The Pirate's Legacy Read online

  “That’s him. Nice car, too.” She looked over and winked. “Listen, they’re men, not mysteries. There’s no secret to it—smile when they look at you, act like you’re listening even if you’re not when they go on interminably about whatever it is that makes their boat float, unless they ask for something really, you know, kinky, accommodate them. That’s about it, sugar. Follow those suggestions and you’ll never have to buy your own dinner again.”

  She had her hand on the bar across the center of the door and was about to push it open, but Chloe stopped her with a question.

  “What about Women’s Lib? All the women who burned their bras for us, all the gals who fight for more pay for women and even those suffragettes who marched so we could have the right to vote? Do you think they’d want us to sit by and grin at men just so we don’t have to be alone?”

  Her colleague gave a little wave to the guy idling at the curb. She smiled at him, then looked toward the desk. The smile still on her face didn’t reach her eyes.

  “Listen, I didn’t ask anyone to burn their underwear for me. And the whole equal pay thing? Between us, I don’t think that’ll ever happen. More likely men will live in a, I don’t know, floating space station, than women get compensated for the work we do. And, as far as those suffragettes? Hell, I think we should kick them in the pants—or those ridiculous long dresses they wore. If it wasn’t for them, no one could ever say a woman had anything to do with electing Richard Milhous Nixon to the White House. President Watergate, my ass! I might be old-fashioned, but the tried-and-true ways of a woman getting what she wants are good enough for me. It’s a man’s world, honey—don’t you forget that. Now, lock this door when I leave. And try to have a good night.”

  Leaving a cloud of Patchouli in her wake, Ree swept out the door. Chloe hoped the man of the evening made her co-worker happy, but personally, she’d much rather buy her own dinner than agree to anything—kinky or not—with random men.

  The free love, Woodstock bit had come and gone. She’d done her share of hooking up in college. Now, she wanted more. Even if she didn’t know for certain just what she wanted, she knew it was more than what the other woman was doing.

  After she locked the door, she shuffled through the day’s paperwork. Nothing out of the ordinary to catch her attention. Six women had called and been given appropriate referrals to agencies that catered to their situations. One school nurse touched base, just an assurance that one of the kids belonging to a mother they’d helped find a home two months ago was doing well in his new classroom. They loved hearing stuff like that. Ree had put a big heart around that number on the daily tally. And the food bank had surplus feminine hygiene items it was willing to bring over so they could directly distribute them as needed. Most people never thought of tampons and sanitary pads but a woman fleeing her home had very little room to carry those things. Often she had no means to purchase them, so they did their best to help out on that front.

  When she finished reading the day’s notes, she went into the small staff kitchen. It was not much bigger than a closet, but it served its purpose. She poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot. It had been freshly brewed, one of the kindnesses Ree bestowed upon whomever followed her shift. She stirred a spoonful of sugar into the hot liquid, rinsed the spoon off, and dropped it into the blue plastic dish drainer beside the sink. She flipped the light switch when she went out.

  She sat at her desk, kicked off her shoes, and pulled her feet up under her. The spots beneath her armpits where Neil caught her were sorer, even, than her legs where they’d crashed through the rotten wood. It was still hard to believe it had happened, and only this morning.

  Avoiding thinking hard about something—or someone—or in her case, a couple of someones—didn’t solve anything, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to think about Neil or the little girl now. Not about the house, its decay, or the bills she had no idea how she was going to pay. None of it.

  Better to focus on other issues than mine, she thought. The desk phone was old, industrial-looking and often persnickety when it came to making connections. She picked up the handset, looked at the scrap of paper she’d pulled from her pocket, and dialed. The clicks, longer for higher numbers and shorter for lower ones, sounded like they were going through so maybe, just maybe, her luck was on the upswing.

  She waited while it rang. She’d told Jackie she could expect a call, but that didn’t mean the other woman might not be intimidated by the ringing phone. In her spot, a once-upon-a-time social call could now be a discovered-by-her-assaulter signal. Chloe said a little prayer when the seventh ring still hadn’t been answered.

