“I’m through talking to you today,” she said caustically, spinning around to head for the inn.
Jake had known she would probably be mad, thinking he had run out on her. He had hollered at her that he would be right back after taking the boat for a spin, but she was gone when he returned. That was why he had brought the boat around the inland waterway to the marina at Princetown. He had been hoping to catch her in town and apologize.
Now he grabbed her elbow as she walked away. “Wait.”
She glared at him over the top of her sunglasses. “Excuse me?”
He released her, holding both hands in the air. “Give me a chance to explain.” He paused before adding, “please?”
“Explain why you keep running away from me, or explain why you won’t go back to Chicago where you belong?”
He should have known this wouldn’t be easy. And he wasn’t about to give her the answer to the first part of her question. The fact was Cheyenne Tucker scared him shitless. Not physically because she was a petite woman, but more because of his reaction to her. He had had a few affairs in his time, and even one two year relationship, but no one had gotten under his skin as quickly as the fair executive secretary. He hadn’t seen her very often in Chicago. She had only been a fleeting, gossamer impression that rarely slipped into conscious thought.
Now, in the few days she had been on the island, she had invaded his dreams and all his waking hours. Although she kept trying to maintain a professional manner, he had begun to sense an underlying softness; especially after she had fallen off the dock and ended up in his clothes, her hair down and clean of makeup. She was tenacious, which he would have admired more if it wasn’t so closely connected to capturing him like a fugitive. What he sensed the most and what drew him to her was her passion. If she could be so dedicated and determined at her job, what might she be like on a more personal, intimate level?
Jake knew he wanted to find out and yet it would invariably complicate things. All this sped through his head like Flight of the Bumblebees before he was pulled from his musings as she turned away from him and began walking again.
It was then he noticed her outfit. Gone was the professional Miss Tucker. Her slender spine was visible between blue flowered bands of a crop top, and slim calves and ankles showed in the capris she wore. Not that he hadn’t seen her legs before, but the casual attire certainly made her more approachable. He would have to thank Lindsay, for he was sure this was her idea.
“You shouldn’t be following me,” she said without turning around. “I’m sure, even on Lockabee, there are laws against stalkers.”
He lengthened his stride and pulled abreast of her. “Is this better?”
She glanced at him but didn’t slow her pace. He took a second to admire her profile before offering her what she wanted.
“I’ll tell you what you want to know if you’ll have lunch with me.”
“It’s three in the afternoon. That’s too late for lunch.”
“Well, I haven’t eaten so…” He put a hand to the small of her back and gently guided her into the restaurant they were passing, which was Brenda Kay’s, his favorite place to eat. She didn’t resist, which he took as a good sign.
Brenda Kay came over to wait on them as he slid into a booth opposite Cheyenne. She was a nice looking, middle-aged woman and had a friendly, outgoing manner. Jake had liked her from the first time they met.
“Hello there, Jake. Ever get that boat of yours running? Harvey thinks he’s ready to go fishing.” Harvey, her husband, had health problems, which was one of the reasons they had retired and moved to the island. But Brenda liked to keep busy and hadn’t been content to garden, so had opened a restaurant.
“It puttered clear across the sound today,” he said. “Old Hank wants to fish, too. Maybe I should start a fishing service. Might be able to make myself some money.”
He heard Cheyenne give a choking sound and turned her way, narrowing his gaze. He didn’t think she would give him away, but you never knew what went on in a woman’s mind.
“This is Cheyenne, a…friend of mine. We’ll have the fish and chips.”
“Excuse me, but I think I can order for myself.” She turned to Brenda Kay. “May I see a menu, please?”
Brenda raised a brow at Jake as though wondering where he had found her. He grinned and winked.
“You must be a tourist,” Brenda Kay said as she pointed to a chalkboard above the bar, which contained only three items—hamburgers, barbeque ribs, and fish and chips.
Cheyenne sighed. “Fish and chips will be fine, and whatever light beer you have.”
