Her sister Violet had promised they would get together to clean the house and barn, but so far, Violet had made no move to suggest a date, nor to show her face. Kate loved the old homestead. It was where she and her sister were raised after their mother died, and their father signed guardianship over to their aunt so he could escape to Seattle and avoid child-rearing responsibilities. The stately house had good bones with its polished wood floors, high ceilings, sturdy walls, summer kitchen, and screened-in back porch. It had confronted years of callous scorching summers and malicious fall hurricanes with pounding rains. And it held tons of warm, wonderful memories. She only wished she had the ready cash to buy Violet out of her half of the inheritance.
Kate cocked her ear toward the stairs. She had left the door open at the bottom of the steps so she could hear if anyone came into the house. She was certain she heard a noise in the kitchen, but she promptly dismissed it, realizing she would have heard a Foster plumbing truck pulling into the yard. The trucks had mufflers loud enough to wake the dead.
Just to be sure, she put a scrap of paper between the pages to hold her place where she had found a recipe for strawberry chiffon pie. Book in hand, she hurried down the steps and entered the kitchen to find half a torso wearing tan cargo shorts and a gray sweatshirt sticking out from under the sink. His sockless feet sported old, scuffed boat shoes. A string of unsavory expletives followed the clanking sound of a wrench against metal. Kate squatted down near the opening. “Oh, I’m so glad Jim sent someone. If I lose that ring, I’ll never forgive myself.”
“If I bust my knuckles using this good-for-nothing pipe wrench on this stubborn trap, I’ll never forgive you either.”
“Tappe?” Kate stared at the half torso in front of her.
“Kate?” He slid out, wrench still in his hand. Disheveled and slightly aggravated, he lay semi-prone squinting up at her.
Kate dropped to her knees, discarded the cookbook, and grabbed him in a huge bear hug, wrench and all. She pulled away, rocked back on her heels, and surveyed him with a bewildered look. “Tappe! I can’t believe it. What are you doing here?”
“Taking. Apart. Your drain.” Their gazes met, and a sizzling spark raced though her.
Kate laughed. His logical, curt answer reminded her of times long ago when, as children, she would ask a question he thought too ridiculous and illogical to answer and would only stare at her. But the intimate look he was giving her now was far from a childhood stare.
“Here.” He cleared his throat and shoved a flashlight into her hands. “Hold the light for me. Be careful. If we get this trap loosened, there’s probably decades of slime just waiting to make an escape. Have the bucket ready.”
She nodded and waited until he slid back under the sink, then shone the light on the drain and peered in. He was the same old Tappe she remembered. Older now, but still not inclined to get overly excited or zealous. Sometimes, he could be downright exasperating with his logical calm approach to life and his cool, collected demeanor. But my, oh my, he was as handsome as Eva May described him. Well-muscled, he still had curly light brown hair falling over his forehead, giving him the innocent little boy look which often worked to his benefit when he was trying to talk himself out of trouble. And he smelled heavenly, his aftershave a mixture of fresh air, ocean breeze, and pine.
“I heard you were back in town,” Kate said.
“I heard you have a coffee shop.”
“I thought you were in the Netherlands.”
“As does everyone else in town.” He snorted.
“What are you doing back here in Little Heron Shores?”
“Same as you. Starting a business.”
Kate was used to his ability to frustrate people with his spontaneous, short responses. You had to pull details from him. And he seldom offered additional information.
“Here, give me the bucket.” His hand fell on hers, and she yanked it back quickly, feeling the power of his touch even after all these years. If he noticed her skittish gesture, he didn’t react. “Dad and I bought the marina.”
“What happened to your internet security business?”
“I sold it.” He slid further out and handed her the wrench. “You better back away, ’cause when I set this trap in the bucket, things could get messy.” He smiled, the same old smile she remembered, with eyes as compelling as ever, his magnetism as potent as ever. They stared at each other for another lingering moment.
And then it happened. The trap he was holding slipped from his grip, dropped into the bucket, splattering black slime up his arm and over his gray sweat shirt. Gobs of inky-looking goo splashed onto the front of Kate’s pink T-shirt and out onto the green and white linoleum floor.
