by Cindy Miles
“I know, I know,” Emily said with a grin, and eased into a chair. “Sit and don’t move.”
Matt grunted and bent down beside her injured leg. With deft fingers and in mere moments he had recleaned Emily’s wound, applied antibacterial ointment and a gauze bandage. He taped it snug to her shin, then rose and looked at her. “Stay out of the river for now, and keep it clean. You can take the bandage off at night.” He gathered everything back in the emergency kit and closed it. “If it gets hot, or red, or painful, you’ll have to see a doctor.”
“Yes, sir,” Emily said, admiring his work. “Pretty good field dressing.”
Matt shrugged and inclined his head toward the door. “I’m gonna get back to it, then.” He swaggered out of the kitchen and in the next second he was off the porch and halfway across the yard, heading back to the dock. No further words. No further glances.
Emily opened the window and just stared as Matt set his emergency kit into the aluminum boat and went about the task of inspecting the lumber on the dock. The sun seeped through the early-morning sky now, a haze of gilded ginger and rose streaking the heavens over the Back River and Morgan’s Creek. Matt climbed on and off the dock, disappearing beneath the water’s surface, pulling himself back up as he examined the timber in dire need of repair. She just stood there, propped against the kitchen sink, watching. It was an easy task, that—watching Matt Malone. Everything he did seemed effortless. Fluid. As if each movement was well thought out and executed precisely. It was exquisite to watch...as well as painful.
Her phone chirped. The caller ID made her pause, then she answered.
“Trent,” she said, surprised.
“Hey, Emily-girl,” he answered. His deep voice resonated through the phone. “How are you? Did you make the drive okay?”
“I did,” she responded. Her gaze stayed on Matt.
“Good, good,” he said. “So how are things?”
Confusion webbed her brain. “Fine—Trent, why are you calling me?”
He sighed into the phone; heavy, almost burdened. “You’ve been on my mind so much lately,” he confessed. “I...just wanted to make sure you made it all right.”
An engine roared up the road, drawing Emily’s attention to the lane.
“I’ve got to go, Trent,” she said hurriedly. “The movers are here.”
“All right, then,” he said softly. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“No, Trent—”
He’d already hung up. Heaving a gusty sigh, she slid the phone into her pocket, pushed Trent’s unexpected phone call to the back of her mind and watched the moving van as it ambled up the dirt path between the azalea bushes. As she stepped outside they were just coming to a stop close to the front porch steps. The driver and passenger exited, slamming the doors behind them. The driver had an electronic clipboard.
“Eh, Emily Quinn?” he said, and took an easy step toward her. “We’re here to deliver your possessions. If you’ll sign right here.”
Emily crossed her arms over her chest and smiled at the big guy. “I will be happy to,” she said, “after everything’s inside, nice and unbroken-like.”
The driver’s coworker barked out a laugh. He was tall and lanky, with a wide friendly smile. “No problem, sweetheart. We’ll be like a couple of ballerinas with your stuff.” He winked. “We might look clumsy but we move like feathery butterflies.”
Emily couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, this I’ve gotta see. Let’s get started.”
The guys moved quickly and carefully, and over the next hour and a half had all of Emily’s belongings unloaded from the van and placed in her specified rooms in the river house. The one skinny guy made sure to do a few pirouettes to show off his nimble ballet butterfly moves, and she laughed every time. Emily didn’t have much furniture; the estate attorney had already informed her that Aunt Cora had left a few old pieces in the house, most of it left by Emily’s parents.
Only a few special items that she’d not wanted to part with had come along: an old pie safe refurbished and painted in a washed turquoise. Her brand-new pillow-top mattress set and the energy-efficient front-loading washer and dryer that she’d just purchased last month. A late nineteenth-century gentleman’s desk she’d restored and had painted sea green with aged white trim, and a high-backed cream leather office chair to match. A nineteenth-century highboy chest of drawers, a hall tree and butcher-block kitchen table and chairs handmade by the Amish, as well as several antique lamps. Also her grandmother’s Depression-era collection of green glass. The rest was plastic tubs of clothes, shoes and her beloved stainless-steel cookware.