  It was possible something happened to Jackie, but she pushed the notion from her mind. In the business, that was always a factor to consider. Unfortunately, bad things happened to good people—which necessitated the existence of social workers like herself.

  “Shit, girl, where are you?” She bit her thumbnail as the phone rang for the tenth time.

  “Hello?” The voice was flat. Low. Frightened.

  Infusing as much warmth as possible into her own tone, she hoped to ease the tension she heard in the single word.

  “Hey, sister, it’s Chloe. Just calling to see how you’re doing, is all.”

  A sigh of relief, audible over the phone. Then, a nervous giggle. “Oh, thank God, it’s you! I—um, I, ah, well…”

  “You thought it was him.” Heartache that a woman could be so frightened of someone she’d trusted tore through her. It made the job of gaining any remaining trust hard. “Hey, didn’t I promise you no one has this number? Really, it’s safe. He can’t find it.”

  “I hope you’re right. It’s just…”

  “Hard. I get it. Even though I have no way of knowing how you feel because I’ve never personally been abused the way you have, I still understand how awful these past months have been for you. And, I know it’s tough to leave the past behind.”

  “The past? If I could I’d burn it—and him, too—to the ground. I’m so over him, over the way he treated me, over the helpless feeling of having no way out of the shittiest situation in the world. Believe me, I want to leave the past.”

  The outburst showed that Jackie was stronger than she looked and willing to battle her way into a new life. Sometimes it was nearly impossible to instill a sense of anger in a battered woman. This was a very good sign.

  “Excellent news. And that’s just what we’re going to make sure happens for you, that you get a fresh start somewhere else. Somewhere safe. You deserve that.”

  She took a swallow of her coffee, running through the location possibilities in her mind. There were only so many places a woman could hide in Maine. Most weren’t willing to leave the state. If she could talk Jackie into moving to New Hampshire or Vermont, which were both pretty similar to Maine so she’d feel somewhat at home in either place, the odds of eluding the man who thought her his property were far greater than if she stubbornly refused to change states.

  “You can’t always get what you want.” Jackie’s voice sounded soft and wistful.

  “But if we try, you might get all you need to begin a new life.”

  She hoped Jackie would get what she needed—and what every woman deserved: freedom.

  Chapter 20

  As she waited for Pam to show up and relieve her, Chloe ruminated on the night. It had been quiet, so she’d had a lot of time to think. Too much time.

  She put her feet up on her desk, which had been cleared and was ready for her next shift. It made sense, having an orderly workplace, when those who came for help so often ran from chaos and were in the worst time of their lives. Living in the tornado. That was the term applied in sociology classes to the point when a life is turned upside down, its contents and people are swirled around and those living the life waited to be spit out of the funnel cloud, wondering if they’d survive. And if there would be any pieces left to pick up after the tornado passed.

  So, a tidy desk. Big potted plants arran
ged around the rooms. Soft music playing in the background. A place to instill confidence.

  Except now, the only one in the space had a bad case of the early-morning jitters.

  Too much caffeine, not enough sleep, she thought as she drained her coffee mug.

  The phone rang. She glanced at the big wall clock. 7:50.

  Great. Ten minutes later, and the call would be Pam’s. Now, she’d have to deal with it.

  “Good morning. Anchor Women’s Services, Chloe speaking.”

  “Just who I was hoping to find.” The voice was smooth, sexy, and not female—and she recognized it instantly.

  The tired, cranky funk she’d been cultivating for the past hour was blown right out the open window.

  “Well, this is a surprise.”

  “I called the house. Gabby gave me this number—I hope it’s okay I call you at work.”

  “Of course it’s okay. That’s what I do; answer phone calls and help out when I can. Except the voice on the other end of the line usually belongs to a woman.”

  “Hmm…I hope you’re not disappointed.” A low chuckle. Even over the phone he had the power to make her body warm. “I could pretend to be female, if that’s any help…”

  “Don’t be silly! I’m glad you called. Honestly, I’ve been sitting here staring at the wall for an hour. Drinking too much coffee. Waiting to go home. This is a nice surprise.”

