She chuckled softly. “And to think you once accused me of changing things around here. There’s the proof that I haven’t accomplished much as far as you’re concerned.”
He turned her in his arms. “Here’s the proof that you have.” He captured her mouth in a slow, building kiss.
She melted against him and breathed her own life into the joining of their mouths. Until she realized it was not what they should be doing. She flattened her palms on his chest and pushed him away. “No, Nick. We can’t do this.”
“I think we do it better than any two people on the planet.”
She frowned. “And you don’t see that as a problem?”
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “No. I see it as a gift.”
She stepped away from him and faced the vineyard again. “Unfortunately I can’t take any gifts with me when I leave tomorrow.”
“There you go, Crawford. Spoiling the moment.” He reached for her hand and twined her fingers through his. “Let’s take a walk and look at these miraculous grapes of yours.”
She fell into step beside him even though she argued that it would be dark soon. “We won’t see much of anything.”
“That’s all right. I don’t really care about looking at grapes, anyway. I just suggested it because when you’re in the vineyard, you tend to forget how ticked off you are at me.”
They moved down one row of vines as rays of the golden-rose dusk spilled over broad grape leaves and trunk spurs supported by Sara’s carefully mended guide wires. Somewhere, tucked into their protective leafy houses, Sara’s grapes grew, coaxed by her gentle touch and unflagging determination.
“So what are we going to do about this problem we have?” Nick finally said.
SARA PRESSED her fingers against her lips to hold in a groan of frustration. What answers was he looking for? What solution could there be for a man who wouldn’t leave and a woman who couldn’t stay? There wasn’t one. Time had run out for her and Nick.
She disentangled her hand from his and stared up at him. His eyes, the color of cinders, were unreadable. Did he feel some of the hurt she experienced? “There’s no problem, Nick. I stopped thinking of you that way in the press house on Friday,” she said.
“Oh, no,” he countered. “You can’t dismiss me so easily.”
She started walking.
He followed. “A minute ago you kissed me as if I was a problem.”
“Not a problem. A mistake. One I was bidding a long-overdue farewell.”
He stepped in front of her and flattened his hand against his chest. “That hurts, Sara. Really hurts.”
His little-boy innocence wasn’t going to work this time. “Look, Nick, what exactly do you want from me? For that matter, what do any of you want from me? I’m leaving. You’ll have your precious island all to yourselves again. As I see it, you’ve only benefited from my being here. Brody’s talking to his son. Dexter’s going to join the Browns organization. Ryan’s in love. And that’s not even taking into account that you men no longer live in squalor!”
Nick’s eyes widened in a reasonable imitation of shock. “Squalor? Just because we didn’t live with tablecloths and throw rugs doesn’t mean we lived in squalor.”
“Whatever.” She tried to walk around him, but he prevented her from getting away.
“And what about me?” he challenged. “Sure, all those good things have happened for the other guys, but once you go away, what will I be left with?”
“Status quo, Nick. What you’ve always wanted. Total and complete noninterference.”
He grabbed her arms, locking her in front of him. “That’s not what I want anymore. Now I want you to interfere. Any time you want.”
Sara closed her eyes, blocking out the familiar gleam in his eyes. When she opened them again, she met his gaze head-on. “For how long, Nick?”
“What?”
“How long do you want me to interfere with your life? Another week? A month or two? How long?”
This time the shock in his eyes was real. “I…I don’t know. I want you to stay here for as long as you want to. Who’s marking time on a calendar, anyway?”
“I am. And I’m already days behind schedule.”
“Oh, that’s right. You’re the bean counter, and I’m hearing accountant-speak again.”
“No. Reality-speak.” She wrenched herself free of his hold and glared at him. “You want me to stay?” The words came out as a dare.
“Yes, I want you to stay.”
“Well, guess what, Nick? I’m broke. And if I don’t get my tail back to Fort Lauderdale, I’ll be jobless, too.”
He flung a hand in the general direction of the inn. “At least you won’t be homeless.”
