Her words were quiet and hesitant and when he glanced her way, she would not meet his gaze.
It took Jake a minute or two to realize the problem. “You are not on duty, Cheyenne.” He deliberately used her given name to cut through the formality. “You’re just a woman and I’m just a guy.” Who wants to ask you out on a real date. The thought popped unbidden into his head and from her look, he was extremely glad he hadn’t spoken aloud.
“There is nothing ‘just a guy’ about you,” she said, but she did sit at the table so he proceeded to bring out lunch. “And that brings us back to the reason I’m here.”
He shook his head, pushing her plate toward her. “Food first. I for one know I’ll need the stamina for my defense.”
She looked down at her plate and he swore she blanched the color of a sheet. Using only her index finger and obviously not wanting to touch anything, she pushed it away.
“Are you allergic to cheese?” he asked. “Or gluten?”
She pinched her lips and shook her head.
“Then what?”
“I don’t eat macaroni and cheese.”
He raised a brow. “Ever?”
“Never.”
Who didn’t like mac and cheese?
“You have to try it. This isn’t the box variety. This is Mrs. Miller’s special recipe which includes a healthy portion of cream cheese and three varieties of hard cheese.”
From her expression, she wasn’t impressed. He changed tact. “Let me put it another way. Unless you try my culinary efforts, I will not even think about your reason for being here.”
Her shoulders slumped in defeat. “Why can’t you simply go back to Chicago and see what your uncle wants? It may be totally innocuous.”
“Because Uncle Sebastian never does anything without ulterior motives. So if he sent you, he wants something.”
“Yes. He wants you back in Chicago.”
He pushed her plate closer and raised a brow.
She gave him a disdainful look that in most cases would have caused Jake to back off, knowing his attention wasn’t reciprocated. In this case, it only made him more determined. He wasn’t at all sure why she interested him because she certainly wasn’t his usual type of female. Perhaps that was the reason.
He poured them each some wine and started eating, watching her out of the corner of his eye but not saying a word. She finally poked a single macaroni with her fork and lifted it to her lips. He wondered what she had against macaroni and cheese. Given her taste in clothes, she probably thought it beneath her.
She nibbled cautiously, then her eyes opened in surprise and she licked her lips before taking a full forkful. She ate over half of what he had put on her plate before pausing to sip her wine.
“There. Now you will please answer my question.”
“Which question?”
“Why did you say what you did on the dock? That no one should be like you?”
He put down his fork with a sigh. She had kept her part of the bargain so it was only fair that he do the same.
“You’ve no doubt heard about the worldwide competition called the Camelot.” At her nod, he continued. “The prize is a million dollars.” He watched her eyes widen, “Exactly. This is the year of the competition and I can promise you it’s why Uncle wants me back.”
“You’re gifted. Why wouldn’t you want to try and win such a prestigious award?”
“I already have. At eighteen and again at twenty-eight. That is what funds the Academy and all my uncle’s endeavors. I simply have no desire, or need, to try it again.”
While he had been talking she had finished off her mac and cheese.
“Is that why you left? You didn’t want to enter the competition?”
He put another scoop of pasta on her plate before answering. “That doesn’t even begin to touch on the problem. The music that once lightened my heart and fed my spirit has become a business, a profit and loss statement for my uncle. If I play ‘x’ number of performances a year for ‘y’ number of patrons, it will amount to ‘z’ income, minus the ‘a’ and ‘b’ of expenses and overhead.”
She looked confused.
“I don’t expect you to understand.”
“I understand,” she said as she got up and took her plate to the sink. “You have a gift you don’t want to use. I would like to mention that the majority of people in this world would not only envy you the gift but the money it allowed you to obtain.”
In a sense she was right, but he had come to the point in his life where he wanted to be an average, normal guy, responsible only for himself. He wanted to go out on a date without being recognized and interrupted. He wanted friends who liked him because he knew dirty jokes. He had found some of what he searched for here on Lockabee and he wasn’t ready to give it up.
“I’ll take you back to town now.”
Without a word, she went and gathered her clothes from the bath, emerging with them bundled in her arms. But he should have known she wasn’t going to give up.
“You must realize I’ll be back tomorrow. This conversation is not over.”
He grinned. “Would you like to spend the night to save the trouble of returning in the morning?” In their very short acquaintance, Jake now found the irresistible urge to tease the very proper and professional Miss Tucker. As predicted, she sputtered as she stomped past him.
“In your dreams!”
He held the door open for her, bowed at the waist and lifted his arm in a sweeping flourish. I can only hope, he murmured.
Chapter 3
Cheyenne remained quiet for the few minutes it took Joseph to drive her to town. She thought about his comments and how for some, the grass seem greener on the other side. Their conversation had allowed her a glimpse of the man inside the performer; a man who caused a tendril of desire to surface. At that point, she was glad he had offered to take her back to town. The small cottage was too intimate.
She turned slightly to observe him. His arms were brown from the sun, the muscles well defined as he gripped the steering wheel with hands that were rough and calloused, with a band-aid across two knuckles. His face, with its classic brows and nose and high cheek bones, should have been enough beauty for any one man, but no. Intense brown eyes drew you in, and God forbid if he smiled. His lips curved in the kind of sensual enticement no woman could resist.
