Summer Reads Box Set, Books 4-6

by Freethy, Barbara

  Sam didn't know what to say. He had no words to offer in comfort. He didn't understand the extent of Phoebe and William's relationship, but he sensed there was far more between them than anyone realized.

  "Every time Phoebe wakes up, she looks at me as if she wonders why I'm still here," William mused. "Sometimes I wonder it myself. Oh, not because she's sick. I wouldn't leave her like this. But when she's better, maybe... I don't know. I want to marry her. I want her to live with me, travel with me. I think she'd be happy. I think I could make her happy." He stared down at Phoebe's face. "But I can't seem to convince her of that."

  "Maybe when she's better," Sam said. "Although Phoebe doesn't really like to travel. She doesn't care for airplanes much, says she always feels better when she has the ground under her feet."

  "She doesn't like to fly?" William asked quizzically, looking over his shoulder at Sam.

  "Not really. She probably told you that."

  "I guess she did."

  "But I'm sure if it meant going somewhere near water, she'd manage to get on a plane. She loves the ocean as much as I do."

  William's expression grew more depressed by the minute. "You don't think she'd be happy with a lake?"

  Sam cleared his throat, having a feeling he was not helping at all. "You better ask her.”

  "I have asked. Maybe I better start listening to her answers," William muttered. "Why are women so difficult to figure out?"

  Sam smiled to himself. "Don't ask me. But along those lines, I have some fences to mend. I'll see you later."

  "Don't wait too long to mend those fences, Sam. It's amazing how quickly the weeds can grow."

  * * *

  Alli padded around the kitchen in her bare feet as she drained the spaghetti and stirred the sauce. That done, she turned her attention back to the bowl of fudge brownie mix. There was something about cooking that was incredibly therapeutic. She could almost relax, almost forget everything that had happened that day.

  The kitchen was warm and cozy, a little nest safe from the rain dripping through the trees in the backyard and the wind rattling the windowpanes. Alli felt a shiver run through her body despite her warm thoughts, for storms had a way of reawakening the monsters in her head, the ones who had first appeared when her parents had lost their lives in a rainstorm.

  Living on the Oregon coast, she had grown used to the unpredictable weather, but no matter how hard she tried to be casual and nonchalant, there was something about Mother Nature in all her fury that made her want to hide under the covers.

  "Hi, Mommy," Megan said, coming into the kitchen dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a sweatshirt. She dragged one of the chairs over to the counter and stood on it so she could see what Alli was doing. "Can I stir?"

  Alli handed her the spoon. "Sure, honey."

  Megan frowned as she moved the spoon through the heavy, thick mixture. "It's hard."

  "Just keep blending the mix until you can't see any of the powder. Do you want me to do it?”

  "No," Megan said firmly. "I can do it."

  Alli smiled to herself. Megan was as stubborn as she was. Megan saw life as a mountain to be climbed and she took each step with enthusiasm. "You're doing great," Alli encouraged, because sometimes little mountaineers needed some support.

  While Megan was stirring, Alli pulled her daughter's hair back and ran her fingers through the curls, smoothing them with her fingers. "How was summer school today?"

  "Ricky said his father has a kite that can beat ours this year."

  "Ricky's father has been trying to beat your dad since he was twelve years old."

  "He has?"

  "Yep. But your dad and your grandpa couldn't be beat. They always had the coolest and the fastest kite."

  "When are we going to make our kite?" Megan asked. "It's almost the Fourth of July."

  "Soon," Alli said vaguely. She knew they had to get on it, but she could hardly call Sam, not now, not after the way they'd parted. She felt guilty, knowing that Megan would be the one to suffer if she and Sam couldn't at least communicate enough to finish the kite they'd promised their daughter they would make together.

  "Can I call Daddy?" Megan asked.

  "Keep stirring, honey. I want to get this in the oven."

  "My hand is tired," she said, handing the spoon back to Alli.

