The Sweetheart Secret

by Shirley Jump

  “A dog takes up no room at all,” Grandpa said. “Besides, he’s my dog now, and I’m keeping him. You want him out, you’ll have to kick me out first. Major and I are a package deal.” He thumbed the remote, and the TV sprang to life with some show about digging for gold in Alaska.

  Daisy got to her feet. She was wearing short white shorts that showed off her incredible legs, already beginning to tan. Her feet were bare and there was something that seemed both carefree and intimate about that. She had on a dark blue T-shirt that dipped in an enticing V in the front, with a floral pattern running down the sides that encouraged his gaze to dip lower, to linger on her curves. For a second, he forgot about the dog, forgot he was irritated by the newly adopted furbeast in his living room, forgot everything but how awesome her legs looked.

  When Daisy put a soft hand on his shoulder, it seemed to sizzle and spark, down his arm, through his veins, like the wick on a stick of dynamite. “Colt, will you come help me set the table for dinner?”

  Colt started to say no—his to-do list was as long as his arm and getting longer by the minute—but then he glanced at her amazing legs again and thought he could follow those legs to Mars, if need be. “Sure. No problem.”

  They headed into the kitchen, Major Pain—already, Colt was thinking of the dog with a name, which was a dangerous thing—bringing up the rear, with a hopeful wag of his tail. He settled in the corner by the back door, head on his paws, his brown eyes watching the humans.

  “Tell me again . . . Why is there a dog in my house?” Colt asked. He kept his voice low, to keep it from carrying into the living room. Grandpa Earl had changed the channel to Wheel of Fortune, and Colt could hear Pat Sajak congratulating someone on winning a trip to Greece.

  Daisy shrugged. “It’s an incentive.”

  “Incentive? For what?”

  “For walking. Your grandpa and I went for a walk today—”

  “Wait.” Colt put up a hand. “You got him out of the house? Like out of the house, out of the house? Not just onto the porch or into the yard for five seconds?”

  She nodded. “All the way out of the house and into town. We walked down to the boardwalk, then downtown, and back again. We stopped for breaks often and—”

  Colt shook his head. He glanced at Grandpa’s sneakers, sitting by the back door instead of in his room or in a closet. A few blades of grass clung to the soles. “He hasn’t left the house in six months. He hasn’t done anything for six months.”

  Actually, it had been longer than that since the Grandpa Earl that Colt knew and loved had made an appearance. More than a decade since his grandfather had done anything more than work and lock himself in his garage to putter with his tools. Or so he claimed. Colt suspected Earl used the garage door as a wall, a way to disengage from the rest of the world.

  Hell, Colt couldn’t blame him. He’d done the same thing, only with medical texts and college classes. Immersed himself in staying busy so he wouldn’t have time to think, to breathe, to answer the questions in his own mind.

  Now here was Grandpa Earl, finally, after all these years, making the first steps back to building connections, getting out in the world. All because of a dumb dog, and a very smart woman.

  “That is . . . amazing, Daisy,” he said.

  She shrugged, as if it was no big deal. “We walked about a mile all together, I’d say. We had lunch on the boardwalk and then when we headed downtown, there was a little event in the park for the local shelter, and Olivia had some dogs out for adoption, and . . .” Daisy threw up her hands and gave Colt another smile, the kind that said Forgive me, but I couldn’t help it. “Your grandpa was going on and on about how much he missed his old dog Beau, and how his life hadn’t been the same, and when he saw Major there”—the dog flopped his tail in agreement—“I saw his face light up. He looked ten years younger.” She leaned in closer, her eyes bright. “He was smiling, Colt. An honest to God smile.”

  In less than a single day, Daisy had been able to do what Colt couldn’t do in fourteen years. With a walk in the park and a stowaway dog. An odd mixture of gratitude and jealousy rolled through Colt. “I can’t remember the last time I saw my grandfather smile.”

