Now You See Me

No wonder Lydia Brewster got that deer-in-the-headlights look when he said he was selling. There was no place for her to go.

The load of guilt on his shoulders got a little heavier—again—at the memory. She hadn’t deserved to get drawn into his give-’em-what-they’re-expecting joyride. She hadn’t done anything to him, and he had no right to assume she would condemn him like the rest of the town. He couldn’t let himself get ticked off at the way he’d been treated and then turn around and do the same thing to someone else.

Even at his worst, he’d never been heartless—yet he had a lousy feeling that he’d been exactly that this morning.

It hadn’t helped that when he walked in and recognized her as his mystery woman, his first thought was of the way she’d looked when she stretched the night before—long and curvy and inviting. That had knocked his carefully prepared words flat out of his mind. By the time he realized what he was saying, he’d already messed up.

It was all he could do to keep a determined spring in his step as he pulled open the door to River Joe’s, setting bells tinkling. He hoped to God he could get everything sold quickly. The kick he’d got from resurrecting his long-ago persona was fading fast.

“Hello?” He peered around the deserted dining room. No signs of life. Chairs were neatly upended on round tables, the counter was empty, lights dim. If it hadn’t been for the unlocked door he’d have thought she stood him up.

He was about to make tracks for the kitchen when that door flew open. Out marched Nadine Krupnick. He recognized the scowl on her face. He’d seen it enough times back in school, when she was the lunch lady and he was the idiot who’d just yelled, “Food fight!”

“Afternoon,” he said cautiously, turning so she couldn’t get between him and the exit.

“Afternoon? Ha. More like, high time someone talked straight to you, Mister Delaney.”

The bitter twist to her words told him precisely where Nadine’s loyalties rested. Before he could muster up an apology, Nadine was in his face, bobbing like a pissed-off bantam hen. The fact that he stood a good eight inches over her did nothing to dispel the feeling he’d just come between a mother bear and her cub.

“Listen here, J.T.” She poked his chest. Hard. “Up until about nine o’clock this morning, I was ready and willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. Then I heard what you’re doing. From your own lips, no less. And all I can say is, if you take this place away from that girl, then you might as well turn yourself in to the police right now, because you’ll be killing her just the same as that nutcase killed her husband.”

She finished her words with another jab that barely avoided being a punch. It took all his effort to keep breathing in a seminormal manner.

“You been working out, Mrs. Krupnick? I don’t remember you having such a mean right hook back in school.”

“That’s because you still had some brains back then. And a heart. Now it seems you’ve got a rock in your chest. And as for what’s filling your head instead of brains, well—”

“Nadine.”

Lydia leaned against the counter the way she had earlier that day, but this time she seemed almost relaxed. Even with her arms crossed tightly over her chest, she seemed more amused than worried. Maybe it was the smile tugging at her lips. He’d spied it this morning, briefly, before Nadine had obviously told her who he was. He hadn’t realized how much he’d wanted to see her smile again.

Too bad it was currently directed at Nadine, not him. When she glanced in his direction she frosted over. Wariness replaced the amusement that had encompassed her just a second earlier.

I did that. His shoulders sagged.

“Kick him out, Lyddie. Don’t talk to him until you call your lawyer.”

But Lydia shook her head. “It’s his building, Nadine. Besides, I’m certain Mr. Delaney and I can come to some reasonable agreement.”

Nadine muttered something under her breath. He wasn’t positive, but he was pretty sure that back in school, if she’d ever caught him saying what he thought she’d just said, he would have been carving yet another notch in his favorite chair in the principal’s office.

“Absolutely.” He ducked his head, stepped back and opened the door with a show of politeness. Nadine flounced through the opening, looking from him to the river behind them so pointedly that he would have to be an idiot to miss her meaning.

He allowed himself one lungful of the coolness coming off the water before turning back. Lydia stood by the set of love seats that flanked a coffee table at the fireplace end of the room.

“No Rollerblades this afternoon?”

He glanced at his sandals. “This is a business meeting. I thought I’d go formal.”

Something like amusement twitched at her lips before quickly fleeing.

