As he opened the passenger door for her he pointed out, “I tried to apologize for that last night…twice. Remember?”
“So what are you saying?”
“I think you’re running from something or someone who is dangerous. I think you’re scared. I admit I thought the worst at first that you had something criminal in your past.”
She sighed. “Well, that’s blunt.”
“It’s honest,” he contradicted, watching as she took great care to situate herself in the passenger seat just so, while making sure her skirt was tucked in around her thighs as if self-conscious about something.
He shrugged it off and crawled behind the wheel.
During the short drive to the Diner, they didn’t say another word to each other. The minute he came to a stop in the middle of Main Street, he double-parked behind the tail-ends of the cars already lining the slotted spaces because there was no available place to park. He let the vehicle idle while he watched, once again, as she took great pains to crawl out of the truck, holding onto her skirt. Before he could utter another word, she politely thanked him for the ride and slammed the door shut in his face.
It wasn’t until after he got back to the house and was loading her clothes into the dryer that it dawned on him. As he chucked her jeans, top, and socks into the drum along with a tiny slice of fabric that passed for panties, a light went off.
He chuckled, realizing she’d gone to work without wearing underwear.
And with that image pictured in his head, he couldn’t stop grinning remembering how she’d felt up against him, how she’d responded.
Because that first taste had left him wanting a whole lot more.
Chapter 6 Book 2
Even though Hayden had practically run from Ethan’s truck like it had been on fire, once she crossed the threshold into work, she did her best to glide into waitress mode. After apologizing to Margie for her tardiness, she made a concerted effort to leave that lip lock behind, too.
It was difficult. Her lips still smoldered from that molten kiss. And what a kiss! She wasn’t sure she’d ever felt anything so potent. Somehow she’d known Ethan Cody would be a pro in the tongue-exchange program.
Unfortunately, Margie and her chosen profession at the moment forced Hayden back to reality. Her boss didn’t cut her much slack, either. “Don’t think you can make a habit of being late,” Margie snapped. But then to Hayden’s surprise she added, “You did a good thing, girl, saving that little boy the way you did.”
She conceded she might have to get used to Margie’s gruff exterior, as well as the woman’s brusque sense of humor, which bordered on crusty as a sailor.
“Believe me I don’t intend to make a habit of jumping into the Pacific Ocean every day before work.”
“Good. Because by the time we close tonight, you’ll be dead on your feet. It’s already all over town how you saved little Justin Hardin. And Friday nights are always busy anyway. But the locals will end up eating supper here just to get a good look at the girl hero. You watch.”
Oddly, Margie’s prediction turned out to be true. Hayden was busier than she’d been the night before. It seemed a steady stream of Pelican Pointe’s upstanding citizens decided to come by to meet the woman who’d taken a dive into the Pacific Ocean.
She met the mayor and the owner of Murphy’s store, who turned out to be a gray-haired man in his fifties, all five feet of him along with his steady companion, Carla Vargas, the petite, county social worker.
Drea Jennings, the owner of the flower shop, stopped by to introduce herself and officially welcome Hayden to the town by handing her a beautiful bouquet of fall mums.
Mr. and Mrs. Ferguson, owners of the hardware store, made a point of offering her a fifteen percent discount off paint any time she felt like redeeming it.
Wally Pierce brought Lilly and the kids by to see if she was all right and could finish out her shift. They even offered to drive her back to The Cove if she needed to go.
But it was the pharmacist, Carl Knudsen, whose visit left her slightly panic-stricken. According to Knudsen, the rescue story, such as it had been and always a popular feel-good news lead, had garnered the attention of all the Santa Cruz television stations, which meant there was a chance it might be picked up by the national networks.
If the story happened to go nationwide, what did that mean for Hayden Ryan aka Emile Reed? While she was certain there had been no news crews around with cameras rolling to catch Hayden on film, she knew in this day and age cell phones were as good as if not better than video cameras and everyone carried one. Had someone gotten the whole thing on video? God, she hoped not. And if so, would it end up going viral on the Internet?
