by Helen Brenna
No, he wouldn’t. He knew exactly what would happen, and it’d happen pretty damned fast.
Erica finished the last wall and glanced back at them. “Not bad for only a few hundred dollars’ worth of paint,” she called. “What do you two think?”
“It’s beautiful,” Lynn said.
“Looks good,” Garrett added, nodding his head.
“Well, I’m heading up to the stables to bring Arlo some lunch.” Lynn moved toward the entrance. “You two help yourselves to whatever in the kitchen for lunch.”
“Will do,” Garrett said.
“See you later,” Erica added.
The pub’s front door closed and they were alone.
Erica walked over to where he stood in front of the wine racks. “They look great. You’ve really never done these before?”
“Nope.”
“Perfectionist, huh?”
“Not really. They’re simple.”
“Wine racks, tiling, plumbing. How does a cop learn to do all that?”
“My dad.”
“You two must have been close.”
Hardly. He had to change the subject. “Did you need something?”
“Umm. Yeah. I was going to install new drapery rods in the dining room. Can you help?”
“Sure.” He followed her and marveled at how bright the dining room seemed.
She’d stripped down the old, faded curtains before glazing the walls and had marked exactly where she needed him to drill holes for the brackets. As if they’d been working side by side for years, before he could formulate a request for anything, she would put the exact tool or piece of hardware in his hand. In less than half an hour the rods were up on all four windows, and he stood back and watched Erica finish the job.
First she draped a filmy red fabric across, around and over the rods. Then she decorated what she’d called a scarf with a string of leaves and what looked like some type of berry, creating a custom, completely updated look that brought to mind an Italian bistro.
“You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” he asked.
“What?”
“Redecorated restaurants.”
“A couple times. I was head chef and manager at the last place I worked.”
“Which was?”
“An Italian place in…Minneapolis.”
She’d been here almost a month and she was still lying. Instead of getting angry, he found himself feeling oddly hurt by her unwillingness to confide in him. Though he had the feeling she was running from Billy Samson, he wanted to hear the truth from her. He found himself wanting to protect her, help her. Fight for her. Maybe she’d been working on him more than he’d realized.
She came down from the ladder, putting her within only a few inches of him.
“Why are you here?” he asked. “On Mirabelle?”
She looked into his eyes, vulnerable and honest for only a moment. “I told you. I came here once when I was a little girl with my mom and my sister.”
“You’re looking for the fairy tale, aren’t you?” He saw it flickering hopefully in her brown eyes.
“Yeah. Right.”
“Erica, what are you running from?”
Looking away, she folded up the ladder.
“Tell me the truth. Maybe I can help.”
“There’s nothing to tell.” She walked away.
SOMEONE WAS COMING.
Billy! Wake up, Erica. Wake up.
She forced open her eyes. Her heart pounding with fear, she lay in bed for a moment, completely still, listening. Though it was early morning, the apartment was dark, the sky outside heavy with clouds. She’d been sound asleep lying next to Jason when something had woken her. An unfamiliar noise. A tapping on the metal steps. Soft. Creaking. Intermittent.
Slowly, she climbed out of bed. Hoping not to awaken and frighten Jason, she grabbed the bat she’d left leaning against the bedside table, then quietly, but firmly closed the door and padded barefoot out into the kitchen.
She peeked around the edge of the blinds covering the windows, but saw no one. Tightly gripping the bat, she paused, held her breath and listened. A strong burst of wind came in off the water and hit the building like storm waves hit the breakwater outside the Mirabelle marina, and the sound intensified. It wasn’t a person. She looked out the window. The sign attached to the rail, declaring this a private staircase, had broken free at the base and was flapping in the wind and hitting the rail.
No one was there. It was only the storm that had woken her. Rain came in sheets pouring down like a violent shower. The wind gained momentum, gusting in great bursts, rattling the old windowpanes, the door, making the outside metal staircase creak and groan.
