The high-impact safety glasses took up a good portion of Austin’s face. “Can you see okay?”
Austin nodded.
Matt put on his pair. “It’s going to get loud in here when I cut the wood to the right size. Are you afraid of loud noises?”
Austin shook his head.
Matt didn’t know if he should believe him or not. Tyler loved the sound of the equipment running. The louder the better. Hunter, on the other hand, was scared. He reached for a pair of ear protectors and fitted them to Austin’s small head and over his ears. Better to be safe than sorry. “I want you to sit right here, and don’t move, okay?”
“Okay,” shouted Austin.
Matt walked over to the table saw and turned it on. He glanced at Austin, who waved back. He slowly cut the wood, keeping a careful eye on Austin. The little boy didn’t seem to mind the noise at all. Matt made quick work of the rest of the wood and then drilled a big hole through the center of one piece. He carried them over and joined Austin at the work table.
He plucked the ear protectors off the boy. “Ready to sand? No more loud noises.”
“Yes.”
Matt handed him some medium-grit sandpaper and showed him how to sand the edges of the pieces of cut wood. Austin went to work. Matt got the rest of the tools together as he watched the boy concentrate on the job. Austin’s little tongue was sticking out the side of his mouth. Figuring the boy had had enough sanding time, he placed the rest of their equipment on the table. “Ready to hammer in some nails?”
Austin nodded, which caused his safety goggles to wiggle farther down his nose. Matt tightened the elastic strap. “If I hold the nail for you, promise not to whack my fingers?”
“Promise.”
Matt tried not to cringe. He had heard that promise before, right before Tyler had smashed his thumb black and blue. Matt held the first nail. Amazingly Austin hit the nail and not Matt’s fingers.
He wasn’t so lucky on the second swing of the hammer.
Or the third, fourth, sixth, and tenth.
Twenty minutes later the birdhouse was nailed together. Matt’s fingers might turn black and blue, and there was a blood blister forming under his thumbnail, but at least none of the bones were broken. It was worth every agonizing whack just to see the look of pride and wonder on Austin’s face as the birdhouse came together.
“You did it, kid.” He studied the slightly crooked and out-of-plumb birdhouse. “You’re going to have all kinds of birds coming to this house. This is great. In fact, I think it’s the best one I ever saw.”
Austin beamed. “Can I paint it now?”
“Sure can.” He spread a couple sheets of old newspaper on top of the table and placed the house in the middle. “I have red, green, yellow, and blue paint.” He had more than that, but he didn’t want to explain what sage, celery, or ivory was to a four-year-old. He pulled down the four small cans and hunted down a cheap toss-away brush.
“You can take off the glasses. I don’t think you’ll get paint in your eyes.” He had been more worried about a chip of wood or a bouncing nail. “We need one more thing.” He reached into a drawer and pulled out one of his old T-shirts he kept handy for really messy jobs. “You need to put this on, Austin. Your mother would have a cow if you ruin your clothes.”
Austin giggled. “What would Mom do with a cow?”
Matt shrugged. “Milk it, I guess.”
Austin’s giggles turned into laughter.
Four hours later Sierra climbed the wooden steps to Matt’s apartment. Norah and her mom had just dropped her off out front and left. She had placed all her shopping bags in the back of the SUV. Thankfully Matt had turned on the outside lights so she wouldn’t trip and break her neck climbing the stairs. With his love of history and preservation, this wasn’t the kind of place she expected to see Matt living in. She had pictured some quaint carriage house with his shop in the bottom part and an apartment upstairs.
The only things wood on this place were the steps; everything else was cinder block and metal. She reached the landing and knocked on the door.
She heard Austin’s voice before the door swung open. She was about to lecture her son on opening doors alone when she saw Matt standing there. “Hi.” How was it possible for him to look better than he had nearly five hours ago?
“Hi, yourself.” Matt stepped back so she could enter. “We didn’t expect you this early.”
“It’s only a little after nine.” Austin’s bedtime was nine-thirty. It looked like he was going to miss it, but she had found the perfect outfit to wear to Norah’s wedding. It was going to knock Matt’s socks off.
