скачать книгу бесплатно
She nodded. Crossed her arms. Settled her hip against the corner of the counter so he’d know she was in no hurry.
A slow smile spread across his face. No surprise. It was the brief hint of some other emotion flashing in his eyes that made her pay attention. Was that guilt she spied?
But his next words laid to rest her brief hope that J. T. Delaney was having second thoughts.
“That’s right.” He spoke clearly, slowly. She had the impression he wanted to make sure everyone in the room caught every word. “I’m selling this and every other building my father owned. I want it done quickly and easily so I can leave at the end of summer. The sooner I can get back to Tucson, the better.”
A chorus of whispers filled the room. Lyddie was glad for the solid wood against her hip. It compensated for the weakness in her knees.
He looked straight at her, but again the words were meant for the crowd. “This is prime waterfront property, Mrs. Brewster. I won’t have any trouble selling.” He fished in his pocket, tossed money on the counter. “I’ll stop by at closing time to discuss the details.”
He saluted her with his mug and took another long swallow before setting it on the counter with what looked like regret. Without another word, he skated out the door.
Silence filled the shop.
“Damn that boy.” Nadine’s words were soft but heartfelt.
“Ditto.” It was the only word Lyddie could manage. Too many thoughts vied for attention in her head, pushing her toward panic mode. The rumors were true. Could she buy? Would she get a new landlord? Was her rent going to jump? Would she have to move? Would he—
“He never was any good at math.” Nadine whisked the coins off the counter, shaking her head, and Lyddie finally clued in.
Not only had J. T. Delaney stolen her piece of mind and upset her business for the morning, but he’d also shorted her on the price of the coffee.
* * *
WELL, THAT HAD definitely not been one of his finer moments.
J.T. sauntered down Main Street that afternoon on his way back to River Joe’s, hoping no one could see that beneath the outer confidence, he was beating himself up. He kept a practiced, slightly patronizing smile in place as he observed the street, never once letting on that he was actually impressed with what he saw.
Last night he’d been so intent on searching out familiar landmarks that he hadn’t noticed the changes. How was that for irony? He had locked up his perception of the town just the way the town had frozen its opinion of him.
But today, after cursing himself for the way he’d behaved in the coffee shop, he could see the bigger picture. The Cove was still no crowded tourist hotspot, but it had grown and even thrived over the years. He remembered a sad downtown in which there were three empty storefronts for every one business clinging to life. Now there wasn’t an empty space to be seen. Pizza and doughnuts, T-shirts and antiques, even a natural food and vitamin shop—all seemed to be bustling between the standard grocery, post office and hardware store.
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.
