Книга - Daddy’s Choice

Daddy's Choice
Doreen Owens Malek


SINGLE DAD NEEDS…Taylor Kirkland would do anything to win custody of his only daughter. So when captivating Carol Lansing moved into town, Tay was struck with a brilliant idea. What better way to get his little girl back than with a beautiful blushing bride by his side?Carol had her own reasons for considering Taylor's proposal, and only one had to do with becoming a mommy to Tay's adorable little girl. Every second spent with Tay was driving this otherwise levelheaded woman straight to distraction! How could she say no to the man who just might be her Mr. Right?









Table of Contents


Cover Page (#u1d1c2f2f-729f-5fca-b306-1e9f5b692981)

Excerpt (#u651e99a2-f308-5079-9994-22254063d834)

Dear Reader (#u7db8ecbf-6c88-50ad-b377-32bab34349f2)

Title Page (#ub7681383-5661-53af-91ca-e5eb228af26d)

About the Author (#u1ea4a55f-cc3e-5556-8571-4cfe63de21ec)

One (#u8c5bebe4-4e97-5bb5-b735-2364cfd7f924)

Two (#uc2083c90-951a-58b8-9e5a-20bb872bf6e3)

Three (#u8dd31ce2-7df1-5f27-a46c-5f05244fcac4)

Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)




“Let’s Get Married,” Taylor Said.


Carol stared at him, unable to reply.



“Don’t you see,” he continued, “it’s what we have to do. I’ve been up for hours, thinking about everything, and it’s the only solution.”



Carol—sadly, slowly—shook her head.



Taylor looked stricken. “Don’t you want to marry me?” he asked.

“Of course I do,” she said quickly. “But I just want the reason for the wedding to be me, and how you feel about me. Not about your daughter…”


Dear Reader,



We all know that Valentine’s Day is the most romantic holiday of the year. It’s the day you show that special someone in your life—husband, fiancé…even your mom!—just how much you care by giving them special gifts of love.



And our special Valentine’s gift to you is a book from a writer many of you have said is one of your favorites, Annette Broadrick. Megan’s Marriage isn’t just February’s MAN OF THE MONTH, it’s also the first book of Annette’s brand-new DAUGHTERS OF TEXAS series. This passionate love story is just right for Valentine’s Day.

February also marks the continuation of SONS AND LOVERS, a bold miniseries about three men who discover that love and family are the most important things in life. In Reese: The Untamed by Susan Connell, a dashing bachelor meets his match and begins to think that being married might be more pleasurable than he’d ever dreamed. The series continues in March with Ridge: The Avenger by Leanne Banks.

This month is completed with four more scintillating love stories: Assignment: Marriage by Jackie Merritt, Daddy’s Choice by Doreen Owens Malek, This Is My Child by Lucy Gordon and Husband Material by Rita Rainville. Don’t miss any of them!

So Happy Valentine’s Day and Happy Reading!



Lucia Macro

Senior Editor



Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3




Daddy’s Choice

Doreen Owens Malek



















www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




DOREEN OWENS MALEK


is a former attorney who decided on her current career when she sold her fledgling novel to the first editor who read it. Since then, she has gained recognition for her writing, winning honors from Romantic Times magazine and the coveted Golden Medallion Award. She has traveled extensively throughout Europe, but it was in her home state of New Jersey that she met and married her college sweetheart. They now live in Pennsylvania.




One (#ulink_079002f1-5a41-597d-b765-6d43544d635b)


Carol Lansing was dreaming, and the dream was very loud. The pounding noise went on and on, and it wrested her up from the depths of sleep. By the time she finally opened her eyes and tore the tangled sheets off her legs she realized that the pounding was actually hammering and it was coming from overhead, on the roof.

Carol pushed her hair out of her face as the room swam into focus around her. She was trying to remember the previous night, but she was still half asleep. Everything was dark; the drapes were drawn across the bedroom window. The sight of them made her recall, suddenly, when she had closed them and where she was. This was her father’s beach house, the house he had left her after his death, and she was staying here for the summer to study for the upcoming bar exam.

The hammering, incredibly, seemed to be increasing in volume. Carol peered at the bedside clock and then closed her eyes again, sighing heavily. It was ten minutes after seven in the morning. At this ungodly hour some idiot was up on the roof making enough noise to rouse corpses that had been slumbering for centuries, not to mention an overworked law student who had just finished final exams five days earlier.

Carol swung her bare feet over the side of the bed and struggled into the robe she had left draped over a chair. She took one step and crashed full-force into a packing box on the floor. Muttering to herself, limping on her stubbed toe, she stumbled barefoot out to the living room.

The early morning sunlight blinded her and she stopped short, belting the robe around her waist and then shuffling over the pegged pine-board floor to the front door. The cottage consisted of a large parlor dominated by a fieldstone fireplace, with a kitchen and dining area to the back and two bedrooms off to the side. It was filled with cast-off rattan furniture and rag rugs, the remnants of her father’s use and the debris of several tenants. Carol bypassed the second bedroom, putting her hands to her temples. The noise seemed to be surrounding her, as if she were inside a vibrating drum. By the time she reached the front of the house she was so angry that common sense had deserted her completely. She yanked open the door and confronted a startled workman, who stared back at her, metal tape measure in hand.

“What is going on here?” Carol demanded.

The workman took in her disheveled, recently-out-of-bed appearance, the bare feet, the carelessly knotted bathrobe tie. He said cautiously, “This house was supposed to be empty.”

“Obviously it’s not,” Carol snapped, planting her hands on her hips.

They stared at one another.

“Would you mind telling me why you’re creating such an infernal racket at a few minutes past dawn?” Carol inquired pointedly, raising her brows.

“We’re renovating the house,” the man said. “Putting on a new roof and aluminum siding, adding a covered deck.”

“Oh, no, you’re not,” Carol said firmly. “I’m the new owner here, and I never authorized any improvements, so you can just run along, you and that cretin up on the roof.”

The man held up his hand. “You’d better talk to the boss,” he said.

“And who is that?” Carol asked, tapping her bare foot and lifting her chin pugnaciously.

The laborer pointed to the sky. “The cretin up on the roof,” he said simply.

Carol swept off the porch and into the yard, her injured toe throbbing, lifting the hem of her robe as she walked. She was appalled to see two trucks in her driveway and several more workers employed there, moving equipment and shouldering boxes of tools. She turned abruptly and looked up at the shingled roof where a tall, slim figure was silhouetted against the early morning sun, kneeling and hammering, facing away from her.

Carol shaded her eyes and called loudly, “May I speak to you a moment, please?”

The hammering continued, uninterrupted.