  Alli whipped the rest of the batter up in no time and spread it in the pan, then set it in the oven. Megan sat on the edge of the counter, licking the chocolate-covered spoon clean. "No more, honey; you'll spoil your appetite."

  "Are we going to look for pearls tomorrow?”

  "We sure are. We have to go out at low tide, so we can scoop the oysters off the bottom."

  "Do all the oysters have pearls?"

  "Only a few very special ones. That's why we have to look at a lot of 'em."

  "Okay. Can I watch TV in your room until dinner is ready?"

  "Sure."

  Alli set the bowl in the sink as Megan got down from her chair and ran upstairs to the bedroom. She had just finished rinsing the bowl and setting it in the dishwasher when the doorbell rang.

  She walked slowly to the front door, convinced that there couldn't possibly be someone on her doorstep she wanted to see. Still, when she opened the door and saw Sam she couldn't stop her heart from skipping its usual beat.

  Sam wore a bright yellow rain slicker. His hair was slicked back, away from his face, a few drops of water clinging to his cheeks. He carried a plastic bag in one hand and a plastic bottle of lotion.

  "What do you want?" she asked grumpily

  "Peace offering," he replied, handing her the bottle of almond creme lotion, her favorite kind. "For your hands, to get rid of the fish smell," he said, still dripping all over her front porch.

  "Well, it's a start."

  "Big-time groveling is in order, huh?"

  "I should have let those fish stink up your boat.”

  "Our boat," he reminded her.

  "For the moment."

  "I do appreciate what you did for me." He caught her gaze and held it.

  She let out a sigh. "Okay, you can come in."

  Sam took off his rain slicker, leaving it to dry on the porch. Then he stepped inside and set the large plastic bag on the floor. "Kite stuff," he explained at her quizzical look.

  "Megan will be thrilled."

  "Where is she?"

  "Upstairs watching television."

  "Do you want to call her?"

  "In a minute." She walked toward the kitchen, and he followed behind. "Have you eaten? I made spaghetti. It's almost ready."

  "Sounds good."

  She walked over to the stove and stirred the sauce if for no other reason than to keep her hands busy. Sam leaned against one of the counters, watching her. She couldn't remember when he'd just stood and watched her without heading for the table and the newspaper or flipping on the small television they kept in the kitchen cabinet. There had always been distractions between them. Now it was quiet, too quiet.

  "I'm sorry, Alli," he said unexpectedly.

  She whirled around, spoon in hand. "For what?”

  "Being late today, leaving you to do the fish, throwing Tessa in your face."

  "Anything else?"

  "I'll start with that," he said with a small smile.

  "I don't want an apology for—you know."

  "Good, because I wasn't going to offer one."

  She felt vaguely ticked off at that piece of information, even though she would have been just as offended if he'd said he was sorry. No wonder Sam couldn't understand her. She couldn't understand herself.

  "Why weren't you going to apologize?" she asked, knowing it was the worst possible question.

  He stared at her for a long moment. "What do you want from me, Alli?"

  "I don't know," she murmured.

  "You used to be pretty clear on the subject."

  "I used to have tunnel vision. I'm trying to look around in the shadows now and see what I've missed."
>
  "Have you found anything?"

  "Only that it appears to be true that you want what you can't have. You weren't this interested in kissing me three months ago."

  He took two steps and he was suddenly right in front of her, his hands slipping onto her waist, and when she started to back up, she felt the dials of the stove stab into her back. She was trapped by his body, by his eyes. She swallowed hard.

  "I've never not wanted to kiss you," he said somberly, as if he were telling both of them some truth that had just appeared between them.

  "Why?"

  "What do you mean, why?"

  "Why do you want to kiss me? Because you're a man and I'm a woman, and it's convenient?"

  "You know that's not it."

  "But you still can't say the words."

  "We don't need words to communicate. In fact, we're a lot better when we don't talk." He kissed her on the mouth, softly, gently, like he was tasting something precious, something he wanted to linger over, enjoy.

