“You really don’t know?” When she shook her head, he lifted his chin, like he thought he was hot stuff for knowing something she didn’t. “It’s this place where women go if they wanna have a baby but don’t have a husband. There’s these two kids in school, their mom did that. So they don’t know who their dad is, either.”
“Huh.” Quinn thought a moment. “I don’t know, but maybe. I’ll have to ask her.” Although if that was true, why didn’t Mom simply say that? Honestly.
They were both quiet for a moment before Jack said, “It sucks, not having my mom anymore,” and Quinn felt all squirmy inside, although she didn’t know why.
“I bet it does. I mean, I never knew my dad, so I can’t miss him, but my mom...I can’t imagine...” She couldn’t even finish the thought, it made her so sad. “I’m sorry. For you, I mean.” And she was, even if he did act like a know-it-all. Jack shrugged, and Quinn decided they needed to get off this subject. “Do you know Dr. Caldwell?”
He gave her a funny look. “Which one? The old one or the young one?”
“Young.”
Frowning, he picked up a stick that’d blown onto the dock and tossed it into the water and the dog jumped in after it. “Yeah. Why?”
“I think maybe my mother likes him. You know, like a boyfriend.”
Jack’s eyebrows got all bunched up. “Why are you telling me this?”
Quinn’s face got all hot. Because he had a point—why on earth was she talking about this? Especially to a complete stranger? Ohmigosh, Mom would kill her.
“I don’t know. Forget it, it was stupid—”
“Does he like her back?”
She turned to see Jack looking at her with this real strange expression. Huh. “I don’t know,” Quinn said, sighing. “It’s not like anybody tells me anything.”
“Tell me about it.” The stick clamped in his jaws, Bear swam toward the shore, climbed out, shook, then trotted back to lay the dripping stick on Jack’s lap. Jack threw it again, then curled his hands around the edge of the pier, watching the dog. “Dr. Ryder was supposed to marry my cousin.”
Quinn’s jaw nearly dropped off. Holy cannoli. “You’re kidding? What happened?”
“She died. In...in the same car crash that killed my mother.”
“Ohmigosh...” Feeling totally dumb and helpless, but mostly dumb, that she’d wanted to change the subject only she’d managed to bring it right back again, Quinn looked out over the water, shivering. Then, not knowing why, she reached for Jack’s hand. His head jerked around, looking all shocked and stuff, but he didn’t let go. At least not right away. And when he did, to throw the stick again, he said, “Um...you wanna come to my house sometime and play Mario Kart?”
“Sure. Okay,” she said, and he gave her a shy grin, making her feel like maybe she wasn’t so dumb, after all.
* * *
And what a fun two days this had been, Mel wearily mused as she dropped into a chair at the kitchen table with a mug of tea and her laptop after finally getting her daughter to bed. The hell that was sorting through Amelia’s closets, no word from Ryder and—the cherry on the sundae that was her life—Quinn’s little bombshell query a half hour before.
Yeah, it was gonna take more than a cup of tea to settle her nerves after that one, she thought, wincing as she scalded her tongue. As for Ryder...she could hardly fault him for wanting time to think things through. This was a big deal, after all. Like he said, paradigm shift. And the dude never had been given to paradigm shifting just because. Of course there was also the distinct possibility he’d realized he wasn’t that crazy. Which was fine. Really. She would, however, appreciate a head’s up sometime before she turned eighty.
April’s schlumping into the kitchen in a pair of baggy jammies distracted Mel from her self-torture enough to notice the adorable little frown lines marring that perfect brow. Frown lines that hadn’t been in evidence earlier.
“What’s up?”
Her cousin gave a short, slightly hysterical laugh. “The inspector was here this afternoon. While you were at the grocery store.” Her mouth pulled down at the corners. “There’s termites.”
“Seriously?” Mel glanced around as though the critters were lined up on the window ledges, smacking their lips, then back at April. “Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”
“Because I guess I needed time to process it all.”