  Daisy put a hand on his arm, and met his gaze with her own. Her brown eyes softened with sympathy, understanding, as if she knew what it was like to lose something precious, and then have a glimpse of that magic again.

  Once again, it had him wondering if maybe he’d made a mistake years ago, keeping his pain to himself, shutting her out. Letting her go.

  “Then let him keep the dog,” she said softly.

  “I’ve never owned a dog. I don’t know the first thing about taking care of one.” As far as excuses went, that one was pretty lame. Yeah, I don’t know how to feed something every day and let it outside, so take it away before I get attached.

  “I’ll make sure your grandpa gets out and walks Major/Major Pain here every day, plus do anything else the dog needs.”

  “And after you’re gone? Who’ll do it then?”

  Was he just asking about the dog? Or was he already starting to worry about how he would accomplish the miracles this woman had brought to his life in a mere twenty-four hours? The Daisy he had met—the Daisy he had married—hadn’t been the kind of woman who would patiently walk around town with an elderly man. Who would find the one thing that would make that man smile—and fight for him to become a part of the family.

  Had he been wrong about her? Or had she changed in the years they’d spent apart?

  “You looking to get rid of me already?” She said, bringing him back to the question he’d asked. She grinned. “I’ve only been here for one day.”

  He inhaled, and caught the scent of baking bread, roast turkey. It was as if he’d walked into a restaurant. A really good restaurant, not the slap it together short-order cooking place that Colt had created here in the last few months. Not only that, but the dishes were done, the windows open to let in the breeze, and there were fresh-cut flowers from the yard in a vase on the kitchen table.

  He shook his head, inhaled again. “Are you . . . are you making dinner?”

  She glanced at the stove. “Yup. Honey-orange basted turkey, whole wheat bread, and oven-roasted broccoli. Healthy, but still delicious.”

  He opened the oven and peeked inside. The turkey glistened, brown and juicy, beside a tray of broccoli just beginning to soften. The bread plumped in a golden brown arch, ready for a thick pat of butter. His stomach rumbled, and the salad he’d had for lunch seemed a very distant memory. “That looks amazing. I didn’t even know you could cook.”

  “I can do a lot of things that you don’t know about, Colt.” She slipped on a pair of pot holders, then took the meal out of the oven and put it on top of the stove. For a minute, she seemed as domestic as Betty Crocker—only a decidedly sexier version of the cooking icon, with those amazing legs and endless curves. “You’re not the only one who’s changed in the last few years. And if you keep me around, I might just surprise you.”

  He thought of the dog and the dinner and the smile on his grandfather’s face. “You already have, Daisy. You already have.”

  Thirteen

  Unnerving. That was the best word for that moment back in the kitchen. She’d hurried through the meal and cleanup, then claimed to be tired and headed off to bed. Sleep hadn’t come, and now, several hours later, Daisy sat in her room, watching the moonlight fall over the Gulf of Mexico, and wondered if she’d been crazy to agree to this deal with Colt. Yes, she needed the loan. Yes, she needed the income—

  But at what cost?

  That soft tone in his voice, that smile on his face, that wonder in his eyes when he realized the changes in his grandfather and in his house, all spoke of a man who was counting on her. She sucked at being the one people counted on. And yet, like a glutton for punishment, she kept throwing herself into positions th
at required responsibility and dependability.

  Not to mention that little domestic scene earlier, where Daisy was Harriet Homemaker with an apron, some potholders, and fresh bread. If she didn’t watch out, she’d get used to that role—used to pretending she was Colt’s little wife, with dinner and a smile waiting at the end of the day. No way was she getting sucked into that fantasy again. No ever-loving way.

  Soon as Emma got here, Daisy was handing over the keys and hitting the road. Going back to the kind of jobs that required nothing more than an ability to write down cheeseburger, medium rare, hold the mayo, side of fries.

  Except a part of her didn’t want to leave. A part of her wanted to stay right here, in this place that had once been so magical, and try to find that same wonderful feeling again. It was the price she might end up paying for trying to set down roots that she couldn’t abide.

