Authors: Mariah Stewart
Then again, the delay could work in his favor. By April, the snow would be gone, and with luck, there’d be a day to spend out on the Bay, a day to revisit some of the places they used to go, places that could remind her of who she used to be, and what he’d once been to her. And maybe, just maybe, she’d let her guard down enough to talk to him and tell him just what it was that had caused her to turn away from him so many years ago. She’d already told him it hadn’t been because of anything he’d done, which meant he could lay down that burden of guilt he’d carried for so long, thinking he’d inadvertently done or said something that had hurt her so much that she couldn’t stand to be around him. He thought she’d been just about ready to share whatever it was with him, then something made her pull back. Clay’s instincts told him
that, whatever it was, it somehow stood between him and Lucy, and that alone made him determined to lay that beast to rest, one way or another.
He got out of the car and walked to the house through the snow that had fallen that afternoon, reminding himself with every step that he’d already waited more than half his life for her to come back. It wouldn’t kill him to wait a little longer.
Brooke was dragging a box toward the back door when he stepped inside the kitchen.
“Need a hand with that?” Clay asked.
“Yeah, thanks.” She stood up and slid the elastic out of her ponytail, then smoothed her hair before pulling it back into a tail. “I guess I bit off a little more than I could chew. Jesse offered to come over to help me, but I told him I could handle it. Silly me.”
“You want this over to the tenant house?” He lifted it with ease.
“You did it again. Called it the tenant house.” Brooke frowned. “I’m thinking about putting a sign out front that says
BROOKE’S COTTAGE
. Do you think that would help?”
“Not really.” He started through the back door, then called back over his shoulder. “Is the door open?”
“Yes. Logan’s over there putting his books on his bookshelf.”
“You coming over?”
“In a minute.”
“See you there.” Clay went down the back steps and cut across the backyard to the path that led to the old house that hard work and a whole army of contractors
had turned into a home for his sister and her son. It was late in the day and the sun had almost set, and when he tripped over a rock in the path, Clay was reminded that they should have some sort of illumination back here.
His eight-year-old nephew was standing in the doorway before he reached the house.
“Mom called to tell me you were coming,” Logan called out to Clay. “She said to open the door.”
“Thanks, buddy. I appreciate it.”
The door opened directly into the large living area that was stacked high with boxes.
“Any idea where your mom wants this box?” Too late, Clay realized he should have asked Brooke where she wanted it.
“Nope.” Logan shook his head.
Clay put the box down inside the front door. “I can move it when she gets here.” He looked around the room where he himself had once hung his hat. The place had come together nicely since Brooke had decided to make it her own. “It’s looking good in here,” he told his nephew.
“Uh-huh.” Logan nodded enthusiastically. “Wanna see my room? It’s upstairs.”
“Sure. Lead the way.” Even though Clay already knew which room belonged to Logan, he gestured for the boy to go first.
Logan bounded up the steps and Clay followed.
“See? I got all these shelves built in for my stuff.”
Logan pointed to one of the short walls.
“I do see.” Clay scanned the rows of books, games, and action figures. “You’ve got some pretty cool stuff here.”
Logan nodded and pulled a pair of books from the top shelf where they stood between bookends. “My uncle Jason gave me these. See? The Hardy Boys. That’s who the books are about, these two guys named Joe and Frank and their last name is Hardy. They have all these adventures.”
He held up
The Missing Chums
. “ ‘Chums’ is another word for friends,” he explained. “Their friends are Biff and Chet. They got disappeared.”
“I read that one when I was a boy.” Clay held out a hand to look at the book. He opened it, and inside found the name “Eric Bowers” printed in green ink. Underneath, Logan had printed his own name in black. “This was your dad’s book,” Clay noted.
“Uh-huh.” Logan leaned over Clay and pointed to the two names. “That’s why his name is in it. I wrote my name in there, too, because it’s my book now.”
“That was very nice of your uncle Jason to give this book to you.”
Logan nodded. “I like having my dad’s stuff.” He went to the bottom shelf and picked up a baseball glove. “This was my dad’s, too. I don’t use it so much.”
