by Norah Wilson
Ocean could absolutely see it. She could feel it. And she would write it!
This morning, she’d tucked the chip into her pocket, intending to ask Arden about it, but he was gone before she got there. Some kind of errands in Fredericton, Titus had said.
Her fingers went to the pocket of her shirt now, feeling the reassuring shape and solidity of the chip.
She pulled into Drummond’s. Bright orange pumpkins lined the ground in front of the store’s porch. Rubber bats dangled from the porch’s ceiling, while strands of white batting had been strung to look like spider webs. After Halloween, Ocean knew they’d be replaced by a half-dozen Christmassy arrangements “planted” in gravel-filled buckets. Pine boughs with red ribbons would alternate with more ethereal looking alder bushes spray painted white and hung with gold and silver decorations. There was a comfort to the predictability.
The parking lot beside the building was nearly full. Ocean drove slowly, recognizing most of the people she saw. More than a few seemed to recognize her, too.
Mrs. Budaker waved, but then did a double-take when she realized it was Ocean at the wheel of Titus’s truck. Ocean waved back, but the older woman lifted her nose and marched off.
Yep. Jealous. If Titus Standish couldn’t see that, he really was clueless.
She drove around the building, backed right up to the door marked ‘pick up,’ hopped out of the truck, and pressed the buzzer.
A stocky, middle-aged man answered the door.
Ocean smiled. “Hi. Would you be Clay?”
“That’s me.”
“I’m here for the Standish order,” she said. “Arden called it in yesterday. On account.”
He nodded. “Been expecting you. How is Arden, anyway?”
“He’s good.”
“Good to hear,” he said, amiably. “I thought with him selling the farm, could be there was something wrong. Something with his health, maybe...”
He stood there expectantly, waiting for her to volunteer some inside information.
She just returned his gaze blandly, saying nothing.
The awkward silence got the best of Clay. He turned and called over his shoulder, “Donny, get the Standish order, will you, son?”
A young man’s voice came from the warehouse. “Right away, boss.”
“Thanks.” Ocean nodded politely and went back to the truck to wait, where she wouldn’t be prodded for gossip. She’d just belted herself in when she glanced up to see Clay standing by her window. By some miracle, she managed not to jump out of her skin. She hit the button to lower the window. “What’s up? Need me to sign for it?”
“Naw,” Clay said. “Any friend of the Standishs’ is a friend of mine.”
The way he said friend got her hackles up. It was pretty clear he was suggesting a friends-with-benefits kind of thing.
“Great, well have a nice—”
“So I hear Titus sold the land right out from under the old man.”
The surge of anger that ripped through her was as powerful as it was unexpected. She felt like grabbing Clay by the shirt front and yanking him toward her so he’d crack a cheekbone or an eye socket on the window frame. She gripped the steering wheel tightly. “I fail to see how he could do that, since it’s Arden’s land.”
“Yeah, but Titus was always—”
“Hey, what Titus and Arden do is their business. I’m not going to sit around gossiping with you or anyone else about the sale of the farm. I’ve said all I’m going to say, so let’s give it a rest.”
“So they did sell it, then.” Clay nodded with satisfaction. “No way would Arden sell if he wasn’t pushed into it. He’s lived on that land all his life. Jesus, I never knew what a selfish bastard Titus really was.”
So much for having said all she was going to say. “That’s bullshit. Titus Standish is the least selfish man I’ve ever met. He’s spent practically his whole life on that farm, helping his father. When his mother got sick, he took over everything so Arden could look after Margaret, and afterward when Arden was so broken up. He was the one who stayed behind while Scott and Ember and—oh, hell, the rest of us—got out and saw something of the world. And he didn’t just stay, he looked after this town—what with the search and rescue and keeping up all the community traditions his parents started. He’s been the heart of it all. And for you to say he’s being selfish because he wants—”
She shut up when she realized Clay was smiling broadly. Smugly.