“Shall we get started?” She gestured to one seat before sitting in the opposite one. She moved with a fluid grace that reminded him of the waves he’d spied on the water. But just like the water, he was pretty sure there was a lot more beneath the surface than she was going to show. At least to him.

He sat, well aware that he had some atoning to do. He hoped he could get through this meeting without turning back into the rebel without a clue.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been in this place,” he said. “Even when I lived here, I usually wasn’t allowed inside. My dad came here to hang out with his buddies. Your father-in-law was his best friend. Having me here would have cramped their style.”

She nodded. “Your father never came back after...after I took over.”

“Really?”

Another nod. “I’m sorry you lost him.”

“And I’m sorry, too. For your loss, I mean.”

This time she merely pursed her lips, as if he’d said something unexpected. It took him a moment to realize that expressions of sympathy might not go with the image he had presented that morning.

God, when he messed up, he did it big-time.

After a moment of silence, she spoke again. “I don’t mean to be rude, Mr. Delaney, but my—”

“J.T.”

“Fine. I’m Lydia, and my children will be here soon so I can drive them home from school, so could we please skip the getting-to-know-you stage and get down to business?” She leaned forward slightly. “I want to buy the building.”

He tried to answer. He really did. But when she leaned in, he got a glimpse of something purple and lacy beneath her no-nonsense polo shirt, and boom, his neurons went into some kind of overactive shock. Which, as a scientist, he knew wasn’t possible. But he also knew that science couldn’t explain everything.

“Mr. Delaney? J.T.?”

“Uh...sorry, I...long day yesterday. I’m still foggy.”

“Then let me say it again. I want to buy the building. How much are you asking?”

He wasn’t seeing the Realtor for a couple of days, but he knew the assessed value of the building. He added a few thousand for good measure and named the resulting figure.

She blanched just a little.

“That’s a bit more than I expected.”

He reminded himself of the costs of moving his mother and establishing her in a new home in a country without subsidized medical care. “This is a good-sized building. It could probably be subdivided into two or three stores. Or it could stay as one large space, which I gather is what the other potential buyer plans to do with it.”

A bit more color drained from her face. “Someone else wants it?”

In going through his mother’s papers he’d found a letter from a Brockville snack maker asking about the possibility of buying the building to house a Comeback Cove spin-off of his establishment. J.T. didn’t want to come off like a hard-ass, but she needed to know that he had to get the best possible price.

“There is other interest,” he said slowly. “It would be a lot easier to sell to you, and I have no problem doing that. But I can’t dismiss another buyer simply because you were here first.” Then, because the way she was shrinking in on herself made him feel like he’d stepped on a robin’s egg, he added, “I need to do what’s best for my mother.”

He wished he could tell her the truth, that he wasn’t a heartless bastard, that he was only cutting as many ties as possible to make sure there was no reason for his mother to ever come back to this place of long, dangerous winters.

But Iris had gone to great and elaborate lengths during her hospitalization to convince the town that she was suffering from a very contagious flu. If he breathed so much as a hint that she was actually being treated for depression she would never forgive him. Worse, she might never leave town with him. She had already been dropping too-casual hints about how good life was in Comeback Cove and how the school could use an energetic science teacher. If he pissed her off, she would stay here with her friends, for another winter, and pretend she could ride out her illness on her own.

And he would lose her.

“Your mother. Of course. I understand.” Lydia stood, smoothing the fabric of her khaki-colored pants, drawing his attention to nicely rounded hips. All thoughts of the building and the town and even his mother fluttered from his mind at the sight of long fingers sliding nervously down her thighs.

He shook his head. Four months of celibacy was obviously too long. If this were anyplace but the Cove he could try to amend that sad condition, but the mere thought of finding someone here was enough to bring a wry smile to his lips.

“My children will be here any minute.” Her words pulled him back to attention. “I need to get ready for them.”

“Right.” He sprang to his feet, reached for her outstretched hand. Her shake was firm. His grasp lasted a fraction of a second too long. Well, to him it was too short. Who would have suspected that her palm would nestle so intimately against his? But from the slight frown and the speed with which she pulled back, he knew he’d overstayed his welcome.

