LF47 - Love Finds You in Folly Beach, South Carolina

by Loree Lough

  Straightening, the fellow slid his eyeglasses from where they rested atop his head down to the bridge of his nose. “Say, aren’t you that young fella from the restaurant?”

  Nodding, Parker shaded his eyes from the sun. “Permission to come aboard?”

  The man gave a wave. “Careful, there,” he said as Parker climbed onto the deck. Pointing to Parker’s leg, he added, “Sprained ankle?”

  “IED,” he answered. “Afghanistan.”

  He showed Parker a long, gnarled scar that wrapped from his wrist to his bicep. “ ’Nam,” he said. “I’m retired Air Force. You?”

  “Army.”

  “Name’s Dan Brant.”

  Parker accepted the offered hand. “Parker.”

  “So, Parker, what brings you to my humble float?”

  Where to start? he wondered. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

  “Nonsense. Take a load off, son. Let me grab you a cold water. Sorry I can’t offer anything stronger.” He jabbed a thumb into his chest. “Recovering alcoholic. What can I say? Pilots. We all had this reputation to uphold.”

  Yeah, Parker had run in to a few of those reputations during his stint with the army. Not all of them had been pleasant, and booze had usually been the cause of conflict.

  Dan shrugged. “Day by day, right?” He nodded at Parker’s leg. “But you know something about that, I reckon.”

  He should have thought this through. Come up with a plan of some sort. Figured out what he’d say if he ever met his father face-to-face.

  His father.

  His father.

  It would be a long time, getting used to saying that.

  Handing Parker a bottle of water, Dan uncapped one for himself then perched on the bench across the way. “So what, exactly, wasn’t such a good idea?”

  “I—I don’t know where to start.”

  “Well, you know what they say.”

  Parker chuckled. “ ‘At the beginning.’ ”

  Dan chugged a gulp of water. “Spit it out, soldier. I’ve got brass to polish and cleats to tighten.”

  Parker took a deep breath and said, “I’m told you knew a woman named Maude.”

  Dan’s brows rose high on his forehead. “She was hardly a woman, but yeah, there was a Maude in my past.”

  “She’s my mother.”

  Nodding, Dan said, “Yeah, now that you mention it, I see a resemblance. Mostly around the eyes.”

  But what’s that got to do with me? was Dan’s unasked question.

  “She, ah, well, I don’t know how to say this, but—”

  “Whoa. You tryin’ to tell me you’re my son?”

  “Tryin’. Not doin’ a very good job of it, though.”

  Dan recapped his water bottle and ran a hand through graying-brown hair. “Whoa,” he said again. “I mean, whoa.” He met Parker’s eyes. “I’d ask for proof, but looking at you…it’s like looking at a photograph of myself taken thirty-some years ago.” He shook his head. “Man.” He whistled. “Whoa.”

  “Sorry to spring it on you this way.”

  “Is there any other way?”

  “No, I don’t reckon there is.”

  Several moments ticked silently by before Dan said, “Mind if I ask you a question?”

  Parker only shook his head.

  “Why now? I mean, if memory serves, you’d be, what? Thirty, thirty-one?”

  “Thirty-two.”

  “Why now?” Dan repeated. “You in some kind of trouble, money-wise?”

  “No, no. Nothing like that. I own a boat too. The Sea Maverick. Fishing charters, mostly. I’ve sold a few paintings over the years. Nothing to brag about. And I make furniture. These scars also bring me a decent pension check every month, so no, I’m not here because I want a loan.”

  “What do you want, then?”

  It was a good question. “I wish I knew. I only just found out about you a couple weeks back.” He told Dan about Maude’s foot surgery, the back-to-back heart operations that inspired her confession, and the part about how she’d led him to believe that his father had died testing a fighter jet. “If I had the sense God gave a goose, I would’ve waited until I had a better handle on this to… Maybe if I’d given it a month, six, a year, even, I wouldn’t have had to come here at all.”

