He was staring at her.
She sighed. She might as well level with him; get the bad news out in the open. “The building inspector was here yesterday. He said I’ll have to bring the wiring up to code.”
“Whew! I’m no electrician. You’ll have to hire a professional for that.”
Terrific. The do-it-yourself vibe he gave off didn’t include wiring hundred year old houses. “Murphy gave me the name of several in Santa Cruz. I’ll start making some calls this afternoon.”
But suddenly, Nick thought of another way to help. “I could handle that part for you. I might know someone who could do the job.” He was certain, Ben Latham, and former Guard buddy would have no qualms about helping out. And he could also arrange to pay him without Jordan ever knowing about it.
Her eyebrows rose. “Really? That’d be great. Umm, any idea how much he’d charge?”
He shook his head. “No idea.”
When they got to the first bathroom off the front landing, Nick looked in, came to a decision of his own. The room needed a new toilet, a new sink, a new faucet, and new flooring. Had to be four for four, he thought, anything less would come off as unfinished and tacky. “You weren’t kidding. What made you think you could fix this place up?”
“Scott grew up here. The house belonged to his grandparents. But they lost the house in the early ‘90s and had to move out after his grandfather made some bad investments. When his grandpa died, Scott promised his grandmother he’d get the house back for her. Of course she died before he could. But when we got married, we bought the place and moved back here to raise our own family. Six months after we moved back, his unit got called up.”
“You’ve been living out here alone,” he declared aloud, not really expecting her to comment.
“Until Hutton came along, yes.”
A pregnant woman, alone, living all the way out of town like this? No wonder Scott had worried himself sick. What if she’d gone into labor out here? When he saw the shadow of worry flutter in her eyes, he did his best to make her feel better. “There’s still time to get it done, Jordan. It can still happen.” And by God he’d make it happen for Scott, for her.
“I don’t know, there’s an awful lot left to do. I should have had the place ready to open by now, been further along with everything.”
For some reason, he desperately wanted to reassure her. "You shouldn't be that hard on yourself. This is a huge undertaking for one person to handle. Together, we'll pick up the pace."
Around five-thirty, Nick stepped into the apartment over the garage Jordan had described as a dump. Hot and sweaty after the all-day sanding and staining job on the front porch, badly in need of a shower, he looked around and decided she’d exaggerated its poor condition. The place was actually spacious, almost loft-like, and smelled like lemon wax from the old oak, hardwood floors she’d polished to a gleam. She’d left the windows open. The ocean breeze on his sweaty body felt good to the skin.
The place was sparsely furnished. And what was here looked like leftovers from the ’70s. An ancient sagging green sofa divided the living space, creating two rooms out of one. Beyond the sofa sat the double bed, an old urn top maple that looked in better shape than the rest. Glancing around the room, he decided, despite the lack of furnishings, he could be comfortable here. When he spotted the tiny kitchenette, which consisted of a small refrigerator and a two-burner stovetop tucked into the corner on one wall, he went with impulse. He walked over and threw open the door to the fridge. Sure enough, there inside, his hostess had stashed six cold beers. Grateful, he twisted the top off, guzzling the cold brew down like a man plucked off a deserted island. He crossed over to the back window and scanned the view of the ocean. As he drank his beer, he thought of Scott. Nick could envision him walking on the beach, surfing, living here with his wife and child. Hell, even in broad daylight, Scott’s ghost refused to let go.
Sweaty, he started shedding clothes, wanting nothing more than a hot shower. He plopped down on the bed to pull off his boots, tested the mattress. He’d been in worse, he decided, as he began to pull off his jeans.
And it would have to do. Even if he had to pitch a tent to stay somewhere on the property, he was committed now. As he pulled out his shaving gear and walked into the bathroom, he couldn’t help but wonder what he’d gotten himself into. He was here for Scott even if his wife had no idea who he was or how he’d known her husband.
Lathering his face with shaving cream, he knew it wasn’t fair to keep his secret. How did he intend to remedy that? For a man who hadn’t wanted to get involved, he felt chained to a block of cement. “Thanks Scott,” he grumbled sourly, as he pondered his descent into what felt like quicksand.
Or like a drowning man going down for the third time. Not only had he never lived with a woman for any length of time, he certainly had never been around a kid, much less a baby. Then there was the work itself. He could drive a nail, but he was no carpenter. Could he fake that? He was pretty much all thumbs when it came to plumbing, too. So how was he going to install bathroom fixtures? As he reached over and turned on the shower, he considered the entire ruse. Getting through the next two months would definitely take some creativity on his part.
Plus, at some point, he’d have to find the right time to confess who he was.
But he had to admit, he didn’t miss the office, or the daily grind of work, which for the past several months, had been going badly. Working outside with his hands had been almost therapeutic. He’d built up a good sweat, which had made him forget to think about the war, and how chaotic his life had become over the past year. Okay, so maybe the respite had been brief but who knew, maybe physical labor might be the answer to his problem.
Stepping into the shower, he turned the knob as far to hot as it would go, felt the water bead over his body, and fought the weary feeling that always seem to hit him this time of day.
