Castaway Cove (2013)

by JoAnn Ross

  “Which is impossible in this town.”

  The upside of living in the small coastal town was that everyone cared about everyone else. The downside, he’d discovered, was that they also cared about everyone else’s business.

  “I can pick up some takeout at the Crab Shack and we can eat on the beach.” He continued on his mission to get her alone. “I know this place where Sax and his brothers used to hang out growing up, it’s totally private, and—”

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. But you’re not going to let up, are you?”

  “No, I’m not. As you’ve already pointed out, tenacity runs deep in the Culhane genes. You’ve already nixed the Sea Mist. How about Lavender Hill Farm’s restaurant? I heard they’ve got an organic grass-fed American Kobe burger that’s the best thing walking around on four hooves. “

  “That’s a bit rare for my taste.”

  “Ha-ha.” He liked that she actually made a joke instead of glaring at him. He was beginning to win her over. “It’s not actually walking around. Anymore. But Ethan Concannon is friends with the rancher, who’s down in the southern part of the state, and while some of us guys were shooting hoops over at Sax’s house the other day, he told us it’s unbelievable.”

  “It may be. But I’m more into salads.”

  “Lavender Hill has the best salads in town.” At least that’s what the commercials he’d been running for the combination herb farm, restaurant, and cooking school said.

  She glanced down at her watch. “Thirty minutes,” she said. “That’s it.”

  Damn. Since his dad had taken Emma out fishing with Cole and Bernard Douchett, Mac’s afternoon was his own. He wanted more. But having made inroads, he was willing to take whatever he could get.

  “Thirty minutes from when we sit down.” While it probably took all of eight minutes to get to the farm from here, he wanted as much time as he could get.

  “I just realized something,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Nearly every one of our conversations comes with a time clock.”

  Which had been one of his major frustrations whenever she’d called the station. Of course he hadn’t realized it was her. But that didn’t alter their situation.

  “We can change that today,” he suggested.

  “Thirty minutes,” she repeated firmly.

  “You’ve been working too hard.” Annie’s assistant, who apparently had been lurking close enough to hear their conversation, appeared from the other side of the shelves. “Take an hour. Relax and enjoy the day.”

  “Don’t you have anything better to do than eavesdrop?” Annie asked the young woman, who didn’t appear at all apologetic.

  “Not at the moment.”

  “What about that order of paper that came in this morning?”

  “What we didn’t sell is already shelved. Since there was more red, white, and blue paper in there, I added it to the window display.”

  “There was also a box of stamps and adhesive.”

  “Logged into inventory and shelved. And it’s too late in the day for any buses to stop in town, unless they’re here for a whale-watching tour, in which case everyone’s going to be dashing in line to get the best seats.” The clerk grinned. “So I’d say we’re pretty much in the lull of the day. I figure I can handle things. For an hour. Or more.”

  If it hadn’t been for that small, sparkly diamond on the fourth finger of her hand, or that Annie, who was obviously vacillating, would’ve gotten the totally wrong idea, Mac would have kissed the young woman on the spot.

  “Why don’t we split the difference?” he suggested as he watched Annie gathering her resolve again. “Forty-five minutes would be a good compromise. And allow time for dessert.”

  “Let the man take you out and feed you,” said the redheaded senior, who apparently had decided to buck the driver’s instructions to immediately board the bus.

  “Don’t be such a stick-in-the-mud,” the woman’s lavender-haired sister said. “And having eaten there, I can highly recommend the Dungeness crab on field greens, with grapefruit and avocado salad.” She made a shooing motion with a hand that was laden with some serious jewelry. “Just go.”

  Which started the rest of the women in still the store shouting, “Go to lunch! Go to lunch! Go to lunch!!”

  At which point Annie closed her eyes and appeared to be counting to ten.

  When she opened them again, she did not exactly look like a woman thrilled to be going out to what Frommer’s had described as a restaurant that epitomized the best of Oregon Coast cuisine, one of those gems that travelers dream of discovering. The reviewer had even gone so far as to call it “a foodie’s paradise.”