“I remember.” Clay had coached Logan’s baseball team the year before, and had purchased a new glove when it became apparent that the boy was afraid to use his father’s glove, lest something happen to it.
“And I have a new lamp.” Logan picked up the desk lamp.
“But an old desk,” Clay pointed out.
“
Your
old desk. From when you were a kid.”
“I did a lot of homework on that old desk,” Clay told him.
“Ugh. Homework.” Logan grimaced. “I’d rather watch TV.”
“Sure. Who wouldn’t rather play than work?” Clay leaned against the doorjamb. “But you know the rule …”
“ ‘Work first. Play after.’ ” Logan made a face.
“Right.”
“Hey, are you guys up there?” Brooke called from the first floor.
Clay turned in the direction of the steps. “Logan’s showing me his new room.”
“If you’re done, could you come help me get a few of these boxes into the kitchen?”
“Are we done?” Clay asked Logan, who was getting himself comfortable on the floor with
The Missing Chums
.
Already lost in the story, Logan nodded.
Clay took the steps two at a time. When he reached the first floor, he hoisted the box he’d brought over minutes before.
“Does this go in the kitchen?” he asked Brooke.
“That one goes into my office, which is the room right through there.” Brooke pointed to an arched opening. “Thanks, Clay.”
He made the delivery, and then came back into the living room. “How about these boxes?”
“Kitchen,” she said as she lifted one. “Honestly, it’s going to take me weeks to get this place straightened out.” Her voice trailed toward the kitchen.
Clay stacked two boxes, one atop the other, and followed her. Once in the kitchen, he placed them on the floor in what would be Brooke’s breakfast nook,
once she had a table. “Any others out front belong in here?”
“All the boxes along the fireplace wall.”
“I’ll get them.”
After they’d brought in the last box, he asked, “When will your furniture arrive?”
“It’s all supposed to be here next week.” She leaned back against the counter. “I have some things in storage that Jesse is going to help me with tomorrow. The new stuff will be here on Tuesday.”
He opened the refrigerator door, hoping to find a beer or, at the very least, a bottle of water. Nada.
“I’m afraid all I can offer this time around is water.” Brooke opened a cabinet and took out a glass, which she handed to him. “The well is hooked up.”
“Thanks.” He poured a glass of water from the sink and took a long drink. “What else has to be done before you can move in?”
“Just the furniture delivery and emptying the boxes. I’m hoping it doesn’t take me too long to get organized. I have a business to run.”
“Moving into a new home and opening a new business at the same time—I’d say you have no sense of timing.”
“Could have been better,” she agreed. “But when Mom decided to close up her shop and offered me the space for my cupcake bakery, it was too good to pass up.”
“What will the residents of St. Dennis do, now that there is no Bow Wows and Meows?” he asked, referring to the specialty pet supply shop their mother had owned on Charles Street.
“Not to mention all those tourists who liked to buy
those froufrou outfits for their little dogs.” Brooke grinned. “Their loss will be their gain, once they taste my cupcakes.”
“It’s been my gain. About five pounds’ worth since you started baking.”
“Don’t blame my cupcakes. Blame your lack of willpower.”
“You bake a mean cupcake, sister.”
“I do, indeed.” Brooke beamed and pointed to her new stove with the double ovens. “And I’ll be able to bake even more with my newly installed appliances.”
“It’s pretty fancy, all right,” he agreed.
“I figured I’d bake a sampling and dazzle Lucy with my creativity when she’s here next week.”
“Oh.” Clay frowned. “About that …”
“You didn’t go all Neanderthal on her and scare her off, did you?”
“Of course not. She called a little while ago to let me know she had to postpone her trip.”
“Why?”
“Work overload.”
“So when’s she coming?”
“Probably not until April.” He took another long drink of water, then refilled his glass. He could feel his sister’s glare on the back of his neck.
“April? April as in February-March-April?”
“That would be the one.”
“Humph.” Brooke crossed her arms over her chest.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing.” She turned her back and started to unpack a box.
“What, Brooke?”
“Why the delay?”
