Even though he’d promised Murphy to tell Jordan who he was, he doubted there would ever be a right time. She wouldn’t understand, she couldn’t. Why had he ever thought coming here was the answer? He wondered for the hundredth time in two days what he’d gotten himself into and how he was going to get out. He came out of his reverie long enough to crawl further into the abyss to discover four brand new bicycles hiding in the corner and wondered why there were so many. Then he realized the bikes had to be for guests to use for sightseeing in the area. For some reason, they caused him to wonder if Jordan had been out of the house much in the last year. When was the last time she’d had any kind of fun? In fact, he wondered what exactly a woman with a baby did for fun. Before turning back to finish unloading, he decided to find out.
Standing on a ladder, drill in hand, she almost had the cornice mounted over one of the bedroom windows when she heard footsteps out in the hallway. Listening to his steps grow closer, it dawned on her how glad she was that he was back from town. How silly, she thought, days ago she didn’t even know the man existed and now… She reeled in her emotions. She couldn’t have missed him. He’d only been gone a couple of hours. Frustrated with her own thoughts, she got down off the ladder and met him going into the bathroom to start work on the toilet again. Knowing Pelican Pointe wasn’t the friendliest of towns, she wanted to know, “How’d it go? Any problems?”
“Nope. Flooring’s unloaded and stacked in the garage. Hope that’s okay.”
“That’s fine. You don’t have to put the flooring in by yourself, Nick. I can lay flooring. If you weren’t here I’d have to do it anyway.” She grinned. “Besides, it seems I have this how-to book that says it’s easy as 1-2-3, a piece of cake. Why do you suppose the books make it sound like do-it-yourself projects are so easy?”
Nick grinned back. “They want you to buy the book, their book, the easier they say it is, the more books they sell.”
She looked around at the mess. “With the new fixtures and new flooring this bathroom should be good to go, don’t you think?”
“Should be. Does the shower work?”
“I haven’t tried it in...well, a long time.”
Absently, Nick reached over and turned on the shower head. All at once, water spewed out from every direction, drenching him from head to waist. “Figures,” he muttered as he turned off the water.
“Sorry about that.” But she giggled in spite of the look on his face. “Uh-oh. Guess it could use a new shower head, huh?”
Soaked, he took a playful step in her direction. “So you think my being all wet is funny?”
This time Jordan stifled the chuckle. “Of course not.” She took a step backward to keep from getting wet.
But Nick took another step, squeezing out the excess water from the tail end of his shirt and flinging the drops in her direction. “Next time, you get to play the drowned rat.”
“Who me?” Eyeing his approach, she skipped playfully out of reach just in time to avoid another splatter of water. “Get me wet and you die,” she warned teasingly as she threw him a towel from the rack. Their eyes locked. She stepped back again not wanting to appear obvious about seeing him take off his shirt. But when he just stood there staring at her with those intense blue eyes of his that made her feel sixteen again, she forced herself to back out of the room.
What was wrong with him? he wondered. Why did the woman make him feel like a green kid again? He needed to get to Santa Cruz…and soon. He had to remind himself he’d had plenty of success with women ever since he’d first persuaded Mary Kate Frasier into the backseat of his Chevy Cavalier. He didn’t need to moon over a woman with a baby. Frustrated, he started mopping up the water on the floor. The annoying scene at the hardware store completely forgotten.
That evening after supper Nick walked into the kitchen to get a beer out of the fridge, and take a break from the plaster job that had consumed him for the better part of two hours. The sounds of U2’s With or Without You drifted from the CD player on the kitchen counter. Jordan had her head down at the kitchen table looking through various flower catalogs.
Remembering the damage the sander had done to her flowers, he asked casually, “What are those red flowers? The ones you left in the studio by the bed.”
“Red flowers? Oh, you mean the crimson stargazers.” She smiled when she saw the baffled look cross his face. “Lilies.”
“They smell great.”
