by Irene Hannon
“How does it look?” Heather asked.
“It bled a little more during the night, but there’s no inflammation. Brian, would you hand me a clean sterile pad and the roll of gauze?”
The teen complied, hovering close as J.C. rebandaged the wound.
“Where did you learn to do this kind of stuff?” There was a touch of awe in the boy’s tone.
“On-the-job training, for the most part. You have to know a little about a lot of things when you’re a cop.”
He’d also learned a lot because of his brother, J.C. reflected. Nathan had been in his share of street fights, and J.C. had hauled him home, beat-up and bleeding, more times than he cared to remember. Going to the E.R. would have raised too many questions. So he’d armed himself with bargain-bin first-aid books and dealt with as much as he could on his own.
J.C. finished dressing the cut and smiled at Heather, resting his hand lightly on her instep. “You okay?”
“Yes. It doesn’t hurt much.”
“It will help if you keep most of the weight on the ball of your foot. And if you stay off your feet as much as possible for a couple of days.”
“Edith is going to help serve the tea this afternoon.”
“Good.” Gently lowering her foot on the floor, J.C. stood. “You ready to paint, Brian?”
“Yes.” J.C. picked up his plate. “Let’s clear things up in here first and—”
Heather stopped him with a hand on his arm. “I’ll deal with this. You guys handle the painting.”
J.C. considered pushing, but the slight tilt to her chin told him to let it go. A sense of control was important to her, and that had already been badly compromised. At least she could still be in charge in her kitchen.
“Okay. I’ll go get Chester’s ladder. Brian, you round up the paint and some brushes.”
Exiting through the back door, J.C. gave his handiwork a once-over as he passed the garden on the way to the gate. The brick paths had been swept; the begonias replaced; the birdbath resettled on its base. Except for the battered boxwoods, order had been restored to Heather’s haven.
He wished he could restore it to her life as well.
And, truth be told, to his.
Because thanks to an appealing woman with warm, caring eyes, he felt more uncertain about his future now than when he’d stepped off the ferry three weeks ago.
“Aunt Heather, can I get some sodas?”
After adding a swirl of whipped cream to a miniature key lime tart, Heather straightened up, weighing the pastry bag in her hand.
“Sure. How are you guys doing?” They’d been working on the house for an hour, and she’d been about to go out and check on them.
“Good. We’re almost done. J.C. knows a lot about painting, too.”
So it was J.C. now, Heather noted. Not “the cop.” That was a good sign.
As Brian retrieved two cans of soda from the fridge, he spoke over his shoulder. “Did you know his brother is in prison?”
A shock wave rippled through her. J.C. had said he’d had some trouble with his kid brother, but she’d never guessed it was that serious.
“No. I didn’t.”
“Yeah. He’s doing ten years for armed robbery. J.C. says Nathan—that’s his name—started hanging around with a gang when he was a kid. J.C. used to go out looking for him at night in the streets. Nathan was into some serious stuff that really messed up his life. I think J.C. feels real bad about it. But he tried, you know? His brother just wouldn’t listen.”
Heather was still processing that information when Brian switched topics.
“Can we go swimming on your day off on Monday, Aunt Heather? J.C. says there’s a cool beach you like to go to.”
She’d proposed that idea the day Brian arrived, and he’d turned up his nose. She supposed the heart-to-heart talk the two of them had had yesterday might be partly responsible for his new amenability. But she suspected a good chunk of the credit went to her temporary next-door neighbor, who seemed to have gained a loyal fan.
Meaning she owed him. Big-time.
“A beach trip sounds good to me. We could take a picnic lunch.”
“Cool.” Brian breezed toward the back door. Stopping on the threshold, he looked back. “J.C.’s off that day, too. Could I ask him to come with us?”
Heather’s grip tightened on the pastry bag, and it spewed a snake of whipped cream across the stainless-steel prep table.
Grabbing a dishcloth, she wiped up the mess as she wrestled with Brian’s request. Her first inclination was to say no. A picnic on the beach with J.C. sounded way too cozy.
On the other hand, this was the most enthusiasm her nephew had shown since his arrival. If he was turning a corner, she didn’t want to jinx it. And being in J.C.’s company was obviously good for him.
Bottom line, saying no might be safe—but it would also be selfish.
“You can ask, Brian. But he might have other things to do.”
She hoped.
“Yeah. I know. But maybe he can come for a while.” Pushing through the door, he clattered down the porch steps.
Fifteen minutes later, as Heather sat on a stool beside the prep table, lamenting over a tray of petits fours that had been decorated with less than her usual precision, J.C. knocked on the screen door.
“May I come in?”
Her pulse took a leap as his broad shoulders filled her doorway. Annoyed, she did her best to rein it in as she forced a smile. “Of course. All done?”
“Yes.” He stepped inside but remained near the door, keeping a distance between them. “Brian is cleaning the brushes.”
“Thanks again for everything.”
He dismissed her gratitude with a shrug. “I was glad to help. Listen…are you okay with this picnic thing on Monday?”
She wiped her hands on her apron. “It would be good for Brian, if you can spare the time. You seem to be a positive influence on him.”