  Because there would be a price. Daisy knew that too well. Hadn’t she learned over and over again with Willow that settling down was a fairy tale reserved for others? Heck, Daisy’s own marriage hadn’t even lasted as long as the Christmas buying season.

  Yet she’d still had hope, even after Colt left her. The first time, she’d held on to hope for a long, long time, staying in that apartment and the city, figuring he’d be back. That same hope was what had brought her back to New Orleans years later, after dozens of jobs and address changes. Then, like Sleeping Beauty, that hope had fluttered to life again when Colt had stopped in the diner fourteen years after she’d last seen him. For one crazy night, she’d believed they had a second chance.

  Foolish. That should be her middle name. Colt wasn’t any better at settling down and building a relationship than she was. Even if he gave off the appearance of being Joe Homebody with those damned khakis. The Colt she knew didn’t open up and share at the end of the day. He didn’t let her into his thoughts, or his heart. Even now, even after all these years, and that stung.

  Daisy turned on her phone, and pulled up the messaging program. Her hand hovered over the keys for a long time. Outside her open window, the ocean whispered a soft caress against the sand, and a light, warm breeze clicked through the palms. Nostalgia washed over her, and when she closed her eyes, she was seventeen again and lying in one of the twin beds in the back bedroom of the Hideaway Inn, trading secrets in a hushed voice.

  Before she could think twice, Daisy typed in Emma’s name. Can’t sleep, she texted. Remember that time we snuck out with a bottle of wine to the beach in the middle of the night?

  There was a pause, then a ping. OMG. I remember that. That wine was so disgusting. We got sick right after we drank it.

  But it was fun while it lasted, wasn’t it? She added a smiley face, then hit send.

  It was. And then a second later, a smiley face from Emma.

  Daisy itched to press the issue, to ask Emma to come to Rescue Bay, to try to find those memories that were as scattered as the shells on the beach, but hesitated. What if she pushed and Emma withdrew even more?

  This is almost like staying up all night in that tiny bedroom we shared.

  Talking about boys, LOL.

  Daisy hesitated, then typed, Speaking of boys . . . remember Colt?

  An immediate text back. Of course. Why?

  I’m sort of staying at his house. It’s a long story, and we’re not involved—Okay, maybe that kiss in her motel room told a different story—I’m sort of helping him out.

  A moment passed, and then Daisy’s phone rang. She pressed the button and sat back against the pillows. “How’d I guess that mentioning I was sort of living with Colt would make you call?”

  Emma laughed. “Well, you can’t just drop a bomb like that on me through text. That kind of news demands a phone call.”

  For a moment, Daisy just enjoyed the sounds of laughter in Emma’s voice. Once, Emma had been Daisy’s best friend, the closest thing to a sister she had ever known. Over the years, Daisy had let that relationship lapse. She hadn’t realized how much she had missed Emma until she heard that laugh. “I saved the biggest news for last.”

  “Bigger news than reuniting with the one man who trips your trigger?”

  “The man I am also still”—Daisy toyed with the edge of the blanket—“married to.”

  Emma gasped. “Wait. Whoa. Still married? Really?”

  “Yup, in name at least. It’s a long story about paperwork that never got filed. Now I’m living with him. But not living with him, living with him, if that makes sense.”

  “Not screwing his brains out, I take it?”

  “No, definitely not. No.” Not that Daisy hadn’t thought about doing that, oh, a thousand times. Pretty much with every waking breath. Knowing a mere flight of stairs separated her from Colt made heat rise in her gut, sent her pulse skittering. In a few seconds, she could be upstairs, in his room, in his bed, in his arms. “No way.”

  Emma laughed. “That’s a lot of negatives, Dase. Does that mean you’re thinking about screwing his brains out?”

  “Not at all. I’m just here to help him with his grandpa, until he finds a full-time caretaker.”

  “You are a sucky liar. You know that, right?”