“They’re my favorite. But I thought I’d plant red tulips out front. Maybe put in some white and yellow daffodils for contrast, lining the walkway up to the porch which, by the way, looks one hundred percent better painted and sanded. And I was wondering, since the porch looks so much better, maybe you could help me hang a porch swing I bought online last summer. If we hang the swing it might make the place look—I don’t know, homier, more inviting.”
“Sure, I’ll take care of it. But the place is plenty homey, Jordan. This house makes a nice B & B.”
Some of the worry left her face. “You think so? Really? The past year I’ve had so many doubts. Sometimes I feel like it’s just an old house that’s way past its prime.”
“It has a solid foundation. Whoever built the place didn’t cut corners on quality, quality lasts. It just needs some sprucing up, a little TLC. We’ll get the place ready for opening day.”
“You have no idea how much I needed to hear that, Nick. Thanks. It’s good to hear something positive for a change. It’s like validation.”
“Do you have money budgeted to hire roofers? That roof will only last until the next big Pacific storm.”
Her good mood went south. She didn’t want to hear that right now. She couldn’t handle another major expense of any kind. The wiring was a setback, but a new roof, she couldn’t think about that now. “The roof’s been patched a couple of times already. It’s the best I can do for now. Do you think it will last till next spring? I might be in better shape to take out a loan for the roof by then.”
He drew in a deep sigh knowing she was doing her best. What would she say if he offered her the money? But looking at her face he knew she wouldn’t take it. And it would invariably lead to her asking all kinds of probing questions, wanting answers he was in no frame of mind to deal with yet. Instead of going there, he said, “I spent some time down in the basement today, looking at the wiring. The inspector wasn’t lying to you. The wiring must be at least fifty years old. It definitely needs replacing. I found an electrician, but he can’t come out until next week.” He didn’t mention the buddy doing him a huge favor.
“Just remember, Nick, you don’t have to do everything by yourself. I need help hanging the swing on the porch, I wasn’t asking you to do it for me. I’ve been here two years by myself. I’ve gotten rather handy with tools.”
“Just not a sander,” he teased, sending her a grin. Her shy smile made her eyes twinkle, her cheeks flush.
“No, not the sander. That wasn’t exactly my finest moment.”
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d said something silly enough to cause a woman to blush. And that raised all kinds of red flags as to how completely out of his element he was with this particular woman. Just one more reason to keep his distance, he thought, as he drained his beer and headed back upstairs to finish the lousy plaster job before the damned stuff dried hard as concrete and he had to start all over again.
Chapter Four
Scott’s easy laugh all but filled the inside of the Humvee. They rode sitting side by side on the same bench seat. Smiling, Scott held several photos out to Nick. “Jordan’s got the prettiest brown eyes. But look, Hutton got my eyes. And she has my mouth, too. What do you think?”
Taking the pictures, Nick replied diplomatically, “I’d say, thank God, she looks like her mother.”
“I’m sure Hutton has my chin. She’s a cutie that’s for sure, don’t you think? How’d you escape getting married all this time?”
“Never wanted that kind of commitment. There are too many
women in the world to be tied down to just one. Don’t tell me you haven’t ever felt like you’re weighed down by one woman. Doesn’t marriage choke the life out of you?”
“Nope, not with Jordan.”
Nick heard the sound of artillery fire. A rocket exploded around them shattering metal into a thousand pieces. He heard the pang of shrapnel.
Someone shouted, “Look out, incoming.”
He heard another explosion. Flames shot into the sky, while billowing smoke poured from several vehicles. The air smelled like burning fuel and then he breathed in the unmistakable smell of burning flesh.
“Promise me, Nick...”
Nick’s eyes flitted open. His body shook with uncontrollably spasms. He could almost smell the burning oil and fiery smoke. He felt like he was burning up. With the sheet, he mopped at the sweat on his body and rubbed a hand over his face, then through his hair. Weary of the dream, he glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand. Two-thirty. How long would he be able to function without a good night’s sleep? And would the dream ever leave him in peace? Would Scott? Drained, he rolled over in bed and turned on the light. He grabbed the book from the bedside table about plumbing. As he began to read, he asked out loud, “What’s the big deal about plumbing? Shift gears Harris. It’s all in the book.” Then with a sigh, he added, “In another life I hired people to do this.”
