But Lucy was in protective custody, apparently. He hadn’t seen Douglas move more than four inches away from her all day. From some angles, it looked as though Douglas was holding a gun to her back.
Wait. His great-aunt Elizabeth and uncle Frederick were walking toward Lucy. Sterling watched as Lucy smiled at them and moved away from Douglas and the other Inn employees to talk to them. Lucy laughed heartily at something the old bat said. Probably something about him, Sterling thought. But he didn’t care at this point. This was likely the only chance he’d get today. As soon as Elizabeth and Frederick moved on to mingle with other people, Douglas would move back in on Lucy.
A thought occurred to Sterling. Was Lucy finding comfort in Douglas’ arms these days? She had always denied that there was anything between them beyond friendship. But Sterling didn’t entirely buy that. Given the way she’d fallen into bed with him, why wouldn’t she fall into bed with other men just as easily?
He threaded his way through the crowd of well-wishers, hoping he could get there before Douglas realized what he was doing. He wasn’t going to mind letting him go at the end of the summer. Not at all.
“Sterling!” Aunt Elizabeth cried. “Where have you been? Not a minute to spare to say hello to your favorite great aunt?”
He leaned in and bussed Aunt Elizabeth on her powdery rouged cheek. He gave Uncle Frederick a firm handshake. Then he looked at Lucy, who looked as if she had just swallowed a small rodent. He hesitated, then stepped toward her and dropped a light, friendly kiss on her cheek. As he stepped back, he watched with some satisfaction as a pink flush washed over her complexion.
“Thank you for coming,” he said quietly to Lucy.
“Of course, Lucy came. She’s been like a daughter to your parents these past few years,” Aunt Elizabeth interjected.
Lucy looked decidedly uncomfortable and started to protest.
“Nonsense, child. I spoke to John the day before he passed.”
Spoke to her about what, Sterling wondered. Ah, the rantings of a busybody. He turned to his Uncle Frederick, who had begun asking him whether he was planning to buy property in St. Caroline now that he was staying. He hoped his mother wasn’t spreading the impression that he would be settling here permanently. Because he wasn’t. No way, no how.
When Frederick began talking about some acreage outside of town, Sterling half tuned him out. Douglas had caught his eye and was headed his way. Douglas slipped behind Lucy, placed a firm hand on her back and began to whirl her away.
“Douglas. Thanks for coming,” Sterling said, extending his hand. Douglas would have to step away from Lucy now.
Douglas did, pumping Sterling’s hand forcefully but quickly. “Give our love to your mother. I have to get back to the camp.”
Ah yes. The camp. With Douglas and Lucy, everything came back to that damned camp.
Chapter 19
It was two weeks later that Sterling drove out to Lucy’s cottage. The town was quiet as a church mouse on Sunday mornings, save the peal of church bells calling the faithful to worship. Sterling couldn’t remember the last time he’d been to church. His mother was there now.
Sterling had never been to Lucy’s cottage. Apparently, his family owned it and had been leasing it to Lucy at a nominal rent.
His father’s will had been read at the beginning of the week. Now he understand Aunt Elizabeth’s cryptic remark after the funeral service. John Matthew had left the cottage and the waterfront property it sat on to one Lucy Wyndham. Sterling hadn’t expected that, hadn’t expected it at all. Not that he minded. Well, okay, he minded a little. It was a nice piece of waterfront property. At the very least, it could be rented to summer visitors for five times what his parents were charging Lucy for it. Or sold for a good seven or eight hundred. A buyer would just tear down the little cottage and rebuild on the land.
The family attorney was planning to notify Lucy next week, but Sterling had been carrying around a copy of his father’s will in his pocket just in case he ran into Lucy. Lucy was doing a good job of lying low, though. By Sunday morning, he’d realized that if he wanted to run into her, he’d have to just go to her home.
