“I have fun all the time. And I dated—” She stopped as she tried to remember the last time she’d gone out. Eyeing the cynical look on his face, she tossed out, “I’ve put dating on hold. And don’t look at me like that. I have other more pressing matters to deal with right now than to spend my time in pursuit of a good time with the opposite sex.”
“You don’t get away from this place long enough to meet the opposite sex let alone have a good time. There’s no figuring young people these days,” Pete groused before taking a generous slug of Coke and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“I’ll tell you what that boy needs without even meeting him for the first time. He needs a reason to wake up in the morning.”
“Everybody needs that. Do you know why he’s so screwed up? Did anyone bother to clue you in? Hayden described the whole spree shooting thing to me last night—in detail. Sounds like the incident is something he’s having trouble getting past—in a big way, especially since he was standing at the altar about to marry the woman who got killed.”
“Yeah, I know what happened. The whole town knows. In fact, if you ask me drinking is the least of his worries. It messed with his head. They call it PTSD these days. Didn’t have a fancy name for it back when I hit stateside from ’Nam. Now they study it. The Internet is full of sites that deal with it.”
“It’s pretty serious. He’ll probably never be the same again.”
“No, probably not. I’ll go out, report back. Find out how bad the situation is.”
“You could stay for dinner. I’m too tired to cook. But I could nuke something in the microwave. I’ve got frozen veggie pizzas, the good kind Murphy stocks.”
Knowing Keegan was a strict vegetarian he knew there was no chance in hell of getting one with meat, but instead of giving her a hard time about it, he simply asked, “The one with the thick crust?”
“Yep. And four cheeses, too.”
“Tempting, but unlike you, I’ve got me a date with Betty Brinker. And Betty promised me homemade apple pie for dessert.” He wiggled his eyebrows up and down.
Keegan bumped his shoulder and snickered. Betty Brinker had to be a good twelve years younger than Pete. “Is that what your generation calls it?”
“At least my generation is getting some dessert action,” Pete pointed out as he turned to leave.
“Okay, you’ve got a point,” she conceded as she walked him to the door. “But my life is too complicated right now for a relationship.”
Before pulling open the door he asked, “You never answered my question. When is the last time you had a real date? I’m not talking about the guy you went to school with that you accidentally bumped into in San Sebastian and spent an hour with him—catching up—drinking coffee.” He made a face.
“So I’m having a dry spell.”
“Keegan, there hasn’t been a dry spell on record like yours since the 1930s. They called it the Dust Bowl.”
Keegan playfully tapped him on the arm. “You mean since you were around back then to personally take notes?”
He took her chin in his hand and said, “My tough girl isn’t so tough. Keep up that sarcasm and you might convince me that veneer is what’s holding you up when it should be someone sharing your life. Just don’t sink too far into depression you can’t pull out. Porter and Mary wanted more for their girl than that. Got it?”
She leaned over, gave him a peck on the cheek. “Got it. Let me know how it goes with Cord. He’s the first man to send me flowers in a decade.”
“He gets points for that then. I promise I’ll make up my time here on Monday morning for sure. Count on it.”
“See ya, Pete. You take care with Betty. Safe sex, remember?”
“Yeah, yeah. Smartass,” he muttered as he strutted to his pickup like a man with a woman in his life.
After Pete left, Keegan couldn’t settle.
What she should be doing is working on a paper she’d hoped to get published about how environmental pollutants damaged marine mammals. She also needed to block off some serious computer time to write a proposal for the grant to go with the study.
Instead she finished the laundry, checked on Jack and Dodger, medicating both, and then came back to zap her frozen, tasteless, veggie pizza.
As she ate she realized she felt out of sorts. Maybe it was because it was Saturday night and Pete did have a date and she—like so many other Saturday nights in the past—did not. Pete was right. Her lack of a social life equaled a very long drought. She glanced at Guinness. “So what if I’m spending another night sharing my evening with a bunch of injured and sick animals. They need me,” she reasoned.
And God was she feeling sorry for herself or what?
She put her plate in the dishwasher and dug out a bag of popcorn from the pantry. While it popped she knew she needed to get out of this blue mood.
When the microwave dinged she emptied the piping hot bag into a bowl and went off to the living room to settle in front of the TV. She perused the DVDs, slid a disc into the player. The movie Sabrina, the 1954 classic not the remake, was the last movie she’d watched with her grandmother. She sighed and sat down on the couch, letting Guinness curl up at her feet.
During Pete Alden’s visit the man had assured Cord he’d have backup if need be.
But after Cord’s night spent in county lockup, he felt exhaustion overtaking him. He soon fell asleep in front of the TV at seven-thirty watching the San Jose Sharks take on the Anaheim Ducks. He snored softly until the smell of lilies hit him fast and hard.
The church was hot, stifling. His collar felt two sizes too small for his neck. His head ached, even his feet hurt. Nervous, he glanced at the back of the church for any sign of Cassie. What was taking her so damned long to get ready? he wondered.
He remembered looking into Paul’s face, seeing him nod his head toward the back of the church at about the same time the organist decided to start the music.
When he looked down the aisle, there stood Cassie on the arm of her father. She’d taken two steps when a man followed her from the vestibule.