“All?”
“The heating system has to be replaced, too. Along with the roof.”
“And thank you, Nana,” Mel mumbled, then reached over to rub her cousin’s shoulder. “You sure you want to take this on?”
That got a sigh. “At least I can afford to make the repairs. But the house’s condition is really going to impact the appraisal—”
“Which it would have, anyway, even if we’d decided to sell it as a fixer-upper. Right? No sense in you paying for the repairs and then buying us out.”
April smiled. “You’re too good to me.”
“And don’t you forget it.”
She laughed, then said, “But I really wanted to get the place up and running by Christmas, to take advantage of the Festival. Now...” She gave a tiny, defeated shrug.
“There’s always my idea,” Mel said.
April laughed—sort of—then shook her head. “And let the termites win? No way.”
Chuckling—and declining to point out that burning the house down would not be to the termites’ advantage—Mel got to her feet.
“Tea?”
“Please. And another slice of cheesecake.”
Mel put the kettle on, pulled what was left of the pumpkin cheesecake out of the fridge. Yes, it was a week old by now, but any cheesecake is better than no cheesecake. Like sex, the termites whispered in their evil little termite voices. “This mean you have to tent the house?”
“Not sure yet. Depends on what the exterminator says. So whatcha doing?” April said with a nod toward the laptop after Mel handed her the cheesecake—which she attacked like a starving locust. Or termite—and her tea.
“Job hunting. And you might want to be careful, eat that too fast and you’ll get the bends.”
“I’ll take my chances,” April muttered around a full mouth. “Ohmigosh—I know people who’d kill for this.”
“Not sure I’d want that on my conscience. And you’d serve cheesecake for breakfast?”
“No,” she said slowly, then canted her eyes to Mel. “But I would after dinner. Since once I realized how much money I’m going to have to sink into the place I figured I might as well go for broke and turn the place back into a full-fledged inn.” She lifted her fork to Mel. Staring. “With a full dinner menu.”
Mel stared back. “You couldn’t afford me.”
“Oh, but I could. And even you have to admit Quinn’s happy as a pig in slop here.”
“The kid’s on vacation, of course she’s happy here. And that’s blackmail.”
“No, this is blackmail,” April said, grabbing Mel’s laptop, clicking a few keys, then turning the computer back to her. On which, opened in a new window, gleamed a sixty-inch, six-burner, double-oven gas stove.
In pink.
Mel gaped at her cousin, who shrugged.
“I may be little, but I’m fierce. And your pupils are dilated.”
Mel blinked her pupils back to normal, then clicked away from all that gorgeousness before she weakened. “Quinn asked me tonight if her father was a sperm donor.”
Now it was April’s turn to gape. “Where on earth did she get that?”
“From Jack. Kid who lives a few houses down the road. Congressman’s kid.” At April’s sorry-not-computing look, Mel said, “His mother’s dead, which apparently led Quinn to share that she’s missing a father. So this Jack helpfully suggested maybe I’d gone to a
sperm bank, which is why I’ve never told her who he is.”
“Holy moly. Does Quinn even know what a sperm bank is?”
“She does now,” Mel said with a grimace that stretched even further when she added, “And I cannot tell you how tempting it was to just run with that hypothesis.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No,” she said, sighing heavily. “And then I changed the subject—”
“A skill at which you excel.”
“—which will buy me maybe five minutes, tops. But aside from that, get this—Jack’s mother and Deanna were cousins. They were killed in the same accident.”
Groaning, April sagged back in her chair, tapping her fork against her now empty plate for several highly annoying seconds before saying, “So...Quinn told me about how she stayed with Ryder’s father while you and Ryder went gallivanting around the countryside after the boat ride?”
“We weren’t gallivanting. Ryder had a house call and David plied my child with ice cream.”
“And you let her go?”
“I did,” Mel said, trying to concentrate on the Monster.com page in front of her. With scant success, since that frickin’ stove was now seared into her retinas and the make-out session with Ryder was seared into...other places.
