Will nodded, leaning back slightly. He placed his cell phone, car keys, and loose change on the side table that split the kitchen area and living room. “What can I do to help?” He squirted dish soap into his hands and scrubbed them under the kitchen faucet.
“I’ve got it all under control,” Pops assured him. “I’m going to pick a few red peppers, then slip down to the dock and check on my crab traps.”
Will noticed the large pot of water on the stove. “I’ll go check the traps.”
“No, I have a certain order I do it in.” Pops winked. “You’d probably mess up my system.”
“Probably.” Pops did a lot of the housework. Will was constantly trying to help out, but he’d noticed how much more content the older man was when he was contributing like this. “So what should I do?”
“Why don’t you go upstairs and change, and sit and read that novel I bought you.” His eyes twinkled. Will used to love to read fiction, but over the years it had slipped away from him.
Why Pops felt it was important to become reacquainted with it, Will couldn’t fathom. When he took time to read for pleasure these days, he liked books on self-help. The Power of Positive Words in Business and How to Grow Your Field of Influence—these were the titles he preferred, not an adventure book about modern-day pirates on the high seas. But if it pleased Pops, he’d read the thing. “Sounds good.”
Pops faced him, smiling and nodding. “I’ll holler when dinner’s ready.”
“Okay, if you’re sure,” he said, as if he needed a little more convincing, “I mean, I feel guilty sitting and reading while you’re down here working so hard.”
Pops beamed. “You’ve worked hard all day. I’m just throwing dinner together.” He brushed a hand through the air dismissively, but couldn’t disguise his pleasure.
Will watched him leave through the back door, humming and swinging the crab bucket. What would he ever do without Pops? Will grabbed a bottle of ice-cold water and started up the stairs. After all, he had an exciting high-adventure pirate novel waiting for him.
Adrienne hated admitting it, but she’d driven by the house twice since last week, when she was so rudely dismissed by Will Bryant, bank boy. She paused in front of the home, with her heart picking up beats. An admirable garden stretched alongside. Her vantage point gave her a good view, so she admired it, hoping to kick up the courage to go to the door again.
The garden was full and lush and reminded her of the one she had in Chicago, but on a much grander scale. It was anchored by a picket fence that enclosed it in priceless oasis fashion. Tall stalks of a variety of vegetables reached toward the sky. Dots of red, gold, yellow, and purple were visible from under their protective leaves. She tried to count the number of different types of vegetables, but couldn’t. There were raised boxes of herbs and ground cover plants, birdbaths, and benches. And the whole thing looked like something you might see in the French countryside. Even from her car she could smell the mint that nestled in one corner.
The scent brought back memories of Chicago—good memories for a change. There were a few things she missed about the Windy City. Her garden topped the list. Then, of course, the museums. She could sit for hours and watch history collide with the present—schoolchildren strolling through the Middle Ages, young couples in love admiring the raw diamonds. Her parents had come to visit her one spring. What had her father said about museums? Oh, yes, God’s family photo album.
She’d left a few friends in the city as well. But no really close friends. Eric had discouraged her from getting too close to anyone. And the friends she’d left behind would probably have little to nothing in common with her now. The circle of five girls that got together once a week for lunch spent their time discussing what was happening in town, the new theater shows, who had gotten the best deal on a Prada bag or Chanel dress, where the new sushi bar was opening. Adrienne’s gaze drifted down over her T-shirt and jeans. If they could see me now. It was strange that she didn’t miss them more. But she did miss her garden.
She continued to admire the beautifully landscaped, custom wooden boxes of herbs, flowers, and the greenery. She might be able to build a smaller version.
That’s when she saw him.
Fifty yards beyond the garden on the dock stood a man just about the age she was looking for. She threw the car into park and shaded her eyes with her hand. The evening mist came with the low sun, sneaking up the end of the pier and almost encasing him. It was like a painting, a masterpiece half hidden in the mist’s shadow. But the man. He alone was what caused her heart to stop. In what seemed like slow motion, he worked, dragging something up out of the water. Hand over hand, he tugged a drenched rope.
