Love on the Cape: an On the Cape novel, Cape Van Buren

by MK Meredith

  And just now he needed a strong brew because he was back to square one with Judge Carter.

  Sunday evening, Ryker placed the third wooden crate of jarred honey on the stack by the front door, then brushed off his hands. There would be no excuses for his grandmother to forget this way. In fact, he might just take them straight out to her car once she got here to be certain she didn’t. He was still pissed at her for the little stunt she’d pulled on Friday with the judge, and the less he saw of her right now, the better.

  He loved the woman, but she was enough to drive any man, woman, or child to drink.

  And she’d serve up her moonshine as she did it.

  The oven timer dinged and he hurried back toward the kitchen just as the doorbell rang. He yelled over his shoulder, “Come in!”

  Grabbing the door handle, he peaked in then reared back as a hot waft of steam blasted him. “Shit.” He pressed his fingers against his eyes, hoping he hadn’t singed his damn eyelashes. “Grandmother, grab me a towel.”

  He put out his hand just as a soft, clean scent reached him through the savory aromas of the pizza. His grandmother wanted dinner? Fine. But something wasn’t quite right.

  As soon as the cloth touched his palm, he snatched it and gently dabbed at his face. “What the hell took you so long?” He blinked a few times.

  It wasn’t his grandmother in front of him, but Larkin, with a look of mortification on her face and miles of tanned, toned legs from a pair of shorts that had him questioning the necessity of pants.

  “What are you doing here?” He didn’t mean for the question to sound quite so harsh, but his brain was having a hard time rectifying the beautiful woman where his grandmother should be.

  Larkin’s smile was a touch timid, a tad amused, and infinitely bright. He struck the last one from the list, cursing himself for being so taken off guard. Damn women. The lot of them were nothing but trouble, though to hear them tell it, men wouldn’t survive without them.

  “I’m sorry, I thought you and Maxine had worked this out. She sent me to get the honey. Something about a prior engagement. Probably with Judge Carter.” She shrugged.

  Stepping back, Ryker smacked the side of his shin on the opened stove, then threw his hands out to either side of the stove to save himself without setting himself on fire. “God dammit,” he growled, embarrassment pissing him off more than the pain did. He was fumbling around like a teenage boy with his first bra.

  Cool hands caught him at the waist. “Are you okay?”

  The feel of them reminded him of when she’d nursed his side after the debacle at the well and his dick decided it was the perfect moment to join the party. Fucking things should only be allowed out in very specific situations, and this wasn’t one of them.

  Pushing himself back from the stove, he brushed her hands from his waist, but she didn’t move back. Instead, she stood just in front of him and moved her hands to his shoulders. “Are you okay? You could have really hurt yourself.”

  Her eyes were deep green like the leaves on the wild blueberry bushes that ran along the border of the woods. Soft fingertips trailed along his cheek, and his eyes dropped to her mouth on their own accord, leaving him hungry. He suppressed a low growl. When she looked at him like that, he wanted to sit her fine ass up on the island and ease both their frustrations.

  This was going to be a problem.

  Clearing his throat, he stepped back. “I’m fine. You just took me by surprise. My grandmother said she’d be here. Though now I see she’s avoiding me.” Using pot holders, he removed the large pizza from the stove. “Smart woman.”

  “What was that?” Larkin asked.

  He placed the pizza on two black spiral trivets, then leaned a hip against the counter. “Oh, nothing. Just something Maxine needs to answer to.” Pulling off the pot holder mitts, he stacked one on top of the other then tossed them to the counter.

  “So, she sent you to pick up the honey, did she?” he asked.

  Larkin nodded. “I told her I’d be working, so I could just pick it up when I’d finished.”

  He ran his eyes down the length of her, admiring her luscious curves. “You’re working in that?”

