Never Alone

by Lyn Cote

  Then he caught the last of a sentence Hallawell was saying to Jane. “Bigger contractors cut corners.”

  “By bigger contractors, do you mean me?” Cash asked. He didn’t let the antagonism he felt touch his tone. Expressions stiffened visibly on the faces of the people within earshot. Suddenly their table became a silent island, surrounded by groups where friendly chatter, the clinking sound of ice in glasses continued.

  “I was only speaking generally.” Hallawell’s conciliatory words didn’t match his abrasive tone.

  Around the table everyone waited for the immediate outbreak of verbal hostilities. But after exchanging looks rife with challenge, Cash and Hallawell both let it drop, and Carmine started telling a joke.

  Just as the scoops of lemon and lime Italian ice were being served, a waitress told Cash he was wanted on the phone in the lounge. When he returned, the sociable atmosphere at the table quieted. “It was the sheriff.” His tone was harsh. “Trespassers have been caught at my site. They were armed with cans of spray paint. Evidently they planned to decorate my model home, but were caught before they had a chance.” Everyone except Hallawell voiced sympathy. Cash nodded in reply, then left, walking quickly.

  In the semidarkness of the parking lot, Cash fumbled in his pocket, separating his keys from the loose change. He felt a touch on his arm. Whirling around, he caught Jane by her bare arms. “You!” The restaurant lights lit her face clearly. Surprise had widened her eyes.

  “Me. Let go.”

  Against his calloused palms, her skin was smooth, soft Resisting the urge to slide his hands farther up her sleek skin, he released her abruptly. “Sorry. But you shouldn’t sneak up on people. Did I forget something?”

  “I didn’t sneak up on you. If you’d been listening, you’d have heard me. I’m going with you.” She slipped her thumbs into the front belt loops of her denim skirt. The cream silk blouse she wore shimmered in the low light.

  “What?” He lifted his gaze to her face.

  “I came to keep you company while you inspect the damage to your site.”

  He filled his lungs with the hot, humid air. “I don’t need your help—”

  “I insist.” Her pale skin glowed in the light from the restaurant. She fidgeted with her collar.

  He grimaced. Her very feminine presence distracted him already. “That isn’t necessary.”

  “If the tables were turned and it was my shop, wouldn’t you insist on going along?”

  “That’s different.”

  “Because I’m a small, weak woman?” Her head tilted as her chin lifted to him in argument.

  “Don’t start that. Thank you for offering, but it isn’t—”

  “Necessary,” she finished for him. “But now it is.”

  “Why?” He felt his ire rising. Not only because of her insistence, but because of the provocative pose she flaunted in his face.

  “Because I’ll look like an idiot Everyone in town saw me follow you. I don’t want to have to explain—”

  He sighed in resignation. “Get in.” He clicked open the lock, and she slipped in. He caught a breath of her cinnamon-scented cologne. It brought to mind the richness of her auburn hair in the candlelight at their table. If he ran his fingers through it, would it feel as silky as it looked?

  He slid behind the steering wheel. The suffocating heat made him flip on the air-conditioning. “I’m going out to the site first.” Smoothly he shifted into reverse, backed out of the space and shifted into first.

  “Oh, I thought you’d go directly to the sheriff. There wasn’t any damage done.”

  “That’s right. But I want to see if the sheriff’s deputy missed anything. Also I’ve found that letting a vandal sit in ‘the tank’ and count the minutes till someone comes to press charges can be very effective.”

  “You mean this has happened before?” Her soft voice sounded like velvet in the darkened Jeep. It caused a shiver to slither up his neck.

  “In Chicago. A construction site irresistibly draws trespassers, thieves and vandals.”

  “I’d never thought about that before.”

  “That’s not surprising. It’s like your little mystery of the missing size eight. I wouldn’t have thought that one up on my own.” As she nodded, her fine golden loop earrings swayed in the low light. Her earlobes looked pale pink, soft…

  With determination, he turned his eyes forward. This reoccurring awareness of Red as a woman was getting to be irritating. It must be all the pressure of the new project and all this Hallawell garbage. In silence, Cash drove trying to keep his eyes on the road, trying to ignore the tantalizing woman beside him.