Cheyenne turned back to the window. She had noticed all this, of course, when she first came to work for Mr. Donovan; she would have to be dead not to. But she refused to let his sexy smile and deep sultry voice lure her. He was her employee’s nephew and she wanted…needed her paycheck. Still, there were times when she wondered…
“Have you told my uncle where I am?” His question interrupted her thoughts, which was probably for the best. She glanced around, realizing he had parked in front of the Inn where she stayed.
“No. I don’t believe he really cares where you are. He simply wants you back in Chicago.”
“Did he give you a timeframe to find me and bring me back into the bosom of the family?” His voice was tinged with sarcasm.
“Three months, but I spent more than two of those trying to find a paper trail.”
“Why?”
Cheyenne couldn’t tell him her suspicions about Mr. Donovan’s health. It was up to his uncle. But she couldn’t lie, so she simply said, “That’s the deadline your uncle gave me.”
He tilted his head in contemplation. “So I have less than a month to consider.”
Her shoulders drooped. “Why can’t you just go now?”
He grinned, his eyes twinkling in the moonlight. “Because if I don’t go, you won’t go, will you?”
She narrowed her gaze.
“As I thought. So I have time to convince you that staying here on the island is better than living a life of duress in Chicago.”
“You have a duty to maintain the reputation and legacy of the Donovan name.”
Any signs of humor drained from his face, leaving his
mouth pinched and furrows across his brow. Without a word, he got out of the jeep and came around to her side where he opened the door. But when she tried to get out, he blocked her path, hands on the seat back and dash.
He bent close and practically growled, “I thought we were going to leave further discussions for another day, but since you seem enamored with the Donovan name, get this simple fact straight. My name is not Donovan. My real name is Jake Smith.”
She was sure her face showed her surprise, because as he stepped back, he said, “Look it up. February 12, 1998. Name changes aren’t closed records, even for minors.”
Leaving her standing barefoot on the boardwalk, clutching her ruined clothes, he jammed the vehicle into gear and drove off.
* * *
Cheyenne didn’t bother grabbing a glass of wine to take up to her room. Besides the fact she didn’t want anyone to see her in Joseph’s—Jake’s—clothes, she had some serious research to do. She quickly changed into her pajamas while her laptop booted up. She didn’t think about calling Mr. Donovan. It was too late in the evening, for one thing, but it also had to do with privacy. She had worked for the man all these years and never once had he mentioned that Joseph had been adopted, which no doubt meant he didn’t want anyone to know.
Two hours later, Cheyenne stretched her arms over her head and yawned loudly. It hadn’t been adoption but rather a custody issue she found after going through countless databases and combing archival issues of the Chicago Tribune. Sebastian Everhart Donovan had filed for custody of ten year old Jake Smith on February 12, 1998 and had legally changed his name to Joseph Everhart Donovan. Cheyenne thought that rather egotistical since he wasn’t the man’s son but it was the custody matter that intrigued her. She knew Joseph’s mother had been alive back then. (It would take a bit for her to think of him as Jake.) So why was Sebastian given custody?
She found her answer an hour later in a society column of the Tribune. Kathryn Donovan, renowned violinist, had apparently broken down during a rehearsal for the Chicago Symphony and had quietly been ensconced at an elite and very private sanitarium. There was nothing else in the archives, though Cheyenne had done numerous searches.
Everything she read only led to more questions and while she should feel just a little guilty over snooping into her employer’s life, she did not. After all, Jake had given her the initial information. If anything, she now felt some uneasiness over her brusque and unrepentant attitude toward Jake. She had the feeling there were reasons for his disappearance that she didn’t understand.
She still intended to persuade him to return to Chicago. After all, she was employed by the senior Donovan and that was her job. But she thought there might be a better approach to the whole affair than threats and coercion.
* * *
Cheyenne stopped to dump sand from her shoes once again and decided to carry them. She had worn low heels today, but the shoes were still open-toed sling backs and considering there was sand everywhere, she might as well be barefoot. After all, it wasn’t as though some Chicago Tribune reporter was following her around looking for photo ops. Besides, they would be more interested in a story about Jake, aka Joseph Donovan, than in her. Slipping her fingers through the shoes’ thin straps, she smoothed down her skirt and continued to walk across the sand, her gaze never leaving her prey, now not more than ten yards away.
When Lindsay had dropped her off at the cottage, muttering all kinds of innuendos about who she was seeing and what they were doing, she had deliberately bypassed the door and headed for the dock. Besides, she had heard the sputtering sounds of a motor and she didn’t want the man to get away from her. She had more questions than ever.
She stopped at the edge of the water, seriously contemplating dipping her feet into the cool blue. She glanced up to find his piercing brown gaze on her and decided it wouldn’t do for her to be anything but totally professional. Even if she was barefoot at the moment.
“I see you have removed your shoes, Miss Tucker.”
“I apologize for appearing so informal, but it’s extremely difficult to walk otherwise. And I couldn’t risk having you throw another pair in the water as fish food.”
