Today would be a good day, because it was the day Claire would take the first step to find the woman she wanted to be.
Chapter Two
‡
Boyd let his clothes dry rather than change them. He had too much to do, and besides, the water had felt good, washing away the morning’s sweat. After replacing the faulty valve, he finished getting the sprinklers back under the grass and tamped down the replaced dirt.
Hot and sweaty from the day’s soupy humidity, he opened his water bottle and drank from the tepid contents. He saved the last of it to pour over his head.
“Mr. Rowe?”
He looked to his right to find Claire, now wearing an apron with a picture of a big peach on it, a T-shirt, and cropped pants. Her hair was up in a ponytail rather than the tight bun. She looked more natural than she had in her socialite outfit.
“Boyd. Call me Boyd.” He smiled, and she didn’t. She was probably still mad about the dead body incident. Oh, and the sprinkler geyser.
“Lunch is ready, Mr. Rowe. Pearl wanted me to come get you.” Her spine and her words were stilted, as though she was uncomfortable around him.
So, that’s how it was going to continue to be. Boyd loved a challenge.
“Thanks. I’ll be right there.” He gestured to his clothes. “I need to go wash up and put on a clean shirt.”
When he tugged at the hem of the shirt he wore, she blinked hard enough to cause a breeze then pivoted on her heel and marched back to the house, arms swinging.
“Be there in five minutes!” he called to her retreating back. There was passion in that woman, but she had it ratcheted down so it couldn’t escape.
He went to the back of the shed and washed up at the pump, then pulled on the shirt he kept hanging on a hook for lunch. Pearl was particular about table manners, and he did his best to follow her rules even if he ate in the kitchen and never with the guests.
Boyd arrived at the back door and stepped in. The scents of fresh bread and cookies greeted him. He breathed in deep and knew he was a lucky man. Pearl was a fantastic cook.
“Are you clean?” The older woman winked at him from her position at the massive six-burner stove.
“Yes, ma’am. Can I set the table?” He glanced at the clock. It was one thirty, which was their normal meal time; the guests ate at noon. His stomach yowled and he wondered if Pearl would smack his hand if he snatched a roll from the covered bowl on the round table to his right.
“You can help Claire set the table.”
The woman in question walked into the room with a handful of dirty dishes from the dining room. She barely spared him a nod in recognition before she set her burden in the big apron sink and washed her hands.
He waited patiently for her to retrieve clean plates from the cabinet before he stepped toward her and held out his hands. “I am your servant, my lady.”
She frowned. “What?”
“I was being chivalrous.” He tried a smile but she walked around him and set the plates out herself.
“Boyd usually sets the table while I get the food ready, Claire.” Pearl took a casserole dish out of the oven, and he groaned at the sight.
“You made mac and cheese?” His mouth watered. Her mac and cheese might have been the best food on the planet, definitely worth committing a crime to eat. Or sacrificing a creature in the light of the moon.
“In honor of Claire’s addition to our little family.” Pearl carried the dish to the table while Claire set out silverware and napkins for four.
Boyd felt odd standing there doing nothing while they worked. He wasn’t one to sit still and not contribute, so he got glasses out of the cabinet. “Tea?”
“In the fridge.” Pearl pointed with her peach shaped oven mitt still on her hand. “Extra ice in mine, please.”
“I’d prefer water with lemon.” Claire finally spoke.
“Pearl makes the best sweet tea in Atlanta, hands down.” He put ice in the glasses and pulled the pitcher from the refrigerator.
“I’d prefer water.” Claire narrowed her gaze. “With lemon.”
Well, then. He shrugged and did as she bade. After he put the glasses on the table, Pearl glanced at her watch and frowned at the door.
“Manny’s late.”
“Do you want me to go chase him down?” Boyd was already halfway to his feet.
“No, no, eat. I know you love mac and cheese.” She patted his hand. “Especially the crunchy top.”
Damn, he sure did. The crunchy top was a secret she apparently swore to her grandmother not to divulge. Not that he could cook, but he wouldn’t reveal her secrets regardless. Pearl and Manny were good people. The best. They gave him a chance to be a groundskeeper with limited experience and, for the last five years, had treated him like a nephew. A treasured member of their little family. He would do anything for them.
Alone with Claire, he gestured to the spoon in the casserole dish. “Ladies first.”
She sipped at her lemon water and met his gaze. “You don’t have to be chivalrous. I can hear your stomach from here. I need a few minutes to catch my breath anyway.”
Boyd shrugged and scooped the delicious concoction onto his plate and snagged a roll and green beans with almond slivers. It didn’t matter if it was lunch; every meal was an occasion in Pearl’s kitchen. As he salted his meal, he watched Claire put a tablespoon of food on her plate.
“Not hungry?”
She started at the sound of his voice, and her hand jerked, launching a green bean from her fork, which flew across the table to smack Boyd right in the cheek.
She gasped. He laughed and picked up the bean, then popped it in his mouth.
“Waste not, want not.”
Claire set her fork down and pushed away from the table. “I think I need to take a walk.”
Boyd put his hand on her arm. “Please stay. You look like you need lunch and a chance to breathe.”