Jake was sure the surprise showed on his face. He was beginning to understand that the woman sitting across from him was extremely complex, and thought it might be fun to try and unravel and peel away the layers.
To begin with, he couldn’t let her out drink him. “One for me, too, Brenda, but not the light.”
She didn’t say anything until their beers arrived. She took a sip, set it down and stared at him across the table. He had never realized how blue her eyes were; light in the center with dark rims. They were framed by dark lashes.
“Ok. You’ve got me here, now talk.”
“We keep having the same conversation. You tell me why you’re so dedicated to my uncle that you would fly half way across the country to find me.”
“It’s my job, and unlike some people, I take my responsibilities seriously.”
“I have always taken my responsibilities seriously; until I decided enough was enough. Everyone’s entitled to change jobs.”
She sat with her mouth pinched as a waitress brought their food and another round of beers.
“May I have silverware, please?”
“You don’t need it and we don’t have it,” the young girl said. “Nothing served requires it.”
“Are you serious?” She gingerly fingered the brown paper wrap which crinkled as she opened it.
“It soaks up the grease,” Jake told her. “Enjoy.” He tipped his beer bottle toward her in salute.
He bit into a piece of the crisply fried fish and watched her eye the battered fish and golden French fries. She probably never ate fried food. Finally with a sigh she picked delicately at the fish.
“It is flaky and tender,” she admitted.
“Brenda Kay’s is the best around.”
“Sans silverware,” she retorted with a laugh, picking up a piece of fish and finally eating. She licked her fingers free of tartar sauce.
Jake watched her tongue snake out and everything in him tightened.
“You’re not bad when you let your hair down,” he said.
She reached up to pat her bun to make sure it was still in place.
“That’s an expression,” he said, “although maybe you should.” He cocked his head to the side, studying her before reaching across the table and pulling the clip from her hair. Sunshine tumbled down around her shoulders.
She blushed prettily before ducking her head to concentrate on her meal. He continued watching her, somehow fascinated by her movements and the way her hair curled and swayed against her cheeks. His hands itched to touch it, wondering if it felt as soft as it looked. She finally raised her gaze back to his.
“Are you trying to distract me from the business at hand?” Her voice even sounded different, softer and somehow breathy.
There had often been times in Jake’s life when a simple incident or object had triggered a melody in his head that wouldn’t leave until he had spent hours, sometimes days, without sleep, composing. This was suddenly one of those times. Notes and rhythms hummed in his brain, building into a burst of music.
“I have to go,” he stated, downing the remains of his beer in a single swallow. He didn’t fear the music would fade and he wouldn’t be able to recapture it. Rather he couldn’t wait to write it down, play it out and see if it sounded as wonderful out loud as it did in his head.
“Again?” She scowled at him.
The
music had become almost frantic, and Jake didn’t want to argue with her.
“I’m not running away. I promise not to leave the island,” he said as he stood. “But there’s something I have to do that won’t wait.”
He dropped several bills on the table, more than enough to pay for their meal. “I’ll call you later, maybe come by.”
“You are not leaving until we…” The rest of her statement was lost as Jake hurried out of the restaurant and down to the marina, chords and counterpoint chasing him all the way.
Chapter 4
Cheyenne sat dumbfounded as Jake walked out of the restaurant. She had no idea what caused his sudden departure yet again, but she was growing tired of chasing after him. She should simply call Mr. Donovan and give him Jake’s location and be done with it.
Yet somewhere in the back of her mind, she sensed a disconnect between the two men. In the short time she had been pursuing Joseph Donovan, aka Jake Smith, he had become real, whereas before he had been a famous celebrity and somewhat unapproachable. Seeing him in a different environment made her more curious about the man behind the music. Since she had twenty-three more days before the deadline, she decided to bide her time and try to discover the truth.
“Your husband is hot,” the young waitress commented as she stopped at the table to collect Jake’s money.
“Hmm?” Her comment brought Cheyenne out of her revere. “Oh, he’s not my…you think he’s hot?”
