Chapter Four
Damien inhaled the salty air and let it fill his lungs. The remote beach stretched on for miles without another person in sight, only shells and sand, seaweed and the occasional piece of driftwood. A reddish-gold glow painted the horizon, reminding him of the old mariners’ rhyme, “Red sky at night, sailors’ delight. Red sky at morning, sailors take warning.” He should have taken a warning before kissing Lindsey. As the kiss had changed from tender and sweet to an intensity that had nearly knocked him off his feet, he’d wanted nothing more than to drag her into bed. Then the baby had given him a swift kick and reminded him that Lindsey was off-limits and he’d screwed up again.
When he pulled away he’d seen her flushed cheeks, the way her lips were swollen from rubbing against his. Desire clouded her wide eyes, and he’d almost drawn her back against him. He crouched down, picked up a flat rock, and flung it into the ocean. It hopped over the surf until it disappeared beneath the waves. What was he doing anyway? Lindsey was tremendously pregnant and looked as if she were ready to have her baby any day now. Whenever he got close, her belly bump pressed into him. It should have turned him off completely. Not because she wasn’t beautiful—she was as gorgeous as ever—but she had just as much, if not more, baggage than him. And once the baby came…
Kids had always made him uneasy. He wasn’t sure how to interact with them and he wasn’t sure he’d be the best role model for one. A child deserved someone they could look up to. Someone they could trust. And why was he even thinking about how he’d interact with Lindsey’s kid? Clearly her impending motherhood did nothing to curb his desire for her, or stop him from playing out scenarios in his head. Ones where he could be the type of man she deserved. But what did it matter? He was only here temporarily. He could help her in the short-term, but permanence wasn’t an option for him.
Thoroughly annoyed with himself, he picked up another rock and chucked it into the blue. As it skipped out toward the horizon line, another rock hopped past it, traveling feet beyond its own. His adrenaline surged, and he spun to his right. His tightened shoulders eased when he saw Lindsey standing there with a smug look on her face.
The sound of rushing waves had masked her approach and caught him off guard. He’d been ambushed during a mission in Afghanistan and it had cost him his best friend, and a good soldier. It had been his fault. Johnny’s blood would always stain his hands. Breathe in, breathe out. He did that, until the knot in his stomach eased and images of blood pumping over the sunbaked sand subsided. The dog yipped, bringing him back to the present. Daisy dug through washed-up seaweed at Lindsey’s feet; the dog rarely left her side.
“I’m still better than you.” Lindsey smirked and held up another rock. “Best out of three?”
“Loser makes breakfast.” His lips instantly curved and he bent to find a stone.
She did the same, crouching awkwardly in the sand to look for a rock.
“Not sure I’m in the mood for scorched eggs,” she said. When Lindsey’s face lit with a playful grin, his nerve endings awakened and stirred. A seagull cried out in the distance, waves ebbed and flowed with a rhythmic whoosh-whoosh. The sounds of the beach made a serene orchestra around them.
“Good, because we’ll be having omelets whipped up by Executive Chef Hunter.” He wiped crumbly damp sand off a decent-sized rock, tossed it in the air, and caught it. “Get your spatula ready, Freckles,” Damien said. Something jerked inside him when her playful laugh filled the air.
He pulled his arm back, snapped his wrist forward, and propelled his rock past Lindsey’s. Damien let out a victory whoop. “I can practically smell those omelets now,” he said.
A determined look stole over her features, and on the final round, her rock sailed by his, putting his throw to shame.
“I bet you look good in an apron, Damien. I’m going to enjoy the view over my burnt toast.” Lindsey stood with a hand on one hip and the other absently rubbing her swollen belly.
They both chuckled when Daisy popped up from the sand, a seaweed halo shrouding her head. The dog danced wildly trying to get it off, before Damien plucked it off her head. He had a soft spot for dogs. When he was a kid cowering in his bedroom, as the downstairs TV blared, and the smell of stale booze pumped through the air, he would imagine having a dog. One that would snarl when his drunk father had the urge to punch something. They went inside the cottage, and Lindsey scooped up Daisy.
“I’m going to wash some of this seaweed off Daisy. Feel free to look through the boxes. There are more cooking supplies somewhere.” He watched her leave the room, and appreciated the way her yoga pants clung to her body. Cool it. He was no better than a hormonally-charged teen.
Damien started rummaging through boxes. He opened one that was filled with oil paints. Lindsey had always been a talented artist, and he was glad she hadn’t given it up. He found some supplies, put a pan on the stove, and turned up the heat.
Despite his best efforts, the eggs were singed around the sides and the toast was dark. When he tested it though, it wasn’t that bad. Probably the pound of butter he’d slathered over the toast, and the cheese he’d sprinkled liberally on the eggs to mask the burn.
“I take back all my comments. This isn’t half-bad, Damien.” A smile bloomed over her cheeks, and he looked down at his eggs. Maybe he’d find a remedy for the crazy feelings she ignited within him somewhere in the scrambled mass.
“Don’t get used to it. I almost singed off a finger.” He bit into the toast, eyeing her over the crusty bread.
“You have ten of them.” She gave him a sassy smirk, cupped her mug of warmed water and lemon, and lifted it to her plump lips. His pulse kicked up. Those lips had been against his, so pliant and full of need.
“I don’t remember you being so cheeky,” Damien said.
Lindsey’s gaze dropped to her hands. “A lot’s changed.” She laced her fingers together. “Spending time with you reminds me of how I used to be.”
