“Okay.”
That sent Russ to the moon. She hadn’t even hesitated for a millisecond before saying yes. “Great. Pick you up tomorrow night around seven thirty.”
“Tomorrow night? I thought we were going out for coffee.”
“We are. Soon as we finish dinner.” Russ picked up his toolbox and before she could say no, he called to Casey, “I’ll come back for you in a couple hours.” And he chugged out to his car.
Feeling like a kid who’d won a gold star.
***
Amanda found herself secretly giddy over her dinner date with Russ McNeil. She hated to admit it, but once he took off that grubby orange parka and stood there all lean and muscular in a tight, white (and, yes, in need of laundering) tee he looked sexy as hell. She labeled and racked dresses with Casey, wanting to ask the girl all about him. But aside from the fact that Casey would no doubt reveal her interest to Russ, Amanda knew he wasn’t really her type.
Not that she had a type anymore. Amanda had spent so many years wrapping her life and hopes around her latest fling, only to be floored with an emotional kick to the gut, that she’d sworn off relationships. Once she settled in here she would get herself a dog. They knew how to be loyal.
She liked Casey. An intelligent girl, but not talkative like most her age. She expressed some appreciation for certain pieces, but with no enthusiasm in her voice. Amanda remembered Russ saying her family was having some troubles, and Amanda made a mental note to schedule Casey for extra hours. Maybe that would help out a bit.
After about two hours of bending over boxes, Amanda’s old dance injuries began to ache. She rolled her head and shoulders and then did a few grand pliés, squatting until her butt nearly touched her heels, her knees wide open to the side. When she straightened, she bent her torso way back in a cambré, then forward, her head to her knees. Noticing Casey watching her, Amanda held onto one of the racks for a jambe à main stretch, gripping her heel with her hand and lifting her leg to her ear.
The girl’s eyes lit up. “Whoa. Now that is impressive.”
“Like that, huh?” Amanda spun around in a double pirouette, ended with a lilting glissade followed by balancing on half-pointe, one leg in an arabesque lifted high behind her.
The smile on Casey’s face stretched from ear to ear. “Bravo!”
Amanda laughed. “Now you.”
“No way. I’ve never had any dance lessons. Only saw stuff on TV.”
Amanda walked to a mirror leaning against the wall and curled a finger at her youthful admirer. “Come here.”
Casey stepped forward cautiously.
“Step one. First position. A dancer has to know how to stand correctly before she can begin to move.” She adjusted Casey’s feet, legs and then gently set her arms. She touched her abdomen. “Suck this part in and lift. Chin raised. Widen your shoulder blades slightly. And pretend there’s a cord lengthening your spine upwards, pulling you.”
“Feels so stiff,” Casey said.
“Only at the beginning. With practice it turns into strength and elasticity. Then it feels great.”
“Let me see. Looked like you did this.” Casey tossed off her own crude version of Amanda’s little variation.
“Wow. What you did isn’t easy. Let’s see you try this.”
Amanda started giving her one move after the next, and the sullen cloud that had been hanging over the girl seemed to lift. Casey giggled and opened up, telling her about sports she played and even about a boy she liked.
Best of all, Casey immersed herself in the movement in a way that Amanda recognized because she’d felt that same exhilaration herself. Regardless of her lack of training, Casey didn’t just mimic the moves, she danced them.
This girl has it. She’s a natural born dancer.
The front door buzzer surprised them both.
Russ greeted them and immediately took in their ebullient mood. When Casey ran to get her coat from the office, he moved in closer to Amanda. Shaking his head in amazement, he said, “I haven’t seen that kid smile in a long time. Her father’s dying of cancer and her mom’s so broke up she went back to the bottle.”
“Oh, my God. That poor girl.”
Casey returned. “Tomorrow morning?”
“Ten sharp.” Amanda turned her head at a trickling sound. “Do I hear water running?”
The three of them walked to the rear storeroom where a healthy rush of water was streaming from the faucet in the utility sink.