He slid his palms into the back pockets of his jeans, pulling the black T-shirt taut across his broad chest. Heather’s gaze dropped for an instant before she jerked it back up to his face.
“I have the time. But you didn’t answer my question.”
Taking a deep breath, she decided to be honest. “I’m a little concerned.”
“About what?”
“You make me nervous.”
“Why?”
She tucked her hair behind her ear. “I’m beginning to like you…too much.”
A flicker of surprise flashed through his eyes. Then they darkened. “The feeling is mutual—as you probably figured out after that kiss last night. And as long as we’re being frank, I’m no more thrilled by this development than you are. I know you aren’t in the market for a relationship…especially with someone who won’t be here very long. And I didn’t come to Nantucket looking for romance. My life is complicated enough already.”
Heather wasn’t surprised J.C. had met her candor with a healthy dose of his own. That was yet another quality she admired in him. Rather than play games or dance around issues, he addressed them head-on.
“So where does that leave us?”
He folded his arms across his chest and propped his shoulder against the side of a cabinet. “We could avoid each other. But that means I’d have to avoid Brian, too—just when he seems to be coming around.” He assessed her with those dark, intense eyes. “I can handle a day at the beach together if you can. It’s not as if it’s a date.”
“That’s true.” Some of Heather’s tension dissipated.
“I can also promise not to push you in directions you prefer not to go.”
Her tension eased a few more notches. “In that case, I’m fine with it.”
“Okay.” He straightened up. “What time is good for you?”
“How about eleven?”
“That works. What can I bring?”
“Nothing. I’ll just throw a few sandwiches together.”
“All right. See you then.”
&nbs
p; Pushing through the door, he disappeared around the house as he headed toward the garden.
For a good two minutes, Heather remained on the stool, chin propped in hand. She was glad they’d acknowledged their mutual attraction. It was silly—and awkward—to try to ignore it. They weren’t teens in the throes of their first crush, after all. Kids prey to their hormones. They were adults, with the maturity to manage the spark between them.
Besides, as long as they confined their interaction to activities that involved Brian, there’d be no chance for anything romantic to develop. They’d be safe.
But even as Heather assured herself of that, a disturbing little voice in the back of her mind whispered otherwise.
And no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t manage to silence it.
Chapter Ten
“Is this the beach express?”
At J.C.’s question, Heather leaned around the trunk of her car, where she was stowing the cooler. He was dressed much as he’d been on his first visit to Ladies Beach, she noted—in a gray Titan Tigers T-shirt and black swimming trunks that exposed his long, muscular legs.
Even though she’d reminded herself all weekend that this was a causal excursion, not a date, and even though she’d thought she had her emotions under control, her pulse kicked up a notch.
“This is it.” She did her best to sound calm and cool. “Where’d you get that?” She gestured toward the foam bodyboard tucked under his arm, next to a rolled-up beach towel.
“I borrowed it from one of the guys at work. I thought Brian might get a kick out of trying it.”
“Good idea. But I think we better switch to Dionis Beach. The waves are less intimidating there.”
“Would you rather leave it behind and stick with the original plan?”
“No. This is fine.” And safer, she added in silence as she moved aside to let him tuck the board into the trunk. There would be a lot more people at Dionis. And as the old saying went, there was safety in numbers. Better yet, the family atmosphere that usually prevailed there would discourage any romantic inclinations.
After securing the board, he stepped back and perused her. “You look too dressed up for the beach.”
That was true. Her knee-length wrap skirt and madras print blouse were more suitable for lunch in town. But covering up had helped her feel less exposed—physically and emotionally.
Her spoken response was different, however. “I’m not sure I’ll go in the water again until my foot heals.”
“Probably wise. But to be honest, I liked the last beach outfit better.” He slipped on his sunglasses, hiding his eyes as he gave her that unsettling half-hitch grin.
A typical male reaction, Heather mused, recalling the too-tight T-shirt and too-short shorts she’d had on the day they’d met at Ladies Beach. The kind of reaction that always turned her off.
Yet, much to her annoyance, J.C.’s version caused a little flutter in the pit of her stomach.
The screen door opened, and Brian charged through. Skipping the two steps, he leaped from the porch to the sidewalk, a beach towel slung over his shoulder.
“Hey, J.C.”
“Hi, Brian.” He turned back to Heather. “Are you ready?”
Considering how her heart was misbehaving, she wished she could say no. But unless she wanted to disappoint Brian, she was stuck. “Yes. Climb in.”
Since her nephew was in a talkative mood for once, Heather let her two passengers carry the bulk of the conversation during the short drive. Once at the beach, J.C. and Brian unloaded the trunk as she collected her purse and set the automatic locks.
“Is this yours?” Brian, examining the bodyboard, tossed the question to J.C. as she joined them at the rear of her car.
“No. I borrowed it from a guy at work. Have you ever used one of these?”
“Are you kidding? In St. Louis? All we have is the Mississippi.”
“Good point.” J.C. grinned. “I’m no expert, but I did try this on a trip to California once. I can give you a few basic instructions. After that you’ll be on your own.”
Brian took the board and a couple of beach towels, while J.C. picked up the cooler and his own towel, leaving Heather with nothing to carry.