And he did want to run into her. He couldn’t keep memories of California out of his mind. He was having second thoughts about firing her, too. The Washington Post story hadn’t been all that positive—and it certainly hadn’t portrayed Sterling in a good light—but it had brought more publicity to the Inn than the Inn had seen in years. Fall bookings were up. He’d greenlighted the pastry chef Gina’s couples cooking weekend for November; it was already sold out. Maybe there was some truth to the old saying that bad publicity is better than no publicity.
He took the wooden steps up to Lucy’s porch two at a time, then rapped sharply on the door. No answer. He listened for some sign of activity inside, then knocked again. Still no answer. He went back down the stairs and around the side of the house. There was a green kayak stowed away beneath the porch. But the kayak he’d seen Lucy paddling on the bay had been orange. He strolled over to the water’s edge and peered out into the morning sunlight. Sure enough, there she was, paddling away from him. He shouted her name but she was too far from shore to hear him.
He pulled the green kayak out from under the porch, along with the black paddle lying next to it, and dragged them down to the dock. He dropped the boat into the water and then lowered himself into it. He’d been kayaking once, in South America, but that had been years ago. He rocked the boat back and forth with his hips, to gauge its stability. Kayaks felt tippier than canoes, he thought.
He dipped the paddle into the water, slicing through its dark glassy surface. A few strokes in and he was feeling more confident. Why shouldn’t he be? He was an athletic guy and in good shape, even though he’d been too busy this summer to do much sport. He put his shoulders and back into each stroke and started to pick up speed. This was fun, he thought. He should get himself one of these kayaks.
He was almost close enough to Lucy to call out to her, when he put too much force into his paddle stroke and before he knew it, he was in the water, upside down in the boat. The water was colder than he expected and, for an instant, he couldn’t think. His legs were still in the tight hull of the kayak. Stay calm, he commanded himself. Don’t panic. He leaned forward and pushed on the boat. He wriggled his legs free and kicked until his head broke the surface of the water. He gulped in air.
“You could have drowned!” Lucy’s boat was next to his capsized one. “Why aren’t you wearing a PFD?” she barked.
Sterling looked down at his chest. Right, a lifejacket. Would have been a good idea.
“Come here. Flip your boat over. Correction, Douglas’ boat.” She effortlessly paddled her long sleek boat into position next to his. “You need to get out of the water. It’s cold.”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
“Not a good time for joking,” Lucy said, without a trace of humor in her voice.
He flipped the kayak right side up and clumsily attempted to climb back in. The kayak slipped out of his arms and flipped over again.
Lucy sighed. “Turn it over again. Now reach your arms all the way across it. Good. Throw one leg over to the other side. Straddle the boat.”
If he hadn’t looked like an idiot before, he certainly did now, he thought.
“Now slide back toward the cockpit,” Lucy continued. She reached over to steady the boat. “There you are. Back into the cockpit and then turn around. Perfect.” She handed him the paddle, which had floated away when he fell in. “Don’t lose this paddle again. It’s a four hundred dollar paddle. Douglas really will come after you if you lose it.”
Lucy looked at him for a long moment. She was irked, to say the least. Her lips were set in a thin straight line. Her eyes showed none of the sparkle he’d seen in them in San Francisco. Her hair was pulled back loosely with a barrette and covered with a salt-stained baseball cap. She was not wearing any makeup. Her skin was flawless.
She was gorgeous
. Even first thing in the morning, sitting in a kayak, and clearly contemplating which of the many ways she would employ to wring his neck, she was stunning.
“So what brings you out here to spoil my perfectly zen morning?”
Yup. She was pissed.
He looked down at his thoroughly soaked shirt, including the wet pocket that contained his neatly folded copy of the will. He teased the soggy paper out of the pocket and carefully unfolded it. The ink had run all to hell. What had been neat, legally approved lines of text in the standard Times Roman, 12 point font was now just an illegible smear of black ink. But he held it up to her anyway.
“My father’s will. Leaving you the cottage,” he cocked his head back toward land, “and the property.”
Lucy’s face went white as a sheet and for a minute, he thought she was about to faint and he’d have to rescue her.
“Come again?” she whispered.