The girl looked at her as though she were crazy, slid the money into her pocket and left. Cheyenne thought about the shaggy haired man who had just left. Even in cargo shorts and a tee shirt instead of a tuxedo, he exuded a masculinity that was hard to ignore. She thought about how her heart sped up whenever she was around him. Until now, she had thought it was because she was in awe of him and his talent, his family name and the whole mystic surrounding him. Now she wondered if it was something entirely different.
She brushed a lock of hair away from her cheek and automatically reached up to reposition the clip she wore but remembered Jake had removed it. Glancing across the table, she didn’t see it. Why would Jake have taken her clip?
Instead of returning to the Inn, Cheyenne strolled along the narrow street of Princetown and looked in shop windows. It wasn’t often she had the luxury of leisure time and felt somewhat guilty that she wasn’t working. In Chicago, she had her weekends off, but usually spent them doing laundry and reading. The first year she had been there, she had explored the city and seen all the major sites. She wasn’t much of a museum person, and had confined her wandering to the parks and what they called the Magnificent Mile. She had gone to Bloomingdale’s once, and while she wore designer suits and shoes, she refused to pay the exorbitant prices just to say something came from the exclusive store.
She stopped in front of a store, looking at the toys in the window. Her nephew was five now, and with an ache, Cheyenne realized how much she missed the little tyke. Laramie had married right out of high school and Cheyenne had been at her wedding, but had left for Chicago shortly thereafter. She’d gone back to Sweetwater, Texas, every year since when she had a vacation, but those short visits now seemed very far away. She ached for the sticky little kisses and hugs Sammy used to give her. There was something about a child’s innocence that pulled at her heart strings.
Impulsively, she entered the shop and looked around, wondering what a five year old liked in toys. She didn’t know much about children. The ones who came to the Academy or who had private lessons with Mr. Donovan were more like miniature adults than children. Perhaps because of their musical talent and the practice and recital requirements, she doubted they had much time to play as normal children did. Again she thought about Jake. She knew he had been a prodigy, and now wondered if his escape had not been an effort to have the play time he never had as a child.
When she saw small sailboats on a shelf, she thought that would be a fun gift. While Sweetwater didn’t have any lakes and was certainly not near the gulf, she thought Sammy might like it to play in the bath. After ringing up her purchase, the saleslady told her where the post office was located. Considering Jake had disappeared, Cheyenne figured she had plenty of time to go back to the Inn and write a short letter to her sister to include with the toy. Tomorrow would be soon enough to mail the present.
Early the next morning, Cheyenne called Lindsay but it would be close to noon before she could be picked up. Apparently the weekenders were arriving on the ferry and it was an extremely busy time for the taxis. Even though Cheyenne paid her well, she couldn’t blame the bicyclist for grabbing all the fares she could. After all, Cheyenne was rather a backup plan for when she wasn’t busy elsewhere.
She slipped into her new pink capris and floral top, pulled her hair back into a ponytail and left the Inn in search of the post office. She felt carefree in the casual clothes. It wasn’t that she never wore shorts or tees, but usually not out of the apartment. She had gotten so used to being professionally dressed for her job that even on weekends she usually wore dress slacks and blouses or sweaters. It had taken a long time to forget the hand-me-downs and patched clothes of her childhood and she had promised herself with her first paycheck that her clothing allowance would be the majority of her salary.
Lindsay called just as Cheyenne came out of the post office and agreed to pick her up in half an hour at the marina across the street. Cheyenne hadn’t paid much attention to the boat docks upon her arrival by ferry but now wandered along the sidewalk surveying the yachts and motorboats moored in various slips. One yacht even had what could only be a heliport on the very top. Cheyenne shook her head, unable to fathom the kind of money that must be had by various residents of the island.
“Hey, girl. Looking sharp.” Lindsay braked to a halt on the street next to the bench where Cheyenne had settled. “Where are we off to today?”
