Chapter Ten

“OK. First the good news.” Clay Walker escorted Mike and Lane through the side door into the Mimosa Theater and up the steps to her apartment. “The good news is the building’s safe. Lots of smoke damage and what was left of the wiring is shot, so no electricity. But everything’s structurally sound.”

“Thanks for talking to the insurance adjustors,” Mike said. “They’ve expedited my claim.”

Lane listened numbly. She’d spent the last few days cocooned on Mike’s boat, playing with Gemma and Jemima, listening to people say how lucky she was the sprinklers had put out the fire, that it was caused by a freak lightning strike and not the wiring problems she’d ignored for years, that the Midsummer Night’s Dream costumes—locked safely in glass cases—had escaped undamaged.

But what if Ashely hadn’t smelled smoke? Lane trudged upward. What if the girls had been asleep?

“The bad news,” Clay continued, resting one hand on the doorknob, “is that even if you fix the wiring, the upstairs flat is pretty much ruined.”

Lane forced herself to react. “You’ve been wonderful, Clay. Thanks.” As Ashley’s stepfather, the man had every right to be as upset as she was. Instead he’d taken charge, bringing in his own structural engineer, attending walk-throughs and meetings between Mike and the contractors, fire inspectors, and insurance adjustors who’d been swarming through the building. Not for the first time, Lane found herself indebted to friends at Casa Blanca. But for the first time she felt completely unworthy.

Mike’s arm went comfortingly around her waist.

“Ready?” Clay opened the door.

The smell assaulted her first, the sour, poisonous odor of things never meant to be burned. Ceiling, walls, furniture, the bits and pieces of costumes she’d left lying around were covered in squelching layers of soot, tracked with tears where sprinkler water had hit the surfaces and run down. Actual flames had never reached the apartment, but the air conditioning vents had poured deadly smoke straight into the flat.

Mike said, “Gussie thinks most of the clothes are salvageable.” He squeezed Lane’s waist. “She and Willow carted them off to some miracle cleaner they know. I’ll get a stack of boxes this afternoon and we can go through the rest of your things together.”

“That isn’t necessary.” Mike had delayed his cruise once already to deal with this mess. “Janet will help. And anyway, everything that matters got out during the fire.” She turned to Clay. “Ashley was wonderful, checking bedrooms, locking the door. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay her.”

Clay surprised Lane by laughing. “I think she’s planning to cash in on a part in Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

“With MCT? Whatever she wants.” Lane glanced at Mike. “I mean, assuming we get the theater repaired.”

“I’ll leave that to the two of you.” Clay shook Mike’s hand, accepted a hug from Lane, and headed out, abandoning the two of them to the wreckage.

“Let’s go upstairs,” Mike said. “It’s too depressing in here.”

“Upstairs?”

“I used to go up on the roof all the time.” He carried a kitchen chair to the landing outside her flat, climbed on it, and opened a trap door in the ceiling before unfolding a hidden ladder and offering Lane his hand.

The roof was hot and flat, surrounded by a three-foot-high parapet wall, shaded by towering royal palms that grew in the neighbor’s yard. A stiff breeze from the turquoise Gulf reduced the stench of fire from their clothes.

“Gets in your mouth.” Mike handed Lane a peppermint candy and unwrapped one for himself. “The smoke.” He gazed down at a flock of seagulls at the docks. “I think that’s the worst part, when nobody’s hurt.”

He seemed to be speaking from experience. “Have you been in a fire before?”

“Not directly. A plane crashed and burned on base way back when I was in training. They had the BTs—recruits—work cleanup, hoping it would impress us.” He looked at Lane. “It did.”

Lane didn’t know anything about the Air Force except what she’d researched since meeting Mike. “I found a picture of you in an old online newsletter. Pushing paratroopers out of the back of an airplane.” She watched his eyebrows rise. “I mean, not that I’m cyber stalking….”

“I wouldn’t mind if you were.”

Her stomach fluttered. “But I feel like I’ve been pushed out of an airplane. I’m falling and I don’t know what comes next.”

“Five-point landing, free your chute, regroup. Unless you haven’t got a parachute. In which case, you hope you’ve got a friend nearby who does.” Mike took her hand. “You’ve got lots of friends. What do you want?”

“I don’t know.” Maybe that was her problem. “I can’t think past moving back in with the judge and Janet.”

“You could come with me on my cruise. You and Gemma and Mima.”

Did he mean that? “For two months?”

“It will be tight quarters with my other guests. But we can make it work.” He put his hands behind Lane’s back and pulled her to him. “I’m very skilled….” Their kiss tasted of peppermint and promise.

“At organizing,” Lane breathed. “I know—” His second kiss took her breath away. Lane ran her hands up Mike’s muscular shoulders, wondering how she’d lived without a man so long, how she could ever live without this man again.

“Organizing,” he murmured huskily, “is just one skill I plan to use to keep you happy in tight quarters.”

“Sounds amazing.” What a wonderful fantasy, to pack the girls and leave her problems behind. “Thank you so, so much for asking. I’d love to. But I can’t.”

“Is it….” He hesitated. “Is it because I’m not an actor? Not college educated? Not like….”

“Alex?” Did that worry him? “Heavens, no.”

“He made you happy. Maybe you’re not ready to leave that behind.”