As if he sensed being watched, he turned just enough for her to catch his profile. He was taller than she’d imagined and extremely fit for a man who’d seen so many decades. He worked the rope into a circle on the dock, where little droplets of water pooled on the wooden planks; the motion caused him to face her.
Her fingers shook and something dropped into the pit of her stomach. On shaky legs, Adrienne left the safety of her car. Without thinking about it, or what she might say, or anything, her feet carried her toward him. Past the house, past the vegetable garden with its sharp scent of herbs and earth. She didn’t care that she was trespassing. She walked to the edge of the pier, barely noticing the luxurious boat moored there, for her gaze stayed fixed on William.
He pulled in what looked to her like some kind of trap, seemingly unaware that she was standing there as he dropped the trap’s contents into a bucket and hoisted the container. He turned fully, as if to head home, but jolted when he saw her. Adrienne’s hand flew into her pocket where the photo lay. She stared at it, then back at him. The decay of time had taken its toll, but there was no denying the strong chin, structured features, and high brow.
William.
A friendly smile animated his face. “Evening, young lady. How can I help you?”
This was it. It was him. “I believe I’m looking for you. William Bryant.” There was more answer than question as his name rolled off her tongue. More star-struck wonder than she would have thought.
Kind eyes searched her face, a hint of a frown deepening the lines between his brows. “Do we know each other? I’m sorry, I don’t recognize you.”
“I recognize you.” She reached into her pocket and held the photo out to him. “But not from your picture. From the letters.”
Ever so slowly he took the photo from her. She watched sixty years of memories flood him, and for an instant, Adrienne was sure her coming was a mistake.
He sat the bucket down gently. Angry crabs bumped and knocked at the sides as he gazed upon his past. Beyond them, the boat rocked, canal water slapping against it. Crickets were beginning their nightly song, their sound intensifying as night fell. Finally, he spoke. “You said you recognized me from my letters?”
She nodded and was struck with the very real possibility that he would have no interest in talking to her. A wave of anxiety washed over. Maybe he would want to retrieve the letters and bid her good-bye.
Of course, that was supposed to be okay. But now that she was here, face to face, the idea of leaving without having even one conversation with this man scared her.
Tender blue eyes, watery from age, studied her as if he read her thoughts. “I think we must have a lot to talk about.”
Adrienne sighed relief.
He motioned in front of them toward his back door, just up a slight hill from the pier. As the fog closed in and drained color from the surrounding world, they made their way to the back of the house, with William pressing a hand against his left knee with each step.
They reached the back porch, but Adrienne paused in hesitation, recalling the conversation only a week before with the other William Bryant.
“Something wrong, dear?” He pulled the door open.
“Yes,” she said quietly. “Last week I knocked on the front door. The man there was less than forthcomin
g about your whereabouts.”
He frowned for a quick second. “That’s Will, my grandson. He’s got a heart of gold but tends to be a little overprotective.”
Heart of gold, yeah, right. “Well, I don’t think he’ll be happy I’m here. He was pretty quick to get rid of me.”
“Nonsense.” He shooed her into the kitchen while crabs smacked the sides of the bucket. “We can talk while I fix dinner. Would that be okay?”
“Um, yes.” Adrienne raised and dropped her hands. “That would be fine.”
They went inside, and he reached for a stack of newspapers and handed some to Adrienne. She copied him, spreading the papers across the kitchen table, noticing the difference between her hands—smooth and with fingertips tinted by wood stain, and his—wrinkled and age-spotted, with swollen, arthritic knuckles. Somehow, he managed an air of strength despite the obvious frailty.
She couldn’t believe she was here. With him. With William. The same man who had invaded Normandy. The same man who had nearly frozen and starved at Bastogne. The man who never gave up. But the most remarkable thing about it—he was everything she’d imagined. Men like him really did exist. Even if they were from generations ago.
