Pru parked her car and reached for the sunflower wedged between the front seats in its makeshift plastic vase. It was so pretty, staring at her with its bright, yellow petals, its dark head turned a little to one side as if in question, and her heart turned to putty all over again.
Damn you, Alex.
She hesitated, biting down on her lip, and glanced at the three men in her yard. John Jr. dug two cans of beer out of the cooler by his feet and tossed one to David Faraday, who sat on the tailgate of the Ford. They popped the tabs, clinked the cans, and each took a long, deep pull, their tanned throats working. Wade, who was a head taller than the other two and looked as if he’d been welded of steel rather than conceived and born the natural way, squatted by the hole in the yard and boomed with laughter.
No, she’d just leave the flower here for now. Her feet hurt, her back ached, and a headache already pounded on her brain, so the last thing she needed this evening was to answer more questions about the “city boy” that had made such a spectacle over her this morning.
Damn you, Alex, she thought for the hundredth time but there was no longer any heat to it. Instead, it made her smile. Yeah, he was a slick one all right. She had to be careful or he’d have her heart before she realized it.
She left the sunflower, slid from her Jeep, and opened the back door for Triton. “C’mon, boy.” The retriever sprang from the vehicle and loped over to the men, tongue lolling and tail wagging.
She followed. “Hi, guys. Got any more of those?”
“Sure do.” John Jr. fished another can out of the cooler and tossed it to her.
“So,” she said after popping the tab and taking a drink. She studied the stump. “You finally got that baby out, huh?”
“You bet!” Wade embraced Triton, who wiggled around him for attention. “It put up a fight though. J.J. almost rammed your porch with his truck.”
“You’re not supposed to tell her that, stupid.” John Jr. gave his brother an affectionate shove with his foot and man and dog went sprawling into the grass, much to the delight of them both.
Pru studied the wraparound porch she’d just had painted. “You don’t listen to your brother, Wade. I’d really like to know whenever he does something boneheaded like that.”
“Well, then I should tell ya about last summer—”
“Wade,” John Jr. interrupted and gestured to the clouds gathering along the horizon, dark billows over the ocean already flashing with lightning. “We need to get our equipment packed up before that storm makes landfall.”
Wade’s eyes widened. “Uh-oh.” He patted Triton on the head, then hopped to his feet and sprinted around the other side of the house.
“Uh-huh,” Pru said with a smile. “What should he tell me, John?”
“Nothing.” John Jr. finished off his beer and tossed the empty back in the cooler. “Really.”
“Riiight.” She rolled her eyes as a blast of wind rustled the leaves on the trees bordering her property and brought the clean, cold scent of rain in from the ocean. She turned and gazed out over the water. “First storm of the season.”
“Yup,” David said and finished off his own drink. “It’s going to be a big one too.” He clapped John Jr. on the shoulder, gave it a little squeeze. “I’m gonna head out, boss. Try to beat the storm back to town. See ya Monday.”
Pru waited until David backed out of the drive and gave the horn a tap in farewell, then turned to John Jr. “So?”
He avoided her gaze by picking up the cooler and placing it in the back of his Ford, then rearranging the heavy chains they’d used to pull up the stump. “So what?”
“You know.” When he still didn’t look at her, she flapped her arms. “Miranda! Have you asked her out yet?”
His face reddened. “I don’t wanna ask her out.”
“Bullshit. I see it in the way you look at her at the diner. You want her.”
He choked. “I, uh—She’s with Rhett. Everyone knows that.”
Pru scowled. She’d forgotten that complication, but wasn’t about to give up her decade-old mission to hook her cousin up with her best friend. John Jr. was homespun handsome with his blond hair, soft blue eyes, and a body honed by years of hard construction work. So he was shorter than Miranda liked her men and terminally shy when it came to women. He still had a lot going for him. His own company. His truck and a boat the size of a small yacht, both bought with cash. One of the nicest houses in town, a Victorian on Penobscot Street he restored himself. Beyond his material worth, he was funny. Caring. Honest to a fault. A far better man than Rhett Swithin could ever dream of being.
