Her Tie-Dyed Heart Page 3

  ****

  “A lot more work than I thought it would be.” Annie lifted the last basket of jelly jars from the boiling water bath. The canning pot, so high and wide, reached nearly to her armpits, but she managed to raise the wire basket—standing on tiptoe—and deposit it on a clean dishtowel on the countertop. She lifted each jar off the rack, using a green-and-yellow woven potholder to keep her fingers from blistering, placing them in a row on another towel. The rows were seven deep and twelve wide. Not a bad tally for a morning’s picking.

  “Your help made it easier for me. Thanks so much.” Clarisse wiped down her old stove, scrubbing the white enamel where it was berry speckled. “It usually takes me twice as long—I guess that’s the truth of extra hands making the work go faster, isn’t it?”

  “Mm hm. No need to thank me. I learned and had fun, too.” Annie scrubbed the pots, placed them upside down on the porch just outside the back door. She surveyed the kitchen, her hands on her hips. Then she looked down. Miraculously she’d kept her white top clean—not a speckle of evidence to show she’d been elbow deep in purple all morning.

  “Glad to hear it. Now, the jars will go into the wooden crates by the back steps. I’ll take most of them down to the store. The rest I’ll keep here to display at the produce stand, so they’ll be ready to put out for the weekend tourist invasion.”

  “I’ll help.” She cast a motherly eye on the child and feline, both sleeping curled on the window seat. “She shouldn’t sleep too much longer, anyhow. I don’t want her awake all night.”

  The footsteps on the porch were loud, but she had been thinking so when she whirled and pushed the screen door wide, Annie ran right into the sturdy male form about to enter.

  “What the—” Annie stopped short, nearly body slamming the man. She tilted her head back. Looked up. Scowled. “You.”

  “Seems we can’t stop kissing fenders, doesn’t it?”

  Chapter 5

  She was easy on the eyes. And, the scent of blueberry wafting from her hair every time it swished across those tanned shoulders…well, he’d never gotten excited by fruit before, but this last hair swish had tightened the crotch of his Levis considerably.

  “Nice truck.” Annie stroked the red leather between them on the bench seat. A fingertip traced a line of decorative stitching, oh, so slowly.

  It was a good thing the light chose that second to change. Watching that delicate finger, moving so near, yet so far, from the heat building in him—

  Thank God for timing. And traffic lights.

  Steve forced himself to concentrate on the road. Not that there was much going on. It was just about dinnertime, and that meant shuttered stores on Main Street, sand-covered beachgoers home and at the dinner table. Hardly any traffic to slow them down. No distractions, either—aside from the berry-scented one beside him.

  “Thanks. My father’s gift to me when I graduated. He used to take me everywhere when I was a kid. I remember hanging out that window, thinking we were flying. He promised that if I did well in school and brought home a diploma, I’d get the truck.”

  “So you did?”

  He parked. When the key was out of the ignition, he turned and grinned.

  “Yeah. More for the truck than the diploma. I think he suspected but he just handed over the key.”

  Tightening his fist around the keychain, Steve took a deep breath. The truck had been his father’s last gift to him. Three days after graduation, an accident on the lobster boat had left the small town in shock.

  “Your father is a smart guy. The incentive worked.”

  “He was smart. And funny. And hard-working. And…” Eight years, and he still choked up when he talked about his dad. Like an open wound, just waiting to be poked, his missing the only man who’d ever given a damn about him never lessened.

  “I’m sorry.” The hand moved closer, then cupped his fist. Her touch soothed some of the rawness.

  Steve swallowed, thankful his eyes hadn’t leaked. Yet.

  “Me, too.” He hitched a deep breath, then faced her. The compassion and understanding showing plainly in the woman’s eyes tugged at his heart. He wasn’t the only one battling the grief demon. Time to change gears—and fast. He nodded to the storefront just beyond the vintage bumper. “The store. Want a tour?”

  Annie pulled her hand back. “I do.”

