by Skye Taylor
Margie shivered theatrically. “I’ve heard some of the ghosts that haunt that place aren’t really ghosts, if you know what I mean, and the state troopers have been called in to investigate. Maybe you should check with them before you start traipsing around over there. Will Cameron might be able to fill you in. He’s—” she broke off when a gentleman at the counter called to her.
Hearing Will’s name unexpectedly did funny things to Bree’s breathing. She tried to ignore it, and before she could ask why Will would know anything about intruders at the plantation, Tony jumped back into the conversation.
“I’ll ask Sheriff Nicholson,” he said as he tossed a few bills on the table and slid out of the booth. “He’ll know if there’s been any hanky-panky going on up there. But right now I’ve gotta get home, or my wife will think I’m hanging out at the bar instead of coming straight home from the meeting, and she’ll be sending Nicholson to fetch me.”
Bree gathered up her purse and slipped out of the booth. “I need to get home too. It’s a school night, and Sam needs to be in bed.” Sam had been left in Jake’s care to play with Molly and finish his homework while Bree and Zoe attended the specially scheduled meeting of the historical society.
Bob studied the bills Tony left, frowned, then added a couple more.
“Thanks, Margie,” Zoe called as they filed past the register and out the door.
Margie blew them all a kiss and turned back to her customer at the counter.
After Bob and Bree dropped Zoe off and picked Sam up, her son chattered all the way home about Molly and how he was learning sign language so he could talk to her. Bree was relieved for the reprieve Sam’s presence provided. Sooner or later, Bob was going to want an explanation for her reluctance to move their relationship forward. Trouble was, she didn’t understand it herself.
Less than two weeks ago she’d viewed Bob as a safe date. A man who wouldn’t break her heart even if she let him into her life. But something had changed. She wasn’t sure if the change was in Bob or in herself. She should never have asked him to help with the Pinewood Derby racer because her asking had apparently given him the wrong idea about where their relationship was going. Until their dinner at the country club he’d always been a perfect gentleman, never asking for or even hinting that he was impatient for more.
But all that had changed with the handing over of Sam’s derby kit.
Instead of dating casually now and then, Bob seemed to assume she was ready to take their relationship to the next level. He came on to her more aggressively when they were alone. He touched her way too intimately and kissed her when she didn’t want to be kissed. She didn’t think she’d led him on, but maybe she was wrong. Maybe his misunderstanding was all her fault.
Bob pulled into an empty spot in front of the apartment building and killed the engine. Sam sprang from the back seat like he was in a race to beat everyone to the door. Bree grabbed her purse and reached for the door handle, but Bob stopped her. Sam disappeared into the building, and Bob pulled Bree back toward the console.
“Nice kid, but he sure puts a kink in an evening that has already been pretty frustrating.” Bob laced his fingers into the hair cascading down Bree’s back and drew her face toward his.
Bree gave up fighting the inevitable and let Bob’s mouth descend on hers. She tried to muster up some level of passion, but when his tongue began probing her lips, she drew back.
“What’s wrong, Bree?” Bob let the back of his fingers skim over her jaw and down her neck to her collarbone.
“It’s late, Bob, and I have to get Sam into bed.” She clutched her purse between them like a shield.
“I get the feeling you’re not as excited about me as I am about you. I thought we were—”
“It’s too soon,” Bree freed herself from his embrace. “And I’m not ready.”
“You’ve been widowed for more than three years. How much longer do you need?” Bob sighed in frustration.
“I don’t know.”
“Is there someone else?”
Bree’s head jerked up. “No!”
Bob’s eyes narrowed. Then without warning, he put a hand on either side of her face and kissed her hard. When he let her go this time, her lips felt bruised. “Good. Patience I can do, but jealousy brings out the worst in me.” He reached past her and opened her door.
Bree slid out of the car and bent so she could see Bob’s face. “Are you still going with me Saturday?” Maybe it would be better if Bob said no.
“Do you still want me to?” There was a hard edge to his voice. Bob closed his eyes, and his jaw tensed. Then he relaxed and opened his eyes again. “I’m sorry. Of course I am. What time should I pick you up for this affair?”
The “affair” was an open house at Kett’s. Bree had asked Bob to be her escort because there really hadn’t been anyone else to ask. She should have opted to attend solo.
“Six thirty,” she told him as she backed away from the car.
“See you then.” He blew her a kiss.
She hurried up the steps and let herself into the building knowing he would not pull away from the curb until he knew she was safely inside. But then, as the taillights of his car faded into the night, she pressed her forehead to the glass, and his shattering question tumbled through her head.
Of course there was no one else.
So why did an overgrown Boy Scout spring to mind?
Chapter 7
BREE FINISHED putting a pair of dangly silver earrings on just as the door buzzer sounded. That would be Bob. She hurried out to the living room to the intercom and pressed the button giving him access to the building.
“You ready to head upstairs?” she called to her son, who was still in his bedroom doing who knew what. Will had offered to let Sam join him for pizza and movie night upstairs while Bree headed to Kett’s for the open house. Bree had a suspicion that it might have been Sam who had done the asking, but it was too convenient to pass up. Besides, it was to be a sleepover, so Bree wouldn’t have to worry about how late the event went.