  The large sign lit up the entrance of the Eagle Shores subdivision while the remainder of the site sat in darkness. Cash drove directly to his model home. “I’ll leave the air-conditioning on.”

  “I’m coming with you.” Jane pulled on her door handle and jumped out.

  He followed suit. Outside the Jeep the sultry night air wrapped around Cash like a cocoon. “Is this Louisiana or Wisconsin?” He swept his hand over the fine perspiration on his forehead.

  He met Jane in front of the Jeep. Pointing skyward, he said, “There’s the real culprit, the full moon.”

  Jane followed his glance, then turned back to his face. “The moon?”

  “If it hadn’t been light enough to see, our ‘spray-paint commandos’ wouldn’t have been out tonight. I think I’ll have to invest in some motion-activated floodlights and hire a watchman.”

  Crickets serenaded the night in endless crescendos. He snapped on his flashlight. “I’m going to check the door and window locks, then we’ll head over to the sheriff.” He glanced into her face and bowed slightly. “Shall we take our moonlight tour?”

  She slipped her hand in the crook of his elbow. This simple act of trust hit him unexpectedly. It was dark, she was in heels, the ground was uneven. He knew it was practicality that motivated her touch, but her touch unlocked a deep sadness inside of him. How many times had he given his arm or hand to his sister, to lead her, to steady her? His younger sister no longer needed his protection. His eyes smarted with unshed tears, making him relieved they were in the shadows.

  Breathing as evenly as he could, he concentrated on the routine he had performed so many times on other sites, and his sadness ebbed. He flashed the beam of light up and down the outer walls and directed the beam to the latch of every ground-floor window. He tested the back door and ended their circuit with a check of the front door.

  “That does it.” He turned back to his Jeep, but Jane’s hand stayed on his arm. He wanted to thank her for touching him. It had stirred hurtful memories, but only at the start. Her touch had connected them in a way he hadn’t realized he’d needed.

  They settled themselves in the Jeep’s interior. Cash flipped on the air-conditioning. He made a wide turn and headed for the county road. “How about a picnic Saturday?” he asked, surprising himself.

  “A picnic?” Jane asked. “My, you’re optimistic. It’ll probably be ninety-eight in the shade and pour buckets two minutes after I put all the food out on the picnic table.”

  He loved the wry twist of her humor and he knew why. It was one of the many traits she had inherited from Lucy. He grinned to himself, but kept his tone even. “Why don’t I pick you two up at eleven. We’ll drive north to Sandy Lake Beach.”

  “Very well,” she said.

  The atmosphere in the Jeep had mellowed. They rode in companionable silence. He pulled into the parking space outside the local sheriff’s office. He shut the car door behind Jane, and without a word they walked toward the entrance. Cash held the door for her, and she slipped past him.

  “Langley?” The sheriff stood up at his desk and came to the counter.

  Cash held out his hand. Momentarily the sheriffs eyes lingered on Jane as though questioning her presence. She nodded toward Cash and sat down.

  “How did you manage to get the vandals before they had done any damage?” Cash asked.


  “After I heard about things disappearing from your place—”

  “How did you hear that?” Cash demanded.

  The sheriff grinned. “Small town. Anyway, I decided to have a man patrol the site every hour. The deputy was already behind them when they turned into the entrance. He lagged behind, parked and trailed them on foot to your model home. They had just pulled the spray-paint cans out of paper bags and were aiming when he switched on his flashlight. It doesn’t usually happen that neatly.”

  Cash nodded and folded his arms across his chest. “How old are they?”

  “Eighteen. Shirt-tail relation to some of Hallawell’s crew.”

  “Not minors?”

  “They’ll be charged as adults. But it will only be trespassing with intent to commit malicious mischief. If my deputy hadn’t stopped them—”

  “No. I’d rather not clean up a mess—or charge anyone with anything. I don’t think this was their own idea.”

  The sheriff leaned back with his arms lapped over each other on his chest. “What did you have in mind?”

