The House on Blackberry Hill: Jewell Cove #1 (Jewel Cove)

by Donna Alward

  “What whole kiss thing?”

  She froze, her fingers on the coveted utensil tray and her butt sticking straight up in the air as his voice came across the kitchen and everything else went silent.

  “You’re just in time for pancakes,” Sarah announced, covering the quiet.

  Abby dug herself out of the box and came up with a smile, blowing a stray piece of hair out of her face. “Good morning.”

  He stood in the doorway with his hands on his hips. He looked good, better than she remembered. Today he wore a dark gray T-shirt with the usual jeans. He was all lean hips and broad shoulders.

  “Good morning. To you too, cousins. Surprised to see you here.” He addressed them all, but his gaze was glued to Abby, and a little crooked smile on his lips told her he was happy to see her.

  “Slumber party,” Abby announced cheerfully. “I got back last night.”

  He looked in the sink and saw the empty wine bottles. “Indeed. No one fit to drive, I assume?”

  “Oh, Sarah wasn’t drinking. She—”

  The startled look on Sarah’s face stopped her. “She was, uh, drinking club soda. She planned on driving, but I convinced them to stay. We were having too much fun.”

  Sarah hadn’t told everyone yet. And since she’d put off making the announcement, Abby knew it was Sarah’s news to tell, not hers.

  Sarah had recovered and shook her head at Abby. “It’s okay,” she said. “I might as well start telling people anyway now that the cat’s out of the bag.” She looked up at Tom. “I’m pregnant.”

  Abby’s heart melted even further as a soft smile spread across Tom’s face. He hugged Sarah, lifting her off her feet. “Congratulations. Now you be careful, you hear? It took you long enough to get this way. Don’t want to shake anything loose.”

  “I will, promise. Let me down.”

  Tom was looking at his cousin with such affection that Abby had to look away for a moment. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, hearing the whole story last night about Erin changed things. She got out a fourth plate and fork and handed it to him. “Have a pancake.”

  Sarah plopped one on his plate and smiled, but Tom held Abby’s gaze. “What whole kiss thing?”

  Of course he wouldn’t let that go. “Oh,” she covered, hoping she sounded convincing. “Just a movie we watched last night, that’s all.”

  The gleam in his eyes made her think he wasn’t convinced, but she turned away and grabbed her own breakfast. If he didn’t believe her, he’d have to prove she was wrong. And blood ties or not, she got the feeling that Sarah and Jess would back her up.

  But Tom let the subject go and the four of them took the simple meal out to the sun porch on the back of the house. Abby couldn’t help but stare at Tom’s arms as he wrestled with the tight windows, easing them up and letting in the early summer air. The chatter was deliberately light and Abby praised the work he’d done in her absence. “I like the mirror. It should stay,” she said, sliding a sideways look at him as he cut his pancake with the side of his fork.

  “And you don’t mind about the chandelier?”

  “No, I’m glad you found someone. Does this mean we can start on painting the upstairs now?”

  “Yes. We don’t have anything else until the cupboards and countertops come in. The painting crew is coming later this morning.”

  “We should get going so you can get to work,” Sarah said, picking up plates.

  Breakfast had definitely filled a hole, but Abby knew she’d kill for a cup of coffee and she was out of both grounds and milk. “I’ll get that, Sarah.” She turned to Tom. “Is there anything you need in town? I know I can’t use the kitchen much, but I’d like to get a few things to tide me over. Like coffee.”

  “I wouldn’t say no to coffee,” he replied. “I didn’t bother with it this morning.”

  In no time flat the girls had the kitchen tidied and Tom was already covering the furniture in the spare bedroom with sheets and taping off the trim. Abby left at the same time as Jess and Sarah, and when she came back, two more trucks were in the yard. She was a little relieved. After all she’d learned about Tom, she wasn’t sure she was ready for one-on-one time. She was still letting all of the information settle so she could make sense of it.

  She’d misjudged Tom. He’d done the noble thing and stepped aside when all was said and done. If he’d loved Erin—and he must have—it couldn’t have been an easy thing to do.