“Mom, Mom, come see what I made.” Austin ran to the kitchen table. “Matt let me use his shop.”
“He did?” She looked at the brightly colored, ummmmm . . . thing for a full minute before she figured out what it was supposed to be. “It’s a birdhouse!” The large hole in the center gave it away. “You made this all by yourself ?” She knew he couldn’t have possibly, but she wanted to hear what he said.
“Naw, I let Matt help. He cut the wood, but he doesn’t hold nails very good.”
She bit her lower lip as Matt rolled his eyes. “I see.” She studied the birdhouse more closely. There was a half inch gap on one end where the roof came together. “Did you paint this all by yourself ?”
“Yep.” Austin pointed to the hole in the front. “See, that’s where birds go in to sleep. Can we hang it in our tree at home?”
Sierra felt her heart sink. They didn’t have a real home. “We can hang it in one of the Alberts’ trees tomorrow morning.” Little boys needed a place to hang their birdhouses.
“Okay.” Austin scrambled off the kitchen chair he had climbed up on. “Come see Matt’s TV. It’s big.” Austin ran toward the living room, where she could hear a baseball game being broadcast.
She glanced around Matt’s kitchen. It was small but clean. The cabinets were natural wood, and the countertops were made of one-inch-square blue and green glass tile. “Tell me you didn’t make the cabinets.”
Matt shrugged. “I got a great deal on some maple.”
“Is there anything you can’t make out of wood?” The birdhouse didn’t count. She knew he had allowed Austin to do as much of it as possible. She thought it was the sweetest thing anyone had ever done with her son.
“A boat. My brothers and I tried to build one about twenty years ago. We got about a hundred yards out in Frenchman’s Bay before it sank.” Matt grinned. “Haven’t had a reason to try it again. One day I might, though.”
She shook her head. “Your poor mother.” What Peggy Porter must have lived through raising the four Porter boys. “It’s amazing she’s still sane.”
Matt laughed. “Who do you think christened the boat with a bottle of Coke and pushed us out?”
Sierra closed her eyes and tried not to laugh. Peggy was just as bad as her sons. “Your whole family is certifiable.”
She couldn’t imagine having a parent shoving her off into the bay to see if the boat she was in was seaworthy. When she was younger and they were staying at a hotel on water, her father would send her off with one of the staff for a boat ride. One of the uppity-ups from the staff would accompany her and point out all the trees, plants, and waterfowl. It was boring and they had always strapped so many flotation devices to her that she had resembled an orange marshmallow.
She had preferred to sneak into the kitchen and beg the chef for a big bowl of ice cream. She would then wolf it down so fast that she ended up with a brain freeze. At least that was an interesting way to spend an afternoon.
“Some say that.” Matt leaned forward and gave her a quick kiss since Austin was out of the room. “I know I’m crazy about you.”
She smiled. “How crazy?” She liked the sound of that. Something special was happening between them. Matt thought he was falling in love with her. Was it possible for her to be falling right back? If she was, what was going to happen come Labor Day weekend when she w
as supposed to be heading back? What would Matt say when he found out she was a Randall, and it was her father who had contacted Millicent about the lighthouse and the surrounding acreage?
So many questions. So little time.
Matt pulled her into his arms and kissed her like she wanted him to.
Sierra blocked everything out of her mind but the feel, the taste, and the scent of Matt. Warm desire rushed through her body. She wanted more. So much more. Her tongue traced his lower lip, and she felt him shiver. She smiled against his mouth and her palm cupped his rough jaw. Matt needed to shave twice a day. When, not if, they made love he was going to leave behind his mark.
Her shiver matched his.
“Mom, come see!” Austin shouted from the other room.
Sierra broke the kiss.
“Crazy enough to know I shouldn’t be kissing you with Austin in the next room.” Matt whispered against her mouth. “But crazy enough not to care.” He slowly released her.
“I’ll be right there, hon.” Sierra watched the emotions swirling in Matt’s gaze. His light blue eyes had darkened with desire and his unsteady breathing matched hers. They both wanted the same thing.
They both were going to have to wait until tomorrow night.
