To Catch a Thief

by Nan Dixon

  “What are you looking at?” she asked.

  Their eyes met and every thought vanished.

  “Sage?”

  He shook his head, trying to block out the way she smelled, the way she looked. He needed to ignore the heat rolling off her skin. “Um, getting the house ready for tomorrow. What normally happens?”

  “I don’t know.” She tucked her lower lip between her teeth.

  His chest tightened. “Let’s...let’s go through this.”

  She leaned over his shoulder.

  His breath exploded from his lungs. This was torture. It was like they were a couple—but they weren’t.

  They read the article and a couple of others.

  “I think we should bring the porch furniture in,” she said.

  “Agreed.”

  Carolina looked around the room. “Mamá’s going to be upset if she sees it.”

  “Maybe upstairs?” That sounded ridiculous, but not stressing out Rosa was key to avoiding seizures.

  “Yes.”

  “Let’s do it.” He pushed off the sofa and offered her a hand.

  Her fingers laced with his and, like the clang of the corral gate, the connection he’d been missing locked in place.

  Her eyes were dark and deep. With so little light in the room, her pupils were huge.

  He broke away first. They had work to do.

  He blocked open the main door and flipped on the porch light. While Carolina rolled small rugs, he unplugged the lamp. “Where should I take them?”

  “My bedroom.”

  He carried the lamp and a small wicker table up to Carolina’s room. Then they grabbed chairs and cushions, and made the trip two more times.

  They stared at the hanging swing set in the corner. She sighed. “We should take this down.”

  He reached up to the hooks, but the ceiling was too high.

  “Hang on.” She rushed into the house and came back with the kitchen stool. It was enough for him to stand on his toes to unhook the chains. Then they jockeyed it up the stairs.

  Furniture filled her bedroom. They wedged the swing next to the far side of the bed, then had to roll over the mattress to escape.

  Carolina went first. He waited, then imitated her rolling motion and came face-to-face with her. She hadn’t climbed off the bed. She lay there. Her eyes closed.

  “You’re exhausted.” He brushed at the curls scattered over her face. Her scent wrapped around him, pulling him closer.

  Remove your hand.

  But his head couldn’t force his hand to obey. He cupped her cheek and stared into her bottomless blue eyes. He could drown in the pool looking back at him. Her throat muscles worked up and down.

  He stared at her lips. They were so close her breath was a feather on his skin.

  She sighed. “You wanted to talk?”

  No. He wanted to kiss her. Bury his body in hers and forget who she was and what she’d done. “It’ll wait.”

  His head took control. Finally. He couldn’t kiss her lips, but he brushed one on her forehead. “Get some sleep.”

  He scooted off the bed and ran from temptation. At least one of them should get some sleep. He’d spend the night thinking about Carolina and trying to walk a mile in her boots.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CAROLINA PEERED INTO the dark living room. Was Sage awake?

  Last night, he’d kissed her. On the forehead. Like she was a child. What did that mean? Knowing Sage was in the house had kept her awake and edgy. Once she’d finally fallen asleep, she’d awakened to the neighbor hammering plywood on the windows next door.

  She’d never be able to thank Sage for his help, but why was he here?

  There wasn’t time to figure out his motivations. Today’s focus had to be getting off the island.

  Rain pinged off the siding. But the wind was quieter. Not a peep from her mother. That was good. But footsteps clanged on the ladder outside.

  Sage would be soaked. She pulled towels out of the dryer and set them next to the door, then started coffee. She stepped out onto the dark porch. No choice, she had to brave the rain.

  He was on the ladder in front of the house.

  “Do you want breakfast or help?” she called.

  His sneakers squeaked as he headed down to grab a shutter. “Could you help with these two sets?”

  “Sure.” She hauled shutters up while he set and screwed them in place.

  “So much faster with two people.” He installed the last panel. “The only set left is your mother’s room.”

  Carolina didn’t want to wake Mamá. “After breakfast.”

  They toweled off in the dark porch. The intimacy mocked her.

  “Scrambled eggs sound good?” she asked as they stepped into the house.

  “Whatever’s fast.” He took her towel and headed to the laundry while she checked her mother’s door—still closed. She pulled out butter, cheese, eggs and bread. Nothing fancy. Just something to fill their stomachs.

  When he came back, he asked, “What can I do?”

  “Grate cheese?”

  “On it.”

  She pointed at the cupboard for the grater and he squeezed by her to retrieve it and a bowl.

  The morning breakfast dance was a cruel pantomime of what they’d had before. If she’d told Sage who her father was, would they still be together? Or would she have lost him anyway—the only man she’d ever loved?

  Sage frowned as he grated a pile of cheese. “Don’t worry. Everything will be okay. I’ll work on securing the carports while you pack.”

  “It’s not that.” She closed her eyes, not able to look into his concerned gaze. “It’s you. Us. I wish...”

  He ducked his head and pointed. “Is this enough cheese?”

  He didn’t want to talk. Fine. “More than enough.”

  Wishing wasn’t going to change anything. Going back in time wouldn’t help. She would have made the same choices. Would have kept her mother’s secret. She would have lied and cheated to stop Mamá’s seizures. Taking the globe had been the right thing to do.

