Castaway Cove

by JoAnn Ross

  “And a really big misunderstanding that the guy had to explain,” Charity said.

  “Exactly.” Maddy pointed a clam strip toward Annie. “While you and Mac are starting out with a clean slate. You can make your relationship whatever you want it to be.”

  “I don’t want a relationship.”

  “Liar,” the other three women said together, echoing that voice inside Annie’s own head.

  “What you want is not to want him,” Maddy said knowingly. “Been there, done that.” She waggled a gold-banded finger. “And look how that worked out.”

  “It’s complicated,” Annie insisted, still not convinced that she could have sex without risking her heart.

  “Life’s complicated,” Sedona said.

  “Especially when it comes to men,” Maddy agreed. “Like Kara always says, if it’s got tires or a penis, it’s bound to cause you trouble.”

  Despite the fact that she was still horribly conflicted, Annie couldn’t help laughing. “Amen to that.”

  32

  “Well, you’re here early,” Analise Peterson said when Mac arrived at Still Waters the next morning. Today’s navy blue scrubs were covered with sailboats.

  “I’ve got some news I wanted to tell him before anyone else did.” He didn’t mention that after getting home from the station, frustrated from having waited in vain for Annie to call, he hadn’t gotten any sleep. “How’s he doing?”

  “So far, so good. He opted for the early-bird breakfast, then went out into the garden.”

  So he wasn’t watching the morning TV news. That was a good thing. “He didn’t take the paper with him, did he?”

  Charlie still liked reading the Shelter Bay Beacon, although Mac had been told that he frustrated some residents when he’d take part in the morning news group because he’d comment on a story, then three minutes later, comment on it again, and again, as if it were new. One newcomer to the group had finally yelled at him, but according to Analise, the others had stood up for his grandfather and later suggested the new guy was going to have to work on developing tolerance if he wanted to fit in.

  “No. He’s just sitting out there, looking through his scrapbook.”

  “Great.” Mac wasn’t looking forward to telling Charlie about Ollie, but better that than having him hit with the news without a careful buildup.

  “Speaking of scrapbooking,” the nurse said with a teasing smile, “I hear you’ve taken it up.”

  “Is nothing private?”

  “Nope.” She folded her arms. “I like Annie Shepherd. She helped me choose the perfect paper and embellishments for my honeymoon photo album. You could do a lot worse.”

  “We’re just friends.”

  “Yeah.” Analise laughed. “From what I heard you’re really friendly friends. And personally, not that you asked, I think it’s great.”

  “That’s because now that you’re married, you want everyone else to be married, too.”

  Although he would’ve thought it a mostly female thing, Mac had watched the same phenomenon with deployed guys. Once someone returned from leave with a wedding band on, he’d start preaching the marvels of marriage. Of course, usually those marvels revolved around daily sex and lots of it.

  “Guilty,” she agreed with a grin. The desk phone rang, allowing Mac to escape any inquisition.

  He entered the garden, which was surrounded by walls covered with climbing vines to keep residents from wandering off. It was early enough that although the sun was rising in a clear blue sky, dew still sparkled on the dark green leaves. Mac knew his grandmother had loved gardening as much as his own mother, which, he suspected, was why Charlie, who’d never shown any interest at all in flowers, spent so much time out here.

  He was, as Analise had said, looking through the scrapbook Annie Shepherd had helped him make. It was open to a photo of Charlie and his Annie, which Mac knew to have been taken on their honeymoon at Rainbow Lake.

  She was seated on a log, with the waterfall behind her, wearing a pair of jeans and a red-and-white-checked blouse tied beneath her breasts. Her hair was blowing in the breeze, she was laughing at the camera, and even in the faded black-and-white photo, anyone could see the love shining in her eyes.

  “Morning, Pops.”

  “Morning.” Charlie didn’t bother to glance up from the photo. “When I woke up this morning, Annie reminded me about when I rowed her across the lake from our rented cabin to the lodge on the other side,” he said.

  Mac knew Charlie was referring to his Annie. Not Mac’s. Not that Annie Shepherd was actually his. As she’d made perfectly clear. And, he reluctantly kept telling himself, it was probably just as well.

  “We were going to have breakfast,” Charlie said. “It was early morning and the lake was smooth as glass. The fog was coming off the water, but we still couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of the bow.”

  “Sounds tricky.” Mac knew from experience that fallen trees lurked beneath that seemingly serene water, waiting to snag passing boats.

  “What it was was nice.” Charlie’s eyes, which had brightened while talking about his deceased wife softened with the long-ago memory. “Being young, and having been away at sea for so long, we definitely set that boat to rocking.”

  Mac laughed. “Good for you.”

  “Being in a war taught me how short life can be. Which is why it’s important to seize the carp.”

  Mac put aside the fact that he’d definitely failed on the carpe diem advice with Annie and instead decided, since his grandfather had brought up the subject of life and death, to tell him about Ollie.

  He sat down on the bench beside Charlie and stretched out his legs. “I was talking with Sax Douchett yesterday,” he said.