She couldn’t stifle the feeling that something was very wrong. She picked up the phone and dialed Teddy’s number. The call went to his answering machine. “Teddy?” she whispered, not wanting to awaken Jason. “I know it’s early, but I just wanted to touch base—”
“Erica!” Teddy had apparently heard her voice and picked up. “I’m glad you called. You need to give me a number where I can get hold of you.”
“That’s not a good idea. Have you found something?”
“I got some bad news.”
“What? Tell me.”
“One of Marie’s neighbors finally fessed up about something.”
Erica waited.
“A week before Marie called you, she went out to lunch with this neighbor and told the woman she was seeing a divorce attorney. Billy had hit Jason.”
“I knew it.”
“The lawyer wouldn’t tell me anything. But Billy found out. That’s how he justified the warrant for Marie.”
Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God. “That neighbor needs to tell the cops.”
“She won’t. Not yet, anyway. Billy’s threatened, in a roundabout way, every single one of Marie’s friends. They’re all scared the cops are on Billy’s side.”
And she couldn’t blame them.
“I’m still working on this, okay? We’ll get there, Erica.”
“Thanks, Teddy.” She hung up the phone and had no sooner closed her eyes than Jason called from the bedroom.
“Erica!”
“Here!” She ran down the hall and found him sitting up in bed. “I’m here.” She sat on the edge of the bed. “It’s just a storm making a lot of noise. Do you want to see?”
“No!” He held his head as if he might block out the sound. “No!”
“Hey. It’s okay.” She scooted across the bed and wrapped her arms around him. “A little rain. Some wind. It’ll be gone before you know it.” She fell back with him onto the mattress and drew the comforter over them.
He grew still and then whispered, “What if Mommy never calls us?”
“Don’t even think about it. She loves you. She’ll call.”
“What if Daddy—” He paused. “What if she’s hurt?”
“Jason, do you know where your mom is?”
He shook his head.
“Did you see something?”
At first he didn’t say anything, and then he whispered, “I didn’t want to go to school that morning.”
“You mean, that day I picked you up?”
He nodded.
“Were they arguing, your mom and dad?”
He nodded again and several tears dribbled down his cheeks.
“It’s not your fault, Jason. I swear, none of this is your fault.” She felt him relax.
“Mommy always sings to me when there’s a storm,” he whispered.
“What does she sing?”
“The song about the bird.”
“The mockingbird song?” Erica smiled, remembering her own childhood. Every once in a great while their mother turned amazingly maternal and sang them to sleep with that song. So whenever Erica babysat Marie, which was more often than not, she’d sing the song.
Softly, slowly, Erica sang past the lump in her throat. By the third verse he was back to sleep, and Erica was wide-awake. For the first time
since they’d left Chicago she couldn’t shake the terrible thought that she and Jason might never see Marie again.
“I WANT TO HELP YOU finish.”
Garrett spun around from where he was working in the restaurant’s entryway to find Erica standing behind him, dressed in a pair of paint-spattered jeans and a faded black T-shirt. He was remodeling the entryway, getting ready to install windows and new wainscoting, and the last thing he needed was Erica and her curves in close proximity for the rest of the day. “That’s not a good idea.”
“Come on. This is it,” she said, standing in a swath of bright and cheery sunlight as it gleamed through the area he’d cut out of the exterior walls. “If we can finish the foyer today, we can reopen tomorrow. As planned.”
“I can handle it.”
“You can get this done? By yourself? Today?”
No. Probably not. Although he’d already framed the opening for the windows and reinforced the lower half of the wall for the extra weight, some help would speed things along. “All right, fine, but only if you do what I tell you when I tell you to do it without any back talk.”
“When have I—”
“Zip!”
She stifled a smile, but to her credit kept her mouth shut.
“All I need is for you to hold the windows in place while I attach them to the frame.”
“Where do you want me?”