“Forget Rhett,” Pru said. “They’re not officially together. You still have a shot.”
“He’d kill me,” John Jr. said and gazed out over the ocean, his expression lined with regret.
Probably. She slung an arm around his shoulders and gave him a squeeze. “You can’t think like that, cuz. Who she dates is her choice, but she’ll never notice you unless you make her notice. She’s just that way. That’s why she’s attracted to Rhett. He’s not happy unless everyone within a mile notices him.”
John Jr. scowled. “If I have to act like that blowhole to get her attention, then it’s not worth it. I’d rather have my pride.”
“You can have both. You don’t have to act like Rhett. Just be yourself and be confident and she’ll notice.” She elbowed him in the ribs. “Want me to give her a little nudge in your direction?”
His eyes all but popped out of his head. “God, no! I don’t need my baby cousin setting me up. Jesus, talk about a hit to the pride.”
She laughed and pushed him away as thunder rolled in on a blast of wind. “You should get going before the storm hits. I’ll help Wade finish picking up.”
John Jr. took a step toward his truck and hesitated, gazing up at the house. “Maybe you should come stay with me. I don’t like the thought of you up here by yourself during a storm.”
“I’ll be fine. Besides, I won’t be by myself. Wade’s right out in the carriage house if I need help.”
“Yeah, but Wade’s …” He looked at the side yard, where Wade stood at the edge of the cliff, a coil of rope over his brawny shoulder as he stared out over the beach as if dumbstruck. John Jr. grimaced. “Wade’s retarded.”
“John!”
“Well, dammit, I hate to say it as much as you hate to hear it, but we both know it’s the truth. Just because Dad refused to have him tested and officially labeled doesn’t make it any less true. If the storm gets bad, you can’t count on him not to freak out on you.”
Pru sighed, knowing he was right. Wade was sweet and tried his hardest to be helpful, but he was like one of those big, dumb dogs that jumped at his own shadow. In a crisis, he’d be no help, but she didn’t think the storm rumbling toward shore now counted as a crisis. She shooed John Jr. toward his truck.
“We’ll be fine. It’s not the first storm I’ve weathered in this lighthouse and it won’t be the last.”
“It’s the first for him. Maybe I should hang around tonight…”
“You wanted your pride, John, so let the man have his. God knows, he doesn’t have much else.” She gave him a reassuring hug. “You’ve spent your whole life looking out for Wade. You’re a good brother, but he needs some independence. The carriage house is the perfect place for him to get it without being completely on his own.”
He frowned. Pru held his face in her hands and kissed the furrow that worry had gouged between his brows. “Give it some time. He may decide he doesn’t like being on his own and move back in with you, but let him make that decision, okay? I’ll check up on him tonight and if there are any problems, you’re only a phone call away.”
John Jr. looked at Wade again, still stuck in the same spot at the edge of the yard with his mouth hanging open. The wind whipped Wade’s unkempt hair around his face as the first drops of rain fell, but he didn’t seem to notice, transfixed as he was by whatever he saw down on the beach.
John Jr
. sighed and opened the door of his truck. “I get that he wants privacy, I do. What I don’t understand is why he wants to stay here, of all places. No offense.”
“None taken.” Pru crossed her arms as the wind pierced her coat and raised goosebumps on her skin. “I think he just wants to be closer to Cappy.”
His gaze strayed toward the lighthouse tower, then jerked away. “Yeah. Well.” He climbed into his truck and started the engine, then leaned out. “Any problems, call me.”
“Sure thing. Hey, John?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks. You’ve been great about this whole reconstruction, considering Cappy….” She let the sentence trail away, unsure of how to finish it. Killed himself sounded too harsh. After all, she was talking to the man’s child. It had to be hard to know his father was so tired of life that he willingly climbed to the top of the tower, looped a rope around his neck, and jumped to his death.
John Jr. tried to shrug it off, but his eyes darkened and he stared at his steering wheel for a long moment. “It’s what Dad would’ve wanted. He loved this place.” He wagged his head as if to shake away the memories. “I’ll be back tomorrow to get that stump out of here and fill the hole.”
