Jordan Lamont scared her. “Why, Lord? Why should I be afraid of this man?” Admit it. You’re afraid of your feelings for him.
Randi let out a frustrated groan. For six weeks, she’d been dealing with this conflict of emotions, and there was still no change. She didn’t dare tell Jess. After the first time of trying to describe it to her, Jess was afraid Jordan had done something inappropriate. How could she explain it when she didn’t understand herself? Her head began to throb. She’d been having headaches from all her circular thinking. “Lord, take this away. It has to stop.”
After freshening up from her run, she opened her Bible and scanned the pages until she fell on the verse in Philippians 4:19. “And my God will meet all your needs according to his glorious riches in Christ Jesus.” Lord, one of my needs right now is to relax around Jordan Lamont. He scares me. Not just from the attraction, but … oh, I don’t know … more like he invaded my heart and mind. How can someone I just met connect with me so deeply? After several more minutes in prayer, Randi felt compelled to apologize to Jordan and to try to get over this fear. The invigorating night air encouraged her to walk the three blocks from her house to his. Not that Jordan knew they lived so close. Her feet seemed to get heavier with each stride, but she pushed on until she knocked on the back door to Dena’s studio and the entrance to Jordan’s apartment.
Within moments, he stood there with his hazel eyes and long, wavy hair. “Hello, Ms. Blake. What can I do for you?”
Such formality. “Hi. I came to apologize. I shouldn’t have accused you.”
“Apology accepted.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
Hold me in your arms. She shook off her wayward thoughts. “No, I just felt you needed … and I needed …”
“Like I said, apology accepted. I hope you didn’t lose your job at the Dockside Grill because of me.”
Randi let out a nervous chuckle. “No, I found another job. Actually I only waitress to bring in a little extra income. I’m a Web-page designer.”
“Really? How much do you charge?”
Randi outlined her fees and services.
“I might just hire you. I’ve been meaning to put together a site on the Internet for myself. What does something like that involve?”
“It all depends on what you want the site to do for you.”
“Well, then, once I have some extra capital, we can talk and you can give me an estimate.”
“Sure. I designed Dena’s. You might want to take a look at it. It might give you some ideas.”
He turned his wrist and looked at his watch. “Sounds like a good idea. Well, thank you for coming by to apologize, but I have to get back to my work.”
“Sure. See you around.” She waved and headed home. Well, that was an awkward but congenial conversation. Why am I so nervous around him? she wondered. What could he be working on that involved a timer? Wasn’t the darkroom at Dena’s house? She looked back at the house and watched the consistent flash of a strobe light. What could he be taking pictures of with that?
She stood there and watched for a moment. What was it about this man that brought out her curious nature?
A horn honked. Randi turned and gave a weak wave. Just what I needed now—NOT!
Jordan stepped back from his canvas. It felt good to paint again. Especially after working with the strobe lights for the dairy farmer’s ad campaign. It had taken several hours to shoot the milk splashing upward in just the right pattern for an exceptional picture. He seldom got around to painting, but living in Squabbin Bay brought out his creative juices. Today he’d decided to paint an old crab shack. In years past, the shack had been the wharf where crab fishermen would bring in their catches. Today it held a small gift store and empty docks. The salt-gray weathered boards and the reflection of the building in the shallow water seemed like the perfect scene for his first painting.
His hand froze a half inch above the canvas as Randi Blake stepped out of a small, red, compact car. He watched as she stomped inside the crab shack. One thing was certain—this woman showed her emotions. A minute later, she nearly ran out of the building. Jordan dropped his palette on the case containing his supplies. “Stay, Duke.”
Running around the small inlet, he reached her car just before she turned onto the street. “Are you all right?”
She jumped and turned toward him—those wonderful charcoal-gray eyes filled with tears.
“Randi?” His heart ached to show her some compassion. “Are you okay?”
She nodded and drove off.
Okay, Lamont, that was swift. First the woman is terrified of you. Last night, she apologized, and you think—what? That she’d be interested in talking with you? Telling you her woes? Yeah, right. Jordan turned back to the one true friend he had in the world, Duke. A man can’t go wrong with a dog like Duke, he mused.
“Hey, boy, I’m back!” he called out as he rounded the bushes that lined the road between the crab shack and the driveway to a town pier.
He repositioned himself again behind the canvas and lifted his palette and brush. The sun’s light had changed. Jordan considered the new contrast of shadows and decided to continue painting it with the shadows he had already begun working with. He glanced at the Polaroid shot he’d taken when he felt the lighting had been perfect. He eased out a pent-up breath. Why did I bother, Lord?
Ten minutes later, a car pulled up behind him and parked. Jordan didn’t turn around and look. He wanted instead to capture a couple of colors before the sun and clouds shifted once again.
“You paint?” Randi’s voice tickled the back of his neck.
“Yes,” he said without turning around. Relax. Stay calm. “Are you okay?”
“I will be. I’m sorry. I couldn’t talk a few minutes ago.”
“Not a problem—you don’t have to explain.” Jordan stepped away from the painting. It was time to turn around and be friendly. The sight of her standing there nearly took his breath away. Lord, give me strength.
