by Marta Perry
“I’ve noticed. But I don’t belong to Caldwell Cove, remember?”
He shrugged that off. “You have as much reason to be part of the celebration as anyone. Jenny and I want you to join us.”
“Join you?”
“Sail on the Jolly Roger with us for Pirate Days. Everything starts a week from Saturday, with the regatta. There’s a dinner and dance that evening, then a church service with the blessing of the boats on Sunday.”
“It sounds lovely. But isn’t sailing the ship just for your family?”
“Family, friends. We’re inviting you, Jenny and I. We want you to be a part of the Jolly Roger’s crew.”
“But…” A dozen objections leaped into her mind. “I don’t know anything about sailing a pirate ship.”
He grinned. “You don’t have to. You can be the royal maiden kidnapped by the pirates.”
“I don’t think I brought any royal maiden dresses with me.”
He brushed that aside with a quick gesture. “We have years’ worth of costumes around. We’ll find something for you. Come on, say you’ll do it. You don’t have to work all the time, you know.”
“Well, I…” She couldn’t believe how appealing it sounded to take part in something that made him so happy. “Are you sure Jenny wants me to come?”
“She does.” He took both of her hands in his, and their warmth seemed to flow right up her arms and touch her heart. “We both do.”
He didn’t mean anything by it, she knew that. As long as she knew it, she’d be safe from letting him bruise her heart again.
And she’d have a lovely memory to take with her when she left Caldwell Island.
“All right. I’d love to.”
Chapter Twelve
“I thought you said I got to be the royal maiden.” Tory swung the paintbrush against the mast of the Jolly Roger and glanced at Adam, who was doing the same thing on the other side of the mast. “You didn’t mention anything about being a painter’s assistant.”
He grinned, looking relaxed and happy in his paint-daubed jeans and T-shirt. “You were working too hard. I thought you needed a break.”
“Are you saying this isn’t work?” She bent to dip her brush in the can of black paint.
“At least you’re using different muscles.”
How would you know what muscles I use on the windows, Adam? How would you know anything about it? You haven’t been in the workroom for the last week.
He hadn’t done more than thrust his head into the room when he came to urge her to help with some last-minute painting to ready the pirate ship for the following day. All week, since the night he’d told her to go ahead with the window, he’d avoided the workroom as if it pained him to be near it.
Well, maybe it did. She should be glad her work was going well. She didn’t have the right to expect Adam to be happy about it.
Certainly the congregation had seemed pleased with the repair work at church on Sunday. Pastor Wells had thanked her again from the pulpit, and most of the church members had stopped to add their words of appreciation after the service.
“Everyone’s happy about the windows, you know.” Adam seemed to be reading her mind. “I can’t tell you how many people have commented about your work.”
She knelt to touch up some chipped places at the base of the mast. “I enjoyed being there Sunday to hear what they thought of it. Usually when you work in a church, you’re not around long enough to see people’s reactions to what you did.”
“Is that mostly what you do?” He looked at her, seeming genuinely interested. “Church windows?” It was the first time he’d mentioned her work other than in the context of the problem between them.
“My last employer did all sorts of projects, but he ran a big studio. I’d like to specialize in church projects—both repair work and new designs.”
She half expected him to tense at the mention of new designs, but he didn’t seem distressed. “Why church works, especially?”
She couldn’t say this to just anyone. But she could to him. “The other work is satisfying, but church windows give me the chance to express my faith in my designs. What is better than that?”
He nodded. “I guess I feel that way about the boatyard. We have to do repairs—that’s the bread and butter. But creating our individual boats for customers who want quality craftsmanship is where the joy comes in.”
“Exactly. Joy is just the right word.” They were connecting at a level she hadn’t expected on a subject that had to be touchy where Adam was concerned.
She sat on the sun-warmed deck, finding it easier to paint that way. Adam had been right—this did use different muscles. But at least here at the boatyard she could feel the sun beat on her back and smell the mingled aromas of salt air, fish and paint.
