by JoAnn Ross
“Good try,” a deep voice shattered her introspection. “But you’re not getting off the hook that easily.”
There, standing in front of her, not quite physically blocking her way, but large enough that she’d have to dodge around him, was Gabriel St. James. She thought she saw a glimpse of something—empathy, sympathy?—in eyes the color of rain. Then, like a flash of lightning out at sea, it was gone, leaving them cool and remote.
“I’m sorry.” The surprising thing was, she meant it. “But I’ve had a really, really bad day, and—”
“All the more reason to get out of here for a while. I imagine, as convenient as it might be, there’s also a downside to living above the store, so to speak.”
That was true. But . . .
“I’d be lousy company.”
“Believe me, your idea of what constitutes a good dinner companion definitely changes after you’ve sat on your helmet eating MREs hunkered down beneath a rocky ledge in the Afghan mountains with a team of Marines. Besides, you have to eat.”
“I’m a mess.” She ran her hand down her thighs and wondered if she smelled of clinic and death rather than the expensive perfuse she’d spritzed on earlier. Then wished she didn’t care.
He tilted his head. “Are you always this hard on yourself?”
“Not hard. Truthful.”
“You look terrific. Though sad.”
“I lost a patient.”
“So your mother told me when she called.”
“She called you?”
“To explain that you might be a bit delayed. And not exactly up for going out in public.”
“Oh.” Charity knew her mother wasn’t nearly as shallow as she might appear. But she hadn’t realized empathy was one of her traits.
“Which is why I stopped by the Crab Shack and picked up something to go. I also brought dinner for your mother.”
Okay. That was thoughtful.
“It wouldn’t hurt you to get out of here. Get some fresh air. I thought we’d go to the beach. Have dinner, share some conversation, clear your head.”
“And unbreak my heart?”
“That’s probably not possible. A loss is a loss, whether you’re talking about a person or an animal,” he said. “But fresh sea air, fresh crab, and a little wine might ease the pain. Just a bit.”
Something occurred to her. “Where’s your dog?” Surely he wouldn’t have given it away? Or worse yet, taken it to one of those horrid kill shelters in one of the nearby towns?
“Upstairs with your mother. She offered to dog sit when she called. Last I saw, she was using pieces of fried shrimp to try to teach him to do a high five.”
A laugh burst out of her at the mental image of her socialite mother, clad in silk lounging pajamas, eating greasy fried seafood with her nightly martini while trying to teach a rescued Shih Tzu a trick.
“See.” The smile that split his harshly hewn face was all the more warming because it was so rare. “It’s already working. Run up and change into something that can handle the beach. Since the mutt seems to be surviving without me okay, I’ll wait here.”
She hesitated. Considered her options, then realized he was right. Some time out on the beach, breathing in the bracing scent of salt water and fir trees, was probably just what she needed.
“I’ll be right back down.”
He nodded. “I’ll be here.”
Of that, Charity had not a single doubt.
22
Charity didn’t talk much as they crossed the bridge over the harbor to the coast. Which was fine with Gabe. After all these months alone, he’d gotten accustomed to silence. He could tell that the death of one of her patients was weighing on her, though. Her face was pale and her eyes, shiny with unshed tears, showed traces of strain and sorrow. The bright energy that had first garnered his unwilling attention seemed dimmed. Like a candle snuffed out by a coastal wind.
“She was a golden retriever,” she said, finally breaking the silence.
“Great dogs.”
She nodded, though she continued to look out the passenger window, her attention on a seagull perched atop a wooden piling. She’d changed into a pair of wellworn jeans and a loose cotton blouse printed in swirling sea colors that looked as if she might be channeling the Age of Aquarius. “Her owner’s been through a lot, but she’s definitely one tough cookie. Still, it had to have been horribly difficult.”
“For both of you.”
“As I said at Cole and Kelli’s wedding, I don’t like to fail.”
“Name me one person who does.”