“My father left you the property. You’ve been renting it, I gather.”
Lucy nodded, a stunned look on her face. Her paddle slipped an inch from her grip. It was time for Sterling to take charge now.
“Let’s go back to shore. Lovely as this is,” he looked around at the water, “this isn’t exactly the best place to discuss things.” A shiver sped through his body. “And this breeze is cold when you’re wearing wet clothes.”
When Lucy came back with two mugs of steaming hot coffee, Sterling had stripped off his wet clothes, toweled off and put on Douglas’ robe. Lucy gestured to the pile of sopping clothes on the hardwood floor.
“There’s a dryer down the hall.”
Sterling scooped up the clothes and headed for the dryer. When he came back, Lucy handed him a coffee mug, then sat down on the sofa. Sterling sat in the overstuffed arm chair across from her.
He took a long draw from the coffee, then looked down at the deep burgundy-colored bathrobe he was wearing. “I take it this isn’t yours?”
“It belongs to Douglas. He keeps his kayak here, as you already know, and he keeps some clothing here. Even if you don’t go all the way in, you do tend to get wet while kayaking.”
“Does he keep a toothbrush here, too?”
“Is that any of your business?”
Sterling shrugged. “Just curious.”
“It’s not your business. But no, he doesn’t. Douglas and I are not dating, nor are we hooking up. We are simply friends.”
“He looked like your bodyguard after the funeral.”
Lucy looked at Sterling carefully. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was jealous of Douglas. She sighed. She’d never had any patience for games, and Sterling was definitely playing some sort of game right now. Why does he care whether she and Douglas were more than friends or not? He fired her. That effectively ended whatever was going on between them in San Francisco. Unless he was just horny now. Good luck with that. Lucy was unsure what life held for her next, but whatever it was it did not involve men. Not in the near future anyway. She needed to figure out what to do next and men only complicated things. Made her do things that were not in her best interest.
“So your father’s will was read? I would have assumed he left everything to your mother.” She purposely excluded Sterling from that statement.
“Most things, yes. But they agreed on a few bequests to certain people and organizations. My father has left you this house and the land.” He looked around at Lucy’s cozy home. She knew it must look ridiculously small to him. He’d probably never lived in a house this small.
“I didn’t even realize my father owned this,” Sterling added.
At that admission, something in Lucy snapped. “Your family owns more property than you can even keep track of? More property than you’re even using. Yet you’re determined to take that small stretch of shoreline away from the camp. Do you know that for some of those kids, camp is the first time they’ve ever seen a body of water? Any body of water?”
Sterling threw up his hands in exasperated mock-surrender. “I get it, Lucy. I get the social good of it.”
“Yes! You get the social good of it—in some grand, philanthropic let-me-distribute-my-largesse-to-the-little-people way.” Lucy was good and angry now. Any concern she might have had about Sterling dunking in the bay was gone. “But you don’t get the social bad of it. The social ills these kids have to fight through every day of their childhoods. You could never get it because you haven’t lived anything even remotely close to it.”
“You seem to understand me and my life though, don’t you?”
“No. No, I don’t. I’m the first person to admit that I have no idea what it’s like to never have to worry about anything, to have complete control over one’s life, to get to do whatever one likes. I have no idea what that’s like.”
Sterling looked at her with a stunned look on his face. “Lucy, how do you think I spent my summers as a child? Let me tell you, it wasn’t fishing or swimming or learning how to sail. Who do you think was going to take me fishing? Hmm? My father who worked 24-7? I think my Uncle Frederick took me fishing once. Once. I grew up in a family that owned plenty of boats but guess when I learned to sail? In college. I would have loved to take art lessons from the local artists or learn how to tie knots from the fishermen at the docks like the campers do. But I wasn’t allowed. And complete control over my life? If I got to do whatever I liked, I wouldn’t be here in St. Caroline trying to rescue a struggling resort.”
