Sandpiper Cove

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Sandpiper Cove Page 13

by Irene Hannon


  Gone was Lexie the no-nonsense police chief.

  Gone was Lexie the loving mom.

  Gone was Lexie the accommodating daughter.

  This was Lexie the alluring woman.

  What would Adam think if he saw her in this dress?

  A delicious shiver ran through her as she imagined his reaction. Or what she hoped his reaction would be.

  Which was bad, bad, bad.

  Hadn’t she been telling everyone she liked her life fine as it was? Hadn’t she warned herself that seeing an ex-con on a social basis could be tricky? Hadn’t she decided it was smarter to be cautious, to keep her distance?

  Yes, yes, and yes.

  Still . . . she’d love to see Adam’s reaction to this dress.

  Dare she buy it and indulge herself?

  She took a deep breath. Let it out slowly as she tried to engage the left side of her brain. Maybe she was overthinking this. She was talking about a dress here, not a lifetime commitment. After all, buying a sexy outfit to impress a man wasn’t against the law. Women did it all the time. It didn’t mean she was trolling for a boyfriend—or even a date.

  Stop rationalizing, Lexie. Leave the dress behind. You’re flirting with danger.

  Prudent advice.

  “Lexie? Do you need help with the zipper?”

  She spun around as her mother’s voice came through the louvered door, not more than two feet away.

  “No. I’ve, uh, got it.”

  “Does it fit?”

  Oh, man, did it fit.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you going to let me see it?”

  “Uh-huh. I’ll be out in a minute. Meet you by the mirror.”

  She delayed as long as she could, shoring up her resolve to leave the dress behind despite the pressure her mother would surely put on her to buy it. But at last she braced and left the dressing room.

  Her mother was waiting by the larger-than-life mirror that tripled the impact of the dress.

  “Oh, my.” Her mom pressed a hand to her chest. “You look beautiful. Come over here, in the middle, so you can get the full effect.”

  Lexie didn’t need the full effect to appreciate the dress. It had been fabulous in the cramped dressing room’s narrow full-length mirror.

  She did a slow pirouette, examining the sheath from all perspectives.

  “Perfect.” Her mother beamed at her. “You have to buy it. That dress was made for you.”

  “It’s too expensive.”

  “There’s a 20-percent-off sale.”

  “It’s still too expensive.”

  “You deserve a splurge. When’s the last time you indulged yourself?”

  Hard as she tried to come up with a reply, she couldn’t pull one example from her memory.

  “See? You owe yourself a treat.”

  “I’ll never wear this again.” She fingered the subtly patterned silk. It was a beautiful dress.

  “You don’t know that. A dress like that is very versatile.”

  “It’s too fancy. It doesn’t fit my lifestyle.”

  “Then change your lifestyle. There’s more to life than work and motherhood, you know. You’re starting to become a stick-in-the-mud.”

  Lexie blinked. “Gee, why don’t you tell me what you really think?”

  “Oh, honey.” Her mother gave her a hug. “You know I have your best interests at heart. I just hate to see you frittering your youth away in a bland life without making any attempt to add some spice.”

  “You mean romance.”

  “That would do the trick.”

  “Nope. Been there, done that. I have no interest in going down that road again.”

  Brow puckered, her mother adjusted one shoulder of the dress. “I know you’ve had a rough ride these past few years. If I could take away the pain, I would. But grieving forever won’t bring Joe back. And from everything you’ve told me about him, he’d want you to love again if the opportunity came along.”

  Yeah, he would.

  But grief wasn’t the main impediment to a new romance.

  Guilt was also holding her back—though she’d never shared that part of the story with her mother.

  “He would. But opportunities are few and far between in a town the size of Hope Harbor.”

  “True. However, they do come along now and then. For example . . . Adam Stone is single. He’s also nice, available—and interested.”

  Lexie’s mouth dropped open. “How in the world did you arrive at that absurd conclusion?”