Carol repeated her question. No response. Exasperated, she cupped her mouth with her hands and shouted at the top of her voice, “Hello!”

The man wheeled around and looked down at her, then set his hammer on the tar-paper shingles and got to his feet. She watched as he stepped nimbly across the sloping roof and then climbed over its edge. Carol drew in her breath as he hung, suspended by his fingers, and then dropped the remaining distance to the ground. He landed directly in front of her and she took a step back.

“Something I can do for you, miss?” he said mildly, folding his arms.

His action drew her attention to his body. He was wearing a short-sleeved, navy T-shirt that clung to his broad shoulders and slim torso. It exposed his arms, which were deeply tanned and well defined with long, ropy muscles. His faded jeans clung to his narrow hips, the heavy tool belt encircling his waist dragging the denim material low enough to expose the upper part of a flat, ridged abdomen. Carol raised her eyes slowly to see him examining her quizzically, the light blue eyes in his bronzed face direct and challenging.

She cleared her throat. “I’d like to know what you and your men are doing on my property,” she said firmly.

“Renovating the house.”

“I can see that. But it’s my house and I never engaged anybody to do this work.”

He shrugged and withdrew a folded piece of paper from his back pocket. “It’s my guess that you’re not George Lansing,” he said dryly, opening the sheet and looking at it.

“I’m his daughter.”

“Well, your father needs to work on his communication skills. I contracted with him to do this job on May 12. I was scheduled to begin today and have the job done by August 15.” He handed Carol the paper and she saw that it was a cover letter for a contract with something called Kirkland Construction Company.

“My father is dead,” Carol said flatly.

“I’m sorry to hear that, but the contract stands,” the man said evenly, watching her. His thick blond hair had been bleached to the color of lemon peel from long hours in the sun and his face was so sun-browned that his eyes looked ethereally pale.

“What are you talking about? This is my house now and I don’t want you here!” Carol said incredulously.

“If your father is dead, then his estate is responsible for his contracts.”

“I am his estate and I’m telling you to go!” Carol said, her outrage building with every passing second.

The man held up his hands. “Don’t get mad at me, lady, I’m just explaining the situation. I have a contract, I’ve begun the work, I expect to complete it and get paid for it at that time.”

Carol tried to keep her temper in check. “Look, Mr…”

“Kirkland. Taylor Kirkland.”

“Mr. Kirkland, I inherited this place when my father died suddenly of a heart attack at the end of May. He said nothing to me about renovating it, maybe he intended it as a surprise, but I don’t even plan to keep this house, much less put out money to improve it. I was just going to spend the summer here studying for the bar exam and then put it on the market in the fall. I’ve sublet my apartment in New York, so you see I have no place to go for the next couple of months, and you’re making far too much noise for me to be able to concentrate on anything. So if you will please clear your men out of here, I’ll make sure you get paid for the day.”

“Nope,” he said shortly, and took the paper from her outstretched hand, stuffing it back into his jeans.

“What do you mean?” Carol demanded as he turned his back on her and headed for the house.

“I delayed other projects and hired extra men to do this job, and I’m going to finish it.”

“But I don’t want you to do the work!” Carol said to his back, enunciating very clearly, as if speaking to someone with impaired hearing.

“That’s your problem.” He climbed hand over hand up the front porch railing and then launched himself onto the roof with the grace of a puma scaling a mountain crag.

Carol simply couldn’t believe it. “And what if I said I was calling the police?” she yelled up at him.

“Go ahead and call them. I’ll just show Tom Delaney my contract and you’re going to look pretty foolish.” He picked up his hammer and began to pound the shingles again, effectively ending the conversation.

Carol glared up at him for a few enraged moments, stymied, then stalked back up the porch steps.

“You can tell your boss that I’m going to see my lawyer today,” Carol said regally to the first workman, passing him as she went back into the house.

He waited until she had closed the door and then scrambled up to join the tall blond on the roof.

“What’s going on, Tay?” he asked his boss. “That little lady is pretty upset.”

“Mother Superior is trying to expel us, but we’re staying,” Tay said lightly.

“What?” the workman said, bewildered.

“I contracted with her old man and now that he’s dead and she’s inherited the place, she wants to cancel the deal.”

“Can she?”

“Not without a hassle, Mike. The last time this happened to me, when old Hendrickson died, I won, and his kids had to let me finish the addition to his house. So I’m going to continue unless I get some legal papers that tell me I can’t.”

Mike shrugged and walked off, delivering himself of a parting comment. “Hey, Tay, you should schedule an eye exam as soon as possible.”

“What’s that?” Tay said, glancing up at him.

“If that stacked brunette looks like a nun to you, I think you need a pair of glasses.”

Tay smiled faintly and went back to nailing a shingle into place.



Carol returned to the bedroom, stripped off her nightclothes, and took a bracing shower. Then, still wrapped in a towel, she dialed her father’s lawyer in Avalon and got his voice mail. She explained the situation and asked for him to call her back. Then she made coffee and tried to endure the din surrounding her, closing her eyes when something crashed from the roof to the ground outside the kitchen window. She retreated into the living room with her cup of coffee and waited for the phone to ring.

Contracts law was not her specialty, but her memory of the few courses she had taken made her fairly certain that she could force Kirkland to stop work. She was just annoyed that she would have to spend precious studying time getting rid of this intractable man and his crew of industrious noisemakers.

Carol sighed and took a sip of her drink. She had decided to spend the summer in Strathmere, a small New Jersey shore town, because it was quiet and out of the way, the perfect place to study. She had finished law school in May. Her father had seen her graduate and then died two weeks later, leaving her this house, where she had spent her childhood summers. Carol hadn’t been back to the cottage in Strathmere since she was ten, when her mother had died. There had been too many memories in the house for either remaining Lansing to enjoy staying there, so her father had rented it out during the succeeding years. Carol had no idea why he had decided to renovate it; he had been dating someone during the last year of his life and maybe he had wanted to bring Gloria to the house. Carol herself had only decided to come to Strathmere after his death, when she had remembered the town’s isolation and knew the house would be empty. She had felt that fifteen years was enough time to make the absence of her mother from the house less keenly felt, and she was right. Now only the good memories remained, and she had been looking forward to a quiet summer.