Cheyenne liked the cyclist, partly because of her casual attitude. She was friendly and put no store in appearances, as depicted by her ragged cutoffs, tank top and red hair pulled through the back of a ball cap. Today her rickshaw was a two row, four-seater and Cheyenne wondered how she managed to tote four people and luggage around.
“Do you have time for a trip to Crystal Bay?”
Lindsay grinned. “Off on a little rendezvous?”
Cheyenne knew Lindsay thought Jake and she had a fling going, and rather than explain the real reason she was here and Jake’s real identity, she decided to play along.
“Not yet, but there’s always hope.” The words caused a curious roll of her stomach and a skip of her heart. Surely she didn’t want anything romantic to happen with Jake, did she?
She wasn’t about to find out that day. When they got to the cottage, Cheyenne had Lindsay wait while she checked the house. The curtains were all closed so she couldn’t see in and the doors were locked. She walked around to the back and saw that the boat was at the dock. His jeep was nowhere to be seen, but that could mean he was anywhere on the island and Cheyenne wasn’t about to spend an entire day in the heat looking for him.
“Where is that place you said he goes to play the piano?” she asked Lindsay as she climbed back onto the seat.
“The Gold Pelican?” She started down the road.
“Take me there, would you?”
“Got it.”
She wouldn’t spend the entire day looking for him, but it wouldn’t hurt to check one or two of the places he frequented.
She let Lindsay go when they reached town, as the entire front street was only three blocks in length. She stepped into the Gold Pelican and stood a minute, letting her eyes adjust to the dim interior. No piano music greeted her, and although the place was almost full of people, not one of them was Jake. She approached the bartender.
“Has Jake been around?”
“Want a beer?” He answered her question with one of his own.
“No, I don’t want a beer. What is it with you people?”
He shrugged. “Gotta make a living.”
She waited to see if he would answer her question. When someone called from the other end of the bar, he turned and left. How rude, she thought, but then she had the thought he was a friend of Jake’s, so she shouldn’t have been surprised.
There was nothing left to do but return to the Inn. She visited with the hostess, Mrs. Godfrey, to insure she could keep her room another week. Surely by that time she could convince Jake to return to Chicago, if only to see what his uncle wanted.
When she got to her room, her computer light was blinking, indicating she had email. She hesitated before opening it, as she didn’t want to address any questions from Mr. Donovan and she certainly couldn’t lie. She was actually surprised that he hadn’t called her by this time.
The message was short and curt. “I assume I will hear from you soon. In the meantime, take care of business.” There were several attachments which included letters that needed answers, invoices that needed paid, and inquiries to be addressed. Cheyenne was slightly affronted by his attitude, even as she reminded herself that she was his executive assistant and it was her job to take care of business.
Wasn’t that what she was doing? She muttered as she kicked off her sandals and settled down to work. She didn’t realize how long she sat there until she glanced up and noticed the room was relatively dark. She switched on the lights and glanced at the clock. There was still no word from Jake, even though she had called several times. His phone went straight to voice mail, but she refused to leave a message. She didn’t want him to think she was groveling.
Deciding she was hungry, she grabbed her purse and went downstairs. The small parlor was full of chattering people, enjoying a glass of wine. She wasn’t a typically social person, and knew the residents were tourists, so they held little interest for her. They wouldn’t know where to find the illusive musician.
As she walked past the Gold Pelican, she heard music and popped in hoping Jake was at the piano. Unfortunately it was a woman playing some vaguely familiar tune that stuck in Cheyenne’s head as she walked further down the street. Princetown looked different in the twilight. There were no neon street lights but instead the buildings were outlined in strings of white lights and small old fashioned style lanterns were at the corners. The street was crowded with foot traffic as well as cyclists. Everyone was chatting in groups ranging from a couple to a half dozen or more. It made her feel rather lonely. She didn’t often go out by herself for that very reason and she almost turned back without eating but her stomach growled at the same time she caught a whiff of barbeque.
Prelude and Promises Page 4