After thirty minutes of plumbing how-to, he closed the book, bored out of his mind. Looking around the sparse accommodations, he decided what the place needed was that old TV from the garage.
Getting dressed, he yearned for that other life, the one he’d had before Iraq. But he knew there wasn’t a chance in hell of recapturing his former happy-go-lucky world. Hadn’t he been trying to do just that for months since he’d been back stateside?
The night air felt good. He glanced across the courtyard for any sign of ghosts. The place was deserted. He raised the garage door and felt around for the light switch. Eyeing the mess inside, a sigh escaped his lips. He began sorting through the clutter, convinced Scott hadn’t thrown anything away since he’d moved here. Standing there, he felt like a different person altogether. And wasn’t that just a bitch, he thought, as his eyes landed on the reason for his quest.
He ran a hand across the old television set, swore at the dusty top. How had his life come down to this? Without spending too much time in thought, he shouldered the old model and carried it out of the garage, up the stairs, and into his charming new digs. “Ahh, nothing like home,” he muttered, as he plugged in the TV and immediately began fussing with the snowy reception.
A sleepy Jordan walked into the kitchen at just after six o’clock, carrying a wide-eyed Hutton. She wasn’t prepared to see Nick standing at the stove fixing breakfast at this hour. A little tug of delight lapped at her stomach at the prospect of someone making her breakfast. Her happiness quickly faded though as she looked around her tidy kitchen and saw the mess he’d made. The counters were a wreck, full of a half dozen messy bowls. Her spotless stove was under a layer of flour residue. In an instant though, the glee came back twofold when Nick turned around from the stove. The relaxed look on his face told her all she needed to know. The tension that had been there since his arrival was gone from his face.
“I hope you don’t mind, but the stove in the apartment refused to work. And I was hungry.”
Jordan settled Hutton in her high chair. “No problem. That old thing probably hasn’t worked in twenty years. Do I smell coffee?”
When he put a steaming mug in her hands, she groaned in appreciation. “You’re a saint. You cook? Are those pancakes?”
“Yeah. Breakfast I can do. My specialty is pancakes. I thought we could take turns fixing breakfast. No point in you doing it every morning. Does the munchkin eat pancakes?”
“The munchkin loves pancakes. And so does the munchkin’s mother.”
Jordan filled a sippy cup with milk and handed it to her daughter. But Hutton ignored the milk and clapped her hands as Nick set a plate in front of her with a stack of pancakes so high the baby couldn’t see around it. There were enough flapjacks to feed three starving people. Jordan grinned as she went over and forked up some of the pancakes onto her own plate. After pouring syrup on Hutton’s pancakes, Jordan started cutting them into pieces. Suddenly, she caught the intent stare on Nick’s face as he watched in wonder as Hutton began to use her fingers to stuff her mouth full of food.
“She hasn’t mastered spoon or fork yet. You have kids, Nick? Are you married?”
He had just taken a sip of coffee and almost choked at the question. “No, on both counts. I’m about as single as you can get. Never even had a dog.”
“Never? Really? Why not?”
“Moved a lot. My father was a Colonel in the Air Force. But after my mother died when I was ten, my father took a position at a military academy back east.” God, he remembered how that had pissed off the old man to give up his career in the military to take care of a kid he didn’t seem to like very much. “You can’t have a dog in that kind of environment.” And not much of a father-son relationship either, he thought with regret, as he remembered his father’s detached, aloof demeanor. Growing up with the man he’d felt at odds with on just about every level, he realized now that maybe that’s why he’d joined the Guard, hoping he could finally make his father proud. As he sat there watching Hutton he had to wonder if maybe he’d inherited some kind of a gene that prevented him from forming emotional attachments. His father certainly hadn’t formed one with his own son, nor had he provided a warm, fuzzy environment after his mother had died.