My god, thought Lucy. This is personal to him. He doesn’t want to get rid of the camp because that land isn’t making enough money right now. He wants to get rid of it because he resents it. Because he never got to do those things as a kid. No wonder I couldn’t come up with a plan he would accept. An image of a teenaged Sterling popped into her head—his lanky form leaning against that grand old tree at the top of the hill. To all the girls at camp, he’d been the local James Dean. Aloof. Mysterious. The gorgeous loner. Now Lucy realized he hadn’t been a loner. He’d simply been lonely.
Sterling didn’t want a plan to make the Inn more profitable, he wanted a plan that did away with the camp. A plan that would erase his memories of a childhood spent alone, looking at an outside world through a window of money.
“I want to give this property,” she gestured at the house, “to the Inn, to be used for the Kids Kamp. That way, you can develop the other property more ...,” she paused, “profitably.”
“Then where will you live?”
“I’m probably not staying in St. Caroline. There’s nothing for me to do here. There aren’t many jobs here that would allow me to even pay the property taxes on this place. I appreciate your father giving me the property, but I’d have to sell it anyway. I suspect your father didn’t count on me losing my job here when he wrote the will.”
Sterling didn’t respond to Lucy’s dig about her job. Instead, he got up and looked out the front window, pushing aside the lacy yellow curtains. For a minute, Lucy thought he was going to walk out onto the porch and she moved to the edge of the sofa cushion, ready to leap up and stop him before he could. The last thing she needed was for someone to see Sterling Matthew on her porch, in a bathrobe.
After a minute, though, he let the curtains fall from his fingers and turned back to Lucy. “It’s too far from the rest of the Inn. It’s not close to the kitchen or the nurse’s office or the supply rooms. It wouldn’t work.”
“So the camp as it exists now is too close to the Inn. But this location is too far from the Inn. There is no right distance, is there?”
Sterling slumped back into the armchair, his legs splayed out in front of him. Lucy tried not to look there. The terrycloth fabric of the robe had fallen between his thighs, exposing his well-muscled calves and the dark hair that shadowed his skin. Lucy forced herself to look at a spot on the wall behind his head.
He rubbed his eyes, ran a hand through his still wet hair. “Give it a rest, Lucy. Please. You know, if the Inn goes under, there will be no Kids Kamp then either. And I guarantee you
that if we have to sell it, no buyer is going to continue the camp. No matter how many NFL players or famous singers turned their lives around there.”
A key scratched in the lock of Lucy’s door. Sterling shot her a puzzled look. But there was no time for Lucy to explain before the door opened and Douglas stepped inside.
“Lucy? I thought you’d be out on the water by now. I was just dropping off ...” He held up a white bakery bag.
Douglas looked at Sterling reclining in the chair, barely dressed. The bakery bag fell to the floor. Then all hell broke loose. Douglas lunged for Sterling and got in a good punch to his jaw before Sterling had a chance to realize what Douglas was about to do. Lucy leapt up from the sofa and pulled at Douglas’ shoulders.
“Stop!” she shouted.
“Should have done this years ago,” grunted Douglas as he swung at Sterling again.
Sterling shoved him backward, which caused Douglas’ punch to swing wildly. His fist caught Lucy square on the shoulder. She lost her footing and tumbled to the floor. She cried out in pain and both men stopped and looked at her. Douglas shoved Sterling out of the way and helped Lucy to her feet.
Lucy looked from one man to the other. She knew how this must look in Douglas’ eyes.
Douglas beat her to the punch. “You’re letting him wear my clothes?” If the look of betrayal on his face hadn’t broken Lucy’s heart, the note of hurt in his voice certainly would.
“He fell in ...” Lucy started to explain. “His clothes got wet ...”
This time, Sterling stepped in to rescue her. “I came over to tell Lucy that my father left her this house in his will. She was out on the water and I stupidly went out too. I fell in. My clothes are in the dryer.”
Douglas looked at the two of them with an unmistakable you must think I’m an idiot expression on his face.
Lucy stepped over to him, and placed her arm gently on his. “Douglas, just go home,” she said softly. “I’ll call you later. Okay?”
Summer Again Page 12
