by Terri Osburn
“Trying to.” He pulled his eyes from the smooth patch of olive skin exposed under her ponytail. “The machine is holding my chips for ransom, and I’m not paying. Guess I’ll go without.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Sid stepped forward and pressed her ear to the side of the worthless box of bolts.
As she moved to listen at another spot, Lucas asked, “What are you—” but she shushed him with one finger in front of his nose. His mouth clamped shut.
Pulling back, Sid smacked the side of the machine with the butt of her hand, causing his chips to drop into the tray. He’d smacked the damn thing twice and gotten nothing.
“How did you do that?”
Sid shrugged. “I’ve got a way with machines. Are those the right chips?”
“Yeah.” Lucas pushed the door to retrieve the snack as Sid pulled a wallet from her back pocket. “You don’t carry a purse?”
She looked at him as if he’d asked if she had meth for sale. “Do I look like a purse carrier to you?”
He took in the hoodie, cargo pants, and work boots. “Guess not.”
“You good with this working together thing?” she asked, falling into step beside him, after retrieving her candy bar from the drawer. Which fell on the first try.
“Fine with me. You probably know the staff better than I do. That should help until I get my bearings and the staff realizes I’m in charge.”
Sid stopped. “You’re in charge?”
Lucas crossed his arms, nearly smashing his chips. “It is my family’s business.”
She crossed her arms, mimicking his stance. Her head didn’t reach his shoulder but she still managed to look like a badass. Must have been the boots. “I’m covering for Patty, who is as much in charge, if not more so, than your dad. So you may be in charge of everyone else, but you’re not in charge of me.”
Lucas debated how to handle the situation. He was used to being in charge, leading the team. Having a coleader would be something new. Running a restaurant wasn’t the same as running a legal team, and deep down, he knew he needed her. He could always take the upper hand later if necessary.
“Equals?”
“That’s right.”
“We’ll see.” Not the strongest comeback, but for a tiny woman, Sid had a steady gaze.
“For a lawyer, you suck at this.” Sid started walking again, then turned back to face him. “I hope you tend bar better than you argue, or I’m going to have to cover the whole damn place.”
With that she disappeared into the hospital room, leaving Lucas in the hall with a bag of crushed chips and a bruised ego. Six weeks in hell had officially begun.
CHAPTER TWO
Thirty minutes later, the floor nurse announced visiting hours were over. After a brief round of good-byes, Lucas left his keys with Patty so she could use his car, then the younger generation headed for the parking garage. No one spoke until the elevator opened to Joe and Beth’s floor.
“Do you guys mind if I ride with Sid?” Lucas asked, drawing blank stares all around. “It’s a long drive and she shouldn’t have to make it alone.”
Sid tried to remain nonchalant about riding with Lucas. Alone. Her teenage self would have had a mental breakdown had this situation arisen all those years ago. But she was no longer a teenager, and this man had no idea he’d been the star of her fantasies for more than a decade.
She tried to be offended at the assumption she couldn’t drive an hour in the dark alone, but Lucas’s true motivation shone through loud and clear on his face. This had everything to do with his own mental preservation and nothing at all to do with Sid’s safety.
She hoped the man didn’t fancy himself a poker player.
“We don’t mind,” Beth said, giving Joe a just agree with me look.
“No,” Joe said, catching on quicker than Sid would have expected. “No problem.”
Beth dragged Joe away from the elevator and the doors slid closed. Sid waited until they’d stepped out at the next level before speaking. “If you think you can avoid them for the next six weeks, you’ve forgotten Anchor is the size of a postage stamp.”
“I haven’t forgotten anything. I’m just not in the mood tonight.”
“So long as you wallow in silence, I’m good with it.” Sid wasn’t sure why she was provoking him, but it seemed a good enough way to keep a sort of distance between them.
Lucas stopped. “I’m not wallowing.”
Sid kept moving. “Yes, you are.”