“Breathe?” She seemed to wear a perpetual frown.
“Yeah, just take a moment and breathe. It does wonders for you.” He was surprised when she pulled her chair back to the table and pulled in a deep breath. “Once more.”
She closed her eyes and when she opened them, he saw vulnerability and pain in her gaze before she glanced away. There was more to this beautiful socialite turned kitchen girl. Depths he wanted to explore at the same time he wanted to keep his distance.
Something told him it was going to be one hell of a summer.
*
Claire undressed slowly, every muscle in her body aching from bone-deep exhaustion. It wasn’t the work she’d done making meals and helping guests. No, it was the emotional exhaustion of the last week. She’d been blowing in the breeze like a plastic bag on the highway, bruised and battered from the journey.
Now she had a place to sleep, people who were kind and generous, and a chance to reset. She’d begun to fall for the charm of the Peach Bellini. The night creatures had sung a full symphony as she walked toward the cottage at nine.
As she pulled on her robe, she yawned so hard, her jaw cracked. A hot shower and she was going to collapse into that fluffy bed. As she walked out of her bedroom, the bathroom door opened. She stopped mid-stride, too shocked to do anything but stare, her travel tote and towel dangling from her hand.
Boyd walked out wearing only a navy blue towel. Water clung to every sculpted inch of him. Droplets clung to his dark hair, which curled when wet. He turned to smile and all the air whooshed out of her.
“Hey, roomie. Shower’s all yours.” He walked down the hallway with a lean hipped swagger and walked into the second bedroom she hadn’t even realized was there.
Holy shit.
She was sharing the house with Boyd? Why hadn’t Pearl mentioned it? Claire’s entire body flushed with heat. She was expected to use a shower after Boyd had been in there naked? Her exhaustion turned into something completely different. Annoyance, disappointment, and a whiff of arousal.
Claire stood in the hallway for
an indeterminate amount of time before she took a step toward the bathroom. No matter what, she couldn’t stay in the house forever without showering. There was nothing she could do it about it tonight. She could be practical and just make do for now.
Tomorrow she could talk to Pearl about different accommodations. There were certainly guest rooms in the house. For paying guests, of which she wasn’t. Hell, she didn’t think she could afford even one night at the bed and breakfast.
Resigned but resentful, she entered the bathroom. The air held warm moisture, the mirror fogged from the previous occupant. She closed the door and readied herself for a shower.
She couldn’t think about the fact Boyd had just been naked here. The man was a fellow employee, and she wanted nothing to do with him. The arousal she’d felt was temporary insanity caused by the emotional storm she’d just emerged from.
Claire didn’t realize she was humming until she heard the music. She found a smile when she recognized “Yellow Rose of Texas”. Her mother used to sing that when she hung laundry on the line. She had a clothes dryer but she preferred the smell of outdoors on the sheets and towels.
When the words came from her mouth, she forgot everything but the longing for her family and for home. An ache spread in her chest that reminded her she was alone in Atlanta. Pearl and Manny were wonderful of course but they weren’t her brother and sisters, or her mother and father.
She sang to them, to herself, to the universe, letting her emotions free for the first time in a long time. The water became lukewarm, so she turned it off and pressed her forehead to the tile. Although she’d been full of homesickness, the song and the shower surprisingly had made her feel better.
After toweling off, she put on her robe and brushed her teeth. When she opened the door, she peered out, but Boyd’s door was closed. She went back to her room and towel dried her hair until it was only damp, then put on a T-shirt and shorts. The exhaustion she’d felt half an hour earlier had dissipated. She was too wound up to sleep. Perhaps she’d get online and balance her checkbook.
When the knock sounded on the door, she started. “Who is it?”
“It’s Boyd. I made some hot chocolate. Do you want some?”
She cracked open the door and peered out. Boyd wore only a pair of shorts, revealing a jaw-dropping chest covered with slabs of muscle and whorls of dark hair. The man was ridiculously ripped.
“It’s still eighty-five degrees outside. Hot chocolate?”
He shrugged. “Chocolate helps me sleep.” He held up a mug with, of course, a peach painted on it. “I’m going to watch TV. You’re welcome to join me.”
“I don’t think I’m very good company right now.” She couldn’t manage to be polite.
“Then you need the chocolate.” He handed her the mug and walked back toward the living room.
She stared at the steaming cup. He’d put mini marshmallows in it. Claire had a choice. She could mope in her room, or go hang out with her new roommate. Self-pity, or hot chocolate and TV?
Claire slipped on flip-flops and followed Boyd out. He lounged on the corner of the sofa, his legs up on a cowhide ottoman.
“Do you like crime dramas, reality TV, or the home shows?” He held up the remote.
She sat on the opposite end of the couch and tucked her legs beneath her. “I’ve had enough reality. Maybe a crime drama.”
He put something on and they watched in what she was surprised to find a companionable silence. She sipped at the hot chocolate and relaxed.
When the commercial came on, he looked at her over the top of the cup. “What’s your story, cousin Claire?”
She frowned. “I’m not your cousin.”
“No, but you’re Pearl’s. I’ll tell you mine, and you can tell me yours.” He took a big sip of his hot beverage and watched her.