Strathmere was located between Ocean City and Avalon on a barrier island off New Jersey’s coast. Between the island towns and the peninsula, which ended in Cape May, flowed the Intracoastal Waterway on the west and the Atlantic Ocean on the east. With its elderly clapboard houses, single main street, and dusty, unpaved alleys housing fishermen and boat mechanics, Strathmere was not a tourist attraction. It had no boardwalk or amusements like Sea Isle City or Avalon or Wildwood farther to the south. It was isolated, accessible by only one bridge and clinging to the northernmost tip of the strip island. It had one decidedly noncontinental restaurant/bar and a handful of permanent residents whose families had been living in the little town for generations. The abandoned schoolhouse just a few doors away from Carol’s cottage was two hundred years old, built by laborers with their own hands; the streets leading away from the main drag to the water were little more than pebble-strewn footpaths, just wide enough to accommodate cars. Since its location discouraged “summer people,” its population was low all year ‘round, and it was the perfect place for Carol to hole up with her books and block out the rest of the world until the ordeal of the bar exam was behind her.

And now here she was in the midst of this sudden and infernal din, saddled with a raucous construction crew that refused to depart. That man Kirkland was certainly rude. She intended to make short work of him and his deafening little band.

The telephone rang. Carol went into the kitchen to answer it, avoiding the bedroom extension because of the noise right above that room.

“Hi, John,” she said in response to the greeting from her father’s lawyer, John Spencer.

“What seems to be the problem?” John asked.

“I described the problem on your voice mail,” Carol replied crisply. “I have this construction crew at my house and I want to get rid of them. Whatever they’re doing, I don’t want them to do it, and the boss refuses to call them off and leave.”

“Which company is it?” John asked. Carol heard the rustle of papers in the background as he took notes.

“Kirkland Construction.”

“Tay Kirkland?” John asked in surprise.

“Yes. That’s who he said he was, anyway.”

“He’s usually pretty reasonable.”

Carol made a disgusted sound. “Not on this occasion, I’m afraid.”

“Well, look. I don’t know what’s going on, your father never said anything to me about renovating the cottage, and if he signed a contract, he did so without my knowledge. I’ll give Kirkland a call and see if I can resolve the situation.”

“He’s up on my roof, if you want to talk to him,” Carol said dryly. “Do you want me to get him?”

“He’s usually in his office after he lets his crew go at three,” John said. “I’ll talk to him then. If you want to stop by my place around five, I should have something for you.”

“Fine,” Carol said shortly. “I’ll see you at five.”

She hung up the phone and went to the kitchen window, gazing out at the driveway where Tay Kirkland was now standing at the mouth of his pickup truck, directing the action. The sun glinted off his blond hair and ignited the gold in his watch as he raised his arm to gesture to one of his men. Carol studied the scene for a few moments, then went back to her bedroom. She went though the clothes she had brought with her, choosing a blue sundress with a bolero jacket and a pair of sandals that would not put pressure on her injured toe.

She would curl up in here to study and try her best to block out the noise. It was only for one day. After that the problem would be solved.



The construction crew departed precisely at three, and Carol enjoyed an hour and a half of blissful silence before she got into her father’s car to make the trip to Avalon. The weather was pleasant, with a sea breeze all the way, and she left the windows open for the salt air. Her good spirits had been restored by the time she reached John Spencer’s office, which was housed in a converted Victorian summer home about two blocks from the beach. But her upbeat mood dispelled rapidly when she saw who was sitting inside the lawyer’s suite, waiting for her.

“Tay came right over when I called him about your situation,” John said to Carol, almost apologetically, correctly reading the expression on her face when she spotted his companion. “He brought the contract with him.”

Kirkland rose to his feet as she entered the room and then sat again when she did.

The secretary, who was leaving for the day, pulled the office door shut behind them and then Carol heard the thud of the outer door closing, as well. She looked from one to the other of the two men slowly.

The silence echoed.

Taylor Kirkland was now wearing a dark blue, pinstriped suit of tropical wool, with a light blue shirt and a navy-and-white-figured tie. He sat with a manila folder in one tanned hand, the other resting lightly on the arm of his chair. Carol noticed that the blond hairs on his fingers were bleached almost white, and that his nails had recently been scrubbed scrupulously clean. The color of his shirt made his eyes look even more vivid than before, and his wavy hair had recently been wet combed into submission. It was now drying and curling around his ears and onto his forehead, lightening to a color millions of women regularly tried, and failed, to achieve in beauty salons.

Carol looked away from him deliberately.

John cleared his throat. “Well, I suppose we should get down to business,” he said.

“By all means,” Carol said.

“I’ve read Tay’s contract and I must say that everything in it looks to be in order,” John said. “Your father did contract for Tay’s firm to do the work on the house and it was scheduled to begin today. Tay is within his rights to insist on completing the job.”

Carol glared at him. “Even if I don’t want the work done?” she asked.

John sighed. “He can insist on specific performance from the estate, Carol. You’re not a layman, you know the rules.”

“I can get an injunction to keep him off the property until this is resolved in court. That’s in the rules, too.”

“To what end?”

“To the end of peace and quiet,” Carol said shortly.

John shook his head. “The court calendar is dead down here at the best of times—the fishermen don’t sue each other and the tourists stick to Avalon. The case will come up in a week and Tay will be back working on the house in ten days.”

“I take it you think I’d lose?” Carol inquired darkly.

“I think there’s a good chance of it.”

“So I let Kirkland here finish a job I don’t want done and for which I don’t have the money, or he sues me for interference with the performance of his contract and holds me up for a year on selling the house,” Carol said succinctly.

John pressed his lips together in silence. They both knew that was about the size of it.

“Thanks a lot, Kirkland,” Carol said sarcastically, and rose to go.

Kirkland, who up to this point had said nothing at all, rose abruptly and put his hand on her arm. Carol started and pulled back as if he had burned her. She looked up at him, riveted by the intensity of his gaze.

“I’m not trying to take advantage of you,” he said quietly. “I’ve hired extra men, cleared my schedule of other contracts, and invested a bundle in the materials for your job,” he said. “If I’m forced to stop it now, I won’t be able to unload the materials or get back the business I turned away. If you’ll just let me finish the job, I’ll take payment in the form of a builder’s lien against the property and you can pay me once you sell it. John says cottages like that one, so close to the water, go in a matter of weeks down at that end of the street. And you’ll get a lot more for it once it’s fixed up and modernized.”

“I see that you two boys have already figured this all out for me,” Carol said pointedly, folding her arms.

“It’s not like that,” Kirkland said softly.

“How is it?”

He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again. “I know you’re a lawyer…”

“Not quite yet, Mr. Kirkland, and it looks like your busy little troop of hammering devils just may keep me from ever becoming one.”

“Look, Miss Lansing. I really don’t want to give you a hard time. Can’t we reach some sort of compromise?”

His tone was low, almost seductive, and Carol realized that, without seeming to, he was charming her.

“Like what?” she said warily.

“I could adjust my schedule and work from eight to four so you could sleep an hour later in the morning every day,” he said reasonably.

