by Skye Taylor
“You can save me from”—he leaned close to whisper in Bree’s ear—“the man-eating dragon.”
“Save you from—?” The subtly seductive scent of Will’s cologne made her forget what she was asking. Cedar and leather and God only knew what else. It flirted with her pulses and made her want to be even closer to the source.
Will lifted his chin in the direction of a woman in a clingy electric blue dress who was clicking noisily between the tables on four-inch heels.
“She eats dragons?” Bree whispered back.
“Only men. She’s the dragon. She had a thing for Ben while Meg was away, but Ben managed to stay clear of her. Now she’s got her sights set on me. At least some of the time. She’s not an exclusive sort of woman.”
Bree studied the woman as she prowled through the group. She’d seen her before but couldn’t recall where. With that mane of reddish-blond hair paired with emerald green eyes and a figure any woman would die for, Bree would have thought her a nice catch for any bachelor.
“And you’re not interested?” How could he not be?
Will shook his head. “I’ve known her since high school. She’s a looker, I won’t deny that, but she’s a siren, and she destroys men. Even married ones. She’s got a nephew in my den. I suspect that’s what brought her here tonight, but she’d use any excuse to corner me if she could. So—” He let his arm drop from the back of Bree’s chair onto her shoulders and drew her against his side. He swooped in and gave her a brief kiss. “I’m counting on you to protect me.”
Bree’s lips tingled, and her heart raced. She could barely catch her breath. Then he winked.
And who is going to protect me from you?
Chapter 11
WHEN ZOE ARRIVED at Bree’s apartment for the historical society committee meeting, she suggested they move it out to the picnic tables behind the building. The unusually warm streak of days lingered, so it would be a shame to waste even one of them inside. Bree’s balcony wasn’t big enough to accommodate more than a couple people, so Bree agreed. She texted the two men to let them know she and Zoe would be out back.
Bob arrived with Tony and a box of donuts. They came around the corner, Tony kicking through the scattering of magnolia leaves like a kid, Bob with confident strides that said he had no time to waste playing.
Not knowing how Bob was going to behave since their strained conversation the day of the Pinewood Derby, Bree held her breath as the men approached the picnic table under the magnolia tree. To her relief, Bob acted as if there had never been anything between them beyond their commitment to the restoration of the Jolee Plantation.
Zoe poured them both a tall glass of sweet tea while Tony spread out the sketches he’d made up.
“I thought we were all going to go over to the Jolee Plantation and take a lot of photos before we started making plans,” Bree said, feeling like the men had deliberately left the women out of it.
Tony looked up abashed. “Oops. Sorry. I thought you two were going to interview Emmy Lou Davis and get all the ghost stories collected while we did the reconnaissance.”
“Emmy Lou’s been out of town visiting her niece in Colorado, so we haven’t been able to talk to her yet,” Zoe said.
“Did you take photos?” Bree asked.
“A few.” Bob slipped his phone out of his pants pocket, brought up his photo album, and offered it to Bree.
Bree scrolled through the pictures. There were only a dozen photos. None of the derelict slave quarters. Only two of the front of the main house and one each of the other out buildings. You’d think he was paying for film and processing! She handed the phone to Zoe.
When Zoe was done, Tony took the phone and scrolled to a photo of the big barn, which he held out for the two women to see. “This building is probably not worth saving.” He scrolled again. “Or these, but . . .” This time he reviewed all the photos a couple times before frowning and handing the phone back to Bob. “How come you didn’t take any of the slave quarters?”
Bob shrugged. “They all looked like ruins to me. Just partial walls, no roofs, no windows, or anything.”
“There were never any windows,” Tony said. “And the roofs can be rebuilt once we shore up the walls.” He pushed the drawings toward the women and began explaining what he thought could or should be done.
Remembering that she was supposed to be taking notes, Bree got busy with the notebook and pen she’d brought down with her. The more Tony outlined of his plan, the more exciting the project became. Bree scribbled faster to keep up.
Once they all agreed on the proposed renovations, the topic of fund-raising got under way. Thankfully, that was not Bree’s job. The last thing she ever wanted to do was go begging for money. It would be hard enough begging for people to do the work. It would probably take at least a year to raise enough capital to even get started.
Zoe reported that Jake was willing to take on some of the actual construction part of the project in his free time, and he thought some of his men would be willing to put in some hours as well. But he was not an expert in old historic buildings, and he wanted to consult someone who was before he did anything. So there would be a consulting fee to raise along with the costs of supplies, permits, and bringing the place up to code with the electric, plumbing, and handicap accessibility.
By the time the meeting adjourned, Bree had several pages of notes and made a promise to visit Emmy Lou and record all the stories she knew about the property. Zoe volunteered to create a Facebook page for the project and start a blog to report progress for those who made donations and wanted to stay in the know. Tony accepted the mantle of chief beggar, and Bob was to assist. Until they had the funds, nothing else was really needed.
After the men left, Zoe gathered her belongings and got ready to leave. “You need help with getting any of that stuff back upstairs?” She nodded at the tea and donuts.