  “I watched his eyes the night he came for dinner. Every time he looked at you, they heated up.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No. And for the record, the heat went both ways.”

  “That’s crazy.” Cheeks warming, Lexie spun away and walked closer to the mirror on the pretense of giving the dress a closer inspection. Maybe her mom would let the subject drop.

  “I’ll make just one more comment.”

  So much for wishful thinking.

  “I’ll be the first to admit that when I first met Stone at church I wasn’t impressed. That biker-dude image Matt mentioned was a bit off-putting. Plus, he never smiled, and he didn’t mingle. I almost wrote him off . . . until I remembered a quote I’d once read.”

  Silence.

  Lexie rolled her eyes. Her mother should have been a mystery writer, with her knack for leaving listeners hanging. Much as she didn’t want to continue this conversation, curiosity got the better of her.

  “Are you going to share it?”

  “‘Those who smile the least are often the ones who need smiles the most.’” Her mother sat in one of the chairs. “So I began smiling at him every Sunday. Now, on occasion, I manage to get a tiny uptick of the lips—although Matt’s better at eliciting that than I am. The two of them hit it off while Clyde was at the house, in case you didn’t notice.”

  “I noticed.” Lexie smoothed a hand down the silky skirt of the dress. “However . . . even if I was interested in a new romance, Adam wouldn’t be the best person for a police chief to date.”

  “He’s paid his dues to society, and as far as I can see, he’s leading an exemplary life. He quietly helps whenever help is needed, has a steady job, attends church. He’s also respectful and kind and intelligent. If anyone in this town had an issue with you seeing Stone, I’d say it’s their problem, not yours.”

  If only life were that simple.

  “You’re more open-minded than a lot of people. Besides, he might already be dating someone.”

  “Nope. If he was, I’d know about it. It’s hard to keep secrets in a town the size of Hope Harbor.”

  “Could be he’s not interested in dating at the moment.”

  “Or he is but doesn’t think the woman who’s caught his eye would want anything to do with him. I imagine a man in his position might have issues with self-esteem. Given all the mistakes he’s made, he might not feel worthy of a woman like you.”

  “I’m not perfect, either.”

  “That might be worth communicating. In the meantime, buy the dress. It will give your ego a boost, if nothing else.”

  “I’ll think about it while I change.”

  “You know . . . sometimes a person can think too much.”

  Hadn’t the very same notion occurred to her in the dressing room mere minutes ago?

  Lexie shot her a wry look. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Do that. I’ll wait here.” Her mother picked up a fashion magazine and began to page through it.

  Back in the dressing room, Lexie did one more twirl in front of the mirror, then exchanged the glitzy party frock for her comfy jeans and sweatshirt. Once the silk confection was back on its hanger, she stroked a finger down the sleek skirt.

  She did like the dress—but she didn’t need it to provide an ego boost, despite the rationale her mom had offered to justify the purchase. Her ego was in fine shape.

  There was only one reason she’d indulge in an expensive splurge
like this.

  To impress Adam Stone.

  She touched the dress again. It was tempting.

  Very tempting.

  So why not buy the dress, watch Adam’s reaction, and keep her distance? That would be safe—and it wouldn’t send any wrong messages.

  But she had a feeling that if she saw what she expected to see in his eyes, keeping her distance was going to take far more willpower than she might be able to muster.

  She lifted the hanger off the hook, opened the louvered door, and left the dressing room behind.

  Decision time.

  And she had only the forty or fifty steps to the checkout counter to make a choice that might rock the placid, calm waters of the life she’d created in Hope Harbor.

  “Let’s take a break.” Adam wiped his forehead on the sleeve of his sweatshirt and motioned toward the cooler he’d brought from home. “There’s water and soda in there. Grab a Sprite for me and help yourself.”

  Brian laid down the electric screwdriver he’d been wielding with far more skill than Adam had expected, retrieved two cans of soda, and passed one to him.