“And the noise?” she asked archly.

He sighed. “I could use electric staple guns instead of hammers, pad the windows and doors while we’re there, to muffle the sound, and do the noisiest roofing at the end of the day when it won’t be as disturbing to you,” he replied.

Carol glanced at John, whose expression said, He’s trying, isn’t he?

Carol looked back at Kirkland, who was waiting tensely, his tall frame motionless.

“All right!” Carol said, throwing up her hands.

John grinned, and Kirkland permitted himself a half smile, his light eyes warming just a little.

“Why do I feel that I’ve just been outgunned?” Carol said wearily.

“Not ungunned,” John said. “Merely enlightened. You’ll make a tidy profit on the house once it’s renovated, even with the costs of the work deducted.”

“John, I understand that,” Carol said, holding up her hand. “But my concern at the moment is having a quiet place to study during the summer, not becoming a real estate profiteer.”

“I’ll do everything I can to help you study,” Kirkland said evenly, and Carol looked at him again.

It seemed that he meant it.

Carol nodded resignedly.

“Can you two shake on it?” John said genially, obviously relieved that he wouldn’t have to take legal steps to resolve their differences.

Kirkland extended his hand, and Carol reached out to grasp it. His palm was callused and work-hardened, but large and warm. Her fingers disappeared into it and then he relaxed his grip. She snatched her hand back hastily.

There was an awkward silence, then John said briskly, “Well, I’m glad we were able to come to terms on this. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get home—my wife will probably carve me up with the roast.”

Kirkland shook hands with John, glanced once more at Carol and said, “I’ll be back at your house at 8:00 a.m. tomorrow, then,” and left.

John packed his briefcase as he said, “Wait just a moment, Carol, I’ll walk out with you.”

Carol paused as he punched a button on his phone and then picked up his keys. She walked beside him as they left his office and he stopped to lock his door before proceeding down the steps that led to the street.

“How are you getting along, Carol?” John said. “You must miss your dad.”

“I do, but I’ve been so busy I don’t think his absence has really sunk in yet. Since I was away at school I really didn’t see him much, just talked to him on the phone.”

“Ever hear from Gloria?” John asked warily.

Carol shook her head. “She’s afraid that I’m going to contest the bequests to her in my father’s will, but I don’t plan to do that. She can keep whatever he gave her as long as I never have to see her again.”

“No love lost there, I take it.”

Carol shrugged. “When I saw that she was depositing my father’s money in a bank account with her name on it, I was not favorably impressed.”

John nodded. “I think that’s why he never told me about his renovation of the cottage. He was afraid I would attempt to talk him out of it.”

“Why?”

John glanced at her nervously.

“Tell me,” Carol said levelly.

John shrugged. “I think he planned to give the place to Gloria once it was redone. He just happened to die before he changed the provision in his will that left the cottage to you.”

Carol was silent.

“I’m sorry,” John said gently, “but I thought you should know in case she comes sniffing around, offering up witnesses to testify about his intent to give it to her.”

“Are there any?”

John shrugged. “Who knows? But I don’t think she’ll get anywhere. Any judge in the world would determine that she has already been well compensated for her period of ‘companionship.’ If she does file a complaint I don’t think it’s likely to get past a preliminary hearing. I just wanted you to be prepared for the possibility.”

Carol nodded. She wasn’t worried about Gloria; all Gloria wanted was money, and so more money would make her go away. Carol was much more concerned about passing the bar exam.

They had reached John’s car, a green BMW sports car, and as he unlocked it he said, “Why don’t you come home with me and join us for dinner? Beth would love to see you.”

“Thanks, John, but I’d like to get back to Strathmere. I still have unpacking to do and I want to be ready to hit the books early tomorrow.”

“Okay, but you have to give me a rain check.”

“I will.”

John tossed his briefcase onto the passenger seat of his car and slid under the wheel. As he started the car Carol said suddenly, “John, what do you know about this Taylor Kirkland?”

The older man squinted up at her as he adjusted his seat belt. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, he’s going to be on my property every day all summer, isn’t he?” she replied obliquely.

John thought a moment. “He’s a local boy, quiet, minds his own business. He built that construction company up all by himself from what I hear. His father was a fisherman. I don’t know many other personal details, but in business Kirkland has a reputation for being quite fair and aboveboard. That’s why I was surprised when he gave you trouble.”

“I guess he’s just determined to follow through on the contract my father signed,” Carol said glumly.

“You can’t blame Kirkland for that.”

“But I’d really like to,” Carol said, grinning, and they both laughed.

“Sure you won’t take me up on that offer of dinner?” John asked, glancing at his watch.

Carol realized that she was detaining him. “No, go ahead. And thanks for your help.”

“Call me if you need anything else,” John said, and shut his car door. Carol stepped back as he glided out of his parking space and then pulled out of the lot.

Carol walked toward her father’s car—his used backup model; Gloria hadn’t come after it because she was doubtless more satisfied with the new foreign sports sedan she had received. Carol was just getting into the driver’s seat, warm from sitting in the late afternoon sun, when a wave of dizziness came over her. She had to lean forward with her head on her crossed arms, hands gripping the steering wheel for support.

How long had it been since she’d eaten? She realized with alarm that supper the night before had been her most recent meal. She’d been in such a snit over her unwanted visitors all day that she’d forgotten about food.

The dizziness passed and she lifted her head. She knew from experience that she couldn’t drive back safely unless she had something to eat, and John’s car was now out of sight. She glanced across the street at a restaurant she’d been in with her father several times. Like John’s office, it was housed in a restored Victorian-style home. The first-floor rooms of the old house had been converted into a large dining salon. Usually the place required reservations but she was probably early enough on a weeknight to just walk in and be seated. She stood gingerly, then relocked her car and went across the street.

She was right. The dining room was only half full and she was given a secluded table near the back. She had just picked up the menu when a masculine voice next to her said, “Are you following me?”




Two (#ulink_2f59cf44-88dc-5eb9-9918-d5f787ad03db)


Carol turned abruptly and saw Tay Kirkland standing at her elbow. His tie was off, his jacket over his arm, and his open collar exposed a matte expanse of brown throat. When she looked startled at his remark, he smiled slightly and she realized that he was joking.

“I thought you’d be taking off with John,” he added.

“No, he was going home and I didn’t want to intrude. But I started to feel a little shaky when I got into my car and thought I’d better come over here for dinner.”

“Didn’t eat today?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“Too upset about the big bad construction crew invading your domain?” he asked archly.

Carol gazed at him in exasperation. “You may think my concern is ridiculous, Mr. Kirkland, but if you’ve ever tried to study with hammering and drilling surrounding you in stereophonic sound, you would know that it’s not.”

