by Toni Blake
“I’m so sorry,” Polly said then, her eyes fraught with embarrassment. “We don’t condone cats hangin’ around in here, honest. Just can’t get rid of this one—he’s a stray, ya see, and I don’t have the heart to throw away scraps that make a perfectly fine meal for him. And lately he’s taken to runnin’ in the back door anytime one of the cooks opens it, but sometimes we don’t notice right away. I’m sure you can see my dilemma.”
“Polly, Polly, Polly,” Reece said, stepping up to join the conversation, “another one?”
Camille blinked in surprise. “There’s more than one?”
“Heavens no!” Polly assured her. “We unloaded Dinah on that sweet Christy and her hunky boyfriend, Jack, almost as soon as they moved down here—you know that, Reece.”
“But this is still another one,” he pointed out.
“Who needs a home,” she said. “I think Tiger here—that’s what we been callin’ him, due to his stripes and all—would enjoy it at your place.”
Reece slanted the waitress a look that told Camille they’d had this conversation before. “I’m not as big a pushover as Christy and Jack are. And I already have a pet. A big one. Who doesn’t need a crazy cat agitating her.”
“Why, he’s not crazy, not at all,” Polly promised him. “He just needs a place to call home, like everyone else.” Then she looked to Camille. “How about you, hon? Wouldn’t you like a nice cat?”
Again, Camille balked. “Who, me? I’m not from here. I live a plane ride away. And I’m not really a pet kind of person. I travel a lot for my job.”
Polly just pressed her lips flatly together and nodded, disappointed but clearly used to being turned down.
“You have a home, you know,” Reece said, putting it back on Polly. “Why can’t he go live with you?”
“Abner’s allergic to cats,” she said on a sigh, “or I’d love to have him.” She shook her head. “You’d think the hat thing plus his general lackluster mood would be enough for me to have to contend with in this marriage, but no—God also made him allergic to cats, too. Otherwise, I’d probably have two or three little furballs around the house.”
“I bet he has seriously mixed emotions about The Cat in the Hat,” Reece quipped.
And Polly let out a laugh. “Oh Reece, you’re such a stitch.” She turned to Camille. “Isn’t he such a stitch? Don’t you just love his sense of humor?”
Camille cast him a sideways glance and choked out, “Oh yeah. He’s a laugh a minute.”
“That’s what we love about Reece around here,” Polly said. “How, through it all, he’s stayed so happy and easygoing. Not everybody could stay that way.”
“Well, we need to be going,” Reece interjected before either woman could utter another word. And Camille kept her eyes down, attempting to act as if she hadn’t quite caught all of that, but of course she had.
So what had Reece been through? A decline of business, sure—but clearly Polly was going through the same, so she was obviously referring to something else.
Something . . . bigger.
Something with the power to destroy a lesser man’s happiness—according to Polly anyway.
They said their goodbyes and Camille complimented the seafood, and as they were walking toward the front door—guarded by a life-size fisherman carved from wood, which kind of freaked Camille out and made her wonder how she’d missed it coming in—Polly called over to them proudly, “Made that myself. We call him the Fish Whisperer.”
Camille forced a smile at the nice older lady. On one hand, it was truly impressive to think of Polly carving something so large from a slab of wood. Who did that sort of thing? On the other, though, something about the wooden fisherman was pretty creepy. His painted wooden eyes were scary, and—oh dear!—she realized suddenly that he looked exactly like Abner.
“Yeah,” Reece whispered, reading her thoughts, “he’s Abner. No one knows if Polly knows that, but everybody else does.”
Camille gave a short nod—and then, from behind her, she heard a gentle, “Meow.”
Turning to peek down, she spotted the yellow-orange cat padding toward them. He stopped a few feet away, and as she made eye contact with it, she thought something in its furry little face looked a bit sad, desperate. “Meow,” it said again.
“He likes you,” Polly told her as if it were an indisputable fact. “He’s saying, ‘Take me home. I’ll be a good cat, I promise.’ ”
Camille sucked in her breath at the small stab of guilt inflicted. It was a ridiculous reaction. She didn’t even particularly like cats, and had been around few. She’d had no pets growing up—cats, dogs, or otherwise.
And she was almost thankful when Reece replied—since she’d not quite managed to. “Quit trying to guilt her, Polly. Take it from me, Cami here has a heart of stone.”
Then he laughed, as if he were only kidding—but she knew he really wasn’t.
And that was fine. Wasn’t it? After all, what did she care what he thought of her? And her job did require her to have a heart of stone—at least when it came to matters of real estate. And Vanderhook wasn’t trying to cheat him—they were being way more than fair.
So why did the words stay with her as they stepped out into the warm Florida night?
It had gotten dark while they were inside, yet the salt-scented breeze reminded her the beach was but a stone’s throw away. A bright moon added light to that of the neon signs in the two connected parking lots. They crossed the restaurant’s craggy lot back toward the motel in silence until she said, a bit more quietly than she’d intended, “I don’t, you know.”
“You don’t what?”
“Have a heart of stone. I’m not as bad as you make me out to be.”
