Cottage by the Sea

by Debbie Macomber

  Keaton refused to confirm or deny it.

  “News flash. Big guy like you has a hard time being inconspicuous.”

  True enough.

  “What’s with you and this girl?” Mellie asked.

  “Nothing.”

  She wasn’t letting up. “You talk to her?”

  “Some.” Mellie knew there were only a few people Keaton spoke to on a regular basis.

  She paused, processing this information. “That tells me everything I want to know.”

  Keaton refused to make eye contact.

  “What’s her story?” Mellie asked next.

  “Don’t know.”

  “Yet you’re drawn to her more strongly than any other woman in town?” This was a question of disbelief rather than a statement of fact. Mellie seemed eager for him to disclose his interest in Annie, but he wasn’t about to put up with her prying.

  Mellie grew suspicious at his silence. “She in trouble?”

  Keaton shrugged. He doubted it, but he couldn’t say for sure.

  “You think she’s in danger? Is that why you come by after dark to check on her?”

  “No.”

  “Then why?”

  Another good question. He wasn’t stalking her, just looking out for her. Watching over her. All he knew was that she carried a heavy burden, a pain. And if he could ease this load on her heart, then he would gladly find a way to do it. As for Annie being attracted to him, Keaton had no illusions. It would take a miracle for a woman as beautiful and caring as Annie to be interested in him.

  CHAPTER 11

  Annie shouldn’t be this nervous about making a simple phone call. But this call was to Mellie. Mellie, who had made it clear Annie wasn’t to bother her. Her landlord, who wanted to be left alone. The longer Annie thought about that garden, the stronger the appeal became. Her mother had had a garden, one she proudly showed to anyone who happened to visit. She took pictures of it to send to Annie in California. She’d loved her garden. Annie had never grown one herself, but the desire to try refused to go away. All she needed was to get her landlord’s verbal permission. It shouldn’t be this difficult.

  Annie hadn’t seen Keaton since Thursday. He’d said he would talk to Mellie for her. She didn’t want to use their friendship to her own advantage. That seemed wrong, but she needed his help. Keaton would put the idea in Mellie’s head and smooth the way for her. She was afraid Mellie would immediately refuse if she came at her cold turkey.

  A good feeling came over Annie as she remembered their brief conversation. Although she’d seen him several times, he never used more than a casual greeting. From what the real estate agent had said, Keaton rarely talked to anyone, and when he did, it was generally only a few words at a time. He’d intrigued her from the beginning. She could say, in all honesty, that she’d never met anyone quite like him. He was one of the largest men she’d ever seen, ungainly, and at the same time, totally comfortable in his own skin. Big, yet gentle. Tenderhearted and thoughtful.

  Okay, enough.

  She was letting her thoughts get all tangled up in Keaton when she should be calling Mellie. Thinking about him was a delay tactic to put off making that call to her brusque landlord.

  Braving it, she sucked in a deep breath and tapped in the number that would connect her to Mellie Johnson.

  Three rings later, Mellie answered in the same gruff manner she had the first time Annie had called. “What?”

  “It’s Annie Marlow.”

  “Know that. And I know why you’re pestering me. You want to talk to me about tearing up my yard?”

  “I don’t want to tear up anything. I want to grow a few vegetables is all, if…you don’t…mind,” she faltered, stumbling over the words, letting the woman intimidate her, when she’d promised herself she wouldn’t.

  “Talk,” she demanded.

  “What do you want me to say?” Annie asked.

  “You’re the one who called me. Tell me what you want to do to my property and I’ll tell you if you can or can’t. Now talk.”

  “Oh, of course. Okay. A garden. A small one on the south side of the cottage, because that area gets the most sun. If you’re okay with it. Like I said, it would be just a small patch, maybe eight feet by eight feet. No bigger than that. I doubt I could handle anything larger. Oh, and I’d be happy to share whatever I grow with you.”

  “Not interested.”

  Annie pretended not to hear. “I’ll order some tomato plants, and I thought I’d put in leaf lettuce and a cucumber plant. Just one. Cucumber plants can grow like crazy. Zucchini, too. Do you like jalapeños? From what I understand, they grow well in this area, so I thought I’d put in one or two jalapeño seedlings.”

  “Are you finished yet?”

  The woman was both rude and cranky. It surprised Annie that Mellie could be the offspring of the Munsons. Mike and Annie had thought of them as an extra set of grandparents that one week each summer. The couple had spoiled them with homemade desserts and attention.

  “Yes, I’m done,” Annie said, waiting impatiently for Mellie to agree.

  “Good.”

  Annie could see that the landlord was about to disconnect, so she rushed to ask, “Does this mean I can go ahead, then?”

  She heard Mellie exhale impatiently. “Do you want me to mail you a certified letter? Fine, do what you want.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me. Thank your advocate. If it wasn’t for Keaton, I wouldn’t have to deal with you. Now leave me alone.”

  Annie had one more request, one she’d nearly forgotten. “Mellie,” she said hurriedly. “I’m so sorry…there’s something else…”

  “Now what?” She exhaled, exasperated.