  “A good scare.”

  The sheriff nodded slowly. “I’ll bring them out of the detention room in cuffs. That tends to drop a man’s confidence.”

  Trying to keep a low profile, so that no action of hers would change or hinder what was happening, Jane moved farther back into the shadows and sat down on a vinyl, straight-backed chair. The scene unfolding before her was more interesting a character study than she would have predicted.

  Cash, the hard-headed, success-is-everything businessman, was surprisingly willing to overlook youthful indiscretions. Why hadn’t she realized the love he’d always shown Dena denoted a compassionate heart? Her memory recited, “Blessed are the merciful for they shall obtain mercy.”

  She heard the sheriff’s voice, now strident and loud. Two teens, both with identical, “buzzed” hairstyles came into view from behind the counter. One teen already bowed his head in defeat, but the other’s chin lifted in defiance.

  “Mr. Langley,” the sheriff announced in a gruff, combative tone, “these are the two perpetrators.”

  Cash, his hands still across his chest, said nothing, but eyed the two as he would have looked at a piece of chewing gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe. Jane was glad he wasn’t looking at her that way. “I told you I didn’t want to see them.” Cash’s voice was cutting, and the scorn he applied to the words was chilling.

  The bowed head dropped fractionally lower. The defiant chin lifted another inch.

  Cash went on, “I just wanted to press charges and leave the rest to the county prosecutor.”

  “You certain you want to go ahead and charge them?” The sheriff wheedled. “Isn’t this case too minor—”

  “Malicious mischief isn’t minor,” Cash said sharply. “I doubt that if I went out to their car and spray-painted it, they would hesitate to charge me.”

  “They’re both first-time offenders—”

  “That isn’t the point…”

  The defiant one spoke up, looking at the sheriff, “Why are you bothering to talk to him. We didn’t ask—”

  “Quiet,” Cash snapped. “You’re in big trouble, haven’t you realized that? This isn’t the high school dean’s office. You’re eighteen, an adult. This fiasco will earn you a permanent record.”

  The defiant chin lifted only fractionally this time. “So?”

  Cash’s voice lowered and his tone became venomous. “How about this? How is it going to feel when you have to call your parents to post bail for you?”

  Silence. The young man’s mouth opened. His chin dropped in an uncontrolled free fall. The other offender uttered a slight moan.

  “Mr. Langley,” the sheriff wheedled, “won’t you consider an apology and some sort of restitution? No actual damage was done.”

  As the rest of the scene was played out, Jane watched avidly. Both teens apologized to Cash, promised to steer clear of the Shores and agreed to perform twenty hours of community service during the remainder of the summer. As the boys were finishing up the details, Cash and Jane left.

  During the drive back, both of them sat in a tired silence. Cash drove her back to her Blazer, then he followed her home. There he insisted on walking her to her door, and she was too fatigued to protest her independence. It was nearly midnight, the start of the stillest time of the night.

  She stopped on her back step, turned toward him and paused. His compassion to the two young men tugged at her emotions once more. She longed to rest her hand along his hard jaw. Verses she had learned about kindness, “Be kind one to another…” “Love is kind…” ran through her mind.

  Suddenly and completely, Cash felt the shift in Jane’s mood. He could read the change in the way she leaned close to him, the inviting tilt of her head, the barely perceptible parting of her lips. All evening her presence had enticed him. Now she softened to him, invited him.

  Her cinnamon cologne still sent out its faint fragrance. Her full bottom lip captured his senses. If he leaned down to skim it with his tongue, he wondered what it would taste of. His chin dropped closer to hers. She didn’t move. He felt her breath against his cheek. His lips parted.

  The call of a loon on the nearby lake made them both gasp. He froze. Standing up straighter, he took a deep breath with difficulty. His lungs felt constricted.

  She touched her fingers to her lips. “Good night,” she said and stepped inside.

  After he heard her lock turn, he stood a few more seconds on her top step. He wanted to call her back, to thank her for going with him. And had that unexpected softening of Jane really happened? Would he have kissed her? Or was it just his imagination and the moonlight?

