by Marie Force
“Hmm.”
Sarah was well used to Charlie’s one-word answers, along with his grunts, his scowls and his overall surliness. None of that had kept her from developing a world-class crush on the ex-con. Imagining what her parents would have to say about it almost made her giggle. Imagining what her soon-to-be ex-husband would have to say made her feel euphoric. Thinking about what her seven children would have to say, however, filled her with nervous energy.
Although, she thought, Owen liked Charlie, but liking him and approving of his mother desiring him was another thing altogether. Her eyes settled on Charlie’s bulging biceps and the intricate tattoo that circled his arm. She’d love to ask him about the tattoo and what it meant, but she wouldn’t dare. Instead, she took every opportunity to admire the muscles on top of muscles that were always on full display thanks to the tank-top shirts he wore to work. Even though he was only in his early fifties, his hair was completely gray, but he wore it in a severe-looking buzz cut that made Sarah wonder what it might look like if allowed to grow longer. She’d love to find out.
As compelling as she found the rest of him, his steely blue eyes and sensual lips really did her in. Sometimes, when she allowed herself to think about what it might be like—
“What’re you staring at?” Charlie asked, interrupting Sarah’s musings.
Horrified to realize she’d been staring at him, Sarah cleared her throat and tried to find something to do with her restless hands. “Nothing.”
“Looked to me like you were staring at me.”
“I was not staring at you.”
“Must’ve been that other guy standing behind me, then.”
Sarah’s mouth fell open. “Did you just make a joke?”
“So what?”
She loved that she’d managed to fluster him. “So you never make jokes. You never smile or laugh or say more than you absolutely have to.”
His face twisted into a smug grin. “Been paying pretty close attention, huh?”
Damn it. She’d given far too much away with that statement.
He took a step closer, and Sarah wasn’t sure what she wanted more—to rush toward him or run for her life. Because she couldn’t decide, she remained absolutely still and waited to see what he would do.
“I’ve been paying attention, too.” This was said in a low, sexy tone that made goose bumps pop up on her arms.
“Oh.” Her throat felt tight all of a sudden. So did her skin, as if it was too small for her body. “You have?”
He nodded. “You don’t like eye contact. You don’t care for being startled or surprised. When someone moves too quickly near you, you shy away as if you’re expecting to get knocked around or something.”
Too close. He was getting far too close with both his words and his presence.
Sarah took a step back.
“Don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what?”
“Don’t be afraid of me.”
“I’m not,” she said, even though he terrified her for entirely different reasons than her ex-husband had.
Eyeing her skeptically, he tipped his head to one side. “No?”
Determined to be brave, she shook her head.
“You’re going to the restaurant opening tonight?”
Sarah nodded. “Of course.”
“You want to go with me?”
Her mind went blank again and then came raging back to life when it dawned on her that he was asking her out. Charlie Grandchamp, the object of the first crush she’d had in forty years, was asking her out.
“Often when a man extends himself to a lady, he expects her to answer with a yes or a no. Either answer will do, but it would be nice to hear one of them.”
And he was funny, too. Who’d have guessed it? “Um…”
“That wasn’t one of the options.”
Sarah couldn’t help but smile at the startling discovery that underneath all the gruffness and bluster was a rather charming man. Who cared what her parents said or her children or her god-forsaken ex-husband? She liked him. She had enjoyed working with him at the hotel. She was curious about him, about his life, about how he’d ended up in prison for something he didn’t do. And most interestingly of all, she was attracted to him.
Apparently, the attraction worked both ways, and wasn’t that lovely?
“Yes.”
He released a deep breath she hadn’t realized he was holding. “You know how to make a guy suffer.”
“It wasn’t intentional.”
“I know that. A classy dame like you going out with a guy like me…” He shrugged. “I don’t blame you for being reluctant.”
“I’m not reluctant. Not one bit reluctant.”
“Is that right?”
“Uh-huh.” God, this is fun, she thought as the blood zinged through her veins. It had been a very long time since anything had interested or excited her the way Charlie Grandchamp did.
“Well, good. I’ll pick you up at your room around seven. Don’t go downstairs without me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
He nodded, turned to leave and ran smack into Owen. Judging by the astonished expression on his face, her son had overheard the last part of their conversation.
“See you folks tonight,” Charlie said as he passed Owen.
“Ah, yeah, see you,” Owen said.
When they were alone, Owen stared at his mother for a long time, so long she had time to wonder if he was merely surprised by what he’d heard or angry. “Did he… Are you…”
“Yes and yes.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“Is it?”
“Is it what?”
“Okay with you?”
“Jeez, you certainly don’t need my permission to go out with a guy.”
“I don’t?”
“Mom, come on…”
“You know he was in prison, right?”
“Everyone knows that.”
“And it doesn’t matter?”
Owen looked past her at something on the wall, obviously thinking about what he wanted to say. When he finally brought his gaze back to meet hers, Sarah ached at the pain she saw in his eyes. “For so long you were married to a man the whole world thought was a hero, when he’s the one who should’ve been in prison. It doesn’t matter to me what baggage Charlie might be dragging around behind him. We’ve all got our share. All that matters to me is that he treats you with the respect you deserve.”
