Sandpiper Island (The Bachelors

by Donna Kauffman

  Her jitters weren’t because of Lou’s public comments regarding her relationship with Langston. It wasn’t as if she’d tried to hide anything there, nor was she about to start. Whatever conclusions folks drew, well, that was their business. She wasn’t about to go around correcting them. No, her suddenly sweaty palms and jittery fingers had everything to do with the man presently staking claim to one of her counter stools. She could feel Ford’s presence in the room as if a giant live wire had just been plunged into the harbor, sending rippling waves of electric shocks straight up and through the town. Starting with her diner. Or maybe just with her.

  Way back, when Ford had first come to the Cove to live, there had been speculation among the townies that perhaps a friendship—or something more—had formed between them when he’d brought Tommy O’Reilly home for his last services, a relationship that maybe had evolved over time and despite distance. Why else would he be back in the Cove? Speculation had run rampant as everyone waited and watched to see what would happen between the two.

  Ford had spent a lot of time at the diner, which only fanned the flames of expectation. Though Delia had played it all down, the truth was, she hadn’t worked overly hard to quash the chatter because she’d still been wondering herself why he’d come to the Cove. Wondering . . . and maybe waiting.

  It had been clear early on, though, that he was there to heal, or maybe just hide—from the world, from himself—or a little of both. He wasn’t looking for a relationship, or a repeat of the night they’d spent together. He was looking for sanctuary. So that’s what she’d given him. Eventually, he’d started his college courses, going back and forth to Bangor, working for Dr. Pelletier. Summer came, went, other men were seen in Delia’s company, Ford stopped coming to the diner as his work and schooling increased, then moved out to the island altogether when Pelletier took ill and passed away, and slowly the chatter died out.

  Clearly, though, it had not been forgotten. Memories were long in the Cove. After all this time, Ford had returned to her diner. She was certain it wasn’t lost on anyone, even Lou, when he finally spied Ford over the top of the booth, that Ford’s arrival just happened to coincide with Brooks Winstock’s well-publicized intent to demolish the diner and build his “foo-foo resort” as Stokey had taken to calling it.

  It was like a collective holding of breath, as everyone watched her, then Ford, then her again, waiting to see what would happen next.

  What happened next was she continued on with her job, hiding her uncustomary jitters and tummy flutters behind a bigger smile as she smoothly picked up where Lou had left off. “But since when have I counted on some big, strong man to save my bacon?” she said in response to Lou’s rant. “If anyone’s going to save my diner, it’ll be me.”

  Stokey gave a hearty, approving laugh at that, and Arnie pumped a fist. “You tell ’em,” he added. “That’s what I’ve been saying. Nothing is going to happen to this place. You’ll see to that.”

  “Saying to whom?” she asked Arnie as she slipped by for one last top-off before taking the new orders back to the kitchen. She was curious to know just how much of a conversation her situation had become, but mostly she’d asked to stall for another minute. Because to take the orders back meant going to the counter, and she needed another minute to regain her equilibrium. You’d think she was twenty-one, working for Gran, with Ford looking all hot and young and military sharp. A lot of life had happened since then, with a crucial bit more of it breathing right down her neck.

  Arnie looked up at her, surprised by the question. “Everyone’s talking about it, Delia,” he told her.

  “Well, I appreciate the support, guys. More than you know. You know I won’t let you down.” Silently, she prayed that wasn’t a lie. Then, still not entirely ready, especially with a very interested audience, but knowing she had to put the orders in, she headed to the counter. Balancing the tray, she ducked behind the bar, and then slid the four top order through the window to the kitchen over the stainless-steel shelf. “Two specials, one over extra easy, and add extra pepper to the hash,” she told Pete, who was handling grill duty that morning.

  Then, with a short, calming breath, she put a smile on her face and turned to face Ford. She pulled out her order pad from her apron pocket and set it on the counter. “What can I get you?” she asked, as if he were a regular there. She couldn’t help but think about the days when he had been. Her heart had fluttered its fair share then, too.