“Oh, hell,” he sputtered, “hand me the other bucket to catch the drips when I pull this miserable thing out.” He swapped out the buckets and removed the first one from underneath the cabinet. He rose just as Kate did, almost colliding with her. She set the wrench on the drain board and snatched the roll of paper towels from the counter while he placed the bucket in the sink. Pieces of soggy gunk dripped from his hair. They stared at the oily puddles as they plopped onto the floor, separated, then scuttled away like slippery black bugs.
“Oh, good grief!” His shoulders dropped, and he rubbed his forehead, transferring more of the gunk onto his well-tanned face. When he realized his mistake, his lips quirked and he flashed a wide grin, showing even white teeth. It only took a quick peek at Kate before they simultaneously broke into a rolling laughter that brought tears to Kate’s eyes.
“What a sorry-looking mess you’ve made of yourself,” Kate chortled, choking back another ripple of laughter. Actually, he looked fantastic, despite the dirt. He had classically handsome features—firm lips, a perfectly straight nose, and a square jaw with just a slightly visible childhood scar beneath his chin where he had once missed a jump from the dock to a pontoon and hit the edge of the boat instead. “Why on earth did Jim send you?”
“All his plumbers were out on jobs when I stopped in to pick up some supplies, so I figured I could help him out. I’ve turned your kitchen into a disaster zone.” He started for the bathroom. “I’ll just take a moment to get cleaned up.”
“I’m going up to change my shirt,” she said, still amused. “Take your time. Towels and washcloths are in the cupboard.”
Minutes later, when Kate came back down, Tappe was shutting the cupboard doors underneath the sink. He had cleaned the floor. His hair was wet from dunking it under the faucet. He had changed into a snug black T-shirt only someone with well-toned abs like his should be wearing. His sweatshirt was rolled into a ball on the counter along with her ring, clean and sparkling, lying in a small cereal bowl.
“All fixed and ready to go,” he said. His face grew serious. “It was nice seeing you again, Kate.”
“Here, let me wash your sweatshirt.” She held out a hand. “It’s the least I can do.”
“No.” He stared at her as if an invisible web of attraction was building between them but was stretched too far and too fast and was near breaking. “No, it’s not necessary,” he said in a tight voice. He started to say something more, halted, and drew in a sharp breath instead, his demeanor changing from sunny to dark gray. He looked down at the floor, then up at her and jerked his thumb toward the sink where her diamond lay twinkling in the rays of sunlight flooding the countertop.
“Whoever he is, he’s a very lucky guy. I hope he knows that.” His voice had a tone of pained frustration mixed with disappointment. Without waiting for her to speak, he grabbed the shirt, buckets, and toolbox and strode wordlessly out the door and to his truck. The door slammed with a sharp bang.
“Wait, I’m not—” Stunned and confused, Kate ran to the door and watched him through the screen as he started the truck, gunned the engine, and flew down the road between the towering pines leaving a trail of dust to billow out behind him.
****
“You mean you didn’t tell him the diamond was your Aunt
Fay’s?” Melanie asked.
It was early Monday morning, an hour before the coffee shop opened. Everything was ready for the breakfast crowd. The floor, tables, and counters sparkled in the morning sunlight slanting in through the front windows. The familiar smell of cinnamon, hazelnut, and freshly brewed coffee filled the air. Colorful old coffee cups, found at a flea market and now holding a variety of pungent herbs, marched in a perfectly straight line along the window sill where the women were seated. Books and papers were scattered over the table top as they reviewed recipes and details for the town’s week-long celebration of Valentine’s Day. Many of the town’s stores and restaurants had plans to offer specials for the entire week in hopes of enticing customers and increasing sales. Melanie suggested they do a signature dessert at a reduced cost.
“I didn’t have time,” Kate moaned. “His mood changed from white to black in the few minutes it took me to go upstairs and change.”
“He’s usually one of those even-keeled guys whose temperament motors along at a smooth, lawful 55.”