“I don’t want a bidding war, but I’m not giving up and moving out meekly, Mr. Delaney. I have too much invested here to let go just like that.”

He nodded, certain that if he tried to say anything, he’d end up apologizing all over himself and practically giving her the building. “I understand. Why don’t you take a day or two to consider your options and get back to me?”

Lydia’s gaze darted around the room, lingering in the oddest places—a scarred section of the fireplace, a pane of glass in the window that didn’t seem to match those surrounding it. He would have thought she was reassessing as she looked around, but the soft glow in her eyes told him he’d missed the boat.

“I’ll be in touch as soon as possible,” she said as she walked him to the door. He nodded and reached past her for the handle. For a moment they brushed against each other. He was close enough to breathe in the scents of coffee and vanilla that clung to her, near enough to hear the small breath that escaped from her lips when he touched her. He was filled with a crazy yearning to forget the door and reach for her instead.

It was impossible, of course. She might not have judged and dismissed him like the rest of the populace, but a hero’s widow and the town bad boy—reformed or not—wasn’t what anyone would call a likely pairing.

The best thing he could do was hope that from now on, she would wear shirts that wouldn’t get him thinking.

CHAPTER THREE

WHERE WAS SHE going to get the money?

Lydia gave the wheelbarrow a vicious push as it caught on a root hidden in the grass of her front yard. Officially, she was toting the embers from the evening’s barbecue out front to dump on the giant maple stump in the middle of the yard. In reality she’d jumped at the chance to gain a moment’s privacy—a moment to relive her conversation with J. T. Delaney.

“Another buyer, my left foot,” she muttered as she wheeled her load across the grass. “J.T. probably stands for Jerk the Tenant.”

She upended the barrow and carefully shook the coals onto the last reminder of the tree that had towered over the yard until a January ice storm brought it down. The hiss and spit of the embers as they hit moist wood was nothing compared to the hissing and snarling she longed to indulge in now that she had the chance.

Except she couldn’t.

Oh, she was mad, that was for sure. Angry at the way her new security was being yanked out from beneath her, frustrated that these changes were being forced on her, scared silly whenever she considered the money she would have to dredge up. That line about there being another potential buyer, well, that was just the whipped cream on the latte. Honestly. Did the man really think she would fall for that?

She pulled the wheelbarrow away from the stump and sighed. She was ticked at her new landlord, true. But she couldn’t work up as much steam as was currently billowing into the air before her. The man was infuriating, but at the same time, he was so different than she’d expected that she was kind of intrigued. Different wasn’t something that happened a lot in Comeback Cove. She was usually okay with that. Her life had been thrown into chaos once. Stability and routine were her good friends now.

She didn’t want that to change just because J. T. Delaney had skated into town, even if he was the most interesting thing she’d seen in ages.

She gazed up into the blue sky, focusing on a wisp of long, thin white cloud. “Glenn,” she said softly, “remember when you bought me that really awesome necklace for Christmas, and then you forgot all about it until I found it, like, two years later? Well, is there any chance you could have done that with some off-shore bank accounts, or—”

“Mommy!”

Lyddie’s focus jerked back to earth and the sight of her youngest child bounding across the yard with a cell phone in her hand, pigtails bobbing in time with her leaps.

“Slow down, Tish. These coals are hot. You don’t want to fall in them.”

“Mommy, I’m not a baby. I’m almost seven. I know how to walk.”

“Humor me, okay?” Lyddie walked around the steaming stump and met Tish on the safe side of the yard. “Who’s on the phone?”

“Aunt Zoë.”

“Thanks, kiddo. Go back inside and tell Sara to start your bath. I’ll be there soon.”

“Can’t I skip? I don’t want a bath.”

“Nope. School night. Hop to it.” Lyddie bestowed a loud kiss on Tish’s soft cheek, then patted her daughter’s denim-clad bottom before lifting the phone to her ear.

“Hey there, fertile one.”

A long groan was her answer, deep and painful enough to make Lyddie’s heart do a quick thud.

“Zoë? What’s wrong, are you in labor? Talk to me, Zo.”