  Adam popped the top and sat on the nearby bench that faced the wharf. After a few moments, Brian claimed the other end.

  Taking a long slug of his soda, he assessed the kid in his peripheral vision. Three hours in, he didn’t have any major complaints about his temporary partner. Brian had been waiting outside the trailer at six forty-five and had done everything he’d been asked to do. He was a fast learner, and he had a knack with tools.

  But he sure wasn’t a talker. At most, he’d uttered two or three full sentences since they’d arrived at the wharf.

  At this rate, while the kid might clock his community service hours, he wasn’t going to reap whatever benefit Lexie and the counselor had hoped to achieve by pairing him with an ex-con.

  Not unless the ex-con could break through the kid’s wall.

  Thumbing off a tear of sweat from the side of his soda can, Adam angled toward the boy. “So . . . have you ever done any carpentry?”

  “No.”

  “You have some natural ability.”

  Silence, other than the caw of a seagull and the slap of water against the dock.

  Sheesh.

  This was almost as painful as digging out the splinters he’d gotten after trying to work with some Douglas fir early in his furniture-making career, before he realized how mercilessly the local timber dispensed them.

  “Did someone teach you a few basics, though?”

  “Like who?”

  “I don’t know . . . your dad, maybe.”

  “Are you kidding?” The boy barked out a humorless laugh. “He had more important stuff to do.”

  Adam’s stomach clenched. Man, he was making a mess of this. He was so not equipped to deal with any teenager, let alone a troubled one. What had Lexie been thinking?

  On the other hand, the boy had responded with two full, complete sentences. That was progress . . . wasn’t it?

  He inhaled a lungful of the salty air and scanned the mist-shrouded horizon. Too bad this gig hadn’t come with operating instructions.

  Since it hadn’t . . . why not follow the same strategy he’d used with Lexie? Be honest and share some of his background. Brian might lower his defenses a bit, as she had.

  It was worth a try, anyway. At this point, what did he have to lose?

  Adam took another swig of soda. “I’m sorry your dad wasn’t there for you. I’ve been in your shoes, and it stinks.”

  He felt the boy’s glance as he rested one arm on the back of the bench and continued to sip his soda.

  Please, God, help me out here. I’m trying—but I could use a hand.

  “Did your dad steal your money and run off too?”

  “No. I was the one who ran off. I got tired of being a punching bag and took off when I was sixteen.”

  A few beats passed while the kid digested that. “Dads are supposed to care about their kids.”

  “That’s true—but at least your mom cares about you.”

  “Didn’t yours?”

  A spot in his heart smarted, like a prod to a forgotten bruise. “If she did, she never showed it. All those years my father was beating up on me, she looked the other way.”

  “My mom did that too—about my dad cheating on her, not about being beat up. He didn’t start hitting her until the last month.”

  “Did he hit you too?” Adam kept his inflection neutral, despite the sudden churning in his gut. Anyone who picked on the defenseless deserved to rot in prison.

  “No. He tried to once, but Mom stopped him.” The can crinkled beneath the kid’s fingers. “I’m glad he left. I hated him. He was a user.”

  He was worse than that, but no need to add fuel to the fury already consuming the boy.

  “Do you ever hear from him?”

  “No. We moved away from Medford after he left.” Brian toed a loose pebble on the sidewalk. “The sick thing is, even after everything he’d done, I think Mom kind of hoped he’d come after us.”

  “Did you?”

  “No way. I thought she was nuts.” He kicked the pebble, watching as it bounced down the large boulders that separated the sidewalk from the water, his mouth tight. “I hope we never see him again.”

  His tone was bitter and angry—but underneath Adam picked up remnants of little-boy hurt.

  Brian might be glad to be rid of his father, yet a tiny part of him wished their relationship had been different. Better. More normal.

  Adam could relate. He’d been down that road.

  Hopefully, the boy beside him would learn to deal with his anger better than he had.

