The Summer's End (7 page)

“Do you like it?” she asked, drawing near. “It's by a local artist. West Fraser.”

“I like it very much,” he replied, eyes still on the art. “It's McClellanville.”

Harper took a step closer to study the painting, searching for details. To her, the scene could have been one of many docks in the lowcountry. “How can you tell?”

He looked over his shoulder and his eyes twinkled with amusement. “Because that's my dad's boat. The
Miss Jenny.
”

“Really?” Surprised, she stepped closer to look at the large shrimp boat with the green and white colors, huge nets hanging. “Your father is a shrimp-boat captain?”

“Was. He left the business. He couldn't afford to operate the boat anymore.”

“Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. What happened?”

A sigh rumbled in Taylor's chest as he put his hands on his hips in thought. “It's been coming on for years. The local shrimpers have been hit hard by the deluge of imported shrimp, the high cost of diesel fuel, and small yields. It's been a perfect storm. My daddy hung on as long as he could. Like the others. But . . .” Taylor lifted his shoulders as though to say
What could he do?

“Is
he still in the fishing business?”

“No.” Taylor looked away.

Standing so close, Harper could see the texture of his deeply tanned skin, the tiny crow's-feet at his eyes. “Were you ever a shrimper?”

“Me?” His smile was quick and fleeting. “Sure. You can't be the son of a shrimper without working on your daddy's boat. I helped him from the day I could walk. So did my mother and brother. It was a family business. But I always knew I'd do something else to make a living someday. Doesn't mean I don't love the boat. And the water. It's in my blood.”

“I've always been intrigued by the shrimp boats. As a tourist, that is. They're such a staple of the southern waters. When I was young, I remember seeing a lot of them docked at Shem Creek. One after the other. Whenever I cross Shem Creek, I look out hoping to see one, but there don't seem to be many now.”

Taylor crossed his arms and shook his head. “Nope. The boats are mostly all docked. For sale. It's all restaurants and bars now. A few kayakers in the water. It's the state of things out there.”

“I find that sad.”

“Yeah.”

Harper didn't want to see Shem Creek become a museum of days gone by. She loved the vibrancy of the working dock. “I'll have to see one soon, before they're all gone.”

“If I can, I'll take you to see one sometime.”

Her surprise at his invitation lit up her face.

He must've noticed because he suddenly averted his gaze and peered down the hall as though looking for Carson.

Harper felt like a schoolgirl who'd forgotten to deliver the headmistress's message.
And worse, she was acting like a schoolgirl, mooning over him. She felt a blush burn her cheeks. “Oh, I'm to tell you Carson's on her way. She was taking a nap and she asked if you could wait. She has to get dressed. . . . It might take a while.”

Taylor let his palm slide against his pelt of hair as he considered this. “Sure, but if it'll be a while, I need to check on my dog. I left him out by the car.”

“Your dog?”

“Yeah. Come on. I'll introduce you to Thor.”

Harper followed Taylor out the front door and across the gravel drive to where a black pickup truck sat parked in the deep shade of the giant oak tree. Rounding the fender, she spied a large black dog sitting in the shade. He lifted his head at their approach and, seeing Taylor, stood and looked at his master adoringly.

Taylor reached down to deliver several strong pats on the dog's broad head. Turning, he waved Harper closer.

Harper moved tentatively forward, intimidated by the immense black dog with his deep chest and floppy ears. The dog turned to look at her as she drew near, eyeing her with curiosity.

“Is it a Great Dane?”

“Mostly. He's a rescue dog. Great Dane and part Lab. He looks more Great Dane, but he's all Lab at heart. Loves being in the water. That dog is one swimming machine.”

She noticed that the dog was not tied down. “He doesn't need a leash?”

“No.”

Harper was impressed. She wasn't familiar with dogs, never having had one growing up.
No pets whatsoever. Not even a parakeet, though she'd wept and begged for years for one as a child. Her mother simply wouldn't tolerate any “foul, disease-ridden animal” to mess up her meticulously decorated apartment.