“No, it can wait until Monday,” she started to say, but he’d already shut the door and put the truck in drive.
She waved goodbye, then edged up to the hole. It was deeper than she expected, bordered with jutting rocks and broken roots. Triton ambled to her side and gazed into the hole then up at her as if to say, what’s this?
“No.” She snagged his collar, got down on her knees and looked him in the eye. She pointed at the hole. “No.” His tail wagged. She held his gaze, pointed again, and said firmly, “No.”
Triton’s shoulders hunched, his ears flattened, and his tail tucked between his legs. Satisfied he wouldn’t stray near the hole, Pru rubbed his head and grimaced at the dark pit. With all the accidents that plagued the lighthouse’s reconstruction, maybe it was a good idea to have it filled in as soon as possible. She really didn’t want to see anyone else get hurt. It was bad enough that in the past month alone, five of John Jr.’s workers had left the site in an ambulance, two with life-threatening injuries. Thank God neither man died and both were on their way to making a full recovery. Pru didn’t think she’d be able to handle more death on her conscience.
Thunder bellowed, closer, louder, and the wind splattered raindrops on Pru’s face. Shivering, she got to her feet and looked around for Wade. He stood rooted in the same spot, in the same position.
Poor Wade. Sometimes his brain needed a jumpstart to remember what he was doing. She started toward him just as he shook off the trance. He threw down the coil of rope and sprinted across the yard, over to the wooden stairs that carved a path down the side of the cliff to the beach.
“Wade!” She tried to catch him, but his legs were longer and for all his bulk, he was fast. Heart thudding, she scanned the beach, searching for whatever he’d seen that made him take off like that. In the distance, where the cliff gentled into a rolling slope, sat a tent, already battered by the wind, and a sputtering fire.
A campsite.
And Wade headed for the unsuspecting campers like a bulldozer.
CHAPTER 6
Should have found a cozy bed and breakfast, you dumb jackass.
Alex sighed, pillowed his hands behind his head, and watched the wind abuse the rain flap on his tent. He could be relaxing with a warm cup of coffee in front of a fire, a book on his lap. A good thriller à la John Sandford or Lawrence Block. He hadn’t read for pleasure in so long, it’d feel good to lose himself in someone else’s problems for a while.
Or, better yet, a woman on his lap. A particular blue-eyed waitress would definitely make him forget all his problems.
Thunder cracked overhead. He pressed his palms to his eyes.
He could still go find a B&B, but the idea of breaking down camp now in the wind and rain didn’t hold much appeal. And staying in town equaled a bigger headache than camping. People were too damn nosy. He’d rather deal with a no-holds thunderstorm than a bunch of hopeless gossips.
Of course, if he left town, he wouldn’t have to worry about gossips. No reason for him to stay here, freezing his ass off alone in a tent in the middle of Bum Fuck Egypt, Maine, when he had a perfectly good condo back in Boston. Pru obviously didn’t want him here, and yet he was hanging around like a frickin’ stalker.
Hah. Look up the word masochist in the dictionary, and there’d be a picture of Alex Brennan’s ugly mug.
He could call Nick and unload some of the shit weighing on his chest, but Nick would probably say he was punishing himself for perceived misdoings and yadda, yadda, yadda. Alex could hear the psychoanalysis now. He’d tell Nick to shut the fuck up. It’d be as satisfying as any therapy session.
Alex smiled, reached for his phone, and froze.
A shadow loomed outside his tent.
He realized it too late. The door burst inward, the zipper releasing with a snap. A hand gripped his ankle like a manacle and yanked him out into the storm. For a long, stunned moment, he lay on his back, rain pelting his face as he blinked up at the hulk of a man backlit by flashes of lightning.
Then self-preservation kicked in. He rolled, twisting his ankle free, and sprung to his feet. Hulk roared and launched at him. He dove to the right and Hulk flattened his tent.
“Jesus!” Alex swung around, ready to fight, his heart pounding in a hole in his chest, the sound of blood rushing in his ears blocking out everything else.