“Owen…”
He stepped forward to put his arms around her.
Sarah rested her face against his chest and held on tight. “I don’t know how you did it growing up the way you did, but you’re a man any mother would be proud to claim as her son.”
“You had an awful lot to do with that.”
Shaking her head, she pulled back from him. “I failed you so profoundly. All of you.”
“Don’t say that. You did the best you could in an unimaginable situation. None of us blame you for what he did.”
“You should blame me for not getting you out of there, for not protecting you the way a mother should, for putting up with his abuse when I should’ve left him years ago. There’s a lot you should blame me for.”
“We choose not to, so maybe it’s time you gave yourself a break, too.”
Sarah thought about that and how happy she’d been living at the hotel she’d called home as a girl, this time with Owen and Laura and baby Holden. She thought about getting to know Charlie and other people on the island that’d begun to feel like home again, and she thought about how her children had supported and propped her up during the divorce and legal proceedings as her case against their father wound its way through court.
“Perhaps you’re right. It might be time to give myself a break.”
Owen’s smile reminded her, achingly, of his father, not that she would ever tell him that. “Good.” He kissed her forehead. “I came down to tell you about Laura being sick. I need to get back upstairs to check on
her and Holden.”
“Let me know what I can do to help.”
“Laura would want me to tell you what she said the other night—that without you, we never would’ve been ready in time.”
“That’s nice of her to say.”
“She’s not saying it to be nice. It’s true. You’ve made a huge contribution here. You should be proud of that.”
“Gran and Grandpa sure would be pleased with the way the place looks.”
“I can’t wait to see them at the wedding.”
Sarah couldn’t wait to see her beloved Owen married to the lovely Laura McCarthy. “Me, too.”
“See you later, Mom.”
As her tall, handsome son went to go check on his family, Sarah couldn’t help but smile. For the first time in longer than she could remember, she was happy and content. She’d be happier when she was officially divorced and no longer had to worry about testifying against her violent ex-husband, but for right now, today, she was happy, and that was more than enough.
Tiffany wondered if it was possible to die from the stomach flu. She couldn’t remember ever being this sick. After the last round of vomiting, she’d crawled back to bed. And now someone was pounding on her door. Hoping Ashleigh would sleep for a while longer, Tiffany dragged herself out of bed and put on a robe. Halfway down the stairs, she had to pause when her swimming head had her wondering if she might pass out.
“You can’t do that,” she said out loud, as if that might keep it from happening. “You have to take care of Ashleigh.” She shook off the dizziness and continued down the stairs as the pounding on the door continued unabated. Who the heck needed her so badly? She sure hoped it wasn’t Blaine. He’d probably die of fright if he saw her right then. With that possibility in mind, she smoothed her hands over her rat’s nest hair and pulled open the door.
The young man standing on her doorstep cringed at the sight of her.
She must look even worse than she’d thought. “Yes?”
“Tiffany Sturgil?”
“That’s me.”
He thrust a clipboard at her. “Sign here.”
Because she desperately needed to sit down, she signed where directed and took the envelope from him. She shut the door and made it to the sofa before her legs gave out under her. She must’ve dozed off because when she came to a few minutes later, Ashleigh was standing in front of her.
Tiffany reached for her daughter. “Hi, baby. How do you feel?”
“My belly hurts.”
“I know. Mine does, too.”
Ashleigh ran her hands over Tiffany’s face, checking for fever the way Tiffany did to her. The gesture drew her first smile of the day. “Mama sick, too?”
“Yep.”
Ashleigh leaned forward to rest her head on Tiffany’s shoulder. “I take care of you.”
“That’s very sweet of you.”
Behind the little girl’s back, Tiffany tore open the envelope and had to blink when the words swam before her eyes. The letterhead was from Jim’s law firm, and Tiffany had to read the letter twice before the words permeated the fog in her brain. Her store was being evicted. Her landlord asserted that her rent check had bounced, and he’d hired her ex-husband to have her removed. She had fifteen days to vacate the premises.
“Mama needs to get up, honey.”
“I watch Dora,” Ashleigh said.
“Sure. Go ahead.” Tiffany handed her daughter the remote control and bolted for the kitchen, where she was violently ill in the sink. Her hands were shaking and her legs were weak by the time it was over. She reached for the phone and managed to drop it. By the time she bent over and picked it up, she was already feeling sick again. She punched in the phone number to the store and waited for Patty to answer.
“Naughty & Nice,” her assistant said, sounding far too chipper to Tiffany’s sick ears.
“It’s Tiffany.”
“How’re you feeling?”
“Like death.”
“That hunky cop of yours was in here to see you, and you’ll never guess what?”
Tiffany wanted to tell Patty that Blaine wasn’t her hunky cop, but she lacked the energy to debate the point. “Wyatt asked you out. I heard.”
“I’m so excited! I can’t believe—”
“Patty.”
“Oh, sorry. What’s up?”