“Jordan, I’m sorry. Can we start over?”
He gave a slight smile. “Sure.” He put his brush in his left hand across the palette and extended his right hand. “Hi, I’m Jordan Lamont, and I work for Dena Russell Kearns.”
Randi chuckled and took his hand. “Hi, I’m Miranda Blake.”
“Miranda. I like that.”
“Thanks. Only my parents tend to call me that. I’ve gone by Randi since I was five.”
“I’ll call you whichever you prefer.” He gently removed his hand. “This is Duke.” The dog wrinkled his eyebrows and examined this new stranger. “Say hello, Duke.”
Duke let out a short, bassy whoof.
Randi giggled. “Hi, Duke.” She extended her hand, keeping her fingers curled, and let the dog sniff her before petting him. “You’re a handsome fella.”
“Duke loves compliments, don’t you, boy?” The low-lying critter cocked his head slightly to the right.
“He’s got a personality.”
“Absolutely. In fact, Duke here is the king of the castle. Just ask him.”
She bent down and gave him a good rubbing. “Do you take him everywhere you go? I noticed him in your Jeep last night.”
“Just about. Obviously I can’t take him on some trips. But any I can, I do. In fact, do you know of a good kennel around here? I have a photo op in Connecticut next week, and I need someone to care for him. I can take him to Mystic, Connecticut, and put him in a kennel there, but I’m not sure Duke wants to spend ten hours in the car to go to a kennel.”
“Not here but possibly in Ellsworth.”
“Okay, I’ll check around.” The sun had shifted too far behind him. Jordan could not continue with his painting. He reached over and placed his brush in turpentine to clean it.
Then, with a palette knife, he started to clean off the excess paints from the palette.
“I’m sorry. Did I stop you?”
“
Not really. The sun has shifted. I can finish this at home just as easily as here.”
“Oh. How do you like working with Dena?”
“Fine. It’s a bit slow at the moment, but when we work together, I’m learning something new each time. I should have taken a job with someone like her years ago. I’d be further along in my work.”
“Are you working tomorrow?”
“No, not really. Why?”
“Well, there’s a carnival at the church. The youth are sponsoring—”
He’d forgotten about that. “Right—isn’t that the event where Dena met her husband?”
Randi chuckled. “Yup, pie in the face, the whole bit.”
“Pie in the face?”
Randi went on to explain how Wayne Kearns had crashed through the church swinging doors at the same moment Dena was going through them in the opposite direction, carrying a pie and her camera.
“Which one, ‘old faithful’?”
“‘Old faithful’?” she asked.
“That’s the name she calls her first SLR camera. It was a Nikon F2 photomatic. It’s the camera she used to get started. It’s a great old camera. Kinda wish I had one myself. But a man needs to set his priorities.”
“True. Anyway, are you interested in coming? I’m working—collecting the tickets for the dunking tank.”
Jordan chuckled. “I believe I heard the pastor threaten those who adjusted the switch last year so he was dunked continuously.” She attends the same church. I’ll have to keep an eye out for her next time.
“Yup. Rumor has it that John Dixon did it, but no one’s saying for sure. His wife supplied the pastor with tons of vegetables last year from their garden.”
“Nothing wrong with some good, old-fashioned fun.”
“So you’ll come?”
Is that hope I hear in her voice? “I might make it over after dinner.”
“Don’t. There’s sure to be enough food, and the kids can really use the income. They’re planning a trip to Africa this year.”
“Africa, hmm. Maybe I should volunteer.”
Randi laughed. “They had more than enough volunteers until folks heard the list of rules for the guardians as well as the kids. Seriously I think they have enough. And I think you’d have to wait a year before folks would let their kids go with you. You know—you’re still a stranger.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.” Jordan continued to pick up his equipment.
Randi stepped closer to his easel. “You’re good.”
“Thanks. I’m fair, but I hope, given some time, I’ll get better.”
“I’m surprised Dena didn’t ask you to help with the portraits she does. She did such an excellent job last year, and with her son being the pastor, it’s a given that, as long as she’s in Squabbin Bay, she’ll have a spot at the carnival for portraits.”
“She volunteers her time on that. I’d hate to charge her.” Randi stepped back and examined him as if evaluating him. What did I say wrong that time?
“You haven’t lived in a small town much, have you?”
“No. Does it show?”
Randi chuckled. “Yes. Folks around here would never have thought of charging for their part of the carnival. You, on the other hand, immediately thought of your salary.”
“Hey—”
Randi held up her hand. “My point is, your thoughts went to salary, payment for services rendered, stuff like that. Here we don’t really consider it, unless we’re doing our jobs for hire.”
He felt reprimanded, but he wasn’t certain why. All he said was he couldn’t charge Dena for his services at the carnival when she wasn’t getting paid herself. What’s wrong with that?
“I’d better get going.” She turned to walk back to the car.
“See ya around.” He smiled. There was something about this woman. He was beginning to feel like a boat’s motor oil spilled out in the water, totally unmixable and plenty chaotic. How could he ever have thought they were meant to be together? Jordan blinked as he caught a glimpse of those amazing eyes watering once again.
four
Randi sat behind the table at the ticket booth and scanned the festival again looking for Jordan. Her heart sank a fraction of an inch. Still no sign of him. She’d hoped he’d come and join in. If the man was going to blend in, he needed to become an active part in community events. In my not-so-humble opinion, she thought.