  Chapter Five

  Despite the uncomfortably hot, muggy evening wind, Jane walked languidly toward her shop. She disliked equally the heat outside and the air-conditioned isolation inside her shop. In spite of her dawdling, she finally arrived at the shop door and stepped in. Oh, well, only a little over two hours to closing for another busy Friday night.

  “Jane, Lucy called.” Tish said, “You’re not supposed to drive out to Lucy’s after work. Angie will be at your house.”

  Jane frowned at Tish’s disrespectful use of their grandmother’s given name. “That’s peculiar. Grandmother doesn’t drive at night anymore.”

  Tish shrugged. Several tourists browsed through the racks. Tish stood outside the fitting rooms, conferring with a customer through the closed door.

  “May I help you or do you just want to browse?” Jane asked a woman near her.

  “Just browsing,” the woman replied quickly.

  “Fine. Let me know if I can help. I’m Jane.”

  She politely canvassed the remaining strangers, then went to stand by the counter. Finally the first woman she’d spoken to asked to try on a black challis skirt. Jane led her to the available fitting room. “Let me know if you need anything else,” Jane murmured as she shut the door.

  Within minutes the woman peeked out around the door. “Do you have this in size eight? My pre-vacation diet worked!”

  “Of course,” Jane said mechanically.

  But as she shuffled through the rack of skirts, a cold weight dropped to the pit of her stomach. Though she knew she had another black challis skirt in size eight in her inventory, none hung where it should. Is one hanging in the dressing rooms? Tish had just cleaned out the dressing rooms and returned everything left in them to the correct racks. Jane drew the dreadful conclusion that another piece of merchandise was missing. The size-eight culprit is still with me.

  She felt like stamping her foot in frustration, but she went ahead and chose an alternate skirt she thought would be equally flattering to the customer. Along the way she added a complementary blouse, cardigan and scarf.

  “I’m sorry,” she told the woman. “I didn’t have that exact skirt in size eight. As long as you are in the dressing room, would you care to try these on?”

  The woman glanced unhappily at the clo
thing Jane offered her. “I suppose so.”

  Jane handed her the hangers. This was her usual initiation to a new client, a hand-picked ensemble suited to a woman’s coloring and style.

  Within minutes Jane watched another woman step out of the dressing room like an emerging butterfly from a cocoon. The customer timidly walked over to view herself in the three-way mirror. “This is lovely,” she said in awed surprise. Jane smiled. The ritual of helping another woman discover how good she could look in clothes meant for her usually exhilarated Jane, but the disappearance of the size-eight had blunted her pleasure.

  The customer smiled shyly at her attractive reflection. She ran her hand down the lapel of the sweater’s collar. “I’ve never seen a sweater quite like this.”

  “It was hand knitted in Italy.”

  “For a shop way up here?”

  Jane smiled at the ingenuous question. “Many of my customers find it convenient to shop here on their vacation. They make it a part of their yearly routine. I’ve just brought out more fall items. Is there anything else I could show you?”

  The customer gave Jane a shrewd look. “I can see that you know what you’re doing. I’d like a few everyday outfits for the fall. I do quite a bit of volunteering, and I work in my husband’s law office part-time…”

  After listening intently to the woman’s information about herself, Jane went through the racks expertly pulling together skirts, slacks, blouses, sweaters and blazers. At the mirror, Jane held them in front of the woman, demonstrating all the flattering combinations they created. An hour later Tish helped the woman carry out a myriad of Jane’s signature gold-and-teal bags and boxes to her car.

  “How did you do it?” Tish declared as she walked back into the quiet shop. “She bought everything you showed her!”

  Jane smiled. “I will share my secret with you in hopes you’ll learn how to do it. Most women want to dress well, but they don’t know how to do it for themselves. This customer was a woman in search of quality and individuality. Until now, she’s been afraid some pushy saleswoman—with only a commission in mind—would intimidate her into buying something expensive that she doesn’t like. So she shops at very large, impersonal department stores, instead of a small shop like mine. When she realized I knew how to help her dress the way she had always longed to, she ceased to be afraid.”