  While she cooked the eggs, he popped bread in the toaster and set the table.

  “Carolina?”

  “Mamá.” She handed the spatula to Sage and went to her mother.

  “What’s going on?” Her mother stood in the doorway of her makeshift bedroom. She wore a peignoir that covered her from neck to toe. Her gaze darted around the living room. “Why is it so dark?”

  “A hurricane is coming. The shutters are on the house.” Carolina took her mother’s hand. “Come have breakfast.”

  “Hurricane? No. It’s going to miss us.”

  “The path changed again.” Carolina smiled. “It’s okay. We’re going to Savannah.”

  “I’m not going to the hospital. Not again.” Her mother’s voice rose to a shout. “I’ll die there. They tried to kill me with all those X-rays and stealing my blood. Every day. Poking me with needles!”

  “You’re not going to the hospital.” Carolina helped her walk into the kitchen. “We’re staying at Fitzgerald House.”

  “Fitzgerald House?” Mamá settled into a kitchen chair.

  Sage set a plate with eggs and toast in front of Mamá. “Good morning, Rosa.”

  “Oh, no.” Her mother smoothed her hair. “You didn’t tell me we had guests.”

  “I’m helping prep your house for the hurricane.” Sage grabbed the other two filled plates and set one in front of Carolina and one at his spot at the table.

  “It’s coming? We’re not ready.” Mamá fluttered her hands. Where will I go?”

  “Deep breaths, Mamá.” Carolina didn’t want her stressing out. “We’ve got it handled.”

  “I hate living on this island. I should be living in Savannah. In Fitzgerald House. Bea
u promised.” Mamá took a bit of her eggs. “It should have been me.”

  Carolina’s face grew hot.

  Sage reached under the table and squeezed her fingers. He mouthed, Don’t worry.

  “Well, that’s where we’ll wait out this storm.” Carolina tried to keep her voice matter-of-fact.

  “I’ll be a guest?”

  “Of course,” Carolina lied. “Eat. We’ve got to pack.”

  Mamá rambled on about what she needed to take with her.

  There was only so much space in Sage’s back seat and her small car. Now she wished she hadn’t canceled the lease on Mamá’s sedan. It would have held more bags.

  “Do you have a covered bed on your truck?” she asked Sage.

  “No.” His responses were blunt and cold. He downed his coffee and pushed away from the table. “I’d better get back out there.”

  “Wait,” she called.

  In the laundry room she found Poppy’s old, yellow slicker. She crushed it against her chest and swore she could smell the sea and Poppy on the oiled fabric. “This might keep you drier.”

  When he slipped it on, it was snug. “Thanks.”

  She cleaned the kitchen while Mamá dawdled with her food. “Will you put your dishes in the sink when you’re done?” She hated leaving her mother alone, but Sage needed help.

  Mamá waved her away. “I’ll pack.”

  “Why don’t you set out clothes and I’ll pack.” She could ensure Mamá had what she needed.

  She found Yaya’s slicker. Even though she was taller than her grandmother, it would keep her dry.

  Before heading out the door, she checked on Mamá. She was drinking her coffee.

  Don’t burn the house down.

  The wind, stronger than before, caught the porch door and banged it against the shutters. She tugged and pressed until the door latched. Then the wind punched at her as she moved around the house to where Sage clung to the ladder. “What do you need?”

  “Shutters. Carport,” he yelled.

  She moved as many as she could, but the wind tried to rip them from her arms. It took her four trips. Then she hauled them up to Sage one by one.

  Breakfast had been—nice. Being with Sage, having him assure her when her mother talked about the promises Beau had made, had kept back the crazy. He’d held her hand.

  She missed his touches. Why couldn’t they still be together?

  The wind slapped at her like it knew where her thoughts had gone. Sage despised what she’d done. He’d broken up with her. Just because he was kind and thoughtful didn’t mean he understood her actions.

  “That’s it.” Sage pushed on the last shutter and spun the wing nut onto the bolt. “Let’s get out of the rain.”

  He belted the ladder into the carport’s rafters. Together they cleared the carport floors.

  “Now I understand why your house is built on stilts,” he said, strapping lawn chairs to the rafters. “Estimated storm surge is six to eight feet.”

  She placed a paint can on the top shelf. “I don’t think the water has ever made it into the house.”

  In the porch, they kicked off wet shoes, grabbed towels and dried before stepping inside the dark house.

  “Mamá, how are you doing?” she called.

  “Packing.” Mamá’s voice floated out of the bedroom.

  “What do you want me to do?” Sage asked.

  “Can you pack the computers?” She pulled out her list. “And photo albums.”

  The albums might keep Mamá entertained while they waited out the storm.

  He nodded. “We should make this fast so we beat the traffic.”

  Carolina walked into Mamá’s makeshift bedroom and her eyes went wide. All Mamá’s performance dresses were laid out on the bed. Bless it. Mamá had climbed the stairs by herself.

  “Those are beautiful. But you should also take everyday clothes.” Carolina went upstairs and pulled out two suitcases. On the way down, she grabbed the bag she’d packed last night.

