by Doreen Alsen
She looked back, but the man had left, most likely to celebrate with his friends. Or maybe he was the groom and needed a break from the crowd.
Angelique had known a lot of married men who didn’t give a flying fig about their wives. She hated each and every one of them.
She rubbed her hand over her heart and hoped that her lonely guy wasn’t a cheater.
Affairs with married men? Totally made of so much no.
****
“Thanks again, man, for doing all the best man stuff.”
Tim nodded and shook the hand Jeff extended. “I was happy to do it. Are you taking off soon?”
“As soon as Beth is ready.” He rolled his shoulders. “I still can’t believe I found her after all these years. When are you going to find someone and settle down?”
Tim thought of the goddess on the beach. “My job keeps me moving around. That doesn’t make for a good marriage.”
“Are you going back to Iraq?”
His stomach rolled over. “Maybe. I don’t know where the magazine’s going to send me. I’ve got a whole lot of leave still.” Which he intended to use to get better.
“Well, here comes my bride.” Jeff’s mouth quirked up into a goofy grin. “Off to Paris.”
“Have a good trip.”
“I plan to.” Jeff slapped Tim on the back as he went to catch up with Beth.
Tim wandered back to the pier, thinking about the woman he’d seen. He had to meet her. Lobster Cove was a small town. She shouldn’t be hard to find.
Chapter Two
“Okay, good Chester,” Tim crooned to his one-hundred-pound Doberman. “Want to go for a run on the beach?”
Chester gave a loud woof, turned around in a circle, and licked the stump that stood for his tail.
Tim hated that, all this cropping of tails and ears, but he’d rescued this amazing dog so he couldn’t be outraged.
Well, he couldn’t be outraged much.
“I’m going to get some poop bags and then we can go.”
More seismic barking.
God, he loved this dog. He’d rescued him when he first came home from Iraq and having him around had saved whatever sanity Tim had left.
“Come on, buddy. Let’s go.”
They made it down to the beach and started to run. Well, he ran. Chester trotted along next to him. He’d do three miles one way and three miles back.
Then when the wind picked up, he’d go for a long sail.
After that, he would try to take some pictures, during sunset.
If a sunset over the Atlantic Ocean couldn’t inspire him to drag out the camera, nothing would.
He pushed himself to the point of exhaustion these days. Even so, he still had trouble sleeping.
But the dreams, those damn nightmares, were always just a heartbeat away. In the desert, a foul-smelling bag over his head, the sudden darkness of being dragged away.
The beatings were the easy part. The worst thing was having that horrendous torrent of water poured over his head, again and again.
He stepped up the pace of his run, hoping the miles would take all the ugly away.
****
Angelique had just finished going through her Yoga routine. She took a deep breath of the fresh, salty air, turned off her music, and grabbed a glass of cucumber water.
Brrrrrrrrr. How could these people stand the cold?
That was the least of her problems.
A job. She had to get a job.
Her brother Lucien told her to take her time and get well before she put herself out in the world again, but the thought of continuing to let him pay her way after she walked all over him for years made her nauseous.
She wasn’t trained for anything but wearing designer clothes, Louboutin skyscraper heels, and just being all around beautiful.
She didn’t know what else to do.
Angelique knew clothes, hair, and make-up. Maybe she could go into business for herself.
Unfortunately, she’d need cash for that and she didn’t have any. Lucien would float her a loan, but that made her stomach knot up worse.
Okay. She did know the restaurant business, at least the front of the house. She knew how to greet people and show them to their seats.
She’d been an ornament, nothing more.
Angelique turned to go back to her beach house when something caught her attention, a man running with his dog. They looked hell bent to nowhere.
She slipped inside before they noticed her. The last thing she needed was any attention. What she needed was an unremarkable job where she made enough money to support herself, but didn’t have to go into the public, where someone might recognize her.
****
“Well, look what the cat dragged in?”