  As they hopped out of the truck, it occurred to him that she’d just uttered the two words that could get a man in the deepest kind of trouble of his life.

  ****

  The interior of the shop was dim, but a good window washing would cure that. Dust flew into the air as they headed to a display counter where two crates were already piled. Steve put his beside them, then reached for hers and placed it on top of his.

  “More jam?” Annie asked, pointing to the first crates.

  “Maple syrup. This year’s batch, or what’s left of it.”

  She peeked over the top of a crate. A couple dozen jars, neatly capped and tied with twine bows. Annie lifted one. Heavy, filled with amber liquid.

  “Liquid gold.” Steve tapped the jar with a fingertip, and she noticed his hands were no strangers to the outdoors. His thumb sported a callous, and slivers of lighter skin showed between tanned fingers. “Clarisse could make a fortune with this, if she wanted to.”

  She’d only ever had store-bought imitation maple syrup on her pancakes.

  “What do you mean, she could make a fortune?” She slid the jar back into the crate. “How?”

  Steve leaned against the counter behind him. Crossed his arms. Looked around at the empty shelves, dusty countertops, dirty windows.

  “Back in the day, before her old man checked out, this place was jiving. Really, the place to be. After school, to grab a Coke and candy. High school, cigs, and rolling papers. Moms who didn’t want to go all the way to Bar Harbor stopped in for grocery runs. Tourists? Man, they were the real money. What people won’t buy when they’re on vacation…”

  She could envision the place as it had been. Shelves stocked, the sound of children laughing and Coppertone-slathered tourists going for anything made locally—as well as the usual chips, beer, and whatnot.

  “What happened? Why close down if it was such a sure thing?”

  He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. Thinking. She saw he chose his words carefully.

  “Like Bob says, the times, they are a-changing. You know, her husband left—pure scandal in a burg this small—and that had to be rough. But she held her head high, didn’t let the gossips wear her down. Then, Vietnam. In the beginning, people were scared. What was going to happen to us, if a world away things were exploding? So the tourists stopped coming. For a while. You know how people are, though.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They have short memories. And the draw of a place like the Cove, so calm and beautiful, reels them back in. They can forget the war, and find some peace—even if it’s just for a week or even a weekend. So, they came back. But by that time, the place was…” He swept an arm around to encompass their surroundings. “Like this.”

  Nothing was as it seemed. Her in-laws let her believe Clarisse old, infirmed, incapacitated—none of which were true. Sure, she was on the other side of middle-aged but certainly not ready to stop living. Sharp, in the mind and memory department, too.

  “Why would such a wise woman just pack it in? Clarisse seems full of vigor; it doesn’t make sense.”

  A rueful smile. Sad and small. “She’s a one-man band, Annie.”

  She got that.

  “Sure, she’s still on the ball but hell, she can’t manage everything on her own. We all look out for each other, the place being so small, but she’s too proud to accept too much help. No one can put in the time she needs, from what you and your kid did today, to this—manning the place. It’s bigger than one person. Especially when that one person is a woman headed toward the final years of her life.”

  Envy pricked her. Clarisse had had it a
ll once. A home. Husband. Children. Even a business partnership with some meaning, some purpose.

  The bones of the shop were still intact. If someone wanted to put the heart back into the place, it might thrive again. All it would take to breathe life into the shuttered business would be a bit of determination. Commitment.

  Money.

  She had the first two, but the last? Not so much.

  Annie sighed. Met his gaze. Shrugged.

  Then she borrowed one of Sienna’s favorite expressions.

  “Getting old must be a drag. Don’t you think?”

  His laugh was as deep as the navy-blue eyes that rounded in surprise. When he shook his head, the black waves that would have been curls had they been shorter, brushed his shoulders.

  “Damn, woman—do you always just tell it like it is?”

  “Mm…yeah, I think I do. Just cut to it, no bullshit. Works best, I think.”

  “Are you sure you’re in the right place? You seem kind of citified for the Cove—not that that’s bad. I mean, no offense intended.”