  With a hesitant frown, she looked down at her denim shorts and blue ‘eat pi’ t-shirt. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

  Besides, the sliver of smooth skin peeking out from between her snug shirt and the waistband of her shorts that made his fingers itch to touch it, or all the leg she sported about his kitchen in bare feet as if making herself at home, not a thing. Just his damn inconvenient libido.

  It was her damned fault. If she hadn’t kissed him the other day, he wouldn’t know just how good she tasted and want to do it again.

  He waved off her question. “Nothing at all. Just concerned about injury if you’re hiking about in the woods.” Nodding toward the orange flip flops by the front door, he continued. “Not exactly safety first.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I was taking photographs along the shore today. I didn’t know my attire was any of your concern.”

  Only when it came to his sanity.

  “Find anything interesting?” The sarcastic annoyance in his voice couldn’t be helped. Her presence was a constant reminder of how little control he had over his property.

  Slipping her painted toes into the sandals, she nodded. But the motion was slow and a bit sad. “I did.” She dipped her fingers into the front pocket of her shorts then held out a trembling hand.

  A little toy army figurine lay in her palm.

  His heart shifted in his chest. “Archer?”

  She nodded, pulling in a shaky breath.

  God. Damn. It.

  He reached out and clasped her wrist. With a gentle tug, he pulled her into his arms and held her. Her small frame settled in too perfectly against his much larger body and he rested his chin on top of her head with a scowl.

  All his anger rolled away in the face of her sadness. Perspective was damn inconvenient at times. But not quite as much as the heavenly feel of her in his arms, and what it made him want to do, or not do. Like let her go.

  “The pizza smells good.” She mumbled against his shirt.

  Curse her sweet heart and silky skin.

  “Do you want to stay for dinner, Cupcake?”

  Chapter 10

  What Larkin wanted was to stay wrapped up in Ryker’s arms even though she had no right. The mounds of his chest cushioned her cheek and his heat warmed her soul. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had held her like this or when she’d felt as safe. Closing her eyes, she savored the moment, losing herself in his clean, masculine scent, the feel of his strong arms banding around her.

  Finding Archer’s toy soldier had shaken her to the core, but it also strengthened her resolve to save the Cape. She also didn’t want to move out of the embrace of the one man who stood in her way.

  And that would never do.

  She should get the honey and go home. That had been her plan ever since Maxine tricked her into accepting the errand. The last thing she needed was to make the mistake of kissing him again. It would only make her want him more.

  With a strength that surprised her, she straightened, and once his arms fell, forced herself to step away. “I’m sorry.” She looked everywhere but at him.

  “For what?”

  She shook her head. “Archer and I were out here so often, I’m sure it won’t be the last of his toys I find.”

  “Knowing doesn’t always make it easy.” His voice was like a caress of warm fingertips along her skin.

  He would know more than most how little that knowledge helped in some situations. She couldn’t imagine what he uncovered around every corner. The memories of his childhood held such fear and sadness for him. She pulled in a breath.

  “You said something about pizza?”

  He eyed the honey then nodded. “Come on. But don’t let me forget to load the honey into your car. Maxine would love any excuse to come out here and harass me.” />
  Larkin grinned behind his back as she followed him back into the quiet elegance of the kitchen. She’d go home right after dinner. “Your grandmother is an amazing woman. She’s been such a dear friend to me. My parents love her.”

  “Everybody does. But it’s different when you're her grandson. Don’t get me wrong…I think Grandmother is amazing, too. But she thinks she knows what's good for me, even when I disagree. And if you know anything about Maxine, you know she doesn’t stop until she’s satisfied.”

  “That I do. After Archer died, I hid in my house for days. She didn’t just knock on the door repeatedly; she broke in and doused me with a cup of water.”

  Ryker rounded the island with a shocked look on his face. “She did not.”

  Larkin giggled softly. “She did. As you can imagine, I was sputtering mad.”

  But then she had broken down in an anguished cry. Just like her grandson, Maxine had simply held her. It must be a Van Buren trait—comforting for comfort’s sake.