“Hey, Mrs. Troy. How’s my best girl?” Tim smiled at the proprietor of the Lobster Cove Grocery Mart.
“Don’t you try to sweet talk me, young man.” She shook a finger at him.
“I’ll try to behave. I just got in from sailing, and I need a six of Thunder Hole Stout.”
“I hope you’re going to get some food to go with that beer.”
“Do Doritos count?”
“Pffffffffft. Don’t be fresh.”
The bell above the entrance jingled as another customer came in.
Tim high-tailed it to the beer section. He’d just get the beer, leave, and order a pizza from Lobster Lanes delivery. He’d love to order Chinese, but that came from Bar Harbor and they didn’t deliver.
As he bent over to grab his six-pack, a woman wandered down the aisle. From his position, he only could see her lower half, clad in skinny jeans and very high heels.
The front bell rang again and Birdie McCorkle from the Sea Crest Inn walked into the store. As he didn’t want to talk to her for any number of reasons, number one being that she never stopped talking, he decided to beat a hasty retreat.
And wasn’t that a damn shame. He wanted to see more of the woman in the stiletto heels.
****
Angelique wandered through the Lobster Cove Grocery Mart, grabbing a pint of blueberries, several low fat, plain Greek yogurts, some granola, and finally, a copy of the Lobster Cove Anchor, the local newspaper, so she could start her job hunt right away.
On impulse, she picked up a couple of bottles of mineral water. Pricey, but she missed what the Germans called Sprüdel.
She went to pay for her groceries. There were two women at the checkout, one at the register, the other leafing through the latest Soap Opera Digest.
A bit on the plumper side of things, Helen Troy looked more than a little grumpy. The Soap Opera Lady, on the other hand, sported hair a virulent shade of red, one nature had never intended. She did all the talking. Mrs. Troy just nodded with a long-suffering smile on her face.
“Hello!” Angelique put her items on the conveyor belt.
“Angie! Hello!” Mrs. Troy had the look of a gladiator who really didn’t want to go into the ring and had just gotten a last minute reprieve.
Angelique loved that they called her Angie around here. Angie was so far away from the screwed up Angelique Durand.
“And who might you be?” Soap Opera Lady turned her attention to Angelique. The magic of Ireland tinged her voice.
Angelique’s new sister-in-law, Hope Monahan-Durand had grown up in Ireland. Angelique crossed her fingers, wishing that Hope would one day forgive her for all the crap she’d doled out.
Angelique opened her mouth to answer but Mrs. Troy cut her off. “Angie is spending the summer in her brother’s cottage on the northern beach.” She lasered a glance at Soap Opera Lady. “Mind your own business.”
Soap Opera Lady threw Mrs. Troy a very sour look. “And now, Helen! Don’t I always?” She turned to Angelique. “I’m Birdie McCorkle, head housekeeper at the Sea Crest Inn. It’s glad I am to meet you.”
“I’m glad to meet you, too.”
“Oh my God, Helen.” Birdie slapped a hand over her ample bosom. “She’s got an adorabl
e accent.”
Mrs. Troy rolled her eyes. “People from Iowa have an accent, according to you.”
“Well, they do! They waltz around in their cornfields emphasizing their ‘r’s.” She shook her head. “So sad.”
Angelique rolled her eyes. Like people around here didn’t have an accent.
“Dear Lord, Birdie. We’re not in Kansas anymore.”
“As if I don’t know where we are. We both know Kansas is in the back of beyond.”
Mrs. Troy chuckled. “So true. Everyone here knows that the mid-west begins at Buffalo, NY. Let me check you out.”
“Thank you.” The thought occurred to her that Mrs. Troy might know of some job openings. “May I ask you a question?”
“Ask away,” Mrs. Troy said as she bagged Angelique’s groceries.
“I’m wondering if you know of any job openings in town.”
“Oh, I don’t think so. All the summer jobs are filled with college students back from school.”
“Not so fast,” Birdie interrupted, tossing her hair. “It just so happens that we just lost a waitress/chambermaid at the Sea Crest Inn. Have you any restaurant experience lurking about in your past?”
