by Francis Ray
“Then for the time being do both,” Celeste advised. “Have him put your cell phone number on the Web site, and you add it to your answering machine recording. That way prospective clients can always reach you.”
“I’ll do that. Good night, and good luck tomorrow.”
“Good night, and the same to you.”
Gina hung up the phone, thinking she’d need more than luck.
Monday morning Celeste parked beside the walkway leading to Maureen’s front door and drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. She still didn’t have a concrete plan, and it didn’t appear as if she were going to come up with one. If she were just dealing with breaking down Alec’s resistance to dating her, that would be one thing, but a lot more was involved.
She understood that Alec was dealing with the guilt of taking a man’s life. Until Alec reconciled that, he didn’t want a woman clouding the issue. What he didn’t understand was that she wanted to be there for him, that she understood what he was going through. She wanted to help. She wanted to see the carefree Alec she’d caught glimpses of in the past, and she was honest enough to admit she wanted the passionate one as well.
A soft rap on her window jarred her out of her thoughts. She jerked around, unable to hide her disappointment. Opening her door, she stepped out of the van. “Good morning, Willie.”
“You certainly are the chipper one this morning.” The older woman folded her arms. “One guess as to the reason.”
“You’d be right.” Celeste went to the back of the van for her toolbox and set it on the driveway. “He’s a hard nut to crack.”
“But my money’s on you.” Willie picked up the toolbox. “You’re not giving up, are you?”
“Nope.” Celeste picked up a medium-sized ice chest and closed the door. “But I must admit I’m not sure what to do next.”
“You’ll think of something.”
“When? To take a quote from you, ‘Time’s a-wastin’.” Opening the front door, she let them inside. “I’ll put our lunch in the fridge.”
“Did you bring his, too?” Willie asked.
“No, I didn’t.” For the first time Celeste gave a semblance of a smile. “He told me not to, so I didn’t. Yesterday I learned from his brothers that Alec is a terrible cook, has the phone number of every imaginable place to eat on his cell and house phone. He’s going to miss my cooking.”
“And that means he’s going to think of you and miss you,” Willie said with a grin. “That sounds like a plan to me.”
Celeste’s smile faded. “But it’s not enough.”
“You’ve got weeks to think of something,” Willie told her. “It will come to you.”
“I suppose.” Celeste went to the kitchen. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of burnt food. The handle of a skillet jutted from a sink of soapy water. Apparently Patrick had been on target about Alec’s cooking skills, or lack thereof. He’d probably burned his breakfast. Stubborn man.
Going to the refrigerator, she opened it. Except for the few staples she’d purchased and several bottles of water, the shelves were bare. At least there was no beer. Opening the chest, she placed her and Willie’s lunch of shrimp salad inside. Next came the two generous slices of lemon pound cake, the whipped cream and raspberries that would go on top, and bread sticks.
Shutting the door, she turned and went still. Alec. He was half-turned away from her. From his position, she couldn’t tell if he had seen her and decided to leave or had changed his mind about leaving. Last night he’d stood off the porch while she opened her door. As soon as she’d said good night and gone inside, he practically ran to his car.
“Good morning, Alec.”
He straightened. “Good morning, Celeste.”
“I was just putting away our lunch.” She rushed on when his eyes narrowed. “For me and Willie. Shrimp salad with lemon pound cake. I had a good time yesterday. You have a wonderful family.”
“Yeah.”
Alec certainly didn’t do small talk.
“Willie is waiting. Bye.” Celeste walked close enough to Alec for him to smell the exotic perfume she’d worn just for this moment. She wanted him to remember and yearn. From the sudden acceleration of his breathing, his clenched fists, he did.
A few steps past him, she began humming. She might be inexperienced, but she recognized when a man wanted her.
The day had just gotten brighter.
FIFTEEN
Gina waved the children off to school at a quarter past seven Monday morning. Ashton didn’t care if she walked him to the car; Gabrielle thought it signaled she was still a baby. Since she and her daughter were enjoying peace for the first time in weeks, Gina stayed on the porch.
Closing the door, Gina smiled. She had Max to thank for that. Gabrielle had become Gina’s champion, but it had also shown her that Gabrielle appreciated her as well.
Out of habit more than anything, Gina went to check her e-mail. She’d turned the computer on while she prepared breakfast. She had dial-up to save money, and therefore it took forever for her machine to boot up.
Entering her password, she thought of how well Sunday had gone. Yes, people appreciating you meant a great deal. E-mail popped up and she clicked on the symbol, automatically sliding the cursor to the bottom of the screen. Delete and Spam got the most action.
She blinked, then leaned closer to the computer screen. She couldn’t believe her eyes as she counted the business e-mails, then counted again. The seven e-mails requesting information on various trips didn’t go away. Excitement rushed through her. She smiled, then laughed aloud.
“Max, you did it!” She reached for the phone to call him, then decided to tell him in person, just as soon as she answered the requests for travel information.
An hour later, she arrived at Journey’s End. For the first time Max didn’t greet her. She pushed away her slight disappointment. The man had more to do than watch for her. Getting out of her car, she rushed up the sidewalk and onto the porch. She couldn’t wait to tell him about the great response she’d gotten from her Web site.