  For now, though, that anger—along with the challenge of adjusting to a new town and school—was driving him to make some serious mistakes that could escalate unless he got with the program the juvenile counselor and Lexie had outlined.

  “I never wanted to see my dad . . . or mom either . . . after I left.” Adam finished off his soda.

  “Did you?”

  “No. I’ve been on my own since I was your age.”

  “I wish I was. It would be cool to be free.” He crushed his empty soda can in his fingers. “I’m tired of everyone telling me what to do.”

  “You’d have less freedom in prison.”

  “I’m not planning to go there.”

  “I wasn’t, either.” Adam shifted toward him, keeping his tone conversational. “But surviving on your own at sixteen is tough. I hooked up with the wrong people. Vandalism led to petty theft, which led to shoplifting, which led to robbery. Your life can spiral out of control before you realize what’s happening. All of a sudden you’re behind bars with no freedom at all and a record that will follow you for the rest of your life.”

  “You seem like you’re doing okay now.”

  “I am, thanks to Reverend Baker from Grace Christian here in town. His prison ministry changed my life. But a lot of opportunities are closed to me because of my record.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  He shrugged. “Choices have consequences. I made the wrong ones, now I’m paying the price. If I’d been offered a second chance like the one you’ve been given, my story could have turned out very differently. I wish I’d been as lucky.”

  The boy focused on the crushed can in his hand. “I’ve never felt very lucky.”

  “Depends on your perspective, I guess. From where I sit, you seem pretty lucky.”

  “Morning, Adam. Brian. You’re making headway on the planters, I see.”

  Adam swung around as Charley strolled up behind them. “It’s a start, anyway. You opening up the taco stand?”

  “That’s the plan. I don’t want to disappoint the lunch crowd. I’ll have a couple of orders with your names on them whenever you get hungry.”

  “Um . . .” Adam did a mental inventory of the cash in his wallet. There was enough to pay for the items on his noontime to-do list, but no extra to cover two orders of tacos. “Tacos were on m
y menu for tomorrow.”

  “Come then too. Today’s lunch is my contribution to repairing the planters. I have no skill with a hammer, but I wield a mean spatula. The least I can do is feed the workmen.” The man winked and addressed Brian. “You and your mom stop by the stand sometime. We need to get better acquainted—and the first order for newcomers in town is always on the house. See you around.” He lifted a hand and strolled off.

  “We need to get back to work too.” Adam stood.

  “Hey . . .” Brian rose more slowly, tracking Charley’s progress toward the stand. “How did he know my name?”

  “Charley knows everybody.” Adam headed back toward the planter they’d been repairing.

  “But . . . how did he know it was just me and my mom? I mean . . . I’ve never talked to him.” Brian fell in beside him.

  “Charley knows more about this town—and the people in it—than anybody. Don’t ask me how. I quit trying to figure it out. But he’s a great guy. You and your mom should stop by for those tacos he mentioned.” He picked up a length of wood. “Let’s give this another hour and call it a day. I have some errands to run and a wedding to attend later. Are you available tomorrow afternoon?”

  “You work on Sunday?”

  “I don’t make it a habit, but I’m losing half of today. Are you already booked for tomorrow?”

  “No. I can help for a while.”

  “I’ll pick you up at one.”

  “My mom could bring me down.”

  “I don’t mind swinging by your place.”

  “Why would you bother? I mean, what’s in it for you? Nobody’s paying you to do any of this.”

  It was a serious question—and it deserved a serious answer.

  He set the wood down and gave Brian his full attention. “Because I’ve been in your shoes. I know how easy it is to mess up your life. I can’t change my history, but if I can keep someone else from going down the wrong path, maybe that will help make amends for all my past mistakes. On top of all that, it’s the right thing to do. After I got out of prison, I vowed never to turn away from those in need. That’s what the Bible teaches, and I’m trying my best to follow that rule.”

 

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