“What do you know?” he said. Hard to believe this man argued legal cases in front of a jury. Good thing he was pretty.
“I know a man stuck in a pout when I see one.” Distance shmistance, Sid had no intention of contributing to Lucas’s pity party, especially not over another woman. She was more the snap-out-of-it type than the huggie type. Sid didn’t hug as a rule. “Truck’s over here.”
“You like this with everyone or am I just special?” Lucas joined her next to the Chevy, looking like he might change his mind and run off to catch Joe and Beth.
Sid unlocked the passenger door, then turned to face her long-time crush. Don’t let it show. “If we’re going to spend our days together, we need to get something straight right now. I’m not a coddler. I’m not going to nurse that damaged ego of yours, and I’m sure as hell not going to tiptoe around trying not to say something that might make you feel bad.”
His full lips flattened. “I hope you’re not on the island welcoming committee.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, I don’t know. That maybe your attitude would send a shark racing in the other direction.” Lucas leaned on the truck bed, looking proud of himself for that one.
Sid gave him her best fuck you look and headed around the front of the truck.
“And another thing,” Lucas said, following her. “You can drop that chip on your shoulder at the door.”
“Screw you.”
“You might be the first woman I’ve ever met with a Napoleon complex.”
Sid stopped. No one made fun of her height. She counted to ten as she turned. The man was hurting, but he’d crossed a line.
“Unless you want to walk your scrawny ass back to Anchor, I suggest you shut your mouth and get in the truck. And walk around the back because I’m already tempted to run over you.”
She opened the door and climbed up, struggling to control her temper. For fourteen years she’d longed to gain this man’s attention. Talk about a case of careful what you wish for.
Sid tapped a thumb on the base of the wheel, waiting for Lucas to reach the other side. If she started the truck with him standing outside, the acoustics of the parking garage might damage his eardrums.
When he finally opened the passenger door, he said quietly, “I need to get my stuff out of my car.” The temper he’d displayed seconds before had vanished.
“Didn’t you give your key to your mom?”
“The lock is a combination. I don’t need the key to get my bag.”
Sid sighed. “Where’s your car?”
Lucas looked around. “I’m not sure. What level is this?”
“Four.”
“I parked on five.”
“Fine.” She turned the key and the engine roared to life. “Get in and we’ll drive up.”
As if noticing the truck for the first time, Lucas stared at the dash, blinking. “This is your truck?”
What the …?
“No. I’m stealing it. Did you hit your head on your way over there?”
“What year is this?”
That did it. First thing was to check his bag for drugs. “Have you had this memory problem long?”
Lucas shook his head. “Not this year. The year of the truck.”
“Oh. 1985. Restored her myself. If you ever decide to get in, I’ll show you how well she runs.”
He finally climbed into the cab, then skimmed a hand over the dash. “You did this?”
“I didn’t build the dash,” she sa
id as she pulled out. “But I put her together.” She swung the truck onto the ramp for the next floor. “Don’t act so surprised.”
“I knew you could fix boats. I didn’t know you knew cars too.”
“Anything with an engine. Dad had me fixing lawn mowers by age eight. Helped him build a go-cart when I was eleven.”
Lucas continued to take in every detail of the cab. “I’m impressed.”
A smile split her face. When she turned it on her passenger, he looked poleaxed. “What?” she asked, glancing in the rearview for something stuck in her teeth.
“Nothing,” he said, rubbing the center of his chest.
“You’re not having a heart attack too, are you?” That’s all she needed. Though Sid worked out, no way could she carry Lucas back into the hospital. He had her by a full foot and though thin, his frame looked solid.
“A little heartburn. I’m fine.” He squinted out the window. “My car’s the second to last up here on the right.”
Sid came to a stop behind the silver BMW. Too flashy for her tastes, but the vehicle fit Lucas’s style. Expensive. Sleek. A statement on wheels. He’d always been a gem among pebbles, which was what had drawn Sid to him in the first place. Lucas was that brilliant, out-of-reach star she could admire from afar but never catch.
