’d come to town, was to prove to tourists that Charleston wasn’t the only beautiful and historic city on South Carolina’s coast. And now having spent more than a month here, Holly was inclined to agree and only too happy to do her part to make travelers aware of this quaint and picturesque town.
“How long do you think we’ll be on the water?”
“An hour, two at most.” He slowed his pace to ask, “Why?”
“No reason, really, except that I was going to offer to pack us a lunch…if it was going to take longer, that is.”
Parker glanced at the cloudless blue sky. “Last time I checked with my appointment secretary, there were no meetings scheduled. If you want to float around out there a while after we’ve finished working, that’s okay by me.”
“Might be nice to get a few shots of the Atlantic…and the sunset.”
He looked at his watch. “It’s barely noon.”
Holly shrugged. “I like it out there. Can you blame me?”
“No. But the way you’re dressed,” he said, giving her shorts and sleeveless shirt a quick once-over, “you’re just begging for a bad sunburn.”
“So I’ll put on some sunscreen before we go out. After I slap together some sandwiches. And throw a few bottles of water into a cooler.”
Parker stepped into her path. “Tell you what,” he said, placing his hands on her shoulders, “you go on back to the cottage and slather on some lotion and let me take care of the food and drinks.”
She looked up into his handsome face, hoping he couldn’t hear her heart pounding away like a parade drum. What was it about this guy that could change her behavior from a feet-on-the-ground scientist to that of a giddy teenager just by looking at her with those dark-lashed chocolate eyes of his?
“Don’t look so shocked,” he said. “I can slap together sandwiches too, y’know.”
So he’d read her silly expression as surprise, had he? Well, good. Because that sure beat having him know how empty-headed and weak-kneed she felt in his presence. Especially lately. In the weeks she’d been in Folly Beach, her feelings for him had gone from detached and professional to friendly to something dangerously close to warmly romantic. “Pardon me,” she joked, “for forgetting your complex warrior training.”
Chuckling, he drew her into a light hug and then pressed a brotherly kiss to her cheek. “Go on,” he said, giving her a gentle shove, “before I change my mind.”
Holly nodded and half ran across the sand, wishing that when he’d kissed her, Parker had aimed a little left.
* * * * *
Holly pag
ed through the pictures she’d taken with her digital camera, smiling as the lighthouse, the sparkling Atlantic and its shore, and the sunset flicked by. “Leave it to your son to get a shot of the green flash,” she said, handing the camera to Maude. “Most people live a lifetime without ever seeing it, and he manages to capture it on film.”
“A multitude of hidden talents, that boy of mine.”
“The whole time we were out there on the water, while he talked about the lighthouse and the turtles and the moods of the Atlantic, I kept asking myself if there’s anything he doesn’t know.”
“He doesn’t seem to know when he’s sitting on a gold mine… .”
Holly met Maude’s dark eyes. “A gold mine?”
“You, silly girl. You’re the best thing that’s happened to him in recent memory, but he’s too immersed in all his ‘projects,’ ” she said, drawing quote marks in the air, “to have noticed.”
Holly didn’t know what to say, so she went back to shuffling through the photos she’d taken from the bow of the Sea Maverick. “Funny, but I never thought to ask him why he chose that name for his boat.” Hopefully that would change the subject, and quickly.
Maude pointed at the bureau across the room. “There’s a picture in that old dresser I’d like you to see.”
Holly took the hint and walked toward it. “This one?”
Nodding, Maude said, “It’s in the second drawer, under a bunch of old magazines and newspapers. Silver-framed black-and-white snapshot. One of my favorites.”
Holly dug around in the drawer, trying not to make too big of a mess of the tidy stack. Why would Parker’s mom hide a much-loved photo under all this junk? Finally, the corner of a silver frame peeked out from beneath an ancient issue of Life magazine. Holly rubbed her thumb over the glass. Surely she was mistaken— this couldn’t be the man she’d seen in the Charleston restaurant, could it? The man whose wheelchair-bound mother thought Parker looked like him. That would be too much coincidence, even for somebody like her who believed in fate and chance meetings. Holly hadn’t said so at the time, but she’d agreed with the woman…her son and Parker did look a lot alike. She held up the photo and said to Maude, “Is this it?”
“Yes, yes it is.” One hand extended, Maude said, “Bring it here to me, will you, sweetie?”
Holly left the drawer open, thinking that Maude would probably want to bury the photo again, once she’d told its story.
Patting the cushion beside her, Maude said, “Sit.”
And Holly did.
“This is Daniel Brant.”
Holly’s heart started beating double time.
“That’s right, Parker’s father.”
She couldn’t take her eyes from the photograph. “But…but I thought he was killed years ago, testing a fighter jet.”
“That’s what I allowed Parker to believe.”
Turning slightly on the cushion, Holly faced his mom. “What you allowed him to believe?”
Tears pooled in Maude’s eyes as she nodded. “Oh, sweetie, I’m afraid it’s a long, sad story. And in all these years, I’ve only shared it with one other person.”
Did that mean she planned to share it with her, here and now? Holly didn’t know if she wanted to hear the story. Surely Maude would expect her to keep it to herself. But what if his mom said something that Holly thought Parker ought to know?
“Parker doesn’t know, then? That Daniel is his father, I mean?”
“Oh, he knows that. I just never got around to telling him everything else.”
Holly groaned inwardly. How would she get out of this gracefully?
“Isn’t he just the most handsome man you’ve ever seen?”