“He's awfully big,” she said feebly.

“He is that. Thor's a big guy, but he's gentle.”

Harper glanced at the man standing beside her and wondered if that description didn't fit him, as well.

“Go ahead, you can pet him.”

There was no point trying to explain to a man like Taylor how someone could be afraid of even a seemingly gentle animal as large as Thor. The only animals she was accustomed to growing up were the horses at Greenfields Park. They terrified her. She'd had bad experiences with them.

Harper was compelled as a child to ride the big animals that towered over her, pawed the earth with their big hooves, and snorted when she timidly approached dressed in her riding outfit and carrying a crop. Her mother, of course, was a superb rider. When Harper was six and balked at getting on a horse, Georgiana told her to “stop being so weak willed and get on that bloody horse.” Harper was more afraid of her mother than the horse and complied. After all, learning to ride was considered mandatory for a James. Yet, even after years of lessons, whenever she mounted, Harper never lost the feeling that she would throw up. The horse instinctively knew that Harper was afraid. Once she was on its back, the horse would turn its head to look at her, then promptly fart and disregard her commands. Harper couldn't imagine any horse anywhere daring to ignore a command given by her mother.

Perhaps, she thought, staring into the big brown eyes of Thor, that was what frightened her so much about Taylor's dog. He was as big as a horse.

“Come on. He won't bite.” Taylor gently took her wrist, encircling it with his thumb and forefinger. “You're a little thing, aren't you?”

She wasn't so afraid with his hand over hers as he guided it toward the dog's enormous block head. She felt the smooth pelt of Thor's shiny black fur under her fingertips. To her relief, Thor took it all in stride. She had the sense he was accustomed to tolerating fools.

Taylor released her wrist, and she withdrew her hand swiftly and took a step back.

“Could I trouble you to guide me to a place I can fill his water dish?”

She led the way around the house to the back porch, Thor trotting happily behind his master. She helped Taylor find the water spigot and fill the dog's bowl. Thor lapped up the water noisily, drinking his fill.

“Okay, boy, settle,” Taylor commanded with a discreet hand signal.

Thor trotted to a shady corner of the porch and, after circling a few times, lay down, resting his head on his giant paws.

“Is he always so obedient?”

Taylor nodded. “I trained him myself. He's the smartest dog I've ever known. He wants to do his job. If he makes a mistake, I swear it hurts his pride. Gotta love that about him. He'll stay there until I tell him to get up. Or, unless he feels I'm in danger.”

“He doesn't think I'm going to hurt you, does he?” She eyed the enormous dog. “I don't want to upset Cujo.”

Taylor laughed shortly and shook his head. “I hardly think he sees you as a threat.”

Another awkward silence fell between them as they waited for Carson to appear. Taylor put his hands on his hips and took a long look at the property. She followed his gaze, seeing Sea Breeze as she imagined he or any other stranger would see the historic island house for the first time.

Sea Breeze showed her best side to the water. The back of the house was lined by three tiers of long porches from one side to the other that overlooked the water. At the top, the left side of the porch was covered by a sleek black-and-white awning that sheltered several glossy black wicker chairs. Here the women of the house congregated in the morning for coffee, and in the evenings for tea and gossip. Below, a second porch surrounded the swimming pool. The third was more a wide step to the grounds that sloped down to the Cove and the wooden dock that stretched over the racing water.

“It's quite a place,” Taylor said, the awe in his voice informing her that he appreciated the house's unique qualities. Taylor pointed to the dock. “That where Carson's dolphin came to visit?”

“Delphine, yes.”

“Carson told me about her. Sad story.” He turned to look at the house again. “Do you live here?”

She shook her head. “No. New York.”

“What part of New York are you from?”

“Manhattan.” She refrained from telling him that she still lived with her mother. “And you?”

“Juno Beach.”

“But you said your family is here? You're visiting them?”