He gave a short laugh and she was glad his humor was back. She had not particularly cared for the dark side he had shown her last night.
“You keep asking me why I don’t return to Chicago. Let me ask you a question.”
She inclined her head.
“What do you feel?” He nodded to her bare feet and she could feel her embarrassment rising.
“Sand,” she replied, her toes curling.
His gaze came back to hers, a sad and lonely look that poked at something in the region of her heart.
“And that is why.”
He pulled the cord on the motor once, twice, and when it roared to life he quickly flipped the mooring rope from the dock and slowly pulled away. His lips were moving but she couldn’t hear what he said as he effectively dismissed her with another abrupt departure.
She stood at the edge of the water for several minutes, having absolutely no idea what he had been talking about. She pulled her cell out of her skirt pocket and called Lindsay to come pick her up. While she waited, she waded.
She was still barefoot and sitting on the porch step when Lindsay returned to take her back to town. Her crisply tailored shirt was wilted and tendrils of hair had escaped from her clip to drift across her face as the breeze blew.
“Girl, we have got to get you some clothes and sandals, maybe even a hat.”
With a sigh, Cheyenne climbed onto the rickshaw seat. “I never intended to stay here very long, a few days at the most.”
“And you’re not leaving now because…?” She questioned as she steadily pedaled along the road. “Never mind,” she continued when Cheyenne didn’t immediately answer. “That hunk of a guy on the dock is changing your mind.”
“His name is…Jake Smith,” Cheyenne supplied.
“I know that. You can’t be new on the island without getting checked out by most of the locals. In his case, my girlfriends and I have spent quite a few nights at the Gold Pelican watching him play.”
“Play what, pool?”
Lindsay laughed. “He might do that, but I meant the piano. Cam has an old rinky-dink upright and I have to say Jake’s not bad. Not as good as Joseph Donovan, mind, but good enough to get some of the guys up and dancing.”
A prick of envy had Cheyenne wiggling in her seat and before she could stop herself, she asked, “Does he dance, too?”
“No, he just drinks beer and plays for the crowd. I think he makes pretty good tips on the weekends.” She turned to look over her shoulder. “It’s tourist season so most of us do.”
Cheyenne laughed, not so much at Lindsay’s bold hint about tipping but more to think that any tips at all would make a difference to Jake, who was worth millions.
When Lindsay stopped the rickshaw, Cheyenne realized they weren’t at the Inn but rather down the street a few blocks where the shops and restaurants were located.
“Come on. This is the place to get you some clothes.”
Cheyenne eyed the mannequins in the window display and hesitated. “I don’t need a bikini and cover-up,” she said.
“Well, you definitely need something more enticing than what you have been wearing if you want to lure Jake into being naughty and not running away from you every time you show up.”
“I do not want… he doesn’t…” Cheyenne sputtered.
Lindsay turned to her, hands on hips. “Didn’t he leave you sitting at the bar the other day? And again just an hour ago?”
“How can you possibly know that?”
“Honey, this isn’t Seattle or even Olympia. This is Lockabee, where everybody knows everybody and what they had for dinner last night.”
“All right, but as for the rest of what you said…”
Lindsay had dragged her into the store by this time and there were several customers milling around. She lowered her voic
e. “Cheyenne, he brought you home last night and you were wearing his clothes.” She raised a brow knowingly.
Cheyenne’s stomach dropped to her toes. If Mr. Donovan ever caught a whiff of scandal concerning her, and especially with his nephew…
“You can’t possibly think there was anything to that. You don’t know the circumstances, nobody knows that. Why would anyone start such gossip?”
“I told you, it’s Lockabee. Besides, most of the single women here, myself included, have tried to snag Jake’s interest and haven’t gotten to first base. So more power to you.” She held up a sundress in a splash of bright colors. “Here. This is you.”
Cheyenne had to admit the dress was pretty, if not something she could wear to work. And she was running out of clean clothes, even if she hadn’t fallen into the water in her best suit.
In little over an hour, Lindsay had picked out, and Cheyenne had tried on, what seemed like an entire wardrobe, including a comfortable pair of sandals and what Lindsay’d called deck shoes.
“Wear the capris and blue print top,” she said through the dressing room door. “Gotta take a call. Meet me out front.”
Cheyenne donned the dark blue capris and top, strapping the sandals on. The top was cropped right to her waist and had narrow bands across the back. With the heat, she was more comfortable, though certainly a lot more casual, given her usual professional appearance. And although she was technically working, she wasn’t in the formal offices of the Donovan Academy. Once she paid her bill and the clerk gave her two shopping bags, she looked for Lindsay outside. She was just hanging up her phone.
“I have to run,” she said, reaching for the bags. “I’ll drop these off at the Inn for you so you don’t have to carry them to lunch.”
“I wasn’t planning on lunch,” Cheyenne said.
Lindsay grinned. “You might want to change your mind.” She swung onto her bike. “Later.”
Cheyenne didn’t have time to reply before a voice behind her called her name. She turned to see Jake step up onto the boardwalk.
Prelude and Promises Page 3