“Point taken. The dog, Rosemary, had cancer.” She shook her head. “We could have gone the chemo and radiation route, but—”
“It only would’ve bought a bit more time,” he guessed.
“Exactly. Fortunately, it wasn’t my call to make. Rosemary was twelve years old, which is a good run for a golden. Especially since their cancer rate comes in around sixty percent.”
“I’m no veterinarian, but that sounds high.”
“It is, relatively.”
“Yet we all—dogs and people—have a one hundred percent rate of dying.” Didn’t he know that firsthand, having seen so much death himself? The dog’s name belatedly sank in. “Are you talking about Sofia De Luca’s dog?”
“Yes.” She glanced over at him, obviously surprised. “Do you know Sofia?”
“I stopped to take some photos at a farmers’ market on the town square the morning I arrived in town. Sofia was there with her herbs and invited me out to Lavender Hill Farm.”
“She loves to spread her gospel of healthy eating.”
“Fed me the best cedar-grilled salmon I’ve ever eaten on top of fresh greens. I nearly proposed on the spot.”
Gabe found himself liking that he could make Charity smile.
“That’s sweet.”
“I told you—”
“Yes, I know.” She brushed away his planned complaint. “Marines aren’t sweet. Or nice. But maybe Shelter Bay’s beginning to get to you. I’ve certainly changed since moving here.”
“Next you’ll be telling me there’s something in the water.”
“You wouldn’t be the first person to suggest that.”
It was his turn to shrug. “Whatever. I didn’t spend much time with Rosemary, but she seemed like a great dog.”
“She was one of the best I’ve ever known. Although I wasn’t living in town then, she was there for Sofia’s husband’s cancer. It was as if Rosemary sensed Sofia’s grief. She didn’t leave her side for days. Even during the memorial service they held in the garden pavilion out at the farm.”
“And no doubt you already have a replacement in mind.”
“Not a replacement. A pet’s not like a microwave or TV. They’re not replaceable. Though there is this golden-paws bulldog that came in the other day. The one I had to leave the wedding for. She just had pups.”
“Golden paws being old?”
“Got it in one. It’s a term used for harder-to-place elderly rescued dogs.”
She was good. Not just shoving animals into whichever home she could find, but making sensible matches. Not that he belonged with the fluff ball she was trying to push onto him, but, hey, no one was perfect.
“Makes sense,” he said. “Being no spring chicken herself, Sofia won’t have to worry as much about leaving a dog behind when her time comes.”
“That isn’t exactly the way I’d put it. But yes. That’s what I was thinking. . . . Would you mind if I rolled down the window?”
“Be my guest. I would’ve myself, but most women I’ve met—outside the ones in the military—seem to worry about their hair. Especially on dates.”
“I’m not most women.”
He shot her a look. “Believe me, I’ve already figured that out for myself.”
“And about this being a date—”
“It’s more than just dinner. And we both know it.” Hadn’t he tried to convince himself that he’d only asked her out to
save himself from having to nuke yet another frozen dinner in the motor home’s microwave?
“My mother’s already driven that point home,” she said dryly. “But here’s the thing. Would you mind if we just sort of ignored the first-date idea and pretend this is our second one?”
“Sure.” Although he hadn’t originally had any intention of sticking around once the wedding was over, Gabe liked the idea there’d be another. “Why?”
“Because I have this terrible habit of going too far on a first date. So, I’d like to avoid that problem tonight.”
The same way he could make her smile, she could make him laugh. Gabe liked that about her. Especially since he knew it was a bald-faced lie she’d told to lighten the mood. Of course, liking it as much as he did also had his nerves tangling like kelp.
“It’s a deal,” he agreed even as he reminded himself yet again that this was the type of woman a man should care about. The type you didn’t just enjoy for the moment, then move on. “Though I’ll probably be kicking myself when I’m forced to spend the night alone in the motor home.”
“You won’t be alone. You’ll have your dog.”