“Well, he tore out of the house at a streaking 85.” Grim-faced, Kate slumped in her chair. “I’ll go down to the docks at lunchtime and take him a few scones and iced donuts. I’ll try to find out what was bugging him.”
“What was bugging him was evident, genius. Tappe has always been an honorable person who doesn’t cross certain principled boundaries. He thought you were engaged. You have to fix that.” Melanie swept her hand around the room. “How do you think we should decorate this place for Valentine’s Day? And what kind of desserts should we feature?”
“Not chocolate.” Kate pursed her lips. “Everybody does chocolate.” She remembered the premium Dutch chocolates Tappe used to give Aunt Fay, Violet, and her for every holiday and occasion on the calendar. She swore his dad had his own personal chocolate pipeline from the Netherlands markets because there was always a box of Droste chocolates lying around the Vanderberg’s house. Then she remembered the tiny candy hearts Tappe used to give her every year. He would buy several bags of them to keep a supply for the entire year. He’d leave them on the table near her books after they finished studying together. Often she’d find one in her coat pocket or in her purse. He knew she loved the pink and white ones the best.
Melanie snapped her fingers. “Hey, Kate, are you still with me?”
Kate nodded, clearing her head of wandering thoughts. “Oh, let’s not decorate until we can come up with something tasteful. I get weary of looking at red hearts trimmed with white paper doilies all over town.”
The back door creaking open jolted both girls. They swiveled and glanced suspiciously toward the storeroom which had direct access to the back lot and was only used by staff or family members. Seconds later, Violet came charging through like a wild woman and peered behind the counter before her gaze landed on Melanie and Kate by the window. Her drab gray suit, too large for her small frame, was wrinkled and missing a button. Underneath it, a yellow blouse stained with what looked like ketchup or shrimp sauce made her face look gaunt and severe.
“I wanted to catch you before you opened,” Violet said, rushing over. Her dull brown eyes found Melanie and she frowned. “If you don’t mind, I’d like a moment with my sister?”
Melanie’s and Kate’s gazes collided for an instant before Melanie raised an eyebrow as if to say, good luck with this conversation. She slapped a hand on the table and rose. “Well, I have lots to do. I’ll be taking inventory in the storeroom if you need me.”
“Thanks, Mel,” Kate said. She motioned to Violet to take a seat.
“I can’t stay.” Violet’s voice had a shrill edge to it. “I have to work, too, you know.”
Kate forced out a smile. “Not even for a scone and a quick cup of coffee? I just made some fresh. I have vanilla cappuccino. Your favorite. You don’t start at the real estate office for another twenty minutes.” She started to rise, but Violet stopped her.
“No, forget the coffee. I need to know what you plan to do with Aunt Fay’s house.” She clutched her shoulder bag to her side, nervously running her hand up and down the strap.
“Nothing, at the moment. There’s still a lot of contents we need to sort. The spare room and Aunt Fay’s bedroom have to be cleaned out.”
It was almost a year since Aunt Fay’s death. Kate knew her sister desperately wanted to sell the place. She had no doubt that when Violet’s husband deserted her six months ago, he had left with much more than he brought to the marriage. He had also cleaned out Violet’s bank account. Violet was scraping by. Although Kate felt sorry for her, she also was disappointed in her sister. Everyone had warned Violet about Donald Meyers and how he was an untrustworthy person, known for worming himself into the hearts of the women he dated and taking the most he could get from the relationships. Including money. But Violet, dear naïve Violet, had been crazy enough to marry the loser, and now she was paying the price.
“Can’t you just forget about those worthless belongings? Most of it’s junk. What about selling it all?’
It took all of Kate’s patience to stay calm and focused. “We’ve discussed it many times, Violet. If I can help it, I don’t want to sell. The land there is exquisite and leads directly to the backwaters. I’d like to buy you out.”
“I don’t have the time you’ll need to get the money.” Violet’s voice was a whine now. She threw up her hands in frustration. “You have me saddled with an old broken-down house and expenses I don’t need, nor want.”
“I told you I’d take care of them. I’ll pay the taxes and utilities.”