  “The bushes,” Annie blurted out. “When my family rented the cottage, and I admit that was several years ago, there used to be blueberry and raspberry bushes on the property.”

  “What about them?”

  “Are they still there? The area where they used to be is overgrown now. Are they still alive, or have the vines choked them?”

  Mellie sighed deeply, her patience at an end. “Now, how on earth would I know?”

  “Right. Good point.” Because Mellie felt unsafe outside the doors of her home, she wouldn’t have been able to investigate. Forging ahead, Annie asked, “Would you mind if I pulled the overgrowth away and looked for them?”

  Silence greeted her question. Annie’s shoulders sagged in defeat. However, she was mildly surprised Mellie hadn’t slammed the phone down on her ear.

  “Do you want to start up a farmer’s market in my front yard as well?” Mellie demanded. “Set up a booth and hawk your wares?”

  “What?” The question was ridiculous. “No!”

  “Good.”

  “Like I said, I’ll be happy to share with you, and Keaton.” She hadn’t told him that, but it was part of her plan. It was the least she could do, after all the help he’d given her.

  “Fine. Whatever. Dig away. I’ve been meaning to hire someone to clear away those vines for a couple years now. Have at it.”

  “Thank you,” Annie said, relieved.

  Mellie hesitated, and her voice softened, leaving Annie a bit shocked. “So, Keaton talks to you.”

  “Some. Not much. We’re friends.”

  Mellie paused, carefully gauging her words. “I hope you know his heart is as big as he is. Don’t you hurt him. I swear if you do, you’ll regret it.”

  “I wouldn’t—”

  “Heard that before. Just know, if you hurt him, you’ll be sorry. You got me?”

  “Of course…I understand…”

  “Make sure you do.” Some of the gruffness had left her voice, mellowing it to a softer tone.

  “I appreciate everything, Mellie. If there’s anything I can do for you, ple
ase let me know.”

  Without hesitating, Mellie said, “Don’t call me again. How does that sound?” And with that, she disconnected the call.

  So much for having made a connection with her less-than-friendly landlord.

  * * *

  —

  Saturday morning, excited to be working on her garden project, Annie drove an hour to a nursery to pick up the special heritage tomato plants she’d found while searching on the Internet. Because she couldn’t resist, she bought a few other seedlings as well. She’d need to nurse these fragile plants until she could get them in the ground. She’d thought to run a few other errands and decided instead to head back to Oceanside, eager to get started on the project.

  Of course, she’d need to dig up the land and prepare the soil for her little patch of green. That would be hard physical labor, but she was willing. This would be her first effort. All she could do was hope that she’d inherited her mother’s green thumb.

  She’d never felt the urge to do anything like this before. When she’d lived in Los Angeles she hadn’t had a single houseplant. It wasn’t her thing back then, but she was drawn to gardening now. She didn’t need a counselor to tell her why she had this desire.

  It was about connecting with her mom, with the earth, and with the basics of sustaining life. Maybe this garden could help her understand the meaning of life. To plant the seeds, to bury them in the rich, sandy earth, to let them die and then produce life, produce meaning. In Annie’s mind it was more than a way to connect with her family, it was a means of proving that life could come from death, and that she could continue for them, honoring each one, never letting them fade from her heart.

  When she returned to the cottage, Annie was surprised to find Keaton hard at work rototilling up a garden space on the south side of her yard. She hadn’t asked for his help. Sweat ran down the sides of his face. He wore faded overalls and boots. His shirt was sleeveless, giving her a view of his thick, muscular arms. Seeing how much Keaton struggled to plow through the tangled weeds, she realized that cutting out a garden space on her own would have been close to impossible.

  He didn’t seem to notice she’d returned. Either that or his lack of attention was intentional. She suspected he would rather have finished it anonymously. Her early return had ruined that.

  Annie removed all the gardening equipment she’d purchased and set it on the small front porch, leaning it against the short railing. She paused when she saw the seashell on the top step, close to the door.

  Keaton. She knew it was him. She’d found several such items on her small porch since moving in. She didn’t mention it, because she knew it would fluster him.

  Smiling to herself, she collected the seashell and brought the seedlings into the house, setting them on the windowsill in the kitchen, where the morning sun would encourage growth.

  Next, she poured Keaton a tall glass of her special lavender iced tea and carried it outside. Then she waited until he was sure to see her. When he did, she held out the glass, silently inviting him to take a break.

  He turned off the machine and walked over to where she stood. “Hey,” he said, and wiped the sweat from his brow with his forearm. His gaze intently rested on her, as if she were the sun he rotated around. In all her life, Annie had never had a man look at her the way Keaton did. His eyes revealed more than words could express. She read longing in him, a craving for human contact, for a purpose. She had yet to fully understand this man. To this point, she’d only scratched the surface in uncovering who he was. With that came the knowledge that she wanted to know more.

  “Where’s Lennon?” she asked, breaking the spell by deliberately pulling her eyes away from him. It would be too easy to get lost in those dark eyes of his. Annie was convinced that wouldn’t be good for either of them.

  “Home.”

  “I miss him.”

  “I’ll bring him next time.”