“I can take something,” she protested. J.C. closed the trunk. “I have a better idea. Why don’t you hold on to me? It’s easy to lose your balance in the deep sand here, even with two good feet.” He crooked his elbow. “Shall we?”
He was right again, Heather admitted. And she didn’t want to end up facedown on the beach. Yet getting close to J.C. would throw her off balance in a different way.
“Come on, Aunt Heather. I want to try this out.”
At Brian’s impatient urging, Heather did the logical thing and slipped her hand through J.C.’s arm. Fortunately, he didn’t try to initiate a conversation as they traversed the sand. With his biceps bulging beneath her fingers, she doubted she’d have been able to form a single coherent word.
“Is this okay?” J.C. asked after a minute or two.
Jolting to a stop, she evaluated the spot he’d picked, a short distance removed from the family groups and playing children. Close enough to be part of the crowd, but far enough away to give them a little privacy.
“Fine.”
A few seconds passed as they stood, unmoving, and she sent him a puzzled look. “What’s wrong?”
The corners of his mouth twitched up. “I’ll be happy to spread out the towels if you’ll give me back my arm.”
She was still clinging to him, she realized. Warmth flooded her cheeks, and she jerked her hand away. “Sorry.”
“I didn’t mind.”
She couldn’t see his eyes behind his dark glasses. And based on the husky tenor of his voice, she had a feeling that was just as well.
He laid out the towels, then offered her a hand down. “Let me get Brian started with the bodyboard.”
“Good idea.” The teen was already at the water’s edge, evaluating the surf. “I think he’s…”
The words died on her lips as J.C. stripped off his T-shirt in one lithe motion to reveal a broad, powerful chest.
“What were you saying?” He looked down at her as he kicked off his deck shoes.
Heather cleared her throat and tried not to gape. What had she been saying? Something about Brian…oh, yeah. “I think he’s a pretty good swimmer.”
“That’s what I want to check out. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He tossed his sunglasses onto the towel and took off at a jog toward the water, motioning to Brian to join him as he dived headfirst into the breakers.
Shading her eyes, she watched as J.C. surfaced and waited for Brian before striking out with powerful strokes toward the horizon.
Then she tried to breathe.
She’d gone swimming with Mark plenty of times during their dating days. But never, ever, had she felt such a strong wow factor.
It was crazy.
And dangerous.
She had to steel herself against it.
Because as she watched J.C. cut through the swells, she knew it would be very easy to forget about her vow to avoid romance. To forget he was leaving in a few weeks. To forget about the betrayal that seemed to be the fate of the Anderson women.
And with no effort at all, it would be easy to believe this man was special—and worthy of her trust.
Especially when the sun reflecting off J.C.’s wet skin made it shimmer like a suit of armor.
The kid was good, J.C. noted, keeping a close watch on Brian as they aimed toward the horizon. But he wasn’t used to ocean swimming, and they were getting into deep water. It was time to turn back.
Yet deep water awaited him on the beach, too, J.C. acknowledged as he switched directions and headed back toward the shore, signaling Brian to do the same.
Slowing his pace to match the teen’s, he bought himself a few minutes to plan his strategy. He was the one who’d told Heather a day at the beach wouldn’t be a big deal. And he’d meant it. But that had
been three days ago. Three days without a glimpse of her. Three days that had felt like an eternity.
A swell lifted J.C., and he rode it out. Fighting a force as powerful as the sea was an exercise in futility and would only wear him out. Kind of like trying to fight his attraction to the charming tearoom owner, he admitted ruefully. He was just going to have to let it dissipate on its own.
Or not.
And the latter was beginning to seem like a far more probable scenario.
But he intended to keep his promise. He wasn’t going to push her. If God’s plan for his life included the beautiful woman on the beach, he’d have to wait and watch for direction.
Except patience had never been his strong suit.
His hand touched bottom, and the next wave heaved him onto the beach. Standing, he waited for Brian to regain his footing, then launched into a rudimentary lesson on bodyboarding. In less than five minutes, he’d imparted his entire body of knowledge on the subject.
Leaving the teen to experiment on his own, he rejoined Heather, toweling himself dry before dropping to the sand beside her.
“Brian seems to have picked that up quickly,” she noted.
Her attention was on her nephew, and J.C. took the opportunity to admire her flawless profile as he agreed. “He’s a quick study.”
When she turned his way, he reached for his T-shirt—then sucked in a sharp breath as a shaft of pain shot down his arm.
Concern furrowed Heather’s brow, and she reached toward him, hesitated, then drew her hand back. “What’s wrong?”
Gritting his teeth, he pulled the shirt over his head. “Nothing.”
She inspected the angry red scar peeking below the sleeve of the shirt and ignored his change-the-subject cue. “That looks painful.”
“Not usually. The swimming today might have taxed it a little.”
“Not to mention the painting on Friday.”
He gave a stiff shrug. “I’m supposed to use it.” Slipping on his sunglasses, he gestured toward Brian. “He’s really getting the hang of that.”
She spared her nephew no more than a brief glance. “You don’t want to talk about it, do you?”