“You’re always so selfish, Kate. Everything in the world isn’t always about you and what you want. Aunt Fay left it to both of us. It should be a fair and equal decision.”
Kate felt herself become more uncomfortable by the minute as her sister’s insinuations grew sharper. Lately, there was something not quite right. Violet seemed to be getting more and more agitated over the smallest things. “You really don’t believe Aunt Fay wanted us to sell? The reason she left us the insurance policy was to be sure we could pay the inheritance taxes. The house has been in our family for four generations, Violet, dating back to the 1920s.”
“Humpf. I don’t give a fig about what our relatives or Aunt Fay wanted. They’re all dead! I think she’d want what was best for all of us. Not just one person—you.” She whirled and started for the door, then turned back. “I suggest you think about all this. Give it some serious thought for a change and stop being so egotistical and pig-headed.” She turned and stormed out the back door. Kate winced as the door slammed with an ear-shattering bang.
Chapter Three
It was in the middle of the lunch hour when Kate packaged a half dozen donuts and freshly baked scones, slipped off her pink and white striped apron, and waved to Melanie before slipping out the door to head to the marina. In spite of the hectic morning, thoughts of Tappe had intruded into all aspects of her work day. She had stolen a moment to call Foster’s Hardware and Plumbing and learned Jim had not charged her for the visit to retrieve her ring since Tappe had generously agreed to help free of charge.
On her way to the docks, Tappe’s words haunted her. Whoever he is, he’s a lucky guy. The words gave her a warm feeling he might still care, but on the flip side they held a hint of despair he might no longer be interested. She couldn’t wait to get to the marina, find him, and clear up his mistaken assumption she was engaged to be married.
The day was destined to be hot. Heat waves shimmered in the air when Kate pulled into the marina and parked. Overhead, gulls cried and wheeled over the roof of the main building of the marina, heading toward the ocean. The marina was really a collection of buildings: a fish cleaning shack, a two-story store and main building where rentals were managed and tackle was sold, and a boat storage building complete with lifts and a repair area.
Skirting the main building by a worn, bleached gray boardwalk lined with wire crab traps, Kate headed to the wharf leading to the waters where Tappe
was hosing down the farthest section of a dock. It was a busy, preferred one where commercial fishing boats delivered fresh seafood—shrimp, oysters, clams, crabs, and fish—to the local restaurants and stopped to refuel, enlist mechanical help for repairs, replace bait and tackle, or grab some drinks and snacks from the marina’s cooler. Tappe wore ragged cut-off jeans, a faded blue tank top, and worn flip flops. His well-muscled body moved in an easy methodical gait flowing as smoothly as if he were part of the waters around him.
Even with his back to her, he must have felt her presence, because he turned, pointing the hose downward and shutting the nozzle off. That was when she heard Eva May’s squeaky voice behind her. “Oh, goodie. I hope you’re holding a delivery from your shop. I just love your baked goods. And your timing is perfect for dessert, isn’t it, Tappe?”
Stunned, Kate turned to see Eva May slipping off a barrel with a take-out lunch bag from the Shrimp Shack. A thin woman, with spindly legs, a sharp nose, and short spiky white blonde hair, Eva May Poole reminded Kate of the ibis birds on the golf courses and along the marshes, peck, peck, pecking at the ground in search of larvae and beetles to enhance their diet of crayfish. And of all the people in Little Heron Shores, she was the last person Kate expected to see at the marina. Eva May had never been fond of water. But then, Eva May never kept it a secret she was on the look-out for good eligible men. Just because her first two marriages failed, it didn’t mean the third couldn’t be the charm, she had declared on many occasions and to anyone with enough stamina to withstand more than a minute’s conversation with her. Kate imagined Tappe Vanderberg’s return to town would turn a lot of female heads his way—Eva May’s included.
Tappe moved up the dock and stopped before her. His mouth curved into a leisurely smile and his hazel eyes, rimmed with green flecks in the sunlight, brightened and widened in pleasure. With the back of his hand, he wiped the sweat forming on his forehead, pushing his wayward hair aside. “Fine morning. Certainly getting better.”
Sweet Kiss Page 2