Such a sad thing thought Hayden, as she went about serving hash to half the town. How a wonderful event like saving a life could be so easily turned into a three-ring circus she didn’t know. But there was little she could do about it now. She could only hope Jeremy wouldn’t recognize Hayden Ryan from Jane Smith, nor would his henchmen.
She had, after all, altered her appearance. Even though she’d been meticulous in making sure Emile Reed had disappeared, she couldn’t get sloppy, no matter how small the town. She considered what Ethan had told her about his suspicions. Either she had been terribly transparent, or the man really did possess some psychic abilities. She was afraid it was a little bit of both.
She had never been a good liar, or a woman who manipulated others, or directed situations to get what she wanted. Right now, she wished she was better at both, like maybe being a better actress.
What with people taking the time to slap her on the back so to speak, her shift flew by in a blur. At nine-twenty-five she was running the mop over the floor one last time when she glanced up and spotted Ethan standing outside the locked door, waiting for her.
Her pulse jumped at the sight of him. She waved and held up her hand with her fingers splayed indicating she needed five more minutes. When he nodded, she went to dump the dirty water and get rid of the mop.
Once outside on the sidewalk, they began to walk to her car. Ethan held out a bag, shaking his head. “Your clothes, Hayden-no-underwear-Ryan. I can’t believe you worked in the buff.”
“I did no such thing. I worked without underwear, there’s a difference. With all those books you have, you’d think you could crack open a dictionary.”
“Bare-assed is what you are under that skirt.”
“Bare-assed implies no clothes. As you can see, I’m fully clothed, decently so.”
“I could amend that.”
“Oh I’ve no doubt. You’d probably be smooth as silk while doing it, too.”
“I rarely get complaints,” he said jovially. “How about something to eat?”
“I just came out of a diner. What makes you think I didn’t spend the last several hours stuffing my face every chance I got?”
“I figure working around food is kinda like working around law enforcement. Just because you’re in the environment doesn’t mean you want to immerse yourself in the flavor twenty-four-seven. A change of pace is a good thing. I made steak fajitas, got ’em warming in the oven. The smell is driving Grisham nuts.”
Hayden stopped walking when she got to her car and stared at him. She looked around for his familiar county truck. Main Street was virtually deserted. “You’re a constant source of contradiction, Deputy Dawg. Did you walk here?”
“I did. But left my dog behind over major protests.”
She grinned. “Then get in. I’ll drive you back to your place―for fajitas.”
With guests tucked in for the night, Nick sat at the computer supposedly working on the B & B website they’d launched three months earlier. But he couldn’t concentrate on the message he wanted to convey. Little wonder, after Hayden’s disclosure that morning. Nick was worried about his wife and how she’d chewed on the news most of the day that Scott’s ghost had once again been seen walking the grounds and not by her.
Nick wondered if he might be a litt
le jealous.
And that was ridiculous. What sane man would be jealous of a dead man, a ghost? But there it was. While Jordan wondered why Scott never appeared to her, Nick fixated on why Scott was still hanging around.
He couldn’t very well ignore the fact that this place had been Scott’s childhood home. Just because he’d grown up here and brought Jordan back to start a family didn’t explain why he still haunted the grounds.
He’d thought that after he overcame his survivor’s guilt, after he’d married Jordan, Scott would see how happy they both were and leave him alone. But like so many other aspects over the past six months, it seemed as if Nick had underestimated the man’s devotion to The Cove. Maybe Scott just didn’t want to let go of this life.
When Jordan walked in and stood behind him, she wrapped her hands around his neck. Her presence did what it always did. It rocked his world, a sentiment that just six short months earlier he couldn’t even have fathomed.
When she started trailing kisses down the back of his neck and then around to his jaw, he decided he really was being absurd focusing on a ghost. This woman was the reason he got up in the morning. The reason he’d left his life back in Los Angeles behind for the little town of Pelican Pointe. The reason he was so happy these days instead of the brooding man who’d served two tours of duty in Iraq.