A few obvious places other than the pub quickly came to mind. “Come here.” He indicated she stand next to him, but she hesitated. “Scared? Of me?”
“No,” she said, a surprised look on her face. “I’m really not.”
“Come on then. Let’s go.” He could feel her gaze on him as he squatted, grabbed the window off the ground and lifted, placing it inside the hole in the wall and positioning it. The damned thing was heavy and he sure didn’t want it to fall on her. “Okay,” he said. “You hold the right side steady. I’ll screw the left side into the frame.”
She grabbed hold of the window.
“I’m going to let go now. You got it?”
“Yep.”
He went around with his drill, screwing the window into the frame. As he got closer to her, he could smell that sweet citrusy scent in her hair. He turned around, caught her looking at his neck, and she seemed to lean toward him.
“Are we finished?” she asked.
“Not yet.” His gaze shifted from her eyes to her lips. “We have two more windows.”
By the time they’d finished, his body was on fire and he’d inadvertently backed her into the far corner of the foyer. As he worked his way toward her, he could feel her gaze fixated on him. The muscles of his forearms. His fingers. He could almost hear her imagining what his hands would feel like roaming her body. He could see it on her face, hear it in the quickening of her breath.
He glanced at her, and she didn’t bother to look away. “Can I let go now?” she said softly.
“Please,” he whispered. “Let go anytime you want.”
“In your dreams.”
“Every one of them.” There was less than a foot between them when he stepped toward her.
Her breath came fast. “You have bits of wood in your…” She reached up and brushed at the sides of his hair.
He couldn’t—didn’t want to—stop himself. Setting his hands on her waist he lifted her up, held her to him as she wrapped her legs around him and quickly lowered her mouth to his. It wasn’t a kiss. Not even close. This was a collision of need and want, two people taking, no one giving. Their tongues tangled, their bodies interlocked. She nipped at his lower lip and neck and he nipped back.
He dipped his hands under her shirt, caressed her back and flicked open the clasp on her bra. When he cupped her breast, felt the velvety softness, the glorious weight, his knees nearly buckled. He staggered back against the wall.
“Holy cow!” Lynn’s voice came from the inside of the restaurant. “Look at that.” They both stilled. Lynn couldn’t see them. “I can’t wait to put up the green-and-white striped awnings like all the other businesses along Main.”
Garrett slid Erica slowly down the front of him, cringing at the sweet agony of her pressing against his erection until her feet touched the ground. She backed away, swallowed and was smoothing her hair when Lynn stepped into the entryway.
“I can’t believe what a difference this makes in the whole feeling in the bar,” Lynn said.
Garrett cleared his throat, and for Erica’s sake tried to make conversation. “Like it, huh?”
“Garrett.” Lynn set her hands on her hips. “You do beautiful work.”
“Thanks. Erica was holding the windows in place for me.”
“I see,” Lynn said.
How could she not? Erica’s lips were deep red and swollen, almost bruised. “I’ve got to get back to putting those menus together.” She crossed her arms over her chest and headed for the kitchen. “Or we won’t be ready for the grand reopening tomorrow.”
Sonofabitch. He’d been feeling her up in broad daylight for the entire island to see. “Lynn—”
“Go.” Lynn flicked her head in the direction Erica had disappeared. “Talk to her. I only interrupted you because I could see you two from the street. I love the windows, but…”
“Anyone else see—”
“No.”
He took off and found Erica in Lynn’s office, pulling her shirt back down after very likely having rehooked her bra. “Erica.” He still felt drugged by her kisses. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For…that.”
She looked away. “You’re an asshole.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
“Not for the kiss, you idiot.” She ran past him. “For being sorry for wanting me.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
GRAND REOPENING NIGHT had arrived.
Erica had printed flyers up and the staff had posted the notices on every board throughout town letting the locals know Lynn was offering a buy-one-entrée-get-one-free opening weekend simply for stopping by and testing out their new menu before tourist season began.