  Abby put on a pot of coffee and gathered up some gardening materials she’d found in the garage. She poured a cup for herself in an insulated mug and then called into the hall, “Hey, Tom, coffee’s on. Help yourself.”

  She stepped outside into the moist summer air that smelled of grass and leaves and rosebuds.

  Marian had tended this garden with love and care. Now it was time for Abby to do the same.

  * * *

  The whole damn day had been torture.

  He’d come earlier than the guys today, hoping to catch a few moments alone with Abby. He owed her an apology, after all. And not the half-assed one he’d given her the night of the barbecue. It had been especially clear when she was gone and he was working in her house alone.

  He’d missed her.

  But instead of a warm and sleepy Abby, he’d found his meddling cousins invading Abby’s kitchen like a couple of teenagers. Hell, they’d even had a slumber party. And then his crew had shown up and they’d started painting. He had fans going now, trying to minimize the fumes. George and the boys had already left in their trucks, so the only chance Tom had had all day to speak privately to her was now, when he was finished for the day.

  She was still out in the garden.

  He stepped outside, wandering around to the side of the house where the pathways meandered, all leading to the lattice arch and the profusion of rosebushes that surrounded it. She’d been busy. The bushes were neatly trimmed back, the deadwood pulled out, and she’d built a brush pile down over the side hill, away from the other trees. She’d pulled so many weeds from the flower beds that her wheelbarrow was rounded with them. Now that the garden was cleaned out, Tom could see the perennials that had withstood the test of time. Too choked to grow properly, the green stalks of lilies, irises, and phlox became clear. A lilac bloomed in one corner of the garden, and along one side she’d pulled away tall grass to let the rhododendrons have their space, their brilliant pink and purple flowers announcing the arrival of early summer.

  It was going to be gorgeous when she got it done.

  Abby knelt on a foam pad and sat up, stretching out her back, oblivious to him standing there. The stretch exaggerated the curve of her breasts and the long column of her neck, and then she pulled off her glove and rubbed her neck with her fingers, closing her eyes and tilting her head to one side.

  Tom thought about rubbing it for her, working out the tight muscles and the kinks. She’d looked at him differently this morning. The last time she’d been so angry. So hurt. Not that he could blame her for that. But this morning it had been different. She’d teased him, acted like nothing had happened. He wondered if he had Jess and Sarah to thank for that. Wondered exactly how much they’d told her about him, and Erin, and Josh, and what a messed-up situation it had been.

  While he watched, she put her glove back on and went to work on another patch of weeds. What would he say to her, anyway? How could he explain about Erin without sounding like a complete jerk?

  He knew what she thought. That he’d gone after his cousin’s wife. That he hadn’t was merely a technicality. He’d hovered on the brink, unbearably tempted. Maybe he’d never followed through, but in his mind and in his heart he’d done it a thousand times and he hated himself for it.

  He could never explain it all without tarnishing the memory of Erin. She was gone. He’d be damned if he’d put an ounce of the blame on her now.

  Abby deserved better. So he turned around and walked away, out of the garden and back to his truck.

  The early-summer eve
ning was slow and lazy as he drove into town, past Memorial Square, and parked along the vibrant waterfront. Pockets of people clustered around vendors and storefronts, spilling off the narrow sidewalk onto the plush grass. Someone’s rosebushes were blooming nearby and the scent filled the air, mingled with the smell of fresh fish straight off the boat. They were familiar aromas, ones he’d smelled for as long as he could remember. At least some things never changed. Jewell Cove would always be exactly what it was. The tourists would come and go, people would move in and move away, but there was a stasis to it that was strangely comforting.

  He’d been inside among the paint fumes all day. The last thing he wanted tonight was to go home to an empty house and cook. A quick meal in the great outdoors sounded too good to pass up.

