On Sunset Beach: The Chesapeake Diaries

by Mariah Stewart

  “Ah …” Carly hesitated, looking down at her ripped cutoffs and faded T-shirt.

  “Listen, since it’s just about dinnertime, if you don’t have other plans, I could pick up something on the way over. They’re telling me here at the inn that Dominic’s makes a killer pizza.”

  “That sounds great. I love pizza.” She pulled the elastic from her hair and shook it out, wondering if there’d be time for her to grab a really quick shower. Even her hair felt dusty. “But I have to warn you. The house is a mess. I’m a mess …”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you in about twenty minutes or so.”

  “Right. Twenty minutes …”

  She wasted no time heading for her room, pulling the sweaty tee off as she all but jogged down the short hall. Twenty minutes wasn’t much time, but she could at least get the sweat off. She popped into the bathroom and turned on the shower, then went into her bedroom and shed the rest of her clothes, mentally counting down the minutes.

  Exactly twenty-seven minutes later, the doorbell rang. She’d had time to trade her grubby tee for a clean tank and her cutoffs for a pair of cute khaki shorts. There was no time for makeup—not even mascara—but that couldn’t be helped. At least she wasn’t a disgusting sweaty mess. She’d have to be satisfied with that. She pulled her damp hair into a high ponytail and opened the front door.

  “Hi.” She stood back to let him enter, pizza box in one hand, a file folder in the other, and a brown paper bag under one arm.

  He held up the box. “I hope pepperoni is okay.”

  “My favorite.” She smiled and closed the door behind him.

  “Mine too. Where …” He looked around.

  “Come on into the kitchen.”

  He followed her through the living room and the dining room, where the table was already piled high with Carly’s papers.

  “Home office?” he asked as they passed by.

  “Yes. It’s a great space where I can spread out to work.”

  “What are you working on?” He held the box while she cleared the kitchen table of paper wrappings and empty boxes.

  “The book on Carolina Ellis. I’m giving it one last look over before I email the second half on to my editor. She’s already worked over the first half.” She made a mental note to send it to her mother as well, and to send the complete work to Dallas. She gestured for Ford to set the box down and took two plates from the cupboard where she’d placed them only an hour earlier.

  He held up the bag. “Bottled water, or wine?”

  “I think water, thank you.”

  He opened the refrigerator door to put the wine inside, then whistled.

  “Whoa, Mother Hubbard. That’s some empty cupboard.”

  Carly laughed. “Hey, I just moved in. Give me a few days to load it up.”

  “Well, at least you have the staples. Apples and a bottle of wine.” That sexy mouth curved into a smile and Carly felt the temperature in the room rise about ten degrees.

  “Do you think it’s cooler outside? The air-conditioning guy doesn’t come until tomorrow.”

  “I think it’s probably about the same as in here but with mosquitoes … and those green-headed flies are swarming today.”

  “What?” She frowned. “Why?”

  “Why are they swarming?” Ford shrugged. “Just that time of year, I guess. And there’s a land breeze, so they’re coming this way from the marshes.”

  “So we’ll eat in here. Have a seat.” She unscrewed the lid of one of the water bottles he’d set on the table and took a long cool drink. “Thanks for thinking to pick up water. Wine with pizza is generally an unbeatable combination, but in this heat …”

  “Water. Right.”

  She grabbed some paper napkins from the counter and took the other chair. “The pizza smells wonderful.”

  He opened the lid and turned the box in her direction. She lifted out a piece and immediately took a bite. “Oh my God, whoever told you this was good was not lying.”

  “Best I’ve had in a long time. There wasn’t pizza like this where I’ve been.”

  Before she took another bite, she asked, “You know, that’s at least the second time you referred to having been ‘someplace.’ Where were you?” She smiled. “Or is that a state secret?”

  He chewed slowly, as if deciding how to answer. Finally, he said, “I think I mentioned that I’d been in Africa.”

  Carly nodded. “Right. You did. So the question should have been, why were you there and what were you really doing?”

  “I was part of group that was sent there to back up the Peacekeepers, who are, for the most part, under-armed at best, totally unarmed at worst.”

  “So was it part of your military service?”

  “Yes.”

  “And are you out of the service now?”

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t like talking about it, do you?”

  “Not so much. It was a job, and that job is done.”

  “Would you go back?”

  He hesitated longer than she’d expected. “I guess it would depend on the circumstances.”

  “What were the circumstances that sent you there in the first place?”

  He set the pizza on the plate, his expression dark, his voice weary and grave, his words direct. “People were being slaughtered in their homes, villages being burned to the ground. Little boys were being kidnapped and made into soldiers. Little girls were being forced into prostitution.” He shrugged. “There are places in this world that are very ugly right now, where ugly things happen to very good, beautiful people. Even to the people who go in to try to help …”

  A sadness washed over his face momentarily. Something in his expression made Carly feel like crying, and she didn’t know why.

  “Anyway, you do the best you can to keep the killing at a minimum. Or at the very least, to keep the bad guys aiming only at each other.”

