by Gayle Roper
She didn’t respond. She was certain, though, that she would love it, mostly because he would be there. “Why did you lie to me, Rick? I feel like an idiot.”
“I didn’t actually lie,” he said. “I just told you I was Rick Yakabuski, and that’s true. All my identity papers say Yakabuski. It’s only on the marquee that I’m Mathis.”
She could see the obvious reasons why Yakabuski had been changed to Mathis professionally. “Still you lied by implication.”
He watched a sailboat coming into the marina under power, its sails packed in a blue boom cover, and nodded. “I did. When I left California, I was so sick of the fawning, of the pretense. I wanted to be a real person again. I told Marsh that I didn’t want anyone to know who I was professionally. I was just his friend Rick. I—I never counted on meeting you.”
Celia studied the sailboat too, its white hull glistening under the lights along the docks. He’d wanted to be just a guy, not Duke Beldon, famous cowboy. He wanted to have people respond to him, Rick Yakabuski, not to Rick Mathis, star. She could understand that, sort of. She had to admit that his little identity misdirection wouldn’t have been an issue at all if she hadn’t been so taken with him. Well, that was her fault, not his.
“Besides, Cely.” He slid closer. “Would you have felt comfortable with me if you’d known about my other life?”
That question was easy to answer. She shook her head. “Never. I know my limitations. I’d have been too overcome to even talk to you, let alone spend time with you alone.”
“The minute I saw you, I knew I wanted to spend time with you alone.”
She looked at him, confounded. She knew why she’d want to spend time with him, but why would he seek her out?
“You have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?” He ran a thumb down the side of her jaw.
Given the responses of the previously important people in her life—her mother, Eddie, Aunt Bernice, and Poor Uncle Walter—she had no reason to think herself notable in any way. “I’ve not had caring people in my life, Rick. I’m not used to people, especially men, saying nice things to me. If it weren’t for the fact that God loves me, I’d be convinced I have no value at all.”
“Your relationship with God is part of what makes you so beautiful to me,” Rick said. “His love anchored you when no one cared, and your dependence on Him has given you a depth that reaches out to me.”
“Rick,” she began, but she didn’t know how to express her thoughts.
“Believe me, Cely, I would never feed you a line about something as important as God’s love. It’s saved me too, from the falsity and hype of the industry in which I work. When Marsh first shared Jesus with me, telling me how I could find real love and real relationships through Him, I was skeptical. It was bad enough when I found out the writer of my movie was a seminary professor, but when he began to talk about the Lord in such a personal way, it made me squirm. I’d been in Hollywood so long that it was hard to remember what authenticity was. But his faith is so real, and his knowledge so vast that I came to the point where it was harder not to believe than it was to believe. It was during our second movie together that I accepted Jesus as my Savior.”
The lights of Seaside winked at Celia from across the bay. The scents and sounds of the salt marshes whispered. Her heart yearned to believe him, to trust him.
Rick stood, pulling her to her feet. “Come on. I’ll take you home.”
She nodded. That was what she wanted, wasn’t it?
They walked hand in hand back along the road she’d run down such a short time ago. She stole a glance up at him and found him looking at her. He smiled that devastating smile.
“All I ask, Cely, is that you don’t shut me out. Let me keep seeing you while you make up your mind about me.”
She wanted to tell him he could keep on seeing her forever, but she managed to restrain herself. She needed time to pray, to think when he wasn’t beside her, his mere presence turning her mind to mush. “How long are you going to be in Seaside?”
“Marsh and I have lots still to do on the screenplay for Shadows at Noon, and I don’t need to report for work for another month and a half. I’ve been thinking of spending the whole time here, assuming Marsh doesn’t kick me out.”
A month and a half. Long enough to fall completely under his spell and have her heart broken, smushed, crushed to pulp.
Why don’t you just say no? You know it’s not going to work out. Two different worlds. Haven’t you been hurt by enough people? Do you need to ask for more?
But what if it could work? What if she said no, and all the time there had been a real possibility for—for something.