Juliet looked at the two men sitting at the kitchen table and laughed. “I cooked, so I’m not cleaning up.” Gordon and Steven Blake both sat back, contented, full, and testing her. She wasn’t going to cave. “I spent three hours in this kitchen roasting that chicken and fixing that meal you two just devoured.”
It was true. There was hardly a thing left. Two lone rolls and a spoonful of peas. That was it. The chicken had been picked clean as if vultures had attacked it and the mashed potatoes had been inhaled. Gordon and Steve ate like her brothers. Were all men such bottomless pits?
Gordon patted his nonexistent stomach and grinned. “‘There is no love sincerer than the love of food.’”
“Don’t you quote Shaw to me.” She put her hands on her hips and glared at the man who was her father. “Wash the dishes.”
“I’ll dry,” Steve said in a rush and with a grin. “Masterful women scare me.” Steve stood up and stretched. “Besides, any woman who can quote Shaw terrifies me.”
“‘Courage mounteth with occasion.’” She couldn’t help quoting back.
Steve cringed in fake horror. “Shakespeare too! There’s no stopping her now, Gordon.”
Gordon roared with laughter. “I’ve only been able to stump her once, Steve. She’s darn good.”
“Pudd’nhead Wilson doesn’t count,” she griped. Nothing had surprised or delighted her more than when Steve joined in Gordon’s game of quotes. Steven was a bookworm, along with having a master’s degree in biochemistry and a love for the sea. She had been halfway in lust with him on looks alone. This new development pushed it over the edge.
She was enjoying herself way too much.
“She doesn’t know Pudd’nhead?”
“Of course I know Twain. I just never heard that particular quote about temptation.” She looked at her father. “I seem to remember you stumbling over one the other day.”
“Steinem? You expected me to know Gloria Steinem?”
“Why not? You expect me to know Keats, Shaw, Shakespeare, Dylan Thomas, Thoreau, Wilde . . .” She started to tick the men off, one finger at a time.
“Okay, I get the point.” Gordon looked at Steve and grinned. “Feisty, isn’t she?”
Juliet was taken aback. No one had ever called her feisty before. She was the quiet, calm, and cool Carlyle. With Gordon she was different. Back at home if she started sprouting Shakespeare or Wilde, her brothers would make fun of her and call her “egghead” and then go into some silly routine about it only being a flesh wound. With Gordon she had to use every ounce of her functioning brain, and then some. He kept her on her toes. She liked that.
She also liked Steve.
At the end of the wild whale-watching ride she had screwed up her courage and asked a man to dinner for the first time in her life. The fact that he seemed to be friends with Gordon had helped matters, along with the fact she wouldn’t be sitting across from him in some restaurant racking her brain for something intelligent and interesting to say. She would be doing the cooking.
She didn’t consider herself a gourmet chef, but she knew the basics and could prepare roast beef, meatloaf, chicken, and even the occasional seafood dish. She could make a cake from a box, brownies from scratch, and Christmas cookies by the batch. Christmas at the Carlyles’ wouldn’t be the same unless she spent three solid days in the kitchen baking cookies. Her brothers had become so spoiled that in October they were now mailing her pictures of cookies that they wanted her to bake.
She wondered if Gordon liked cookies.
Gordon started to fill the sink with soap and water. Steve picked up the dirty dishes and carried them over to the sink. She wrapped up the two rolls but scraped the peas into the garbage, along with the chicken bones.
Five minutes later she was wiping down the table when Steve brought up a subject she and Gordon had been avoiding.
“Gordon, you said Juliet was the daughter of a dear friend.”
“Yes, Victoria Carlyle.” Gordon gave Juliet a meaningful look before placing the next plate into the drainer.
“Is this Victoria any relationship to you, Gordon?” Steve glanced between her and Gordon.
She knew it looked a little strange with her first hanging around Gordon’s shop every day and redoing the place. Then they’d really started tongues wagging in town when she had moved out of the bed-and-breakfast and into Gordon’s guest room. Her moving into his apartment solved a couple problems, the first being that she felt strange with him paying for her room at a local bed-and-breakfast. She didn’t ask, and Gordon didn’t say, but she had a feeling he wasn’t very wealthy. The other reason was, with her doing so much work on the interior of the shop, running back and forth to the B&B was wearing her out.