His look of surprise implied she was showing too much softness, that he expected better of her. “Shake it off, Tink,” he said, his voice lighthearted. “You’re taking it too hard. You’re tougher than that.”
And—God, he was right. Ugh, what on earth was this softness about? Knock it off. Get your game face back on—and keep it there. “You’re right—I’m soulless. Happy now?”
He just laughed. “There’s the Tinkerbell I’ve come to know and be annoyed by.”
As they continued on their way, she couldn’t decide if that made her happy or sad. That he thought of her as tough and heartless.
He was her opponent—and more than that, her prey—so being tough with him, staying tough with him, only made sense. And it should be easy because that was who she really was—a tough chick who meant business. A tough chick who was not unpleasant, but who was in control.
And yet . . . despite herself, she liked him.
He gave homes to injured iguanas and homeless old men. He made people laugh despite whatever hardships he’d been through. He had values and integrity.
And he thought she didn’t.
And something in that bothered her. She’d never cared that much about being liked before, but suddenly, now, she kind of did. What the hell was that about?
Maybe, in the end, when you get him to sell, you just don’t want him to hate you for it. Because you’ve gotten to know him a little. Maybe it was only natural that she should want him to see her as a decent human being, the same way she had already come to see him. Maybe it was just about desiring mutual respect. Or wanting to be seen for the whole person she was—not just one part of herself.
Just then she tripped a little while sidestepping a raised patch of blacktop and her arm brushed against his. And they exchanged quick glances, but then both of them looked away, kept walking.
Or . . . maybe it’s just that damned attraction you feel for him making you want him to like you.
But you decided that can only be about sex—if even that. Not about like.
And that goes both ways. If something more happens between you, something physical, it can’t be because you like him as a person—it can only be because he’s hot and you want to take advantage of the chemistry between you, and because you al
so think it might somehow soften him into selling.
You want to soften him.
And instead he’s softening you.
Well, that was a good little wake-up call.
No more softness. Get back to being normal you. The you who wouldn’t waste emotion on a homeless cat who’s already being completely well cared for from the way it looked. The you who would expend no compassion on a giant lizard. The you who wonders what Reece went through that was so bad only because you can use it as a tool.
When they arrived at the door to her room, Reece stopped, waiting as she dug the crab-shaped keychain from her purse.
He gave her a speculative grin. “Any chance you’re leaving tomorrow?”
“No plans to,” she replied smoothly. “I’m on vacation, remember?”
When he didn’t reply but their gazes stayed locked, she ventured, “You’re still eager to see me go then?”
“Yes,” he said. “And no.”
Hmm. Interesting.
“But mainly, I needed to know so I can call the maid, Juanita, and tell her there’s a room to clean.”
She tipped her head back in understanding. Then held up her key, intrigued that he was being gentlemanly enough to stick around until she got inside.
As she peered up into his warm eyes, she realized there was something nice about being with him in the dark, how nighttime could seem more intimate, private, with someone you felt that kind of attraction to. She took in the strong angle of his stubble-covered jaw, the slight crinkles at the edges of his eyes that always looked so much better on a man than a woman. And before she could stop to examine it—whether it was about sex or liking him, whether it was about business or pleasure—she suffered a tiny pang of regret to know the moment was about to end as quickly as it had begun. And then she’d be alone in her room, no longer with him.
His gaze had stayed on hers the whole time, making her heart beat a little faster, until his eyes narrowed, falling half shut and looking sexy as hell. “If you were anybody else, Cami . . .” he began, but then let his voice trail off.
“What?” she asked when he didn’t finish.
One corner of his mouth quirked upward in a way that made her wish she could read his thoughts, and he simply replied, “Nothing,” then gave his head a short shake. “Goodnight, Tinkerbell.”
. . . the fairy Tink who is bent on mischief
this night is looking for a tool,
and she thinks you the most easily
tricked of the boys.
J. M. Barrie, Peter and Wendy
Chapter 6
IF YOU were anybody else I might kiss you. If you were anybody else I might kiss the hell out of you. And maybe more.
But that would be insanity. Wouldn’t it? To get that involved with her.
Reece turned the thoughts over in his head as he stepped into a cool shower a few minutes after leaving her at her door.
Of course, kissing the hell out of her and maybe more could take the idea of keeping your enemies close to a whole new level. And maybe that would make sense.
But on the other hand, it would probably just complicate things. And he didn’t want to complicate things. As it was, their situation was fairly simple. She wants to buy your place and you’re not selling. She’s trying to wait you out, but it won’t work. She’ll get tired of it after a while and get out of your life. Yep, sex only stood to complicate things.
And this nice, cool shower will make all the heat inside you go away. Make all the things you want to do to her go away. Make the tightness in your groin go away.
Swiping a bar of soap across his chest, he glanced down. The tightness in his groin hadn’t gone away. Not even close. He shut his eyes. Hell.
TAMRA sat next to Fletcher on the wide side porch of his cottage that looked out over the more secluded stretch of the beach they called home.
She’d come to Coral Cove seven years ago at the age of twenty-seven and the town had become more of a home to her than anyplace else she’d ever lived. Her little pastel cottage on Sea Shell Lane just across the way, good friends like Fletcher and Reece, the fact that she was able to scrape out a living—even if sometimes meager—with her art; these were the things that made her happy. And usually sitting with Fletcher watching the waves wash in and out in the distance kept her in that relaxed place in her mind. So why did she feel out of sorts today?
