Asa nodded. The look on his face told Deborah he was quite pleased with the delicious shrimp and grits that made Jack’s famous. “Tell me why,” he said after swallowing.
“Because a lot of the food we prepare, especially the vegetables, is grown locally, without the harmful chemicals and pesticides that poison our bodies. The chickens come from a farm in Haven Creek and the pigs, too. Most residents have gardens and sell their surplus to restaurants and all the seafood comes from local fishermen.” She flashed a winning smile. “Fresh air, fresh food, no industry polluting our air and the ocean as our playground. Life couldn’t be better.”
“You sound like a spokesperson for the Lowcountry tourist bureau.”
Picking up her glass of tea, Deborah took a sip while staring at Asa over the rim. “If I sound a little passionate it is because I loved spending summers here.”
“Where did you grow up?”
“Charleston. My father was born here, as were his parents, grandparents, and as far back as we can document.”
“So, you’re Gullah.”
Her smile grew wider. “Down to the marrow in my bones.”
“But, you don’t sound like some of the people I’ve met.”
“A lot of the older folks still speak the dialect.”
“Do you?” Asa asked.
“No, but I understand it.”
“How about your children? Do they understand it?”
“Yes.” Deborah admitted. “They have friends in school who live on the island. They speak it when they don’t want other kids who don’t understand the dialect to know what they’re talking about.”
“I guess you can say it’s like a foreign language.”
Deborah nodded. “It is to those who don’t understand it. The elementary schools on Cavanaugh Island are grades one through eight. All of the students are bussed into Charleston for high school, finally giving the island children a chance to mingle with each other and the city kids. Those who live in the Cove and who’ve never been to Haven Creek or Angels Landing meet those children for the first time in high school and usually form lifelong friendships.”
“Do they marry one another?”
“I don’t know.”
Asa told Deborah about his attempt to tour the island, but how he’d had to turn back because he feared getting lost. “All I thought about was being forced to sleep in my truck with the windows rolled up, while praying some wild animal wouldn’t get to me.”
Throwing back her head, Deborah laughed until her sides hurt. “Don’t you have GPS navigation in your car?”
“Yes. And what does that have to do with getting lost in the forest? Or should I say jungle? It doesn’t work when there are no roads or streets. The next time I go sightseeing I’ll take the causeway.”
Deborah wanted to tell Asa that she’d never been to the Creek or Landing because of what her grandmother had told her about the people having tails and hooves. Once she was an adult she understood it was Sallie Ann’s way of frightening her enough so she wouldn’t go exploring and either get lost or bitten by some venomous reptile or insect. The causeway, which ran the length of the island, would take her past Haven Creek and Angels Landing before ending at the Cove. And she believed that was the reason why she’d continued to take the ferry instead of the causeway, which led directly to Angels Landing or Haven Creek.
Her phone rang and she answered it on the first ring. It was Sherilee returning her call. “Thanks for calling me back—on no, don’t apologize, Sherilee. It’s not the end of the world. Thanks, again.” Punching a button, she ended the call.
“Is everything all right?” Asa asked.
Deborah met Asa’s eyes, aware for the first time they’d changed color. Pinpoints of gold had been replaced with a deep chocolate brown. “There’s been a change in plans. The movers are coming tomorrow instead of Friday, and that means I’m going to have to stay at the store to try and get as many books shelved to make room for the chairs, tables, and piano.”
Asa leaned forward. “You’re going to put a piano in the bookstore?”
“My maternal grandmother was a concert pianist. My mother inherited it, but when she and my father moved into a condo in Florida they gave it to me. It took up a lot of space in my living room, and there’s no way it could fit in my house here, so I decided it would go nicely in the bookstore in keeping with the overall parlor design.” She smiled. “And before you ask, I do play.”
“What do you need me to do?”
Lines of confusion appeared between her eyes. “What are you talking about, Asa?”
“Judging from your conversation you can’t be at two places at the same time. So tell me what you want me to do.”
Deborah knew she couldn’t afford to look a gift horse in the mouth. Asa had come along at a time when she truly needed someone to help her. “Can you begin working this afternoon? I’m going to have to try and put away as many books as I can before the movers arrive tomorrow. I can’t see myself moving and stacking cartons in corners just to have to move them later.”
Asa nodded. “What else do you need?”
The timbre of his mellifluent voice changed, seemingly caressing her like a feather on bare skin, and Deborah couldn’t stop the shudder that eddied over her body. “I’ll need you to be here when the movers arrive and show them where they should position everything.”
“You’re going to have to let me know where you want the piano. I’m certain the tables and chairs can be rearranged if you decide later on that you want to move them.”
Relief swept through her as if she’d been denied air but could now breathe. “I’ll pay you extra for—”
“I don’t want or need your money, Deborah.”
“But you can’t work for nothing, Asa.”
“Living rent-free in this apartment is payment enough. The Cove Inn isn’t the Waldorf, but the prices can get steep for the suites, two meals a day, and room service. So, I’m willing to barter working in the bookstore with free rent.”