“Please call me Tay. And I’ve never been big on studying, but I can imagine that the kind of noise my outfit makes doesn’t exactly aid concentration.”

Carol said nothing. It was nice of him to be understanding now that he was getting what he wanted.

“I’d like to explain myself better than I did in John’s office if you’ll give me a chance. Do you mind if I join you for a minute?” he asked.

Carol hesitated, and he saw it.

“Never mind,” he said quietly, and turned to go.

Before she knew what she was doing, Carol had leaned forward and placed her hand on his wrist. He froze and looked down at her inquiringly.

“Please stay,” she said, then regretted her impulse when his eyes locked with hers, searching and very blue. His candid examination made her feel coltish, uncertain, and she was relieved when he pulled out a chair for himself at her table.

“Okay to sit?” he asked.

She nodded.

He settled in across from her and folded his arms in front of him. With his height and broad shoulders he dominated the small round table as if he were sitting in a child’s playhouse.

“I wanted to explain to you why I took such a hard line with your contract,” he said.

“I think you already did that.”

“Not completely. When I first started this business ten years ago, I got burned by quite a few people who backed out of their deals after I had ordered all the materials and hired the men for the jobs.”

“So you’ve said,” Carol observed impatiently. Why was he cornering her like this just to repeat himself?

He shook his head, holding up his hand. “Let me finish, there’s more. I have to think about my future business. In my industry, if you get a reputation for caving in when the client changes his mind, you’re in trouble. You have all sorts of people ordering up work and then backing out when they decide to pay for their daughter’s shotgun wedding or Junior’s braces or a trip to the Bahamas instead.”

“I didn’t order the work. My father did.”

“I understand that, but from my perspective it’s the same thing. I have to enforce my contracts or the accumulated costs, over time, will drive me out of business. I’m growing, but I’m not that big a company yet and I can’t afford to absorb the losses the way a national outfit could. It’s simple economics.”

Carol said nothing.

“Do you see my point at all?” he asked wearily, a slight note of pleading in his voice making her look at him more closely.

“Do business with a national outfit?” she suggested, and he grinned, breaking the tension.

“They like to enforce their contracts, too, and they can afford to hire people like you to make sure they do.”

“Nobody’s going to be hiring me unless I pass the bar,” Carol muttered.

“You will.”

She glanced at him, one eyebrow arched. “You’re a soothsayer?”

“I recognize determination when I see it,” he replied. “I’d hate to be one of the bar examiners if they turn you down.”

Carol smiled.

“So are we okay? No snits, no pouts, no grudges?”

“I never pout,” she said.

“I don’t imagine you do. An Uzi would be more your style.”

“You make me sound quite formidable, Mr. Kirkland.”

“I asked you to call me Tay.”

“All right, Tay. No snits and no pouts, I promise.”

He nodded. “Good.”

Carol studied him as he sat across from her. Was it possible he was really concerned that she would be angry with him? Or was he merely worried that she might interfere further with his renovations if he didn’t placate her now?

“I’ll do a great job and your place will be worth a fortune when I’m finished,” he added, and Carol had to smile again.

Kirkland might be quiet, as John had said, but she had to be careful of the man facing her across the snowy restaurant tablecloth.

He was just too attractive to have on the premises every day.

As if reading her thoughts, Kirkland pushed back his chair and stood.

“I guess I’ll be going,” he said.

“Would you like to stay and join me?” Carol asked, and she felt him measuring her expression, as if deciding whether her invitation was motivated by mere politeness.

“I hate to eat alone,” she added, and that seemed to make the decision for him.

“All right,” he said, and sat again, dropping his jacket on the chair next to him.

“Have you been here before?” Carol asked.

He nodded.

“What’s good?”

“The clam chowder is excellent, seafood’s the specialty. The swordfish and the trout almondine are usually top-notch.”

He sounded like a man who spent a lot of time in restaurants.

The waiter, who had been watching them during their earlier conversation, seemed relieved that Carol’s companion had decided to stay and materialized at Tay’s side.

“Are you ready to order?” he asked.

Tay looked at Carol. “I haven’t given you much of a chance to look at the menu,” he said.

“That’s all right, I’ll take your suggestion,” Carol replied. She turned to the waiter and said, “A bowl of the clam chowder and the grilled swordfish, please.”

He nodded, scribbling. “White or red chowder?” he said.

Carol looked at Tay.

“Red,” he advised. “And I’ll have the same. With the baby vegetables and a bottle of the house chablis.”

The waiter disappeared and Tay selected a breadstick from the basket on the table.

“Do you often forget to eat all day?” he asked Carol, biting into the stick, which snapped under the assault of his teeth.

“Not often. It’s a bad idea when you have low blood sugar. Everything tends to get a little hazy around the edges.”

“I could never forget to eat,” he said, smiling. “My stomach always reminds me.”

“It happens only when I get really preoccupied. I passed out during exams once, right after civil procedure. The instructor was mortified, he thought I had fainted because I was afraid I’d failed the test. I had to tell him that I’d been studying so hard I’d skipped breakfast and lunch.”

“I guess I should be flattered that I’m as much of a distraction as a civil procedure exam,” Tay said lazily.

Carol met his eyes, then looked away.

“What is civil procedure, anyway?”

“Torture. Sheer, maddening torture. It’s all confusing cases and decisions about who can bring a case, where it should be brought, if it has enough merit to be heard, on and on and on. It’s the Waterloo of the first year of law school and everybody dreads it.”

“I’ll bet you got an A,” he said, polishing off his breadstick.

Carol glanced at him, startled.

“Did you?” he said.

She sighed. “Yes.”

He chuckled, the low, throaty sound drifting across the table toward her as the waiter brought their appetizers.

Carol picked up her spoon and Tay watched her reaction as she tasted the soup.

“Very good,” she said.

“Not too spicy?”

“No, it’s fine.”

They ate in silence for a while, and when Carol’s bowl was almost empty he said, “Feeling better?”

“Much.”

“I think you need someone to take care of you,” he said quietly.

“I’m doing just fine,” Carol replied firmly. “Lots of people skip meals, it doesn’t mean they need a keeper.”

He let that pass, pouring them both a glass of wine when the waiter brought the bottle.

“I hope you like this, it’s actually much better than some of the big label stuff,” he said, saluting her with the glass.

Carol sipped hers obediently and nodded.

“Did you spend all your summers down here when you were a kid?” Tay asked, watching her.

“From the time my father bought the house, yes.”

“I don’t remember you,” he said, as if he should.

“A few years is an unbridgeable gulf between kids,” Carol replied.