Frustrated rage boiled through Sara’s bloodstream. Was he totally oblivious to her anger and hurt? Didn’t he understand the futility of their situation? Maybe he did because he backed up a step. Knowing that more words would only lead to more argument and ultimately no solution, Sara executed a quick little jig and maneuvered around him. “Good night, Nick.”
He caught her arm and spun her back around. The blistering fire in the look she leveled on him should have made him let go. It didn’t.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” he said. “We’re going to talk this thing out. You’re not going to run.”
Unfortunately for him, his command only fanned her smoldering anger and sent it sizzling to every cell in her body. “Run?” she snapped back. “You want to talk about running? Fine. You want to be with me so badly, Nick, why don’t you come to Fort Lauderdale? You want me to admit I care about you? Okay, I will. I care. Now if you care, get on that plane tomorrow and come with me.”
The vein at his temple throbbed. Obviously he was working up a good anger of his own. Undaunted, Sara poked him in the chest. “I’m not the one running, Nick. You are! Isn’t it about time you realized that no one’s chasing you? You’ve been running from the world more than six years now. Don’t you think it’s time you came back into it?”
His jaw muscles clenched. His breathing was raspy. He was truly, completely furious. “I don’t have to prove anything to you,” he ground out.
“No, that’s right, you don’t have to prove anything to me. You don’t have to sell your manuscripts. You can hide behind the mask of Ivan Banning forever, since he’s the man you don’t have the courage to be. You don’t have to leave this island ever, unless it’s in a pine box. But I can’t stay here warming your bed and soothing your ego. I’ve got to go, Nick.”
Her words had a physical effect. If ever a man looked beaten, Nick did, and she hadn’t so much as swung a punch. The vanquished look on his face was nearly Sara’s undoing. Her eyes stung with tears. She did so love this man.
She clamped her lips together, forcing back a sob. And she waited. Say something, Nick. By God, if you care at all, say something. He merely stared at her with wounded eyes. She turned away from him and said, “And God knows, if I’m leaving, it’s got to be tomorrow.”
TUESDAY MORNING while Sara had her coffee in the sparkling kitchen of the Cozy Cove Inn, Ryan came in the back door. “The grapes are looking fine this morning,” he said.
“That’s great, Ryan. I know you’ll take care of them.” She slid her cell phone across the table toward him. “I’m leaving this so you can call me whenever you want. Let me know when you think the grapes are ready to harvest.”
He picked up the phone and dropped it into his shirt pocket. “I will.” Then he grinned. “Is it okay if I use it to call Candy sometimes?”
“Sure. I expected you would.”
He sat across from her at the table covered in its cheerful, blue floral cloth. “Will you come back for the harvest, Sara?”
She wouldn’t. “I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe. If not, you can keep me informed every step of the way.”
“Sure thing.”
The sound of someone clearing his throat drew their attention to the back door. Brody peered through the screen lik
e a kid waiting for an invitation. “Can I come in?”
Sara waved him inside. “Did you come to make sure my bags were all packed?” Even though she said it with a smile, she suspected it was true.
He grunted. It almost sounded like a chuckle. “I can see where you might think that. But no. I came to say goodbye. And to tell you that there might have been a time or two when I let my manners slip where you’re concerned.”
Sara rolled her eyes at the ceiling. “Oh, gee, let me think if I can remember you doing that.”
“It’s not that I didn’t like you. It’s just that this has always been our place—”
Sara pushed back her chair and stood up. “Do you want some coffee, Brody?”
“I could drink a cup.”
After she handed him a steaming mug, she said, “Look, Brody, I’m leaving today. We don’t need to rehash all the reasons our relationship wasn’t made in heaven. We both know them all, anyway.”
He took a sip. “S’pose so. My son pointed out that I can be difficult. I just wanted to tell you that I’ll try to be a little friendlier when you start renting out the rooms here, or at least make myself scarce. Besides, I plan on leaving here once in a while to check up on Carl and see if that woman he married is really as wonderful as he says.”