Deborah knew he was right about the rates at the mansion-turned-boardinghouse, but she felt uncomfortable not paying him for the hours he would put in at the bookstore. “I’ll agree, but only if you let me pay you for your meals.”
“No.” Asa’s face was a mask of stone.
“You can’t work for free,” Deborah insisted.
“I won’t be working for free. How much would you charge someone if you were to rent this apartment?”
The question caught her off-guard. “I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. “I’ve never been a landlord.”
“Neither have I,” Asa replied, “but I know people who rent summer homes on Southampton, Long Island, starting at two thousand dollars a week. And don’t forget the summer season begins with the Memorial Day weekend and runs through the Labor Day weekend. That’s nice money if you can get it. Now, think of what you can charge tourists who come to the Lowcountry for the summer.”
“I’d never charge someone a thousand a week for this place.”
“What you could charge is a lot more than you’d be paying me. Now, may I make a suggestion?”
Deborah paused, her gaze meeting and fusing with Asa’s. There was just a hint of arrogance in his query. “Of course you may.”
“We drop the subject. Let’s finish our lunch, go pick up the air-conditioner, and I’ll put it in the window. Then I’m going back to change my clothes and we’ll see how many books we can shelve before it gets too late.”
“I’ll drop it, Asa, but only if we can agree to the terms of your employment.” His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Please don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” he shot back.
“Like I’m going to pronounce a death sentence. I’m willing to agree not to pay you a salary in lieu of free lodging, but…”
“But what, Deborah?” Asa questioned when she didn’t complete her statement.
“I’d like to give you a hundred dollars a week for your meals.”
“Damn, woman. You’re like a dog with a bone. You just won’t let it go.”
She successfully hid a smile, picking up a napkin to wipe the corners of her mouth. Deborah knew she’d rattled Asa Monroe. Something told her the man was used to giving orders and having them followed without question.
“What is it going to be, Asa?”
“Make it fifty a week and you have a deal.”
Deborah angled her head. “What’s with you and money?”
“I don’t need it as much as you’re going to need it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re setting up a small business when there’s no guarantee that it will remain viable. And that means you’re going to need to save every dollar, not give it away. I don’t need your money, Deborah. I love being around books so much that I’d be willing to work for free and pay rent for this apartment. I’ll agree to accept fifty dollars a week just so we can end what has become very tiresome to me.”
She extended her hand, excitement showing on her face. “Deal.”
Asa took her hand, his thumb caressing her smooth knuckles. “Deal.”
Believing she’d scaled a small hurdle, Deborah concentrated on finishing her lunch. She may not have been the traditional employer, but there was no way she was going to permit someone to work for free. And she knew instinctually Asa Monroe was worth more than fifty dollars a week, perhaps even ten times that amount. His intelligence, take charge approach, and the fact that he was a very attractive man was certain to bring customers into The Parlor—female customers in particular.
“Are you always this trusting?” Asa asked, breaking the comfortable silence. “Hiring someone without references?”
Propping her elbow on the table, Deborah rested her chin on the back of her fist. “I know you don’t have any outstanding warrants because our sheriff runs the license plates of every outsider through a national criminal justice database. Don’t forget there are only two ways off the island. And if you decided to break the law, I doubt you would get very far with Sheriff Hamilton waiting for you at the pier. If he doesn’t catch you then you’d have to try and get past the roadblock on the causeway set up by the Charleston police.”
“You can’t tell me there’s no crime on the island.”
“There is. That’s why we have a sheriff and several deputies. There are domestic disputes, problems with graffiti, an occasional drunk driver, and I’d heard there were a rash of burglaries over on Haven Creek before they discovered it was a cousin of one of the residents who had a serious drug problem. The man who caught the guy in his house beat him so severely that he had to be airlifted to the hospital. Unfortunately for the victim the man whose house he broke into was a former Vietnam vet suffering from PTSD. If he’d killed him it would’ve been the first murder on Cavanaugh Island in over thirty years.”
“Why isn’t the island listed on any ‘best place to live and raise children’ lists?”
“It isn’t for the same reason why we don’t have a Zagat-rated restaurant.” Pushing back her chair, Deborah stood up and began clearing the table. She hadn’t taken more than a step when she found her wrist trapped in Asa’s strong grip. As he towered above her, the heat from his body added to her own. “What are you doing?”
“I’ll clean up.”
“You don’t have to, Asa.”
He gently tightened his hold on her arm. “Yes, I do. This is my place; therefore I’ll clean up.”
Tilting her chin, Deborah flashed a sensual smile. “Slow down, Asa. You won’t be able to lay claim to this palatial estate until I give you a set of keys.”
“Do you have an extra set?”
She nodded. “Yes. They’re at my house. Let’s clean up together, then we’ll leave.”