Bree hugged her friend. “I think I’ll just stay out here for a while longer. Don’t worry about this stuff. I can manage.”
With one last hug, Zoe headed toward her car. Bree returned to her notes and began adding comments in the margins. She could type them up on the computer later, but if she didn’t jot her ideas down now, she’d forget half of them.
Emmy Lou wasn’t due home for another week, but in the meantime, there was no reason she couldn’t go over to the Jolee property and take a look around for herself and take lots of photos. Zoe could use some for the blog and for posting to Facebook. Besides, the few Bob had taken were just not enough.
“Mom! What are you doing down there?”
Bree looked up to see her son hanging over the railing of their little balcony. Sam was home from scouts sooner than she had expected.
“I’ll be right up.”
Quickly, she gathered up her notes, the box of donuts, and the pitcher of tea. Then she had to juggle the glasses, which promptly flew out of her hands and scattered across the lawn.
“Let me.” Will’s deep voice shot a jolt of pleasure through Bree. Where had he come from?
Quickly Will gathered up the rest of the glasses and held his hand out to take the pitcher from her as well.
“You want these?” Bree shoved the box of uneaten donuts toward him instead. “Cops like donuts, right?”
“That’s the rumor,” Will chuckled as he accepted the box.
She headed for the back entrance to the apartment building, but Will beat her to it and had the code punched in and the door open for her. As she passed by him, that faint but intoxicating combination of cedar, leather, and musk caught her unprepared and stirred her pulses just as it had the night of the banquet. If Anne Royko was a siren, this man was the male equivalent. She crossed the rear lobby to the elevator.
Will was ahead of her again and pushed the button to summon the elevator. Once inside, Bree leaned
against the rear wall in the far corner while Will stood, legs spread in the center of the car. The sight of all that alpha male confidence did a number on her senses. It made her want things she hadn’t yearned for since Ed died. And the power of that yearning scared her.
It’s just lust, and it’s just because it’s been too long. Get your mind out of the gutter. Bree stared at the red numbers above the elevator door, willing the number two to appear. Seemed like this car moved slower every day.
When they stepped out of the elevator, Sam was grinning broadly from the open door of their apartment. “Mom!” He hurried toward her. “Can I go to the beach with Mr. Cameron tomorrow? Please? I really want to go. Rick’s going too. Please, Mom?”
Bree looked from her son’s pleading face to Will. “Are you sure?”
Before Will could respond, Sam plopped something made of brown paper on top of the notebook in her hands. “Look, Mom. We made these in scouts today. We tried to fly them in the parking lot, but there wasn’t enough wind. That’s why we want to go to the beach tomorrow. Mr. Cameron says kites fly really good on the beach ’cause there’s always wind.”
“Don’t you have better things to do with your weekend than spend all of it with kids?” Surely the man had at least a dozen activities he’d rather be doing. According to Zoe he liked kiteboarding. A far cry from flying paper kites.
“I like kids.”
Zoe’s comment that Will was often accused of being an overgrown kid hovered in Bree’s mind. Last weekend it was the zip line. Now kites at the beach? What next?
“Actually, we’re killing two birds with one stone. Ben wants to take a couple of his service dog trainees and give them a workout in paying attention to business in spite of distractions. So, the boys get to fly kites while the dogs learn how to do their job even when there are more interesting things going on around them. Mom and Dad invited us to have lunch at their place, so we probably won’t get back until just before dinnertime.”
“Rick says his grampa built a fort we can play in, too.” Sam hopped eagerly from one foot to the other, awaiting her reply.
Bree hesitated. Letting her son go to the beach without her to keep an eye on him was not in her nature. But he’d been safe with Will while fishing, and letting him go would free up her afternoon to go take those photos she wanted. An entire afternoon to poke about the old Jolee ruins, taking all the photos she wanted without Sam fretting to do something more interesting was tempting.
“Are you sure?” she repeated her earlier question.
Will smiled, his dimple creasing his tanned face, making him look absurdly boyish and at the same time devastatingly masculine. It made Bree’s insides quiver with the same heady anticipation everything else about him did.
Heaven help me.
“What was that?” Will’s eyebrows rose toward his hairline.
Good grief. Had she really said that aloud?
Both Sam and Will watched her with almost identical expressions of entreaty.
“Okay, you can go,” she addressed her son. “But you need to listen to Mr. Cameron and do everything he says. When he says it, not when you get around to it.”
Sam hugged her hard. “Can I call Rick and tell him?”
Bree nodded, and Sam disappeared into the apartment.
“What time are you planning to go?” Bree asked Will over her shoulder as she followed her son.
“After church. Tomorrow will be Rick’s first Sunday serving on the altar, but it’s the ten thirty mass so right after that.” Will set the stack of glasses and pitcher of sweet tea on the counter.
“By the way. I’ve been meaning to ask you something.” He turned to face her. “Mr. Cameron seems like a mouthful all the time. Once a week at den meetings it’s not so bad but . . .” He trailed off, looking a little uncomfortable.