“But not between adults,” he observed.

The busboy cleared the table and shortly afterward the waiter brought the main course. Tay speared a tiny carrot with a tine of his fork and said, “How do they get these things so small? Are they shrunken or something?”

“Beats me. They must grow that way, like Bonsai trees. The fish is delicious.”

“I’m glad you like it. Maybe this experience will encourage you to eat regularly. I can’t have you passing out on the sidewalk in front of my construction crew.”

“I shouldn’t have told you that story,” Carol muttered, and he chuckled.

Carol stared at him, riveted in spite of herself, then took another sip of her wine.

“Do you like living at the seashore all year ‘round?” she asked.

“Sure. Why not?”

“Well, I should think it might be dismal in the winter—gray ocean, gray skies, empty beaches.”

“Spoken like a true summer person,” he said dryly. “Actually, the beach in winter is very nice.”

“If you’re an Eskimo.”

“If you like peace and quiet, as you supposedly do.”

Carol paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. He had scored a point off her without even trying.

“I only meant that the image of a deserted and windswept beach is a lonely one,” Carol said quietly.

“For landscape artists, maybe. But I like the isolation, it helps me to think. When the tourists flood in over the Memorial Day weekend I always want to head for the hills. At least Strathmere is off the beaten path, I could never stand living in one of the big towns that turn into a Mardi Gras every summer.”

“Don’t like the Ferris wheels and coin toss booths, eh?”

“I avoid all amusement parks,” he said. “Have you ever noticed that people do things on vacation they would never do at home?”

“You mean toting around the boardwalk souvenirs, the funny hats and the giant blue teddy bears?” Carol asked.

“And who are the merrymakers? Drunken teenagers in wrecked cars and middle-aged tire salesmen in hula skirts,” he said.

Carol giggled. “You don’t paint a very pretty picture of the summer visitors. I was one of them, you know.”

“I’m sure you weren’t one of the worst. You had a home here and stayed the whole season. The worst of them blow in for a week or two, stay soused the entire time, then leave a trail of litter behind on the beach and a trail of beer cans on the way out of town.”

The waiter approached and said, “Is everything all right?”

“You can take this, I’m done,” Carol said.

“Do you want anything else?” Tay asked.

“No, I’m fine.”

“Coffee, dessert?” the waiter said.

“Just coffee for me,” Carol replied.

Tay nodded in agreement. Carol felt as if she were on a date, with Tay directing the action, even though their meeting had been a coincidence.

“Do you like what you do?” Carol asked as Tay picked up the bottle and tipped it to top off her glass.

Carol covered it. “I have to drive,” she said.

He replaced the bottle in its stand. “Construction?” he said.

“Yes.”

He nodded. “I like working with my hands, and it’s very satisfying to see the completed job and know I was responsible for it. I can drive up any street in Strathmere and see how my efforts have improved or redone the old houses, in some cases even saved them from collapsing.”

“I see.”

“Do you feel that way about the law?”

She hesitated before answering. “The law is malleable. It can be a force for good, but it can also be used in negative ways.”

“I guess that means you have to be careful.”

“Yes, it does. You have to be careful about what type of law you practice and which cases you choose.”

Their coffee came, and they sipped it as Tay asked, “Does that mean you won’t be representing any Mafia dons?”

Carol smiled. “It seems unlikely.”

“Embezzling bankers?”

“They can usually afford the experienced, high-priced practitioners. That’s not me.”

“Deserting husbands, deadbeat dads, Wall Street tax evaders?” he suggested.

“I can see you have the same impression of lawyers as you do of summer visitors,” Carol said, laughing.

He shrugged. “Your profession hasn’t been getting very good press for a long time.”

“That’s true, but it doesn’t mean all lawyers are creeps.”

“You certainly don’t look like a creep,” he said mildly.

Carol glanced toward the entrance of the dining room and saw that a line had formed there. She also noticed that the waiter was hovering anxiously.

“I really have enjoyed this, Tay, but I have to go,” Carol said, putting down her cup. “Could you call for the check and then—”

“The check is mine,” he said, interrupting her firmly. “I’ll see you out to your car.”

He settled the bill and they left the restaurant, the soft evening air embracing them as they emerged into it.

“Nice night,” Tay observed, taking Carol’s arm to guide her across the street.

“I have always loved a summer dusk,” Carol replied. “Of course, it does take some of the sparkle out of it when you consider that more car accidents occur at this time of day than any other.”

Tay laughed; when she looked at him he was shaking his head.

“That’s the sort of thing a lawyer would know,” he said.

“Or an insurance adjuster. It’s something about the change in perspective, drivers have difficulty dealing with the diminishing daylight. It’s actually safer to drive in full dark.”

“I’ll bear it in mind, Ralph Nader,” he said.

They reached her car and he waited while she unlocked it and got in, starting the motor and turning on the lights.

“Thanks for letting me join you for dinner,” he said quietly.

“Thanks for the dinner.”

“Good night.”

“Good night.” Carol watched him walk out of the lot, saw the way his bright hair caught the light from the street lamp, noted the flexing of his muscles as he shouldered briskly into his coat. She finally dragged her eyes away.

She almost wished she had not had dinner with him. He wasn’t just her nemesis anymore, he was a person now, a person with a sense of humor and a point of view.

And a very distracting presence.

What she didn’t need now, she thought again as she started her car, was a distraction.

And Taylor Kirkland promised to be a powerful one.



Tay unlocked the door of his truck, realized that he was wearing his jacket again, and took it off to toss it in the back. As he inserted the key into the ignition he thought about the new summer resident on Schoolhouse Lane in Strathmere.

Carol Lansing was an unexpected and problematic development.

He liked her already; he liked her too much, and he was concerned that his compromise with her would slow his work schedule. But it was either make the deal or have her tie him up in the courts. Or raise Cain every time one of his workmen dropped a hammer. His infallible charm routine didn’t seem to work too well on her, either; at dinner she had seemed to be as smart and aware as she was pretty. He only hoped she’d stay inside the house and study, as she’d said. The last thing he needed was a curvaceous brunette in a bikini parading past his men while they were trying to work.

And while he was trying to work.

He was already having difficulty putting her out of his mind.

He turned the key in the ignition and gunned the motor.



Carol was up, showered and dressed when Kirkland Construction descended on her the next morning. As she waited for her friend Jane, who had gone to law school with her and lived nearby in Stone Harbor, to arrive for a study session, the crew muffled the windows and sealed the doors before they set to work. The effect was peculiar: instead of loud and insistent pounding filling the house, the noise now sounded like distant thunder. Carol tried to ignore it and assembled her note cards and books on the kitchen table, rising to let Jane into the house when her knock came at the front door.