“That’s odd,” Amanda said. “I don’t remember either one of us coming back here this afternoon. But this is a pretty old fixture. Either that or I’m losing it.”
Russ shrugged. “Who knows? Could be a lot of things.”
Casey said, “Isn’t there a story about some lady who once lived here a real long time ago and who still kind of hangs around? If you know what I mean?”
Amanda waved off her suggestion. “Oh, Casey, you’ve been watching too many of those paranormal shows. Right, Russ?”
“Right.”
***
Saturday morning, Parker drove his father’s 4x4 into the Gentilliano’s sprawling country estate on a bluff overlooking Long Island Sound. They’d been customers of Richardson’s Landscape Gardening and Lawn Care for three years and he didn’t want to lose them. Even though Parker’s father had begun taking him along on certain jobs and teaching him the business back when he was fourteen, running it by himself was a challenge.
Parker had hoped to graduate high school this June. But by the time his senior year began in September, Marty Richardson no longer had the strength to get out of bed. As Marty lay weak and dying, his distraught wife’s alcohol problem came roaring back, getting her fired from the low paying jobs she managed to get. Leaving only Parker to care for his mother, Casey and Jenna.
As he used his chain saw on a tree that had fallen in the last windstorm and then began splitting the logs for firewood, Parker ignored the pretty face watching him from the distant window of the grand house. For the past three years he gladly gave up his Saturdays to work here with his father in hopes of catching a glimpse of Tanya Gentilliano. He used to pray she would smile at him or say hello. But Tanya would never give this local gardener’s son the time of day. He was just part of the help, an insignificant character in the background at the Gentilliano’s weekend getaway house.
But none of that mattered anymore. Not now. Not when his world had grown so raw and perilous. Which was why he merely went about his work instead of responding to her usual game of parading about, then snubbing him the instant their eyes met. Ironically, that only made Tanya turn up the dial, going out of her way to make sure Parker paid her the props she’d grown used to receiving.
Like now as she posed beneath a cluster of trees that bordered the clearing where Parker worked. “Did you know we have a place on Sixty-fourth and Park? Really pretty. Coolest part of Manhattan. Ever been there?”
“I don’t the like the city.”
“The other night I went to this party at a friend’s. She lives in a penthouse overlooking Central Park. The view is like so incredible.” She tilted her head, studying Parker. “Oh, I forgot. You don’t like the city.”
Parker lifted another piece wood and set it on the stump. He shouldered his axe and turned to Tanya. “Better move back a ways. These things have a tendency to explode.”
Tanya stepped further off to the side. “Am I safe now, big guy?” She smirked.
He nodded, straight-faced. Then in one swift motion slung his axe down through the center of the log, splitting it in half, and sending each section sailing off the side.
Tanya clapped. “Home run!” She crossed her arms. “Betchya I could do that.”
“Probably.”
“Mind if I take a shot?”
“No, but your father would.”
“My father? He minds everything I do. But I just ignore him.” Her voice shifted down an octave. “He wouldn’t like me hanging out here talking to you.”
Parker sent up another barrier in his internal wall, grabbed a log and lined it up for his next cut.
Just as he went into his backswing Tanya said, “I wonder how he’d feel if I kissed you.”
Parker’s axe came down, two inches off to the side of the log. A total miss. Embarrassing.
“Strike one,” Tanya said with a giggle. “You want to kiss me. Don’t you?”
He bit back his anger. Of course he wanted to kiss her. He’d wanted that since the first time he saw Tanya. With her mother’s honey colored hair and full lips and her father’s olive skin and black eyes, she was the most exquisitely beautiful girl Parker had ever seen.
He wound up for a second try.
“Well, don’t you?”
Another miss.
Parker set the axe down and aimed his finger at the sky. “See those clouds? That means snow. And before it comes your dad wants these logs cut up into little pieces for his fireplace and stacked all nice and neat right outside the back door. So, instead of sitting over there flapping your chops, how about you gather up some of this wood and help me load it onto my truck.”