  He put in his order at Battered Up, the canteen next to the charter boat sales shacks. As he waited for fish and chips, he wondered if Rick had gotten the job he’d applied for with Jack Skillin’s operation. A boy, probably sixteen or so, was hanging up life vests at Jack’s hut, getting ready for the next day’s tours. Inside another shed, a middle-aged woman was tallying receipts for the day. This time of year this side of the dock got crammed with tourists looking for a day of deep-sea fishing or whale watching, for a chance to see humpbacks, minkes, or the rare and highly protected right whale.

  When Tom had been a teenager, he and Bryce and Josh had gone out of the bay with their dads a lot. They’d packed a lunch and their gear and spent the day on the water, catching pollock and cod and mackerel, getting a glimpse of seals and whales and the odd blue shark or sunfish.

  Those had been good times. He missed them, more than he cared to admit.

  His order was called and he grabbed packets of ketchup, tartar sauce, and vinegar before searching out a vacant picnic table. He found one on the far side in the shade of a tree, a stone’s throw away from the Three Fishermen Art Gallery. The brick-red building had warm beige trim and a scalloped screen door that was a work of art in itself. As Tom cut into his fish, he saw two young women come out carrying bags, their leather sandals slapping on the concrete walk. They were pretty, probably early twenties, with their hair up in the artfully arranged disarray that was a complete mystery to Tom. They looked over at him and smiled, and one of the girls nudged the other with an elbow.

  Tom treated them to a polite smile and then looked away.

  In months past he might have met their gaze a little more boldly, said hello. Maybe he hadn’t officially dated, but he hadn’t lived like a monk, either. He’d just been discreet about it.

  But now there was no temptation. He thought he might know why and he didn’t like it one bit. Abby Foster and her house were supposed to be a good thing for him—professionally. Definitely not a romantic complication.

  He finished his meal in silence, but when he got up to put his plate in the nearby garbage can he paused awkwardly, halfway up from his seat at the picnic table. Josh and Jess had been coming his way but now halted as they realized he was there, their hands filled with rounded plates of clams, chips, and coleslaw.

  It was bound to happen. In a town this size they were going to run into each other from time to time. They couldn’t go on giving each other the silent treatment or throwing punches and accusations. Tom pushed himself away from the table and looked at Jess, then Josh.

  “Nice night,” he said benignly.

  Josh said nothing but Jess’s eyes were sympathetic. “It is. I don’t have any classes tonight so I thought it would be a good time to grab some dinner with my big brother.”

  Her free arm was tucked around Josh’s.

  “How’s the pergola working out, Jess?”

  “Great. Sure you won’t join us, Tom?”

  Tom looked at Josh’s clenched jaw. There was making an overture and then there was pressing your luck. Josh still hadn’t said a word. Things were not going to be forgiven so easily, then. At least he wasn’t sniping out insults and no fists were flying. Tom supposed it was progress of a sort. Peaceful coexistence he could live with, he supposed.

  “No, thanks, Jess. I’ve already finished and I’ve got some work to do at the house. Thanks for the offer, though.”

  Jess nodded. “Well, when you see Abby tomorrow, tell her I said to drop by the shop any time. We had fun last night. I kind of hope she stays in town, you know?”

  Wasn’t Jess the cool and brave one, pushing Tom’s buttons with one hand while holding the pressure cooker of Josh’s resentment with the other. Tom remembered the look on Rick’s face a few weeks back and nearly smiled. Maybe someone like Jess was exactly what Rick needed to get him back in line.

  “I will,” he said, making his legs move. He went to the garbage can and tossed in his paper plate and napkin. But he still had to pass by them and something had to give. Someone had to make the first move.

  He looked at his cousin as he came in line with them. “Josh,” Tom acknowledged simply.

  Josh’s lips were a thin, harsh line, but he gave a brief nod. “Tom.”

  Tom raised a hand in farewell and made his way back to his truck. Oddly enough, the brief exchange with Josh just now bothered him far more than the passionate outburst at the party. Maybe it was remembering those fishing trips they’d taken as boys, but the truth was he missed how things used to be.

  Never had it been more clear that nothing would be the same between them again.

