Buck's Landing (A New England Seacoast Romance)

by Cameron D. Garriepy

  “Amy.” He smiled. She was reading one of those creased and worn steamy beach novels that passed from rental to rental. He imagined this one had been up and down the strip. Amy stashed the novel under the counter.

  “Mr. Wilde. Can I help you?”

  “I’m wondering if you’ve seen a kitten around the place this morning.”

  Amy lit up like the Funarama on a Saturday night. “Seventeenth hole. He’s a troublemaker, huh?”

  “You could say that. Thinking of calling him Houdini.” He peered around the building towards the course. “Seventeen, you said?”

  “Go on through, Mr. Wilde.”

  Silas couldn’t help inspecting Jimmy Buck’s Astroturf and the gravel paths that wound between the holes as he walked. Jimmy had been a good neighbor in the few months they’d known one another. The older man had introduced himself immediately following the first evening Silas spent in the apartment over the Atlantis; Jimmy had turned up on the welcome mat with a pair of to-go coffees and a half-dozen box of donuts. They’d grown close before his passing. Jimmy had told him stories about his family, mainly centered on his daughter’s childhood, and had often confided in Silas that he wished he had more time and resources to put into the endless maintenance the property required.

  There were changes at Buck’s Landing, Silas noted. He had to admit, they were for the better. The paths were weeded, their gravel leveled. The turf and obstacles had been cleaned, and the greens patched in the worn spots. The music Jimmy had favored leaned toward classic country and western, so much so that Silas considered loaning the man his collection of Police and U2 CDs. Today he appreciated the thump of bass and electronic warble of Auto-Tune. The younger Buck knew what the kids listened to, anyway.

  He heard Jimmy’s daughter before she came into view. Unlike the over-produced pop-princess voice on the sound system, hers was a smoky voice that belonged in a speakeasy.

  He rounded the corner at the sixteenth hole and burst out laughing. There was Houdini, surveying his kingdom from the top of the Easter Island head, his posture comically regal. The cat watched his would-be rescuer hoist herself from a short ladder by using the statue’s left shoulder as a foothold.

  “Come on, sweetheart,” she cajoled, that bourbon voice pitched low. With an arm wrapped around the statue’s head, she swung her leg over it, braced her other foot against its chest, and reached up for his cat.

  Silas closed the distance between them and pushed his hair back with his sunglasses, the better to get an eye full of Jimmy Buck’s mini-golf heiress. Silas took in the khaki shorts stretched across a toned rear and the strong, tanned legs, and briefly envied the statue, with his cement face pressed against that body.