  He had her. Born in Manhattan, schooled at NYU. No denying the city still clung to her. More than she thought, apparently.

  “None taken. I guess you’re pretty good at cutting to the heart of things, too. Didn’t fool you, did I?”

  “Nope. Were you trying to fool me?”

  “Do you always ask such hard questions?”

  He eyed her, doing the up and down examination that men did without realizing they were doing it. Usually it annoyed her, but the way he did it, looking all tender and inviting, didn’t bug her one bit. She waited, knowing that behind the inquisitive stare something brewed.

  “Probably,” he admitted. “Although I kind of hope the next one isn’t as tough as the last.”

  The suspense was killing her.

  “Shoot.”

  “What do you say we grab some dinner? Head to the beach? Hang for a while?”

  She wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to. But…

  “Sienna. I shouldn’t leave her with Clarisse for too long.”

  “Why not? I’m sure they’re having a blast. Probably baking cookies or painting on the back porch. That’s how Clarisse rolls, from one interesting thing to another.” He paused, then added, “But hey, if you’re worried, why not call? There’s a phone booth on the corner.”

  It sounded good. Too good.

  “If they’re all right, then yes, I’d like to grab dinner. And see the beach, too. But—” She looked down at her shorts and middy. “I’m not dressed for anyplace much.”

  Steve cast an openly approving glance her way. He straightened and headed for the door. Over his shoulder, he said, “You’re dressed just right for what I’ve got in mind.”

  Chapter 6

  Gold streaked across the water, orange sun met the horizon. The world looked on fire.

  “Is it like this every night?”

  Annie took the last bite of her tuna on rye, crumpled the wax paper wrapper, and chewed. The thought ran through her mind that the night was perfect for romance, but she squashed that before it made her do something silly. Like flirt with Steve. Or worse, try to kiss him.

  “Not every night, but most. There’s just something incredible about the sun touching the water—even if it’s just an illusion.”

  He’d already finished his sandwich, tossed the paper wrapper into the empty deli bag beside him, and had his arms linked loosely around his knees. Now he reached for her waste paper, disposing of it before assuming the reflective position a second time.

  She sat Buddha style, her left knee dangerously close to his right thigh.

  Drifting on the air from somewhere behind them, KC and the Sunshine Band jived.

  I’m your boogie man, do whatever I can… Be it early morning. Late afternoon. Or at midnight…

  God, but it had been a long time since she’d danced with a man. Too long.

  “Yeah, you’re right.” Focus on the conversation, not on her social life—or lack of one. “When I was a kid, I thought the sun slept in the sea. Silly, huh?”

  Steve nudged her with his elbow. His warm elbow, which she couldn’t help but notice was attached to an arm with a bulging bicep.

  “Not silly. Normal kid stuff, I think. Hey, when I was little I was convinced mermaids lived in the cove. Not just one or two, but a whole city underwater. My old man tried to tell me it was impossible, but I’d read the whole Captain Nemo bit and believed life under the sea was probably better than the dry land version.”

  “Really? You seem so practical. It’s hard to imagine you as a little guy believing in mermaids.” She grinned, loving the way the tips of his ears colored. A tiny bit pink, that was it—but it was definitely a blush.

  “Want to laugh? I tried to find the mermaid city once…shit, I must’ve been about your kid’s age at the time. Walked right out, just past that big tidal pool over there, toward those rocks. Went right in, up past my neck and head.”

  “That’s not funny—your mother must have been out of her mind, watching you do that!” Annie’s hand went to her throat. The image of a small child walking into the waves was too much to handle.

  “She never saw it. This beach was practically my backyard. We kids used to be here all the time—no parents, just us kids.”

  Annie couldn’t breathe. “Who saved you?” It came out a near whisper.

  He shook his head, clearly amused by the memory. “I saved myself. One big swallow of salt water was enough for me. I started to swim back, real fast. And, I never looked for that damn mermaid city again.”

  They sat in silence for several heartbeats.

  “Still think it’s out there?” This time she leaned into him, pressing her arm against his. “That mermaid city?”