Angelique’s heart pounded. “Yes, I do. Lots of experience.”
Okay, she’d only ever been a hostess at L’Enfer, her brother Lucien’s restaurant, and rarely ventured back to the kitchen, but how hard could it be?
She’d also never been a chambermaid or cleaned a bathroom in her life, unless you counted the bathroom at Lucien’s beach home here in Lobster Cove. Well, she’d just have to suck it up until she could find something better to do.
“I’ll have to check with Betts Quinn, as she’s the owner, you see. And we’ll need to get a reference from one of your past employers, of course.”
Her insides cringed. The only person who could give her a reference was Lucien. He’d be reluctant, but she’d get him to do it. “I can arrange that.”
Birdie beamed. “Why don’t you come with me now, I’ll introduce you to Betts and we can go from there.”
“Um, I’m not really dressed for a job interview.” As a former runway model, she knew that the right outfit made all the difference. Dressed as she was in skinny jeans, a tight blue crop top, and her favorite stiletto heel Marc Jacobs sandals, she didn’t think she’d make a good impression.
“You look fine. You’ll have to wear a uniform, anyway. Let’s go, dearie. No time like the present.” Birdie pulled her out of the store.
“Wait! My groceries!”
Mrs. Troy waved her away. “I’ll keep them here and you can come back for them.”
Angelique shrugged and let Birdie McCorkle drag her to her car. She might as well go along for the ride.
Chapter Three
Tim sat on his deck, camera by his side, drinking a beer. Early June could still be a little cold in the evening, but after Iraq, he welcomed the cool air. The sun would set soon over a still, serene sea, waves lapping at the shore. He’d spent the afternoon taking photos but deleted each one after he looked at it.
He might as well take Chester for a walk on the beach. As he stood to get the leash, some movement caught his eye.
His pulse spiked. The goddess from the yacht club on the day of Jeff and Beth’s wedding strolled down to the water.
She sat near the water’s edge and shook out her mass of long silky-looking hair. The slight breeze tangled with the dancing strands she’d freed. She wrapped her arms around her knees as she stared into the distance.
His mind went blank and his mouth got a little dry. Without realizing what he was doing, he grabbed his camera and started snapping photos.
Chester had other plans. Before Tim could react, the dog took off on his own, down to the sand where the woman sat, barking for all he was worth.
“Chester!” Tim put down the camera and ran to catch him.
The woman screamed, jumped to her feet, and ran up the stairs to her patio. Chester barked happily and crouched down into play-with-me position, front paws down, back haunches up, his stump of a tail wagging for all it was worth.
“Chester!” He grabbed him by the collar. “I’m so sorry! He got away from me. You don’t have to be afraid of him. He’s harmless.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” She looked at him, dark eyes wide, her left hand over her left cheek. “Is he a dog or a pony?”
Tim laughed. “He’s big enough to be a pony. His name is Chester, and he’s totally harmless.”
“Uh-huh.” She crossed her arms across her stomach, just underneath her breasts, plumping them up and making it very apparent that her nipples were erect against the material of her shirt.
He blinked, let go of Chester’s collar, and extended his hand. “Hi. Tim Baldwin at your service. Welcome to the neighborhood.”
She cocked her head to one side. “Angie.” He noticed she didn’t offer a last name, nor did she offer her hand. “Thank you for the welcome.” She walked down her stairs to the beach
She was even more gorgeous up close. Her hair tangled into an impossible mess around her shoulders. She didn’t seem to notice. And those eyes. Dark and exotic, slightly tilted up at the outer corners, just like he’d imagined them. That sexy mole next to her mouth. The spice of the south in her voice completed the package.
Then she moved her hand away from her face. A fierce red scar curved down her cheek. It did not take a single thing away from her beauty, not to him.
She eyed him with defiance, obviously waiting for him to say something about it or to react with disgust. Well, she could just keep waiting for that.
