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He nodded. “A man makes do.”
The phone rang again, dispelling the very clear image in Vicki’s mind of how Jamie and Bobbi Lee “made do.”
At the same time, Jamie spoke the waitress’s name out loud. “Hello, Bobbi Lee. Yes, I heard, first on CNN, and then Ma called to tell me.” There was a long pause during which another of Jamie’s women monopolized the conversation.
“You’ll be fine,” he encouraged. “Make sure Charlie and Brian bring in the patio furniture. No, you shouldn’t need shutters on the mainland.”
He listened more and then looked over at Vicki and grinned. “What do you mean? Who would be fool enough to come to Pintail with a storm brewing?”
Vicki did indeed feel like the fool Jamie suggested she was, both for getting herself stuck in a hurricane and for eavesdropping on a one-sided conversation between her husband and his girlfriend.
“Yes, I’ll call when I can get through,” he said. “But we might not talk again very soon, Bobbi. I expect I’ll lose phone service if it gets bad.”
He hung up and leaned back into the sofa. “She was fishing to know if you were here,” he said. “And no doubt who you are and why you’ve come.”
“Why didn’t you tell her?”
He answered with another of those complacent shrugs that suggested nothing much bothered him. “If I had, she would have spent hours shut in her house fretting over it. And besides, she didn’t come right out and ask.”
“But if she had, would you have admitted that I’m the other half of this perfectly satisfying marriage you claim to have enjoyed all these years?”
“I would have told her you’re my legal wife, yes. I don’t think I could get Bobbi Lee or anyone else in Bayberry Cove to believe more than that.”
“I think your wedding license has been a convenience, Mr. Malone. I think you tell people you’re married when it suits your purposes or when you have something to gain by admitting it.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “Like what?”
“Like protecting your independence perhaps. You don’t have to commit to a relationship. A man who’s already been caught can’t be caught again.”
He didn’t deny her accusation, and she admired the honesty in his unspoken admission.
“Why have you come here today, Vicki?” he asked.
She walked across the room and removed the divorce papers from her briefcase. “I’ve come because I see our marriage from a somewhat different perspective. I think it’s time to release you back into the wild, Mr. Malone, as a free spirit for real this time.”
She shoved the document at his chest. “These are our divorce papers. I’m here to get you to sign them.”
CHAPTER THREE
JAMIE TOOK the document Vicki held out to him and stared at the address of a Fort Lauderdale legal firm on the cover. He wasn’t quite ready to open the folder just yet. He was still reeling from that unexpected bit of psychoanalysis she’d just offered to explain why he’d been hanging on to a name-only marriage for more than a decade. There was a lot of truth in what she’d said. Bobbi Lee certainly believed he’d used his marriage license to justify his not getting too involved. But then again, he’d never met a woman he’d really wanted to marry.
In fact, Jamie had never considered himself a candidate for marriage. Despite having Frank Malone, rest his soul, as a role model in the husband department, Jamie hadn’t believed that a “real” marriage was essential to his future contentment. He’d spent the last thirteen years establishing his career, making friends in the only town he’d ever wanted to call home, and enjoying the independence of living by his own dictates. In a way, what he’d said to Vicki was true. She had been an almost ideal mate—primarily because Jamie had never been tested as an ideal husband.
Jamie wasn’t against marriage even though he couldn’t recall his mother shedding a tear when Frank Sr. died of lung cancer. Kate Malone had been a stoic widow. Maybe she’d been nursing fresh bruises, and that had kept her eyes dry. During his long illness, Frank hadn’t gotten too weak to remind his family that he was master of the household.
And Frank’s three sons were still single, even if Jamie technically wasn’t. Frank Junior and Cormac would likely remain so for at least another five years until their prison terms were up. And even then a woman who’d consent to wed one of the infamous Outlaw Malones would probably have to be tough as tree bark to stand up for her rights. Frank Junior was a carbon copy of his father, and years in jail might have hardened Cormac’s heart, as well.
“Well, aren’t you going to look at it?”
Vicki’s voice brought him back from his reverie. Mostly to please her, he lifted the blue document cover and thumbed through several pages. Then he put the folder on the coffee table, leaned back and settled his ankle on the opposite knee. He noticed that Vicki’s face was nearly colorless, as if she hadn’t taken a breath since producing the document from her briefcase. Did she think he would throw a fit when she presented her ultimatum?