“That's right. McClellanville's
not too far from here. Thought I'd swing by and see Carson while I was in town. We became friendly at the Dolphin Research Center. She isn't the type to remain a stranger,” he added with a short laugh.

“No.” Harper wished she had that talent. Carson had it, as did Mamaw. Harper was more reserved, like her Granny James. But Harper's stomach fizzed a bit at what Taylor had just said about himself and Carson. So perhaps they hadn't been romantically involved, after all?

“What college did you go to?” she asked, going for a change of subject. Then held her breath, not knowing if he
did
go to college, not meaning to insult.

“The Citadel.”

“Here in Charleston?”

“Is there another?”

“Isn't that a military college?”

“Yes.”

“Was it hard? I mean, I heard about the hazing and things they did to the freshmen.”

“The knobs. That's what they call the freshmen. And, yes, it was hard.”

“Did you miss out on the regular college life?”

“No. Fraternities were not my thing.”

“Mine, neither.”

“Where did you go?”

“Radcliffe. There weren't any sororities. But that didn't stop them from having cliques.”

“Radcliffe is an Ivy League, right?”

“Yup.” She saw he was impressed and cocked her head. “I went to good schools, got good grades. But getting into those
schools is often a matter of who you know and how much your family will donate even more than how smart you are. My mother's family has lots of connections. And deep pockets.”

“So you're saying you're rich?”

“I'm saying my family is.”

“Where's your family located? New York?”

“Yes and no.” She wondered whether to give him the long or short version of her history. She decided on the short. “My mother is English and her family, my grandparents, live in England. At Greenfields Park.”

“Is that some kind of gated community?”

She laughed. “No, the name of their property is Greenfields Park. We often call large estates
parks
in England.”

Taylor looked amused. “Your family has a large estate in England?”

Harper didn't like where this conversation was going. “Just a great big house and, oh, some hundred or so acres.”

He snorted with surprise. “Just a few hundred?”

So, the long version, Harper thought to herself. “It's a farm. Trees and great gardens and barns with cows and sheep . . . lots of sheep.”

“A farm. Cool.”

Taylor seemed at a momentary loss for anything else to say, and having exhausted basic introductory chitchat, Harper fell back on good manners. “Can I offer you something to drink? Coffee? Iced tea?”

“Tea sounds good. A beer would be better.”

“Sorry, but Sea Breeze is a dry house.”

“Tea it is.”

When they entered the kitchen, she cringed at the state of the room.
Dishes and pots and pans were stacked on the table, counters, any bare surface. The entire pantry was loaded in boxes on the floor. But the kitchen gleamed and smelled of pine soap.

“I've been cleaning the cabinets,” she said in way of apology.

“Big job.”

“Just beginning, I'm afraid. After I finish organizing, I'd like to fix it up a little. Paint, at least.”

“Now's a good time, since you've already got the cabinets cleared.” He put his hands on his hips and took a sweeping assessment of the room. “It's a great room. Lots of charm.” He walked toward the back windows, put his hands on his hips, and stared out. “And look at that view.”

“Yes.” She drew closer to join him at the window.

Taylor turned and looked around the room again, his eyes gleaming. “There's something about old architecture. They don't build 'em like they used to.”

Harper warmed to the subject. “Exactly. I've always loved old houses. This one in particular. It's got good bones but it needs some freshening up. I'd really love some new appliances, but those have to wait.”

Taylor paced the room, measuring it. He reached out to check the wood of the cabinets. “Solid wood. That's good.” He rubbed his jaw in thought. “Wouldn't take much. You should call my father. He's good. And honest.”

Harper was taken aback. “Your father?”

“He's an independent contractor. He paints, does carpentry, a little electrical work. A good boat captain has to know a little bit about everything, and after the shrimping business dried up, he turned to that sort of work.” Taylor put his hands on his
hips and thought a moment, then looked at Harper again. “My dad's doing a job on the island now. I could ask him to swing by on his way home to give you an estimate. If you like,” Taylor hedged.