“Don’t they call you Mr. Cameron at work?” Bree had reacted to Mrs. Reagan with the thought that people were referring to her mother-in-law for several years before she got comfortable with the formality, but it didn’t seem like it would be the same for men. They were Mister whoever all their lives.
One side of Will’s expressive mouth drew up in a half-smile. “Not so much. Troop, Trooper, or Cameron mostly. Everywhere else I’m just Will. If it’s okay with you, I’d feel comfortable having Sam call me that, too.”
Bree shrugged. “I guess. I mean, so long as he doesn’t get disrespectful. Or Uncle Will, maybe? I know you’re not really an uncle, but some kind of honorific would seem—”
“I think just Will would be better. I had a chat with Sam the day he went to help clean out my old apartment. He wanted to learn sign language so he would be able to talk to Molly when she gets old enough. It’s one of the electives in their scout book, so I suggested maybe Rick could learn it too since he was Molly’s cousin. Sam got upset with the idea.”
“But Rick is his best friend,” Bree broke in.
“Sam told me you and Zoe told him that Zoe is his special aunt on account of your friendship, so he’s decided that Molly is his special cousin. I didn’t know if Sam had any real cousins or not, but he seemed pretty upset that Rick might cut in on something he wanted to have all to himself with Molly.”
“I didn’t know . . .” The idea that Sam felt left out was new to Bree. Sam had never said anything to her. But he’d felt comfortable enough to tell Will? A niggling jealousy tugged at her heart. Of course Will had been Sam’s den father for months now. Maybe it was normal for that level of confidence to develop between guys even separated by a generation in age.
“I don’t think even Sam realized how he felt. It was just the way he reacted to my suggestion. Anyway, if he called me Uncle Will, it would be the same as Rick. I think he’d be happier if it was just Will.”
And the rapidly growing dependency would be that much stronger, leaving Sam even more unprepared when Will moved on. But Bree couldn’t think of a way to say that without insulting Will or hurting his feelings.
“You can think about it if you want,” Will offered as he moved toward the door.
“I don’t need to think. But if he gets too casual and stops being properly respectful—”
“I don’t see that happening. You’ve done a tremendous job raising him. He’s the nicest scout in the den. Don’t tell Ben or Meg I said that though. I’ll deny it completely.” Will grinned.
“I’ve been meaning to thank you,” Bree said, laying a hand on Will’s forearm when he would have opened her front door to leave. The warmth of his skin under her fingers made the gesture seem suddenly too forward. Too personal. She took her hand away. “I meant to say something at the banquet, but I got sidetracked.”
“For what? I haven’t done anything yet.”
“For the ring you gave Sam. I’m surprised you didn’t save it for—for—” Bree floundered. Will wasn’t married. Wasn’t even dating anyone or engaged so far as she knew. Maybe he planned to be an unattached bachelor all his life.
The teasing grin slipped off Will’s face and was replaced with one far more serious than Bree had seen on him before. “I found it when I was hunting for something else. I was surprised I still had it. But right away I thought of Sam, and I wanted him to have it. My godfather gave it to me. He was a special person in my life, and I treasured the ring because it was his when he was little. I hoped Sam would too.”
Bree suddenly felt like crying but wasn’t sure why. She stared at the buttons on Will’s shirt, then found the courage to look up into Will’s kind blue gaze. “Sam thinks you’re pretty special, and he treasures the ring. Probably more than you know. Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” Will mumbled, looking touched. He turned the handle and opened her front door. “See you after church? Or do you want to ride to church with me?”
Sam came bounding back into the living room. “Rick
says we’re going to help his dad train two of the dogs.”
Will squatted down to Sam’s height. “I know you know the Cub Scout motto, but do you remember what the Boy Scout motto is?”
“Yeah! It’s ‘Be Prepared,’” Sam replied eagerly.
“Good. So tomorrow you need to be prepared, so we can get going as soon as we get home from church. You need to remember a warm sweatshirt or a jacket, and don’t forget a hat. And maybe an extra pair of sneakers and socks in case you get your feet wet.” Will looked up at Bree. “Sometimes there are puddles in the fort when it’s been raining like yesterday.” He looked back to Sam. “And what else will you need to have ready to go?”
“My kite?”
“Anything else?”
Sam frowned, trying to guess what Will wanted him to remember.
“Water. We always take drinking water with us. Right?”
Sam smiled. “Right.”
“List everything again?” Will prompted.
“Water.” Sam started holding up fingers. “A jacket, a hat, extra shoes and socks and . . . and my kite,” he finished with a big smile.
Will stood.
“See you after church,” Bree said before Will could offer a ride to church a second time.
“See you tomorrow, sport.” Will saluted Sam and went out.
Sport and Will. Sam was going to be so hurt when Will eventually moved on. Unless Zoe was right about Will hanging in for the long haul.
THE SUN FELT hot out of the breeze, so Bree removed the windbreaker she’d put on for her afternoon photography session and tossed it back into the car.
She’d been to the Jolee Plantation before. But not since the historical society had met there shortly after the property had been turned over to the town. This was the first time she’d been here all by herself, feeling free to explore everything at her own speed, and she was eager to get going.