“What is going on here?” Jane said breathlessly as she entered the cottage and looked around wonderingly. “Are you experimenting with plutonium? This place is sealed off like a murder scene.”

“It’s a long story,” Carol replied wearily.

“Well, you’d better tell me, I’m just bursting with curiosity,” Jane said as she dumped her backpack on a chair.

Carol related the dismal tale as she poured a cup of coffee for her friend.

“And is that towering creature with the wavy blond hair the villain of this piece?” Jane asked archly. “He nodded to me as I breezed past him, laden with my twenty pounds of books. He took them from me in silence and deposited them on the porch, then nodded again when I thanked him.”

“That’s the one. John Spencer says he doesn’t talk very much.”

“For heaven’s sake, Carol, who cares if he can talk? That’s the most gorgeous man I have ever seen! I can’t believe you were trying to get rid of him, I would have been begging him to stay.”

“I must be a little more interested in passing the bar than you are, Jane,” Carol said dryly.

“Oh, come on, the noise isn’t that bad.”

“Today it isn’t that bad. Yesterday it sounded like the anvil chorus was being performed on my roof.”

“So you had a romantic dinner with him?” Jane asked, selecting the most interesting tidbit from Carol’s previous recitation.

“I did not have a romantic dinner with him,” Carol replied in a strong voice. “We shared a meal because we both happened to be in the same place at the same time. The whole event lasted little more than an hour.”

“How could you let that opportunity pass? You should have nailed his feet to the floor for the night!”

“I was angry with him, Jane,” Carol said, beginning to get annoyed with her friend, too. “He was insisting on completing a job I didn’t want done. Don’t you get the picture?”

“I’ll bet you weren’t angry by the time dinner was over,” Jane observed slyly.

Carol shot her a look.

“So he’s staying?” Jane said, cutting to the chase.

“Obviously.”

“Well, at least I’ll have the scenery to look forward to around here, since you’re a complete grouch.”

Carol lifted a stack of three-by-five index cards and placed them on the table between them.

“May we begin with these notes on contracts?” she said, changing the subject to the work at hand.

Jane reached for them resignedly and began to read out loud.



Around noon Jane suddenly raised her head and said, “What’s that sound?”

“Blessed silence. The crew is taking a lunch break.”

Jane leapt up from the table and walked over to the front window, peering past a wad of padding to look out at the front lawn. “Oh, be still my heart! Blondie is taking off his shirt.”

Carol scrambled over to the window and yanked the shade down to the sill.

“Why did you do that?” Jane demanded, outraged.

“Do you want him to see you peering out at him like some swooning teenager?”

“Anyone is permitted to look out the window, Carol. You’re being ridiculous.”

The phone started ringing, sparing Carol a reply. When she answered it she heard a sweetly feminine voice say, “Hi, this is Madeline, Mr. Kirkland’s personal assistant. Would it be possible for me to speak to him? I have to consult him about a business matter.”

Carol put the caller on hold and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” Jane demanded.

“The call is for Kirkland,” Carol said shortly. Before Jane could answer, Carol was out the door and down the steps, striding across the lawn, which was now covered with a layer of fine dust and large wood chips. Kirkland looked up from his sandwich as Carol stopped in front of him.

“Help you?” he said.

“There’s a call for you inside the house,” Carol said.

He rose immediately, untying his T-shirt from his waist and slipping it over his head. He left the sandwich behind on the tailgate of his truck where he had been sitting. His men watched as he followed Carol back into the house.

“Over there,” Carol said, pointing to the phone sitting on the kitchen table. Both women left the room as he leaned against the wall and spoke into the receiver, the call box under his arm.

“I’ll bet it was a woman,” Jane muttered under her breath as she and Carol entered the living room.

“She said it was a business matter,” Carol whispered back.

“Huh. Monkey business.”

“Jane…”

“He put his shirt back on to come in here. Very gallant.”

Carol opened her mouth to reply, then thought better of it as Kirkland joined them.

“Thanks,” he said to Carol.

She nodded. His attitude toward her was distant and businesslike; it was as if their shared dinner had never happened.

“The mobile phone in my truck has been on the blink for the last couple of days. All I get is static. But I’ve got them working on it, you won’t be bothered again,” he added.

“It was no bother,” Carol said.

“Hi, I’m Jane Langley. How do you do?” Jane said, stepping forward and sticking out her hand.

Kirkland shook it, glancing once at Carol and then back at Jane. “How are you?” he said to her.

“Great. Seems like you guys are making a lot of progress on the house,” she said brightly.

He nodded.

“Construction must be an interesting business,” Jane observed.

“It has its moments,” he replied shortly.

“Do you work mostly in the summer?” Jane asked, emitting a flood of pheromones.

“Outdoor jobs. In the cold weather I do plastering and flooring, that kind of thing.” He looked once more at Carol. “Well, I’d better get back out there. Thanks again.” He walked out of the house, and the front door closed behind him moments later.

“‘Construction must be an interesting business,’” Carol chirped, batting her lashes, imitating Jane. “About as interesting as watching grass grow. Really, Jane, sometimes you can be embarrassing.”

“At least I talked to him. You stood there like a floor lamp.”

“Perhaps I’m reluctant to make a fool of myself,” Carol said.

“Fine, Carol. You can play it cool if you like. I’m a human being even if you’re not, and I plan to try again.”

“Then you’re not studying here with me. I am not going to have you panting after him every time you come to this house.” Carol turned her back on Jane to pour herself a cup of coffee.

“You’re forbidding me to talk to him?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Then what? I can ask him out?”

“Don’t you think that’s a bit forward?”

“Don’t you think you’re a bit Victorian?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Jane, what are we arguing about? The man is probably married.” Carol put the pot back on the warmer and picked up her cup.

“He’s not married.”

Carol whirled to face her, the cup in her hand sloshing liquid. “How do you know?”

Jane burst out laughing and leveled an accusing finger at her friend. “You are interested in him, I knew it!”

“I’m interested in him, okay?” Carol said quietly. “You’re right. It’s utterly absurd. The man undoubtedly hates me because I tried to get him thrown off this job, but there’s just something about him…”

“There certainly is, and I must say I’m relieved that you’ve noticed it. At school you were so glued to your books I wondered if you were preparing for a somewhat unusual legal career in a convent.”

Carol sighed. “Jane, this conversation is getting us nowhere. I am starving and I’m going to make lunch. You may join me if you like, if you can stop talking long enough to chew.”

Jane pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and sat. “I have one last thing to say.”

Carol closed her eyes. “As long as it is the last thing.”

