Kissing Cousins

by Diana Tobin

  Her raspy voice made him think she’d done more crying than appreciating the sights. “All without coffee? Or, are you one of those people who can function without caffeine?”

  “Oh, I love coffee, but I didn’t…that is, I haven’t bought any groceries yet.”

  “You know you can help yourself to what’s in the house until you get what you want,” Web said with a casual roll of his shoulders. “I’d have brought you a cup if I’d known you wanted some.”

  Her red-rimmed eyes were wide when she looked at him. “That’s very thoughtful of you.”

  “You don’t have to sound so surprised.” Web was irritated. Did she think he was some sort of ogre?

  “I’m just not used to—that is, I’m used to having to do things myself.” She plucked at blades of grass, refusing to meet his gaze. “I should go make myself a cup.” She snagged her shoes as she rose to her feet.

  “Did you try the water?” Web asked with a nod toward the lake spread before them.

  “No,” she said quietly. “No.”

  “Do you swim?”

  “Oh, yes,” she assured him. “I know how.” She stared off across the lake. “I just wanted a quiet place to sit and think for a bit.”

  He had the strangest feeling she’d been testing herself this morning, besides crying, but had no idea what sort of test it had been.

  “Well, I’ll just go back in.” She brushed off the seat of her shorts and Web’s eyes followed the direction of her hand. “I didn’t think about how damp the grass was.” She turned to face the house, her shoes in one hand rather than on her feet. “I could make breakfast, if you’re hungry.”

  Web drank the last of his now cold coffee before meeting her gaze. “I’ll be up in a few minutes to help you. I’m going to take a quick swim first.”

  “Isn’t the water cold?”

  He certainly hoped so. Watching her hand slide over her rounded bottom had given his body ideas he wasn’t prepared to meet. “Nah! Hey, what are the Spartans?” Web pointed to the front of her shirt.

  “A local junior hockey team I used to volunteer for.” Her smile was rather wistful. “I guess it’s not so local from here.”

  “You played hockey?”

  “Good heavens, no,” Augusta said on what could’ve been a laugh. “I can’t even stand up on ice skates. A friend of mine worked for the team, and I’d help out when she needed it.”

  A friend she got to spend less and less time with as her husband kept coming up with things she needed to do instead. Of course, she could help Marie during the hockey games, as long as she either found a sitter for Hope or took the baby with her. No way would Steve Payne stay home and take care of his own child. Added to that, he accused her of only wanting to help out at the games so she could ogle the young men.

  Had Steve ever seen anyone in a hockey uniform he would’ve known there were times you could barely tell a person’s gender. The man was an idiot.

  For Gus, volunteering at the games was a way for her to spend time with other people. People who didn’t criticize everything she did and said. People who appreciated her efforts, however small they might be. But Steve had made it so she couldn’t enjoy those few times.

  And, then, Hope had gotten ill.

  Web saw the unhappiness on Augusta’s face and his body cooled instantly. “Hey, I’m gonna skip the swim and come help you cook. I could use another cup of coffee.”

  She blinked at his words, returning to the present from where ever she’d gone.

  Together they headed back across the expanse of lawn to the house.

  “Is there a Starbucks, or something like that around?” Augusta asked.

  “There’s a Dunkin’ Donuts down in Belgrade,” Web told her. “We’ve got coffee in the house.”

  “I was hoping to find a job.” She lifted her pointed chin ever so slightly.

  “There’s a little place here in town, Moose-ley Coffee.”

  Her lips twitched. “You’re kidding, right?”

  Web slung a friendly arm across her shoulders and ignored the way her body stiffened. “Nope. You’ll find moose in the name of lots of things around here.”

  Augusta lifted one arm to wipe at her forehead effectively knocking Web’s arm from her shoulders. “It’s really humid this morning.”

  Web kept his arms at his sides wondering why she objected to a casual touch. “Not too bad, really. Summer’s nearly over, so we won’t have many more days like this.”

  “I wasn’t complaining, merely stating the obvious.”