Just as the movers were carrying the washer and dryer into the mudroom off the back porch, Matt ambled into the kitchen. He’d apparently finished with the dock inspection, and had showered and changed. The scent of soap and clean skin wafted on the breeze kicked up by the ceiling fan, causing Emily to take a bigger whiff.
“Well, that does it, sweetheart,” the lanky mover said. “What’d I tell ya? Swift as butterflies.”
“Yep, you sure called that one,” Emily said, laughing. He handed her the electronic clipboard, which she signed and handed it back to them. “Thanks, guys. Have a safe trip.”
They waved, climbed into the truck and followed the path back to the road and disappeared. Matt stood there silently, wearing a black T-shirt and jeans. He moved to the pie safe, kneeled and ran a hand along the surface. “How’s the leg feel?” he asked without looking up. He continued his inspection of the wood finish.
Emily glanced at her bandage. “So far, so good,” she answered. She glanced around. “All my stuff is here, completely intact. Guess I’ll get busy settling everything in.”
Matt rose from the pie safe. “Nice piece.”
Emily beamed. “Thanks. Refinished myself.” She traced the punched tin panels on the front with her fingertips. “Found it in Virginia, all broken-down and about to be thrown away. I love restoring old pieces. I feel like I’m bringing their past alive again. Like they all have stories to tell.” She shrugged. “It fascinates me.”
He regarded her silently, his green eyes steady and intent, then gave a short nod. “I’m going to pick up some parts for your Jeep,” he said matter-of-factly. Then without another word he turned and headed to the front door.
“Oh! Can I ride along?” Emily asked, hurrying behind him. “I just want to pick up a few groceries.” She gave a light laugh. “I owe Jep a pie.”
Matt paused, his back to her and his hand on the doorknob. He was quiet at first, shoulders rigid, then he sighed. “Yep,” he muttered in his deep, raspy voice.
Emily smiled behind him. She could tell he didn’t want her to go. “Great! Let me grab my bag and I’ll be ready to go.”
Emily watched Matt beneath her lashes as they drove. Had it been only one day? Already she was comfortable enough with Matt that she willingly provoked him—and thought it was funny. She knew he was edgy with her in the truck.
A frown pulled his eyebrows together and little sun lines fanned out at the corners of his eyes. A pair of mirrored shades hid his expression, but she felt sure those emerald orbs stared hard at the road ahead of them.
The sun beamed down off the asphalt and reflected back into their faces; not a cloud in sight. Emily noticed how it shined through Matt’s closely cut brown hair. It made her think of the picture of him she’d seen in the Gazette.
“So you enlisted right out of high school,” Emily began, and grinned. “I saw your photo in the paper.” She peered at him. “Where to, then?”
Matt stared ahead silently at first. His fingers tightened around the steering wheel, and she noticed a silver ring—almost resembling a college ring—just before he gave her a brief glance. “Boot camp. Iraq.” He turned his eyes back on the road. “A few undisclosed locations. Home.”
Emily watched his profile for a few moments. “I see.” Matt wasn’t much of a conversationalist these days, she guessed. “So now that you’re home, what are you going
to do? After your employment has finished with me, that is.”
He didn’t answer at first and Emily wondered if he’d even heard the question. Then he cleared his throat. “Not really sure yet. Still working things out.” His eyes remained on the road. “Got a buddy in California. Owns a restoration shop. Might head out there.”
That surprised Emily. “Well, why would you do that? You have a shop, right? You could start your own restoration business. Plus out there? Earthquakes. Safer here.”
“Hurricanes here.”
“Touché,” she gave a wry grin. Did he really dislike Cassabaw so much now? If he was interested in restoring vintage cars, why wouldn’t he consider starting his own business?
They passed the Coast Guard station driveway, and farther ahead the chopper hovered over the marsh. One rescue swimmer already stood in the tall reeds; the other descended from a rope and landed beside him. As she and Matt drove by, one of the guys waved with both hands in the air. Both wore helmets and full gear.