  “It seems to be unanimous,” Mac said.

  “Does anyone ever say no to you?” Annie countered with a huff of frustration.

  Then she sighed, apparently remembering the personal story he’d shared during the first of their late-night conversations.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again. “This seems to be my day for putting my foot in my mouth.”

  He glanced down at the foot in question. Today’s sandals had some sort of cork wedge heel and were covered in flowered fabric. Her toes had been painted the same glossy pink hue as her mouth, and although he’d never had a foot fetish, he suddenly wanted to suck them, one by one.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I’m not the first guy whose wife left him. And unfortunately, I won’t be the last. . . . So, how about it?”

  “I’m minoring in retail business for when I run my art gallery,” the young woman reminded Annie. “I can certainly handle this place alone.”

  “I know you can.”

  You could’ve heard one of those little metal things from a nearby bin drop as everyone in the place, including him, waited for Annie Shepherd’s answer.

  “Forty-five minutes. But I’m counting the time we spend waiting for a table. Since the restaurant doesn’t have any lull this time of year.”

  “No problem. I already have a table booked by the windows. With a view of the gardens and ocean.”

  “Oh, that’s so romantic,” one of the women said.

  “That’s one word for it.” Those frown lines furrowed her brow between her remarkable pewter eyes again. “No one could ever accuse you of a lack of self-confidence, Mr. Culhane.”

  “It’s Mac,” he reminded her. “And it wasn’t overconfidence. I was merely hopeful. And Maddy assured me that if you didn’t agree, she’d have no trouble giving our table to someone else.”

  “You know Maddy Chaffee?”

  “Sure. Not only is this a small town, but my family would come here from Portland to visit Charlie during Christmas and summer vacations when I was a kid. I was even around when Lucas pulled that lamebrained stunt that broke the two of them up for so many years.

  “So,” he said, wanting to get on with the fun part of the afternoon, “why don’t you just have your assistant—” He paused, realizing he didn’t know her name.

  “Kim,” she said helpfully with a sexy smile that suggested while she might be engaged, she wasn’t beyond a light flirtation.

  “Hi,” he said. “I’m Mac Culhane.”

  “Everyone knows that,” she said. “I’m a big fan.”

  “Thanks. You’ll have to call in some night.”

  She dimpled prettily. “I might just do that.”

  “Anyway,” Mac said, continuing his original thought, “if you could take care of gathering up the rest of the things on this list, and any other stuff you think a six-year-old with artistic talent might like, I’ll pick them up when I bring your boss back from lunch.”

  “Sweet,” Kim said. “Do you want to become a member?”

  “Member?”

  “We put you on an e-mail list,” Annie explained, “and then let you know of new products, sales, special customer coupons and discounts.”

  “Sounds great.” Not only would Emma love shopping here, but it would give him an
excuse to come see Annie. He gave her his most encouraging smile. “Ready to go?”

  “Do I have any choice?”

  “You two have fun now,” one of the nearby older women called out, waggling her fingers as she and her sister finally left the store.

  “And don’t worry about hurrying back,” Kim said. “Everything’s totally under control.”

  “You do realize that you’re impossible,” Annie said as they walked up the hill to where he’d left his truck, in front of Tidal Waves Books, where a fat yellow cat dozed in the window. The last time Mac had brought Emma to the bookstore, she’d badgered him for a week about why they needed a cat.

  “You’re not the first person to suggest that,” he said as he opened the door of the truck for her, enjoying the flash of smooth thigh as she climbed into the high passenger seat.

  “And I doubt I’ll be the last,” she said when he joined her in the pickup.

  Having gotten what he’d gone to Memories on Main for, Mac wasn’t about to argue. Especially when it was true.

  “Probably not,” he agreed as he started back down the hill toward Harborview, heading out to Lavender Hill Farm.