“Second only to your son,” she admitted.
Maude tugged at the sleeve of her sweater and used it to blot her tears. “Will you put it back for me, sweetie? I’m feeling a little sleepy. Think I’ll just lie down here and take a nap.”
She placed the photo on the coffee table long enough to plump Maude’s pillow and cover her with the lightweight blanket. As she was tucking the photo back into its original hiding place, she spied another picture. This one wasn’t framed, and she took care in sliding it from the stack. Instantly, she recognized a much-younger, much-happier Maude, sitting on Daniel’s lap, her eyes sparkling. Daniel, on the other hand, looked anything but cheerful. Something between “afraid” and “trapped” described his expression far better. But why?
The mantel clock chimed six times. Holly had promised to meet Parker here at six to put the finishing touches on the book’s foreword and dedication. It would be just her luck to be standing here, poking through his mother’s antique bureau. She slid the pictures back where she’d found them and covered them with back issues of The Saturday Evening Post, Look, and Ladies’ Home Journal. Maybe someday she’d page through a few of the issues and try to figure out why Maude had saved them all these years. Surely not simply to hide her sad past, she thought, sliding the drawer closed.
“You all ready to get to work?”
Holly stifled a squeal and faced the doorway. “Parker,” she whispered, “you scared ten years off the end of my life.”
Winking, he grinned. “I guess you owe me a thank-you, then.”
She joined him in the hall. “A thank-you? For scaring me half to death?”
“I know it’s small consolation, but I hear those are the ten worst years anyway.”
Groaning, she headed into the library, where their materials still sat exactly as they’d left them yesterday.
He sat down across from her and picked up the last pages she’d printed out. “I know exactly what you’re thinking.”
“How lucky we are that none of Maude’s guests are nosy?”
“Really? That’s what you were thinking?”
No, Holly thought as Daniel Brant’s image flashed through her mind. “What did you think I was thinking?”
“That you’d changed your mind. About that friend of yours getting me an audition at his comedy club.”
A silly giggle popped out of her mouth, making her sound even goofier than she felt. “Oh. That.” Another giggle, and then, “No. Comedy was the farthest thing from my mind.”
“Ouch,” he said, wincing. “You sure know how to hurt a guy.”
If only you knew, Holly thought. “Pass me the dictionary, please?”
He did, and then said, “What’re you looking up?”
She found “comedy” and, pointing at the passage, handed the book back to Parker.
“ ‘Something amusing or funny,’ ” he read, before returning it to their book stack. “Guess you’ve told me,” he said, grinning.
No, Holly thought, I haven’t told you. Yet.
Chapter Thirteen
She hadn’t expected to run into Hank, especially not at the gas station. But there he was, smiling and waving as the wind blew his white hair into his suntanned face. “What brings you out here so early of a Saturday morning?”
“Just topping off the tank,” she said.
“Same here. Heard on the news this morning that they expect the price to rise. Again.”
“Well, at least we aren’t paying twelve dollars a gallon the way they are in Europe.”
“Yet. But don’t get me started.” He laughed. “Say, I’m headed to the diner for some breakfast. Nothing sadder than an old man eating alone. What-say you join me? My treat.”
Holly wondered if Hank was “the only other person” Maude had told about Daniel. She couldn’t have orchestrated a better opportunity to find out. “I’d love to,” she said, “but I have no idea where the diner is.”
“Just follow me. In case we get separated, just ask anybody how to get to the Lost Dog.”
Ten minutes later, they sat at a table near the windows in Folly’s most notable breakfast spot. Every waitress acknowledged Hank with flirty grins, fluttering lashes, and terms of endearment. A white-aproned woman whose name tag said Agnes handed them menus and napkin-wrapped silverware. “He
y, dollface. How are you today?”
“I’m good. And you?”
“Better…now that you’re here.” She gave Holly a once-over. “Who’s this little chickie, your daughter?”
Laughing, Hank said, “No, no. This is Dr. Hollace Leonard, in town to help Parker Brant with some book project he’s working on.”
“He’s okay with you moving in on his territory, is he?” she teased.
“I’d never do that,” Hank said. “Parker’s half my age and twice my size.”
Agnes laughed. “Coffee?” she asked, looking at Holly.
“Yes, please,” she said. “Black for me.”
“And you know how I like mine.”
“You bet I do, Handsome.” She winked. “Back in a jiff,” she said, snapping her gum, “to take your orders.”
“So,” Holly said, grinning, “I understand you’re about to adopt a pet.”
“Looks that way. Shocked me, how fast that cat took to me.”
“I’d be more shocked if she didn’t take to you.”
“Well, thanks for the compliment.” He grinned. “I figure we’ll make a good pair, that stray cat and me. Ain’t like anybody else wants us.”
“Please. The way every woman in here has been flirting with you?”
He shrugged off her compliment, and Holly knew it was because the only woman he wanted didn’t seem to want him. How sad, she thought, because they’d make a lovely couple. “Maude showed me a photograph yesterday.”
“Oh?”
“Big secret, buried deep in an old dresser.” She cringed inwardly, because she hadn’t planned to launch into the discussion that way. A little finesse might be nice, Hol.
“I’m not surprised, kiddo. You’re easy to talk to.”
Did that mean he knew about the picture?
The waitress arrived with their coffee. “Juice?” she asked, palming her tablet.
“Tomato for me,” Holly said.
And Hank responded, “The usual.”