  He glanced up from the menu. “You changed it,” was all he said.

  “I do that from time to time. Mostly to keep from being bored. But all the regular dishes are still there. Are you looking for anything in particular? Pete’s in the back, so he can make whatever you want.”

  Pete was in his mid-seventies, Cove born and bred, and could run the entire kitchen with one hand tied behind his back. She’d often said he’d been born with a paring knife in one hand, a spatula in the other, and a mixing spoon in the third hand he obviously had and just kept hidden. He’d worked for Gran before Delia had started her own place, and though a gruff talker, when he talked at all, was as close to family as anyone she had left.

  She looked up from her order pad, pen poised, to find Ford looking at her now, the menu forgotten. She could feel the weight of every pair of eyes in the place on the two of them, and thought it was a wonder Ford’s plaid lumberman’s jacket didn’t have singe marks on the back from the intensity of their collective focus. In true small-town fashion, they weren’t even trying to hide their rampant curiosity. It annoyed her and gave her a pang in the heart at the same time, because she loved them for it, too. Cove life was like that.

  “What are you doing to save the place? Have you taken any steps?”

  She blinked, not expecting that, but then, what she expected was that he’d gone back out to his island. Clearly, she’d gotten that wrong. “You mean since last night? I thought we had this conversation already,” she said, keeping her voiced pitched low, as he had his. The last thing she needed to get out was that Ford had paid her an after-hours visit the night before. “I can’t do anything until Mayor Davis decides to talk to me.”

  Ford cast a sideways glance toward the room, then back to her. “Your army awaits. They’d do anything for you.”

  Delia smiled, feeling heartwarmed and humbled at the same time. “I know they would. But apparently they need a better general, because this one doesn’t rightly know how to harness their willingness and put it to effective use.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that.”

  Her raised eyebrow, along with what was likely a fair dose of skepticism in her eyes, had him flipping open the menu and breaking eye contact again. After a moment’s browsing, he said, “They don’t just hand out doctorates because they feel sorry for someone, you know.”

  Her expression was instantly abashed. “My skepticism wasn’t regarding your brainpower, or possible lack thereof. Did you really think I meant that?” She just stood there, momentarily at a loss for words. She didn’t know whether to be insulted that he thought so little of her, or a little heartbroken that he wasn’t as confident as his demeanor would have her believe. None of us are bulletproof. He struck her as pretty secure in who and what he’d become, but could she be the chink in his armor, the way he was in hers?

  She leaned her palm on the counter, and poised the pen over the order pad again, though she doubted a single person in the place thought their conversation had anything to do with the daily breakfast special. “You know, just because someone is surprised by something you do, doesn’t automatically mean they assume you can’t. The surprise is that you’re bothering to try in the first place.” She grinned when he shot her an aggrieved look. “See? Just like that. I meant bothering to try because you’re not exactly known for your magnanimous gestures where the folks of the Cove are concerned. Not because you had no hope of succeeding, so why try. Sheesh.” She flicked the end of her pen on his head. “I guess they don’t hand out doctorates to gu
ys with common sense, either.”

  Satisfied with his scowl, she pushed away from the bar as Pete slid the orders for the four top through the window. She propped the tray comfortably onto one palm and maneuvered around the bar, catching pretty much everyone else in the diner quickly looking anywhere but at her. But not in time for her to miss the collective grins on their faces. She probably shouldn’t have tapped Ford on the head. But for a smart guy, he could have such a thick skull at times.

  She’d finished delivering the tray of food and was taking Stokey’s and Arnie’s orders, along with those from another two top that had just filled, and noticed she had a pair sitting outside as well, when the door jingled again. She glanced over her shoulder with her customary welcoming smile and had already started to gesture to the booths, as those would be the easiest to serve now that the place was crowded, only to freeze, however briefly, at the sight of Camille Weathersby, standing just inside the door.