“What’s wrong? You don’t seem yourself, my friend,” Fletcher asked. He was like that. Tuned in, aware. She’d gotten used to it. And though she worried about him, something about him really did make her believe he was right and that his wife would come back. She just didn’t like that he was sitting around wasting time waiting for it to happen when life was so short.
“I don’t know,” she replied, trying to find the source of her uneasiness. And slowly her mind delivered her back to yesterday at the pool. Something about the swim outing had stayed with her in a way it usually didn’t. “Maybe . . . it’s that woman we met yesterday—the one bugging Reece to sell the Happy Crab.”
Fletcher looked up. “Oh? What about her?”
She searched her emotions a little more and didn’t resist sharing what she found there. “I didn’t like her. I think she’s up to no good.” Tamra thought of her friends as family, so she cared about them enormously, and she didn’t like the idea of someone trying to take something from Reece that he didn’t want to give.
“I liked her fine,” Fletcher said in reply. “I don’t like her job, but I like her.”
Fletcher was a good judge of people and generally Tamra trusted his instincts on that, but she felt inclined to argue this. “Don’t you feel that what someone chooses to do for a living defines them? At least partially?”
Next to her, he gave a thoughtful nod as one of the windchimes hanging from the porch awning made a tinkling noise. “Sometimes people are misguided. And sometimes they change paths. And sometimes they don’t. I think there’s more kindness in Camille, though, than you might be seeing. And besides, Reece is a big boy—he can take care of himself.”
Something in her gut twisted slightly at that—she didn’t know why. She supposed she just wanted . . . for Reece to feel the same way about his motel guest as she did. She didn’t want him to be taken in. And though he’d said all the right things, at the same time, he’d been there swimming with her, and joking with her, and watching her. Tamra had noticed him watching her, even though she thought he’d been trying to be a little surreptitious about it.
“You need to meet a nice guy,” Fletcher said out of the blue.
She kept her gaze on the beach. They had this conversation often and it irritated her each and every time. She issued her usual reply. “You need to meet a woman.”
“I have a woman.”
She sighed. Kim had left him nearly three years ago. He had absolutely no indication, no reason in the world, to believe she was coming back. And yet he believed it so strongly, with his whole heart, his whole soul, that he’d made this temporary stop of Coral Cove—where he’d been doing his tightrope act at the time—into his home. He’d even bought a house here, so Kim would know where to find him, since it was the place they’d happened to be when she’d up and taken off, leaving him only a short, cryptic note promising him that things would be okay.
“Where is she?” Tamra asked. She knew full well that she was being a smart-ass, but she felt the point had to be made, for his own good.
“Making her way back to me, bit by bit,” he answered as he always did—with so much conviction, and even contentment, that, again, Tamra wanted to believe in it, too. But she thought he could do better than to wait for someone who’d abandoned him that way.
“How about that guy?” He pointed to a lone man walking up the beach in swim trunks. From a distance, it was hard to make out details, but he looked fit, mid-thirties, dark blond hair.
She sighed. “I prefer to meet men naturally—not have to accost them on the beach.”
“I’d be ha
ppy to accost him for you,” Fletcher offered. “I’d be subtle enough.”
Fletcher had many good qualities, but subtlety wasn’t one of them. Still, she understood he was being sincere, so she replied, “I know, but . . .”
“But you’re in love with Reece,” he said.
A soft gasp flew from her lips as her eyes darted to the bearded man next to her. Their gazes locked as she tried to take in what he’d just said, tried to wrap her mind around it.
She’d just never . . .
She wasn’t certain . . .
Surely if she felt that way, she’d know it, right?
“I . . . I . . . that’s crazy,” she finally answered, feeling fully put on the spot. Her heart threatened to beat right through her chest. From the shock of the suggestion, of course—nothing more.
“Your eyes tell me otherwise, my friend,” Fletcher said in his calm, knowing way.
She let out a breath, tried to think clearly. “Well . . . my eyes are a little shocked right now, that’s all,” she explained. “Because I can’t believe you’d even suggest that.”
She purposely looked away, back out to the beach. She immediately located a thin woman with long, dark hair, and even while the woman wore a bikini, it had a tie-dyed design, and something gave Tamra the impression she was a little artsy, like them. “If you want to accost someone on the beach so badly, how about her?” She pointed. “She’s cute, and sort of your type, don’t you think?”
Next to her, Fletcher stayed silent a moment. Then ignored her attempted dodge altogether. “If you’re sincerely telling me you don’t have those kinds of feelings for Reece, I’ll let it go. But are you really telling me that? Because for quite some time now . . .”
“For quite some time now, what?” she asked. She suspected her gaze was too wide on him, her response too defensive. But she felt defensive.
“I’ve just sensed there was something there,” Fletcher said. “Something you weren’t saying. Or pursuing. I thought maybe it scared you. So I never brought it up, thinking you’d work through it on your own. But it seems to me that time is passing and . . .”