“No.”

“No, you won’t talk to me, or—”

“No, I’m not in labor.” Zoë sounded more like her normal overwhelmed self now. Whew. “It’s these stupid Braxton Hicks contractions. Who invented them, anyway? I mean, what’s the point of a contraction if you’re not in labor? Is this supposed to be like the previews at the movies?”

Lyddie laughed and picked up a long stick to poke at the still-simmering coals. “This is your third kid. You don’t need a preview.”

“Damn straight I don’t. It took me years to forget what labor feels like. I don’t need reminders.”

“Cheer up. It’s going to get worse before it gets better.”

Zoë moaned and called Lyddie a name that would have earned her a bar of soap in the mouth if their mother had heard it. Lyddie merely giggled.

“So what’s up?”

“Nothing.” Her sister’s voice was a sound portrait of frustration.

“Nothing? That’s why you called?”

“Kevin left early this morning and has a dinner meeting tonight, and Nick has a cold so he’s clingy and miserable, and Dusty decided that today was the perfect day to see what would happen if you cook Play-Doh in the microwave for ten minutes on high. I hurt all over. I can’t breathe. I’ve been having these stupid Braxton Hicks all day and it’s hotter than Hades here and if this baby doesn’t come out the minute Sara gets off the plane, I’m grabbing a knife and giving myself a homemade Cesarean.”

Lyddie pushed a coal farther over on the stump. “Congratulations. You’re having your eight-month breakdown.”

“You don’t have to sound so damned happy about it!” Across the miles, Zoë burst into tears. Lyddie sighed and sat on the ground. Might as well get comfortable.

Five minutes of soothing, empathizing and commiserating later, Zoë finally stopped crying.

“You okay now?”

“A bit.” Sniff. “It helps to hear another adult voice. I should have kept working right until I popped. I wasn’t made to be a suburban housewife. Tell me stories of the real world.”

Despite herself, Lyddie laughed. “The real world? Have you forgotten that I live in Comeback Cove?”

“It beats the hell out of the ’burbs. At least people talk to each other there. Tell me—anything. Make something up. Anyone interesting come into the store today?”

This time it was Lyddie’s turn to groan.

“That sounds promising. Now use words.”

“They won’t all be nice,” Lyddie warned, and after glancing around the yard to make sure none of the kids were lurking in the evening shadows, she gave Zoë the scoop.

“So that’s where I am,” she said. “You have a spare hundred grand or two tucked away with your cookie stash?”

“Sorry, I blew it all last week on nursing bras. But seriously, are you sure you want to buy the place?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Why? Wasn’t it obvious? “This is home now.”

“Is it? I mean, I know you like it there, but geez, Lyddie. Do you really want to tie yourself to a place where they call you the Young Widow Brewster?”

Oh. That.

“Not everyone says that.”

“But they think it,” Zoë pointed out, and Lyddie realized that what had intrigued her most about J.T. was the way he’d talked to her. There’d been none of the deference that characterized so many of her interactions with her fellow residents. Other than his brief condolences, there had been no mention of Glenn, no pity in J.T.’s gaze. It had been, well...refreshing.

Still, even if she sometimes felt a bit stifled by the way people dealt with her, she couldn’t discount the way she and the kids had been embraced by the town. “This is a good place. The kids need to be here.”

“That’s debatable. Sara seems awfully excited about coming here for the summer.”

“Sara is fourteen. Of course she wants to get away, it’s part of the adolescent code.”

“Are you sure that’s all it is?”

The question was so un-Zoë, so very much like something her mother-in-law would say, that Lyddie had to laugh. “Did Ruth pay you to do this?”

“Oh, my God. You mean Ruth and I actually agree on something?”

“Not precisely, but...” Lyddie sighed and leaned back until she was flat on the ground, staring at the pink-tinged clouds floating through the darkening sky. “Look, you know why I’m here. I agree it gets a little, um, claustrophobic at times, but everyone is really very nice. Plus it’s the closest I can come to keeping Glenn alive for the kids.”

“And there’s no other way that could be done?”

“Not nearly as well.”

