Treasure on Lilac Lane: A Jewell Cove Novel

by Donna Alward

  “There’s something about Jess. I can feel things about people, Rick. I never really realized it until I came here, and it’s a long story … but there’s a sadness that surrounds her. I don’t know what it is.”

  “She didn’t used to be that way.” The Jess he’d known had been bubbly, carefree. “She lost her dad at a pretty sensitive age.”

  “It could be that, I suppose,” Abby replied. Her eyes were soft with concern. “But I think it’s more than that.” She stopped spinning the cup. “Just keep your eyes open, okay? She’s a strong woman but everyone needs a guardian angel now and again.”

  He chuckled a little, a good show considering the bitterness inside him. Kyle could have used a guardian angel watching over him in Afghanistan. Maybe then he’d still be alive. Maybe then Rick would still have his hand. “Do you have a guardian angel, Abby?”

  “Of course I do,” she answered, a glow lighting her cheeks. “I have Tom. He pulled me out of that barn, remember?”

  Right. How could he have forgotten that the Prescott barn had fallen in a lightning strike? Abby had been inside. She was lucky she got out with just cuts and bruises.

  “I’m not sure I’m a good choice for a guardian angel,” he contradicted.

  “I think you’re the perfect choice.”

  Her easy confidence touched something inside him—a feeling of warmth knowing she believed in him and then something that was like guilt from knowing how badly he’d failed in the past.

  “Well, I’d better go. Thanks for the coffee and the info.”

  He stood up and so did she. “It was no trouble. You’ll let me know about the projects we discussed?”

  “As soon as I work up some drawings.”

  She walked him to the door and waited while he slipped on his shoes and grabbed his jacket. “Don’t worry about Jess,” he said. “I’ll look out for her.”

  Abby closed the door behind him. “Oh, Rick.” She sighed to the empty foyer. “I think you need her as much as she needs you,” she said softly.

  * * *

  A raw wind brought with it small, hard drops of rain. Of all the months of the year, Rick hated November the most. The days were short and the trees were bare, their gray, gnarled branches like bony fingers against a bleak sky. Even on the rare sunny day, the vibrant colors of earlier months were gone and not yet replaced by a pristine blanket of snow.

  Rick got out of his truck and zipped his jacket to the neck before reaching across the seat for a cardboard box, the flaps folded over to protect against the damp.

  The street in front of Treasures was empty, except for Jess’s car, which was parked in the narrow drive to the side of the building. Not much wonder. Today was the sort of day to stay inside where it was warm and dry. Even the normally colorful buildings looked drab against the steely waves of the harbor.

  Shoulders huddled against the cold, he made his way up the steps and along the back boardwalk to the entrance of Treasures.

  The bell above the door gave a cheery ring as he stepped inside. Jess was sitting behind the cash register and she looked up when he walked in, her face lighting up.

  Whooomp, went his heart against the wall of his chest.

  Whoa.

  “Hey,” he said, his voice sounding unusually loud in the quiet.

  “Hey yourself.” She stood up, putting aside a huge mound of knitting. “What brings you by? Are those the ornaments?”

  “They are.” He shouldn’t be so pleased by the way her eyes sparkled at him. “I thought I’d deliver them myself, since you have to work around shop hours and I’m more flexible.”

  “That was nice of you.” She stood up, pulling the hem of her sweater down over her jeans. She held out her hands. “Gimme,” she said, waggling her fingers. “I want to see.”

  “You have someplace with more room?” he asked, looking at her crowded countertop that held the cash register, a rack of magnets, hand-crafted bookmarks, and a jar of saltwater taffy—not to mention the huge bundle of yellow knitting she was working on. “What are you knitting?”

  “Oh, that?” She lifted a shoulder and touched the pale yarn. “It’s a blanket. I started it when we found out Sarah was pregnant. I couldn’t bear to take it all out, so I’m finishing it. I’ll find a use for it somewhere.”