Lord, I want to learn if he’s all he seems, all he says. Is it okay if I leap off the cliff?
She felt an ease at that thought, and she made her decision. She’d leap. And she knew just the way to see if he was indeed as serious as he said he was about her, about them. As they walked up to his little red sports car, she turned to him, holding out her hand, palm up.
“Can I drive us home?”
Thirty-eight
ARE YOU READY up there, tiger?”
Marsh’s voice was rich and deep. Abby shivered at the sound of it. Idiot, she chided herself. You are not sixteen. You have been married and widowed. Now behave yourself. Act your age.
What? My age can’t fall in love?
“Be right there.” She grabbed a sweatshirt and hurried to the stairs. She looked down at the man who had become so important to her that it scared her, especially since it happened so fast. Tonight was Saturday. She’d only been in Seaside a week and a day. “Do I need my cane?”
Smiling, he shook his golden head. “You’ve got me.”
Oh, boy. Her heart tripped double time. She turned and waved good-bye to the glowering Puppy who stared at her from inside the sliding door. “I’ll be back before too long.” Puppy was not impressed.
She made her way down the stairs with care. Marsh held out his hand, and she took it for the last few steps. He tucked it in the crook of his arm as they walked the few feet to his car.
“Is Fargo as unhappy as Puppy at being shut inside?” Abby asked.
“Ah.” He lifted his index finger like he was about to make an important point in a lecture. “It’s all a matter of timing. I didn’t feed him dinner until I was ready to leave. He was wolfing down his Alpo when I slipped out the door. By the time he discovers he’s alone, he’ll be fat and sleepy.”
“You hope.”
“At least I won’t be around to hear his piteous whines.”
“Hey, you two.”
Abby and Marsh turned to find Rocco deMarco waving to them as he loped over to the car. He grinned as he shook hands with Marsh.
“You look pleased with yourself,” Marsh said. “Life going well?”
“Much better than it was a couple of days ago, let me tell you.”
“Really?” Abby studied him. He looked like a different man. Gone were the scowl, the angry eyes, the belligerent set to his mouth. He looked carefree, satisfied. “I take it you and Vivienne are doing much better?”
Rocco glanced back to his house. “Couldn’t be better, believe me.”
“I’m so glad.” Abby caught sight of Vivienne on the deck fronting the beach and waved. Vivienne waved back. She looked beautiful as always in a brilliant blue top and white shorts, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She also looked uncertain. Strange, that, Abby thought. If ever anyone seemed to rule her world, it was Vivienne.
Rocco caught sight of his wife, and his eyes lit. He touched the tip of his thumb and forefinger together in an okay sign, and Vivienne nodded. She moved out of sight behind the house.
“I’m sort of here on Vivian’s behalf,” he said.
“Vivian?” Abby couldn’t help it. “Not Vivienne, accent on the last syllable?”
“Plain old Vivian,” Rocco said. “Viv, really. She sort of went overboard when I sold my business.” He grinned with a boyish enthusiasm that
made Abby smile back. “She wasn’t used to being rich, and she didn’t do too well with it. All she did was make people angry. When she tried to act like a rich lady might, her girlfriends got jealous and gave her a hard time. They kept telling her I was in the Mafia, and that’s how I made my money.”
“I’m assuming that’s not true,” Marsh said, “or you wouldn’t be telling us.”
“Not true,” agreed Rocco. “I had a dot-com and sold it before the bottom dropped out. Thirty million.”
Abby blinked, surprised that Rocco would mention a figure. She looked at Marsh. “I bet that beats Colton West.”
“By a mile.”
“Hey, I’m reading Colton West’s book right now,” Rocco said. “It’s the one with that cowboy in it, right?”
“I think they all have cowboys,” Marsh said.
“There’s more than one?” Rocco leaned in like he was about to share a confidence of major proportions. “I don’t read all that much, but if they all got cowboys, maybe I’ll read another some day.”
