by Cara Colter
The side street emptied onto the town square, and she crossed the deserted park at the center of the square and went past the statue of Colton’s great-grandfather. His great-grandfather looked amazingly like Colton—tall, handsome, powerful—but he had a stuffy look on his face that she had never seen on Colton’s. The walkway that bisected the park led straight to Main Street, St. John’s Cove.
The colorful awnings over the buildings had been all rolled up, the tables and umbrellas in front of the Clam Digger put away for the night. The streetlights, modeled after old gaslights, threw golden light over the wonderful old buildings, Colonial saltboxes, shingle-sided, some weathered gray, some stained rich brown.
All the window, door, corner and roof trim was painted white, and old hinged store signs hung from wrought-iron arms above the doors. Each store had bright flower planters in front, spilling over with abundant colorful waves of cascading petunias.
St. John’s Cove Main Street was picturesque and delightful—bookstores, antique shops, art galleries and cafés, the bank anchoring one end of the street, the post office the other.
And right in the middle of that was her store, Groom to Grow.
With the Building for Sale sign, that she had managed not to think about for nearly twelve whole hours, swinging gently in front of it. And if that wasn’t bad enough, she could see the nose of Amanda’s yellow convertible parked at a bad angle beside the staircase that ran up the side of her building to her apartment above the storefront.
Well, where else was Amanda going to go? She had given up her own apartment in anticipation of spending the rest of her life with Charlie, starting tonight.
“Well, this is home.”
“This is your business?”
She turned at the surprised note in his voice. “Yes. I live in the apartment above it.”
He put his hands in his pockets, rocked back on his heels. “That’s a strange coincidence. I looked at it today.”
“To buy it?” she asked, not succeeding at keeping the waver of fear out of her voice. So far, because of the economy, there had been very little interest in the building.
He shrugged, watching her closely. “I’d only pick it up if I bought the other property, as well. The price is reasonable, probably because the building needs a lot of work. Cape Cod is always a good investment.”
“Oh.” She tried to sound unconcerned, but knew she failed miserably. “What would you do with it, if you bought it?”
“Probably do some much needed maintenance on it, and then rent it out. Just think,” he teased, “I could be your landlord.”
“I doubt that. The rent is a song right now. Once the roof didn’t leak and the hot water tap actually dispensed hot water, it would probably be a different story. I can’t pay any higher. Once the building sells, I’ll probably be looking for a new home. I was counting my lucky stars that there hasn’t been much interest in it since it went on the market.”
She wished she hadn’t admitted that. The Hall family was notorious for keeping their business to themselves, but she knew Ethan had registered the slight waver in her voice. She pointed her chin proudly to make up for it.
She wished she could afford to buy the building, but she couldn’t. Her brothers would probably help her if she asked them, but she knew the lobster business was a tough one. The Hall brothers had invested in a new vessel recently, and she hated to think of putting more stress on their finances.
Her future, and the future of Groom to Grow, were clearly up in the air.
“Hmm,” Ethan said easily, teasingly, “maybe I’ve found just the lure to get you to agree to be my wife.”
As if he wasn’t lure enough, damn him!
She wasn’t in the mood to kid about Groom to Grow and her future. She had parlayed her love of animals into this business and if it wasn’t exactly what she had planned for her life, at least it allowed her to live in the town she loved, surrounded by the people she cared about.
“Tell me the details of your proposal,” she said reluctantly.
“When my lawyer made some initial inquiries about the property for sale up the coast, the couple informed him they were interviewing potential buyers. They’re old people. They have a sentimental attachment to the place. They want to see another family in there. They’ve been interviewing buyers and turning them down for two years.”
“That’s kind of sweet, isn’t it?”
He groaned. “Sweet? It’s sentimental hogwash. What does that have to do with business?
“They could sell it to what they think is the perfect family, and that family could turn around and sell it in a year or two, disillusioned with life at Cape Cod.”
He was being very convincing, and she knew that happened all the time. The sumpies were fickle in their love of Cape Cod.
They came and bought cottages and properties here during those perfect months of summer. Then they discovered they hated the commute. Or that outfitting and running two households was not very relaxing. That there were really only two or three true months of summer to enjoy their expensive real estate. Spring and fall were generally cold and blustery; winter in St. John’s Cove was not for the faint of heart.
“So,” Sam said uneasily, “you want me to pretend to be your wife for one day. To go dupe those old people out of their property.”
He didn’t just play with money—he played with people.
“I don’t see it like that,” he said evenly. “It’s business. It’s unrealistic of them to think they’re going to control what happens to the property after they sell it.”
He was right in a pragmatic way. If she could be as businesslike as he was maybe the future of Groom to Grow wouldn’t be so uncertain. She made a decent living at what she did, she loved it and it allowed her to stay in St. John’s Cove. But it had never taken off to the point where she could sock away enough money to buy her own property.
“I said I’d make it worth your while.”
So, here was the truth about him. She should have known it the first time she had looked into those devil-dark eyes. Ethan Ballard was Lucifer, about to hold out the one temptation she couldn’t refuse, the future of Groom to Grow. Though her eyes slid to his lips when she thought that, and she realized he might have two temptations she would have trouble walking away from.