He brought her around to face him. “You still look a little pale. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine. Better than fine. I’m wonderful as a matter-of-fact. It seems you managed to get one past the goalie.” She waited for his reaction.
He sat up straighter. “What?”
“I’m pregnant.”
His lips curved. His eyes lit up. He pulled her down into his lap, ran a hand over her flat belly. “Are you sure?”
“I just peed on the stick a second time. Believe me you’re definitely going to be a father in about seven and a half months.”
“I’m already a father,” he pointed out proudly.
“And that, Mr. Harris, is why I’m crazy in love with you.”
“When can we make an announcement? How long do we have to wait before I can tell Ben?” His best friend Ben Latham already had two kids and his wife was expecting a third in a little over six weeks.
“Since you look like you’re about to burst, I think you can start sending out e-mails, start making phone calls right away.”
Nick crushed his mouth to Jordan’s. “I’ll alert the media later. Right now, I’m taking my knocked-up wife to bed.”
“So what’s the deal with Kent Springer? Jordan tells me I should avoid the man like the plague,” Hayden asked as she dipped the end of her fajita in the guacamole, took another bite of the tasty meat. Thankfully she’d rid herself of that hideous costume and changed back into freshly laundered jeans and her tank top. “I love Mexican food. You’re a damn good cook, Ethan, for a deputy sheriff.”
Ethan leaned back in his chair at the table, picked up his bottle of Corona, took a long pull. “I’m a man of many talents. As for good ol’ Kent, avoiding him might not be that easy even though his trial’s coming up next week. I see him around town now and again. He’s been out on bail almost five months now. His lawyer’s gotten his trial postponed a couple of times already. But next week is it; word has it the judge is fed up with any more delays.”
He reached down and absently petted Grisham’s head when the pooch rested his chin on his lap, stealthily eyeing his master’s portion of meat.
“But what exactly did he do?” Hayden insisted. “Jordan is never specific.”
“Well, for one thing, last spring he tried to set Promise Cove on fire. But Nick caught him in the act just as he was getting to it. He’d already poured gas out of one can. Something we didn’t figure out until much later. All he would’ve had to do is light the match.” At the time, Ethan had worked the crime scene and had been the one who had noticed that the area around the corner of the house had been saturated with gasoline. “Luckily Nick spotted him before he got the chance.”
Hayden’s mouth dropped open.
Ethan quickly explained, “He wanted the land for his own―to build a fancy resort in the area. He’d already missed a couple of chances to buy the property. Then when Jordan and Scott moved back here, I guess Kent thought he’d gotten a raw deal. Anyway, Scott had this dream of opening the house as a B & B. Those plans upset Springer’s. Before that, he’d tried to bribe a county inspector to close the place down because the wiring wasn’t up to code. We found out about that later, too. It seems Kent has a history of bribing county officials, beating up women, that sort of thing. He may have even killed one.”
“Oh. My. God.”
“It’s just a suspicion. Brent, my brother, has spent almost a year investigating Springer in the disappearance of a Santa Cruz woman Springer had been dating last fall.”
“Wait, rumor has it he and Sissy Carr are involved in a longstanding affair.”
“Sure they are but if you think Kent’s faithful to anyone, you don’t know Springer.”
“Okay, so he messed around on Sissy with a woman from Santa Cruz. What do you think happened to the woman?”
“She went missing, hasn’t been seen for almost a year now. Kent was the last person to see her alive. But without a body we haven’t been able to nail Springer for murder yet, just the attempted arson. If he gets convicted on the arson charge and is sitting in prison for nine years, it’ll buy us some time to keep looking for more evidence in the woman’s disappearance.”
“According to the realtor signs, the man owns half the town.”
“Kent and the First Bank of Pelican Pointe which if the rumors are correct, is in trouble. They’ve made some risky loans and bad investments, all seem to be connected to Springer. Feds are looking into the business practices of both even as we speak.”