  He moved about the kitchen, so sure and so familiar. How didn’t he see that he was home?

  “She came and got me when everyone else was too afraid to upset me more.” Moving to the sink, she washed her hands then turned toward the larger than life man who’d showed up in her life so unexpectedly. “What can I do to help?”

  He rolled the pizza cutter through the thin crust. “There’s a salad already prepared in the refrigerator. Grab it and whatever dressing you want. We can eat here.” He pointed the pizza cutter toward the white marble-topped island.

  She did as he asked but hesitated by the large sliding doors that led out to the back porch. “Would you be open to sitting outside? It’s such a beautiful evening.” She looked out across the lawn toward the South Cove. “The sky is a rainbow of colors.”

  “Anything you want.” One side of his lips pulled into an attempt at a grin.

  If only he meant it.

  Grabbing white plates and black linens, he slid a hand under the pizza pan and followed her.

  Once their fare was set up on the black slate of the outdoor table, Larkin lightly slapped her leg. “Crap.”

  His eyes lingered on her thighs and she could feel the heat rising along her skin.

  “What?” He dragged his eyes up her body until they met hers. It seemed like an effort, which made her feel more beautiful than she had in a long time. Maybe all the excitement and activity lately was doing her some good after all.

  “I forgot my hoody in the car. I’ll go grab it.”

  Ryker pulled out her chair. “I’ll grab you one from inside. Just give me a second.”

  He returned with two sweatshirts. One he handed to her and the other he pulled over his head.

  She hesitated as the scent of his cologne weaved its magic about her head.

  “Will that work? I figured I’d save you the trip.”

  “What?” She startled. “Yes, of course.” She shoved her arms through and pulled the sweatshirt over her head.

  His laugh met her ears as she tugged it into place. The hem of it fell past her shorts.

  “You could wear that thing as a dress. And with those legs…” He added, with a curious edge to his voice. He stood close and his fingers brushed along the edge of the sweatshirt against the sensitive skin of her thigh, sending a wash of goosebumps along her skin and leaving a tight ball of sensation at her center.

  Her eyes flew to his and he stepped back, coughing into his hand and gesturing to the pizza. “Let’s eat before the breeze cools it down too much.”

  She swore the look in his eyes alone would warm her for a lifetime, but she was thankful for the sweatshirt now that the sun was setting, and she sat down. “But that’s the magic of pizza. It’s always good.”

  They dug into their dinner in silence. Ryker stopped eating long enough to light the fireplace flanking the long table, and the warmth was just right, like the stars in the sky and the sound of the waves cresting then crashing against the shore.

  Like the man sitting so close yet so far across the table.

  “I need you to understand something. But I don’t want to hurt you by bringing it up.” His deep voice washed over her.

  She wiped her mouth with her napkin then gripped it on her lap. His tone was serious and left a buzz of nervous anticipation in her chest—not the excited kind but the heavier, scared kind. Something to focus on while they chatted would help. Anything to give her a little distance. “Okay. This sounds big. But can we pick some blueberries while we chat? I’d love to make a pie later.”

  Ryker tilted his head. “I didn’t mean to come across so somberly. It’s not that big of a deal, though I know talking about Archer must be hard on you. But yeah, let’s pick some blueberries. Though they budded early this year, they’re not going to be ripe.”

  “I know. I want tart more than sweet.”

  The sun was dipping past the trees west of the Cape, leaving the grounds more shaded than the time of day called for, but the white-capped blue of the berries could still be seen along the low bushes spreading out like a lake along the southern border of the Cape by the trees.

  The back porch had a long work area and lower storage bins held baskets of every variety as well as gloves and small hand tools. The larger yard tools were stored in a shed that shared the same dark, elegant colors as the house.

  Peering inside the lower cabinet, he called out. “How big of a basket do you want?”

  She stepped up behind him to look over his shoulder just as he stood with a basket in his hand. Their chests brushed against each other and a spark of pleasure rushed across her breasts.