“Don’t remind me.”
He turned onto a narrow, sandy road, then stopped when he got to the edge of the beach, which stretched out in both directions like a sun-gilded ribbon of golden sand. It was also completely deserted. Which wouldn’t be unusual most of the year, but this was high tourist season, when visitors flocked to Shelter Bay.
“How did you find this place?”
“Cole and Sax brought me here a couple nights before the rehearsal dinner for a three-guy bachelor party.”
“That’s pretty low-key for a bachelor party.”
“We’re not kids anymore. I suspect we’ve all done enough wild and crazy stuff to last us a lifetime.”
“And after fighting wars, you’re ready for mellow?”
“That, too,” Gabe agreed.
He didn’t want to talk about war. Didn’t want to think about it. He’d done his duty, put in his time, and moved on. One thing he’d always been good at was moving on. Which had been a large part of the appeal of the military.
“Apparently their family used to hang here a lot while they were growing up.”
He decided not to mention the guys sharing that they’d also used it as a make-out place. Instead he pointed to a graying wooden picnic table. “Their grandfather built that table when they were kids.”
“And it’s still standing here. See, that’s one of the things I love about this town. The sense of family continuity. I especially love Bernard Douchett, not just because he’s a sweet man, but because he obviously adores his wife.”
“Cole’s dad is the same way about his mom.” The way they’d slow-danced at the wedding together had shown that somehow they’d managed to keep the spark alive.
“I know. That’s so special.” She leaned back in the leather seat, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath of the salt-and-seaweed-scented breeze. “This is also a really great place.”
“After your mother called earlier, I decided it might fit the bill.”
“It’s perfect.” Until this smile finally brought the sparkle back into her eyes, Gabe hadn’t been aware he’d been missing it. “Thank you.”
Because he suddenly wanted, with an almost painful need, to touch his mouth to those smiling lips—and that was just for starters—he pulled back behind the internal stone wall he’d spent a lifetime constructing.
“No problem. Jake, at the Crab Shack, threw in some plates and stuff. I’ll get them out of the back.”
Coward. As he escaped the Jeep, Gabe assured himself that he was not retreating. Merely, as General O. P. Smith had said about the First Marine Division’s retreat from Chosin Reservoir during the Korean War, “advancing in a different direction.”
23
The local Dungeness crab was excellent as always. It was also messy. Fortunately Jake, the Crab Shack’s owner, had thrown in a newspaper, which Gabe used to cover the table, then held down with beach rocks. Jake had also included plenty of wet wipes.
Instead of being boiled, the crabs had been roasted in a garlic-butter sauce. Their bright orange shells were crispy and brittle, the meat tender, juicy, and incredibly rich.
“Oh, my God,” Charity moaned. “I could marry and live happily ever after with this crab.”
“Sax assured me it was the next-best thing to his cooking. But Bon Temps is closed today.”
“Sax’s seafood Cajun cooking is fabulous and everyone in town is really grateful he reopened Bon Temps. But I’m not sure I’m ready to rate this second place.” She dipped a chunk of the crunchy bread into the sauce that was good enough to inhale through a straw. “I’m going to have to call a tie.”
It definitely wasn’t a polite, first-date sort of meal. There was no way to eat it without getting messy, and she was undoubtedly going to ruin this peasant blouse her mother had managed to push on her after declaring everything else in her closet unacceptable. But Charity couldn’t deny that breaking apart the butter-drenched crab and eating with her hands was proving hugely sensual. It reminded her of the erotic banquet seduction in Tom Jones.
“So,” he said as he scooped up some crunchy coleslaw with one of the white plastic spoons Jake had tossed into the bag, “it doesn’t sound like you’ve had it before.”
“I love crab and I’ve ordered Jake’s take-out sandwiches and salads before. But an entire crab just didn’t seem like something to eat by myself.”
“Hard to believe that the guys in this town are so boneheaded they haven’t taken you there.”