  “That’s one lucky statue,” he said with a chuckle. “I see you found my cat.”

  ~~~

  Arrogant bastard. Sofia’s cheeks went hot at the thought of how she looked, clinging to the impassive face of the golf course obstacle. There was a click and whistle from the man, and the kitten flicked its ears. With a flash of gray fur and a scrabble of little nails, he streaked down from the monolith.

  “I think his name is Houdini,” the man laughed.

  Sofia couldn’t tell if he was laughing at his own joke, at the cat’s name, or at her predicament.

  She swung her leg towards the ladder. When she’d taken a leave from her position as the event planner for the DeVarona hotel in Washington, DC to return to Hampton Beach and sort out her father’s property, she’d expected a hot, miserable summer of tourists in cheap tee-shirts spilling ice cream all over the run-down course. She hadn’t been prepared for the changes to the old boulevard and the changes to Buck’s Landing. She hadn’t been prepared to get caught halfway up a Polynesian deity’s face by her surfer-boy next door neighbor, but she was accustomed to damage control. She could face some local guy who’d lost his cat. When her foot missed and kicked the ladder instead of landing on a rung, she swore roundly and hung on to the cement.

  To her horror, a pair of male hands steadied her, holding the backs of her thighs. The cheery conversations from the parties playing the course were gone, replaced by giggles and whispering.

  “Easy now. I’ve got you.” Her rescuer grasped her waist and lowered her to the turf. She sucked in a breath. It wouldn’t do to fly off the handle in front of paying customers. Spinning around, she got a good look at her next door neighbor.

  “You must be Jimmy’s daughter,” he said. The little gray cat sat on his broad shoulder like a pirate’s parrot, delicately grooming one of his white-stockinged paws. “Thanks for helping out this little troublemaker. I’m Silas Wilde, your—“

  “Next door neighbor, yes.” She leveled him with her coolest managerial look and held out a hand. “Sofia Buck.” His hands were big, she thought, watching hers disappear into his grip. And warm. His smile wrinkled his eyes, but she judged him to be near her age. From his shoulder, the kitten offered her his freshly groomed foot. His serious, whiskered expression charmed. “And you’re Houdini.”

  Silas reached up and plucked the cat off his shoulder. “He’s new, still getting the hang of being neighborly.”

  “I’d suggest locking your door, but he got out of my locked apartment earlier.” She flicked an eyebrow at the pair. The gray kitten fit in his hand like a toy. “He’s already been up the tree at hole twelve this morning.”

  Silas laughed, taking the measure of the so-called tree. Turning the kitten around to face him, he went nose-to-nose with his feline. “No more causing trouble for Ms. Buck. Though she does look fantastic stretched out on the moai.”

  Sofia snorted. “I am standing right here.”

  Silas turned his gaze on her. His eyes were the exact cool blue-gray of the Atlantic and his messy, honey-colored waves, pushed away from his face by a pair of sport sunglasses, were streaked summery blond. She felt his appraisal sweep over her. “So you are.”

  “Excuse me?” A barrel-chested man in a Red Sox tee-shirt was tapping his putter on the gravel. “Can we play?”

  Sofia suppressed a grin as the sunburnt woman at his side smacked his upper arm and shushed him under her breath. “Please. I was just clearing up a hazard on the hole.” She turned to Silas. “Mr. Wilde?”

  “Silas.” He stepped off the turf, Houdini settled in the crook of his arm. “And I’ve got to get back to the store.”

  Sofia flashed a smile at the golfers. “Enjoy your game.”

  She followed Silas’s retreating form toward the gate, indulging in the fantastic view of his ass in hibiscus patterned surf shorts. When he stopped short, she very nearly crashed into him.

  “Sofia,” he said. “Let Houdini and I buy you a drink tonight.”

  She blinked. “No.” Her manners surfaced. “Thank you, but no.”

  He scratched the cat’s chin. “You’ve made the lady angry, you monster.” His gaze was warm when he turned to her. “Another time, then.”

  ~~~

  On his return, Silas helped a trio of shirtless guys, swim-trunked and sandy, on their way into the Market. “Mornin’, guys. Anything I can help you find?”

  “You got Wiffle balls?” The leader cocked a grin at one of his buddies. “This loser knocked our last one into the ocean.”

  “Sure do.” Silas pushed open the shop door. The loser in question was a blond kid who reminded him of himself not so very long ago.

  The blond kid grinned. “I was distracted.”

  “Yeah, by the redhead in the string bikini,” the apparent leader ribbed.

  Silas exchanged a knowing glance with the guys. “Not such a bad distraction.”

  The vintage sign outside Buck’s Landing caught his eye as the trio hurried out the door. Unbidden, the feel of Sofia Buck’s muscled legs in his hands crept into his thoughts. Not such a bad distraction. Another time, for certain.

  TWO

  Sofia had heard other people talk about high school reunions, about how seeing old friends after so long is shocking, how time makes alterati
ons. She’d also heard it said that memory adjusts to accept the new version, and the years melt away.

  The Judy who sat across from her at The Sandpiper Grill was three children softer than the lithe, bikini-wearing fawn she’d been in high school, but her eyes still sparkled, ready for the next big adventure.

  “Sof, I can’t believe you’re here,” she gushed, flipping her menu closed. “I mean, except for a couple of stops in town during college, I haven’t seen you since that last bonfire on the beach.”

  Sofia couldn’t argue, but unwelcome guilt pinched her conscience. She and her best friend had reconnected online a few years ago, but while Judy’s profile shared everything from her kids’ photos to the antics of the family dog, Sofia’s reflected mostly her travel and professional friends from recent years. She hadn’t even publicly mentioned her return to Hampton Beach. Judy, gambling that her father’s death would bring Sofia to town, had left a note at the funeral home, urging her to call.