  “I’m glad. But your day is ending, while mine is just beginning. I’ve been at the hospital for maybe an hour. My ED is pretty quiet now, but I know it’s going to begin to hop well before lunchtime. So, this is the perfect time to touch base with you. How are you doing? I heard you fell through a roof—are you injured?”

  She sighed. Leave it to Gabby to spread the news. “Only my pride. Apparently I’m not the Ms. Fix-It I thought I was.”

  “Gabby said the sunroom roof is shot—is that where you fell?”

  “It is. And it is.”

  “Hey, I’m not bad with a hammer, if you need someone to repair the thing. I have this weekend free. I’ll be happy to take care of it for you.”

  All her life she’d waited to meet someone who cared enough to step up and support her, just for the sake of putting someone else’s—namely hers—needs before their own. Oh, sure, Neil made it clear he would help, but his motives were also clear.

  She and the good doctor had only just met, yet he volunteered to work on her rotten roof?

  “You’re a saint, offering to help.”

  He laughed. In her mind, she could see the way his eyes twinkled when he was so amused. “Hardly. Just a guy looking to help out, that’s all. So, do we have a date to fix your roof? Saturday morning? I’ll bring the hammer; you make the coffee?”

  How she wished she could say yes.

  “Ugh, I hate this, but no, we don’t have a hammer-and-coffee date. The roof—well, it’s already being fixed by a, ah, guy.”

  A short silence. “Okay, then. A roofing guy should do a fine job for you. Just stay off it until it’s fixed, if you would. I don’t want to see you in my ED again.”

  “So…we’re off for Saturday morning?”

  Chloe prayed she hadn’t pushed too hard. She wanted to see him again, and soon. And, without his hammer.

  “Well, I kind of hoped to see you before Saturday. I—ah, hang on…” A beeper sounded, followed by a sigh. “I hate to cut this short, but I’ve got a multiple vehicle accident on its way in. Listen, if you’re not doing anything tonight—dinner? There’s a place in Lobster Cove; I’m sure you’re familiar with it. Replaced the burger joint that burned down a few years ago—The Shack, I think it was. The one that burned down. Now, it’s a place called The Dockside. Anyhow, they make some great seafood dinners. Burgers, too. And vegetarian, if that’s your thing. So…whaddaya say? Dinner? Tonight?”

  She heard another beeper go off, and the rushed tone told her the phone call was ending.

  “I’d love that. Six?”

  A female voice, calling to him. It sounded urgent.

  “I’ll be right there,” he said, presumably to the nurse summoning him. “Um, how about seven?”

  “That works. See you then.”

  “Great. And Chloe? Don’t take the shore road home to the Cove. Go around, through the fishing lanes. Longer, but less messy. See you later.”

  With that, the line went dead in her hand. She looked at the heavy black mouthpiece, wondering what had happened on the road, until the silence was broken by beeping and the operator’s voice.

  Beep-beep-beep. “Please hang up.” Beep-beep-beep. “Please hang up.” Beep—

  Chloe hung up just as Pam unlocked the front door and sailed in. It was ten minutes after the hour, and for once she wasn’t put out that her replacement had a rotten sense of punctuality.

  Chapter 21

  The sound of a hammer woke her. Chloe looked at the alarm clock on her bedside table. Three o’clock. She’d gotten a solid five hours of sleep. It wasn’t enough to make her feel like bounding from bed, but it would have to do.

  She stretched, testing the way her muscles felt when tried. I must be a good healer, she thought, pressing a hand across her ribcage. The motorcycle rash was healed. And the points where she’d hit the roof as well as the places Neil grabbed when he saved her were all much better. Unless she twisted hard to the left, she was pretty close to feeling absolutely normal.

  A pair of denim cut-offs hung on the chair beside the bed, so she stepped into them and pulled them over her hips. They were loose again. It was a constant battle to remember to eat, so she lost weight without effort and when she didn’t really want to lose it. She had so much else to consider that eating fell to the bottom of her to-do list. It showed, now, in the saggy shorts.