It all happened in slow motion. Shots fired.
Yelling.
Warning shouts that turned into screams of horrible mayhem. More gunfire.
Cord remembered running down the aisle until he felt a burn in his chest. The sickening smell of lilies hung in the air, making him wish for things he would never have.
He woke in a sweat, breathing hard. Afraid to open his eyes, afraid he’d find himself back in that chapel again, Cord lifted his head and finally looked around the room. It was only then he realized the hockey game was long over and they were well into postgame wrap up.
He sucked in a breath, ran an unsteady hand through his hair.
It would be okay, it would all be okay, if he could just stop breathing in the smell of lilies and the iron smell of blood, it would all be okay.
After spending two hours with Humphrey Bogart, Audrey Hepburn and William Holden, watching them light up the screen, Keegan still couldn’t seem to relax.
Restless and edgy, as soon as the credits rolled, she popped up and said to the dog, “How about we take a walk?”
At the word “walk” Guinness bounded up, ready to roll. She hooked his leash to his collar and grabbed the mackinaw. They slipped out the front door, the dog with all the energy of a puppy.
Outside the air was crisp and thick with low-hanging, foggy wisps coming in off the water. Even from this distance she could hear McCready’s beginning to rock with the live band known locally as Blue Skies. Ricky Oden, its lead singer and founder, was a locally grown boy with Native American roots who had achieved a modicum amount of success with his music.
The town loved and supported Ricky and the four other musicians who made up Blue Skies. The band always made a point to play McCready’s on a Saturday night and never took the stage any earlier than ten o’clock. They played until closing or rather until the noise ordinance kicked in at midnight.
Keegan shook her head. A person could set their clock by Blue Skies. She and Guinness crossed the compound and slipped out the back gate, down a walled area that led to the beach. As soon as his paws hit the sand, Guinness started barking.
Keegan turned to see a lone figure of a man sitting on the rocks to her right about twenty yards from the pier.
Unlike the night before, this time he had his long hair tied back and secured with a leather binding in a stumpy ponytail.
“Please do not tell me you’re planning another jump into the ocean,” Keegan remarked. “I’m really in no mood to dive in and get soaking wet again.”
Cord’s head whipped up and she saw a flash of teeth. The man really did have a handsome face when he smiled
“Nah, I learned my lesson. No jumping in for me.”
“What are you doing here then?” She tried to tell in the dark if his eyes looked glassy enough to be drunk. But what she saw were those same golden-brown eyes with just a hint of the devil in them.
He didn’t seem to be intoxicated, but rather sad or maybe thoughtful and brooding.
Not a good sign, she thought. Cautious, she wondered if maybe he had another weapon.
“I came into town to see you. Didn’t realize there was a big-ass gate keeping you from the general public until I got to it.”
“You came to see me? Oh. Well. I haven’t had time to write a card to thank you for the flowers yet. And the gate isn’t to keep me from the general public but to keep the animals safe.”
She watched as Guinness traipsed over and plopped his butt down near the guy’s feet. Obviously the dog remembered him from the night before.
“I didn’t make the trip into town to solicit a thank you for the flowers. I drove by your place earlier but it didn’t seem right to stop by without calling first, especially on a Saturday night and all. I didn’t know if you had company inside or what. And I didn’t have your number so—” Although he had found a number for the center on her website, he didn’t mention that now. Mainly, because he’d needed an excuse to get out of that house and come back to the scene of last night.
As if he needed something to do with his big hands, Cord reached for the dog’s head and gave him a good rubbing behind both ears. “What’s his name?”
“Guinness. You know, like the beer. My granddad had a fondness for it. He’s the one who named him.”
“Figures. I’ve been on a first name basis with Guinness many times in my life.”
She chuckled in spite of herself. “Since you’re here, thanks for the tulips. They’re gorgeous. You didn’t have to do that.”
“Sure I did. You saved my life. What did you end up putting them in?” He smiled when he noticed the look of astonishment on her face. “You know what kind of container, vase, whatever.”
“Uh, I have this old blue-and-white milk pitcher that used to belong to my great-grandmother. She brought it over from Ireland. I put them in that. Why?”
“Just wondering. Drea tried to sell me a clear vase and I wanted them in a box so you could use your own, whatever it happened to be.”
“Really?” She’d never known a man to think that far ahead when sending a woman flowers before. They usually just went with the flow.
“I do appreciate your saving my life whether you want to believe me or not. I got a little crazy last night. Thanks for being where you were when you were and dragging me out, giving me CPR, the whole bit.”
Flustered, Keegan leaned up against the rock beside him, furrowed her brow. “You’re welcome.” She took a couple of deep breaths and filled her lungs with cool, ocean air. “Why’d you do it anyway? Why’d you try to end it all?”
He puffed out a breath. “How much do you know about what happened in Virginia?”
“Pretty much what the town knows. Besides, the first thing out of your mouth last night was the name Cassie.”
Cord supposed he had to get used to other people saying her name. “I lost someone I loved. The first person in my entire life who ever loved me back. I guess you could say I haven’t handled it very well.”