“Oh, my word! Something happened, didn’t it? Between you and Ryder? And don’t you dare say ‘nothing,’ because your red cheeks do not lie.”
Mel met her cousin’s extremely amused, and equally annoying, gaze. “And this is your business, how?”
“I knew it! Oh, come on, Mel—take my mind off the termites. You wouldn’t deny a poor little old widow woman the chance to live vicariously, would you?”
“Nice try. But forget it.”
Her cousin’s eyes narrowed. “Blythe’s coming down tomorrow to show me the final drawings. And I’m not above siccing her on you.”
Mel weighed that for a moment, then said, “Fine. We kissed.” Understatement. “But it didn’t mean anything.” To one of us, anyway.
“And you’re blushing again.”
“Shut up—”
“So that was it? You just kissed?”
Mel waited a long time before saying. “For now,” yelping when itty-bitty April smacked her forearm.
“Get out! Y’all are gonna do the deed?”
“Maybe. And you are way too excited about this.”
“And you’re not? Mel!” April wagged her hands. “This is Ryder you’re talking about—!”
“Who’s still hung up on his fiancée. Remember?”
“Ohhh. Right.” She sighed. “Guess that puts a different spin on things.”
“You might say.”
“So you’d be fine with a fling?” This said with the kind of dubious expression one might employ for, say, someone who’d just suggested sledding down Everest. On a flattened cardboard box.
“You kidding? I’d be thrilled with a fling.”
“With anybody? Or with Ryder?”
“Yeesh, give me some credit.”
“Just checking.”
“Look, I totally get that Ry’s head and body aren’t in the same place. I know that, I’m good with that, even, but I’m not sure he is. You loved your husband—you understand, right, how hard this must be for him?”
Something flickered in April’s eyes before she wrapped her hand around Mel’s. “I understand how hard this is for you.”
“Me? I told you—”
“Frankly, if I was in your shoes, I don’t know that I wouldn’t do the same thing. But I also think you’re fooling yourself, if you think you can make love with Ryder and then walk away like it was nothing. That’s just not you, honey.”
Back to Monster. “And maybe I’ve changed.”
After a moment April got up to carry her plate to the sink and wash it. “Lying to me is one thing. But to yourself? That’s something else entirely.”
The doorbell dinged but forgot to dong. Lordamercy, was there anything in this house that didn’t have to be replaced?
Sighing, Mel tromped to the door. Opened it. Fell head first down the rabbit hole that was Ryder’s dark, conflicted gaze.
“I thought things through,” he said.
Chapter Eight
“You’re sure April’s okay with sitting?” Ryder asked over his break-dancing pulse as they parked the car by the nearly deserted marina.
“Of course,” Mel answered—as she’d done all three times he’d asked—even though Ryder hadn’t missed her cousin’s concerned gaze as they walked out the door. Yes, even though he’d also caught Mel’s mouthed, “I’ll be fine,” a moment before. “Quinn’s been dead asleep for an hour, at least. Kid’s down for the count until seven.”
Ryder got out of the car and was around to Mel’s side before she could open her own door, grabbing her hand and hauling her to her feet, the brisk breeze blowing her bangs off her face. Moonlight speared the pewter clouds, glancing off the motley assortment of small boats languidly bobbing in the night-black water as she smiled up at him.
“You’re shaking,” she said, her hand soft, warm against his face. “Look, we don’t have to—”
“I know. Except...I do.”
She took his hand and tugged him toward the boat, their footsteps too loud against the dock. Her suggestion, not his, as though she’d understood how hard it would have been for him to take her to the house.
He helped her on board, shivering from both the chill and the anticipation. But when she tried to hug him, he shook his head.
“Not yet.”
She sat beside him as he drove the cuddy out into the bay, to the group of islands they’d passed two days before, to moor at a private dock behind a house he knew had been vacant for months. Silence enveloped them, save for the gentle lapping of water against the boat’s hull, the occasional hoot of an owl.