They were laughing when Will neared the room. He peeked from the living room around the kitchen door to find her and Pops sitting at the table. Her long dark hair shone everywhere the light hit it. Her voice was sultry as it slipped out of that soft, generous mouth. There was a scent of citrus and flowers surrounding her, and if it hadn’t been for the pungent aroma of fresh crab, it might have been disarming. Will rubbed a hand over his face, shook his head to clear it, and glanced around the room, trying to erase the vision of the woman he’d met last week. Fat chance. He’d thought about her often in the last seven days. Even caught himself glancing up at work occasionally when he caught a glimpse of dark hair. Ridiculous. Just as ridiculous as her showing up to inquire about his grandfather. Again.
He pulled a breath and stepped fully into the room. The veggies had been chopped and arranged into a salad; the crab had been cleaned and boiled; and now she and Pops sat at the table, breaking open crab legs and removing the meat.
She hadn’t knocked on the door this time. Nope, she must have stalked Pops outside. Great. Will was pretty sure his grandfather had already invited her to stay for dinner—fresh crab salad was one of his specialties. Besides, that’s just the kind of man Pops was, gracious and ever so trusting.
Will, on the other hand, glared at her accusingly. “I thought I heard voices,” he said as he stopped where he could tower over them.
“Will, this is Adrienne Carter.” Pops used his elbow to shove a chair out so Will could sit. “She lives in Bonita Springs.”
Will nodded but didn’t sit down. He’d traded his work attire for old jeans and a white T-shirt. He almost wished he were still in his suit and tie. He felt more authoritative in them, and something about this woman caused him to be slightly off kilter. The suit would help him keep control of the situation. Will pressed his eyes shut. Really? Was he really feeling intimidated by a sprite of a woman who couldn’t weigh more than 100 pounds soaking wet? The thought of seeing her soaking wet flashed through his mind. Skin glistening with water, flesh slick, and . . . whoa there. Will reined in his thoughts.
“Here,” Pops said, trying unsuccessfully to remove the loose bits of crab from his fingers. He reached for the photo. “Isn’t that a handsome fellow?”
Will took the picture. He softened, remembering what Pops had looked like years ago when Will was a kid. Not this young, of course, but younger than now. The two of them had always been close. His mind’s eye took him back to when he was only five years old, sitting on the floor next to Pops, the two of them coloring for hours until Pops had to have Grandma Betty give him a hand up from the floor. For several moments he stared at the photo, wondering when Pops had gotten old. It seemed like it had happened so fast. Five years ago, in fact.
Laughter once again drew his attention to the present. Will placed the picture on the table with a little more force than necessary and turned his full focus to Adrienne Carter. “So, are you a student doing a paper on World War II?”
“No,” Adrienne said, for the first time looking self-conscious about the crab meat she was up to her elbows in. She used her shoulder to brush some of that luscious hair away from her face.
A twinge hit him for being so rude, but hey, this was the last thing Pops needed right now. “Reporter?”
She shook her head, those giant eyes troubled. She glanced to Pops, seemingly searching for help.
“Settle down.” Pops said. “She didn’t come here for anything like that. Forgive my grandson, but a few years ago, a show about the 101st Airborne was a big hit on TV, and we were inundated with reporters and college students wanting interviews about the war. It was when we found out my wife was sick. Not the best time for interviews.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said.
Pops turned to Will. “She has some letters that belong to me.”
A little of the tension left Will’s shoulders.
Pops winked at Adrienne. “Of course, they were in your house. Technically, they belong to you.”
She gently touched the older man on the arm. “They’re your letters. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Her voice lowered when she said it, rolling over Will like honey on toast. He pulled out the chair and dropped his six-foot frame into it. So he’d misjudged her. “It’s nice to meet you, Adrienne,” he mumbled.
“You as well, Will.” A flash of a smile on that full mouth, and she returned to her job of removing meat from shells.
“Adrienne is staying for dinner,” Pops announced.