  “What’s good?” Sofia asked brightly, perusing the menu.

  “Oh, I get the same thing every time. The Vietnamese Noodle Salad.” Judy slid hers to the edge of the table. “Why didn’t you ever come home?”

  “Do you really have to ask, Jude?” Sofia sipped her water. Judy’s smile faltered. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “I think I always thought your dad would make it up to you.”

  Sofia smiled wistfully. Her optimistic friend was still the same. “Well, he didn’t.” She set her menu down with Judy’s. “But if I’m stuck here for a few weeks, at least I get to see you again.”

  Judy reached across the table and squeezed her friend’s hand.

  “So,” Sofia began, “tell me everything.”

  She leaned back in her seat and let the pleasure of Judy’s company wash over her. Judy had married her college boyfriend right out of school. She had taught third grade for five years; he went to work for the family auto repair business. Then she’d gotten pregnant. Three kids and another five years later, she was getting ready to send her oldest to kindergarten.

  “Nothing exciting, really, since Jake was born,” she said. “Unless you count working most of the baby weight off this time.” She giggled and gave her impressive cleavage a little squeeze. “Except these.”

  “Those,” Sofia noted, “are exceptional.”

  “Enough about my boobs and my boring life. I want to hear about being fabulous in Washington.”

  Sofia toyed with her flatware before responding. “Fabulous? I don’t know. It’s good, though. I bought a place two years ago, a condo in Columbia Heights, and I’m managing the event staff now, which means my next career move might take me to a higher end market. DeVarona owns the Luxelle chain in Europe, and I’ve applied to one of the European properties.”

  “Oh my god,” Judy gasped. “Like a Greek island? Or the south of France?”

  “Got it on your first guess. Santorini.”

  “I don’t know where that is,” Judy sighed, “but it sounds like I want to go there.”

  Sofia grinned. “Once I’ve got the job, I’ll bring you and Chris over for a second honeymoon.”

  Judy snorted. “Try a first. We took a long weekend in Bar Harbor, then Christopher had just started managing the garage, and I had spelling tests to grade.”

  Sofia raised her glass. “To a real honeymoon, then.”

  “You’ve come so far,” Judy giggled, offering her own glass up. “Since the days of organizing beach parties.”

  Their glasses clinked, and a memory surfaced of her, Judy, and a couple dozen kids they knew driving up to one of the smaller beaches to have one of many illegal bonfires. She’d loved figuring out how to pull it off, down to arranging drivers and riders so they could hide their cars away from police notice.

  Their waitress stopped by to take their order.

  With their lunches ordered, Judy picked up the thread of conversation. “I guess it makes sense, you doing what you do. You were doing it even then.”

  “I was just thinking about that,” Sofia admitted. “I’ve never really looked at it like that before.”

  “Maybe the old Brain Twin powers are still there?” Judy touched her temple. “Just dormant until we were together again.”

  “I think so.” Sofia said with a nod.

  Judy waggled her eyebrows. “Does that mean I can use my influence to make you give up on Europe and stay here?”

  “I can barely handle things as they are,” Sofia said. “It’s me, a college student, and a couple of teenagers. I don’t know how my father managed it, honestly.”

  Judy took a deep breath. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but he worked his ass off, Sof.” She set her hands down flat on the table. “My Christopher is an alcoholic. Recovering. He knew your dad from AA. Jimmy’s passing hit him hard. Your dad crawled out of the bottle, but he knew how bad he screwed up with you. He felt like leaving you alone was his penance, and nothing Christopher said could convince him otherwise.”

  Sofia heard the criticism in her friend’s words. Judy didn’t let up.

  “He pulled Buck’s Landing back from the edge, too. He almost lost it. That’s what sent him looking for help. He didn’t want to lose your Grandpa’s property. He spent one whole winter getting sober and persuading the bank to give him a chance. Anywhere but here, that wouldn’t have flown, but people still give a shit here, you know?”

  “Yeah.” Sofia was at a loss.