  She rolled clothes and packed Mamá’s medicine, making sure the fancy dresses were in a separate case. If they couldn’t fit both in the vehicles, she would somehow forget to take that suitcase.

  After dropping the bags next to the front door, she stopped in the kitchen. Sage looked up from the open fridge. “I found a cooler and started to pack the food.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You don’t have to say it over and over,” Sage said. “I get it. I’m glad I can help.”

  She had to bite her lip to keep the tears from falling.

  Opening the cupboards, she dropped soups, pasta and other staples into bags. Savannah would probably lose power, so she added candles and matches. Then unloaded the fruit bowl. From the laundry room she added her mother’s protein drinks even though Mamá hated them.

  “Anything else?” Sage placed ice and frozen meat in a paper bag. Hopefully it would stay cold on the trip.

  “The bottled water.” Was it enough?

  Mamá stood in the entrance of the kitchen, holding the globe and bird and Fitzgerald House teacups. “Where should I pack these?”

  Sage frowned.

  “We should leave them here,” Carolina said.

  “But they’re mine.”

  “I know.” Carolina tried to put everything on the table.

  “I have to take them. What if someone vandalizes the house while we’re gone?”

  “What if you pick just one thing?” Sage suggested, even though his lips were set in a straight line.

  Did he think she’d stolen everything in Mamá’s arms? She hadn’t, but Sage wouldn’t believe her. Let him have a mother going through a terminal disease and see how far he would go to make her happy.

  “Poppy’s globe.”

  “Okay.” Carolina took everything else out of her mother’s arms and wrapped the globe in a towel, setting it in the box of food.

  Carolina and Sage put on the wet slickers and transferred everything to their vehicles.

  “This last case can fit in my front seat,” Sage volunteered. “Then I’ll turn off the power.”

  “Thanks.” Her mother would have her fancy dresses, after all.

  He started to frown, but she rolled her eyes. It was a thank-you.

  “Mamá, are you ready to get to the car?”

  “Coming.” Mamá struggled into her raincoat and Carolina came over to pull it up on her shoulders.

  “Pull up your hood. The rain and wind are vicious.” And would get worse.

  Sage took Mamá’s elbow. “Let me help.”

  “You’re such a sweet young man.” Mamá clung to his arm. “I want you to be good to my Carolina. She deserves someone who will take care of her.”

  “I can take care of myself, Mamá.” And when the words came out of her mouth, she could almost taste the truth. She would be alone in the world soon, but she could take care of herself.

  “It’s so much nicer to have strong arms to lean on,” Mamá shot back as Sage opened the outside door.

  The wind tried to shove them back into the house. Carolina jammed the door shut. She and Sage lowered their heads and half carried Mamá down the stairs. A gust of wind jerked the car door out of her hand.

  “I’ll follow you.” He leaned into the wind to get to his truck.

  Carolina started the car and checked the gas gauge. Thankfully, she’d filled up yesterday morning. Backing into the street, she took one last look at the house. Would it be standing the next time she saw it?

  She waved at neighbors loading cars. Then had to wait at the intersection. She’d never seen so much traffic on their street. Once they got to Highway 80, they joined the line of cars exiting the barrier islands.

  Her phone rang. Sage.

  “How are things going up there?” he asked.

>   “Good, but I’m glad I filled my car yesterday.”

  “I should be good, but once I get you to Fitzgerald House, I’d better gas up.”

  And he’d be gone.

  Raindrops drummed on the roof. The wipers swished the water away.

  “What kind of music do you want, Mamá?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe blues?”

  Carolina dug out an old CD she’d made of her mother’s favorite songs. Bessie Smith cued up first with “Down Hearted Blues.” Mamá sang along and Carolina joined in when she remembered the words. Otherwise she hummed.

  The caravan of vehicles crept off the island toward the mainland.

  “Let’s sing that again.” Mamá bounced in her seat.

  “Sure.” At this rate, if she and Ella ever worked together again, they could add it to their repertoire.

  “Is it okay if I call Ella?” she asked.

  Mamá waved her hand. “Yes.”

  Her friend answered immediately.

  “How are you?” Ella asked. “The hurricane is coming your way.”

  “We just left Tybee. Abby offered the carriage house to me.” Carolina didn’t want to say too much over the phone with Mamá in the car. “How’s Hilton Head?”

  “It looks like the hurricane might miss here.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Since Savannah’s now in the path, my contact suggested I stay through the weekend. I talked to Abby. She doesn’t think the restaurant will be open tonight. Not with all the preparations.”

  “That makes sense.” And Carolina wouldn’t have the financial cushion of one more weekend of work. What else could go wrong? And who would be hiring if they were cleaning up from a storm?

  They talked longer, Carolina keeping her answers to Ella’s questions about her mother vague.

  “She’s right next to you,” Ella finally said.

  “Yup.”

  “Well, take care of yourself. I’ll let you know when I head back. Give my best to your mother and stay safe.”

  “You, too.” She hung up. “Ella sends her best.”

  “Who’s Ella?” Mamá asked.

  “My roommate from Nashville and my accompanist.”