  Alli closed her eyes and let it happen. She was tired of fighting Sam, of fighting herself. His mouth was warm, as cozy as her kitchen, as delicious as the brownies baking in the oven. He was her home, her family, her life, in every breath that she took. She kissed him back, putting her hand behind his neck so he couldn't change his mind, couldn't pull away. But he didn't even try, and each kiss grew more heated, more needy, more hungry, until their hands grew restless, seeking a satisfaction they couldn't possibly find in the middle of the kitchen.

  "This isn't going to work," Sam murmured against her mouth when they finally took a moment to breathe. "The steam from the sauce is curling your hair."

  "Is that why I feel so hot?" she asked breathlessly. She stepped away from the stove and brushed her hair off her face. He looked at her in a way so intimate, so personal, she wanted to take his hand and race him upstairs. But upstairs, on their bed, was an eight-year-old girl. "We have to stop doing this."

  "Maybe we should just do it, and then see how we feel."

  "That's not the answer, Sam."

  "Then what is?"

  "I don't know," she said in exasperation.

  "Then how do you know I'm wrong?"

  She shrugged. "I don't. But there's a long tried-and-true tradition of divorcing couples not sleeping together."

  The beeper on the stove went off, signaling that the brownies were done. Thank God. She desperately needed the interruption. As she opened the oven door and took out the brownies, Sam moved back to his position against the far counter.

  "I saw your grandmother today. We had a nice chat," he said.

  "I stopped by earlier, but she was sleeping. What did she say?"

  "She wanted to know if we found the pearl yet.”

  Alli sighed. "I sure hope we can."

  "We have to. She's not going to give up on it.”

  "I don't understand why she wants it now."

  "She didn't tell me, but she seemed in a philosophical sort of mood. Maybe a brush with death does that to you."

  "And with the Fourth approaching, she's got her anniversary on her mind. I don't know if William is too thrilled with the reminder of Grams's first love. Those first loves are damned annoying, you know. They just won't stay in the past where they belong."

  "Most people don't stay where they belong."

  "How was your trip with Tessa? You never said.”

  "You never asked."

  "As much as I may regret it, I'm asking now."

  "We caught up on what she's been doing. Talked about what happened among the three of us. That kind of thing."

  "Did you kiss her?"

  He didn't answer for a long moment. Finally, he said, "No matter what I say it will drive you crazy. If I kissed her, you'll be pissed. If I didn't kiss her, you'll wonder why. You'll imagine all sorts of wild scenarios that could have caused such a lapse on my part or Tessa's part. You'll wonder if there wasn't a kiss, then was there touching involved? And if I say yes, we'll have to discuss where people's hands were, and it will be midnight before we're done."

  "You think you know me so well," she said, although inwardly she was giving him high points for insight.

  "I know you pretty well," he said smugly.

  "I know you, too. And if you don't change your attitude, I'll have to tell Tessa some of your secrets."

  "I don't have any secrets."

  "Oh, yeah, like you don't check your head every day to see if you've lost any hair, because your father's bald spot grows wider by the minute?"

  "Every man in the free world does that."

  "And you know every bad knock-knock joke and insist on telling them to me."

  "To entertain you."

  "And you eat those really strong Altoid mints in the car after you drive through Burger World so Megan and I won't know you gave in to your craving for fast-food onion rings."

  "Now, that's hitting below the belt," he said, taking a step forward. "I may have to retaliate."

  Her heart skipped another beat. "What did you have in mind?"

  "I thought you could read my mind."

  "I can, and it's not going to happen, Sam." She put up a hand and drew in a breath. "We need to focus here. Do you want to call Megan for dinner while I set the table?"

  Before he could do anything, the phone rang. Alli moved over to answer it. "Hello?"

  "It's Mark Hayworth, Alli," the man said.

  Alli's body suddenly tensed. She didn't like phone calls from local policemen, especially on rainy nights. "What can I do for you, Mark?"