Sophia answered the doorbell. “Good morning, Gina. Come on in.”
“Good morning, Sophia.” Gina stepped inside, then followed Sophia to the kitchen. “Where’s Max?”
“He left for the home improvement store about fifteen minutes ago.” Sophia waved Gina to a seat at the kitchen table and sat down. “Can I get you a cup of coffee?”
“No, thank you.” Gina eased into the straight-backed chair. “He went without me,” she said, then tried to backtrack as she heard the pitiful way she sounded. “I mean, I’m just surprised he decided to start today.”
From the knowing look on Sophia’s face, she wasn’t buying Gina’s explanation. “He just went to buy a couple of books, talk to the people there about the arbor for the wisteria.”
“He agreed with my suggestion to make that the centerpiece of the gardens,” Gina said.
“It’s his tribute to Sharon,” Sophia said, staring straight at Gina and picking up her coffee cup. “In fact, she’s the reason for Journey’s End.”
Gina felt a strange tightness in her chest. “Sharon?”
“His deceased wife.”
Gina had known Max was a widower but not the name of his wife. Nameless, she hadn’t seemed real, but a name gave her a presence.
“They loved each other very much,” Sophia said softly. “He was lost when she died suddenly of a brain aneurysm. She’d always talked of running a bed-and-breakfast after they retired. We feared we’d lose him, too, afterward. Nothing seemed to matter to him . . . until he remembered her dream for them.”
“I envy her that kind of love,” Gina whispered before she thought. Robert had left her with a smile on his face, never looking back or missing one thing they’d shared.
“Then you’re ungrateful and selfish,” Sophia said, setting her cup down with a clink.
Gina’s shoulders snapped back against the chair. “W— what?”
Pushing her cup a
nd saucer aside, Sophia planted her arms on the table and leaned forward. “At least you had a man who at one time loved you. You know the intimacy of a man, the joys a man can bring. So the blessing didn’t last. You have two beautiful children as a result. I never had either.”
Not knowing how to respond, Gina didn’t say anything.
“So you’re a single parent. So what?” Sophia shoved her hand in Gina’s direction. “You’re young and healthy with a roof over your head, a car to drive, and good friends who support you. You can make a new life. I’m sixty-five. I’m too old to have children, haven’t had a date in twenty-five years, and no prospects in sight. If it wasn’t for Max, I’d be back in Memphis growing old in a big house with only the echo of my voice to keep me company.”
Gina’s heart went out to the older woman. Reaching out, Gina placed her hand on hers. “Nettie is sixty-nine, a widow, and is keeping company, as she calls it, with a widower. It’s not too late to find someone.”
The corners of Sophia’s mouth tilted upward slightly. “Nettie remains an attractive woman, cultured, of average height. My face is broad, I say what I want, and stand five nine in my stocking feet.” She leaned back in her chair.
“I’m the oldest of four daughters,” Sophia went on to say. “I took after my father’s mother, Big Ella. She could pick a thousand pounds of cotton a day, dipped snuff like a man, and cursed like a sailor. My sisters are beautiful and always had a boyfriend. I’m the odd one. That’s why it pisses me off to hear a woman whine about how some man or life has treated her. When she does that, she forgets her blessings.”
“I’m sorry. You’re right,” Gina said slowly. “Every time something has gone wrong since the divorce I blame my ex-husband, blame myself for not making the marriage work. I never looked at it any other way.”
“You were too close with too many things coming at you,” Sophia told her. “But you’re getting there. You’re not the same woman who came to the open house with a bit of desperation in her eyes.”
“Because of Max,” Gina admitted freely.
“His belief in you or hiring you?” Sophia asked.
“Both. He helped me when I didn’t know where to turn,” she explained. “Celeste or my family would have helped financially, but I wanted to do it on my own. Like you, I’m the exception in the perfect family, the only one who has failed or messed up countless ways. This time I wanted to stand on my own and succeed.”
“You’re doing that, and you’re helping Max.”
“They must have been very happy,” Gina mused.
“They were, but like a lot of young people they thought they had forever.” Sophia got up and rinsed her cup in the sink. “You get my age and look back and ask where the time has gone. You begin to count each day as precious, taking nothing for granted, living each day to the fullest.” She retook her seat. “Live your life in the present, not in the past.”
For some odd reason Gina felt tears clog her throat, but there was a smile on her face. “Looking back, you can’t look forward.”
Sophia beamed at Gina as if she were one of her star pupils. “Exactly.”
The back screen door opened and banged shut. In a few moments, Max entered, carrying an armload of magazines. Gina’s heart sighed, then sped up. “Good morning, Max.” He looked handsome in a white polo shirt and jeans that fit his muscular legs lovingly.
“Good morning, Gina. I went to get some magazines for us to look at to select the plan for the arbor.” He pulled out a chair beside her and scooted closer until only a scant inch separated them. “I met a couple of handymen there who said they could build anything we want.”
Gina stared down at the magazine on the table, wondering if Max was aware he’d used “we” and “us.” Did he view her as someone who was helping him honor the dream and memory of his wife or as a woman he genuinely cared about?