Will pointed to her hands, covered with bits of crab meat. “I figured so. I really didn’t think you were going to have her help make dinner, then ask her to leave before eating it.”
Pops winked at her again. “That would be downright rude, wouldn’t it?”
Will watched as she pressed her lips together, biting back a smile. She pivoted and swung her feet out from under the table. Will’s eyes trailed down a pair of long, slender legs to the tanned ankles tied with a black sandal strap. Dark pink toes. Sexy feet, especially as she stood, high on the sandals. She leaned over and grabbed the greasy bowl of empty shells.
Will realized he was staring, so he stood up with her, a half-hearted attempt at courtesy. He reached his hand out to take the bowl. “Can I help?” But he only succeeded in making her jump. The two were now face to face at the table edge. The color drained from her cheeks. Wow, he thought, I really must have been a bear the other day to elicit such a response.
“Uh, yes . . . ” She clutched the bowl, but he could see her slippery fingers losing their grip. She pulled it to her, against an apron he’d seen Pops wear many times. Then he saw panic in her eyes as her grip tightened, but the bowl slipped away from her anyway.
It flipped up, over, around, and fell as she clambered, fingers grasping, trying to recover. Empty crab claws showered the floor, then ricocheted, pelting them all with bits of meat and crab water. The bowl didn’t break, but turned like a top, its clattering ring echoing through the kitchen until it finally rested.
Adrienne’s jaw hung open in shock, her face turning from pink to a deep crimson red. Bits of crab were stuck to her legs and clothes. In her right hand she grasped one mutilated claw.
“Glad I could help,” Will said, beginning to chuckle as he heard Pops mumbling that the kitchen floor needed to be mopped anyway.
She blinked big brown eyes. Once, then again, her mind probably trying to catch up with what she’d just done. There was a bit of crab meat caught in her eyelashes. That’s when Will laughed, a deep belly laugh, and it rolled right out of him, ridiculous as the mess that was in the kitchen and on the pretty brunette who’d arrived and turned their crab bowl—and their evening—upside down. In five years of making fresh crab, Will had plenty of messes under his belt, but none came close to
this, and for some reason, inexplicable and surprising, the look on her face, coupled with the crab stuck in her lashes, unhinged him. She stared at him for a few horrified seconds. Blink, blink went the crab. She must have noticed it there because she blinked harder, her left eye trying to focus on the white sliver, and she actually tried to lean away from it. It dropped onto her cheek, and Adrienne reached up.
“Here, let me.” He slid a thumb across her face, trying not to notice how smooth and delicate her skin felt beneath his touch.
“I don’t know what to say,” she managed.
“How about, where’s the mop and broom?” His voice lowered to match hers, creating more intimacy in the moment than he intended.
With the crab meat gone from her cheek, Adrienne took in the carnage. “It’s everywhere,” she whispered.
“Yeah. You’ve got a lot of work to do.”
Her dark eyes fanned back to his face. He was fighting another full-on laugh when her own glossy lips spread into a smile. Her shoulders rose, and she tried to stifle the laugh but couldn’t. Adrienne and Will both dropped to their knees to gather the pieces. Pops grabbed a garbage can as they cleaned up.
Adrienne sprawled on the floor, catlike, with one elbow propped up. Will’s gaze danced over those legs again. He noticed her toes were painted meticulously, but her fingernails were worn down and . . . stained. He thought he’d seen that the other day but had dismissed it. Beautiful women—he’d told himself—don’t run around with stained fingers.
Adrienne got up, ran her hands under the water at the sink, and reached for the soap a second time.
“That won’t work,” Will said, sliding beside her. He cut a fresh lemon and gave her half of it. “Try this.”
She threw him a half grin. “No thanks, I prefer oranges.”
“Ha, ha. It’s not to eat.” He rubbed a piece over his hands. “It removes the fishy smell.”
Her gaze drifted down to his chest. “Does it work on shirts too?” She reached over and plucked a piece of crab meat from his T-shirt.
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