Working in tandem, Deborah washing and Asa drying, they were able to put the kitchen in order within five minutes. They took the back staircase to the parking lot where Asa had parked his vehicle under the shade of a palmetto tree. Opening the passenger-side door, he helped her up, waiting until she was seated and belted in before he sat beside her.
Chapter Eight
Asa started up the Range Rover, backing out of the space. “You’re going to have to tell me how to get to your house.”
“Once you pass the Cove Inn I’ll tell you where to turn off.” Deborah stared out the side window rather than look at him. “Slow down, Asa, before you’re stopped for speeding.”
“I’m going thirty miles an hour.”
He could see her staring at him from his peripheral view. If he didn’t have to keep his eyes on the road, he’d focus all his attention on her lovely face. “That’s ten miles too fast.”
Easing off the accelerator, Asa gave Deborah a quick glance. “If I go any slower I’ll be standing still.”
“There are no stop signs on the island, and you never know if a dog, cow, pig, or even a chicken will dart out across the road. If you hit and kill someone’s pet or livestock you’ll have to make restitution to the owner.”
Asa slowed even more. “You’re kidding. How can someone identify their chicken from someone else’s?”
“I knew all of my grandmother’s yard birds. Whenever I called them by name, they’d come running.”
Asa’s laughter reverberated inside the Range Rover. “Next you’ll tell me you had to get up before dawn to milk the cow.”
“I did.”
“Seriously?” he asked.
Deborah laughed when she saw his shocked expression. “Why do you find that so hard to believe? There was a time when most people living in rural areas owned livestock. I didn’t start milking the cow until I was around ten or eleven. My grandma would skim off the cream to make butter and buttermilk, then boil and strain the milk before letting it cool enough to store in the refrigerator. I don’t know whether it was actually the milk, but everything on the Cove seemed to taste better, especially Grandmomma’s buttermilk fried chicken.”
“Ah, youthful innocence,” Asa drawled.
“Why are you so cynical?”
“Am I being cynical or honest, Deborah?”
“Cynical, Asa. Make a right turn when you see the red barn. My house is at the end of the road on the left.”
“To be continued,” Asa said under his breath, as he maneuvered into the driveway of the large, white, two-story house with navy blue shutters. It was larger than the house he’d pictured and wholly Southern in design, from the distinctive front porch to the white wicker chairs, rocker, and swing covered with floral-print cushions. There was even a colorful patchwork quilt draped over the back of a wicker loveseat positioned near a matching low table so that it made for the perfect place to begin or end the day.
Shifting into park, Asa left the engine running and came around to help Deborah down. His two hands spanned her waist and he held her longer than necessary. Feeling her fingertips on his shoulders, he tightened his hold, enjoying the softness of her body, the subtle fragrance clinging to her skin that he’d been unable to identify or forget.
“Please put me down, Asa.”
He complied even though he had wanted to crush her to his body as a reminder of what he’d had and continued to miss: the warmth and smell of a woman’s body. Asa wanted to tell Deborah he was sorry when he wasn’t, so he decided not to say anything. He followed her to a side entrance. The air-conditioning unit outside the house indicated a central cooling system.
“How old is this house?” he asked as Deborah unlocked the door.
“The original deed documented it was built in 1909, but it was expanded many times over the years. I was told that my great-grandfather added the second floor a few years after he’d married my great-grandmother. It took him about four years to complete the project, because as a master carpenter and furniture-maker his skills were in demand here and on the mainland. I had to update the electrical system to accommodate several computers, and then decided to renovate the entire house. My husband and I had planned to use it
for our permanent residence once we retired, but my children, who loved vacationing on the Cove, prefer living here to Charleston.”
It was the first time Deborah had mentioned her late husband and Asa wondered if it had been as traumatic for her to lose her spouse as it was for him to lose his. If it had been, then she appeared to have adjusted well to being widowed. She’d relocated from Charleston to Sanctuary Cove, while he’d left all that was familiar, traveling from place to place as he waited for approval from DWB.
“How does your daughter feel about making the Cove her home?”
“She loves it here.” Pushing open the door that led into the mud/laundry room, Deborah told Asa about Crystal wanting to put in a vegetable garden. “I’m certain she would’ve done quite well growing up on a farm.”
“Do you plan to get a cow and chickens?”
Deborah gave him a sardonic smile. “Very funny,” she drawled. “Here are the units. Do you think you’re going to need both?”
Asa stared at two cartons labeled air-conditioner in a bold black marker, sitting on the floor in a brick-walled pantry. Mason jars filled with labeled fruits, vegetables, relishes, jams, and preserves lined the many shelves. The pantry was cool, much cooler that the outdoor temperature.
“I think one will do. Two air-conditioners going at the same time may blow the fuse. And, don’t forget you have one in the shop.”
“I’m going to put in some ceiling fans. I doubt I’ll have to use the air until early May. Even though we don’t officially have winter, sometimes it gets a little cool.”
“What do you call cool, Deborah?”
Crossing her arms under her breasts, she smiled up at Asa. “Low sixties.”
“That’s short-sleeve and shorts weather.”
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