  “Can you keep a secret?” He raised one eyebrow so high it disappeared beneath the wave hanging low on his forehead.

  “Try me.”

  He seemed to weigh his options, like a guy trying to decide between imagination and common sense.

  Imagination won out.

  “I do,” he admitted. Gesturing to the surf at the edge of the beach, he smiled. “Who’s to say? So many people think alien abductions are taking place, right? So, hey, who’s to say there can’t be a whole boat load of mermaids down there?”

  Loch Ness monster. Bigfoot. Scooby Doo. Why not mermaids?

  “No one. If it’s your dream, hold on to it, Steve. Don’t be dissuaded by anyone or anything. Dreams are hard to come by, and this one has been with you for so long…I bet you’re right. I bet there are mermaids living in the cove…wait till Sienna hears about it—you won’t be able to keep from getting the fifty questions about it, I’m afraid.”

  He stretched out on the sand. Leaned on his elbows. Contemplated the view.

  “Cool. I bet that kid of yours asks some damn good questions.”

  ****

  Lobster Cove was spit on a windshield. So small everyone knew everything about everyone else in no time at all. So when he’d headed to Clarisse’s place to see if she needed anything done, he was aware the hot-headed vixen driving the muscle car was in residence.

  Their first meeting had been memorable, in more ways than one. She had been pissed. He’d been ticked off. They’d both snarled a bit.

  Steve needn’t have wondered if their hard meet was going to be the stage-setter for the rest of their encounters. If he believed in God, he’d be thanking Him. But since he wasn’t sure he believed in anything or anyone, he was just grateful the gorgeous newcomer had thawed toward him.

  When Annie leaned back in the sand beside him, it took every ounce of self-control not to lean over and kiss her. Damn, but her lips were tempting. And that sweet personality, all wide eyes and sighs—it nailed a chord in him that made his whole body thrum.

  Middle of the road, he reminded himself. Stick to light conversation; leave the heavy topics for some other time. Maybe never. That’d be all right with him, too.

  “How old is your daughter?”


  She took a deep breath, then let it out in a giant whoosh. He glanced over; her grin gentled her features, giving her an almost first-thing-in-the-morning kissable look.

  Man, he was going to have to watch his step with this one. A guy knew when he met a heart-melting woman. He just knew, deep in his gut. Right now, his gut was speaking loud and clear.

  “Seven. An amazing, wonderful, perfectly fabulous age—and an infuriating, crazy, uncontrollable age, all at once.” She giggled, and the sound of the girlishly sweet expression made his gut take note. “I love her more than anything else on this planet, but we have our moments.”

  “Looks like an angel.” He wanted to add, ‘like her mother’ but didn’t.

  “When she’s sleeping, sure. But I tell you, those curls hide a serious set of kid horns. She can either be so good or…ah, I’ll dispense with the PTA meeting correctness and just say it: The kid can be a royal pain in the butt!”

  This time, no giggle. Full out laughter. He never expected her to call her kid a pain in the ass; it shocked him so that he burst out laughing. He couldn’t help himself—it was funny to hear a mother admit what most of them had to feel at some point in time.

  Hell, but he loved an honest woman.

  “You didn’t just say that.”

  “Yeah, I did. Really, if a kid’s mother can’t tell it like it is who can?” Annie swept her hair off her face, turned to him and added, “Don’t get me wrong. I adore her. I gave birth to the beautiful being. I would die for her. And I’d kill to protect her. But boy, oh, boy, she can be stubborn sometimes. When she gets an idea in her head—don’t even try to dissuade her.”

  He pressed his luck. “Apple trees make apples.”

  She arched a brow and met his gaze. No flinching with this woman. No backing down. Just pure steely beauty and courage.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He shrugged, intentionally making her wait.

  She watched. Waited.

  “Just a casual observation, that’s all. My mother used to say it, that like makes like. Roses make roses. Briars make more briars. Stubborn roses? They have to come from someplace, don’t they?” He turned, closing the gap between their bodies slightly.