by Dorien Kelly
He cut to the chase. “Make Dana’s scissors reappear by morning.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don’t.” The ugly glimmer of victory Mike hadn’t quite been able to mask only increased Cal’s confidence that he had the right guy. He was about to do something that went against everything but his heart. “Just get them back there and we’ll pretend it never happened.”
“Supposing, for argument’s sake, I knew what the hell you were talking about and that I got these scissors back to Dana. Are you telling me that honest and upright Cal Brewer is offering a Get Out of Jail Free card? MacNee’s just going to love this.”
Mike clearly didn’t know who he was dealing with. “What I’m telling you is that if those scissors don’t reappear, I’m through playing nice. And since you seem to need things spelled out, let me add this…. If I catch you near Dana, her salon or her house, I’m going to make you the sorriest s.o.b. to ever live in Sandy Bend. Is that plain enough for you?”
Henderson stared for a moment and then laughed. “I can’t believe I didn’t figure this out. You’re doing her, aren’t you? You and Dana have been—”
Cal’s hand streaked out and grabbed Mike’s sweatshirt before the conscious thought to attack even formed. “Not another word. Not one.” He wanted to send the worm face first into the pavement, but knew he couldn’t, which only made the need more driving.
“We both know that your fingerprints are all over Dana’s salon. Now, that doesn’t prove you’re behind the scissors theft, but it doesn’t exactly leave you lily-white, either. I’m going to be watching you, Henderson, because you’re going to slip up and when you do, I’m going to nail your ass.” He released Mike. “Now get out of here.”
Mike left, leaving Cal in an empty street and with a very full conscience. He’d never lost it like that before, and he knew that he’d just done Dana far more harm than good.
Cal walked to his car and sat there for a very long time before starting it and driving home, where he should have gone in the beginning.
10
THE NIGHT AFTER the fiasco with MacNee, Dana and sleep were no better than distant acquaintances. By six-thirty the next morning, she’d already read a book, cleaned out her dresser and reorganized the collection of trunks and boxes that passed as attic decor. What made this insomnia all the more vile was that today was Sunday, when she generally allowed herself to laze in bed until, oh, seven-thirty.
Dana needed to work off her stress. It was either that or implode, and Old Lady Pierson’s ghost didn’t need the company. That left her with exercise. She sat on the edge of her bed and tied her running shoes good and tight. The last thing Dana needed was blisters. The only safe pleasure she had left was her shoe collection.
Testing this running concept, she jogged down the stairs. Before stepping out the door, she tugged the zipper on the top of her gray sweats a bit higher to protect her from the morning chill.
After a few perfunctory stretches by the front steps, she was on her way. She made it as far as Main Street before the stitch in her side began to feel more like an ax. Maybe if she ran more than once a year…
When she’d caught her breath, she picked up her pace from a dead halt to a leisurely stroll and headed toward one of her favorite thinking spots—the marina. The place reminded her of her dad. When she was little, she’d sneak down on summer days and follow him around as he worked.
This early in the season, Journey’s End Marina was a quiet spot—especially before seven in the morning. The only sounds were the seagulls’ cries and the chiming of the sailboats’ rigging as the breeze wove through them. No people, though. Most trunk-slammers seemed to believe that the good weather started only after Memorial Day. The charter fishermen knew better, and had already left with their passengers to haul in a good catch.
Dana wandered through the yard, which was a maze of boats not yet in the water. She reached the picnic area by the docks and sat on one of the tables, her feet on the bench. She smiled at memories of her father sitting here swapping fish stories with the guys. What would her dad think of Cal Brewer? she wondered. Dana suspected he’d like the man Cal had become. She sighed, contemplating all the ifs in life.
If her father had lived…
If she hadn’t fallen for Mike…
If MacNee hadn’t seen her kissing Cal last night…
She couldn’t fix any of them. All she could do was keep moving forward with the same determination she’d shown over the past year. Dana stood. She was about to leave when, between two rows of cradled boats, she saw Cal heading her way. He had one hand tucked into the pocket of his tan jacket. In the other he carried a bag.
“Hi,” she said as he neared. “What are you doing out this early?”
“Probably about the same as you.” He settled the brown grocery sack on the picnic table. “I couldn’t sleep.”
Dana entertained a brief vision of the two of them curled up in bed, finding comfort in the other’s closeness. Without thought, she placed her hand on his chest, seeking the steady beat of his heart. He folded his fingers over hers, lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it, his lips warm against her chilly skin.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She nodded. This stolen moment certainly helped. “After I gave up on sleep, I thought maybe I’d try some exercise.”
He smiled. “When you were on Main Street, I didn’t see you moving any faster than a stroll.”
“I guess when it comes to stress release, meditation’s more my style.” She drew in a breath of crisp, morning air, then slowly released it. “You know, getting your mind in a good place, and all that.”
“I’ll stick with an hour in front of a punching bag.”
She had to admit that sounded like a plan, too.
“Maybe I can help with the stress,” Cal offered. He gestured toward the package he’d left on the picnic table. “Look in there.”