  He reached out to steady her with hands she kept dreaming about. “We seem to be doing a lot of this lately.”

  A small, shaky laugh floated off on the breeze as she took the basket from his hand. She couldn’t figure out her reaction to him. The pull to be close but the need to stay away.

  She held up the basket. “This will do just fine.”

  They stepped carefully into the spread of lowbush blueberries with miles of silence between them, the sounds of their steps barely audible over the crashing waves along the shores and the songbirds in the trees.

  As she bent to look over a few bushes, he cleared his throat. “When you found Archer’s toy. What did that make you feel?”

  She paused with a few blueberries in her hand. They weren’t quite as vibrant as they would be in a few weeks, a bit more purple than blue.

  “It stole my breath.” She answered softly, then popped a berry in her mouth, thankful for the overly tart zing needed to ground her. “It rushed me back through time to the last moment he’d played with the toy. I could hear his sweet laugh, see the happy light in his eyes. His blond hair ruffled from the ocean breeze.”

  Her chest ached as the memory hit her once more.

  “It was both beautiful and torturous. It reminds me of what I no longer have. Will never have again.” She blinked rapidly, willing her throat to open so she could swallow the blueberry. “But it also reminded me of my perfect love.”

  She handed him the basket, noting the sadness in his gaze and appreciating the compassion. He might seem like an ass when it came to the Cape, but he had a heart, and it hurt for her. “Hold this for me.” Then one by one, she chose which berries to add to it. Almost ripe, but not quite, they’d make the perfect compote for her pie. Archer had loved her pies. She pulled in a shaky breath.

  Ryker’s voice joined the sounds of the settling day.

  “When I walk through this land, all I see are my hiding places. The large, hollowed out stump of a dying tree, the overhang of stone along the north shore, even the lighthouse, though that proved to be a mistake.”

  She listened while she made her choices, dropping her berries into the basket. Her hand brushed against his and his eyes found hers.

  They were full of anguish. “The memories steal my breath, too, and the sensation I’m left with is fear, the sounds I hear are my mother crying out or me grunti
ng as my father’s fists hit home. I tried my hardest to keep quiet because my screams only egged him on.”

  Her stomach soured and she rose to stand in front of him. “Ryker.”

  His brows were drawn together, giving his dark looks an edge that made her tremble.

  “I’m not telling you this for your sympathy—I’m telling you to help you understand where I’m coming from. Why I have to do this. And why I’m asking you to reconsider.”

  She took the basket of berries from him, hoping to ease his burden. “I can’t imagine. Really, I can’t. But don’t you see? You’re focusing on the wrong thing.” Her chest tightened, wanting to get through to him, to help him.

  “Aren’t you listening?” He swung away from her then back. “It hurts me to be here. And you want me to change my focus?” His words came out just shy of a frustrated shout, but she held her ground.

  “Yes.” She pleaded. “If you could remember back to good memories of your grandmother, working the bees with your grandfather. What memories here make you feel something other than fear? Focus on that.” She forced her words out, willing him to concentrate on what could give him peace instead of what was clearly his hell.

  He stepped in front of her, so big and tall, he blocked out the moon that was now casting a soft glow on the white-capped blueberries. “You want me to focus on what makes me feel good?”

  “Yes.” Finally. She was getting through to him.

  Something shifted in his eyes, something intense and dangerous and unknown. “Fine.” He growled so softly she barely heard him.

  His arms swept around her body, pulling her in, crushing her against his unyielding chest. The basket of berries dropped to the ground. A thrill of sensation shot through her body at the contact, but before she could respond, his mouth was on hers, obliterating the light from the moon. Her world went black in a spiraling wave of sensation with the feel of his lips and the stroke of his tongue.

  He held her with one hand, while he dragged the other over her hip, then up her side, past her breast, until he cupped her cheek. Angling her head to suit his needs, he dove even deeper, taking her with him.