Sid’s mother had shared the same quality. Removed. Special. Untouchable. Qualities Sid found mesmerizing, mostly because she was the complete opposite, best described as nothing special.
Within a minute Lucas had popped the trunk and thrown his duffel bag in the bed of the truck. If an expensive-looking leather bag could be called a duffel. They drove through the garage in silence, but not the comfortable kind, which made Sid antsy. Four blocks down Main she’d had enough.
“Took ’em all by surprise back there, didn’t you?”
“Took who by surprise?”
“Your family,” she said, jerking her head back as if his family were sitting in the truck bed. “No one expected you to step up and stick around.”
“I may not come home much, but I’m still part of this family,” he snapped. “Mom and Dad need me, so I’m here.”
She’d found a nerve. “Sorry. I guess expecting you to turn tail and leave them flailing is insulting. You deserve more credit than that.”
“No, I don’t,” he said. “I know how it must look, but I have my reasons for avoiding Anchor.”
“I know why you avoid it now,” Sid said, posing the question she’d been pondering for years. “But I don’t understand why you didn’t come around much before.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “I suppose I should be ready for the look.” He glanced over and Sid lifted a brow in question. “The one that says, ‘Poor Lucas. How does he hold his head up like that?’”
Not exactly an answer to her question, but he’d opened the door for another. Sid couldn’t resist the temptation; time to find out if there might be an ulterior motive to this visit.
“I’d be more ready for the gossipers assuming you’re here to win her back.” Sid held her breath, not sure if he’d answer. If she wanted to hear the answer.
“People can relax on that front. There’s no winning Beth away from Joe. Joe always wins.” Staring into the darkness to his right, Lucas added, “He always has.”
Silence loomed again. Sid felt something shift, but not under the hood. The idea Lucas felt in any way inferior to Joe had never crossed her mind, but it did explain his quick escape and long absence from the island. That he’d shared something so personal with her, in such close quarters, gave the moment an intimate feel. Which scared Sid enough to let the subject drop.
Nothing like spilling your guts to a prickly boat mechanic with the bedside manner of a spitting cobra. Lucas didn’t even know where the words had come from, but he appreciated his chauffeur’s apparent willingness not to pursue the topic. Maybe Sid had a heart after all.
Time to change the subject.
“I’m about to run a restaurant full of people I don’t know. Tell me about the staff.”
“Sure,” she said, keeping her eyes on the deserted road. “Where do you want to start?”
“Who does the cooking?”
“Day cook is Flynn O’Mara. He and Vinnie switch off now and then, but for the most part, Flynn handles the days.”
“An Irishman and an Italian?”
“Hungarian.”
“Excuse me?”
Sid turned right onto Highway 45, leaving the lights of Morehead City behind. “Vinnie is short for Edvin. Edvin Varga. First-generation American according to gossip. Doesn’t say much so who knows for sure.”
“A Hungarian named Vinnie?”
“Yep. Two sous-chefs. Chip and Nova. They switch off too, but I think Chip handles days most of the time.”
“Okay, that’s the kitchen. Up front?”
“Three waitresses are full time. Annie Littleton, Daisy Johannes, and Georgette Singer.” Sid gunned the truck to shoot around a slow-moving Hyundai that appeared out of nowhere. “Annie is a native, but young. You probably wouldn’t remember her. Daisy and Georgette are transplants, but have been on the island long enough.”
Lucas knew what “long enough” meant. The natives respected the tourists because they kept the island afloat, so to speak. But anyone who showed up and stayed was subject to an unofficial probationary period, during which the islanders sized them up, asked lots of questions, and decided whether to accept them or not.
“Good to know everyone has approval.” Lucas grabbed the dash as Sid swung around another car. He tried to check the speedometer, but couldn’t get a straight view to the other side of the steering column. “I won’t be running anything if you kill me before we reach the ferry. That pedal stuck?”