“Hey, I think that was Eric,” Emily said. Turning in her seat, she watched the one leap into the arms of the other like a damsel in distress, and she laughed. “That’s definitely Eric. What are they doing?”
“Maneuvers.”
Emily turned back around and stared. “Do you think you might join?”
“Nope.”
Emily narrowed her gaze, aggravated by Matt’s one-word answers. “Have you ever thought of becoming a motivational speaker?”
A very slight, nearly undetectable movement lifted the corners of Matt’s mouth. So vague the shift it could’ve easily been mistaken for an accidental twitch. But it wasn’t.
“Nope,” he answered.
Heaving an exaggerated sigh, Emily turned toward the sun cascading over the marsh. “Well,” she muttered. “That’s a relief.”
She thought she heard a grunted sound that almost could’ve been the piece of a laugh, but when she chanced a peek at Matt his features were solid, rigid and fixed on the road once more.
Soon they crossed the old drawbridge and entered the outskirts of the historic town of King’s Ferry.
A good bit larger than Cassabaw with a decent amount of industry, it somehow still managed to retain its Southern coastal charm. Several shrimp boats sat anchored along the docks, and the marina was a large building with wood siding, its blue color now faded from decades in the sun. The two-lane island road narrowed as it entered the town, engulfed by live oaks drenched in Spanish moss on either side.
“Remember my mom used to say we were driving through a magical time tunnel?” Emily asked Matt. She looked at him and pointed to the trees. “Remember? The way the oaks completely arc over the road?” She laughed, not waiting on Matt’s reply. She knew he remembered, even though he wasn’t answering. “We’d lie in the back of our old station wagon, our heads to the tailgate, and watch the sun flicker through the trees and over our faces as we passed through.” She shook her head, her voice quiet as she remembered. “I swear, I thought for sure it really was a magical time tunnel, and that we’d end up in the eighteen hundreds or something.” Again, she turned to Matt. “You remember, don’t you?”
Matt gave a slight nod. “I remember.”
Well, at least it’d been more than a one-word reply. She tried not to take it to heart. To Matt, she was still a stranger. A ghost from his very distant past. Maybe he’d warm up to her. Eventually.
Ahead, Emily saw Grady’s Grocery and Produce. It’d been there since she was a kid. Beside it, a new home-improvement store. “Can you drop me off at Grady’s?”
Matt glanced in his side view mirror, pulled into the turning lane and waited at the light. Emily just shook her head and pulled out her iPhone. “What’s your cell number?”
Matt regarded her behind his shades, then gave a nod and recited his number. She called it and hung up. “Now you have my number and can text me if you finish up before I do. See?” Quickly she saved him to Contacts.
The light turned green and Matt pulled into Grady’s. He stopped at the curb close to the entrance and looked over at her. “See you later.”
She grinned. “Yep.” Emily hopped out, but before she closed the door, she turned. “What’s Jep’s favorite pie?”
“Peach, I guess.”
“Peach it is. See ya in a bit.” She closed the door and watched Matt as he pulled away, turned his truck around and drove off.
When he was out of sight, Emily turned, grabbed a shopping cart from the line and headed inside.
She’d stock her kitchen. And she’d then run to the home-improvement store next door and get the proper hoses and fittings to hook up her washer and dryer.
And hopefully Matt Malone would thaw and start slowly coming around.
Did she really want him to? She was having a hard time getting him off her mind. Was she even ready for a relationship, of any kind? Why Matt? Why now?
Did the thought of being alone terrify her that much?
CHAPTER SEVEN
MATT TURNED INTO the parking lot of Tandy’s Auto Parts and pulled into a spot on the side of the gray brick building. The icy blast of air-conditioning hit him in the face as he pushed open the door and stepped inside. He’d already called ahead for the few parts he needed so he headed straight for the counter.
An older woman, wearing a red collared shirt with Tandy written on the front, gave him a wide smile. “’Mornin’. What can I do for you?”