  “Grab a booth and I’ll be right with you,” Delia said, quickly snapping back to action, hoping the woman hadn’t noticed her momentary lapse. Cami was nothing if not . . . resourceful. If she was looking to stir things up, and she usually was, she’d exploit the tiniest weakness. Delia wouldn’t put anything past her. She noted Cami’s attention catch and snag on Ford. But she would put just about anyone under her, Delia thought unkindly, but not untruthfully.

  The very married Cami—wife to head councilman Ted Weathersby—had a reputation for putting her wiles to work wherever it suited her needs. And, given her actions this last year alone, she was clearly a woman of many . . . needs. Of course, her husband was a born skirt chaser, so they were a match made, that was for certain.

  “I believe I’ll sit at the counter,” she all but cooed to Delia.

  Of course you will, Delia thought, working a little harder to keep her smile even.

  Cami slid onto the stool next to Ford, a feat that seemingly defied physics, given the snug fit of her pencil skirt, and crossed her shapely legs, “accidentally” brushing the toe of one red, skinny-heeled pump against Ford’s shin. Not that Delia was paying close attention or anything.

  Who was she kidding? Every pair of eyes in the place was presently trained on Camille Weathersby and Ford Maddox.

  In another act against nature, Ford laid his menu down and slid from the stool without so much as a glance in Cami’s direction. Delia didn’t think there was a man with a pulse who could have managed that particular feat, or one who would have even wanted to try.

  Delia closed the distance between her and Ford before realizing she’d done so, then wasn’t quite sure what to say to him when he paused at the door. He took care of that for her.

  “When are you done tonight?” he asked, his voice carrying only to her.

  “Close to midnight. Why do you—?” But he’d already nodded and pushed out the door. Delia turned back around in time to once again catch everyone reverting quickly back to their meals and conversation. She was surprised they didn’t have neck strain from craning to hear what Ford had said. Did that mean she could expect another late-night kitchen call? She wasn’t sure her sleep schedule could handle another hit of Ford pheromones so close to bedtime.

  Shoving that out of her mind, she turned back toward the counter. And Cami Weathersby. Who, in addition to being Teddy the Letch’s wife, was also Brooks Winstock’s daughter. His only child. What she wasn’t was a regular at Delia’s. In fact, Delia couldn’t recall that she’d ever seen Cami deign to set so much as a perfectly clad, designer labeled toe inside the diner. Had the village radar worked so fast that she’d somehow known Ford had shown up? Because he was pretty much the only bachelor under the age of sixty left in the Cove whom Cami hadn’t already tried to seduce. And that was only because he lived in his ultimate tree fort out on an island.

  “What can I get for you?” Delia asked, keeping her smile even and her gaze squarely on Cami’s face.

  “Is Ford Maddox moving back harborside?” she asked without preamble, then slid her business card across the counter. She was also, as her card proclaimed, the number one Realtor in all of Pelican Bay. Not surprising since her daddy owned most of it. “I think I have just the property for him, if he’s interested.”

  I just bet you do. Completely renovated and fully loaded. “He still has his place on the other side of the harbor,” Delia told her, putting down the tray behind the counter, and picking up a fresh pot of coffee. She left Cami’s card on the counter.

  “That’s leased, isn’t it? Has been for years. Some old professor of his or something is in it, last I heard. Hardly ever comes out, so I couldn’t say for sure. Odd duck.”

  “I suppose you’ll have to ask him,” Delia said as she slid out from behind the counter and started on a fast round of refills. She needed to get outside and take orders on the deck, where all three tables were now fully seated. Another reason she couldn’t let herself be distracted by Ford. It was bad for business.

  “I didn’t come here to talk to him,” Cami said, executing a perfect swivel on the stool so she could continue the conversation. “I have some properties to show you.” Her voice was modulated to carry easily over the conversations taking place around her, not that it was necessary, as the chatter once again dwindled to whispers and everyone turned their attention to the two women.