Butterflies fluttered in Erica’s stomach as she and Lynn hustled here and there with last-minute preparations of food, adjustments to décor, and directions for the staff, including the bunch of college kids who had arrived to work for the summer. Tonight was Erica’s big night. She was cooking from the updated menu with the help of a newly hired assistant cook, and Lynn and Arlo were manning the bar.
Erica glanced at the clock. Ten minutes to their first new and improved happy hour.
Jason bounded into the kitchen. “Lynn is unlocking the door,” he said. “Right now! There are people outside waiting. I saw them through the new windows.”
“No kidding?” Erica was pleased Lynn had told her that Jason, as long as he didn’t cause any trouble, could continue to hang out at the bar on occasion.
“Go look.”
She peeked through the swinging doors. Sure enough, a small crowd of friendly and familiar faces had gathered and they were filing past Lynn.
“Aren’t you excited?” Jason asked, bouncing up and down.
“Yes!” She laughed. “I’m glad you’re here to help out. ’Cause I’m going to need it.”
He straightened his shoulders and a glow of pride brightened his face. “Can I stay up late?”
“For a night like this? Absolutely.”
When several people she’d never met were among the first big group to arrive, she headed out toward Lynn in the bar. She pointed to the tall man and his pregnant wife, a couple she recognized from lunch several weeks back. “Who are those people coming in with Marty and Brittany Rousseau?”
“Oh, that’s Marty’s sister, Sophie, and her husband, Noah Bennett. They live in Rhode Island during the school year and got back yesterday for the summer season.” Sophie was very pregnant, looking as if she might pop at the sound of a loud noise. “That’s Noah’s dad, Jim Bennett, our old chief of police and his wi
fe, Josie,” Lynn went on to explain and then pointed at the two teenagers. “That’s Lauren and Kurt. Sophie’s kids. I’ve heard a rumor she’s pregnant with another set of twins.”
“Hey, Lynn!” Noah said. “Your place looks great.”
“Thanks.” She swung a thumb toward Erica. “It’s all her doing. Our new chef.”
Chef? A person who’d learned the culinary arts at Al’s Diner? Hardly.
The Rousseau group came over to the bar and Lynn made introductions. “Welcome to Mirabelle,” Sophie said, smiling.
“Thank you.”
With two teenagers and a baby on the way, the family looked happy. Erica was suddenly struck with a deep sense of loneliness and was so grateful for Jason’s presence. She drew him in front of her and rested her hands on his shoulder. “This is my…son, Zach.” She felt like a traitor introducing him that way, but there was no help for it.
There was another round of hellos, and Jason smiled.
“Sarah said you were looking for a babysitter,” Lauren said.
“I’ll watch Zach for you,” Kurt said.
“Hey!” Lauren flicked her fingers against his shoulder. “Get your own client.”
“You’ve already got Brian. Zach is mine!”
“Hey, hey, hey,” Noah said. “I’m sure you can work out a schedule with Sarah and Erica.”
“But, Dad!” Lauren said.
“Take turns,” Sophie added.
“Sarah and I are going to have a busy summer,” Erica said. “I have no doubt we’ll have enough hours for both of you. Consider yourselves hired.”
Sophie and Noah smiled at her. Heck, maybe this parenting gig wasn’t all that hard after all. After thanking everyone for coming, Erica steered Jason back into the kitchen. She kept one eye on the front entrance as the food orders came in and was surprised that she knew everyone who came through the doors. The three stooges, Doc, Bob and Dan, came, as well as the Setterbergs, the Andersens, Charlotte Day and Mary Gilbert, and…great. Wonderful. Just what she needed to set tonight’s tone. Garrett and Hannah came through the door.
She hadn’t seen Garrett since that terribly wonderful kiss in the new entryway, and, even now, the remembered feeling of his hand on her breast made her nipples harden and a heat that had nothing to do with the kitchen stove pool low in her belly.