  The arrival of their lunch diffused the moment.

  “I’m sorry.” Judy tossed the noodles in her salad. “I don’t want to fight. It was just hard, knowing how badly he wanted to make things right, and how proud you both are, and then—“

  “And then he died,” Sofia said, spearing a bite of rare steak from her plate. She pushed a spinach leaf and some chèvre on to her fork, but couldn’t bring herself to eat. Her stomach clenched. “And I have to live with that.”

  “Oh!” Judy looked stricken. “I’m a jerk. So much for a happy reunion.”

  “Judy,” Sofia said. “Stop. You’re just being honest with me. I used to love that about you. You always gave it to me straight.”

  Judy set her knife down. “I missed you.”

  “I missed you, too.”

  “Okay.” Judy shifted the conversation. “So, you have a lair. Somewhere called Columbia Heights. Anyone you drag there regularly?”

  Sofia nearly choked on half of a baby beet. “No. I’m not seeing anyone right now. Not regularly, anyway.”

  Judy’s attention zeroed in. “There is someone.”

  “Seriously,” Sofia said, “it’s not a thing. There’s a guy I’ve gone on a couple of dates with since the fall. He travels, though. Really.” She pursed her lips. “It’s not a thing.”

  “He travels enough that you’ve only gone out with him a couple times in three seasons?” Judy chewed contemplatively. “Is he a spy?”

  “No.” No, he’s not, she thought. “He does…um…personal security.”

  “Is he good looking?”

  “Yeah. Kind of weathered and tough.”

  Judy sighed happily. “I need someone to live vicariously through. Tell me a story about him.”

  “I met him at the bar of this fantastic French bistrot. I didn’t notice his earpiece, or the rest of the suits, when he came up and asked us if we could relocate. I was awful to him; I tossed my hair and told him he needed to work on his pick-up lines.” Sofia smiled at the memory. “And he flashes a badge and says, ‘Ma’am, I’m going to have ask you to move. Now.’”

  “Oh, my god!” Judy squealed. “Secret Service?”

  Sofia nodded. “My friend and I got a table, had a few more drinks with dinner, and by the end of the night I was convinced I had to apologize. He was clearly still on duty, so I asked our waiter to slip him my card. I wrote ‘I’m sorry I was rude,’ on the back, and we ran outside, giggling, to hail a cab.”

  Judy burst out laughing. “And he called?”

  “He did
.”

  The rest of lunch passed easily enough. Judy was full of stories of their old friends, some still in the area, some scattered. Sofia loved the telling. Judy’s humor and ease with the memory of their shared youth put a shine on each dramatic tale of cheating boyfriends, scandals, births and marriages, crimes and secrets.

  Judy protested when Sofia took care of the check, but Sofia was adamant.

  “Tell me you can take another hour,” Judy said, wrapping up her stories. “I’ve got my sitter until three and I desperately need a pedicure.”

  Amy could handle the Landing for another hour. Sofia collected her purse. “Where to?”

  “Oh, yay!” Judy clapped. “There’s a cheap little place in the Walmart strip mall that does paraffin for thirty-five bucks.”

  Sofia hummed in anticipation. “You had me at paraffin.”

  ~~~

  Silas hated strip malls, but they were a necessary evil. Houdini had a serious catnip addiction, and in their short time together, he found that he was expected to provide a steady stream of burlap mice for the small assassin to eviscerate. The upside to his kitten’s vicious appetite was that the little pain in the ass stayed at home if he was busy stalking herb-stuffed prey.

  He hopped out of the Jeep and headed for the pet store. Two women were walking ahead of him, and he indulged in the sidewalk-devouring stride of the shorter, dark-haired woman. Her swishy skirt flirted with lean, strong calves, and shampoo-commercial curls bounced against her back.

  The taller woman fluffed a perky blond ponytail, and turned to open the door to Nailz Plus, which boasted a “spa pedicure,” whatever that was, for ONLY $35. She was softer through the hips, Silas noted, but stacked. Some days, he thought, being alive in the world was a beautiful thing. The brunette turned as well, and his lecherous thoughts kicked into overdrive.