  “That was the short version, wasn’t it.”

  “More or less.”

  Mostly less, she thought, but she let it go. They ate in silence for a few moments before he looked at the stack of cardboard boxes and asked, “What are all those boxes from?”

  “The stuff I ordered online. Everything came today and had to be unpacked and washed and put away. That’s what I was doing when you called.”

  He looked her over. “You don’t look so sweaty to me.”

  “I jumped in the shower the second I got off the phone,” she admitted.

  “That bad, huh?”

  “You have no idea.”

  Ford laughed, the dark moment having passed. “You wouldn’t believe how long a person can go without a hot shower. But if you’re out of polite society long enough, it’s not as much of an issue.”

  They’d finished the pizza and tossed the napkins into the empty box. Carly carried their plates to the sink and rinsed them before setting them on the counter.

  “No dishwasher?” Ford asked.

  “You’re looking at ’er. But it won’t be too bad. Most of the time, it’ll just be me here by myself.”

  “Now, that doesn’t sound like much fun.”

  “It’s okay. I have a lot of work to do in a very short period of time. When the idea of the gallery was first proposed, the town council was thinking of combining the opening with the house tour they do at Christmas each year, which would have given me months to get this thing organized.” A strand of hair slipped out of the elastic to hang into her face. She pulled off the elastic, smoothed back her hair, and redid the ponytail. “When I spoke with Ed the other day, he made an offhand remark about some people on the council wanting it sooner, possibly for some town holiday at the end of the summer, but I’m trying not to think about it because I’ll panic. One month is simply not enough time.”

  “Well, the carriage house is just about finished, right?”

  “Aside from the HVAC work—which should be done by Friday—the only thing left is the security system. I meant to call your friend t
oday, but I got distracted with moving. I’ll call him tomorrow.”

  “Assuming he can do what you need, at the right price, within a few weeks’ time, you could be ready by the end of the summer. I’m guessing the town holiday is Discover St. Dennis. It’s a full weekend, Friday through Sunday. It’s actually a festival the town started about ten years ago to bring new faces into town—you know, drum up the tourist trade, attract the day-trippers. I haven’t been around for it the past few years, but they used to have sailboat races and a big picnic down in the park and a footrace for charity early in the morning, that sort of thing.”

  “I can see where someone would think that would be a good opportunity to unveil the exhibit, but I need more time.”

  “I thought we just walked through what still needed to be done.”

  “That’s just the building. There’s still the exhibit catalog. Thank God the book is finished. That’s a huge weight off me.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “It’s about Carolina the woman as well as Carolina the artist. I wanted it ready to go a week or two before the exhibit. I thought if I could get some highprofile publicity, it would spur on sales of the book, which would in turn generate interest in the exhibit. I’ll have to call in a few favors, but I know some people in PR who I think I can count on to give me a hand where the promo is concerned.”

  “So what still has to be done?”

  “The catalog of paintings for the exhibit.”

  “What’s involved in that?”

  “I’ve read through the journals and made notes on all the paintings Carolina described as she was doing them. I have to match up the notes with the actual works, so that next to the photos of the paintings in the catalog, I can quote Carolina, what she said about each. And then I have to write a coherent narrative for the introduction.”

  “I feel your pain there,” he muttered.

  “What?” She stared at him before laughing. “And speaking of your temporary career, weren’t you going to show me the latest article?”

  “Right.” Ford stood and retrieved the folder from its place on the counter. He opened it, and handed Carly the several pages it contained.

  She skimmed each page before going back to the first and reading through to the end.

  “It’s really good. You hit every point we’d wanted to make. You could have a future in this, you know.”

  She handed the folder back to him.

  “For the love of God, please don’t let my mother hear you say that.” He pretended to look horrified. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she broke another leg if she thought it would get me to take over the paper.”

  “You don’t really think your mother fell on purpose?”

  “Of course not.” He dismissed the thought. “But you have to admit, it was awfully convenient.”

  “If she’d fallen while you were away, would you have come home?”

  “Good question. I hadn’t thought about that. I’d like to think I would.” He seemed to be thinking about it now. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I would have. If I didn’t come back, the responsibility for the paper would fall on Dan and Lucy. Dan has his hands full with running the inn and raising his kids. Lucy has a really full event schedule, so I have to think I’d have come home. Besides, my mom never asked much of any of us, so if she needed me here, I’d be here.”

  “Even if it meant leaving behind whatever it was that you left?”

  “There wasn’t anything left to leave, Carly.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean …”

  “It’s okay.” He smiled sadly. “But that’s a story for another time.”

  “Will I hear it?”

  “I think you will. But we’ll drop it for now.”

  She could sense that he was ready to leave—wanted to leave—so she stood.

  “Oh. Your wine.” She started to open the refrigerator door, but he reached out for her hand and held it.

  “Save it for next time.”

  “Okay.” She’d been hoping there’d be a next time.

  “What do you do on the weekends for fun?”

  “Fun?” She pretended to not understand. “Weekends?”