  He didn’t think her back could get much straighter as she stalked toward the porch steps.

  “We’d better get you some coffee. You sure are prickly in the morning.”

  She stopped so suddenly he nearly rammed into the back of her.

  Her shoulders relaxed some as she spun around to face him, then tensed back up when she found how little space separated them. She could smell coffee and cinnamon on his breath and backed up a step.

  “I apologize.” She tugged at her shirt, fiddled with the shoes in her hand, and looked everywhere but at Web. “It’s been a long time since I’ve shared a house …or anything with another person, other than my daughter.” She shifted from foot to foot. “I don’t mean to be rude. I’m just used to being alone.”

  With that, Augusta spun on her heel and headed inside.

  Web stood where he was, staring after her. As apologies went, hers was…well, confusing. He’d lived alone a good many years, but he didn’t take offense at the slightest word. One minute, she seemed almost friendly, the next she sounded as if he’d offended her. Was grief making her act so weird, or was she on some kind of drug?

  His belly grumbled, reminding him they were going to make breakfast. And, he wouldn’t get any answers about Augusta Thompson standing out here when she was inside.

  Augusta was rummaging through cupboards when he stepped into the kitchen. Before he could offer any help she looked over her shoulder at him. “Where are the coffee pods?”

  “In the drawer under the machine.” He walked toward the sink, intending to rinse out his own cup before brewing another. “Uh—”

  “I know how to work it,” she said lightly, quirking her lips in what might pass for a smile. “They had one of these at the hospital. This is a really nice model, and I like the color.” She picked out a pod from the assortment in the drawer and popped it into the red machine, then placed her empty cup under it. “You’ve got quite a selection here.”

  “That’s more Emma’s doing,” said Web. “She started watching the shopping channels on TV while confined to bed. This was one of her better choices.” He grinned. “She was doing a good job keeping the UPS man busy.” He moved over to the drawer she’d left open and picked up a pod. “This is my favorite. You should try them all and see what you like best.”

  “Thanks. Actually, your favorite is what I have brewing.” She removed her mug when the coffee had finished filling it, held it under her nose and breathed in. “Smells good. Do we have any creamer?”

  “There’s some milk in the fridge. I drink mine black.”

  “Oh,” she sounded disappointed, then gave a little shrug and lifted the mug to her lips. “I’ll add that to my list.”

  He nearly asked what type of list she was making; grocery…or a list of offenses. Instead, he asked, “What would you like, eggs or pancakes?”

  “Are you cooking?” She looked at him over her coffee mug. At his nod she said, “Pancakes.”

  “Good. Blueberry pancakes it is.” Web began gathering ingredients. “We could eat out on the side porch while it’s still cool.”

  “I’ll set the table,” Augusta said, heading for the cupboard she’d found held dishes. “Since you’re cooking, I’ll clean up afterwards.”

  “All right,” Web agreed. “Syrup is in the fridge. We don’t have any of that fake stuff.”

  “You mean maple?” Augusta asked as she sorted through the bottles of condiments in the door o
f the refrigerator.

  “I mean as in real maple syrup. That’s the one,” he pointed to the bottle she’d pulled out. “Real maple syrup from the trees here in Maine.”

  “The label says it’s Vermont maple syrup.” She looked up at him and he would swear there was a twinkle in her eyes. “Did they sneak through New Hampshire and steal it from our trees?”

  “Probably.” Web turned back to the stove, pouring batter into a large skillet and sprinkling fresh blueberries over the circle he’d made.

  “What’s the difference?” Augusta asked.

  “You’ve never had real maple syrup?”

  “I thought so. Isn’t that what they sell in the grocery stores?”

  “Wait till you taste this, then you tell me,” he said with a smug grin. Expertly, he flipped the pancakes, sliding the ones that were done to a plate he had warming in the oven.

  Augusta snitched a couple of blueberries from the bowl beside the stove, popping them into her mouth. “Yum! These are good.”