  Forgoing a bra, she pulled a baggy t-shirt with the words What’s Gnu? printed above a caricature of the big animal over her head. It fell nearly to her hips, effectively concealing the shorts.

  As she went downstairs, she prayed Neil would not try to continue their doomed conversation. When would he learn that their so-called love story had ended years ago? He needed to move on. Let go. Live and let live. Someone should tell him that, she decided as she hit the first floor. Someone—as long as it didn’t have to be her.

  The kitchen was empty. She opened the ancient refrigerator and peered inside. An assortment of items, none of which particularly appealed to her. Not eating was not an option, so she grabbed the milk and let the door slam as she got a bowl from the cupboard.

  It was like stepping into a time capsule sometimes, living in a house that had stood for over two hundred years. Rotting beams, faulty wiring, and overgrown trees aside, the place was filled with odds and ends left behind by previous owners. The appliances, including the round-top, forties-era refrigerator, were still being used. The red Fiestaware bowl, chipped on the edge, that held her cereal. There was talk that the red Fiesta was radioactive, but somehow a few pieces avoided being buried in people’s backyards. Chloe grabbed a silver spoon from the drainer on the counter. It, too, was a basement find. One of three or four pieces of flatware with the initial S pressed into the handles, it could probably tell stories if it could speak.

  Now, it scooped Cap’n Crunch from bowl to mouth.

  She went through the kitchen into the sunroom. A blue tarp had been nailed to the ceiling to keep the sky from the space. The hammering was loud here.

  Neil was on the roof. She could hide inside or act like a grown-up and go out and say hello. Compliment him on the progress he was hopefully making.

  Sometimes it was hell being an adult. Pushing open the door with her hip, she stepped out onto the stoop, avoided being hit in the face by the overgrown lilac growing beside the door and made her way onto the lawn.

  She walked to the shade of the oak. Then, she turned and looked up. Neil had already seen her; he stood on the roof, one hand holding a hammer and the other on his hip.

  “Hi.” It wasn’t Shakespeare, but it was the best she had at th
e moment. She crunched the cereal and surveyed his work. Now instead of one hole, there were two—and they were considerably bigger than the one she’d made falling through.

  “Chloe.”

  Shit. The tone was one he reserved for times when he was really pissed. Really, really pissed.

  She smiled. They’d known each other too long for her to be cowed by his attitude. It was hard to fight with someone grinning at you. The maneuver had worked in the past. Maybe it would work now, too.

  “Got yourself quite a mess up there.” She pointed with her spoon, which splashed milk onto the front of her gnu. Wiping it with the tip of her finger, she added, “Looks worse now than it did yesterday.”

  Neil threw the hammer off the roof. It landed with a dull thud on the ground beside the bottom rung of the ladder. A look of pure annoyance turned his handsome features hard when he stomped across the roof and took the ladder lightning fast.

  So the smile-when-he’s-cranky ploy wasn’t going to work this time. Rather than wait for him to stalk across the lawn and get in her face—which was what he evidently had in mind to do—she turned and chose a chair near the fire pit. She sat, crossed one leg over the other and acted as if she hadn’t seen a meal in a week.

  He stood in front of her, hands on hips and scowl on face.

  “Yes?” she asked in the sweetest voice she had.

  “I just don’t understand you. I’m up there busting my ass to fix your roof, and all you can say is it’s worse now than it was before.”

  “Just an observation.” She chewed the cereal in her mouth. Swallowed. “I know nothing about what you’re doing. It’s probably part of the plan, to make it worse before fixing it. I was just trying to make conversation, that’s all. So shoot me.”

  He huffed his annoyance. It was another of the irritating habits he had, huffing like a bear rather than saying whatever was on his mind.

  She was in no mood to let his bad attitude affect her, but the huff couldn’t go unnoticed.

  “Stop with that, all right? Just cool it.”