  “Is there anything you can’t do, Saint Jess?”

  The nickname came out before he could stop it, but to his surprise she didn’t get her back up about it. She just laughed a little as she looked up at him.

  “I can’t paint on glass. So let’s go back into the workroom where there’s lots more space and you can show me what you’ve done.”

  * * *

  Jess tried to calm the rapid beat of her heart. She’d been sitting at the counter, knitting away—the weather was so atrocious chances were she’d go without a customer all afternoon. She usually enjoyed looking out the wide windows, even in bad weather—the changing moods of the sea were so wild and unpredictable. But not today. Today she’d been restless and without the focus needed to do anything that required too much attention. So she’d pulled out the blanket, made a pot of tea, and settled in, letting the rhythm of the pattern lull her to a more comfortable mind-set.

  And then the door had opened and Rick had come through it in a bluster of wind and rain. And what was boring and ordinary was suddenly brought to life. That was not good news.

  Neither was it good that when she looked into his eyes she felt the jolt right down to the soles of her feet.

  But when Rick lifted the flaps of the cardboard box, she forgot about everything else and just stared in amazement.

  “The ornaments first.” He reached in and took out the first box—and then took out two more boxes. Forty-two glass balls in total, each one individual and stunning.

  “You bought more.”

  “I was having fun. And I had more ideas than ornaments, so I made a trip to the department store.”

  She lifted the lid and gently examined the first ornaments. This box held the clear glass ones painted all in red and green designs. The globe in her hand had delicate trails of holly and berries. Another was painted with cascades of poinsettias and green-and-gold ribbon. There were several Santas—near chimneys, holding presents, stuffing stockings. Then he’d taken iridescent shredded paper and stuffed the clear balls full and painted adorable snowmen and penguin scenes. The next boxes were even better—they were painted on colored balls and looked amazing. The red ornaments were lavishly decorated with pyramids of Christmas trees, presents, Bethlehem stars, and cedar boughs with gold ribbon. The frosted white ones made a perfect background for snow scenes, and Rick had used blue tones to paint a night sky, a church scene, more snowmen, and tiny skaters spinning around a pond.

  Jess put a hand to her mouth, swamped with emotion. It defied logic. Rick had been the outdoorsy, smart-ass jock growing up. He’d been a tough Marine. But this—this was more than cute holiday scenes. She could see his heart in his work. In the simplicity, in the comfort of the traditions, in the beauty. There was a gentleness to them—to him—that she’d never seen before. Her eyes began to sting and she blinked quickly to rid them of the tears that welled up.

  “Jess? What’s wrong? Don’t you like them?”

  She carefully put the ornament in her hand back in the box and told herself to get a grip. Nothing had changed. He still could have the power to break her heart. She couldn’t let herself fall under his spell.

  But then she met his eyes and she saw the vulnerability there as he waited for her verdict. She reached out and grabbed his right hand.

  “Don’t like them? They’re gorgeous. They’re perfect. I don’t know how you … it’s just that…”

  “You? At a loss for words?”

  She gave a little laugh. “I know. You’ve rendered me speechless.”

  “And you haven’t even seen the candles yet.”

  He let go of her hand and reached into the bottom of the box.

  They were better t
han the ornaments. One tall pillar holder was painted with a scrolled Santa’s list. There were wreaths and holly boughs and flowers and one Mason jar that was simply stunning coated in a fall of delicate snowflakes. Then he’d taken some of her taper candles and painted them in candy-cane stripes. A thick creamy pillar candle that had been sitting on a special plate was now wreathed with tiny holly leaves and berries and the plate had been painted a solid, sparkly gold.

  “You painted the candles.”

  “I told you I had ideas.”

  “This is incredible. Rick, there’s more than enough here for the bazaar. Will you let me carry your work? Even if it’s not your bigger designs, I’d love to stock this stuff for the holidays. Do you think you could do a few more?”

  She looked up at him hopefully.