She took one last look in the mirror by the door. Then Bob’s knock came.
“Hi,” she said a bit shyly as she swept the door open. After the way they’d parted three days ago, she wasn’t sure how tonight would play out. She liked Bob and didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but the friendship they’d started out with had begun to feel like something else. Something she didn’t think was right for her. That wasn’t really Bob’s fault. It was hers. And she was beginning to feel she had not been fair to him.
“Wow!” Bob stepped into the apartment and shut the door behind him. His gaze took in Bree’s low-cut evening gown, lingering over her breasts on the way back up. “Nice dress.” He held out a small box.
“What’s this?” She opened the box. Sam’s Pinewood Derby car sat inside, painted bright green and looking very glossy and speedy. “Wow! You did a nice job.” She lifted the little race car out and inspected it.
Sam came around the corner with his backpack over one shoulder.
“Look, Sam.” Bree held out the car. “Look what Mr. Cahill did for you.”
Sam glanced at the car, then at Bob, and finally back at Bree. “So, he made a car. What’s that to me?”
“Sam!” Bree was appalled at her son’s rudeness. “This is your Pinewood Derby racer. Tell Mr. Cahill thank you for helping with it.”
“That’s not my racer.” Sam’s mouth hardened into a flat line.
“But it is. I asked Mr. Cahill if he could help you with it.”
“He didn’t help me with it,” Sam said. “He did it all by himself. I didn’t get to do any of it.”
Bree looked helplessly from Sam to Bob, her heart plunging at her mistake. Sam was right. Bob hadn’t worked on it with Sam. But what was done, was done and couldn’t be und
one. She bent close and spoke firmly in Sam’s ear. “Mr. Cahill thought he was helping, and you need to say thank you, Sam.”
Sam glared at her, his jaw set.
“Sam.”
“Thank you,” Sam muttered in a barely audible voice.
“I didn’t hear you,” Bree prompted.
“Thank you for helping with my racer.” Sam turned back to Bree. “Now can I go?”
She nodded, feeling like a coward.
Sam dropped the racer back into the box and shoved the lid on. Then he dashed for the door and disappeared into the hall.
“I’m sorry,” Bree started to apologize.
Bob shrugged. “Don’t be. He’s just a kid.”
“But after all the time you spent. I—”
“If it earned me a night in your company, then it was worth it.” Bob slipped his arm around Bree’s waist and drew her close for a kiss. “You look fabulous.”
Bree kissed him back, trying to make up for Sam’s ungratefulness, but when things began to get a little too hot, she backed away. “We should be going.”
“We’ve got all night,” Bob said agreeably as he draped her wrap about her shoulders.
“HE DIDN’T EVEN let me pick out the color,” Sam pouted as he tossed a small box on Will’s kitchen counter.
Will lifted the cover off Sam’s box and peeked inside. “You don’t like green?”
“Green’s okay, but—”
“But what?”
“But it’s not my race car.”
“Then suppose you explain.” Will held the racer on the palm of his hand. The color was the least of Sam’s problems. This car would be lucky to make it to the end of the racetrack without the wheels falling off, never mind have a chance to win.
“It was supposed to be my car, and Mr. Cahill was just supposed to help me make it.”
Will couldn’t refute that. “Maybe he didn’t understand.”
“He never even asked.” Sam folded his arms and plopped his chin on top of them.
“I hope you said thank you.”
“I said it, but I didn’t mean it.”
“We can’t always feel the things we should, but at least you said the right thing.”
Will had no idea what he should be telling Sam. If it had been his project, he’d have been just as upset and probably just as reluctant to give any credit for good intentions. But he doubted Bree would want him to share that information with her son.
He was saved from getting any deeper into the quagmire by the door buzzer. He hit the intercom.
“Domino’s,” the disembodied voice announced.
Will pushed some bills across the counter. “Want to go answer the door and pay the man for our pizza?”
AFTER WILL HAD tucked Sam into the guest bed, it had taken only moments for the boy’s eyelids to drift shut. They’d watched two movies. Sam had barely made it through the second one, in spite of the edge-of-your-seat car chase at the end.
Will gathered up the remnants of their boys’ night of pizza and movies and carried the dirty dishes to the kitchen. He rinsed them and stacked them in the dishwasher, then grabbed a beer from the fridge and settled at the counter to study Sam’s racer and decide what he could do about it.
He couldn’t change the color without anyone being the wiser, but he could definitely tweak the axles, which were crooked and wobbled dangerously. Thankfully, Cahill hadn’t thought to paint the wheels, so they could be sanded smooth and maybe soaked in some furniture polish before he reattached them.
It needed weights, too. No telling how closely either Bree or Sam had studied the car, but if he drilled a hole in the underside of the car and dropped pennies in, chances were he could get away with it without getting found out.
Will hunted down his tools and got to work.
ST. THERESA’S fellowship hall hummed with activity. Pinewood Derby Day had arrived, and dozens of excited Cub Scouts chattered and made bets with each other as their fathers and den parents called each group of scouts forward and helped them place their racers behind the starting blocks. Three cars in each heat, the winners moving on to the second round and then semifinals.