“Do that,” Abby said. “I think Mr. West would like that.”
Rocco nodded. “I started reading when Viv wouldn’t speak to me. I had to do something, you know? I was going nuts.”
“You can only take so many game shows and soaps, right?” Marsh edged Abby toward her seat.
“Wait.” Rocco cleared his throat, then cleared it again. “I got something to tell you.” He opened his mouth, then closed it, stalled.
Abby and Marsh both leaned their heads toward him. “Yes?”
He looked at Abby, words rushing out in so rapid a stream that she almost didn’t understand him. “Viv wanted me to tell you she’s sorry.”
“Me?” She poked herself in the chest.
“Yeah. She didn’t mean to upset you, not really. She was just sort of mad. The guys liked you better, you know?”
“The guys?” Abby thought of Walker and Jordan. If they were hers and they liked another woman better, she’d be upset too.
“You know.” He gestured to Marsh. “Him and that Rick guy.”
“That’s what upset her? That Marsh and Rick liked me better?” I think it was more that they disliked predators.
Rocco nodded.
“And she’s not mad now?”
He shook his head, a smile lighting his face. “She’s wonderful now.”
Curiosity ate at Abby. Why was Vivian wonderful all of a sudden? Why did she all of a sudden long to be friends? Why did she reconcile with Rocco? “What made her change her mind?”
“You saved Walker’s life.”
“Oh.”
“When she learned that, she felt so bad. Here you’d done something so huge for us, and she was making your life miserable.”
Was there just a chance that Vivian was overinflating her importance in the scheme of things? “Then tell her everything’s fine. We all have bad days.” Of course Vivian’s—or Viv’s—bad times had lasted a lot longer than a day, but she didn’t say what she was thinking.
“Thanks.” Rocco glanced toward the porch. “That’ll mean a lot to Viv. She’d feel real bad if you were hurt. Just in case, she said to tell you she’d make it all better.”
Abby looked at Marsh. Whatever did that mean? “Tell her thank you.”
Rocco nodded, turned to leave, then stopped, looking over his shoulder. “Did they ever find that car and the driver who hit the kid?”
Abby sighed. “No, and I still can’t remember what I saw either.”
“Don’t worry,” Rocco said with a flick of his hand. “It’ll work out.”
“That was interesting,” Abby said as Marsh stuck the key in the ignition.
“Old Viv is something, all right.” Marsh put the car in reverse. “Imagine asking your husband to apologize for your temper tantrums.”
“Imagine him doing it!”
They drove the dozen or so blocks to the southern tip of the island and the small state park there. Houses that had been vacant for months teemed with life as summer people and vacationers arrived. Lights shone in windows, kids played tag, teens stood with studied nonchalance.
“Nan told me today that the population goes from 10,000 off season to 125,000 during the summer.” Such numbers staggered Abby.
“That means we won’t be able to find a parking place downtown for the next three months.”
“Personally, I think it’s a miracle the island doesn’t sink under all the added weight.”
Marsh grinned. “If Manhattan Island doesn’t sink under the weight of New York City, I think Seaside’s safe.”
Abby rested her head against the headrest, turning slightly so she could see Marsh. As always just looking at him pleased her. “Did anyone ever tell you you’re a handsome man, cowboy?”
He glanced at her, surprised. “Did anyone ever tell you, you have good taste?”
She blew a raspberry.
He slowed, searching for a parking place. “Just think. A night at the shore with the humidity blown away by a cool front, a night when we can actually see the stars.”
Abby tied the arms of her sweatshirt around her neck. “You know, I think I’ve seen about two shooting stars my whole life.”
“Tonight will up the number considerably.” Marsh slipped into a spot. “The predicted meteor shower should be spectacular.”
They climbed out of the car, Marsh reaching into the rear seat for a quilt, an electric lantern, and a can of heavy-duty bug spray. He set the quilt and lantern on the hood of the Taurus while he sprayed his head and neck, arms and ankles. Then he turned to Abby.