  “Always liked that young fellow. I knew he wasn’t near as bad as he liked people to think. He was just sowing his oats. Like a lot of us do while waiting for the right woman.”

  Which Kara definitely was for Sax.

  Mac was beginning to feel a bit like that song he’d played the other night. About wishing on someone else’s star because it sure as hell seemed like everyone else in town was all lovey-dovey, while he was just frustrated.

  “He brought up the parade.”

  “Always liked the Fourth of July parade.” Charlie frowned. “Guess this’ll be the first year since 1945 I’ve missed being part of it.”

  “He was thinking you might like to take part again this time. On the float,” he said quickly, in case his grandfather might get confused and think he’d be expected to walk.

  “I sat on the bench with Ollie Nelson last year. We’re the last two of our generation.”

  “That’s another thing I need to tell you,” Mac said gently. “Ollie passed on.”

  “He did? When?”

  “Night before last.”

  “Oh.” At first Mac was surprised when his grandfather seemed relieved. Then clarification came. “I was afraid he’d died some other time and I’d forgotten.” He shook his head. “I might forget what I ate for breakfast, but if we’d lost Ollie and I’d forgotten, well, hell, that’d just be wrong.”

  Knowing the bond that war forges, Mac understood his pops’ reasoning perfectly.

  “Is he going to have a funeral?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “I need to go.”

  Mac wasn’t about to ask if his grandfather felt up to it. Being battle buddies created an especially deep bond. “It’s at one. I can pick you up at noon to give us plenty of time to get there and settle in.”

  “Make it eleven thirty,” Charlie said with surprising clarity and decisiveness. “I’ll need time to change into my uniform, which I’ll need you to get from the house.”

  “Will do,” Mac said.

  Last year, in the parade when Sax rode in that convertible, looking as uncomfortable as hell in his
spiffy Navy whites, Mac’s grandfather had been proud to still fit into his uniform. He suspected that this year it would hang on him, but he also knew that Charlie would consider it a necessary sign of respect.

  “You think any more about that nurse?” he asked. “Annie?”

  “She’s not a nurse, Pops. She’s a volunteer.”

  “Makes no difference. She’s pretty enough. And sweet as taffy. You could do a lot worse. You should ask her out to dinner. Wine and dine her. That always works.”

  Mac laughed, deciding there was no way he was going to share the fact that they’d already had lunch. No point in encouraging the old man about something that wasn’t going to happen.

  Though, he thought, as he waved good-bye to Analise, then drove away from Still Waters, it was strange how, along with always being able to remember his conversations with Emma, Charlie seemed locked onto the idea of fixing him up with Annie Shepherd.

  Just proving that Alzheimer’s might be a roller coaster, but it wasn’t one where all the cars were connected and everyone was on the same ride. Although the end was certain, the one thing he’d learned over the past eight months was that everyone’s experience was as unique as the people suffering from it.

  As Mac passed the tidy shops with their colorful wind socks blowing in the sea breeze, he saw Annie out in front of Memories on Main, rolling down her yellow and white awning.

  He was tempted to stop, but the fact that she hadn’t called the show last night suggested that she really was putting a stop to any relationship they might have going. Besides, since this was his father’s day for working at the clinic, Mac needed to get home, having promised to take Emma to the park, then have a hot dog roast on the beach.

  So he merely slowed down, and honked once. She turned around, saw his truck, and waved. Today’s dress was a stoplight red. When a sea breeze caught and flared the flirty skirt high on her thighs, he was tempted to pull over.

  Although he hadn’t been in Spec Ops, or anything secretive like that, the military had taught Mac to keep information close to his chest.

  Working for AFN had also required that he keep his emotions to himself, because when he was reporting that day’s casualties, or listening to some of the personal stuff people who called in to request songs would tell him, he could’ve spent a lot of his deployments too depressed to get up in the morning.

  So, while he might seem all outgoing as Radio Guy, concealing his feelings had become second nature. Until that first night with Sandy from Shelter Bay, and again at lunch, when he’d found himself opening up in a way he hadn’t with anyone. Not even his father. Or Sax, whom he’d always been closest with, back in the day.

  She was probably right about not getting involved. But just watching her lips curve in that smile had him remembering her taste.

  Despite the nightmares, and the ghosts, he’d told himself that compared to most guys, he was doing okay. He’d learned to deal with stuff, and things he didn’t want to deal with got put in that lockbox in his mind.

  Not much got to easy, breezy Midnight Mac.

  But, as fucked up as this situation could turn out to be, Annie Shepherd had sure as hell gotten to him.

  33

  She wasn’t going to call. Annie told herself that all day, trying to ignore the burst of pleasure she’d felt when he’d driven by. It had taken all her restraint not to give him an invitation to stop. But then what?

  Fortunately the pods of whales, along with the local dolphins, had begun putting on quite a show, filling the whale-watching boats with tourists, who would rush into her store in search of paper, brads, and various other whale embellishments to create the memory pages they intended to make once they got back home.

  During the off season, her sales tended to be local, along with an online base that was growing more every day. Enough so she was thinking she might have to hire someone part-time just to handle the mailing.