“She’s just overwhelmed. Overbooked and understaffed, apparently.” He leaned back against the counter. “What’s with the attitude? From the way you were acting at Enright’s, I thought you and Lucy were going to be BFFs.”
“I don’t like that she’s jerking you around, okay?”
“She’s not jerking me around.”
“She knows how you feel about her and she’s putting as much distance, timewise, as she can between you and her.”
“Lucy is running a business, Brooke. A very successful one. You of all people know how hard that is. Right now she’s a little over her head. She lost time out there because of the MacGregor wedding, and she’s going to lose more time with the Magellan wedding. She’s just trying to get through the events she contracted for over the next couple of months so that she can spend a couple of weeks out here taking care of what she needs to do for Magellan.”
“I think it’s really nice of you to defend her, but I still think she’s jerking your chain.” When he opened his mouth to speak, she held up a hand to stop him and said, “Just remember you heard it here first.”
“As if you’re likely to let me forget,” he muttered.
“I don’t want to see you hurt, Clay. You deserve someone who’s going to be here for you. That someone isn’t going to be Lucy.”
“Well, that’s too bad for me, then, because Lucy is the only someone I want.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. “I had this discussion with your boyfriend not too long ago, and I’ll tell you what I told him. I appreciate your concern. I thank you for caring. But Lucy is the only woman
I want, and this—this time she’s going to be spending here—may be the only chance I’ll ever have. I really wish you’d respect that. I really wish you’d just wish me luck, and then shut up about how she’s going to break my heart.”
Brooke was silent for a long moment. Finally, she said, “I don’t remember saying I thought she was going to break your heart.”
“That’s what you meant.”
“Actually, yeah, I did. And I’m sorry. I just think you’re a terrific guy, and you could have your pick of any single woman in this town.” She smiled. “Maybe a few not-so-single ones as well. But I get that Lucy is the one who floats your boat. I do respect that, and I do wish you well. And now I will shut up about it.”
“Really?”
“Well, for now anyway.” Brooke’s smile widened.
“I guess I should be grateful for that.” Hoping to move past the subject, he opened a carton and took out a smaller box that he sat on the counter and opened. “Spices. Where will you be keeping this stuff?”
“Just leave it. It always takes me a while to move things around before I’m satisfied.”
“What makes you think she knows how I feel about her, anyway?” he asked.
It took a moment for Brooke to respond. “I guess I sort of told her.”
“Did you, now?” Clay glared. “How nice of you.”
“I’m sorry. It just sort of came out the night we were at Vanessa’s.”
“So what did she say?”
“She sort of denied that you had anything but
friendly feelings for her, but I could tell that it gave her something to think about.”
“I would appreciate it if you would leave my relationship with Lucy to me.”
“I said I was sorry, and I meant it.” She paused, then said, “Okay, since we’re still on the subject—which you reintroduced even after we agreed not to talk about it—you know what I don’t understand? Why you’re not upset about Lucy not coming home next week.”
“Look, you’ve been in business for yourself for what, all of three months now? Lucy’s spent nearly fifteen years building her reputation. That’s a long time. She feels she owes it to the clients she has to give them her best—which is why she’s so successful. Taking time off right now, when she’s booked to the max, means taking shortcuts somewhere down the line, and she doesn’t want to shortchange her clients, who pay top dollar for her work. I understand that because I feel the same way about the people I grow for. I promise the best produce on the market, and that’s what I deliver. I don’t take shortcuts and when I say my crops are one hundred percent organic, people know they can trust that. When you are in business for yourself, your reputation is basically all you have.
“And besides, I know that when she comes back here in April, she’ll stay longer, which means I’ll have more time to spend with her.”
“I hope you’re right, Clay,” Brooke said. “I really want you to be right.”
“Hey, so do I,” he conceded. “No one wants me to be right more than I do …”
“But, Clay.” Brooke’s tone softened. “Even if she
comes out here and spends some time and say you guys get together and everything is just skippy between you.” She paused. “Where does it go from there? You said it yourself. Lucy has a successful business that she’s spent a lot of time building out there. You have one thriving enterprise going here and you’re embarking on another. What do you think is going to happen once the Magellan wedding is over?”