“It’s gorgeous,” Mel whispered. “Perfect.”
Ryder cleared his throat. “I brought wine—”
“Don’t need wine. Thanks.”
“—and condoms.”
She chuckled. “Those, we can use.”
His heart jackhammering, Ryder led her into the tiny cabin, the ceiling too low for him to stand upright. He switched on a low light, a small heater, then tossed a cotton blanket across the puzzle of cushions that made up the sleeping area. Then he sat, as if not sure what came next.
Mel kneeled on the bed beside him, taking his face in her hands. “Hey,” she whispered. “No pressure. I’m fine with making out. Or sitting outside and admiring the scenery, whatever works for you—”
He silenced her with a kiss, easing her onto the bed, and she opened her mouth, inviting, making sweet little noises in her throat that made him crazy, made his eyes burn—
“It’s okay, touching’s allowed,” she whispered, and he slipped his hand underneath her hoodie, and she jerked, laughing. “Cold!”
“Sorry—”
“No, keep going, things’ll warm up soon enough...oh. Yes. Like that.”
He responded almost immediately.
Smiling, Mel pressed one hand to his chest. “So we’re good?”
When he nodded, she pushed herself up to toe off her Crocs, unzip her jeans, the rocking boat throwing her off balance as she wriggled free. On a startled laugh she grabbed the bulkhead and kicked the jeans behind her, then straddled him, pure devilment in her eyes, her grin, as she slowly unzipped her hoodie. At his undoubtedly stunned expression, she laughed.
“Worth the wait?”
“I’m a doctor, it’s not as if I haven’t seen...” Ryder swallowed, then laughed. “I’m speechless.”
“Good thing, then, this isn’t a debate,” Mel said, leaning closer—oh, man—to thread her fingers through his hair before j
oining their mouths, her kiss soft and teasing and making him feel like a rutting teenager. Especially when her nipples got cozy with his chest and every ounce of blood in his body roared south to its happy place, taking any vestige of control right along with it.
Annoyed with himself, Ryder clamped her shoulders in some lame attempt to separate them, except Mel planted her hands on either side of his head and locked their gazes. “Hey. This is my gift to you. Whatever you want, however you want it, I’m just along for the ride. And trust me, fast is not a problem—”
He was naked and sheathed and inside her within seconds.
So much for not wanting to rush things.
And yet, amazingly, she cried out before he did, her fingers digging into his bare shoulders as she spasmed underneath, around, through him, and he buried his face in her neck, so close, aching to be closer, vaguely aware of her breath coming in short little pants, hot in his ear, and she laced her ankles at the small of his back to pull him in harder and deeper until there was only pleasure, only this, bright and hot and blinding.
Tears stung as he drove into her, recklessly, relentlessly, startled when she came a second time, the pulsing finally driving him over an edge he’d shied away from for more than a year.
Afterwards they lay in the dim light, a tangle of sweaty limbs and racing hearts, the boat gently pitching beneath them, until Mel broke the silence with, “Feel better?”
Ryder expelled a short laugh. “I’ll let you know in a minute.” He looked over to see Mel’s eyes trained on his face, her expression unreadable, and shame slammed through the afterglow. His gut cramping, Ryder traced a knuckle down her cheek. “That wasn’t exactly finessed.”
“After a year? I should hardly think so.”
“You deserve better than that.”
“Oh, for the love of Mike...” Mel flopped onto her side, palming his chest. “Okay. I’ve got this cookie recipe that has like, I don’t know, twenty steps and twelve ingredients, takes all freaking afternoon to make. Granted, the end result is to die for. But sometimes I’m all about ripping open a bag of Betty Crocker mix, adding an egg and some butter, and boom—ten minutes later, cookies. And you know what? When you want those cookies, those cookies are every bit as satisfying as the ones that take forever.”
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