Sara felt a stab of pity for the extraordinary Mrs. Carl Brody Junior. “I’m sure you’ll like her,” she said. “Just as much as she’ll like you.”
He set the cup down on the counter, half-empty. “Well, I’ve said what I’ve come to say. Good luck to you, Miss Crawford. And by the way, you did a good job with this place.”
“Thanks.”
WINKIE ARRIVED at noon in the pontoon boat to take Sara and the beetle to the mainland ferry. At the sound of his engine, Sara grabbed her bags and left her room. She glanced at the door at the other end of the hall. It was closed. She didn’t hear any sound coming from the other side. She descended the stairs, left the inn and loaded her suitcases into the Volkswagen.
As she drove away from the Cozy Cove, Sara looked in the rearview mirror to get a last glimpse of the inn. It was even more charming than she’d believed possible when she’d begun her renovations. She’d put more of herself into this project than anything she’d ever done in her life, and she was proud of the results.
She envisioned the Cozy Cove as it would look in the different seasons. In a couple of weeks the trees would have their full dressing of leaves and would drape the house in cooling shade. The wildflowers in back would be a riot of color, and the tulips Ryan had planted by the front porch would sway in the summer breeze.
In the fall the house would be framed in gold and russet. The pathway to the harbor would be carpeted in crisp, fallen leaves by October. Sara could almost hear their cheerful crackle underfoot.
But it was winter she could picture most clearly. Living in Florida, she missed the clean, white flakes of snow that covered everything. With smoke curling from her chimneys and warm lights coming from the parlor, the Cozy Cove would surely be the perfect image of its name.
Maybe Sara would come back in winter. Maybe by then she’d be able to.
Besides Winkie, one man waited at the dock for her. It wasn’t Nick.
Dexter attached the ramps to the pontoon boat and helped guide Sara as she drove the bee onto the deck. When they finished, he climbed on board and gave her an awkward hug. “You promise you’ll watch the games, Sara? If you have to buy a special pass for your satellite dish so you can get the Browns games, I’ll pay for it.”
“You won’t have to, Dex. I’ll want to see every game, and I’ll be looking for you on the sidelines with the other coaches.”
Winkie revved the engine. “Let’s get moving, Sara, or you’ll miss your plane.”
Dexter jumped onto the dock and pushed the cumbersome boat into the blue-green water of Lake Erie. Winkie adjusted the throttle and turned the chugging craft around to face Put-in-Bay. Sara walked to the stern and held on to the railing. She searched the shoreline for the one person who hadn’t said goodbye. Nick was nowhere in sight. Maybe it was better this way. There was nothing more they could say to each other, no way to bring their different worlds together. But still, she wished she’d see him just one more time.
She blinked hard to prevent a flow of tears. “Stop it, Sara. You’re going home,” she said to herself. “You have to do this. You couldn’t go on forever living like Goldilocks with four grumpy bears. You have to go back where you belong. And financially you have no choice.”
But all the logic and rational thinking in the world couldn’t convince her. As she watched the newly patched roof of the Cozy Cove disappear among the tops of the trees, she realized she wasn’t going home at all. She was leaving it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
SARA ENTERED the reception area of her office and breathed a sigh of relief. Emily Marshall wasn’t at her desk so Sara wouldn’t have to deal with her new assistant’s flawless attention to detail. In the two months since Emily had taken Candy’s place, Sara hadn’t once caught the middle-aged dynamo in a mistake. She also hadn’t seen the woman smile.
It wasn’t like Emily to miss Sara’s arrival in the mornings. What if something had happened to her? Sara’s fears were put to rest when she entered her office. Coffee simmered in the spotless glass pot. Lethally sharp pencils sat in a perfect row on her blotter. Her computer screen displayed appointments for September sixth with irritating clarity. Emily was fine.