There was a moment of silence, during which Lyddie could easily visualize her sister perched on the edge of her bar stool, one finger twirling her hair while the other tapped against the phone—Zoë’s favorite thinking position.

“Is he married?”

“Excuse me?”

“The landlord. Is he married?”

“What the heck does that have to do with anything?”

“Because if he’s married, I can’t tell you to jump him.”

“Zoë!”

“Oh, come on, Lyd. You said he’s kind of James Dean–ish, right?”

Lyddie remembered the shorts, the sass, the smile. The man did have a basic animal appeal. Maybe it was just the shock of seeing someone who obviously didn’t care what anyone thought about him—a rare find, indeed, in Comeback Cove.

“I am not going to jump him.”

“You sure? It would go a hell of a long way toward improving your negotiating position.”

“Positive.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to start researching mortgages.”

The shudder that rippled through Lyddie had nothing to do with the damp ground or the cool breeze coming off the river. Of course she had to get a mortgage to buy the building. It was the only way. She hated the thought of taking on that much debt, but she would do it. Even if it meant working until after she was dead to pay it off.

Her kids had already lost their father. They weren’t going to lose one of their strongest links to him, too. Not while she had any say in the matter.

* * *

LATE THAT NIGHT, Lyddie stared at the computer, the only light in the darkened den, and tried not to get too depressed as she focused on the sample mortgage payments in front of her. Amazing, how simple squiggles on a screen could generate such worry.

It hadn’t been like this before, when she and Glenn had bought their house. That research had been accompanied by giggles, nervous excitement and a bottle of champagne.

This time, each figure she took in seemed more overwhelming than the one before it. It was almost enough to make her seriously consider Zoë’s suggestion that she improve her negotiating position by jumping her landlord.

Right. And then she would pull a Lady Godiva in the middle of Main Street.

She minimized the page and clicked on the next bank in the list she’d generated. Maybe this one would have better terms. And maybe she could forget about J.T. And maybe she could even stop Zoë’s other question from surfacing every time she printed out another loan application.

Do you really want to tie yourself so permanently to a town where they call you the Young Widow Brewster?

“Yes,” she muttered as she stabbed her pencil against the notepad. Concentrate. That’s what she had to do now. Focus on the store, on her future, on building a forever life in Comeback Cove. All those other thoughts would have to wait until—

“Lydia?”

Until she dealt with her mother-in-law.

“Do you have a minute to talk?”

Oh, no. Not that tone. Not the I’m-alone-and-lonely voice.

“A minute.” She turned away from the computer, not certain if she were getting into something better or worse. “What’s up, Ruth?”

“I know you’re planning to send Sara to your sister’s for the summer, but is that carved in stone?”

Lyddie was tired and frustrated, haunted by questions she couldn’t answer and worries she couldn’t share, and all she wanted was to check out a couple more banks and then go to bed. She longed to tell Ruth that whatever it was, it would keep until a better time. But in all honesty, between the coffee shop, Ruth’s job and three kids needing to be carted around town and/or talked around, that “better time” was about twelve years down the road.

It looked as if she were going to have to get it over with.

“Her plane ticket is bought and paid for. Zoë is counting on Sara to help with the boys after she has the baby. So yeah, it’s pretty well definite.”

“I see. It’s just that...” Ruth paused as she walked into the room and sat in the desk chair beside Lyddie’s. “I talked to my sister today. She suggested that I bring the girls along when I go to Florida next month. Ben will be at camp and I thought it would be a nice treat for them.”

Florida in July? Ew. Tish wouldn’t mind the heat, she thrived on it, but Sara had inherited Lyddie’s love of cooler weather. She would wilt in two hours. Besides which—

“Ruth, that’s a wonderful offer, but Sara has her heart set on Vancouver. Zoë has arranged for her to have weekly lessons from someone who plays clarinet in the Vancouver Symphony, and you know Sara and music.”

“Clarinet lessons? I know everyone is making a big deal over her winning that orchestra award in school, but does she think she’s a musical genius now?”

“Actually, I think that being a musical genius is what led to her getting the award.” Lyddie spoke a bit more sharply than she’d intended, but tough.