  24

  Maddy Chaffee came out of her kitchen to greet Annie and Mac after they’d been seated at a prime table by the tall windows and served drinks and a basket of warm, fragrant herb bread. Coincidentally, Annie saw Sedona at the far side of the room with a man she didn’t recognize. He wasn’t nearly as sexy and handsome as Mac, but he was good-looking in a buttoned-up kind of way.

  She caught her friend’s eye and waggled her fingers; Sedona did the same; then, although maybe it was a trick of the sunlight glinting off the tumbling water of the stacked stone fountain, she thought perhaps Sedona rolled her eyes.

  The gardens were in full bloom and beyond the yard there was a view of sailboats skimming across sun-brightened water that almost had Annie wishing she knew how to sail. Maybe she could take lessons someday.

  The house she’d bought had come with a dock at the edge of the cove. It was rickety and would probably need either repairing or replacing, but Maddy’s contractor husband, Lucas, who’d done the major work in restoring the pretty yellow Victorian to its earlier beauty, could probably take care of that.

  “It’s so good to see you both,” Maddy said. “I have to admit, I’m honored that my restaurant is where the two of you decided to show up. I couldn’t buy advertising like this.”

  “Is the fact that I called in to the radio all over town?” Annie asked.

  “You know we pride ourselves in keeping up with the news here,” Maddy said mildly. “There may be some who aren’t talking about it. But they’re probably buried in Sea View cemetery.

  “There hasn’t been much to get people excited since Phoebe and Kara had their babies during last winter’s ice storm. A new romance always adds spice.” She folded her arms over her black chef’s jacket and said, “And believe me, I know my spices.”

  And her scandals, Annie thought. After all, a couple years back Maddy had been living the high life in New York City, when her celebrity chef husband’s sex video went viral. At least Annie’s own divorce had been fairly private, notable only among their own circle of friends.

  No, not friends. Because in the high-powered world where Annie had been living, she hadn’t had friends. Not close ones like Sedona. Or even Kara Douchett and Maddy, with whom she’d also become close through Sedona’s friendship with them. Or Charity Tiernan, from whom she’d adopted Pirate.

  The only people she and Owen had ever associated with were her husband’s business contacts, clients, or legislators whose votes were important to his clients. And thus to his success.

  Shaking off the pall of those days that she’d left behind, Annie surrendered and laughed along with Maddy and Mac about gossip being part and parcel of the town.

  Wasn’t this what she was looking for when she’d moved to Shelter Bay? This sense of community? So how could she complain about people being interested in her life?

  “Speaking of spices,” Maddy said, “I just put a tequila lime marinated prawn salad on the menu today. People are saying it’s like the best of a margarita on a plate.”

  “I’d been planning to go with the crab salad,” Annie said.

  “Another good choice. In fact, that’s what Sedona ordered. The crab’s just off the boat this morning.”

  “But you got me with the margarita comparison,” Annie decided.

  “Excellent.” Maddy smiled and instead of calling over a server, took the order herself. Then she turned to Mac. “Why do I suspect you’re not here for the salad?”

  “Called it. I’m one of those Neanderthal basic meat-and-potato guys, which is probably a bit of a heresy here in seafood land. I’ve been hearing great things about your Kobe beef.”

  “In the interest of full disclosure, it’s not legitimate Kobe,” Maddy said. “There’s a lot of mislabeling out there, so I insist on being specific in my own place. In order to be designated true Kobe, it would have to originate from Wagyu stock and be slaughtered in the Kobe region of Japan. Which may be too much pre-lunch information for anyone but a foodie,” she admitted.

  “I lived on a farm,” Annie said. “I know where my food comes from.”

  “Well, the Bar M, in the southern part of the state, crossbred their already fabulous Angus with a herd of Japanese Wagyu, which is why it’s called American Kobe. It’s beautifully marbled and so tender you can cut it with a butter knife.” She grinned. “End of lecture.”