  “I don’t know which is craziest, that Maudie would let you grow up thinking your daddy was dead, or that nonsense you just spouted.”

  Parker looked up, stunned.

  “I didn’t know her all that well, or even all that long, for that matter, but it surprises me that she’d ease her own conscience by burdening you with—I don’t rightly know what to call it—in the middle of your worries that she might not survive surgery.” He whistled. “I’m trying to put myself in your shoes here, and all I can say is, whoa, that’s rough.”

  “I didn’t come here for money; didn’t come lookin’ for pity, either.”

  “ ’Course not. You were a soldier!” He took another slug of water. “Seems normal enough, though, you wanting to meet me. I have two boys of my own.” He held up a hand. “Make that two other boys, and I can’t imagine either of them growing up without a father.” He looked long and hard at Parker. “Seems like you turned out pretty good, though. Who gets the credit for that?”

  Another good question. “Guess I’d have to say it’s 50-50.”

  “Half to Maudie, half to…?”

  “An equal split between me and the army.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “So what do we do now?”

  “You got me by the feet.” Chuckling, Dan stood and tossed his empty water bottle into the trash can near the wheel. “But for starters, I’d say a hug is in order.”

  And with the strength of a man half his age, Dan pulled Parker to his feet and wrapped him in a bear hug. Then he called his wife and told her he had some great news to share with her when he got home, but not to hold dinner. Next, he pulled out his wallet and showed Parker photos of his stepmother, who was a school librarian; his sister, who taught kindergarten; and his twin brothers, one of whom ran the marina, while the other was serving a tour of duty in Afghanistan.

  They exchanged home and cell phone numbers and addresses, and it was fully dark by the time he walked Parker back to the pier. “Can’t wait to introduce them all to you, and you to them.”

  Dan sent Parker on his way after making him promise to call every day, until they could get together. As he drove home, Parker’s eyes alternately stung and misted with tears. A strange way to react to good news, he thought, but as Dan had said, day by day…

  Before long, Ben would be with him again. He’d found his dad. Found his dad! Piece by piece, the jumbled puzzle that had been his life was beginning to form a doggoned good-looking picture. He couldn’t change the fact that he’d been conceived by hot-blooded, non-Christian youngsters, but Parker no longer felt illegitimate. In fact, he’d never felt more acceptable in his life.

  The twenty-minute drive between Charleston and Folly Beach seemed ten times that, because Parker was chomping at the bit to tell Holly…everything. Maybe, just maybe, God would see fit to let her stay.

  Chapter Twenty

  It had only taken a few hours to get the guest rooms ready for her family’s visit, and when she finished dusting and vacuuming the parlor, Holly started in on the dining room. Wouldn’t Maude be surprised when she saw that Parker and Hank had helped her turn the library into a first-floor guest suite for the lady of the manor!

  “I don’t know why I never thought of it,” Parker said, admiring her handiwork. “Especially after she insisted on having both feet operated on at the same time.”

  And Hank agreed. “You’d never know this was ever anything but a guest room.”

  It had taken hours and dozens of trips back and forth to move Maude’s extensive collection of books and movies to the parlor shelves, and hours more to rearrange the settees and tables to make room for the rolltop desk and lounge chairs that had lined the library wa
lls. Now both rooms looked bigger and brighter, and when the doctor gave Maude the green light to leave her rehab facility, she’d only need to climb the stairs when a new guest checked in.

  “Hard to believe,” Parker said, “that after all you’ve done, you still insist on paying the weekly fee to stay here.”

  “I don’t mind, really. Our work on the book is nearly done, and I’ll bet we don’t spend an hour on the turtle project. It gives me something to do besides…”

  She clamped her teeth together, hopefully before either of them asked what she’d almost said. Because the last thing Holly needed with her family coming to town was more strain between her and Parker. Especially after all that talk about the impropriety or accept-ability of calling her boss by his first name.

  On his way out, Hank suggested they trade rides for the day. “It’s a gorgeous day, and I can’t remember the last time I drove around town in a convertible, letting my mane flow free in the wind.” Chuckling, he handed Holly the keys to his mini pickup truck. “Besides, if you use your car to stock two kitchens, you’ll need to make six trips to the grocery store.”