  Ford laughed and drew her to him. “I was thinking maybe a real dinner out, you know, a Saturday-night thing. We could work on the plot of your catalog.”

  She laughed. “It has no plot.” Her heart began to race as his arms closed around her. “It’s a catalog.”

  “Still, there are things you might want to discuss.”

  “Actually, there is something I’m not sure about, something I discovered about Carolina.” Her mind flashed back to Stolen Moments, and the story it told.

  “What?”

  “I think I’ll save that for Saturday.” She smiled and tugged on the collar of his cotton shirt, drawing down his face until that sexy mouth was hers. She kissed him, holding on until he began to kiss her back. His lips were soft and oh so sweet, just as somehow she’d known they’d be, and something inside her wished the kiss would go on until they couldn’t breathe. His arms tightened around her and pressed her against him until she swore she could hear his heart beating.

  As a first kiss, it was a bell ringer.

  Then it was over, and those lips were whispering in her ear. “Thanks for dinner.”

  Carly leaned back and laughed. “You brought dinner.”

  “Right. Well, then, thanks for sharing it with me.” He kissed the side of her face. “Looking forward to Saturday.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Call tomorrow about the security system.”

  She nodded and unlocked the front door. “Will do.”

  “I’ll let him know.”

  “Thanks.”

  He leaned back in for one more kiss, then he was out the door. Carly leaned against the jamb and watched until the lights from his car disappeared at the end of the street.

  Well … She exhaled as she closed the door and locked it. She’d been wondering what it would be like to kiss him, and now that she knew, she couldn’t wait to kiss him again. She went into her room, opened the closet, and looked over the clothes she’d brought with her. She wanted to knock ’em dead on Saturday night, and nothing in the closet fit the bill. She made a mental note to hit Bling between now and their dinner date. Vanessa always had something killer in stock, and killer was exactly what Carly had in mind.

  Diary ~

  Well, this is certainly a fine kettle of fish I find myself in. Note to self: When asking Alice to intervene, be more specific. Giving her carte blanche—i.e., “I’d do anything …”—should come with a caveat. And I know Alice’s hand was in this—literally. I swear that I saw her right before I took that tumble, felt a little nudge right between the shoulder blades. Which is interesting because in her life here on earth, Alice never set foot in the inn. An agoraphobic, she rarely went into her own backyard except to tend to her herbs, and then only because there was no one else to do that for her. Nice to see she’s getting out more these days.

  When I said I’d do anything, had I said, “I’d give an arm and a leg …?” I can’t recall.

  I suppose I shouldn’t complain too much, since the end result is what I was looking for. Ford has taken over for me at the paper. Of course, I’m going to have to milk this thing for all it’s worth. If he finds out I have voice-recognition software on my laptop, he’ll be wanting to drop off his notes so I can write the articles myself, and that simply won’t do. I need him to work on his skills so he can feel confident in his ability to take over for me permanently. Between you and me, his first two attempts were far better than I let on—but I know my boy, and I know how he reacts to challenges. If he has to work at something, he puts his whole heart into it, but if it comes easily to him, he loses interest. He’ll make a fine newspaperman, as fine as his grandfather and great-grandfather in their day. The St. Dennis Gazette is his destiny, as the Inn at Sinclair’s Point is Dan’s. I just need to find a way to make that as clear to him as it is to m
e. I know this is where he’s supposed to be just as surely as I know that Carly Summit is the one for him. Stubborn boy! He’s been to interview her twice already and he’s barely even mentioned her name beyond the article.

  But something is going on with him. The light surrounding him isn’t as dark as it was when he arrived home. Perhaps he’s finding some peace. He’s spent a lot of time out on the Bay, and when I ask him, he says he’s revisiting places he used to go. I suspect he means places he used to go with his father. Daniel always made a point to do things with Ford, who, as the youngest, seemed to be left behind by his older brother and sister. They had a special bond, and I believe that he, of the three children, suffered the most when Daniel died.

  Whatever it is that is haunting him now, whatever the cause of the darkness, I sense the same sort of grief that emanated from him when his father passed. I have tried to rely upon my own powers to see into his heart, but as always, my powers fail me when it comes to Ford. I’m hoping that he’ll find a way to put that sadness aside. I would hate for him to go through life carrying so great a burden.

  ~ Grace ~

  Chapter 16

  AT ten minutes after eight on Thursday morning, Carly’s phone began to ring. From her own experience, she knew that nothing good ever came from a call before nine A.M. or after midnight.

  “Carly, Ed Lassiter here. Sorry for the early call, but I wanted to get in touch with you as soon as I could, give you the news before someone else did.”

  “What’s that, Ed?” Carly’s stomach began to knot with dread. She had a feeling she already knew where this call was headed.

  “The council met last night to discuss how to proceed with the Enright property, and the vote was unanimous. We’d like to dedicate the new community art center on the Saturday of the town’s three-day Discover St. Dennis weekend.”

  “That’s August,” she said flatly.

  “Right. The end of August.” Then, as if to tell her something she didn’t already know, he added, “That’s next month.”

  When she did not respond, he went on as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb in her lap.