She had come to Misty Harbor to meet and possibly get to know Gordon Hanley. What better way to get to know someone than to move in with him? Of course, that action had caused a lot of speculation.
“No relation. Victoria is someone I met years ago.” Gordon continued to wash the next plate. “Why do you ask?”
Steve dried a plate and placed it into the cabinet. “I can’t help noticing a remarkable resemblance between you and Juliet. You two could be related. Are you sure you’re not brother and sister separated at birth?” Steve laughed at his own joke.
Gordon gave a fake chuckle that didn’t fool her. By Steve’s expression, it didn’t fool him either.
She knew Gordon was leaving it up to her, if or when the town would know she was his daughter. It was sweet of him, but it was an awkward situation. How do you blurt out that Gordon had a daughter no one ever knew about, and guess what, it’s me? Surprise!
Juliet took a deep breath. She didn’t think she would ever get a better opportunity. “Speaking of being separated at birth . . .”
Gordon spun around in shock. Soap bubbles and water went flying.
Steve looked from Gordon to Juliet with confusion in his face.
“Steve, there’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just come right out and say it. I’m Gordon’s daughter. My mother and Gordon had a relationship, and she never told Gordon she was carrying his child. Mom married a great guy named Ken Carlyle, and he raised me as his own.” There it was, out in the open, and it felt good.
Steve blinked in surprise.
Gordon looked astounded. “Juliet, you didn’t have to say anything.”
She thought she saw tears in Gordon’s eyes but didn’t want to embarrass him. “Yes, I did. That busybody Priscilla Patterson and her skinny sidekick were in here this morning while you were at the post office. Priscilla started lecturing me on living in sin and wicked ways.”
Steve laughed. Gordon sputtered in outrage. “She didn’t!”
“Sure, she did.” Juliet winked. “Do
n’t worry, I straightened her out.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I told her I was just using you until someone richer came along.”
Gordon looked appalled. “Juliet, that is going to be all over town by now. People will think you’re a gold digger, if not worse.”
She took a step closer and kissed Gordon’s cheek. “Relax, Gordon.” She still couldn’t bring herself to call him “Dad.” “Imagine how silly she’s going to look when it becomes known I’m your daughter.” She took hold of his wet hands and squeezed. “This past week with you has shown me many things. It also explains a lot.”
“Such as?” Gordon looked so happy.
“Well, I finally figured out why I never seemed to fit in with the rest of the Carlyle gang. Why I have two left feet and couldn’t hit a basket with a ball if my life depended on it. Why I prefer Shakespeare over the Three Stooges, and why I have really dark hair.”
There was no mistaking the tears in Gordon’s eyes now. “Hey, I can shoot a basket, as long as I can stand in one spot and not have to run around while doing it.” Gordon’s hand reached out and cupped her cheek. “You’re the most beautiful daughter a man could ever hope for.”
“Thank you.” She leaned into the warmth of his palm. “You make a pretty cool dad.” There, she’d finally said it.
Gordon sniffed and wiped his eyes. “Hey, Steve, why don’t you take my daughter out for an evening stroll? Buy her a double-dip French vanilla ice cream cone down at Bailey’s. It’s her favorite.”
Gordon pushed them both to the top of the steps leading down into the shop and grabbed the towel out of Steve’s hands. “I know you’re an adult, Juliet. But seeing as I’m new at this dad stuff, I’ll be waiting up.”
He then eyed Steve. “Is this where I get to threaten you?”
“Gordon!” She grabbed Steve’s arm. “Come on, before he changes his mind and gives me a curfew.” She tugged a laughing Steve down the stairs and out into the night.
Chapter Twelve
Sierra drove back into Misty Harbor in the early evening. Austin was safe with his father, and they had already reached Aunt Jean’s place hours ago. While Jake had driven directly to his sister’s house, she had taken the scenic route back to town. She had gotten off Interstate 95 in Brunswick and traveled north on Route 1 through Rockland, Camden, Belfast, and up into Ellsworth. There had been plenty of stops along the way.
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