  He tilted his head, looked at the mess on the table, and back to her face again. “You really like them that much? I thought they might be a little … I don’t know, juvenile.”

  “Are you kidding? They’re more than stunning. And they’re all one of a kind. At least let me try it. Let me keep one box of assorted ornaments and half a dozen candles in the store. If they sell—and they will, mark my words—then you’ll consider doing a few more.”

  “I don’t know, Jess…”

  “The Evergreen Festival is the second weekend of December. If I sell out by Thanksgiving, will you do more for festival weekend? The store will be crazy busy.”

  He dithered for a moment but she put on her most hopeful look. “All right,” he relented. “But only if you sell out by the end of Thanksgiving weekend.”

  Jess was confident the deal was solid. “Perfect.” She put everything back in the box. “I’ll price these, start a page for you in the consignment book, and get them on the shelf right away. Is a seventy-five percent consignment rate okay for you?”

  “Is that what you usually charge?”

  It wasn’t. She normally took thirty-five percent of the proceeds, but she knew Rick would insist on the same rate and she wanted to help him a little. He was out of work, after all.

  “Yup,” she lied.

  “Then you have a deal.” He checked his watch. “I suppose I should get going. You’ll want to close up soon.”

  It was after four and she normally closed at five during the week in the off-season. Not only that, but she was glad for the company. Ever since the run-in with Pamela, she’d been oddly restless.

  “Closing up’s no problem. All I have to do is lock the door and turn over the sign.”

  “Oh.”

  There were no classes tonight either. The hours stretched out in front of her, long and lonely. “Do you have plans for dinner?” The question popped out of her mouth before she even really thought about it.

  “Dinner?”

  Heat crept up her cheeks. “I mean … I was going to make some pasta or something. You’re welcome to stay. Unless you have other plans.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Let me check my social calendar,” he joked. His eyes narrowed a little. “Are you sure this is a good idea, Jess?”

  “Why not? We’re friends, aren’t we?”

  Right. Just friends. So why didn’t it feel that way?

  “Friends,” he said, and shrugged. “I guess I could. You’re probably a better cook than I am.”

  She grinned. “Let me close up, then. I’ll be right back.”

  It only took a moment to lock the door and turn over the sign. Jess hit the switches and the store went dark, lit only by the shadowy light from the windows. This was dinner with a friend. It was not a date. So why did it feel like one?

  Because of that stupid kiss. Because while neither of them wanted to admit it, there was something simmering between them. She’d backed off so many times where Rick was concerned. She’d been downright rude to hide how she really felt. So how far was she willing to let things go?

  It was just pasta. It would be fine.

  Rick was puzzling over a box of items when she went back to the workroom. “This looks interesting,” he commented, sorting through the supplies. “Wood circles, cloth, ribbon, clothespins. What are you making with this?”

  Jess smiled, happy to be diverted from her train of thought. “On the Saturday of the festival, I’m holding a kid’s craft class in the afternoon.” She opened the drawer underneath the box and took out a completed item. “It’s a wish list ribbon. You decorate the disk, then glue the ribbon to the back and put on a magnet. Each child will get six clothespins to decorate. Then they cut out a picture of what they want for Christmas, or write it down, and clip it on the ribbon. Cute, right?”

  “Definitely cute.”

  “I’ll run the class while Tessa and my mom man the store. It’ll be a bananas day, but worth it.” She held out a hand. “You want to come through? If you don’t mind waiting for me to cook, that is.”

  “I get to see the inner sanctum?”

  His words made her even more nervous. It had been a long time since she’d brought a date through to her apartment. The past few years she’d gone out with a few nice men, but things had only progressed so far when she’d broken it off. It hadn’t been right …

  As much as she told herself this wasn’t a date, it kind of was. They weren’t family. They’d kissed, for God’s sake. They were both single. And dammit all, they were both aware of something buzzing between them. She was sure of it.

  “It’s just a loft. Not much to it.”