“If the deal goes the way I want it to, I’ll buy this building, and you can rent the space from me. I’ll guarantee you the same terms you have now for at least a year, since you’d be putting up with some noisy and inconvenient repairs.”
Sam, of all people, knew life didn’t have guarantees, but a reprieve from that For Sale sign almost made her weak in the knees.
“You want that place badly,” she said, trying not to act as shocked as she felt.
“Maybe. The initial assessments look very promising.”
“Enough for you to throw in a building?” she asked cynically.
He shrugged. “So, I end up with the beachfront house and some of St. John’s Cove Main Street. The price on this building was very fair. Sounds win-win to me.”
“And if the deal doesn’t go the way you want?”
“How could it not?” he said smoothly. “With you as my wife?”
In other words, if she played the role well, things would go exactly as he wanted them to. She had a feeling things in Ethan Ballard’s life went his way.
“If, despite my best efforts to play your devoted wife, they don’t sell you their property?” she pressed. “What then?”
“The deal is off. I’d be heading up a development team to work on the other property—carpenters, plumbers, electricians, roofers—so it would be no big deal to send them over to do some work on this building while we’re here. But it wouldn’t make good business sense to send them in for this building alone. I’m hands-on. If I can’t be here to supervise, I’m not doing it.”
“Oh.”
“Take a chance,” he said in his best charm-of-thedevil voice. “You won’t be any furthe
r behind if things don’t work out. Besides, it might be fun.”
Oh, sure. Of course it was fun to dance with the devil, but there was always a price to be paid.
“I have to think about it,” she said, deducing he was a man far too accustomed to getting his own way.
She certainly didn’t want him to see how easily she was swayed by his charm, or how much she wanted what he was offering. He didn’t have to know she was already ninety percent at yes.
Though in truth more than fifty percent of that yes was that she was reluctantly intrigued by him, even if she was uneasy about the deal.
A light turned on in her apartment.
They both turned and looked up at the lighted window. Amanda, still in her bridal gown, was pacing in front of the window.
I’m getting a stomachache, Sam noted to herself. Out loud, she said coolly, “It was nice meeting you. Thanks for walking me home.”
“I’ll drop by in the morning, around nine. I’ll pick you up right here, outside, so it’s not awkward if you decide against it. If you’re here, great, and if you’re not, I’ll assume you didn’t want to come. No problem.” He looked at her for a long moment, and she could feel herself holding her breath. He was debating kissing her! She knew it. And she didn’t know if she was relieved or regretful when he walked away!
By nine the next morning, the other ten percent had swung over to Ethan Ballard’s side. The truth was, Sam would have thrown in with Genghis Khan to get away from the intensity of emotion that had swept into her life with the runaway bride. Sam had spent most of the night trying to console her friend, who was inconsolable, but who wouldn’t tell her what horrible crime Charlie had committed this time.
Despite her cynicism about love and marriage, Sam would have done anything to make Charlie and Amanda’s relationship work, to see her friends happy. Her sense of powerlessness in the face of Amanda’s distress made her eager to escape.
Still, even though she was waiting at the curb for Ethan Ballard, Sam was determined he wasn’t going to have it all his way.
No, the girl Ethan had proposed to last night was banished. Gone was the makeup and the hair, gone was the suggestive dress.
Sam’s face was scrubbed clean, her hair loose but covered with her favorite ball cap. She was wearing an old pair of faded khakis, and a T-shirt that belonged to her brother Bryce. She had an uglier one that belonged to Mitch, but Amanda was shuffling around the apartment in it this morning since everything Amanda owned was at Charlie’s house.
Still, Sam was satisfied that she certainly would not be what anyone would picture as the wife of Mr. Ethan Ballard.
And she had the new dog, Waldo, with her, too. People dropped off strays with her, counting on her to work her magic with them and then to find them good homes. Sam had never said no to a dog who needed a place to go.
This dog was particularly sensitive to emotion, and when Amanda had become so overwrought that she was puking, he had started sympathy-puking right along with her.
Sam and the dog were actually sitting on the curb when Ethan drove up the street slowly in a gorgeous newer-model luxury car. Waldo, half Chinese pug and half mystery, was dressed in an army camo hoodie since the morning fog had not quite lifted, and the breeze coming off the ocean was sharp. Sam could not stop herself from spoiling the dogs and cats that had temporary refuge with her.
Sam saw the look on Ethan Ballard’s face when he saw her sitting by the curb with her mutt. She thought about the mission they were about to embark on and had the uncharitable hope that the dog would puke in his luxurious car.
If Ethan even stopped to pick them up! Maybe he would take one look at the real Samantha Hall and drive right on by!
CHAPTER THREE
ETHAN BALLARD drove down Main Street of St. John’s Cove, enjoying the Sunday morning quiet of it, but aware that despite his words last night—If you’re here, great, and if you’re not, I’ll assume you didn’t want to come—he hadn’t meant the no problem follow-up. For some reason, he wanted her to come with him.
And not necessarily because of the Finkles, either. Last night, after he had left Samantha Hall and walked back down the beach alone, he had thought of her comment about duping those old people out of their property, and not liked that very much.