Sleep deprivation could be a bitch.
As he began to relax, his mind drifted to the possibilities of the place. Scott had been right about The Cove’s potential. But could they get everything done that needed doing in just over two short months? He stepped out of the shower, grabbed one of the thick towels Jordan had stacked on the shelf and began to dry off. Striding back into the bedroom he stopped. For the first time, his gaze landed on the bedside table where a vase full of red blossoms sat, a homey touch to be sure, just like the beer. Instinctively, he walked over, breathed in the scent of the buds. Inexplicably touched that she’d taken the time to leave fresh flowers for the room—for him, he smiled. An image of Jordan’s slim body standing on the porch struggling to keep that sander under control had him smiling as he pulled on a clean pair of jeans.
He’d been invited to supper by a beautiful woman, a woman who was so completely not his type he had to admit she made him nervous. And Nick Harris had never been nervous with women. When he thought about Jordan he shouldn’t be picturing her as any type but rather as a mother. Could he help it though if her long, sexy legs and her cute little butt in those shorts kept popping into his mind all afternoon as he worked?
As he walked over to the main house he decided he’d have to work on reining in those thoughts. It wouldn’t do to have more guilt layered over what he already had to deal with.
Over dinner, an upbeat Jordan passed Nick the scalloped potatoes and decided it was good to have a man around the table again. She missed Scott. That was a given, but living on the outskirts of town without Scott, she had missed having company, missed being around people in general. With no one but Hutton to talk to had been difficult. But having Nick at her table was both a pleasure and a weight. Glancing over at Hutton, squirming in her high chair, Jordan soon realized she was rusty at making simple dinner conversation and mentally kicked herself. No pity party tonight. It wasn’t everyday she had a guest. After all, before she opened up for business, she could use all the practice she could get at preparing meals and entertaining guests in her home around the dinner table.
When Jordan noticed what she was doing, she said, “Hutton, stop that.” Jordan tore apart a crusty roll and handed it off. “Here, try some of this bread.” Desperately, wanting dinner conversation, Jordan tilted her head and studied Nick’s expressionless face. She decided it was up to her. “Pelican Pointe is kinda off the beaten path. There isn’t much in the way of jobs here. Were you just passing through looking for work and Murphy pointed you out here?”
Wincing slightly at the question, not wanting to lie to her anymore than he had to, he wondered how he might answer. For several long seconds, he sat there contemplating his response. Finally, he picked up his iced tea and settled on a partial version of the truth. “You might say I’ve had a rough couple of months. I needed to get away from L.A. for a while. About a week ago, I got on my bike and did just that. I ended up in Pelican Pointe.” He might have taken his time making the journey here, coming to see this woman, but now that they were sharing a meal, he couldn’t remember why he’d been so apprehensive.
“I guess these days there are a lot of people going through rough times.”
Thoughts of the last year whirled through his head. “You could say that.”
But all at once she caught what he’d said and wanted to know, “You’ve only been gone from L.A. a week? You were looking for work, right?”
Like a man hoarding a secret, he guiltily changed the subject. “Where do you get your cuisine? This beef dish is excellent. I didn’t see any place in town that offers this kind of food.”
A smile transformed her face. “Beef bourguignon. You think it’s restaurant quality? I’m flattered. I was worried my culinary skills were a tad on the weak side for a B & B. For the past few months I’ve been experimenting with recipes, trying to broaden my menu, shore up my skills so to speak.” Eyeing him with a steady gaze, she added, “You might make a good test subject. Up to now, it’s just been Hutton, and she’s going through her picky-eater stage.”
The picky eater dropped another pea on the floor.
Nick had never known a woman who liked to cook or for that matter liked to go near a kitchen or was content to stay home. The usual women on his radar lived a high-octane kind of existence, much like him, hell-bent on the fast track up the corporate ladder to financial security as fast as they could get there. They didn’t cook anything that couldn’t be slid into a microwave, and lived primarily on delivery or take-out. And like him, having kids wasn’t even on the agenda. As he stuck another bite of tender meat in his mouth, he decided this odyssey might have a few added benefits after all, like home-cooked meals. “If every meal tastes as good as this, I’m happy to be your test subject.”
The man had a voracious appetite. He took seconds of everything except the peas. And then she realized he’d worked like a dog since getting there that morning. That in turn had her wondering if he was comfortable in the studio apartment. Before she could ask though, she saw Nick lean over in Hutton’s direction, push his plate toward the baby, and whisper something in her ear. “I don’t like peas either. If you want to drop mine on the floor, be my guest.”
Hutton shot a grin his way. Her smile was so like Scott’s. The baby had his mouth. And he saw her father in those blue eyes. His heart sank. What was he doing here anyway creating more problems for himself? He felt the urge to run.
Oblivious to Nick’s mindset, Jordan watched the byplay as Hutton, sensing a kindred spirit, clapped her hands in glee before scooping up a handful of peas from his plate. At the sight of her daughter interacting in such an easy way with Nick, Jordan almost dropped the pitcher of tea she’d picked up to refill their glasses. Keeping her thoughts to herself, she eyed Nick’s plate and then the peas in her daughter’s hand. “So we aren’t fond of our green veggies, are we?”
