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“You don’t strike me as the Bible-toting type.”
“Is there such a thing?”
His relaxed question threw her. The truth was, she’d always thought of Bible readers as holier-than-thou and a bit nerdy. Yet none of the people of faith she knew fit that stereotype, she acknowledged. This man was certainly far removed from that image.
“I guess not. I just assumed you’d prefer action stories in your reading, given your background.”
A subtle tautness sharpened his features. “I have enough action in real life. Besides, the Bible isn’t dull reading. And it offers great guidance.”
“I’ll have to take your word for that. When it comes to dealing with life, I prefer to rely on myself.”
It occurred to her he might take offense at her remark, but his demeanor remained placid. “You sound like my sister.”
She caught the hint of affection in his tone, and a smile tugged at her lips. “If she’s independent and self-sufficient, I expect we have a lot in common.”
“That pretty much describes Marci.”
“I have a feeling I’d like her.” She took a step back. “Well…I’ll let you get back to your reading. And your lunch.”
“I finished lunch. I’m moving on to dessert.” He snagged a bag from the towel and withdrew a smaller sack. Holding it out to her, he smiled. “Would you like to share? Edith tells me these are great.”
Leaning forward, she peeked into the bag and narrowed her eyes. “Are those almond macaroons from Bartlett’s Farm?”
“Yes. Edith suggested I pick up lunch there, and she said these were fantastic.”
They were also one of her favorite treats. As Edith well knew, Heather thought darkly.
Capitulating, she reached into the bag and took one. She was going to have lots to talk about with her neighbor when she got home. “Thanks. These happen to be a particular favorite of mine.”
“They can’t beat the stuff you serve at your teas. Those were some of the best desserts I’ve ever had.”
Warmth flooded her cheeks, and she backed up a few more steps. “Thanks. I think I’ll head down that way.” She motioned vaguely to the west. “Enjoy your reading.”
“You, too.”
Swiveling around, Heather trekked down the sand in search of her own secluded spot, trying not to wonder if the dark-eyed cop was watching her.
Selecting a niche in the side of a wind-and surf-carved dune, she set up her chair, wiggled into a comfortable position, stretched her feet out in front of her, and opened her book. The novel that had kept her enthralled far too late into the night for the past week would dispel any further thoughts of J.C., she assured herself.
But today, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t focus on the heart-racing suspense between the covers of her book.
Because her heart was already racing—thanks to a certain transplanted Chicago cop who’d staked out a spot on her private territory that was way too close for comfort.
“Is Edith here, Chester?” Heather pushed through the gate into her neighbor’s backyard, passing under the rose-covered arched arbor.
Chester paused from tinkering with the lawn mower and waved a wrench toward the house. “Inside.”
“Thanks.”
Marching toward the back porch, she mounted the steps and called through the open door. “Edith?”
“In the dining room, dear. Come right in. And help yourself to a muffin.”
Heather pulled open the screen door, ignored the fresh-baked treat on the counter in the homey kitchen—an appeasement offering…or Edith’s standard prelude to a good gab session? Heather wondered—and strode into the dining room.
Her neighbor sent her a rueful grimace from her seat at the table. “I don’t know how I got roped into assembling the buzz book for the Women’s Club at church.” She gestured to the stacks of paper in front of her. Selecting a sheet from each pile, she tapped them into a stack and positioned the long-armed stapler. “You didn’t take a muffin.”
Folding her arms across her chest, Heather sent Edith a pointed look. “I already had an almond macaroon from Bartlett’s Farm.”
Heather caught the flash of smug satisfaction on Edith’s face.
“Did you go there today?”
Planting both palms flat on the table, Heather leaned closer. “Don’t play innocent with me, Edith Shaw. J.C. told me you sent him to Ladies Beach.”
With a determined push on the stapler, Edith linked together the individual pages she’d assembled. “What can I say? The poor man asked me to recommend a quiet beach to do some reading. Can you think of a better spot?”
“You know that’s my special place on Mondays.” Heather straightened up and propped her hands on her hips. “I love you dearly, Edith. But back off on this. I’m not in the market.”