Probably smarter to run, but his boots were inside the tent underneath Hulk, who was up on his hands and knees, shaking his head.
Closest building was Pru’s lighthouse, at least a quarter of a mile down the rocky beach. He could make a run for it, but Hulk had longer legs and better traction in work boots than he had in wool socks.
Hulk lumbered to his feet with a scowl, swaying a little. Now would be the time to run. Alex edged a step backwards.
Wrong, wrong, wrong, his inner cynic screamed. Coward! Pussy-faced coward!
Alex cursed under his breath and stood his ground. It just wasn’t in him to run. Maybe he was suicidal. God knew that ran in his family too.
“You’re trespassing!” Hulk shouted over the wind. “Dad doesn’t like trespassers!”
Okay, so this guy wasn’t the sharpest knife in the dishwasher. Alex held up his hands in a peacemaking gesture. “Lookit, buddy, I don’t want to fight. I didn’t know this was private property. I’ll leave. All you had to do was ask.”
Hulk’s face screwed up as if he was having trouble processing the words. “You’re trespassing.”
“Yeah, I get that now. I’m sorry. Lemme get my stuff together …” Alex crouched down and reached for his broken tent. There was no way he’d win in a hand-to-hand fight with this guy, but maybe if he got hold of his gun, he’d stand a chance at getting out of this situation intact.
Hulk dropped a shoulder and plowed into him, the blow like a freight train to the stomach. Alex managed to stay on his feet and used his smaller size to slip out of Hulk’s grasp. He made it three steps before he bent double, gagging on the surge of bile.
Hulk advanced.
Alex let his body fall forward, caught himself on his hands and tumbled into a line of bushes along the edge of the campsite, leaving Hulk with nothing but a handful of air. Just like the good old days in sniper school, he kept his face, body, and heels flat to the ground, letting the little bit of shrubbery provide cover. When lightning flashed, he paused and used the second of illumination to get his bearings. He’d crawled about twenty feet. Hulk stood in the same spot where he had dropped into the bushes, pounding at the shrubs with his foot, screaming and—
Shit, was the guy crying?
Alex wasn’t about to stick around and find out. Inner cynic be damned, he was outta here. He crawled through mud and over rocks as the storm exploded and cold rain lashed his back like stinging pellets of shrapnel. Just
like Hindu Kush, without all the snow—
No. He slammed the door shut on those memories. Afghanistan had been just as bad as Iraq and if he let himself go there, he’d freeze up. He had to stay in the present and get away from the crazy asshole still stomping through the underbrush looking for him.
Headlights flashed over his ravaged campsite as a Jeep screeched to a halt next to his car. A woman jumped out, dressed in jeans and a red rain slicker. The wind whipped off her hood and sent black hair flying. Alex’s heart made a freefall dive into his stomach, then bungeed back into his throat.
Pru. What the fuck was she doing out here?
She cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, but her voice was lost in the storm. He couldn’t let Hulk hear her. The guy had a good hundred-fifty pounds and well over a foot on her. She wouldn’t stand a chance in hell against him if he decided to attack.
Alex got to his feet, but stayed low, using trees and rocks for cover as he made his way in a wide circle, coming up behind Pru’s Jeep. She stood in the high beams, making herself an easy target, calling into the wind.
Dammit, Pru, don’t draw his attention.
He couldn’t call her name. The wind would carry whatever he shouted away from her. He hated to frighten her, but he saw no choice. He darted out from behind the Jeep and snagged her around the waist, clamping a hand over her mouth to muffle her frightened shriek as he dragged her out of the pool of headlights.
“Shh, it’s okay,” he said in her ear. “It’s Alex.” She sagged against him as he opened the Jeep’s door. He lifted her inside and climbed in behind.
“What the hell’s the matter with you?” She shoved herself into the passenger seat to make room for him, then beat on his arm with her fist. “Sneaking up on a woman in the middle of a storm is not the best way to endear yourself to her! Idiot!”
Vision of Darkness (D.I.E. Squadron Book 1) Page 5