“I’m not,” Lane said. “I’ll never leave it behind completely. It’s too much part of who I am. But that doesn’t mean I can’t, um….” Was she falling in love with Mike? Don’t be clingy. “Can’t have other relationships.”

That sounded cold. Lane swallowed and tried to explain.

“I was a kid when I got married. Barely twenty. Alex adored my innocence, and I loved being adored.” Who could resist the handsome, debonair Alex Talmadge? “I gave up acting, skated through school, had kids all in a glamorous whirl. But it was his world. Big, bold, and wonderful, but everything revolved around him.”

She took a breath. “After his accident, when Alex was more and more bedridden, we made a new world, full of books and cozy intimacy. But that was his, too—revolving around his health, his relationship with the children, his needs.”

A yellow sailboat was beating its way around Pleasure Pointe. Lane watched it tack into the wind.

“Alex’s last year, when we both knew he was losing ground, he started asking for time alone, sending me off to work with Essie. At first I thought he didn’t want me to see how bad the pain was getting, but that wasn’t the main reason. He wanted me to find a world of my own.”

A seagull settled on the parapet and tipped its head at them. “That world’s the theater, and it’s the first time in ten years I’ve had my own ambition.” Lane understood now what she wanted. “I don’t expect you to stay with me or sink a lot of money into repairing the building. It wouldn’t be fair.” She looked at Mike. “But I can’t run away, however great it sounds. My dream, the world Alex and Esther helped me find, is here.” It didn’t matter if she and the gidgets had their own flat or lived in Janet’s extra rooms. “I’m going to keep bringing theater to Mimosa Key. In schools, under the causeway, or barefoot on the beach. Because that’s what I am. Because, at least for now, it’s what I have to do.”

“OK.” Mike gazed at the horizon. “That makes sense.”

“So, it’s all right if you don’t want to use the insurance money to fix the theater. Honestly. The building’s just a shell.”

The seagull squawked irritably and flew away.

“Careful.” Mike squeezed Lane’s hand. “I think Aunt Esther heard you.”

She giggled. “Mike!”

“Come here.” His smile forgave her for rejecting him. “Sit with me.”

They found a shaded spot where they could lean against the wall. From that low angle, all that was visible of Mimosa Key was pure blue sky marked by the rippling palm fronds overhead—an upside-down ocean, dotted by leafy boats.

“If it was just us….” Mike put his arm behind Lane, providing the best possible cushion. “If it was just us, I’d say we should give up on the building. I don’t know much about theaters except they always seem to be desperate for money. My guess is Charity’s right—there’s a good chance you’d end up bankrupt even starting with a working stage.”

Lane forced herself to listen quietly.

“But it’s not just us. All these plans I made to cruise the world in the Hermia to honor Uncle Elias’ memory—it seems to me Aunt Esther deserves honoring, too.”

The gull flew back, hovered facing the breeze and landed. This time it had a friend.

“So here’s my suggestion. We use the insurance money to rewire the building and pay for basic repairs like cleaning smoke off the auditorium ceiling. It won’t stretch much farther than that.”

“I’ve got the auction money.” Lane tried not to sound eager. “That’s enough to repair the stage. Not state of the art, but basic sound and lights, and maybe folding chairs to muddle through our first year.”

“I’d rather you kept the auction money. Essie left the costumes to you, not to the Mimosa Community Theater. I think she wanted to give you a financial cushion.” He squeezed Lane’s arm.

Despite the heat she snuggled closer. “I don’t mind investing in the theater.”

“Maybe, but I’m not finished.” Mike turned toward her, touching her cheek. “Essie could have left you the building, or left it to the theater company, and I would never have given it a second thought. But she left it to me. So when I sell to the Captain’s Club, I’m going to put two-thirds of the proceeds into the Mimosa Community Theater nonprofit foundation.” He smiled. “Assuming you set one up by then.”

“But—”

“That ought to keep Charity Grambling—or anyone else—from throwing you out after I’m gone.”

“But—”

“No buts. It’s what I want. And I think it’s what Essie would have wanted.”

“It is. It’s wonderful. And much more generous than anything I imagined.” What had Lane done to deserve this guy? “Except….” She clasped the fingers touching her face. “Except I don’t want you to go.”

“Me neither.” Mike gathered her for a kiss.

Lane lifted and turned to face him, swinging her knee across his lap. “I really, really don’t want you to go.” He had the sexiest hair, the most appealing muscular neck and shoulders.

Mike growled softly. Strong arms crushed Lane against his chest. Hands, large and irresistible, slid through her hair, grasping her head. She melted into him, forgetting her troubles, her sense of failure. Forgetting everything except how much she needed this man.

Mike removed his shirt and spread it on the ground. Then he took off Lane’s shirt and layered it on top of his. Without dislodging her from his lap, without exposing an inch of skin over the parapet, he maneuvered them both out of their jeans and laid those flat as well, creating a Lane-on-Mike outline of clothing.

Lane stroked him languidly, barely aware of what was happening, intensely conscious of every point of connection between them. At last he laid her back onto the fabric cushion, hovering above her on hands and knees.

“Mine.” Mike uttered the only word that mattered.

“Yes.” She was his. “I want you so much.”

He claimed her mouth first, then her body, then her soul.

Lane vibrated beneath Mike’s whispered answer. “I’m yours.”