“So what made you start your own business? Weren’t you able to do what you wanted with the last studio you worked for?”
His question made her feel she was the one being pushed into a touchy area. She could evade the truth, but Adam had been honest with her. She owed him the same. And they were alone, with every other worker out of earshot.
“I liked the work, all right.” She took a breath, then forced herself to look at him. The sunlight dazzled her eyes. “The problem was, I was engaged to the firm’s owner. When our relationship fell apart, I didn’t fit in any longer. It seemed time to go out on my own.”
Adam’s brush paused in its even strokes. He squatted on his heels across from her, face intent. “What happened to your engagement?”
She wanted to resent the question but she couldn’t, not when it was filled with such caring.
“I thought Jason and I were a team,” she said carefully. She hadn’t said this to anyone, but she was going to tell Adam. “We’d done a big project—the one I showed you in the magazine spread. I was the designer on that job, but when the project began to get some attention, Jason made it clear that he expected to receive all the credit for the designs.”
The realization didn’t hurt as much as it had once, but it still stung.
“I saw that wasn’t the kind of relationship that would make for a good marriage.”
She studied the black-and-white label on the paint can as if it fascinated her, so she wouldn’t have to look at Adam. “That was when I decided to strike out on my own.”
“And you ended up in Caldwell Cove.” He reached out to touch her paint-stained hand. “I’m glad.”
Are you, Adam? Her breath caught. Could she possibly believe he meant anything by it?
Then he stood, putting the lid on the paint can, and the moment was over. Maybe that was just as well. She shouldn’t be reading anything into the kindness Adam dealt out to everyone who crossed his path. It didn’t mean he had feelings for her.
“Here comes Jenny.” He shaded his eyes, looking toward the road. “We’re about to get some help.” He smiled. “That’s why I closed the paint can.”
“Wise man.” Keep it light, remember? That way nobody got hurt.
“Trust me, I learned my lesson the hard way. You don’t want to know what happened when we painted the barn last year. It took six months for Jenny’s pony to look normal again.”
She stood, taking the rag he tossed her and wiping her hands. “You’re right, I don’t want to know.” She glanced at her watch. “Isn’t it too early for her to be out of school?”
“You really haven’t caught on to how seriously we take Pirate Days, have you? Even school dismisses early so the children can help get ready. They consider it an educational event.”
He seemed to be serious.
“You’re not telling there were actual, historical pirates, are you? I thought this was just an excuse to have a little fun.”
“Hey, Daddy. Hey, Miz Tory. What can I do?” Jenny skidded to a stop perilously close to the paint can.
Adam grabbed her. “Hey, yourself. Take it easy. You just got your cast off, remember? You don’t need another one.”
“I’m alwa
ys careful, Daddy.” Jenny didn’t look especially impressed with the warning. “What can I do? Can I paint?” She reached eagerly toward a wet brush, and Adam caught her hand.
“You can tell Miz Tory about the pirates. She doesn’t think they were real.”
“Not real?” Jenny’s eyes widened. “We learned all about them in school, Miz Tory. It’s real, honest. The pirates used to hide around the sea islands. Some people even say they buried treasure here. Why, one time somebody even found a gold Spanish coin in an old log.”
Tory looked from Jenny to Adam. Both of them certainly seemed to be taking it seriously. “So this parade with the boats tomorrow—”
“It’s to remember when a pirate named John Law took over the island in 1802.” Jenny rattled the facts off as if she’d memorized them. “His ship was called the Jolly Roger, and ours is meant to look just like his.”
“Very good.” Adam ruffled her hair, then smiled at Tory. “We do have a few modern innovations, though. The pirates storm ashore at the yacht club, for instance, which obviously wasn’t there in 1802. And nobody really walks the plank.”
“I’m relieved to hear it.”
“I have a costume like Daddy’s, Miz Tory. Did you get your costume yet?”
She glanced at Adam. “Actually, I forgot all about it. Was I supposed to look for one?”