“The arbor has to be strong if it’s to support the wisteria, one of the men said,” Max went on to say. “I’m thinking a natural look to blend in. What do you think?”
Gina glanced up into black eyes that made her heart sigh again, remembered looking forward, not backward. “I like it.”
He smiled back, then looked down at the magazine. “I want to get started by the end of the week. In the meantime, I saw some pots already filled with flowers at the home improvement store that we could get to make the front porch and the back look more inviting.”
Gina shook her head. “For the front of the house, potted plants would look great, but I’ve always liked non-traditional planters like wheelbarrows, a child’s wagon, or an old washstand for the yard. They give the yard more character and interest. By planting the flowers in pots ourselves for the front, we could ensure we keep to a color theme,” Gina said, purposefully using the “we.” “And it would be less expensive.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He laughed and turned the page.
She looked at his aunt watching them, a pleased smile on her face. “But first we’re going to create Sophia’s outdoor retreat.”
“No,” Sophia said, shaking her head. “The grounds come first.”
Max stood and went to her. “You come first. Without you, I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t have found myself.”
Tears sparkling in her eyes, Sophia hugged him. “Without you, where would I be?”
Leaning away from her, he brushed the tears away from her eyes. “Looks like we rescued each other.” He glanced around at Gina. “The nice thing about that is you never know who is rescuing whom.”
Gina felt the warmth of his gaze, tried for all of two seconds to make herself believe he was just being nice. Then she smiled back. If she was going to be a fool, at least it was over a man she admired.
Late Monday afternoon, Alec placed a piece of flashing on the center footing, then wedged the last section of a four-by-four to rest on it to finish the base of the structure of the gazebo just as lightning flashed, followed by the boom of thunder. Dark gray clouds swept across the sky. Pulling a tarp over the lumber, Alec headed inside. For once, the weatherman’s prediction of a storm was right.
Inside the house, Alec closed the door just as the rain hit in blinding sheets. Locking the door, he picked up the work shoes he’d taken off and continued through the living area.
“Oh, no!”
Hearing Celeste’s yell, he dropped the shoes and hit the stairs running and almost barreled into her as she rounded the corner of the stairs. “What is it?” he asked, his gaze going beyond her as he looked for the cause.
“The rain. I had intended to be gone by now,” she told him. “I got caught up in a phone call with a client and forgot about the time. I intended to be home before this hit.”
Alec relaxed, but his fingers remained on her warm, bare skin just above her elbow. “Looks like you didn’t make it.”
She shot him a look of annoyance, then pushed against his chest. “What an astute observation, Officer Dunlap.”
He watched her run lightly down the stairs, her toolbox in her hand. How could one woman annoy him and make him want to rip off her clothes and take her to bed at the same time?
She jerked open the front door. “Great. Just great!”
Alec stopped just behind her. The smell of rain mixed with her unique scent. He’d like nothing better than to make love to her in the rain; their passion would be just as powerful.
“Oh, well.” Ducking her head, she started out the door.
Alex caught her arm, dragging her back before she had taken more than a couple of steps. Still, the blowing rain dampened her knit top and jeans. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Trying to go home,” she told him.
“Are you crazy?” he asked, aware his voice had risen and unable to do anything about it. “You can’t see a foot in front of you. Low places are probably flooded by now.”
Her small chin lifted imperiously. “I planned to wait until it died down.”
“And in the meantime you’d be wet and chilled sitting in
the van,” he told her. “What kind of sense does that make when you can wait inside?”
“I didn’t want to be in your way,” she said.
His hand unclamped. He stepped back. Horror washed across his face. “You think that badly of me?”
She rolled her eyes. “Men! And they call women flighty.” She closed the door, set her toolbox on the floor, and put her hands on her hips. “You’ve made it clear that you don’t want me around.”
“I don’t want you injured,” he said; just the thought made his chest ache.
“I never thought you did.” Turning, she opened the door, then shut it. “It hasn’t let up, so it seems you have a temporary guest. I think there are some things you need to know.”
She wasn’t going into a storm. He could handle anything else. “Such as?”
“I’m afraid of the dark.”
He almost laughed until her gaze darted away.
“At home I have a backup generator, flashlights with extra batteries in every room of my house.” She slipped her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “I was kicked out of the Girl Scouts because I refused to go camping.”
Alec couldn’t imagine bold, take-charge Celeste afraid of anything. She had certainly stood toe-to-toe with him and not batted her lush lashes.
“What do you plan to do with me?”
He could think of all sorts of pleasurable things to do with her, but he was sure she hadn’t meant the remark sexually. Pity. “Come with me.” Not waiting for an answer, he went to the kitchen and opened a drawer. Taking out a flashlight that was almost as long as her arm, he handed it to her.
Closing her hand around the flashlight, she clicked it on, then shone the beam of light into her face before cutting it off. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I’m going to take a shower.” He paused in the doorway. The well-built house muted the storm, but he could still see the crackle of lightning, imagine the shuddering boom of thunder that followed. “Will you be all right until I get back?”
“Strangely, storms don’t bother me,” she told him. “Go on, but don’t be surprised to see me if the lights go out.”