  “You almost had me opting for a steak with that butter knife line,” Mac said. “But I think I’ll go with the burger for lunch.” He smiled at Annie over the top of the menu. “Then next time we come here, you can have the crab salad, and I’ll have the steak.”

  “I don’t believe I’ve agreed to a next time,” Annie pointed out.

  “Yet,” he countered with a sexy-as-hell wink as he handed Maddy Chaffee his menu.

  “So,” he said, taking a drink from a frosted mug of beer after Maddy returned to the kitchen with their order, “you grew up on a farm?”

  “I lived on one. For a few months.”

  “Your family move around a lot?”

  “No.” Annie ran her fingernail around the rim of her glass of basil lemonade—she’d declined to order wine since she was going back to work. “I was left in a box at a hospital when I was a few weeks old, which landed me in the state foster care system, which had me moving around a lot.”

  Including the farm she’d mentioned, where she’d discovered the first day that she and the other three foster kids living there had been taken in to work as unpaid hired hands.

  “That sucks.”

  “Not always.” She thought about the scrapbook habit that had provided comfort for so many years, eventually changing her life. “How about you? I know your father’s a doctor and your grandfather was a fisherman. What about your mother?”

  He gave her a look that let her know that he knew she was changing the subject, but wasn’t going to call her on it. “She was a university librarian. Dad’s her second husband.”

  “Oh, that explains the difference in last names. I thought perhaps you took Culhane as a professional name.”

  “Culhane’s my birth dad’s name. He was an Air Force pilot who died in a training flight outside Tucson when I was a kid. When my mom married the guy who became my dad, he gave me the choice of taking his name or staying with my dad’s, which he thought would be a way to help me remember my roots and honor a hero.”

  “That’s an incredibly generous gesture.”

  “Dad’s an incredibly generous man.”

  “So I’ve noticed. According to the rumor mill, he’s a very popular doctor as well.”

  Mac laughed. “That’s true, though a lot of physicians would consider changing from being a world-famous pediatric cardiac surgeon to treating chicken pox and giving booster shots a demotion, he seems to be really enjoying his part-time work as a family
physician. And I’ve got to say, we’ve probably got enough cakes, cookies, and casseroles in our freezer as gifts from women suffering an epidemic of mysterious symptoms to last until the end of the world. Or an earthquake or tsunami, whichever comes first.”

  “It’s always handy to be prepared.” Although she wasn’t about to admit it, the blue and white tsunami evacuation road signs still made her a bit nervous. Especially since she lived right on the water, and not up on a cliff like Sax and Kara Douchett. “As for the women, they’re probably lonely, so I guess you can’t blame them for trying. “

  From the way the women of Still Waters flirted with the handsome, sixtysomething silver-haired Boyd Buchanan when he came to visit his father, Annie suspected he could be one of the more eligible bachelors in town.

  “It’s always worth a shot. And who knows?” Mac shrugged as he tore two pieces of bread off the loaf and handed her one. “But my money’s on him being a one-woman guy. He always said Mom was his soul mate.”

  “That’s sweet.” She dipped the bread into the flavored olive oil pooled on a white rectangular plate.

  “Yeah. Maybe he picked the idea up from Charlie. Or maybe it’s genetic.

  “So,” he said, returning the focus of the conversation to her, which she’d hoped to avoid, “have you always lived in Oregon? And why did you move to Shelter Bay?”

  “I grew up in Oregon.” Those days were not her favorite subject. Annie took a sip of lemonade. “After graduating from the University of Portland, I moved to D.C.” She smiled a bit at the naiveté of that young girl she’d once been. “I actually thought I was going to be the new Woodward. Or Bernstein.”

  “I imagine that’s probably the goal of most journalism majors,” Mac said. “And you should do that more often.”

  “Do what?”

  “Smile.” His eyes slid down to her lips, which she hadn’t even realized had curved, and then back up to her eyes. “It’s pretty damn amazing.”

  “It’s just a smile.”

  “Yeah. That’s what da Vinci’s model probably said when he was painting the Mona Lisa.”