“What do you mean?” His stomach shifted uncomfortably.
“I used to be so independent, and now…” The dog whined and circled at her feet. “My ex used to come up with the most logical reasons for why I should do things a certain way, dress in particular clothes, let him control the finances because it was easier to keep everything under his name. I just went along with it.”
Damien’s jaw tightened and he wanted to plant a fist in the son of a bitch ex-husband’s face. Instead he reached across the table and gripped her hand.
“The woman sitting in front of me is as self-sufficient as it gets. You left him—that takes courage.” He squeezed her hand to reinforce his words.
“I couldn’t stay.” Lindsey’s cheeks reddened. “Not after I walked in on him and his assistant. I had baked brownies and thought it would be nice to bring him a plate. When I opened his office door, his pants were around his ankles, and a naked woman was sprawled on his desk.” Her shoulders slumped; an invisible weight seemed to press against them.
“Lindsey, look at me.” He locked his eyes on hers. “Whatever he did is no reflection on you. It doesn’t make you weak. It doesn’t make you stupid. It just makes him a horrible fucking husband, and a sorry excuse for a man.” Damien rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. He was about to go to her, when her phone’s ringtone sliced through the air.
He released her hand and she glanced at the number on the screen.
“Excuse me,” she said, and walked across the room to take the call. He got up, cleared their plates, and busied himself with the dishes. Whoever was on the other line was seriously stressing her out. She paced near the glass doors and pinched the bridge of her nose.
“Everything okay?” He finished drying the last plate and turned to look at Lindsey. She dropped the phone to her side.
“It was my parents. They’re coming home early.” Lindsey crossed her arms over her chest and looked out at the beach.
“Is that a bad thing?” To his memory Lindsey had always been close to her parents.
She sighed and turned her attention back to Damien. “I don’t want them to see what a disaster this cottage is. The place I’ve chosen to bring their grandchild into the world. I need more time…”
Damien’s chest clenched. He could read between the lines—she didn’t have the money, or the time to fix this place. She sure as hell couldn’t do it on her own in her current state. Now her parents were coming back unexpectedly and she didn’t even have a nursery set up for the baby.
Damien jammed his hands into his jean pockets. “I wish I could help you, but organizing my father’s belongings and listing the house is going to eat up all my time. I’d much rather be doing physical labor than sorting through boxes of worthless junk. As it is, I hired a cleaning service for Wednesday. I have to have all the crap out by then, so the Realtor can take pictures. I haven’t even pulled in the driveway yet.” His muscles tensed like taunt elastic bands every time he thought of going back to the house, the one he swore he’d never step foot in again. It needed to get done, so he could put Chatham behind him for good.
His actions had already been derailed. When he came back to town, he asserted that he wouldn’t let anything distract him. Get in, get out. That was the plan. A block of ice pressed in his gut when he pictured going back in that house and going through his father’s paperwork and knickknacks. Working with his hands would be a welcome relief.
“I’m kind of a whiz at organizing.” Lindsey looked at him inquisitively, and turned her head to the side. He could practically see a light bulb go off over her head. “We could do a house swap. I can’t do much physical work, but I can help you go through papers, and maybe list some stuff on eBay?”
Damien considered it. While it wouldn’t get him out of going to the house altogether, it certainly would take away the pains and frustrations of going through boxes. He could rent a U-Haul, load up the junk, and never step over the threshold again. If Lindsey could sort through the stuff at the cottage, it would give the Realtor plenty of wiggle room to take pictures, install the lock box, and schedule showings.
“A house swap, huh? You might regret that offer.” Damien searched her face looking for any sign that she might want to rescind her suggestion.
“I don’t think so. I’d be getting a lot more out of the deal than you would be,” she said.
Damien looked around the cottage. It needed new paint, replaced flooring, some sturdier planks on the deck but all in all, the work was mostly cosmetic. It would be a cinch to have the cottage parent-ready in a few weeks if he could give it his undivided attention. He had to admit, he wouldn’t mind spending more time at the cottage. Being with Lindsey made him forget the sound of shells exploding around his feet, and Johnny’s lopsided grin. She made him forget all the reasons he hated Chatham—the hunger that had constantly coiled in his belly, the fear that gripped him every day after school, the trouble that had constantly plagued him as a teen.
“I can pack things into boxes and bring them here to sort through. We can keep them in the garage, and bring them in one at a time. You’ll need to pick paint colors for the house, because it could sure use a fresh coat inside and out.”
“I’ll go with you to the house and help pack things up.” She held up a hand to stop his protest. “It’s only fair. You can do all the heavy lifting but I can at least put things into boxes and wrap up the valuables. It will go faster with two.”
She was right. And having her there meant he wouldn’t have to wallow in his own thoughts. “Okay. How does tomorrow sound?” he said.
“As good as any, partner.” She held out a hand to shake on it. Her palm was soft as silk and her hand wrapped neatly inside his.
Their wager would offer a fresh start for both of them; Damien could list the house in less time, and Lindsey would have something of her own that she could be proud of. He would have to be sure to keep his distance from her as he worked at the cottage. If he wasn’t careful, he could get wrapped up in a girl like Lindsey, and he already had a lot of untangling to do in his own life. Besides, he wasn’t planning on staying in Chatham. Damien wasn’t sure what he’d do after their pact was complete, but staying in this small seaside town had never been part of his future agenda. Not now. Not ever.