  “I’d let you use mine,” Parker said, “but I have to meet someone in Charleston.”

  Hank’s brows rose. “Do tell,” he said, smirking.

  Parker only chuckled, and Holly didn’t know what to make of his guilty expression and flushed cheeks. Surely he wasn’t meeting a woman… .

  Well, what business was it of hers? She’d come here to work for the guy, not marry him. Those cozy, borderline-romantic moments had probably been more a figment of her imagination than anything else. If he felt anything beyond friendship for her, wouldn’t he have reacted differently the other day?

  “You’re such a ditz!” she said, thumping the steering wheel as she remembered. Well, no more of that. She’d continue behaving in a courteous and polite manner. Friendly, even. But that little episode on his deck, when she’d barely stopped short of grabbing his face and planting a big fat kiss on his lips? Not a chance!

  Between his mother’s myriad health issues and the news she’d so recently blasted him with, the prospect of adopting a war orphan, his volunteer work with the lighthouse and turtle projects, and running his charter business, all while trying to write a book, it was a wonder the poor man had the presence of mind to put one foot in front of the other. The last thing he needed was some silly blond bimbo throwing herself at him.

  The hours flew by, and before she knew it, her parents’ arrival date was here. She’d planned the menus for every meal, from supper on their first night in Folly Beach to breakfast on the morning they’d head back to Baltimore. Hank and Parker had agreed to join them for supper, but she and the visiting Leonards would share the rest of their meals without them.

  If they didn’t run into construction or, God forbid, an accident along the way, they’d roll into Folly Beach by eight, and at that hour, they’d be too tired to eat anything heavy. A quick snack of fruit and veggies with a slice of spinach quiche would do nicely, and by four o’clock, the only thing left to do was reheat the egg dish.

  On her last check of their suites, she decided something was missing: fresh-cut flowers on the nightstands. And wasn’t it her good fortune that the roses surrounding the cottage’s terrace were in full bloom? She found a wide, low-sided basket on a laundry-room shelf and clippers in the utility drawer, and set out to gather the bouquets.

  As she snipped those first few buds, Holly smiled. “Thanks, Mom,” she whispered, tucking the silky blooms into the basket, because if her mother hadn’t added this chore to the list of things that helped Holly earn her summer allowances, she might have made a mess of the lovely shrubs.

  Humming as she worked, Holly tried to ignore the fat bumblebee that buzzed around her head. “There are enough flowers for the both of us,” she scolded, “so stop being such a hog.”

  “Talking to yourself again?”

  The suddenness of Parker’s voice startled her, and when she jerked back her hand, she scraped her arm on a thorn and drew a bloody pinstripe on her arm. The sudden movement startled the bee too, and it stung her square on the pad of the heel of her hand. She dropped the shears first, then the basket, and tripped over its handle while backpedaling away from the bush. If Parker hadn’t been there to catch her, Holly would have landed flat on her back in the damp grass. But if Parker hadn’t been there, none of it would have happened in the first place…and she wouldn’t be sitting in his lap, like a little girl waiting for her daddy to read her a bedtime story.

  “Sorry,” he said, finger-combing bangs from her forehead, “I didn’t mean to scare you. You okay?”

  Before she could summon the presence of mind to answer, he began inspecting the thorn damage and then, as quick as an eye-blink, plucked the stinger from her hand. “Well, there’s one bee that won’t be pestering anyone again,” he said before tossing it to the ground. “Now let’s get you inside, so I can—”

  “I’m fine, really, and I’ll have this mess cleaned up in no time.”

  “Humor me, will ya? This mess never would’ve happened if I hadn’t sneaked up on you. It’ll take the edge off my guilty conscience if you let me bandage you up.”