“Remember when you took the deposit to the bank for me?”
“Yep.”
“What account did you put it in?”
“The savings account like you told me to.”
Tiffany held back a moan. She’d specifically told her assistant to put it in the checking account.
“Did I do something wrong?”
“No, everything’s fine. Any customers today?”
“Quite a few, actually. Mrs. Upton was in with a couple of her friends, and Mrs. McCarthy stopped by, hoping to see you.”
“Did she say what she wanted?”
“Just to tell you that her husband loved the items she brought home the other day.”
Under normal circumstances, that would’ve been the best news Tiffany had had all year. “Good. I’m glad to hear that.”
“Did the messenger guy find you at home?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“Oh, sorry to disturb you. He said it was urgent.”
“It’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“If you don’t feel good, I don’t mind covering for you.”
“Thank you.” If only Tiffany could afford to pay her for that many hours. “I’ll call you in the morning if I need you.”
“Talk to you then.”
Tiffany ended the call and dialed her mother. “Mom,” she said when Francine answered. “I need you.”
“I heard you two are sick.”
“I hate to expose you guys, but Ashleigh is feeling better, and I think I might be dying.” Tears leaked from her eyes as it registered with her that her ex-husband had meant what he said when he told her there was nothing he wouldn’t do to see her driven out of business.
“We’ll be over to pick her up in a few minutes. Hang in there, honey.”
“Thank you,” Tiffany said, weak with relief. When she put down the phone, she ducked her head into the living room. “Ash, do you think you could eat something?”
Without taking her eyes off the television, her little girl nodded.
Tiffany filled a sippy cup with Apple juice and put some crackers in a bowl. “Here you go. Take it slow at first. Mama needs to make a phone call, okay?”
“Okay.”
Mesmerized by Dora, Ashleigh ate and drank while Tiffany dialed Dan Torrington’s phone number and left a message on his voice mail, hoping she’d hear back from him soon.
While she waited for her mom and Ned, she dozed on the sofa. All the while, her mind raced with worry about the business. Surely her landlord couldn’t evict her over one bounced check, could he? Trying to remember what the lease agreement had stipulated had Tiffany feeling sick again, so she forced her mind off those thoughts and focused on not throwing up. There couldn’t be anything left in her stomach.
The next time she stirred, her mother and Ned were standing over her. She glanced at the clock and saw it was after five o’clock. How in the world had the day gone by without her knowing it? “Ashleigh?”
“Is fine,” her mother said.
Thank goodness for Dora the Explorer, Tiffany thought for the thousandth time since Ashleigh became hooked on the cartoon a year ago.
“Where did the furniture come from?” Francine asked.
“Estate sale at Mrs. Ridgeway’s house.” Tiffany couldn’t muster the wherewithal to relay the full story, nor was she ready to tell her mother and Ned about Blaine. They’d find out soon enough.
“She don’t look too good,” Ned said of Tiffany.
Francine rested her hand on Tiffany’s forehead, and Tiffany wanted to weep from the sweet relief of her mother’s cool hand on her overheated skin. “You’re burning
up, honey. Did you take something for the fever?”
“Couldn’t keep it down.”
“Poor thing.”
“Ya need to keep hydrated,” Ned said. “Don’t want ta see ya end up in the clinic.”
“We brought you some ginger ale and chicken soup,” Francine added.
“Thanks,” Tiffany said, gagging to herself at the thought of either.
“I’ll get you a glass of the ginger ale and put the soup on to warm.”
“No soup, Mom. I can’t do it. Not yet.”
“Okay, I’ll leave it here for when you feel up to it.”
Ned scooped up Ashleigh and planted noisy kisses on her cheeks, making her laugh. “Ya feeling better, baby girl?”
“Uh-huh, but Mama is sick now.”
“We’re going to let her sleep while we take you to our house for a sleepover. How’s that?”
“Good!”
Ned put her down and took her hand. “How bout we go pack yer bag?”
Ashleigh tugged him up the stairs to her room.
“He’s so good with her,” Tiffany said. “You’d never know he didn’t raise a bunch of his own kids.”
“I wish he’d been your father.”
“That would’ve been nice. I could’ve picked a better father for my child, too.” Tiffany gestured to the letter on the table.
Francine picked it up, read it and began to fume. “Is he for real?”
“Apparently so.”
“Oh my God, what’ll you do?”
“Fight him tooth and nail. What else can I do?” The thought of yet another legal battle with Jim, not to mention the expense of hiring Dan, had Tiffany fighting another round of nausea and more tears.
“I’m so sorry.” Francine shook her head with dismay. “That boy needs to be horsewhipped. After all you did for him, that he can treat you this way—it’s unconscionable.”
“I agree.”
The door opened, and Blaine walked in, stopping short when he saw Tiffany’s mother sitting with her on the sofa. “Oh. Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Francine looked from Tiffany to him and back to her again, raising an eyebrow in inquiry that reminded Tiffany of Maddie, who did the same thing. “Something you want to tell me?”
“Um, no. Not really.”