“Nope. It’s all taken care of.” He caught Jenny’s hands and swung them back and forth, making her giggle. “Miz Tory is going to look like a princess.”
“I get to be a pirate,” Jenny declared. “With an eye patch and everything. That’s better. But you’ll make a nice princess, Miz Tory,” she added generously.
Tory felt a slight tremor of apprehension. What exactly was this costume? “I’ve never considered myself the princess type.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Adam’s face crinkled with amusement. “I seem to remember a time when you were Cinderella.”
“That was a long time ago,” she said firmly. “I’m a craftsman now, not a princess.”
She realized suddenly that they were talking easily, even joking about the night that had haunted her for such a long time. She wouldn’t have thought that possible before she’d come back to Caldwell Cove.
Maybe she and Adam were moving toward accepting the past. If so, this trip had been worthwhile even without finding the dolphin.
Jenny grabbed her hand. “Miz Tory, can I come see the window you’re making for my mommy? Miz Becky keeps saying I have to wait, but I want to see it now.”
Jenny’s sudden change of subject caught her off guard. “If it’s okay with your daddy.”
“No.” The word came out with explosive force. She looked at Adam to find his eyes suddenly as gray and bleak as a storm on the ocean. “It’s not okay.”
Her heart stuttered. She’d been wrong. The knowledge was a physical pain that cut through her. Adam wasn’t accepting the past at all.
Now where had that come from? Adam shook his head, hoping he could shake off the feelings that had erupted with Jenny’s innocent question. His response had been instinctive, but it hadn’t been fair to either Jenny or Tory.
“Sorry, sugar.” He touched his daughter’s cheek lightly. “I didn’t mean to sound like a bear.”
Jenny pouted. “Well, you did. A growly bear. I don’t see why I can’t look at the window.”
“Nobody’s looking at it until it’s finished.” That was the first reasonable excuse for his behavior that popped into his head, and he could only hope it sounded good to both of them. “I’m sure Miz Tory will be finished with the window soon, and then you can see it before anybody else, okay?”
“It’ll be ready in just a couple more days,” Tory said quickly. “I’ll tell you when.”
“Okay.” Jenny’s smile reappeared. “Now can I help paint?”
The tension inside him eased. “We’re finished with the painting, but Uncle Matt’s about ready to swab the deck. How about helping him?”
“I can do that.” Jenny whirled and darted toward the stern. “Uncle Matt, I can help you,” she called.
Jenny was easily distracted, and just as easily forgiving. Tory was something else again. He turned to her, trying to find an excuse for his behavior. There wasn’t one.
“I’m sorry.” He spread his hands, palms up. “That was stupid.”
Her mouth was tight. He might have thought it expressed anger, but he could see the hurt hiding in her eyes.
“You have a right to do what you want.” She turned away. “But she’ll have to see the window sometime.”
“I know. Tory…” His voice trailed off. What else could he say?
His gaze traced the pale skin of her nape, the tension in her shoulders, the curve of her back. Vulnerable. He’d seen it that first day when he’d looked into Tory’s dark eyes and recognized loneliness.
Tory put on a good front of being determined and independent and depending on nobody. But he knew better. He knew just how tender she was inside.
She wasn’t the only one. He tried to look honestly at his feelings. He was drawn to Tory in a way he’d never been drawn to another woman, even Lila. Lila had been youthful infatuation masquerading as reality. Tory was real. Tory had somehow reached him through all the defenses he’d erected after Lila’s betrayal.
But they were both too wounded to love again. That was the bottom line. He had to be careful.
“I’m sorry,” he said again finally. “I want Jenny to see the window. I know she’ll be happy with it.”
And I’m sorry I hurt you, Tory. That was what he felt, but he didn’t think he could say that. At least not out loud.
Tory stood before the oval mahogany mirror in her bedroom the next day, mentally ticking off all the ways she didn’t resemble any princess she’d ever heard of.