“It appears to be a lot of legal mumbo jumbo to me,” he said.
“Actually it’s very straightforward. I know you’re probably surprised by my coming here today, but I don’t think you’ll find anything objectionable in the dissolution.”
The truth was, her visit in the middle of a hurricane had surprised him, but he wasn’t at all surprised by the divorce papers. From a purely practical standpoint, one of them should have taken care of this matter years ago. Looking at Vicki now, he almost felt like apologizing for making her be the one to initiate the inevitable.
He decided not to tell her that he’d kept track of her whereabouts through a Raleigh investigator. He’d even received pictures of her for the first few years. Lately he’d heard very little about her personal life, but had been informed of each new address she had—just in case he’d needed to find her. The latest report indicated she’d rented a classy little boutique in a posh Fort Lauderdale neighborhood. Victoria Karin Sorenson, Indiana farm girl, was doing well.
Jamie was equally surprised at the changes in the timid girl he’d promised to love, honor and cherish in an Orlando courthouse. She’d been so nervous that day, like a plump little bird facing the menacing grin of a Cheshire cat. He’d seen a multitude of emotions cross her face in the hour they’d spent sealing their agreement. Guilt, fear, embarrassment. He’d tried to make her feel better about what they were doing, but none of his efforts had helped. In the end, he’d simply repeated his vows with the same hurried indifference she had.
She was a changed woman today, however. Vicki Sorenson had lost her chubbiness and acquired the willowy stature of a new-millennium businesswoman to whom fried chicken and corn on the cob were foods enjoyed only by the non-calorie-counting masses. In her black slacks, white blouse and black leather loafers, she was a chic version of the girl she’d once been. Unfortunately he couldn’t help noticing that her beauty and sophistication fell just short of confidence. Was that because she was in a little country town called Bayberry Cove asking an immigrant stranger for a divorce? Or was it just that she was windblown and wet?
She tapped one black loafer on his thick tan carpet. “Well, aren’t you going to say something?”
He hunched one shoulder. “I expect I’ll say plenty once I’ve read this document through. Right now I’m overcome with grief at the abrupt end to our thirteen years.”
“Don’t start with that again,” she warned. “It’s been thirteen years of nothing, Ja…”
She stopped, and he filled in the gap of silence. “It’s okay. You can call me Jamie. People on the verge of divorce ought to be on a first-name basis at least.”
She glared at him. “You can’t grieve over nothing, Jamie,” she said. “I really need you to sign those papers.” To expedite her request, she held a pen out to him.
At the same time, a blast of wind rocked the houseboat and sent a branch from a nearby bayberry bush flying by the window. Vicki sank into the chair again. “Oh, my God, it’s getting worse, isn’t it?”
“That appears to be the case,” he said. “And if I don’t get the shutters on this boat soon, there won’t be a dry line on your papers for me to put my signature.”
“Then go. Do what you have to do. I’m apparently not going anywhere for a while.”
She stood, went into the kitchen and leaned against the sink. Beasley looked up at her with uncharacteristic interest. All dogs, even those without any apparent purpose in life like Beasley, could smell fear, and Beasley sensed it in Vicki. Jamie was no stranger to the signs of it, either. He’d seen fear in the faces of his countrymen in Belfast plenty of times. He read Vicki’s fear in the fix of her gaze on the dark sky, the white-knuckled grip of her hand on the edge of the porcelain.
“Don’t worry,” he said to her. “Like I said, the Bucket and I have seen worse than this. And Currituck Sound is protected by the barrier islands. We’ll come through all right.”
She turned to look at him. Tried to smile even, though her lips trembled at the effort. She reached for her jacket, slipped it on. “Have you got a hat?”
“What for?”
She twisted her shoulder-length hair, pulled a clip from her pocket and held the strands in place at her crown. “You’ll need help.”
The offer pleased him, mostly because he hadn’t expected it. He went into the bedroom and came back with a large-brimmed canvas hat that wouldn’t do much to keep her dry once the rain started falling heavy. And a pair of galoshes. “They’re a bit big, but those fancy shoes of yours won’t care. And thanks, I can use a holder as soon as I get the shutters from the shed.”