Sid coughed something that sounded like “chickenshit.”
Ignoring his comment, she went back to the staff. “You’ve got two bussers. Mitch and Lot.”
“Lot? Who names their kid Lot?” Not that he’d thought about naming kids of his own, but what the hell?
“His name is Brandon Sandoval. Kids called him Sand in elementary school and that rolled into Sandlot. At some point the Sand part dropped and Lot stuck.”
Sid turned up the radio. An announcer was reporting on a hurricane working its way across the Atlantic.
“We’ve been lucky for two years,” Sid said, “but this one is making me nervous.”
“You think it’s headed our way?” Lucas hadn’t been in a hurricane since high school. “How much time do we have?”
“A week to ten days maybe. Might curve off, but I’m keeping my eye on the reports.” The station went back to music and Sid lowered the volume again.
“So four in the kitchen, two bussers, and three waitresses. Not much staff for this time of year.”
Sid shrugged. “Tom pulls in part-timers when necessary. Beth runs a section most weekend evenings, and I grab a tray now and then. Joe clears when it’s really busy.” She shot him one of those smiles that felt like a punch in the sternum. “We can handle it.”
Lucas leaned on his door and rested one arm across the back of the seat. “You mentioned having to be available to fix the other boats around the island.”
“If something breaks, they’ll call. I’ll let the guys know to dial Dempsey’s if they need me.” She leaned back, resting both hands at the base of the wheel. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and nothing will break for a while.”
Dark, silky curls brushed Lucas’s hand. He couldn’t resist rubbing a lock between his fingers. “Yeah. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
The truck jerked.
“You all right?” he asked, bracing against the dash.
“Fine,” she said, cutting her eyes his way then back to the road. “Foot slipped.” She flipped the ponytail over her shoulder, out of his reach.
Interesting reaction. He wondered if her problem was being touched by him or by people in general. Might be worth exploring, if he ever felt suicidal.
CHAPTER THREE
Lucas struggled for a full minute to figure out where he was. Considering how much time he’d spent staring at the ceiling the night before, the fact he inhabited the guest room in his parents’ house, the room he’d occupied for a decade before going off to college, should have been obvious.
But the room looked nothing like it had when he’d been a teenager. The dark blue walls now a muted yellow. The red plaid comforter usurped by a flowery afghan with feminine details around the edges. Frilly curtains matched the bedding, while watercolor beach scenes dotted surfaces once covered by Lamborghini posters.
Lucas had to give his mother credit. She’d waited until his junior year of college to wipe him from the room. After Lucas made it clear there would be no moving back home after school, she’d attacked the décor with a vengeance.
After donning a T-shirt and shorts for his morning run, Lucas tied his running shoes and wondered if his mom hadn’t made the room as girly as possible out of spite, to prove she could move on too. Not that he doubted his mother loved him or would welcome him home any time, but Patty Dempsey was not the type to wallow or cajole. She preferred to adjust to the new reality and get on with things.
The way she had when Lucas’s father had been killed in a military training accident when Lucas was three. The same way she did when Beth Chandler went from being Lucas’s fiancée to moving in with his brother. A small part of Lucas wished his mother had thrown more of a fit. Made the happy couple miserable for a week or so. For his sake.
Then he gave himself a mental slap, put his inner four-year-old back in the closet, and followed his mother’s lead. Shit happens. Move on.
Only moving on was proving harder than expected. The events of the last six weeks had put too many questions in Lucas’s head. Was he really so blind? Would things be different if he’d stayed on the island instead of putting his career first? Could he have a personal life and the professional life he envisioned?
Stopping at the bottom porch step to stretch his hamstrings in the morning sunshine, Lucas assured himself that being partner and having a partner were not mutually exclusive. One he would likely have sooner than the other, but there was plenty of time to start a family after he’d achieved his career goal.