“Is your father still alive?”
“You bet,” Nick said a little too cheerily. “Remarried, retired, and lives in Florida.” And the only time he talked to him was twice a year, on his birthday and Christmas. Unable to keep his eyes off the baby, he asked, “She feeds herself at this age?”
Jordan smiled. The man knew nothing about children. Everything Hutton did seem to fascinate him. “She does. The whole thing’s a bit of a mess and cleanup usually takes several wet towels but she manages to get the food in there. Don’t you, baby girl?”
Hutton ignored her mother and continued to eat.
Determined to make conversation, Jordan wanted to learn more about the man. “What brought you to…L.A. is it?”
“Yeah. Work.” He didn’t give her an opening to pursue that line of questioning and neatly changed the subject. “What about your family?”
“I’m from San Francisco. I grew up there. Mom ran a catering business, Dad taught bio-chemistry at San Francisco State until he retired last year.”
Noticing the wistful look on her face, he realized she was homesick. “You miss it.”
“I do. I met Scott there.”
At the mention of Scott, the conversation grinded to an abrupt halt. Nick cleared his throat, got up to clean up the dishes. She watched the man’s engaging mood morph into cool detachment. It was impossible to miss the tension tightening his face again. Feeling somewhat responsible, Jordan tried her best to get back on better ground. “You cooked, it’s only fair that I clean up. That’s the way it works.”
“I made the mess, I don’t mind.”
As soon as Hutton began to toss pieces of her pancakes on the floor, signaling she’d had enough, Jordan wiped down Hutton’s face before setting her down on the floor to play. Resolved to make Nick feel better, wanting very much to pick up the conversation, Jordan tried to make amends. “We were just getting to be friends, getting to know each other a little bit.”
“There isn’t much to know.”
“You get up early, I know that. If you’re having trouble sleeping, it might be that old bed. We could change out…”
As he loaded the dishwasher, obviously annoyed at the conversation, he told her bluntly, “Trust me, it isn’t the bed.”
Patrick Murphy had found Pelican Pointe quite by accident some twenty years earlier when he’d gotten lost on a sales call during one of his trip
s down from the Bay. From that point he’d wandered down to the little coastal town on numerous fishing trips whenever time permitted. But it had taken the breakup of his marriage and the loss of his job before he’d finally gotten tired of the big city and packed up lock, stock, and barrel, and headed to Pelican Pointe for good. At the time, a little more than fifteen hundred people called the town home. As soon as he’d settled in he’d set his sights on the ancient mercantile, a rundown shell of a building left over from the ‘40s that had gone to seed. He decided a town this size needed its own store, one where the residents could shop without having to make the trip into Santa Cruz every time they needed aspirin or toilet paper. He’d opened a renovated Murphy’s Market that first year, and ran for mayor the next.
As the only grocer in town Murphy prided himself on knowing what inventory he needed to stock to keep his customers happy. For the vegans in town, he kept a line of organic and healthy foods. For the bottled water drinkers, all they need do was make their favorite brand known and he’d see to it they got it. He had fresh produce delivered four times a week making sure his store rivaled any of the markets in San Fran several hours to the north. He knew down to the customer which non-essential items they bought on a frequent basis and made sure not to run short. He ran two checkout stands, and with five regular part-timers, Murphy’s Market was the third largest employer in town behind the bank and Ferguson’s Hardware.
With his store such an integral part of the town and the fact that he was mayor, it was a safe bet that nothing much happened in Pelican Pointe without Murphy knowing about it—in detail. This morning he watched a young woman in her early twenties named Lilly Seybold, at least he thought that was her name, do her grocery shopping, or try to. Lilly had only been in town since Christmas and rented a rundown, old trailer on Derek Stovall’s land on the outskirts of town with her two young kids, a boy about eighteen months old and the girl, barely three.
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