He threw on his slicker and opened the door. When he looked back, Vicki was staring out the window again. Her arms were clenched tightly around her waist.
THANK GOODNESS Jamie had enough confidence for both of them. Vicki was almost convinced that the Bucket o’ Luck was stronger than the winds of a hurricane. At least, she was convinced that Jamie believed it. And there was comfort in that.
When she saw him come around the side of the houseboat with a load of metal shutters in his arms, she went outside. The wind was stronger now. The rain was coming in biting sheets. Vicki was grateful for the shelter of the houseboat walls as she hugged the siding on her way to the porch at the bow.
Jamie lay the shutters on the floor and picked up the one on top. It caught the wind and rattled in his hand, producing a sound like thunder in a B movie. But it looked sturdy enough. Holes in the four corners matched metal pegs in the houseboat walls. Jamie lined up the holes to the pegs, held the panel with one hand while he fished several butterfly nuts from a sack at his feet.
“Are you ready?” he called to Vicki over the wind.
She crunched the hat onto her head, tied the chin straps and hunched into the collar of her jacket. While she held the panel with both hands, Jamie efficiently twisted each nut onto the pegs until the shutter was secure. Then he picked up the next panel, overlapped it with the first one, and the process began again.
He returned to the shed for a second and third load of shutters, and he and Vicki worked their way around the wooden catwalk to secure all the windows. The rain drove furiously, strafing the steadily sagging canvas of Vicki’s hat. Rivulets streamed down her face and neck. Despite having nothing to keep water from his own eyes, Jamie worked with military precision. In less than an hour, he held up the last shutter and took the four remaining nuts from the bag.
“So, Vicki, why now?” he shouted as he twisted the first nut into place.
She kept her palms flat against the metal and wiped the side of her face on her sleeve. “What do you mean?” she yelled back.
“The divorce,” he said in such a nonchalant manner they might have been sitting down to dinner, instead of gargling rainwater. “What made you ask for a divorce today?”
He turned the second nut. She wondered how he managed to concentrate on his task, much less carry on a conversation in this wind. “It’s time, don’t you think?”
“No doubt about that. But I was just wondering. If you let thirteen years go by, there must be a specific reason that brought you to Pintail Point now.”
She waited while he finished his task. Then, seeing no reason not to tell him, she shouted above the roar of the elements. “I’m getting engaged!” For no reason she could fathom, she added, “I think.”
He nodded. “We’re done here. Let’s get dry.”
They walked around to the door and slogged inside. If it hadn’t been for the glow of the TV screen and one lamp, the houseboat would have been black as pitch. No daylight, gray though it was, filtered through the shutters into the interior. She and Jamie were entombed in a cocoon, and Vicki shivered in claustrophobic reaction.
Jamie flicked switches and pulled lamp chains until soft light filled the living room. “Makes a difference having the shutters up,” he said. “Boggles my mind each time I realize I’ll have to get by without any daylight. You’ll get used to it in a few minutes.” The corners of his mouth lifted in a grin. “Of course by then, we’ll probably lose power.”
She rolled up her sleeves and reached for the towel she’d used earlier. “I hope you have supplies in case that happens.”
“Lanterns and candles. When you live out here, you know what to expect and how to prepare.”
Her shirt was soaked. She plucked the material away from her chest and arms, but it didn’t ease an overall clammy feeling. And then suddenly, the dampness didn’t matter. What the CNN reporter was saying took precedence over every other emotion.
“Imogene is now verging on category-two status.”
Jamie stepped closer to the television and focused on the report.
“Did you hear that?” Vicki asked.
“I did. Let’s hear what else the man has to say.”
“The storm has slowed, giving Imogene time to gather strength. Hurricane-force winds extend thirty-five miles from the center.”
A yellow triangle produced by the network’s graphics department swept a narrow path along the northernmost North Carolina coast.
The meteorologist continued his grim forecast. “Imogene’s landfall in approximately five hours is predicted to be somewhere in this vicinity. By that time she could be a strong category-two storm.”