  “Either that or you’re a great detective.” Daisy settled against her pillows and drew the blanket to her chest. She clutched the phone tighter, as if doing so would erase the distance between her and her cousin. “Emma, I’ve missed talking to you.”

  “Same here, Dase. Same here.” Something in Emma’s tone, though, trended toward deeper shades of melancholy. Whatever it was, she didn’t elaborate, just let the silence stretch across the phone connection.

  When had they gone from being best friends to being distant relatives? Daisy well remembered the days when Emma had told her every minute detail about her life, and Daisy had done the same. Aunt Clara used to say the two girls lived in each other’s pockets, and for a long time, it seemed that way. Then Emma had gotten married to Roger and she’d begun to drift away, a little more each year.

  Maybe it was just Emma being married, caught up in a different kind of life than Daisy’s. Daisy had lived here and there, jumped from job to job, letting more and more time lapse between phone calls and visits to Jacksonville. After a while, she and her cousin had lost track of the things they had in common.

  Deep down, though, Daisy knew there was more than just a few missed connections eroding her relationship with Emma. Something that lurked in the shadows of every conversation, but that Emma wouldn’t voice.

  “By the way, I’m meeting a contractor at the inn tomorrow,” Daisy said, forcing the worry from her voice and replacing it with bright optimism. “A friend of a friend, who says he’ll cut me a break on the price. Maybe that’ll take the estimate from astronomical to affordable. Which means together, we could handle the payments. And there’s a couple here in town who want to hold their wedding at the inn next month. The Hideaway Inn is coming back to life, Emma.”

  Emma sighed. “I don’t want to run that place, Daisy. I wish you’d let it go.”

  “You used to love it here. You loved it here more than I did.”

  “That was . . . before.”

  “Before what?”

  A long pause. “You know, it’s late. I better get some sleep. I have a photo shoot tomorrow at the crack of dawn.”

  And in those words, Daisy saw an opportunity. A small window. If she could just get Emma to come to Rescue Bay, maybe she could find a way to bridge this gap between them. A way to ease the sadness that hung on the end of every syllable Emma spoke. “You know, you really are a fabulous photographer, Em.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Why don’t you come down to see the inn, take a few pictures, and let me use them for marketing? You don’t have to stay long. Just a few days, a weekend even. If you like how the place is coming together, then stay. If not, go back to Jacksonville and to your job.” Daisy
pressed on, hoping that if she kept talking enough, Emma would just say yes. “At least give me the chance to show you what it can be, and in exchange, you try to capture a little of that magic on film. A win all around, not to mention a cheap vacation. Plus, as soon as the kitchen’s up and running, I’ll bake those chocolate chip cookies you love.”

  “Daisy, I don’t know . . .”

  “Then you can tell your mom you at least came down here and saw the place. That’ll make her happy and get her off your back.” Daisy caught her breath. “See? Win all around.”

  Another long pause. This one stretched so long, Daisy checked to make sure the connection was still intact.

  “I’ll think about it,” Emma said finally. “That’s all I can promise.”

  “That’s all I ask.” Daisy held tight to the phone and decided that she would stay, as long as it took. Emma needed a new start—whether she knew it or not—and Daisy wasn’t going anywhere until she got it. Not yet.

  * * *

  Colt paced his room, back and forth, between the view of the Gulf and the view of the neighbor’s roof. The small bedroom on the second floor of the bungalow had gables at either end, making Colt’s pacing more of a short shuffle.

  Every step, he was aware of Daisy, sleeping just one floor below him. Did she still sleep in the nude? Or did she wear a ratty old T-shirt? A sexy nightgown?

  Then his oh-so-helpful insomniac brain flashed back to lying in bed with her, naked and warm beneath the covers, legs intertwined. One touch led to two, led to him climbing on top of her and sinking into her deep, wet warmth, again and again and—

  Okay, that was not productive thinking. At all. Now he not only couldn’t sleep, but he also needed an ice-cold shower. He threw on a pair of baggy sweats, then headed downstairs. The kitchen was dark, save for the light coming in from the moon outside the window.