Dana unrolled the sack’s top where it had been folded over several times, then peeked inside. Silvery objects shone at the bottom.
“My scissors!”
She pulled out her favorite pair of six-inch, offset shears and turned them over in her hands. They’d probably need a little TLC after knocking against the other blades, and—
Suddenly, the obvious question struck. “Where did they turn up?”
He looked over her shoulder and out at the harbor before answering. “At the police station,” he replied almost unwillingly. “I found them on the sidewalk by the front door.”
A gull laughed its raucous cry. As Dana tucked the shears back into the bag, she commented, “So they magically reappeared?”
Again he hesitated. “Pretty much.”
He was dwindling to two-word answers. She’d probably never know how he had accomplished the feat of the reappearing scissors, and wasn’t so sure she really wanted to, anyway. It was enough to feel grateful and relieved. She ran her fingertips over the smooth, recently shaved skin of his cheek.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
He smiled. Dana was about to kiss him as she yearned to, when another set of footsteps echoed across the yard. She let her hand drop and stepped back. Ed Malone, who had taken over the marina after Dana’s dad passed away, appeared from between two sailboats.
“Morning, Chief,” he said to Cal, who returned his greeting. Ed’s smile widened as he took in Dana. “I should have known it was you down here. Did you come back for a visit?”
Years ago, after she’d committed some act she particularly regretted, she would come here to clear her head. Ed always gave her the space to heal herself. “I hope you don’t mind.”
He shook his head. “You know you’re welcome here anytime.” He looked at Cal, then back at her. Realization dawned on his weathered features. “I think I’ll just head on over to the Corner Café and see if they’re open yet. You two can, ah, carry on.”
Ed left, and Dana sighed as the magic of the morning bega
n to slip away. She knew she was safe in having Ed Malone aware that something simmered between Cal and herself. But thanks to Richard MacNee, the chance remained that the whole town would soon share in the news.
Biting back another sigh, Dana picked up her bag of scissors and began to leave the marina. Cal fell in step beside her.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Walking you home.”
“Didn’t we have a discussion about this just last night?”
“You made a speech. I unwillingly listened.”
She scowled. “You really need to steer clear of me.”
“No can do.”
She figured it would take a graduate degree in psychology to learn what made Cal Brewer tick. Since all she had was beauty school and a community college course in accounting, she didn’t bother. Salvaging the situation the best she could, she made sure there was a wide swath of daylight between Cal and herself as they walked.
“It looked like old Ed Malone has a soft spot for you. I’ve never seen him smile that much in all the years I’ve known him,” he said after a minute.
“He was the only business owner in town who would let me out of his sight while I was on his property.”
“Maybe the Goth makeup scared everyone else,” Cal suggested.
She shrugged. “Probably. Not that it matters now.”
But they both knew that on some level it did, and more than it had when she’d been fourteen. Dana rounded the corner onto Linden and smiled at the sight of Pierson House.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Sure, if you want to spend your life scraping and painting all that trim.”
She laughed. “So much for your reputation as a romantic.”
Once they were on the front porch, she fumbled for the doorknob with her free hand.
Cal closed his hand over hers. “Give me a second.”
Dana looked up and down the street. If anyone was watching, it was from behind their curtains.
He cupped the side of her face with his hand. It felt warm against her cold skin, which, she told herself, was the only reason for the tingle chasing down her spine and turning her knees to mush.
“I need to do this.”
His mouth brushed against hers so briefly that the primary emotion to register was disappointment. He drew back far enough to look into her eyes.
“Not enough for you, either?”
He didn’t give her time to answer. This time, it was the sort of kiss Dana craved. The sort of kiss that kept her awake well past the time her body demanded sleep. The sort of kiss she didn’t dare risk.
“You taste so good. I miss you,” Cal murmured before tasting again.
Her knees were giving way entirely. He walked her backward until she was leaning against the big oak door. She could feel him tugging the zipper of her sweat top downward. His pleased sound of surprise when he discovered that the sports bra was all she had on beneath it vibrated through her. One broad hand cupped her breast. She could feel her nipples harden beneath the stretchy white fabric. His thumb brushed against her and she shivered with pleasure. She didn’t want to break the spell, to remind him—and herself—that they couldn’t afford this.
Cal leaned his forehead against hers and slipped his hand inside her sweatshirt. “Come with me to the lodge this afternoon.”
Be strong, she told herself. Do the right thing. “I—I promised to meet Hallie.”
“Cancel.”
His fingertips played ever so lightly over her left breast.
She swallowed hard. “And I need to prime the Eden Room’s walls.”
“I’ll do it tonight. Just come to the lodge with me for the day.”
He pulled her closer, nudging his knee between her legs.
“You’re playing dirty, Brewer.”
“I’m playing to win.”
And he succeeded.
AS THEY DROVE toward his lodge, Cal smiled at the way Dana kept looking over her shoulder.
“Sweetheart, this road runs dead level and straight for miles. If anyone were behind us, I’d know.”
“Okay, I’ll stop,” she said, but never quite pulled it off. In fact, Cal wasn’t sure she even noticed what was in front of her until he was leading her through the lodge’s door.