  After closing the shop, she went home, took advantage of the low tide to walk a mile along the beach from her cove, then back home again. She fed Pirate, who was noisily demanding his dinner, nuked a frozen diet meal for herself, which tasted just barely better than the cardboard box it came in, and settled down with a romance novel that was just hot enough to keep reminding her of the kisses she’d shared with Mac Culhane.

  So much for escapist fiction.

  Giving up, she switched to a history of the cove where her house was located—it was a fascinating enough story, but had been written by a professor emeritus who’d retired to Newport, and seemed to have missed his calling. Because his technical, detail-heavy, dry prose style was definitely more suited to writing legal briefs, legislation, or computer manuals.

  Finally giving up, and wondering how it was that a book that was so impossibly boring couldn’t have at least made her sleepy, Annie poured a glass of wine and took it upstairs to bed, where she slipped between the sheets and turned on the radio.

  “When I was growing up, spending my summers here in Shelter Bay,” Mac was saying, “everyone knew the rules of dating. Among them bein’ that it was always the guy’s responsibility to make the first move at the end of a date.

  “But with all the gains women have made in equality, is it still that way? Guys, do you still sometimes get conflicted about whether she wants you to kiss her at the end of a date? When you realize you’re caught in a movie moment, but you’re having a hard time decoding the scenario?

  “And, hey, you women out there, are you still waiting on a guy to make the move? Or do you believe in taking the matter into your own hands. Or, in this case, lips?

  “Give me a call at 555-9806 and let me know your thoughts. Meanwhile, we’ve got an ode to those guys who are responsible for making that move with Gloriana’s “Good Night,” or as most people call it, “Kissed You Good Night.”

  Annie’s phone immediately rang.

  “He’s doing it again,” Sedona said. “Sending you a message. Talking about kissing you.”

  “Maybe,” Annie allowed, even though she knew her friend was right. “Though it could be a coincidence. Most country songs are about kissing, drinking, falling in love, or breaking up.”

  “He wants you to call.”

  “I know.”

  Annie hitched up higher in the bed and took another, longer sip of wine. Pirate, sensing her anxiety and not happy that she shifted enough to slide him off her legs, shot her an annoyed glare and moved down to the bottom of the bed. In revenge, he began clawing the pretty woven wool throw she’d bought for a ridiculously low price at one of the artisan boutiques in the Cannery.

  “Well?” Sedona said.

  “I’m thinking about it.”

  “He’s practically inviting you to make the next move,” Sedona said, pressing her case. “He’s already done his part. Now it’s your turn.”

  “He drove by the store this morning. While I was out putting down the awning.”

  “And?”

  “Didn’t you hear me? He drove by. If he was all that interested, why didn’t he stop?”

  “Because you told him you didn’t want him to? You’re the one who said it wasn’t going to work.”

  “And he agreed.”

  “That’s what guys always say to protect their egos when they’ve been turned down. Would you have wanted him to get down on his knees, right there on Main Street, and beg?”

  “Of course not.”

  Oh, God. Maybe she was one of those women who expected the man to make not just the first move, but all the moves. And how depressing, in this day and age, was that?

  “It’s complicated,” she said yet again, reminding herself that she’d dared him to kiss her in Memories on Main, of all places.

  “Life’s complicated. Love even more so.”

  “Who’s talking about love?” What she and Mac Culhane had was merely chemistry. Wasn’t it?


  “Don’t get bogged down in details. Or ahead of yourself. He’s putting himself out there, Annie. The question is, are you going to snatch him up? Or wait until someone else does?”

  “I can’t very well call the station if I’m on the phone with you,” she said.

  “Go for it,” Sedona replied. Then cut the connection.

  Wishing she’d brought the bottle upstairs, Annie polished off the rest of her wine, took a deep breath, and dialed.

  34

  The phone buttons had lit up. Mac figured Cowboy and the others could wait because there was one caller he was not going to risk keeping on hold.

  “I was hoping you were listening,” he said.

  “I like country music,” she said.

  “See, we have something in common.”

  “Well, that and kissing,” she admitted. He thought he heard a smile in her voice.

  “That’s a damn good start.”

  “I suppose so.” She paused. Then said, “How long do we have?”

  “The song runs four minutes, forty-seven seconds.”

  “That’s a long one.”

  “Hey, I try.”

  “I’m glad you honked when you drove by today,” she said.

  “Can’t not compliment a pretty woman in a red dress,” he said.

  “I thought maybe you’d stop.” Another pause. Then a sigh. “And this is sounding so like high school.”

  He laughed because damned if he hadn’t been thinking the same thing. “I wanted to. Especially when you flashed me.”

  “The wind caught my skirt,” she countered, but he could practically see that cute color rising in her porcelain pale skin. “And it didn’t go that high.”

  “High enough it had me wanting to bite your thigh.”

  “Don’t.” She almost moaned it.

  Ha! He was getting to her.

  “Just being honest. So, yeah, I wanted to stop, but I wasn’t sure you wanted me to. I was also pretty sure you didn’t want me kissing you on Main Street where everyone driving by could see.”