“Oooh. Shy guy ain’t so shy after all.” She pursed her candy pink lips and laughed. Then she began carting split logs to the back of the 4x4 parked about twenty feet away.
Parker returned to his axe work. The strange thing was that his slight victory actually made him relax a bit and allow his attention wander to her.
Tanya stayed until he finished and helped him gather the rest of the logs. After they dumped the final armload into his truck, she leaned against it and fixed her dark eyes on him with a challenging gaze. “Now I expect my payment. And you know what it is, don’t you?”
Heat suffused his cheeks, and he cursed himself for this visible evidence that she’d gotten to him. He tried to think of a clever comeback, but he’d never been any good at that sort of thing. The look on Tanya’s face told him she knew darn well how much she bothered him — in ways he’d have a hard time concealing if his jacket didn’t hang to the top of his thighs.
As Parker stumbled over a few attempts to speak, Tanya sallied up to him, threw her arms around his neck and gave him a kiss that went on for several minutes.
A kiss that Parker would remember for a lifetime.
CHAPTER THREE
Amanda noticed the vintage twenties velvet purse was missing. So was the fifties style gold vinyl belt. The one Casey had admired.
Had she stolen them? Amanda and Casey had spent all day painting the walls for next Saturday’s opening. The only other person who’d been near her stock was Russ, and these items weren’t exactly his style. Amanda already felt deeply for the teen and knew kids could make stupid mistakes when they were troubled with feelings they couldn’t handle. But still, if Casey had taken them, how far could Amanda trust her?
She ran a hand through her hair, mulling over the best way to deal with this. Part of the girl’s job would be handling cash sales when Past Perfect opened next week. Would she steal from the store’s cash box? Amanda decided to ask Russ about it tonight. He knew Casey and her family. Maybe he’d act as a go between.
Amanda headed back to her cottage a few blocks from Peconic Bay. A light snow began to fall, but she still made her usual trek down to the bay and walked along the water. Truth was, Amanda loved walking in a snowfall. It made the world look magical and dreamy the way it did under stage lighting. If only life were like that.
Back home, she showered and took her time putting on makeup and choosing a casual but sexy striped sheath that she paired with her favorite blue scarf and black four-inch heels. By now her stomach was tied up in knots over her “date” with this Russ. A guy she knew nothing about. Except that he had handyman skills, bad taste in clothes and a buff torso she wouldn’t mind having pressed up against hers.
But Amanda hadn’t gone out with a man in over a year. After her insulting and painful divorce from a chronic womanizer that she’d been dumb enough to marry, the whole subject of male-female relationships left a bitter taste in her mouth. She’d made her ex pay with a settlement that left her financially comfortable, but that couldn’t erase the trepidation that made her swear off any kind of dating and romantic involvement.
Yet here she was jumping into who knew what with another questionable man after living in North Cove for less than a month.
At seven thirty Russ pulled into her driveway in an ancient Volvo. At least it wasn’t the dented, green pick-up truck she’d seen him driving before. She rushed to the bathroom and checked her lipstick and hair once more before answering the door.
He looked great. Clean-shaven, clean trousers and clean dress shirt opened at the collar beneath a black leather jacket. For the first time since they met, Amanda allowed herself to acknowledge his virile appeal. His face was far from perfect, but she liked the hint of crow’s feet near his green eyes, the curious scar across his brow and that slightly weathered look of a man who spends a great deal of time outdoors. More fit than most thirty-year-olds she encountered, his posture spoke of confidence and someone who did not like to be confined or obedient. An immediate turn-on for her rebellious nature.
And he must have been pretty happy with what he saw because he just stood there with his gaze on her, the corners of his sexy mouth curling into a full-blown smile.
But as they drove to the bistro in the Greenporter Hotel in Greenport, Amanda reminded herself of why she needed to keep up her guard. Especially since the “hotel” part of this location made her nervous. After a couple glasses of yummy chardonnay from a local vineyard, she asked, “So, what made you choose this restaurant?”