Vicki looked at Jamie’s profile, expecting to see the placid expression of a man who faced life’s obstacles with optimism. What she saw were fine lines extending from narrowed eyes. And jaw muscles clenched with tension. “Oh, my God, you’re worried,” she said.
He glanced around the living room. “Not worried so much as grateful we got the shutters up. I think we’re going to need them. But at her worst, Imogene will still just be a category two. The houseboat can withstand that. I am concerned about the shed, though.”
Then, as if he realized in that moment that he was soaked to the skin, he added, “No use standing here like drowned rats. And speaking for myself, hungry, drowned rats at that.”
His confidence was returning. Thank goodness. “I should change,” Vicki said.
Jamie took emergency lights from a cupboard and set them on a serving bar that separated the kitchen from the living room. Then he jerked his thumb at her slim briefcase. “Did you pack a change of clothes in that thing, as well as our divorce papers?”
“Oh, no!” Everything she needed was in the rental car—her clothes, her purse, her cell phone with the battery running down. This astounding lack of fore-thought sent her scurrying to the exit. “I have to go outside.”
He gave her an incredulous look. “I don’t think that’s such a clever idea.”
She flung the door open. Rain and wind pelted her face and soaked the last few patches of clothing that weren’t already sodden. She fought the wind until she heard the latch click into the frame again.
Jamie chuckled and pointed to a doorway leading off the living room. “In there. Second dresser drawer on the left. Clean T-shirts. Flannel pants. Nothing fussy, I’m sorry to say.”
“Thank you. I’ll manage.”
“Do you like stew?” he asked before she left the room.
“Love it.”
She heard the sound of a cabinet door opening and closing, followed by a pot hitting the stove burner as she walked into Jamie’s bedroom. And his voice again. “Is he anyone I know?”
She unbuttoned her blouse. “Who?”
“This fella you think you might be engaged to. Do I know him?”
So he had heard her explanation out on the porch. She smiled. “Considering that you and I have only one acquaintance in common, and I haven’t seen Kenny in years, I rather doubt you know my boyfriend.”
“You’re probably right, though stranger coincidences have happened. Take today, for instance. Beasley and I got up this morning, had eggs and bacon, fertilized a few plants outside and planned on spending a quiet afternoon catching blue crabs. And now, here we are, a hurricane coming, and my long-lost wife putting on my skivvies in the next room. If that’s not a corker, I don’t know what is.”
Vicki couldn’t argue. When she left Fort Lauderdale a few hours ago, she certainly hadn’t intended to have more than a five-minute conversation with Jamie Malone. Now, two hours later, she was staring at her reflection in his bedroom mirror with a McGilley’s Pub T-shirt hugging her chest. What would Graham think?
She gripped the edge of the dresser and spoke to the pale face staring back at her. “Oh, my God, Graham.” She’d promised to call him. He thought she was in Virginia to look at some eighteenth-century antiques she’d heard about. Not only had she lied about her reason for taking this trip, but now there was a good chance she wouldn’t be returning when she’d planned. And once Graham heard about the storm, he’d be terribly worried. She had to let him know she was all right.
Vicki pulled on a pair of soft flannel pants and dashed into the living room. “I have to use your phone.”
Jamie looked up from a steaming pan and motioned to the telephone. “Be my guest.”
She turned away from Jamie’s direct gaze and dialed Graham’s cell-phone number. He answered on the second ring. “Graham Townsend.”
“Hi. It’s me.”
He blew out an impatient breath. “Where have you been? I’ve been calling your cell for hours. I’ve left three messages.”
“I’m sorry. It’s raining really hard here. I left the cell phone in my car and now the battery’s probably dead.” Vicki glanced over her shoulder at Jamie. She figured he was listening, though he pretended otherwise. He smiled at her and set two plates on the counter. And Vicki missed most of what Graham had just said.
“Bad connection, Graham. Would you repeat that?”
“I said—” he sounded impatient “—we received confirmation on that container from Amsterdam. The furniture will arrive in time for the opening of your shop.”
“That’s wonderful.” It meant she’d have to rearrange everything to make room for the new arrivals, but it was good news. Graham had convinced her that he and a contact in Holland had found some fabulous antiques. The Dutch dealer was sending them via the fastest shipper.