Matt gave a curt nod. “Ma’am. Need to pick up an order. Malone.”
She cocked her head as if inspecting him. “Are you a Cassabaw Station Malone?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Her grin split wider. “Well, you must be one of Owen’s boys. I went to grade school with him, way back when I lived on the island for a couple of years with my grandparents.” She shook her head and disappeared down a row of parts but kept on talking. “Is your ornery old granddad still living?” She emerged with Matt’s parts.
Matt gave her a smile. “Yes, ma’am. Still ornery.”
As she set the boxed parts on the counter and shook her head, another customer entered the store. Ms. Tandy gave him a nod, then shook her head and said, “Figures.” When the transaction was finished, she smiled, and her aging blue eyes softened. “You tell that Owen Malone Tandy Tallows said hello.”
“I will,” Matt said. “This is your store?”
“It is indeed,” Tandy replied. “Well, it was my husband’s till he died three years ago. But I always kinda liked the smell of motor oil and gasoline, so I kept the business running. But don’t tell nobody. About the oil and gas.” She winked. “They’ll think I’m in here whiffing fumes and acting crazier than I already do.”
Matt laughed. “Your secret’s safe. See ya round, Ms. Tandy.”
“You like workin’ on cars, son?” she asked as he started out the door.
Matt looked over his shoulder at her. “Yes, ma’am. Here and there.”
“Anything special?”
Matt eyed her. “Got a ’72 Nova under a tarp I might finish.”
Tandy gave an approving nod. “Well, give me a call when you need parts. I’ll cut you a deal just for being so damn cute.”
“Yes, ma’am, will do.”
As Matt set the parts in the bed of his truck, he thought he liked Tandy pretty well, despite the “cute” comment. She seemed tough, sturdy and no-nonsense. And, she hadn’t scalped him on prices.
Reminded him of Emily, in a way. Smart. Business savvy. Matter-of-fact.
As soon as he pulled into Grady’s he knew he hadn’t given her enough time to finish her shopping. He’d been gone less than fifteen minutes. Jesus, he didn’t want to go in. He parked and sat for a minute, drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. With a gusty sigh of resignation, he climbed out of the truck. He’d go in and help Emily. Things would move faster with two of them, and he could get back home and start on all of her work.
What had he gotten himself into? One second he’d been a sniper
for the marines, the next a goddamned grocery-shopping fix-it man. Pathetic.
Inside he took his shades off and stuck them in his back pocket. The store wasn’t overly crowded, and it didn’t take him long to find Emily. She was in the produce section mulling over the peach bin. He watched her as he strode closer. She’d pick up a peach, turn it over in her hands and gently scrape the skin, then lift it to her nose and inhale. She did this with each peach she picked up until he finally reached her.
She turned, her lips parting in a smile, almost as if she’d been expecting him, and that damned dimple appeared in her cheek. She sniffed a peach then held it out. “Here. Smell.”
“I know what a peach smells like.”
Her brows knitted together into a frown. “Smell the peach, Matt.”
Matt tightened his jaw and leaned over. Sniffed. They actually did smell pretty damn good. “Happy?”
“I am. Because I see in your leprechaun-like eyes that you think it smells just as positively heavenly as I do. Now, it’s not peach season in the South yet, so I’m not sure where these came from, but they smell good enough to take a chance.” She placed the bag of fruit in the back of the shopping cart. “Are you here to help or bully me into hurrying up?”
“Will bullying work?” he asked.
“Not in the least.”
In her hand Matt noticed a white piece of paper. A list. He reached over and plucked it out of her grasp and ripped it in half. “I’ll meet you up front.”
“Suit yourself,” she said. Laughter tinged her voice.
Matt grumbled and found a shopping cart up by the registers then set out with his half of the list. As he pushed his way down the first aisle, he glanced at the words scrawled on the paper by Emily. Dish detergent. Laundry detergent. Fabric softener.
Simple enough.
On to the rest of the list.
A bunch of baking stuff. Sugar. Flour. Baking soda. Salt. Cardamom.