  Heaving a sigh of frustration, Holly scrambled from his lap. After picking up the shears and the basket, she began collecting the roses she’d clipped. “Good,” she said, putting them back into the basket, “none of the stems are bent or broken.” He held the back door open as she said, “What are you doing here, anyway?”

  “What’s this,” he said, chuckling as the door banged shut behind them, “the reverse of ‘Here’s your hat, what’s your hurry?’ ”

  “Oh. I. Well.” She groaned as a blush warmed her cheeks. “I didn’t mean it to come out that way. Sorry. I just didn’t expect to see you today, that’s all. Or to give you another entry for your Holly Folly list.”

  Parker harrumphed. “List. Ha. I have a whole file on you, sweetheart.”

  The comeback stung more than she cared to admit, and to hide it, Holly decided to tend the roses.

  “Can’t that wait until we get your arm cleaned up and put some ice on that bee sting?”

  “This won’t take but a minute. I want to get them into water so they don’t wilt.” She twisted the drain stopper and turned on the faucet then stood tiptoe to grab a vase from the cabinet above the sink. “I’m going to put vases on the guest-room nightstands,” she said, her voice straining as she extended her reach. “Oh, to be a half-inch taller,” she complained, opening the lower cabinet for use as a foot-stool. One foot on its shelf, she tried again…

  …and when he grabbed her waist to steady her, he scared her a second time. Arms windmilling, she accidentally punched him on the jaw—hit him square on the right eyebrow too, before regaining her balance. Turning, she gasped at the bright-red splotches already forming on his face. “Oh, good gravy, you look like you’ve been in some sort of street brawl…and lost.”

  “At least I’m not bleeding. And swollen.” He pulled out a chair and led her to it. “Please. Sit. And do me a favor?”

  “Don’t move until you get back,” she droned, “with the first-aid kit.”

  “That’s my good girl.”

  Oh, great, she thought. You’ve just blown any chance you might have had to…

  To what? Hypnotize him? That was about the only way he’d remember all the gritty scientific work she’d already completed this summer, or the painstaking attention to detail she’d given his book, which—if she hadn’t replaced hard-to-digest phraseology with fun and clever twists—would still read like a sixth-grade essay.

  “Oh, that’s just plain mean,” she said under her breath, “and unfair.” Flustered, Holly whacked herself in the forehead, setting off a series of throbs and aches in her bee-stung hand. “That’s what you get,” she muttered, “for trying to convince him that you’re—”

  “I could be wrong,” he said, plopping the box onto the table, “but wasn’t talking to yourself what
got this whole disaster ball rolling in the first place?”

  She’d completely forgotten having turned on the water…until he stepped up to the sink to wash his hands. Something unintelligible passed his lips as he plunged his hand into the water to pull the plug. He spoke all too clearly when he added, “Good thing this wasn’t hot water.”

  In place of a reply, Holly decided to make herself useful and take that first important step toward proving she was more than a silly, awkward girl…by taking the top off the shoe box. But he stopped her by wrapping the fingers of his big, still-damp hand around her uninjured wrist, and for the next ten minutes, she sat in dazed silence as he made quick work of cleaning and wrapping the gouge carved into her arm by the thorn. “Not much you can do for the bee sting,” he told her. “Ice, maybe, and if it starts itching, some calamine lotion.”

  “Right. Thanks.” She started tossing unused cotton balls, antibiotic ointment, and gauze back into the box, and as he rearranged them, she said, “You never did tell me why you’re here.”

  “Seemed like a pretty good story when I walked in here.” He shrugged and put the lid back on the box. “But now it’ll be anticlimactic, at best.”

  “How about you let me be the judge of that?” Holly got up and poured them each a glass of iced tea and then rejoined him at the table, where he held her spellbound for the next half hour, telling her about Daniel Brant and the family that had welcomed him like the prodigal son.

  * * * * *

  Holly was upstairs, doing one last check to make sure that everything would be perfect when her family arrived, when she heard the sound of slamming car doors and ran to the window of her cousins’ suite. Her mom had barely closed the passenger door when she said, “Oh, Bob, isn’t it just the loveliest place!”