“Well, now, that Titus is a lucky man to have a pretty gal like you defending him.”
“We’re friends,” she grated. “I’m friends with all of them, not just Titus.”
“Sure.”
She felt the heat of fury scorch her cheeks. “Listen, you don’t know what the hell—”
“This the order, Clay?”
She half turned in the seat to see a young man standing at the warehouse door with a trolley laden with two flats of soda and a green box brimming with paper bags of goods. Each of the bags was marked with a large S3 in heavy black marker. The young man looked from Clay to Ocean, concern etched in his face. “Did I get it right, boss? S for Standish, 3 for three bags.”
Ocean noted the kid wore a Harkness High ball cap with his distinct Drummond’s uniform, and realized he must be there on a job training program for special needs students through the high school.
“You sure did,” Clay said. “Good work, Donny.”
The boy beamed.
For as much as he was an asshole, Clay abandoned the brewing argument and walked over to help the kid load the parcels into the back of the truck.
Donny was right behind Clay as he walked around to the driver’s side window.
She smiled at the boy. “Thank you, Donny.”
“Just doing my job, ma’am,” he said, but his face flushed with pleasure.
“You sure do it well.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Donny turned and went back to the warehouse; Clay, unfortunately, didn’t. In fact, he leaned his elbow on the open window.
“You know, I get it. It’s none of my business what the Standishs do with the land. But to sell it to the Picards so they can turn it into a hazardous waste treatment facility? If you ask me, that’s everyone’s business.”
She didn’t blink. Didn’t swallow. No way would she let him see that this was the first she’d heard of it.
“We’re done here.” She keyed the ignition and the truck roared to life.
“Look, all I’m saying is—”
She put the truck into gear. “And all I’m saying is you’d better step off or I might accidentally run over your foot as I pull away.”
Clay removed his arm from her window and stepped back with satisfying haste.
She drove a little bit faster on her return trip through the parking lot. When Mrs. Budaker, who was getting into her car, shot her the evil eye again, she almost flipped her off.
God, woman, get a grip. She wasn’t mad at Mrs. Budaker. She was mad at herself. She’d let Clay Drummond get under her skin, resulting in her all but telling him about the sale. She bit her lip. Ember didn’t even know about the sale yet, and the whole town was talking about it. Or soon would be. And she’d helped fuel the gossip. Wincing, she pulled out onto the street.
But what Clay had said about the Picards putting in a hazardous waste treatment facility...could that be the truth? Clay had certainly been right on target about the sale.
There was no way Titus and Arden could know this. She was sure of it. They wouldn’t do that, not the way they loved the land.
Nor would Wayne Picard have entertained such a development on Prince Region land. Not in a million years. But Old Man Picard was gone now, and there was no guarantee the offspring would follow in their father’s environmentally responsible footsteps.
Clear of the village finally, she nudged the truck’s speed up. She had to tell Titus. If there was truth to Clay’s assertion, maybe he could nullify the sale? Perhaps there was some sort of legal
ground to stand on? If it was true, he’d fight it. That much she knew.
She pulled into the yard. Titus was in the field. She started hurrying toward him then stopped. He was just standing there, looking out toward Harkness Mountain. How big it stood over him.
It hit her then. She couldn’t tell him. He wanted out of Harkness, needed out of Harkness to follow his own path. And she wanted that for him. He more than deserved it. She would not be the one to put obstacles in his way, real or imaginary.
Shoving Clay’s words to the back of her mind, she returned to the truck, lowered the tailgate, grabbed the first two grocery bags and humped them into the house.
Chapter 32
TITUS SCOOPED up the last of the paper dinner plates and tossed them into the utility-sized garbage can at the end of the serving table. He held there for a bit, watching the happy diners, AKA his afterschool crew for the last few days and their respective dates.