Keegan considered how to respond to that before telling him, “When you put it in those terms I suppose I understand. Although, I don’t see how killing yourself is the answer because if she loved you I bet she’d want you to go on, do something with your life other than drink it away.”
Remembering Cassie’s image from his dream the night before, he said, “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
They needed a change of subject and fast, so she asked, “You really came all the way to town to thank me?”
He found that funny. “It’s a fifteen-minute drive. I didn’t spend two hours in my truck to get here. I knew you’d get the flowers but—I needed to thank you in person before going to bed tonight. It’s just something I had to do. And when I encountered resistance in the way of the gate and after considering you might not be alone, I chickened out and went for a walk on the beach instead. And here you are, doing the same thing I’m doing on a Saturday night.”
“Did you see Pete?” When she noted the surprise on his face, she added, “He mentioned he was your sponsor. He intended to see you before his date tonight.”
Cord grinned. “Pete had a date? Good for him.” He tucked his hand in his jeans pocket, pulled out his truck keys. “Oh, there’s another reason I wanted to see you. A little birdie told me this afternoon the engine on your truck blew, the one you use for land rescues.”
He held up his keys. “These are for you.” Even in the dimly lit area, he saw her gape in surprise.
Thinking Pete must’ve mentioned her car troubles, she asked, “What? You rented me a vehicle?”
“No. You can borrow my truck until yours gets fixed.”
“You’re joking. Why would you do that?”
“Hey, saved my life here…grateful, very. I have all manner of transportation like delivery trucks at my disposal courtesy of the farm. Not only that, several months back, I bought Nick’s Harley.”
“Nick sold his Harley?”
“He’s an old married guy now, a father, with another baby on the way. It was sitting around gathering dust so I bought it. I’m willing to let you borrow my truck until you get yours back. It’s simple. Isn’t that what small towns do, look out for each other? I’m just being neighborly.”
“But…you’re willing to let a stranger drive your truck. What if I’m a lousy driver?”
“I’ve got full coverage.” He cocked his head, studied her in general before telling her, “You don’t look like you’d be a whack job behind the wheel.”
“I’m not. I’m a very good, conscientious driver. I drive all over Santa Cruz County and up and down the coast, never so much as had a speeding ticket.”
“Women. See…no problem then.”
Again, Cord extended the keys out to her. “It’s a two-year-old, silver birch-metallic GMC Sierra parked on the street near the pier. You can’t miss it.”
But Keegan shook her head. “This is ridiculous; I’m not taking your truck.”
“Then you have a replacement vehicle already?”
“No. Yes. I borrowed Wally’s VW.”
“A bug?” He roared with laughter. “You plan to make your rounds saving marine mammals in a bug? What do you intend to do, store them in the boot for transport? Does that seem workable to you?”
It did seem fairly ridiculous. “Hmm. Okay, I’ll borrow your truck but just for a couple of days. Until Wally fixes mine. The guy’s really a genius with a motor. I’m hoping he’ll be able to repair it and I won’t have to pay for a new engine. Are you certain you can use the trucks from Taggert Organic Farms after—?”
“My suicide attempt? Yeah. I’m square with Nick—for now. I use the green one with the logo on the side to make runs into town all the time. It’s no big deal.”
“It is. A very big deal. I’m grateful.”
“Now was that so hard?”
“I guess not.”
“Then let’s go.” He ju
mped down off the rock.
“Go where?”
“I need a ride back to the farm.”
He saw her hesitate, saw a wariness come into her eyes, he didn’t like. “Well, hell. For God’s sakes I’m not going to get you into my truck and—harm myself—or you either for that matter. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I’m sorry.” She ran a hand through her hair right before she giggled at the ridiculousness of it all. “I bet that’s what every Ted Bundy serial killer tells his potential victim.”
He finally grinned, stuck his hands in the air and let out a low, spooky laugh like one of those from a cheesy horror flick. “Mwahahahaha.” Pretending to be Dracula with an imaginary cape, he took a couple of steps toward her and added in a low menacing voice, “Come into my web, my pretty. I’ll show you all manner of things horrific. Mwahahahaha.”
It cracked her up. “You are seriously whacked.” When she realized her slip, once again, she fumbled with her regret. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“But I am whacky, always have been. I’m not sure I’ve ever been what you would call normal.”
In spite of his offbeat sense of humor, he had a self-confidence that said, “I’m comfortable in my own skin no matter what, and I don’t give a damn about what other people think of me.”
So Keegan sighed and shrugged trying for indifference.
“Well, I can’t keep dancing around the fact you did try to off yourself. But come on, Guinness, looks like we’re going for a midnight ride with Mr. Nutcase.”
Chapter Eight
“I draw the line at nutcase. I prefer whack-a-doodle to crazy.”
She stared at him. “Hmm, I don’t know, Cord. You have this devilish look in your eye that screams, ‘I’ll try anything once.’”
“Well yeah. Sure. But that means I’m adventurous, bold, daring even, not a nutcase.”
One of Keegan’s brows rose in challenge. “Jumping into the ocean determined not to swim but go down with the tide is—” She blew out a frustrated breath. “I’m sorry.”
Dancing Tides Page 9