“Too bad.” Edith tapped the next set of pages into an even line. “You couldn’t do any better in the looks department. And Burke has high regard for him. Said he had to overcome a lot to get where he is on the Chicago force.”
Despite herself, Heather’s interest was piqued. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. Burke didn’t offer anything else. You could always ask J.C. himself if you’re interested. It wouldn’t hurt to talk to the man once in a while, you being neighbors and all.”
Engaging J.C. in conversation was the last thing Heather intended to do. Every encounter with him left her on edge—and yearning for things she’d told herself she didn’t need.
“We’re both too busy for idle chatter. Besides, our paths don’t cross very often.”
“That could be remedied.”
Heather sighed. “Look, could you just try to restrain yourself with the matchmaking? I don’t have the time or the interest. And I’m sure it will annoy J.C., too.”
“Did he seem annoyed when you showed up?”
Far from it, Heather thought. But she didn’t share that with Edith. “I have scones to bake. I’ll talk to you later.”
Heading to The Devon Rose, Heather resolved to forget about the Chicago cop who’d taken up residence next door.
Unfortunately, he’d taken up residence in her mind as well, she realized. Every time she stepped into the foyer or passed table four, an image of him flashed through her mind. Thoughts of him even invaded her kitchen. Distracted, she found herself adding baking soda instead of baking powder to the scone recipe she’d made thousands of times.
Angry at her mistake—and at herself—Heather dumped the ruined batch of dough in the trash. If she was the praying type, she’d be calling on the Lord about now, asking Him to give her something else to think about. Anything but the cop with the dark, appealing eyes and the potent magnetism.
But maybe—if she was lucky—He’d hear her silent plea anyway.
Chapter Five
Three days later, as Heather reached across the precision-trimmed row of miniature boxwoods for one of the weeds that had dared to invade her manicured garden, her cell phone began to ring.
Snagging the offending sprout from among the hot-pink begonias, she deposited it in a bucket by her side, sat back on her heels and stripped off her gardening gloves before retrieving the phone from the brick path beside her.
“The Devon Rose.”
“Hi, Heather. Do you have a minute?”
At the underlying thread of tension in her sister’s question, Heather’s grip on the phone tightened. “Sure. Is everything okay?”
“No.” Susan’s voice wavered. “Brian’s in trouble again.”
Since her sister had separated from her philandering husband several months ago, Heather knew thirteen-year-old Brian had been getting into minor scrapes. This one sounded major.
“What happened?”
“He and some of the kids he’s been hanging around with spray painted a vulgar message on a garage door. A neighbor spotted them and called the police.”
“Did the owners press charges?”
“Not after the parents chipped in to pay for the damage. But now I’m really worried about leaving Brian at home alone all summer. When I decided to get a job after Peter and I split, I felt comfortable about him being on his own. He’s always been a responsible, levelheaded kid. But last week, I found a squashed beer can by the picnic table in back. Brian says he didn’t drink anything, but his buddies obviously did. I just don’t trust him at this point.”
“What does Peter think?”
“To quote him, ‘Boys will be boys.’”
“Why am I not surprised?” Disgust laced Heather’s reply. She’d never thought much of Susan’s husband. Even less after he began cheating on his wife.
“Here’s the thing, Heather. I need to get him away from his so-called friends before he finds himself in real trouble. I know this is a huge imposition, but…could I send him to Nantucket for three weeks? I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate.”
The shakiness in her sister’s voice told Heather that Susan wasn’t exaggerating her worry. But the notion of taking in a nephew she hadn’t seen since her mother’s funeral two years ago—one with delinquent tendencies, no less—freaked her out.
“Why don’t you just ask his grandfather to keep an eye on him while you’re at work?”
Heather wasn’t surprised when her suggestion was greeted with shocked silence. If she hadn’t been desperate herself to find an alternate solution to Susan’s dilemma, she would never have mentioned their father. Talking about him had been off-limits ever since the divorce that had ripped her family apart two decades ago. Heather had never understood why Susan had kept in touch with the man who had destroyed their family, and Susan had never understood how Heather could shut out the father she’d once idolized. To protect their own relationship, they’d agreed to table any discussion about him.