  Before she could mention him clearing her garden space, he took the iced tea from her hand and drank the entire glassful without stopping. His Adam’s apple moving up and down in his throat mesmerized her.

  “You were thirsty,” she commented, stating the obvious.

  “I was. This is great. What is it?”

  “Lavender iced tea. Would you like more?”

  “Please.”

  He waited while she returned to the cottage and refilled the glass. The second glassful disappeared as quickly as the first had.

  “You didn’t need to do this, you know.” She gestured toward the half-tilled garden space.

  “Mellie said you’d share with me. I want to do my part.”

  “Thank you,” she said, and then flopped her hands against her sides. “See, I’ve done it again. I’m forever thanking you. What can I ever do to show you how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me?”

  He continued to stare at her, almost in a daze.

  “Keaton?”

  “Smile,” he said. “Just smile.”

  She couldn’t have held one back for anything. She beamed her biggest, brightest smile at him, and he grinned back. For the longest moment, all they did was stare at each other. He leaned forward slightly, as if he intended to kiss her, but stopped and shook his head, attempting to clear his thoughts.

  “How long have you been working here?” she asked, wanting to continue their conversation. She hoped he’d keep talking, so she could learn more about him.

  “A while.”

  “You’re going to spoil me with all the nice things you do for me,” she said.

  “Want to.”

  “But why?” she asked.

  He lowered his face, trying to keep her from reading his eyes. “You smiled. You didn’t judge me, you stitched up my hand, and you’re smiling again now.”

  Impulsively, she wrapped her arms around him and gave him a big hug.

  “What was that for?” he asked, once she’d finished. He was clearly flustered and red in the face.

  Annie shrugged. “Because I felt like it. If you’d rather I didn’t touch you, you need to let me know.”

  In what was an obvious attempt to change the subject, he shifted his feet and said, “Mellie said you asked about those overgrown vines.”

  “I want to get rid of them. That’s next on my list after I plant the garden,” she confirmed. “At one time, there were blueberry and raspberry bushes growing there. There still might be if the vines haven’t completely smothered them.”

  “You can’t do that.”

  “Why not?” she asked, frowning now. Those bushes brought back good memories, and they were all Annie had to hold on to now.

  “Tearing them out would be far too strenuous for you. Vines have thorns. I’ll do it.”

  “Keaton, no. I can’t let you do that.”

  “You plant. I’ll pull vines. Deal?”

  Despite herself, she laughed. “I’m not going to be able to talk you out of this, am I?”

  “Nope.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “Don’t want to argue,” he said with a grin. “You know too many words.”

  She laughed. Annie did know a lot of words, but they certainly didn’t make her any wiser than Keaton. “Guess that means I win the argument,” she teased.

  Keaton shook his head. “Nope. Just means I won’t listen.”

  Annie chuckled again. “You’re a stubborn man, Seth Keaton.”

  He grinned. “I get what I want.” Returning the empty glass to her, he went back to tilling the land. While he was busy, she planted a small potted herb garden and filled the area around the porch with the flowers she’d purchased. The marigolds and impatiens added color and life to what had once been barren and dark.

  When they were both finished, Annie poured them each a glass of her lavender iced tea. Tired, they sat togethe
r on the top step of her porch, which creaked under his weight. When Annie looked up she noticed Mellie watching out her kitchen window. It almost seemed like she was smiling.

  CHAPTER 12

  When Annie stopped by Bean There on Monday morning, Britt wasn’t there.

  “Where’s Britt?” she asked, after giving her order to the young man at the counter, whose nametag read JIMMY.

  “She called in sick,” he explained with a worried frown. “That isn’t like Britt. She isn’t answering her phone, either.”

  Annie was concerned, too. A new bruise had appeared on Britt’s shoulder earlier in the week. That was the second one Annie had noticed since she’d met the teenager. “Has anyone talked to her recently?”

  “I saw her yesterday and everything was fine—at least I thought it was. Sometimes Britt hides—” He stopped abruptly, regretting saying that much.

  He looked at the line forming behind her, and Annie realized she was holding everyone up. Unsure what to do, if anything, she decided that if Britt was “sick” the following day, then she’d personally check on the teenager. Candi was a warehouse of information, and she’d be able to tell Annie where Britt lived.

  Annie wasn’t left to wonder about Britt for long. When she arrived at the clinic, Britt and a young boy were sitting in the waiting room, along with several others. A quick glance in her direction assured Annie that the girl was fine. She could only assume the boy was her younger brother.

  Her first patient of the day was a woman with bronchitis. Annie prescribed rest, antibiotics, and a cough medication. In the second exam room, Britt sat with her arm protectively around the boy. The name in the file read LOGAN HOFFERT, and it indicated that he was ten years old. Annie noticed he was small for his age. He held his right arm close to his body and leaned in to his sister’s side, apparently terrified. He carefully watched Annie, his eyes following her as she stepped into the small room.

  “Hi, Logan,” she said, sitting on the stool in front of him. “I’m Annie.”

  Logan buried his face in Britt’s side.

  “Can you tell me why you’re here today?” she asked.