Princesses didn’t wear faded sweat suits and sneakers. They didn’t have a tangle of dark hair. They didn’t look ready to scrub the floor. Cinderella, even before the fairy godmother dusted her off, had undoubtedly been a blond-haired, blue-eyed beauty.
Like her mother.
She pressed her fist against her midsection. She might as well tell the truth, at least to herself. This sudden panic wasn’t over whether she did or didn’t resemble a princess. She was afraid because she didn’t belong.
Adam Caldwell, with his flock of relatives and his self-assured, confident air, couldn’t possibly understand that. He’d always known he belonged here. She’d never belonged anywhere.
A rap on the door interrupted the morbid turn her thoughts had suddenly taken. Straighten up, she told herself sternly. You can pretend you’re part of this, at least for one day.
She opened the door. Miz Becky stood there, her arms filled with a frothy confection in emerald green.
“Time’s a-wasting, child.” She bustled into the room, spread the gown on the bed and looked at it with satisfaction. “We got to get you ready.”
“That’s for me?” Tory felt a wave of light-headedness. “I didn’t expect anything like that. Adam just said there were some old costumes around.”
“He must have been joking. He rented this gown special from the costume shop in Savannah where they got the pirate outfits.” She stroked the silk once, then crossed to the dressing table and picked up a brush. “Come on, now. Let’s get your hair fixed first.”
Tory’s hands flew to her unruly mop. “I don’t expect you to do my hair. I’m sure you have lots to do getting ready yourself.”
Miz Becky’s eyes crinkled in amusement. “Nobody’s getting me on a pirate ship, I can tell you that. So I got plenty of time to dress for the party. Right now, all I want is to see you turn into a princess. Come on now. Don’t be giving me any excuses.”
Tory took a seat reluctantly at the dressing table, and Miz Becky began brushing her hair from her face. “I still don’t think—”
“Don’t think, then. Just enjoy.” She swept Tory’s mane up, pinning it into place with clips she took from her apron pocket. “
I tell you the truth, it does my heart good to see Adam so excited about this day. He hasn’t been this pleased about the celebration since I don’t remember when.”
Tory’s gaze caught Miz Becky’s in the mirror. “Really?”
The housekeeper nodded. “Honest.” She picked up the curling iron and began taming Tory’s curls. “Ever since Lila left, he’s been going through the motions. It’s good for him to be looking forward to this day. He’s been unhappy about that for too long. It’s time he got over it. Time he moved on with his life.”
“I’m not sure he can move on when he’s still grieving,” Tory said cautiously.
“I don’t reckon it’s grieving he’s been doing all this time.”
Apparently Miz Becky did know. Did Adam realize someone who knew him as well as Miz Becky did had guessed?
“Maybe not grieving,” she conceded. “But he’s—” She bit her lip. She shouldn’t be talking about him this way. But Miz Becky loved him. “He’s still bitter.”
The woman nodded, as if Tory had given the right answer. “That woman’s got him tied to her by that. It’s high time he got free.”
She didn’t seem to expect an answer, just concentrated on putting the finishing touches to Tory’s hair. Tory hardly noticed, she was so busy wrestling with Miz Becky’s words.
She was right. Adam’s bitterness tied him to the memory of Lila’s betrayal. He hadn’t forgiven her. That was why he couldn’t look at the window in her memory. Not because it reminded him of her, but because it reminded him of his inability to forgive.
Is that it, Lord? Is that why Adam has been confronted with this window—because he has to forgive?
“Now you just stand still and let me put the dress on you.” Miz Becky’s deft fingers adjusted the layers of petticoats.
She lifted the dress, and Tory felt the whisper of silk as it fell into place. Miz Becky fastened it, then twitched the skirt until it hung to her satisfaction.
“There,” she said, turning Tory toward the mirror. “Now look.”
Tory blinked. The elegant stranger looking back at her certainly wasn’t plain, workaday Tory Marlowe. “Is that really me?”