Usually Ethan regarded business as a large chess game. He liked winning. He had turned his competitive nature to that and found it far more fulfilling and less full of pitfalls than relationships. But when had he become so focused on the win that he was willing to dupe people?
Maybe it would be just as well if Samantha didn’t show up this morning. He’d drive up the coast, present the Finkles with a very good offer, take it or leave it, no games, no duping.
So, if it would be just as well if she didn’t show up, and if he was a man who avoided the pitfalls of relationships and had made business, pragmatic and predictable, a safe harbor from emotion, then it was probably not a good thing that he felt dismayed that Samantha was not waiting for him.
A little boy in a ball cap and a scruffy dog sat on the curb. Ethan slowed, looked past them, to see if Samantha was coming down her staircase. She wasn’t, and aware of a sharp pang of disappointment, he debated going and knocking on her door.
But that hadn’t been the agreement, and if the yellow convertible was any indication, his cousin, Amanda, was still there. His brow furrowed as he thought of his young, lovely cousin starting the day yesterday so full of hope, and now being so distressed. Should he go say something to her? Or would his own discomfort with all things emotional just make everything worse?
While he mulled over his options, the little boy stood up, and the dog yapped its dislike. Ethan glanced at the pair again.
And slammed on the brakes. His eyes widened.
That was Samantha Hall? Oh, it was her all right, those wide-set gray-green eyes in the shadow of the ball cap, the delicate features, the sensuous curve of her mouth. But all those delectable curves that dress had shown off last night were disguised this morning.
Ethan leaned over and opened the door for her, surprised by how he felt. Intrigued. And he had the same feeling he’d had last night after talking to her brother. That what Samantha needed more than anything else was for someone to see right past the ball cap, and the men’s T-shirt, to the woman in her.
The woman he had tasted when his lips had brushed hers so briefly.
The woman he had touched when she had stumbled putting on her shoe, felt the pure and feminine sensuous energy of her.
“Good morning,” he said as she slid into the seat beside him. “I nearly drove by. I didn’t recognize you.”
“This is the real me,” she said defensively, settling the dog on her lap.
Is it? he wondered. Her dog glared at him and growled. She appeared to have taken more time dressing the dog than herself.
“I thought maybe that was how you felt Mrs. Ethan Ballard would look,” he said mildly, and glancing up at the apartment window asked, “Do you think I should go say something to Amanda?”
“She’s finally sleeping.”
He heard the concern in Samantha’s voice, and felt, ridiculously, as if he was the white knight riding in, not to rescue his cousin, but Samantha.
“You look a little the worse for wear this morning,” he said, checking over his shoulder as he pulled away from the curb.
“I don’t have the wardrobe to look like Mrs. Ethan Ballard,” she said proudly. “Unless I wore the dress from last night and it didn’t seem appropriate for daywear.”
“I wasn’t referring to your clothes,” he said dryly. “You just look tired.”
“Oh.”
“What do you think Mrs. Ethan Ballard’s wardrobe would look like?”
She slid him a sideways look. “I guess that depends what kind of woman you go for. I wonder. Trashy? Or classy. I’m going to guess classy.”
“Thanks,” he said dryly. “I think.”
Classy. He thought of Bethany, with her p
edigree and her designer wardrobe, her tasteful jewelry, her exotic, expensive scents. Classy, but when he’d scraped the surface, challenged her, she’d been superficial as hell.
The woman beside him in her baseball cap and khakis, with her innate honesty and decency, seemed a lot more classy than Bethany. If classy meant genuine. Real. And somehow at this moment that is what it meant to him.
“Classy it is,” he said. The next town, Stone Harbor, was past the turnoff to the Finkles, but since it was just a few minutes away on the winding coast road, and it was bigger than St. John’s Cove, a few of its Main Street stores would be open on Sunday. He pulled over in front of a boutique, Sunsational, that looked upscale and classy.
Luckily the fog was persisting so it wasn’t yet hot enough to worry about leaving the dog in the car, though he rolled all the windows partly down.
He opened the door for Samantha, aware he was enjoying this, aware that his rendezvous with the Finkles was shimmering like an oasis he might never arrive at but he didn’t mind because the journey there was proving just as interesting. Make that more interesting.
“What are we doing?” Samantha asked, eyeing the boutique.
“Making you into Mrs. Ballard. The classy version.” He grinned. “Though trashy would be more fun.”
He saw she looked wounded, and that he had insulted her by insinuating she wouldn’t make a great Mrs. Ballard just the way she was.
But he felt he saw a truth about her that she might have been missing herself: that what she was wearing now was a disguise of sorts intended to hide who she really was.
“Look,” he said, hastily, “you look fine the way you are. But if I don’t end up buying your building, you’ve given me your time for nothing. Let me do something for you. Consider it a thank-you in advance.”
Pride played across her face, but he saw the faintest wistfulness in the quick glance she cast at the door. He knew it! She had every woman’s delight in shopping!
Still, when he held open the door of the store for her and she marched by him, she was scowling.
He touched the place where her brow was knit. “Have fun!” he instructed her.