Young Dylan White looked as pale as a sheet. Titus couldn’t help but feel for the guy, who currently was so far to the end of the picnic table his left butt cheek was half off the bench. There was that familiar awkwardness to Dylan as he sat there beside pretty Shannon Fullarton, his date for the night. She kept scooching closer, and the poor lad, not knowing his ass from his elbow, kept giving her more room.
Shannon had placed herself in between Dylan and Sam Gravelle as soon as the group had sat down. From what Titus understood, this was the second date for Dylan and Shannon. Sam had brought Shannon’s sister, Amy, along for the evening. That definitely was first date material. They sat across from each other, talking volleyball now; both of them captain of their respective teams at Harkness High.
Beside Amy sat David Hillman, then Sally McAvoy. Now there was a long-standing couple, with all the ease and confidence that came with it. Sally had actually thanked Titus for giving David the work. Apparently the unexpected paycheck had bumped up David’s savings to just about enough for his first set of wheels.
The meal was a casual affair, and the kids had dressed accordingly in jeans, shirts, and jackets. He was glad they’d had the sense to wear the latter, since the barn wasn’t exactly warm. Of course, these kids had been coming to Halloween parties for years, so they knew what to expect.
They’d opted for paper plates and plastic utensils. But Ocean had classed up the place with the fall floral arrangement she’d made. There wasn’t a sliver of hay in the Far South Barn—hadn’t been for years—so Titus had okayed the lighting of hurricane lamps for each side of the centerpiece. The candles weren’t required, as there was plenty of overhead lighting, but Titus had to admit it made the dinner table seem intimate, even though it occupied just a small corner of the barn.
The kids chatted easily. For the most part. Poor Dylan. If he apologized one more time for bumping elbows with Shannon, Titus was going to have to take him aside and explain some things.
God, he remembered being that age like it was yesterday. A head full of questions, but afraid to ask lest he revealed the full extent of his ignorance. How close to sit? How polite to be? How to approach that first kiss. Tongue or no tongue? Should he ask her to the prom and would she puke on his shoes?
Such were the growing pains a young man had to go through if he wanted to understand women.
Or try to.
His gaze found Ocean. She was at the far end of the serving table, slicing up two different cheesecakes. Traditional cherry and chocolate Oreo. Each of the six guests had opted for a slice of both. It was a good thing Scott had gone into town for the evening. Titus might actually get a couple of pieces for himself before this was done.
It had been Ocean’s idea to have the do in the Far South Barn. If he’d had his druthers, Titus would have just done it up at the house. Easier, and less chance of disturbing his father. This place held more memories for Arden than Ocean could know. But when she broached the idea, Arden had agreed readily, no doubt because it was Ocean who was asking. And she was right: the barn was a more date-like setting for the young people.
Ocean looked lovely. Happy. She looked right. So right in this place. So different from Miss New York whom he’d almost kissed at the Christmas party last year when she’d brought that guy home. That stupid, stupid guy who’d let her slip away.
“Okay,” Ocean addressed their guests. “Make way for the best part of the meal.”
“I don’t know that anything can top those burgers,” Sally said.
“Or that potato salad.” Dylan wasn’t just being polite. The home-style potato salad from Drummond’s was second to none.
She served each guest efficiently. The two of them had been staying out of the way for the most part, letting the kids have their time. But as Ocean set the last plate of cheesecake down in front of Amy, the girl asked, “So do you miss New York?”
“Some parts of it,” Ocean allowed. “I miss the theatre, my friends.”
“It must be so much more exciting than Harkness?” There was a definite note of longing in Shannon’s voice.
“Gotta be more exciting than here,” David said. “Once I graduate, I’m hitting the road. For a few years, at least.”
Now there was a familiar refrain. “Where to?” Titus asked.
“Not sure,” David said. “Probably Fort McMurray. A guy who works hard can make a shitload—er, a whole bunch of money out there. Stay in camp, no living expenses.”
“And get flown home every few weeks,” Sally said. “That’s perfect.”
“Perfect?” Amy raised an eyebrow. Clearly an out-of-province boyfriend wasn’t her ideal.