“Shut those beautiful eyes and don’t breathe.” When she did as told, he sprayed her also. He stuck the can into his back pocket, tucked the quilt under one arm, and let the lantern dangle from his fingers. It wasn’t dark enough to need the light at the moment, but it wouldn’t be long before full night fell. He reached for her and laced his fingers through hers. She made believe his touch didn’t make her feel all warm and cozy. They walked to the entrance of the park.
They started up the sandy path that led through the dense scrub that made up about half of the five-acre park. In an instant they were surrounded by bands of marauding mosquitoes, gnats, and sand fleas. Even sprayed within an inch of her life, Abby was all too aware of the insects flying reconnaissance missions of her face and neck, looking for that one millimeter untreated, that one tiny spot where they could dive in and draw blood. To her relief, their sorties failed. The smelly repellant was working. Still the presence of that many insects was disconcerting.
“This is what the island must have looked like when God created it, before people cleared it,” Marsh commented as the soft deep sand pulled at their feet. Shoulder-high shrubs Abby couldn’t identify made a dense tangle about them, broken occasionally by clumps of what looked like bayberry bushes. Marsh ducked under the reaching limbs of a shrub and waved their joined hands at a particularly thick cloud of mosquitoes. “Imagine being shipwrecked here and having to fight your way through this snarling mess and these bugs. You wouldn’t have any skin or blood left by the time you got help.”
“Robinson Crusoe managed.”
“But not on Seaside.”
The silky, shifting sand that formed the path through the park made walking a challenge for Abby. Intensifying her problem was the rapidly fading light that threw deceptive shadows, making it all the more difficult to judge her footing.
“Not so fast, cowboy.” She pulled back against Marsh’s forward motion. Her foot slipped as a pile of sand resettled itself under her tread. “Oops!” She lurched in an effort to regain her balance, scraping her arm against an encroaching shrub. A broken branch scratched its way down the fleshy underside of her upper arm.
Hissing at the pain, she pulled her hand free of Marsh’s and clapped it over the injured area.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said through gritted teeth. She tried to twist her arm so she could see if she was bleeding.
“L
et me see.” Marsh took her arm, examining the angry welt. “No blood. Just a nasty scratch. You’ll want to put antiseptic cream on it before you go to bed tonight. We can wash it off in the ocean. The salt water will cleanse it.”
“To say nothing of sting,” she said, relieved she hadn’t punctured the skin.
“A little pain is good for your character.”
She laughed without humor. “Then I should have character coming out my ears.”
He looked at her, and she could see the admiration in his eyes. “You do, you know. You have integrity and strength like few I’ve ever met.”
She gazed back at him, moved by his comment. “Thank you,” she managed to whisper.
“Um.” He looked at her, his mouth cocked at one corner.
She’d seen that look in his eyes before, and it meant trouble. “What?” Before she realized what he intended, he bent and kissed her sore arm.
She shivered. “Marsh.”
“Just making it all better,” he said as he straightened.
Oh, boy. Her heart beat triple time. “It doesn’t hurt much,” she managed, ignoring both the continuing sting and the hot brand of his lips.
“It shouldn’t hurt at all if I do it right.” He smiled. “I’d better treat it again.” He did. When he straightened, he shoved the quilt into her hands. “Here, hold this.” The lantern followed. “And this.”
“What?” Automatically she took the items, thrown from the romantic to the mundane in a wink of time. How in the world was she to keep her balance with these things in her arms?
As she contemplated her burden, Marsh bent and caught her under the knees. His other arm went around her back, and just like that she was cradled against him. She gasped in surprise and pleasure. The very next second she began to cough violently. She wheezed, coughed some more, cleared her throat and tried not to make gagging noises.
He set her on her feet, holding an arm to balance her as she continued to choke. “Is my holding you that bad?” he asked, half in jest.
“A bug!” She shuddered and coughed again. “When I gasped, I inhaled a bug, maybe a whole colony of bugs. They went straight to the back of my mouth. I swallowed them!” She shuddered again.