“Because guys consider eating greasy stuff with your hands a form of foreplay?”
“Got me there,” he said easily.
“I’ve been asked. I just haven’t felt like accepting.”
“Why not?” He unwrapped two pieces of corn. Which were—surprise, surprise—also drenched in butter.
Even though she could feel her arteries clogging just looking at the grilled corn, Charity couldn’t resist taking a bite. Yep. She was definitely going to have to spend an extra thirty minutes on the treadmill tomorrow morning to even make a dent in this meal.
“I took sort of a moratorium on dating when I moved here.” She wiped some butter from the corner of her mouth and watched his eyes darken. She’d been right. The man was dangerous.
“How’s that working for you?”
“Actually, just fine. Starting a practice, along with opening the shelter, takes a great deal of time and energy. I’m not sure I’d have any left for personal life.”
“Yet you’re here with me.”
“Good point.”
“So.” He braced his elbows on the table, put that chin with its sexy cleft on his linked fingers, and studied her with slow, silent interest.
Even as his expression remained neutral, as he continued his scrutiny, Charity was uncomfortably aware of the sharp intelligence lurking in his heavily hooded eyes. “So?” she challenged as her nerves began to tangle.
“So, why, exactly, did you call off your wedding?”
“I realize that I’ve provided a great deal of gossip since moving here, but no one actually knows which of us called it off.”
“It wouldn’t have been him.”
She gave him her coolest look. The one she’d given that horrid reporter just as she’d been preparing to walk down the aisle. “Because?”
“Because any man who’d let you get away would have to not only be an idiot but a eunuch, to boot.”
She felt the damning tinge of color rise in her cheeks. Which was ridiculous. Because she never blushed. Jake must have put some hot spices in with the crab’s butter garlic sauce.
“I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Good. Because that’s how I meant it.”
Charity wasn’t ashamed at what had happened. The entire mess, after all, hadn’t been her fault. But she couldn’t help being a little embarrassed by the wa
y she’d so misjudged Ethan.
“Did you love him?”
“Who?” She pushed the foam carton of cabbage and shredded carrots toward him. “Would you care for some more coleslaw?”
“I’m fine, thanks. Good diversionary try, though.”
“Why would you even care?”
He shrugged. “Beats me. But I seem to, so why don’t you humor me?”
What could it hurt? He exuded too many loner vibes to be the type of guy who’d hang out down at the VFW and gossip about her life. Besides, he was going to be leaving town any day. Whom could he tell?
“I thought I did. At least I tried.”
“And now?”
“Nope.” She dug a bit of crab out of a leg with a claw. “Not even a little bit.”
“But you were going to marry him.”
“You realize that if you’re going to keep talking about this, there’s going to be a quid pro quo. I’m going to get to ask you questions. Which is, as I seem to recall, what people actually do on dates. Share likes. Dislikes. Favorite movies. Books. Sometimes, even deep, dark secrets.”
“I don’t have any deep dark secrets.”
“Liar.” She pointed the orange claw at him. “Everyone has secrets.”
“Maybe that’s why they’re called secrets. Because people don’t share them.”
“Yet you keep asking me about something I’m not comfortable with sharing.”
“Touché.” He polished off the beer he’d brought along with a split of wine for her. “So, here’s another one that may be easier. Why did you become a vet? Were you one of those kids who had lots of pets roaming around your house you’d play doctor to?”
“You’ve met my mother. What do you think?”
“Good point. So I guess you put Band-Aids on your stuffed animals instead of playing Barbie?”
“Actually, you’re describing my assistant, Amie. I decided on this career path while going to boarding school in Connecticut. The school required community service, so, on a whim, because I’d never been allowed a pet, I signed up to help one afternoon a week and Saturday mornings at a local animal shelter. I was hooked the first day. Though the number of animals they had to put down every week broke my heart. So, I decided I’d become a vet and open a no-kill shelter.”