Sally shrugged. “It’s not like we’d have much time together day-to-day anyway. I’ll be working my own butt off for the next four years in nursing school.”
“I can’t see myself ever leaving the region.” That was from Dylan. Shannon looked at him worshipfully. If she’d thought he might be Prince Charming material before, that statement clearly sealed it for her.
David snorted. “Good luck finding a job around here. My brother tried that. The best you can expect is to string together a couple of seasonal jobs and collect pogey the rest of the year.”
Titus felt a pang at that. Standish Farms had provided a lot of those seasonal jobs, and not just for kids.
“Maybe I’ll make my own job,” Dylan said.
“Yeah? Doing what?”
“I don’t know. Painting houses. Or drywall, maybe. Michel Cormier is always looking for people.”
“Yeah, ’cause it’s brutal hard work and nobody wants to do it for long.”
Dylan squared his shoulders. “I’m not afraid of hard work.”
The kids continued to talk about their futures, their goals, the opportunities and lack thereof. That had been him once. He hoped their plans worked out better than his had.
Ocean seemed to be half-listening to the kids. She had a smile on her face, but when he caught her eye, she looked away quickly. Though not before he saw that it was costing her considerable effort to keep up the happy façade. Dammit, something was on her mind.
“Hey, Ocean,” Sam said. “I meant to tell you thanks for being so good to my brother today. He’s totally crushing on you now, by the way.”
Crushing on her? Titus was suddenly full-on interested in this conversation.
She’d been folding a checked cloth over the basket of leftover rolls but she stopped. “Who’s your brother?”
“Donny Gravelle.”
“Ah.” She smiled.
“Donny from Drummond’s?” Titus asked.
“That’s my big bro,” Sam said.
“Good worker.” Titus had had more than a few occasions to interact with Donny at the store. He was a hard worker, pleasant personality, and as honest as the day was long.
“Yeah, Donny loves it there,” Sam said.
“He’s been there awhile, hasn’t he?” David asked.
“A couple of years. They started him through a work-placement program at the school. When he graduated last year, they kept
him on part-time, three days a week.”
“That’s fantastic,” Ocean said.
“Big time. Everyone’s great to him there. Clay, especially.”
Ocean stiffened. Her gaze shot to Titus, then darted away.
Sam chuckled. “Donny said you almost ran over Clay’s foot when you peeled out today. He got a big kick out of that.”
“I was driving Titus’s monster of a truck. It’s a different proposition from my mother’s Audi, believe me.” Tucking the empty platter under her arm, Ocean walked back to the serving table.
The kids seemed to buy her explanation, but Titus wasn’t having any of it. Clay St. James? Had he given Ocean a hard time? Surely he hadn’t hit on her? Clay was a married man.
But now that he thought about it, she’d seemed out of sorts when she’d returned from her run into town. Titus hadn’t wanted to pry, but she’d definitely had something on her mind. Was it the same something that put that look on her face a moment ago?
Amy started talking about her last summer’s job at the Pizza Patrol. One by one the rest of the group started talking about the various jobs they’d had.
Titus walked over to Ocean. “What is it?”
“Hmm? What’s what?”
“What happened between you and Clay that would make you try to run him over?”
She looked at him and rolled her eyes. “I didn’t try to run over him. He was just…a little in my way.”
“Really?”
She hesitated. Color slowly rose in her cheeks. “Titus, it’s nothing to worry about. I handled it.”
Handled what? He wanted to push for an answer, but with the kids there, it wasn’t the time or the place.
Hell, it wasn’t his place at all, was it? He was leaving. He didn’t have any moral right to push her. If she said she had it handled, he had to believe her.
But dammit, he couldn’t stop worrying. He stewed over it through the coffee that he and Ocean served up, and right through to the last goodnight as they walked the young folk out the door.
Correction, almost the last goodnight. While five of the guests made their way outside, Sam dallied behind, telling the gang he had something to speak to Titus about.