  Delia’s back teeth ground together a bit and her cheeks began to ache from the effort of keeping her smile looking easy, breezy, and unaffected. Giving the local grapevine a veritable carafeful of gossip was not exactly how she’d hoped to rally the troops, but it wasn’t like she’d invited her two special guests this morning.

  “I’m so sorry you went to that trouble, seeing as I’m not in the market for any property.” Delia finished topping off Stokey’s, Lou’s, and the four top’s coffee mugs in record time, then paused by Owen’s booth to take his order, hiding her grimace when she noticed he’d slunk down in the booth, his expression making it clear he’d be under the table altogether if he thought he could get away with it. If he did make the decision to run, he’d be up against Cami’s husband, and it was no secret that Cami terrified him, as she did most men in one way or the other. She leaned down and kept her voice low, pad propped to take his order as she said, “Now don’t you let her get to you, Owen. She’s all hot air and Botox. We can’t let her and her father think they run this town.”

  “But they do,” Owen said, furiously scanning the menu as if his life depended on it.

  “Precisely why we need some balance around here. I’ll bring you the special,” she said. Then seeing Cami looking like she might head their way, Delia ducked out the door to the front deck before the blond menace could fire off another round. A chicken move, most certainly, and she was typically no coward, but she’d be damned if she’d give Cami a platform to talk about her father’s big plans, right in Delia’s own diner.

  Not to be outmaneuvered, Cami simply waited for Delia to return, swiveling her tight-skirted backside around once again as Delia slid behind the counter to give Pete the deck orders. “Are you sure I can’t get you anything?” she asked Cami as she turned back, smiling so brightly it was possible her eyes gleamed with it. “Pete’s got a fresh batch of bacon coming off the griddle and the blueberry muffins are still warm from the oven.” She paused, all but daring Cami with her over-the-top cheeriness to say or do something that would make her look like the killjoy she was to their avid audience.

  Delia was quite certain Cami would do whatever it took to ensure that her father’s plans moved forward, but the woman wasn’t stupid. Far from it. Brooks Winstock’s only daughter knew better than to risk turning Delia’s regulars against her.

  “That’s okay,” Cami said, then tapped a perfectly lacquered nail on top of her business card and slid it back toward her. “I’ll go have a chat with Ford about that property I have in mind for him.” She smiled easily at Delia, but the calculating gleam in her eyes, which only Delia could see as Cami’s back was to the room, promised
she’d be back.

  “You take care then,” Delia said, grabbing a towel to wipe down the counter as Cami slid off the stool and smoothed her skirt and matching mini jacket. Delia might have rubbed harder than absolutely necessary, as if Cami had left something contagious behind. A quick glance around the room told Delia that maybe Cami had been more successful than she’d thought. There were skeptical looks now, and furtive glances her way as conversation returned to normal once the door had jangled shut behind Cami’s retreating figure.

  Just then Peg came out from the kitchen in the back, tying on her apron as she did. “Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner,” she told Delia. “I swear Doc Fielding was behind schedule before he even opened his offices today. Kept me waiting almost forty-five minutes and I was first in the door. What’s the point of living in a town the size of the Cove if you can’t get seen by your own town doctor in a decent amount of time? Might as well live in the city, you hear what I’m saying?”

  “I do indeed,” Delia told her, smiling. Peg’s nonstop chatter was to her what the sound of waves crashing on the shore was to other people: soothing in their dependable constancy. “I’m going to duck in the back and give Pete a ten-minute break. Orders are up for the deck tables.”

  Peg took over without missing a beat, like the seasoned pro she was. Delia would have to make time for a little chat later, see what the folks in the diner had to say about Cami’s visit. Peg’s status on the village grapevine wasn’t head grape—that position belonged to pub owner Fergus McCrae—but she was darn near the top of the vine.

  As much as Delia hated to admit it, she had to start thinking about strategy and figure out how best to use those she had supporting her. It wasn’t that she minded asking for help; it was that she needed the help in the first place. Fighting Brooks Winstock made fighting city hall look like child’s play. And she was fighting both.