  “We probably should pick some more,” Web said absently, as he sprinkled more of the fruit on the rounds of batter.

  “Where do we go do that?”

  He looked at her with a big grin. “In the backyard.”

  Her eyes widened, “In the–where?” She rushed over to a window, looking out at the garden.

  “Inside that cage. See that door on the end?” He pointed over her shoulder. “The birds kept getting Emma’s berries before she could, so Henry built the cage around them. Thank goodness he didn’t make it Emma-size.”

  “What’s that mean?” she asked frowning.

  “It means I would’ve had to go in on my knees to pick blueberries. Your grandmother was a tiny woman.” Web flipped the last of the pancakes in the skillet and pulled the warm plateful from the oven. “Let’s eat,” he announced.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Breakfast had been pleasant and a surprise.

  It was clear to Gus that Web had had a great deal of affection for her late grandmother. This was fine when she’d thought he was an eighty-year-old man. She wasn’t sure how she felt about the same man being fifty years younger than her grandmother.

  She mentally chided herself for caring. What did it matter to her if her grandmother had a lover so much younger? It wasn’t as if Gus wanted Charles Webster. She didn’t want any man. The one she’d had was quite enough, more than enough, to keep her from wanting another.

  If Hope were alive it might be different. Gus might have been willing to find a real father for her daughter. Then, again, maybe not. She hadn’t done so well picking a husband and father the first time. What made her think she’d do better a second time? And, if Hope were alive, Gus would have to be very sure of her choice before letting someone into her daughter’s life.

  All moot points.

  During their meal, Web had lamented that all the blueberry syrup Emma had made was gone. Gus had nearly volunteered to try making it, but caught herself in time. Chances were she wouldn’t do it as well as Emma had, and then she’d have to hear how she didn’t measure up…again.

  Instead, she’d praised the real maple syrup and suggested they add pecans to the pancakes next time.

  They’d sat over more coffee watching the birds at the feeder outside the window. Gus couldn’t remember ever having such a peaceful meal with her husband.

  Web hadn’t complained, but then, he’d done the cooking. Still, he hadn’t made demands. In fact, he’d been the one to refill their coffee. The only time Steve Payne got his own coffee was to point out how inept his wife was at making it, pouring it, keeping it hot.

  Web had offered to help her with the dishes, but Gus reminded him of their deal, which brought another surprise. Other than the plates they’d eaten from and the skillet for cooking, there was very little to clean up.

  The few times Steve had cooked, he made sure to use every pot, pan, and bowl in the kitchen, not to mention the spills and splatters. He insisted Gus clean up since he had cooked, no matter what type of day she’d had, or how simple the meal. Steve always claimed he was a much better cook and expected praise from both Gus and Hope. If they failed to praise his efforts, or if he didn’t feel he received enough accolades, he pouted and complained about any and every thing.

  Charles Webster was a tidy and efficient man.

  Which meant it would be easier to endure the next year sharing the house with him. It didn’t mean she was attracted to him. How could she be? He’d been her grandmother’s…boyfriend? Lover? Either word fell into the ick category.

  But, she would admit only to herself, when he’d put his arm around her as they walked up from the lake she’d felt a warmth she hadn’t experienced in far too many years. Almost as if Web cared for her, as if they were friends. It hadn’t been a sexual touch, and it felt right.

  Habits of the past had caused her to dislodge Web’s arm from her shoulders. If Gus’s ex-husband saw anyone touch her, even in the casual way Web had that morning, Steve accused her of having an affair. Gus always denied his accusations. Steve would either continue his tirade or decide the person had touched Gus because they wanted to have an affair with her. Gus couldn’t even hug her female friends without Steve claiming she was gay.

  She couldn’t remember a time when her husband had touched her with affection. No hand holding for him, or walking with their arms around each other. His touches had always been overtly sexual, no matter how inappropriate the time or place. If Gus shied away or asked him not to, he only became more aggressive before announcing she was a cold fish.