  CHAPTER 15

  Abby felt the sensitive tingle and tightness before she ever got out of bed. Yesterday’s gardening had been a big mistake. Now her lower back ached, the backs of her legs were tight and painful from bending over all day, and a glorious sunburn bloomed on her forehead and cheeks. Her chest, shoulders, and arms were pink too, though not nearly as tender. She pressed her palms to her face and it was hot to the touch.

  How could she have been so stupid? It was June, for Pete’s sake. She should have slathered on the sunscreen before she’d ever gone outside, and put on a hat.

  But she’d been so very aware of Tom that she’d forgotten how to be sensible. And then she’d gotten so wrapped up in the garden work she hadn’t thought about it again.

  Slowly she crawled out of bed and started a cool shower. The combination of stiff muscles and the tight sunburn made it hurt to move. Using the puff with her soap stung her sensitive skin and she caught her breath as she bent to pick up her towel. She took the stairs slowly, one step at a time, holding on to the rail. Who knew that bending over to pull a few weeds would be so hard on her hamstrings and hips?

  She was halfway through her first cup of coffee and putting cream cheese on a bagel when Tom arrived for the day’s work. He knocked and then called out when he opened the door, a sequence that had become a habit, she realized. At least today she wasn’t still in bed.

  “In the kitchen,” she called out.

  She put the knife in the sink and turned back around as he came through the kitchen doorway.

  “Holy hell!” Tom’s jaw dropped as he stared at her.

  She wanted to crawl into a ball of embarrassment. “Is it that bad?”

  He nodded. “I could make jokes about lobster season…”

  “I forgot sunscreen yesterday.”

  “You don’t say.” He stepped forward. “It looks painful, Abby. Are you okay?”

  She nodded but there was a lump in her throat, both from his concern and feeling stupid. “I hurt everywhere,” she confessed. “My legs and back are killing me from bending over so much and my cheeks feel like they’re on fire.”

  “Do you have any aloe gel? You should put something on it. It’s not going to be pretty if it blisters.”

  She shook her head, mortified at the idea of her face peeling. Even more attractive.

  “I might have some spray-on stuff in the truck in the first-aid kit. Hang on.”

  He disappeared only to return a few moments later with a can of antiseptic spray in his hand. “Here. Hold out your arms. They’re not nearly as bad as your face, but you should have so
mething on them.”

  She held up one arm and watched as his gaze focused on her skin, spraying a cool layer of mist over the surface.

  “Now the other one.”

  She should insist on doing this herself. But it was too tempting to let Tom take care of her just now. No one had ever really taken care of her in years—except maybe Gram, before she got sick.

  He stood back and met her gaze. “What about your … neck?”

  “It’s fine. I think my hair protected it from the worst of the sun,” she answered.

  But instead he only stepped closer, aiming the nozzle at her collarbone where the slightly pink skin was visible above the collar of her linen shirt. “You silly, silly girl,” he said quietly. And he aimed the can and hit her square in the chest with the cold spray.

  “Ah!” she cried out at the sharp contrast in temperature. “Hey!”

  A wicked grin curled up his cheek. “Did I get it all? How low does it go, Abs?”

  Her face and limbs weren’t all that was hot. Tom’s concern was moving toward teasing now. And his gaze had dropped to the neckline of her top, where the thin linen touched skin. Her breasts tightened under the thin fabric.

  “Not that low,” she managed, trying to sound stern but knowing she was a damned liar. The suggestive tone in his voice was all it took to make her body react.

  She wanted to stay angry. Wanted to be sensible about the fact that he came with even more baggage than she did and she shouldn’t be looking in his direction. But he made it impossible. He was just too Tom for that to happen. It was pointless to deny it.

  He laughed, a deep, sexy rumble inside his chest, and sprayed some of the antiseptic into his palm. He rubbed his hands together and then came close, so close that she was forced to back up against the wall where her cupboards used to be.

  He held up his hands and smoothed the palms, his fingers, over the tender skin of her face.