He almost felt nervous, which was something that hadn’t happened around a female since he was thirteen. The degree to which he wanted her to like this place was embarrassing.
Cal gave her a quick tour of everything but his bedroom, avoiding that because he knew he’d be too tempted to stay. And while he had every intention of making love to her today, a little togetherness was going to come first. Her comment this morning that he wasn’t a romantic had started him thinking. Maybe he wasn’t, but he’d like to be…with her.
“I can’t believe this was once a barn,” she said when they were back in the living room. “I mean, I see the rafters overhead, and they’ve obviously been here forever, but everything else… It’s even more incredible than I’ve been told.”
His pleasure in her reaction was replaced by a vague sort of alarm. “Told by whom?”
She laughed. “You think guys are the only ones who talk about their sex lives?”
He’d been pretty happy nurturing that delusion.
“I run a salon. All day long women talk to me. It’s cheaper than therapy.”
“So what do they say about me?” As soon as he asked, he wasn’t really sure he wanted to know.
She didn’t look at him as she spoke. Instead, she ran her hand across the back of the couch and then walked toward the bank of windows looking across the fields. “That you’re a considerate lover, and that you’re so smooth in the way you break up with them that they don’t even realize it’s happened until a few days later.” She paused. “I really don’t want to talk about this.”
She looked so beautiful to him, with the sun shining in, lighting the gold of her hair. And so vulnerable, too. He didn’t have the words for what he wanted to say. In fact, he didn’t have a grip on the feelings that were driving the need to say something. “It’s different with us.”
She turned away from the window. Her smile was bright, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I know.”
This wasn’t going the way he wanted. Instead of the walls between them coming down, Dana was refortifying. “Let me make us some lunch,” he said.
“You cook?”
She looked so shocked that he laughed. “If I don’t want to starve, I do. Mitch, my dad and I have a pact. We all fend for ourselves. Come into the kitchen, and I’ll show off for you.”
He made them a pretty simple meal—scrambled eggs with slivers of smoked salmon, a salad and some white wine. As they ate at the table for two tucked in the corner of the kitchen, he tried for some way to learn more about her past, to come to understand her but still not get accused of giving her the third degree.
Finally, he told her what it was like growing up in a house full of guys with poor Hallie the baby of the family. When he asked about her brother and sister and how they’d gotten along growing up, she asked him how he’d managed to get heat beneath the stone floor.
When he tried to redirect the conversation by talking about her dad, and what a great guy he’d been, she stood and started clearing the table, then asked where he’d found the two-drawer dishwasher.
He was beginning to sense a pattern.
Cal lapsed into silence as he finished scrubbing the skillet. He could feel Dana watching him. Waiting.
“Want me to build a fire?” he asked when the last of the dishes had been put away. Relaxing in front of a fire was romantic, maybe conducive to a little talk.
“No.”
“A walk through the fields, then?” Women seemed to like walks.
“Don’t think so…”
She came to him and unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it loose from his jeans. She was good with her hands, and her mouth, too, he thought as she ran a line of hot, wet kisses down his stom
ach.
Her hands closed over his belt buckle. Cal closed his eyes and tried to regain some semblance of control.
“I want to see your bedroom,” she said. “Now.”
Talk could wait.
WHEN CAL SETTLED her in the middle of his enormous bed with its hewn-log headboard, Dana acted on sheer need and instinct. If, as she intended, this was to be one of their last times together, she wanted it seared into her memory. And his.
She knelt on the mattress’s cushioned surface and made her way to the edge. Cal still stood next to the bed. His chest rose and fell in a hard rhythm. She hooked her fingertips into the waist of his pants.
“Let’s get you out of these clothes,” she murmured as she smoothed the shirt from his shoulders. He helped send it to the floor. She worked his belt buckle, and then slowly opened the copper rivet that waited on the denim beneath. Even more slowly, she eased down the zipper.
“You’re killing me,” he said.
“Am I?” She smiled as she pushed his jeans down his hard flanks. “I’m just getting warmed up.”
He toed out of his shoes, then shucked his jeans the rest of the way off. When he stood, she worked one fingertip beneath the white elastic of his briefs. She shivered at the tactile pleasure of touching the smooth head of his arousal. She withdrew her hand and touched her finger to her tongue. His male scent and taste aroused her, and she fought hard to maintain her edge of control.
“I think I’m still hungry,” she whispered.
He groaned.
She urged him onto the bed, then knelt over him. “Where to start? Here, maybe?” she asked, and then kissed his neck, flicking her tongue against the salty skin.
“Or here?” She suckled his bottom lip, then adjusted her mouth to kiss him fully, deeply.
“Or how about…” She caressed a path down his muscled torso, smiling at the rapid-fire beat of his heart.
Her own heart dancing faster, she kissed her way to his thighs. “I don’t know…It’s still not enough.”
He lifted his lean hips as she slid his underwear off. Their eyes met—his glowing with banked passion—as she dropped his last garment from the bed. She stood and removed her own clothes. She could feel the heat of his gaze touching each new bit of exposed skin.