“Miranda!” Her mother waved.
Randi smiled and waved back. Her mother led a group of small children over to the hippo pen. Cardboard-painted creatures drank at the fake river. Papier-mâché heads popped through the surface of the water. And on the opposite wall, one could sit on a hippo and have his picture taken. At another spot, a person could sit in the hippo’s mouth. The youth had done a bang-up job on this African display. A collection jar for donations was a hollow palm tree with four-inch PVC pipe in the core of the tree and a slit in the trunk for people to put in loose change, bills, or checks.
Hidden in the shadows, poised with his camera, sat Jordan. Randi’s smile brightened.
“Ten tickets, please.” A small boy with short, cropped, blond hair looked up at Randi.
“Sure. Two dollars.”
He handed her the crumpled dollar bills as she counted out the tickets. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.” He ran off and lined up, waiting for his turn at the tank. She noticed that the man sitting on the seat above the tank waiting to be dunked was Charlie Cross. Randi nodded. She looked back at the boy with his hand full of tickets and back at Charlie. The boy must be his grandson.
Her booth was a four-foot table with a wooden sign suspended overhead by a couple of thick fishing lines attached to the tree limb above her.
“Hey, Randi, how’s it going?” Jess asked.
“Fine. Where’s Trevor?”
“He didn’t come. To be honest, it’s over between us. I tried to keep it together, but he made it clear that, unless I moved back to Boston, he didn’t see much sense in pursuing a relationship.”
“Sorry.”
Jess waved off the comment. “I’m over it. Mom and I had some long, heart-to-heart talks, and the truth is, for the past year, I’ve not loved Trevor the way a woman and man should love one another for a life of marriage. I tried to buy his affection when I first started working in Boston. Dad nearly flipped over that.”
Randi chuckled. “I remember. What were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t. That’s what Mom and Dad pointed out. I did all the giving when it came to Trevor and me. He barely did anything. He hardly does anything. Do you know he still hasn’t gotten a job and is living with his parents?”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah. I love my parents, but I’m moving out as soon as I can put a down payment on a house. We decided that renting wouldn’t be a wise investment when houses aren’t selling at too high of a price right now.”
“Are you earning that kind of money?”
“Almost. I’m working with the lobstermen to establish a co-op, and so far it looks very promising. By this time next year, we should be doing a good business. I hope anyway.”
“Wow! I’m impressed. So tell me why I’m just hearing about this now?”
“Sorry. I’ve been working around the clock. We did decide to have you design the Web page, though.”
“That’ll be fun. Are all the locals in the co-op?”
“Just about. Dad’s working on the last of the old salts.”
“Have I seen you going out a time or two on your dad’s boat lately?”
Jess chuckled. “Yeah. I think his taking me out there all those years got stuck in my veins. I actually enjoy pulling the pots and fetching the lobsters. Still not crazy about the chum for the bait bags.”
“Eww. Who is?”
“Most get used to it.”
“Eww … not.”
“That’s because you didn’t get lugged out on the boat with your dad every morning until you were thirteen.”
&
nbsp; “Thank the Lord for small blessings.”
After a chuckle Jess asked, “Can you come over Sunday after church for a barbeque?”
“Love to. What time?”
“One.” Jess leaned closer. “Mom’s invited Jordan. Is that a problem?”
Randi could feel the heat blazing her cheeks. “No.”
“Good. Look—I gotta run. And you’ve got a line here. See ya later.”
Randi nodded and went back to work selling tickets to the small line of children. By lunchtime, Jess returned to give Randi her first break. Jess sat down behind the ticket table while Randi picked out a lobster roll and a cold soda and sat at a picnic table.
“Hey!” Jordan called out. “May I join you?”
“Sure.”
Jordan set his plate on the table and swung his leg around the picnic-bench seat. “The youth group does this every year?”
“Yup.”
“Wow! That’s amazing. Who’s their art director? That hippo pit is great.”
“Mr. Landers and Jan Dufresne. Mr. Landers is the high school art teacher, and each year one of the events is a project for the entire art department.”
“Awesome. I saw fiberglass and papier-mâché.”
“The fiberglassing is done by the shop teacher. That’s where Jan comes in.”
“You have a lady shop teacher?”
Randi chuckled. “Yeah, Jan’s father was the shop teacher for many years. But he retired three years back, and she took over the job. She’d been working as his assistant for five years before that. Now her oldest son is helping. I can imagine one day he’ll be the shop teacher.”
Jordan took a huge bite of his lobster roll and nodded his head slowly as he chewed. His wavy hair flowed gently back and forth across the top of his shoulders. A sudden urge to run her fingers through his hair emerged again.
“What?”
“Nothing.” Randi ate her own sandwich to keep herself from laughing.
“Come on. It was something. Am I wearing my food? Do I have a huge chunk of mayonnaise on my face?”
Trespassed Hearts Page 3