Snapping out of his gloom, Nick pasted a smile on his face for Jordan’s benefit. “Meat and potatoes, that’s my kind of meal.”
“Hutton seems to agree. I made cherry pie for dessert. I guess you wouldn’t…”
He never let her finish. “Love cherry pie. I don’t have to eat those peas or clean my plate, do I?”
“Since you’re a guest, I think I’ll let it slide for now. Want ice cream with that?”
“You read my mind.”
When dinner was over, Nick offered to clean up the kitchen while she gave Hutton a bath and got her ready for bed. A generous offer Jordan had no intentions of turning down. Relishing the prospect of having adult conversation, Jordan hurried through Hutton’s bath. After getting the baby down for the night, she practically floated into the kitchen with the idea of maybe offering him a glass of wine, only to find the kitchen spotless but Nick already gone. Disappointed, she stared out the back window of the kitchen across the courtyard at the light on in the apartment over the garage. That would take some getting used to, she thought, as she put the kettle on for tea, the glass of wine forgotten. At dinner, she’d studied his hands. They didn’t appear rough or calloused, not the hands of someone used to manual labor. She couldn’t help wonder what secrets Nick Harris held. Whatever they were he didn’t seem the type to disclose his private thoughts.
After preparing the tea, she picked up the novel she’d been reading from the counter and headed to her bedroom. But getting ready for bed, she fought back tears that finally started to spill. Disappointment filled her. “Honestly, why would a man like that want to stay and talk to a boring housewife like me? Keeping me company would be the last thing on his mind. And besides, you’re talking to yourself.”
Crawling into bed, she opened the book and forced herself to concentrate on the storyline. But an hour later, a restless Jordan finally got out of bed and strode over to the bureau, retrieved a box from the drawer. On nights like tonight when she was missing Scott and unable to sleep, it helped to read his last letters from Iraq. Reading his words, knowing his thoughts, hearing his voice inside her head, talking about his dreams for the bed and breakfast somehow inspired her enough to keep going. When she’d settled back in bed, she opened the box and started reading the letters, as if they brought her comfort, she soon fell asleep.
Chapter Three
In spite of the constant wind whipping sand across the bumpy road, the heat was brutal inside the Humvee. The faces of the soldiers and any other exposed areas were covered with a mixture of grit and sweat. They bitched good-naturedly about their circumstances. Riding side by side, Nick and Scott had gotten past the complaining and were deep in conversation as they talked about their lives back home.
“I miss Jordan. And I wish I could hold Hutton, you know. I couldn’t be there when she was born. I can’t wait to see her for the first time. I didn’t exactly plan on Jordan having to go through childbirth without me.”
“How does it feel to be a dad?”
“Great, I think. It’s hard to feel like a father when I’m so far away and can’t rock her to sleep or put her on my shoulder like I’ve seen other dads do. I was hoping to get to do that before she gets too old. Jordan e-mails me plenty of pics, but pictures aren’t the same thing. You ever thought of having kids of your own, Nick?”
“No. Nor do I want to get married. I don’t like the idea of being tied down. I’m glad you’re happy, Scott, but marriage isn’t for everyone.”
“If you ever found a woman like Jordan, you’d think differently.”
Nick heard artillery fire right before a rocket exploded.
Someone yelled, “Look out, incoming.”
Nick heard another explosion and saw a flash of fire.
“Promise me, Nick…”
Nick came out of the dream as if he’d been back on that littered road near Baghdad talking to Scott. Dripping wet with sweat, he threw
back the sheet. He rubbed a hand over the scars on his chest and glanced at his watch. One-thirty. He needed fresh air. Crawling out of bed, he made his way to one of the windows and slid the glass higher to let in more of the cool night air. Gulping the moist marine breeze had him fighting the urge to give in and take one of the sleeping pills the doctors had prescribed. He had a bagful. But he’d taken enough pills, seen enough doctors and hospital rooms to last a lifetime.
He backtracked to the nightstand and turned on the lamp. He found his jeans, slipped them on without buttoning them, before heading outside to the landing. He stared up at the night sky. Stars glittered down at him.
Suddenly squinting across the shadowy courtyard he spotted Scott, or at least his image, this time lifelike, heading his way. He could tell it was Scott by the way he walked. And he’d know the guy’s walk anywhere. When Scott’s image finally looked up at Nick, he smiled and lifted a hand in a wave as lifelike and real as if he’d just walked out of the main house. The gesture so familiar, just like Nick had seen him do six dozen times in Iraq. As if real, Scott spread his arms out wide and yelled up, “Took you long enough, you finally got here. Welcome to The Cove, Nick. How do you like it so far?”
Nick considered the fact he might possibly be going insane, slowly, deliberately, off-his-rocker-crazy. What was he supposed to do, answer a ghost, talk to one? How could he have thought coming here to see Scott’s wife would make anything better? He scrubbed a hand over his face. “How’s that working out for you, Harris?”
Promise Cove Page 4