“Casey told me you eat organic. One of the specialties here is organic steak.”
Relieved on the first count, she now had to figure out how to tell him she didn’t eat meat. But Russ was acting so cute and trying so hard to please her, she couldn’t bear to disappoint him and found herself actually ordering a steak.
“What do you do for a living, Russ?” Amanda hated sounding like those people who made judgments on a person’s occupation, but she was curious.
“I come from a family of a baymen. I fish, I harvest scallops and clams. Whatever’s there. Godzilla.”
“I love fresh Godzilla.” They laughed.
“Not a great living anymore, but at least I’m my own boss.”
“Then you grew up out in the North Fork?”
He nodded. “My family goes back six generations here. So do the Richardsons. Was a time when our kind could live just fine off the bay and what we grew on our farms. But things have changed. Most of the old families have had to sell off land to keep going, to keep our independence. Casey’s dad switched to gardening and mowing lawns for the folks with big bucks.”
“That reminds me. I need to talk to you about Casey.” Amanda cleared her throat, sensing this protective man might take offense at her accusation. And after she explained about the missing items, he did just that.
“Casey didn’t take those things.”
“Look, I know she’s a great kid, but—”
“I was afraid of this. Cranky old bat’s at it again. Casey’s not your perp. It’s Emily Ramhorst.”
“You know this person?”
“Sort of.”
Annoyed, she waited for him to say more, but he just sat there. “Well, will you please tell her I want my things back? Otherwise, I’m going to the police.”
Russ heaved a sigh. “Sorry to say, neither one’s an option.”
“Really? Why not?”
“She died about fifty years ago.”
Amanda blinked. “You’re not suggesting…”
“I didn’t mention it because I figured the idea of your place being haunted would send you running back home to New York City.”
“Over some ghost nonsense? Puh-leeze. And by the way, what makes you think I come from New York City?”
“I can tell.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“Okay, so where are you
from?”
“New York City.”
He rolled his eyes.
Luckily the waiter arrived with their organic steaks. Amanda hadn’t eaten meat in so many years she almost pretended not to be hungry. But it smelled so good, and she’d had just enough wine to want to admit she was sick of all the rules she had made for herself. She dug in, but glanced at Russ and said, “Do you really believe in ghosts? Or are you worried I’ll fire Casey? I would rather keep her on if you could just help me deal with—”
“Back in the forties your store used to be a house owned by an old woman named Emily Ramhorst.” He refilled her glass with wine. “Never married. Lived alone. There’s a story about a baby dog somebody gave her.”
“A baby dog is a puppy.”
“Right. Name was Fluffy.”
“A dog named Fluffy.”
“So they say.”
“Are you teasing me?”
“No.” He gulped some wine. “It happened during one of these pretty intense snowstorms we get out here. Seems the dog got out and took off in the blizzard. Old Mrs. Ramhorst heads outside into the bitter cold looking for it and disappears into the night. Next day, Fluffy shows up at the back door of a bar down the street. A place called Mallory’s. Meanwhile, Emily Ramhorst was never to be seen or heard from again.”
“So they end up finding Fluffy but losing Mrs. Ramhorst.” Amanda smiled, expecting him to tell her he’d just made this up.
But he didn’t. “Yep. Emily was last seen wandering around outside her house in the dark calling her dog’s name. Some say they found her frozen body over near Marratooka Pond.”
“Come on, Russ. You don’t really expect me to believe this.”
He shrugged, but Amanda noted a devilish glint in his eyes.
“You’re no help.” She shook her head, wondering if maybe she made too much out of small things. Here was a guy who lived in a way so different from the driven, aggressive achievers she’d known in her past.
Instead Amanda decided to loosen up, enjoy the food and the delicious vino. Not to mention take in his sexy forearms with the briny tattoos. He offered up a brief history. The New York Jets logo was self-explanatory. Whereas Amanda found the story behind the sea monster with the golden eyes rather fascinating. By the time they left the restaurant she was feeling silly and girlish — and ready for you name it.
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