“Now that you’ve met someone you want, go after him.”

“In my own way, Jane. Not yours.”

Jane held up her hands to indicate innocence. “I’ll be a fly on the wall,” she said meekly.

“That’ll be the day. Tuna, grilled cheese, or turkey?”

“Tuna,” Jane replied glumly, and hooked her sandaled feet in the rungs of the chair.




Three (#ulink_a766c3e3-4028-5b8f-bc7d-de7cb7c7354e)


Two weeks went by, during which the roof was reshingled, the new back deck took shape, and Jane arrived to study every day. Tay Kirkland came and went like clockwork, directing his men, talking to Carol only when it was necessary, interrupting her routine as little as possible.

It was exactly what she had requested, but she didn’t like it. She longed for an interlude of personal intimacy like their meal in Avalon, some indication that he knew she was alive, but he stayed out of her way. She caught glimpses of him, but the most she received in response to her greetings was a nod. Jane constantly urged Carol to go outside and talk to Tay, but she couldn’t strike up a conversation with all of his employees looking on like a studio audience.

Maybe Jane could, but Carol couldn’t.

One day when Jane had decided to spend the morning at the law library in Cape May, researching a point of the New Jersey criminal code, Carol noticed that Kirkland arrived alone. She watched as he left his truck and disappeared around the corner of the house. Curious, she opened the door to the back deck and found him crouched on the ground, filling a crack in the foundation with what looked like grout.

He glanced up as she emerged.

“What are you doing?” she asked, leaning over the railing to get a better look.

“Sealing the cellar wall. We disturbed the ground and caused a few fissures in the stone. If I don’t fill them with this stuff, water will seep in and cause problems in the future.”

“Where are the guys?”

“They’re finishing up another project on the west side of town. This is a one-man job anyway.” He looked over her shoulder. “Where’s your buddy?”

“She went to look something up in the Jersey archives. The procedure for bringing cases into court varies from state to state and we have to bone up on the local methods.”

He nodded one of his frustrating, noncommittal nods. Carol mustered her courage and said quickly, “Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee?”

He looked up from his work and studied her with such intensity that Carol grew uncomfortable. Was this a major decision? Had she asked him to marry her?

“Sure,” he finally said shortly, putting down his grout gun. He rose in one smooth motion and took a rag from his back pocket, wiping the gray gunk from his fingers as he came up the steps. He paused on the landing next to Carol, looking down at her. She was tall, but he was taller. It was an unusual sensation for Carol to look so far up into a man’s eyes.

“Come in,” she said hastily to break the spell. When she opened the door he put his arm above her head to hold it for her, and she caught a brief scent of soap and sun-warmed male flesh. Then he moved and the moment passed.

“Have a seat,” she added.

He pulled out a chair and dropped into it, easing down onto the base of his spine and stretching his long legs in front of him. Today he was wearing an aqua T-shirt, faded from many washings, which dyed his eyes the color of a Bermuda inlet at dawn. He watched her move around the kitchen, pouring coffee, setting out a plate of cookies, and she fancied she could feel his eyes boring into her back. When she sat across from him he took a bite of one of the cookies and said, “Good.” He smiled. “She cooks, too.”

“Not really. They’re from a mix.”

“Well, you didn’t burn them.”

“True.” She watched the working of his throat as he swallowed. “How long do you think it will take to wrap up this job?” she asked.

“Still trying to get rid of me?” he countered.

Carol looked at him directly. “No.”

He shrugged. “It’s hard to say. A lot of variables are involved—the efficiency of the crew, the quality of the materials, the weather…”

“The weather? It’s been nice every day.”

“Hurricane season is coming soon, and this house is in a bad spot.”

“Why?”

“The locals call this inlet Hurricane Bay. The close headlands on either side of it create a funnel that narrows to a point just past your place. It makes a wind tunnel in a storm. The schoolhouse roof has blown off several times in the last ten years.”

“I didn’t know that. We never had any trouble when I came here as a kid.”

“The weather pattern has shifted. A friend of mine is a meteorologist at a radio station in Atlantic City and he’s been tracking it.”

“I see.” Their eyes met, and Carol knew that neither one of them was thinking about the weather.

He held the ensuing silence for a long beat and then asked, “You doing anything for lunch?”

“Peanut butter and jam?” Carol suggested.

He grinned. “I’m not fond of peanut butter myself. I think I ate too much of it as a kid. Would you like to go out and get something?”

“Where?”

“The only restaurant in town is Cater’s, and it doesn’t open until three,” he said, laughing. “We’d have to drive to Avalon.”

“Why don’t we stay here? I could make lunch, if you’d like to join me.”

“Don’t go to any special trouble.”

“It’s no trouble.”

He rose, draining his mug. “Is twelve-thirty okay?” he said, setting the cup back on the table.

“Twelve-thirty is fine.”

“See you then.” He sauntered across the kitchen and out the back door, letting the screen door slam behind him.

Carol smiled to herself and began to clear the table.



The morning progressed with glacial speed; Carol kept glancing at the clock, only to discover that just a few minutes had passed. She finally gave up trying to study. She prowled the house, straightening things that didn’t need moving, shuffling books on the shelves, watering the plants she’d brought from her apartment, listening for Tay’s movements outside. At twelve o’clock she made the salad and sliced the strawberries for dessert. At twelve-twenty she heard the gush of the lawn hose and looked out the window to see Tay stripped to the waist, washing under its stream.

Carol stood to the side and watched as he let the water cascade over his hair and torso. There was a ring of sunburn around his neck and his whole upper body was a golden brown, his arms below the biceps several shades darker. Carol studied the movement of the muscles framing his spine as he thrust his free hand through his damp hair, then she looked away as he turned off the tap and hung up the hose. She ran to the mirror and fluffed her hair, checking her lipstick and looking up with a smile as he tapped on the door.

“Hungry?” she said.

“You bet.” He’d put on another shirt he must have had in the truck, a yellow polo that highlighted his water-darkened blond hair and contrasted with his tan.

He seemed to look wonderful in everything.

“Can I help?” he asked as she set the table.

“No, everything is done.”

“Looks good,” he said, sinking into the chair she indicated. Carol put a glass of iced tea in front of him and then sat across from him as he lifted a fork and dug into the salad. She waited for his reaction. He looked up and saw her watching him.

“Great,” he pronounced. “What is it?”

“Salade niçoise.”

“From a mix?” he said, and she laughed.

“No, that’s my own concoction.”

“And this?” he asked, gesturing to his other plate.

“Cold chicken. Doesn’t it look familiar?”

“Oh, I just wondered if there was anything fancy going on there. I liked to be warned.”





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