  But she found herself wondering what he thought as he stepped inside her private quarters of the enormous house. It looked far cheerier in the sunlight, but today the gray weather had followed them inside, making it dull and dreary. She turned on a lamp, chasing out the dimness with a soft, inviting glow. For autumn she’d tucked away a lot of the aqua and apricot accents and replaced them with warmer tones of dark red and gold, like the soft throw draped over the back of the sofa, assorted candles, and a few throw pillows.

  “Nice place,” he said, directly behind her. Close enough that she jumped a little at his nearness and goose bumps popped out over her skin—the good kind, too. She had to stop being quite so aware.

  “Thanks.”

  “It’s very you, Jess. Comfortable and classy. A bit of peace in a wild sea.” He walked to the windows and looked out. “God, what a view. It’s like having the ocean at your fingertips. She’s a mean mistress today, isn’t she?”

  The dingy waves were tipped with whitecaps. It would be wild outside the shelter of the cove. “My father used to say that,” Jess answered softly.

  He turned around. “You still miss him, don’t you?”

  She nodded. “Of course I do. Not like I did. It’s more fond memories now. It’ll be that way for you, too. It takes a while.”

  “The house is so quiet without my mom. I keep expecting her to walk in the door and read me the riot act for leaving my clothes on the floor. How ridiculous is that? I haven’t lived at home since I was twenty.”

  “When it’s final, there’s no turning back,” she replied. “No do-overs or fixes. It can be tough to accept.”

  “Did you have regrets?” Rick held her gaze and she was caught staring into the depths, wondering how they managed to get from sniping at each other to sharing intimate details in only a matter of weeks. The truth was, she’d never hated him. Been scared for him, yes. Disapproved of how he handled things? Definitely. But never hated. They went too far back for that. And she was starting to realize that she’d been so very angry because she cared about him more than she should.

  “I made lots of mistakes,” she admitted. “Josh was oldest and the only son. Sarah was the baby of the family. It seemed everyone worried about them a lot. I just kind of held back at first, happy to be off everyone’s radar. But then I missed my dad and I’d held my grief in for so long I didn’t know how to talk about it. So I looked for attention. Not all of it was good attention, either.”

  Indeed not. Her marks had started slipping. She’d changed how she dressed and hung out with dif
ferent people. Her father’s death had taken what would have been normal teenage angst and amped it up a notch … or three.

  The room suddenly seemed smaller, the air thinner. Where were they going with this?

  “And then what happened?”

  They both knew what happened.

  “Mike,” he said darkly.

  The wind was picking up and the rain spattered against the wide windows, sounding like little grains of sand hitting the glass.

  And still Rick’s dark eyes held hers, tethering them together even though he was in front of the window and she was beside the sofa. She was tempted. So tempted.

  Instead she forced herself to turn away. “It’s cold in here. I’m going to build a fire.”

  She grabbed some kindling from beside the fireplace and in seconds it caught, the flames snapping and leaping behind the screen. Her heart felt like it was going to hammer its way out of her chest. Dinner my ass, she thought. She’d invited him up here but the last thing on her mind right now was dinner. Time with him was what she wanted. What she’d been wanting for weeks now. Time to explore what might be happening between them, away from the eyes of any of their friends or family. It scared her to death but it was exciting, too. He’d changed so much this fall, pulled himself together, and she’d waited a long, long time to have this feeling again.

  He appeared beside her, took a log from the stack, and put it on top of the kindling. Then another. The licking flames caught the wood, curling the bark of the birch log with a snap.

  His hand—his prosthetic—cupped her elbow and urged her to her feet, and when she stood up he turned her to face him.

  “If you don’t want this, tell me now.”

  Her tongue was tied in too many knots to reply.

  His right hand slid to the base of her neck, beneath her hair. The move was slightly dominant but in a totally sexy way. Rick was a man who would take charge but never be about control.

  As Jess’s breath caught in her throat, he pulled her closer, against his hard body, and stole all her thoughts as he kissed her.