“You mentioned Dad.” Susan sounded stunned.
“Sorry about that.” Heather took a long, slow breath, hoping the quiet of her garden would soothe her as it usually did. But today the perfect little world of tranquility and beauty she’d created didn’t have its typical calming effect. Instead, she had a feeling that her predictable, orderly life was about to change. “It’s just that I don’t have a clue how to deal with a thirteen-year-old boy.”
“You can’t do any worse than I have.” Her sister sniffled. “And I did think about asking Dad to teen-sit this summer, but he hasn’t been feeling well lately.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask what was wrong with him, but Heather bit back the question. She didn’t want to discuss their father. He’d been out of her life for twenty years. Why should she care if he had health problems?
Reaching out, Heather plucked a tiny, insidious weed from from among the begonias. She liked nurturing the plants in her garden. Liked watching them flourish and grow under her care. And she’d learned a lot through the years. Including the fact that sometimes a plant needed to be moved to a different location in order to thrive.
She had a feeling the same might be true for Brian.
“Heather?”
Closing her eyes, Heather made the only choice her conscience would allow. “Okay, Susan. I’ll give it a shot.”
Her sister’s effusive gratitude was heartwarming, but as Susan ended the call with a promise to get back in touch as soon as she had all the travel details hammered out, panic began to gnaw at the edges of Heather’s composure. She was getting in over her head, and she knew it. But how could she turn down her sister, who was doing her best to adjust to a separation, settle into a new job and deal with a troubled teen?
At the same time, how in the world was she going to cope with a rebellious thirteen-year-old boy, who would no doubt be making this trip against his will?
As Heather gathered up her gardening tools, she caught a glimpse of the roof of the guest cottage in Edith’s backyard. And was suddenly reminded of the silent prayer she’d offered three days ago, asking God to give her something to think about besides the handsome cop.
She’d made a few other such prayers over the years. None had ever been answered, leaving her to conclude that the Almighty wasn’t on her wavelength.
Too bad He’d chosen now to tune her in, she thought with a sigh.
Forty-eight hours later, seated at a table in the noisy high-school gym, Heather was still having serious misgivings about agreeing to take her nephew. And after tossing and turning for the past two nights, she was in no mood to spend the next few hours answering stupid trivia questions, even if it was a fund-raiser for a student who needed a bone marrow transplant.
On the bright side, though, maybe the game would distract her.
Grabbing a handful of popcorn from the tub in the center of the table, she popped several kernels in her mouth, did a quick survey of the gym—and almost choked when she saw a familiar jeans-clad figure standing in the doorway.
What on earth was J.C. doing here?
Coughing, she reached for a glass of water.
“Are you all right?” Red-haired Kate MacDonald, sitting beside her, touched her shoulder in concern.
Instead of answering, Heather took another swallow of water, gulped in some air and glared at Edith across the table. The men had gone to get some soft drinks and more substantial snacks, leaving Kate, Edith, Julie and Heather spaced around the table for eight.
“Edith…” Somehow Heather managed to choke out the accusatory word.
The woman gave her a blank look. “What?”
Heather tipped her head toward the door, and all three women turned.
“My goodness!” Delight suffused Edith’s face, and she started to rise.
“Edith!” This time Heather said her name with more force. After one look at her, the older woman sat back down. “What’s going on? This event has been sold out for weeks.”
“I have no idea.”
Julie squirmed in her chair, and Heather transferred her attention to the dark-haired woman. “Julie? What do you know about this?”
A flush tinted her assistant’s cheeks bright pink. “Rose in Dispatch canceled yesterday. Todd invited J.C. to take her place.”
Shock rippled through Heather. “You mean he’s sitting here? At this table?”
“Yes.”
“We worked together all afternoon, and you didn’t tell me?”
“I didn’t think you’d show up if you knew.”
“She wouldn’t have, either,” Edith chimed in.