“Mine’s not very exciting.” She wasn’t sure she wanted to tell him her sob story.
“Neither is mine, but I’ll share. I grew up the son of a wandering gypsy. I moved twenty-seven times before I was eighteen. I got my GED and then took night classes to get a college degree or two.” He set his mug down on the floor. “I was working in Atlanta, and I met Pearl at a farmer’s market. Then I came to work here.”
She blinked, unsure of how to compare to his wandering childhood. A couple college degrees?
“What did you major in?”
He shook his head. “I shared, now you share.”
She sighed from somewhere deep in her soul. “I was a hurricane bride.”
*
“Pardon?” Boyd wasn’t sure he heard her right.
“I grew up in eastern Texas on my family’s ranch. I have two sisters, one younger and one older, and a twin brother. I have a degree in marketing. I moved to Atlanta last fall and now I’m here.” The words exploded out of her in a rush, like a soda that had been shaken up before opening.
“Atlanta is a whole different world from Texas. What made you want to move here?” He was curious, since his mother’s reasons for moving were often as thin as tissue paper and usually made no sense to him.
“A, ah, job, which I no longer have.” She turned away from him and stared at the television. Her jaw moved and flexed and he realized she was clenching her teeth.
“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Claire. Just trying to get to know each other better.” He stood and picked up his mug, then held out his hand to her. She stared at him. “Are you done with the hot chocolate?”
“Oh. Thanks.” Her cheeks flushed as she handed him the mug.
He took a few minutes in the kitchen while she sat alone in the living room. Claire was like one of those mind puzzles. He’d have to take his time and view her from different angles before he figured her out. Sometimes the easiest way to encourage someone to talk was to remain silent.
She walked into the kitchen with her arms wrapped around her middle. “What are your college degrees in?”
He didn’t look up from the sink where he washed the mugs. “I have a bachelors in criminal justice and a J.D.”
There was a pause before she spoke. “You’re a lawyer?”
Boyd shrugged. “I used to be, but I found something I like better.”
Another pause. “I don’t understand.”
At that, he turned to look at her perpetual frown. “Some things in life don’t make sense. Sometimes they do. For me, being a lawyer was fun for a few years, but I needed something else. When I came here and started working with the earth, trees and all the living plants, it made sense.”
“Okay, now I don’t feel so bad. A lawyer who digs in the dirt for a living. I never would’ve guessed.” She sat on a stool at the island.
“You judge people when you meet them.” He dried off the first mug while he watched her digest that statement.
“I think as human beings we all do to some extent. Our experiences are what gives us a construct for every situation we face.”
“You took psychology in school.” He grinned and was pleased to see her lips twitch.
“It’s required for marketing to understand how human beings tick.” She traced a crack in the Formica with one finger. “You don’t fit any construct I’ve encountered before.”
“Is that a bad thing?” He set the clean mug in the cupboard and picked up the other one.
“I don’t know yet.” She put her face in her hands, resembling an ostrich sticking its head in the sand.
“You should probably get some sleep. We start early ’round these parts.” Boyd wanted to spend more time with her, but now wasn’t right. She had started to open up with him, which was encouraging. Why it was important to him, he couldn’t say. She was smart, pretty, and jumpy.
“Yes, I should. Maybe I should go to bed.” She got to her feet, and he had a sudden thought.
“You said you were a hurricane bride, right? What does that mean?”
She let out a sigh. “Forget I said it.”
Boyd had to turn the puzzle and look at another side.
His new roommate was turning out to be much more interesting than he originally thought. Far from the woman with the expensive yellow dress and perfect hair, she was human. He liked her.
“It’s your story. That’s the advantage of roommates, you don’t have to tell your story unless you want to. And even then, you can bullshit me.” He smiled, and she peeked up at him.
“Bullshit, hm? Did you just hand me a big heaping pile in your story?” Her tone had changed to one of mistrust.
“No, but you’ll have to decide that for yourself. Trust has to be earned, right?” He hung up the towel and padded back to the living room.
A few minutes later, she followed and sat in the same spot. He kept his eyes on the television, as if Claire were a timid cat he didn’t want to scare away. Boyd normally kept a safe distance from most people because it was easier. Less entanglements, less risk.
Something shifted inside him at her whispered comment about being a hurricane bride. The words were dark and full of shadows, a familiar taste of what he’d known in his life. Reaching for the sun didn’t always mean you got warm.
This time their silence was awkward and rife with unspoken questions. Boyd got to his feet after another ten minutes of uncomfortable non-conversation.
“Good night.” As he walked down the hallway, he heard her murmur, but he didn’t return to the living room because he couldn’t.
She’d said. “Trust won’t ever come again.”
*
Claire tried to blink away the grit in her eyes. She’d tried to sleep last night, but being in a new place, with new sounds, new smells, not to mention anxiety, stole a good portion of the night away from her.
Her bladder decided it was time to get up, no matter that it wasn’t quite five a.m. She had a half hour before she had to be in the kitchen, and she could spend twenty of it arguing with her need to pee, or just get up and have a chance to have coffee before cooking with Pearl.
Hurricane Bride Page 2