Just then—ignoring Sara’s repeated requests to enter without knocking—Emily rapped sharply three times before squeezing through the narrow space left by her stingy opening of the door. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you came in, Miss Crawford,” she said. “I try to schedule my trips to the ladies’ room at times when you have least need of my services.” She blushed under her pale makeup. “Unfortunately Mother Nature had her own agenda this morning.”
“It’s quite all right, Emily,” Sara said, wondering just how Mother Nature toyed with a woman whose demeanor and personal time clock hadn’t altered in any noticeable way since Sara had met her.
“I hope the coffee is to your liking,” the woman said. “I thought it was strong yesterday, so I adjusted the numerical setting to four instead of five.”
No, please, Sara thought. I need at least an eight! Forcing a smile, she said, “How does the schedule look for today?”
Emily clucked her disapproval. “You know how people are. It’s September, and quarter three paperwork is due. I’m sure we’ll have some Johnny-come-latelies today with last minute questions.”
Sara rubbed her forehead in anticipation of the headache she’d have by five o’clock.
Emily set a cup of coffee on Sara’s desk. “I have the hard copy list of your morning clients. We should be able to meet with all of them by lunch if we keep our noses to the grindstone.”
Sara pinched the bridge of her nose to offset the headache she’d just gotten and thought of Candy who probably didn’t even know what a grindstone was. She, along with her menagerie of pets, now lived on Thorne Island with Eliot Ryan in his cottage near the north shore paper birches. Candy had agreed to be manager of the Cozy Cove Inn. The first visitors would arrive in a week.
Emily left the office, and Sara rotated her chair so she could see out the window. All that met her gaze was a smattering of clouds reflected in the glass facades of even taller buildings than the one that housed Bosch and Lindstrom. There wasn’t a real tree or bird in sight. And the ocean, while only a mile away, was hidden by the monoliths of Fort Lauderdale’s downtown banking complex.
Sara was happy for Candy, and she reminded herself of that even as she longed to see Ryan’s hanging baskets and the sloping terrain of the vineyard. She was happy that Candy had found the one man who could appreciate her idiosyncracies and help manage her chaotic life. Sara’s mind wandered, as it often did, to the man who, for almost four weeks, had identified the holes in her life and unintentionally and unexpectedly filled them. But
Sara’s story lacked the happy ending because he was also a man whose own life was apparently complete without Sara in it.
And today the holes were bigger than ever. She missed it all—the inn, the vineyard, the men…the man. She especially missed that other Sara Crawford who’d inherited an island and discovered her soul. She missed them with a deep-down ache she was beginning to believe would never go away. Now there were only debits and credits and balances on paper, which left Sara feeling that her life was desperately, incurably out of balance.
Another tap on the door interrupted Sara’s thoughts. “Come in, Emily,” she called.
The assistant poked her head into the office. “I’m so sorry, Miss Crawford, but there is the strangest man outside. He’s Eye-talian if you know what I mean, and he insists on seeing you.”
Italian? Sara’s heart leaped. It couldn’t be. Not when she was just thinking of him. Miraculous coincidences didn’t happen to logical women like her. Happiness just didn’t drop out of the sky for sensible women. Still, stubborn hope flickered inside her. “Did you say Italian, Emily?”
“Yes.” She stuck her arm inside as if trying to keep the appendage as far from her face as possible. Her fingers curled around the top of a brown paper bag with grease stains on the bottom. “He says his records are in here. And he’s carrying a pizza, which he says is for you.”
Disappointment heavy as a stone sat in the pit of Sara’s stomach. “It’s all right, Emily. That’s just Mr. Papalardo. Show him in.”
An anchovy pizza was the last thing Sara wanted at nine o’clock in the morning, but Mr. Papalardo dropped it on her desk with a flourish. “For you, Miss Sara,” he said. “’Cause I know my records, they are not what you like to see.”
She smiled at him, genuinely pleased to see his mustachioed grin. He was a cheerful, if annoying, reminder of that other life, the one that had satisfied her before she’d known she could be much happier in another place. “Don’t worry about it, Mr. Papalardo. I’ll straighten it all out.”
The Men of Thorne Island Page 23