  The few times others had been around to witness his actions, Steve had a way of making it appear he was teasing and Gus was being a poor sport about it all. Because he had a knack of making others laugh, he would carry on about what a bad cook Gus was or a lousy lay, and everyone thought it was all a big joke. Only Gus knew Steve meant every word, for when it was just the two of them, he said the same things to her with no humor whatsoever.

  Her ex never took responsibility for things that went wrong. If he didn’t complete a project at work, it was someone else’s fault. If he didn’t get a raise, the boss was blind to his capabilities. If he didn’t do well on the golf course, then the groundskeeper hadn’t done his job properly, or another golfer made too much noise, or the sky wasn’t blue enough. Everything else was Gus’s fault. From needing gas in his car, to losing his keys, to having no money.

  Steve had even accused Gus of stealing from him. She was stretching their dollars as much as possible, making sure their daughter ate nutritious meals and was properly clothed, while her husband bought himself new golf clubs, went on weekend fishing trips, and visited gaming casinos. When Gus pointed out how meager their funds were, he wanted to know what she had spent it on.

  Even as her self-esteem dwindled, Gus had remained faithful to her marriage vows. Who would want her? Something Steve pointed out frequently. He rarely kissed her because she didn’t know how to do even that right. So, while she remained faithful, she discovered her husband hadn’t.

  All those golfing tournaments and fishing trips were cover stories for meeting his latest mistress. Or, maybe he did golf and fish, but his companions were female rather than the males he’d led Gus to believe. Of course, his affairs were her fault.

  Gus didn’t believe that, and didn’t believe it when Steve finally admitted the truth. She wasn’t to blame for his bad judgment and behavior, but her self-worth had taken another blow.

  It had taken nearly three years for her to legally free herself from Steve Payne. Now that their daughter was gone, she was completely free of him, all ties severed.

  And, Gus knew, she didn’t need a man for any reason.

  ♥•♥•♥

  “How long did you know my—uh, Emma?”

  Web was helping Gus carry her things into the house. “All my life,” he answered.

  Gus wrinkled her nose at his answer. His response doubled the ick factor. How could he grow up knowing the older woma
n and end up being with her? Maybe she just didn’t understand May-December romances.

  “When does the rest of your stuff arrive?” Web asked.

  She pulled a box of yarn from the trunk of her car. “This is all my stuff.”

  Web grabbed the stack of scrapbook albums. “What about your furniture?” He followed her up the front steps into the former shop Gus was claiming for her own.

  “Don’t have any,” she replied. She set down the box she carried and looked around the room. “Are there any bookcases I could use? Or even some boards and bricks to make shelves?”

  “I think there’s something in the basement,” Web said. “What do you mean you don’t have any furniture?”

  Gus nearly sniped at him, then decided just because he was male was no reason to blame him for her ex-husband’s habits. She blew out a breath. “Before the divorce, my ex pretty much took everything. I reported it to the police, but since we were still legally married, it couldn’t be considered theft.”

  “Son of a bitch!”

  “That’s a good summary, and you’ve never met his mother.”

  “You’re taking it well,” Web leaned against the wall behind him.

  Gus stuck her hands in her back pockets. “I didn’t at the time.” She shrugged her shoulders. “At least he left Hope’s bed, toys, and clothes. In the kitchen, he left me a one quart saucepan and a huge baking dish. He said I was a lousy cook, so I didn’t need much.”

  “How were you supposed to feed your child?”

  She lifted her shoulders in another shrug. “That was my problem.” She headed out the door to get another load from her car.

  Web was on her heels. “But she was his child, too.”

  Gus shook her head. “Not once she became ill.” She picked up another box of yarn, but Web stopped her with a hand on her arm.

  “What do you mean?”

  She balanced the box on the car. “Does it really matter? You’re never going to meet Hope or the jackass I married.” She pulled the box into her arms and spun away from Web.

  ♥•♥•♥

  Web gave Augusta a few minutes alone before he carried in another load. They worked together silently until she announced they had everything out of her car.