“Are you staying here long?”
Her eyes clouded over. “I don’t know.”
“Well, would you like to come back to my house for a drink or something?”
She shook her head and looked back to her cottage. “No, thank you. I don’t think so. I’ve got to get back.”
“Maybe some other time.” Sound desperate much?
“Perhaps.” She turned to go.
“I’m sorry I destroyed your evening.”
“You didn’t. Chester did.”
The dog’s stump of a tail wagged wildly at the sound of his name. “I’m apologizing in his stead.”
“Then Chester is forgiven.” She threw one last smile over her shoulder. “Good evening.”
He watched her walk back to her cottage before he headed back to his own house to take a look at the shots he’d taken.
****
Angelique turned on the heat under a teakettle and thought about the man, Tim, and his huge dog. He was certainly a very handsome man.
He sported more than a little five o’clock shadow, the scruff making his face more chiseled, more angular. His eyes were an odd shade of gray and fringed with lashes thick enough to make any woman weep with envy. Broad of shoulder, slim of hips, he was truly a fine hunk of a man.
She had turned around after he’d started to go back to his beach house because she had to check out his behind. It was worth the effort because his butt was F.I.N.E.—fine.
She considered herself a connoisseur of that part of the male anatomy, and she’d seen some excellent ones in her day. Shane Baker, her last boyfriend, had possessed an extremely fine one.
The thought of Shane filled her with regret. She’d treated him awfully, and he was such a good man.
Lucien reminded her of that often. How odd was it, her brother becoming besties with her ex-boyfriend, a boyfriend he’d hated at the time.
All she had seen was what she wanted and what she had to do to get it. In doing so, she’d hurt people, not the least Shane, but also Lucien and his wife, Hope.
Once she’d resented her brother, but he had really come through for her when she’d been arrested. She’d been so horrible to him, yet he’d dropped everything to go to Europe and help her.
He didn’t want her to get a damn job, but she’d gotten one anyway, and he would laugh when he heard what kind of job. Birdie had come through, and
so Angelique had to show up at the Sea Crest Inn, bright and early to train.
The kettle whistled and she poured the boiling water into a real china cup, over a teabag of Constant Comment. She added a couple of allspice balls and a cinnamon stick. The spicy, orange, cinnamon scent wafted up from the cup.
She’d always preferred the chicory coffee of New Orleans. A huge sense of longing flooded every molecule of her being. Tea was such a poor substitute.
She almost told Tim her real name. She knew better than that.
Something about him pulled to her, but never mind. She needed, more than the breath in her lungs, to stay away from men.
Any men.
Men were just not on the menu.
No matter how sexy they were.
Of which, Mr. Tim had sexy in spades.
She probably should get some sleep. Her interview went well, she supposed, and she was getting a try-out day tomorrow.
Following a busboy around cleaning and setting up tables, hokying floors, she wrinkled her nose before taking a slow, careful sip of tea.
She was so ready for this nightmare to be over, so done with it all. When would she get her life back?
****
Tim sat at his kitchen table, reviewing the shots he’d taken of Angie No Last Name. He shook his head in wonder as he went over each photo.
The composition, the light, the texture, everything added up to a pretty damn good picture. He’d caught her profile, every graceful line running from her neck down to her back, and the hair.
He’d captured that gorgeous hair but not the scar. If she knew he was taking her picture, she may very well be too self-conscious for him to get any good shots.
Okay, he’d never done portraits. He’d taken pictures by the seat of his pants, dodging explosions, bullets, and whatever fresh hell the opposition threw at all those innocent civilians to get the best shot, the one shot that would tell the story he felt needed telling.
The story the world needed to know.
The pictures he took tonight were very different. Somehow he caught the aura of sadness he’d sensed from the first time he saw her. The colors of the sky had begun to turn into magnificent magentas, fuchsias, and apricots streaks. The gentle waves broke on the shore as the ocean took on a very intense, saturated blue.