And didn’t she know all about the feds, Hayden thought, sourly. She sipped the chardonnay Ethan had poured. For some reason it didn’t taste as good as it had earlier. “Do you think he’ll get convicted?”
“You never know what a jury will do. But yeah, I think there’s a better than eighty percent chance of conviction. If they go by the evidence, it should be a slam dunk. But…juries can be fickle. And even though Springer is a scumbag, he has no shortage of friends in high places. If we don’t get him locally for the arson and bribery charges, maybe the feds will reel him in for fraud. Either way, I think ol’ Kent Springer’s days of freedom are about done.”
“So, he had it in for Nick and Jordan,” she concluded.
“Jordan really, Kent hoped the bed and breakfast would never see the light of day and Jordan would lose the house. When that happened he’d be able to snatch it up at a bank auction. Springer didn’t count on Nick Harris showing up though. Nick came along and he and Jordan pretty much got that place up and going in spite of the odds.
“At the eleventh hour when it looked like they wouldn’t be able to open, Nick shamed most of the townspeople into getting them to help out with the finishing touches. As it turns out, one of the reasons the town had been so standoffish to Jordan was because of Sissy Carr. The woman had spent the past two years spreading nasty rumors about Jordan, rumors that turned out to be flat out lies.”
By way of explanation, he went on, “Maybe because of the affair, Sissy said something, or in some way pushed Kent into taking matters into his own hands like attempting arson. Who knows? Whatever the reason, Kent decided to hedge his bets. A fire would have worked to his advantage and pretty much wiped Jordan out before she even got started. You can bet Nick is busting at the gut to testify against the bastard. He has a score to settle.”
He picked up his beer again. When he took a look at her face and saw the disbelief, he added, “Hey, if you’re going to settle in a small town, you have to know the dynamics of the place.”
“Ah, I think I get it now. That’s the rough time Jordan mentioned. She and Nick―together, as a couple, them versus the town.” And thought Hayden
, it would explain why they had been into the good neighbor thing. If the town wasn’t that friendly―these two were bent on changing all that by getting new people in here. New friends, hence new chances. Second chances, Nick had said. She decided to test the waters. “Tell me, Ethan, do you believe in ghosts?”
“Of course. Hard to have Native American ancestry and not. Why?”
“Which Native American culture are we talking about?”
“Chumash. My father’s people. They lived along the coast thousands of years before the Spanish ever arrived. They used plank canoes they called tomols to navigate the ocean selling and trading their goods back and forth between tribes. Even made their own currency from olivella shell beads. The kinds of shells still found all up and down the beaches here.”
“I know. I picked up a pocket full of them just the other day. You have fascinating roots, Deputy Dawg.”
“I do. But don’t get my father started on how he plans to reawaken the Chumashan dialect. He’s all about kiyiškɨhɨn a kiyiswana’n a siyatyatɨk.” Eyeing the confused look on her face, he added, “kiyiškɨhɨn a kiyiswana’n a siyatyatɨk means keeping our culture alive. And paleontologists have found some serious cave paintings and tree carvings all along the coast they’ve attributed to the Chumash, if you’re interested in that sort of thing.”
“Really? That sounds fascinating. I’d love to see those sometime. Are they nearby?”
“South of here, around Santa Barbara mostly. Why do you want to know if I believe in ghosts?”
“Well, at the risk of you thinking I’m a nutcase, I saw Scott Phillips last night, walking the grounds.” When he looked a bit perplexed, she added, “Yeah, Jordan’s husband, first husband, the guy who died in Iraq. I know it sounds crazy…impossible even.”
“Really? Maybe he’s jealous of Nick, you know, because the guy married his wife.”
“He didn’t look upset, or jealous, or anything but blissfully content. Although to be honest I don’t know much about spirits or ghosts. I noticed when I was here earlier you have a book that deals with the paranormal. I was wondering if I could borrow it. Jordan’s kind of upset about the whole thing.”
Pelican Pointe Boxed Set Books 1 - 3 (A Pelican Pointe Novel) Page 40