  "It's more what you can do for yourself. The storm is getting worse. The weather service is predicting twenty-five-foot waves by midnight. The harbor is already taking some big swells, lots of water running down the pier. I think you might want to throw some sandbags in front of your shop doors and make sure Sam's boats are tied down."

  "Of course. Is it really going to be that bad of a storm?"

  "I hope not, but it's better to be prepared. And I'd do it quickly if I were you; the wind is picking up.”

  "Thanks," she said, hanging up the phone. "Big waves are hitting the coast," she told Sam. "Mark Hayworth thinks I should sandbag the shop, maybe board up the windows, and you should make sure your boats are secure."

  Sam's eyes grew serious. "I'll go. I can do both our places."

  "It will take too long by yourself."

  He looked at her with compassion and an understanding that came from years of living together. "You don't want to go out in this storm."

  She didn't. But she also didn't want to risk damage to her shop or Sam's business. "I can do it. But I don't want to take Megan."

  "Can she go next door to Judy's?"

  "I'll see."

  "Alli, I can call Gary or someone to help me.”

  "By the time you do all that, we could be done.”

  "You hate the rain."

  "I'm a grown-up now, Sam. I can do this.”

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yes," Alli said decisively.

  Within minutes, she'd arranged for Megan to go to Judy's; their neighbor was a middle-aged widow whose youngest child was away at college. "It's all set," she told Sam.

  "I'll get Megan."

  "Good. I told Judy I'd send the spaghetti and the brownies over with Megan. While you're doing that, I'll get my coat."

  Sam caught her by the arm. "It will be all right.”

  "I just hate leaving Megan alone. It reminds me of me—waiting."

  "Do you want to bring her with us?"

  Alli hesitated, then shook her head. "No, it's cold and wet, and she'll be all right with Judy. Just promise me we'll come back really fast."

  He kissed her on the cheek. "I'll take care of you, Alli.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  "Here you go." Jimmy handed Tessa a martini with one green olive floating on the top. "The Jimmy Duggan Special."

  She eyed it skeptically. "I'm not much of a hard drinker."

  "One drink doesn't make you hard
. And eat that olive. You could use a few pounds."

  She made a face at him, then took a sip. "Ooh, it's not bad."

  "Of course it's not bad," he said, walking over to the fireplace, where Tessa had made little progress with the fire she'd been attempting to start. "Let me guess, you were never a Girl Scout."

  "I thought the uniform was very unattractive."

  He laughed as he squatted down in front of the fire. He stuffed some newspaper under the logs and lit another match, watching the paper burn away to the wood. A spark caught, then another. "That's better."

  "You're good at so many things, Jimmy," Tessa said from her position on the floor, her back against the couch. Actually, she was more impressed by the solidness of his body as he worked the fire. In fact, he had a very nice looking ass. She giggled at the thought and he sent her a sharp look.

  "What's so funny?"

  "I'm feeling tipsy."

  "On two sips?"

  He came and sat down next to her. "This is nice, the rain outside, the fire inside, a good drink to warm our bones." He picked up his own martini glass from the coffee table and raised it to his lips. "Cheers."

  "Cheers," she muttered, taking another sip. The alcohol sent a pleasant warmth through her body. If only she could forget how many calories she was drinking...

  "I could do this for a while," Jimmy said, staring at the now growing flames of the fire.

  "You? Sit in one spot for a period of time? Sorry, I don't see it."

  "I can relax."

  "Since when? You're like a jackrabbit, always on the move, always popping up where I least expect it."

  "Gotta keep you on your toes." He set his glass down on the table and reached for his bag. "By the way, while you were visiting your grandmother this evening, I got some photos developed. Do you want to see them?"

  She had a feeling she didn't. "Do I?"

  "Relax, they're not of you."

  That didn't relax her at all. But she couldn't stop him from placing a stack of photographs in her hand. The one on top was the front of Alli's shop. The next one was of Alli and two elderly customers. So far, nothing too horrible.