Meg and Bree were manning the lunch counter, but Rick and Sam had assured them they would come get them when it was time for their races to begin.
“Man, this is crazy,” Meg said as she replenished the tray that had once been piled with jam and cream cheese sandwiches. Two of the scouts were allergic to peanuts, so peanuts in all forms had been banished from the menu. “Ever tasted one of these?” She held one out to Bree.
“I doubt I’d ever want to give up peanut butter, but these are surprisingly good.” She took the proffered sandwich and bit into it.
“Where’s Bob? I thought he was helping Sam with his car. I’d have thought he’d want to see how it raced,” Meg said before popping a sandwich bite into her own mouth.
“He’s coming later.” Bree tore into a new case of bottled water and started lining the bottles up on the counter. “He has a new client. A big shot. The guy insisted he needed to go over some stuff this morning. Bob doesn’t dare say no.”
“Ben would tell the entire police department to take a flying leap off the Cape Fear Memorial Bridge before he missed something as important to Rick as the Pinewood Derby.”
“Of course, he would. But then, Bob isn’t Sam’s dad.”
“True,” Meg agreed with a smile. “My boys are pretty lucky.”
Bree tried to picture Ed milling about in this crowd, eager to cheer Sam on. He would have, so long as there had been no deployment to take him away from home. “Ben is pretty special.”
Meg’s eyes searched the room until they found her husband. She smiled. “Yeah, he is. But Will is pretty special, too.” Meg looked pointedly at Bree.
Bree felt herself growing hot. “Sam certainly thinks so.”
“How serious are things between you and Bob?”
“I don’t . . . know,” Bree answered hesitantly. The change of subject caught her by surprise.
Meg turned to look directly at Bree. “What don’t you know? Whether things are serious or whether you want them to be?”
“If I want them to be. No. That’s not entirely honest. Bob wants to get serious. I don’t. But I’m not sure how to go about ending it. Lately, he’s been giving me the feeling I haven’t been fair with him.”
“Did you give him any reason to think you felt the same as he did?”
Bree shook her head. “We were friends. I thought.”
Meg snorted. “Most men don’t believe in friendship. Not unless it comes with benefits.” She went back to watching the crowd.
“Wisdom gained in the Marines?” Bree bit her lip and wondered how many friendships Meg had been offered over the years.
Meg was silent for a long while. Long enough for Bree to feel like she might have stepped over the boundaries of their relatively new relationship. But then she turned back to Bree. “Did you know I first met Ben when I was only fourteen? He was nineteen and all grown up. I was in love with him, and I couldn’t wait to grow up so I could be his girlfriend instead of just his friend. And he waited for me all those years. He was the best friend I had back then. Or now. But he’s not your average kind of guy.”
“Are you talking about me?” Ben appeared behind Meg and slipped an arm about her waist.
“Your ears must be burning.” Meg laughed and turned her head to look up at her husband.
Ben grinned, hugged her tighter, then looked over at Bree. “Sam sent me to tell you his race is next.”
“Thanks.” Bree turned and hurried out of the kitchen.
She worked her way to the front of the cheering crowd and found herself standing shoulder to shoulder with Will Cameron. Instantly, her pulse started racing. H
e was taller than she recalled. Or was it just because he was closer? He was big. Too big and too—too masculine. Too—damned attractive. She eased away to leave some breathing space and tried to get a grip.
Was he like his twin? Or more like Bob? Did Will believe in friendship between a man and a woman? Simple friendship she could be comfortable with. Especially if he became any more important in Sam’s life than he already was.
“Watch, Mom!” Sam caught her attention. He reached up and placed his bright green racer on the track, then hopped from foot to foot waiting for the start. As soon as the gate lifted, Sam ran along the side shouting encouragement to his car. For the first several yards, the three cars were neck and neck, but as the flat straightaway began, Sam’s car edged into the lead. Slowly over the remaining feet, it pulled ahead and crossed the finish line in first place. Sam scooped it up with a shout of delight.
“I won. Mom. Did you see? I won. It went faster than Flash.” Sam held his car aloft and swooped it around in a triumphant circle. Then he noticed Will. “I won, Mr. Cameron. Did you see?”
“I did indeed, sport. But don’t get too cocky. That was just the first round.”
Sam crowed with glee and disappeared into the crowd.
“Somehow I didn’t think his racer was going to do all that well,” Bree said, still doing her best to ignore her runaway pulse. She took another step away from Will’s suddenly overpowering presence. Was friendship even possible for her with a man like Will?
“Guess you can’t judge a book by its cover.” Will’s gaze traveled down over her pink breast cancer T-shirt and skinny jeans and the frilly flowered apron that someone had insisted on tying about her waist when she arrived to work at the lunch counter. “Somehow, I never would have guessed you for the apron type either.”
His soft, southern voice sent a shiver rippling through her. Years before when her family had first moved to Wilmington, North Carolina, from Virginia Beach, Virginia, she’d thought that smooth drawl was terribly sexy, but she’d gotten used to it and barely noticed anymore. Until now.