Mary’s heart began to thump and her hands to shake a little in her delight and excitement.
Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden
“YES, I know,” Tamra said. She couldn’t believe the Neanderthal was lying on top of her. How on earth had she gotten herself in this situation? “Get off me.”
“And you are?” he asked.
“Getting angry,” she said through slightly clenched teeth.
Which made him let out another of those deep laughs of his. Which might have charmed her on some human level if he weren’t a belligerent wiseass and if she didn’t have to deal with him. “You’re Tamra,” he said, since she’d refused to play along.
“Very good,” she said dryly, rolling her eyes. “Now get up.”
And when he didn’t immediately make a move to do so, she pressed her palms to his chest. It felt warm, solid. In a way that somehow seemed to echo through her fingertips and up her arms.
Oh. Ugh. She didn’t know what was happening here, especially as their eyes met. His . . . weren’t bad. They were maybe even kind of nice. Blue. Flecked with gray. And something hard, masculine—not the kind of thing you could really see, but more sense, feel. Yet the rest of him was unkempt and hairy and rude and cocky and a host of other things that held no appeal for her. He was so not her type. So she was back to ugh.
And why was he still lying on her? And dear God, right in view of Coral Street. “Get up! Now!” She pushed on his chest again, harder this time. And ignored any other feeling besides the intense desire to bring this awkward connection to a quick end.
Finally, her rude worker pushed upward to his knees, separating their bodies, and she suffered a startling awareness of the way he hovered above her, their legs still mingled.
When he got to his feet, relief rushed through her veins—along with a more subtle underlying current she couldn’t put her finger on. The heat of the tropical autumn sun beat down on her, making her hotter than usual.
As he reached to help her up for the second time in just a few minutes, he said, “You’re no fun.”
And the accusation put her on the defensive. “Not wanting to lie around in the dirt with a stranger on top of me has nothing to do with whether or not I’m fun.”
The last time he’d pulled her to her feet, she’d become more aware of the touch than she should have. The same thing happened this time, too—only more so now. Just as when she’d touched his chest, a zing of unwanted electricity rippled up her arm, then spread all through her.
“So are you?” he asked.
“Am I what?” She tugged at the hem of her shorts, then smoothed the tank top she wore as she scanned the area, looking around to see if anyone had witnessed Jeremy Sheridan, war veteran and jailbird, lying on top of her at the jobsite.
“Fun,” he said easily.
Okay, why did that question catch her off guard?
Because . . . it’s flirtatious. No matter how she sliced it, Mr. Scruffy Beard was flirting with her. And she supposed he’d been doing so for the last few minutes, but the reality was only fully hitting her now. “None of your business.” She had no idea where the reply came from.
Yes you do. You don’t want to say yes and have him think you’re flirting back. But you don’t want to say no and have him think you’re not fun. Ugh again. Why on earth did she care what he thought of her?
When he flashed a speculative grin through that messy beard of his, it moved all through her—and made her nervous as hell even as it irritated her.
“And quit smiling at me like that. I’m not that fun.”
“I’d be surprised if you were,” he said, stooping to pick up the shovel he’d abandoned.
And she was on the verge of feeling insulted—when he winked at her. Oh Lord. She wasn’t sure what was worse—that it was officially overt flirtation or that her body responded with a thin burst of desire flowing through her lower regions when she’d least expected it.
“Was it so horrible to have me on top of you?” he asked. Lord, he was direct. She wondered if her eyes betrayed her and wished desperately for sunglasses to hide them, but she’d left them all the way over on his tailgate.
“I didn’t mind it so much,” he added when she didn’t reply.
“That was clear,” she quipped, not wanting to let him think he was getting the upper hand. “And yes, it was extremely unpleasant.”
As usual, though, he just laughed. “Why’s that, prin– . . . Tamra?”
She raised her eyebrows. Was he seriously asking her? She’d met his gaze, but now looked away. “Well, I don’t even know you, and I don’t lie around with men I don’t know.”
“But if you knew me you would?” Another grin through that beard.
She prayed he couldn’t see the heat rising to her cheeks, or that he would mistake it for a touch of color from the sun. “No! You’re not . . . not . . .”
“Not what?”
Did the man never stop? Well, fine, she’d just be direct, too. He was asking for it anyway. “My type,” she said. “You’re not my type.”
He appeared completely undaunted as he asked, “What’s your type?”
So she tried to keep being honest. “Well—not so much of this,” she said, motioning around her head with her hands, meaning he had too much hair for her taste. “Or this.” She motioned to her chin, meaning his beard. “And I like men who are nicer, and more polite—two things you seriously have working against you.” She ended with a brisk nod, just to drive the point home and make sure he knew exactly how much she was not into him.
And she supposed it shouldn’t have surprised her when he simply laughed in reply, but it still did.
So she heard herself ask, “What’s so funny?”
“Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” he said, still looking amused.
And her jaw dropped. “You’re quoting Shakespeare now?”
He lifted one hand, used his index finger to point at his head, and let his eyes grow big. “Like I said,” he told her, “lot going on up here, sister.”
Tamra rolled her eyes once more. “That’s another thing I am not. Your sister.”
“Don’t worry,” Jeremy said, one more small, bold grin unfurling across his hairy face, “I could never confuse you with my sister. Because I would never like lying on top of my sister so much.”
TAMRA couldn’t deny feeling a little emotionally disheveled by the time she sent Mr. Scruffy Beard off to Home Depot to buy the supplies needed to start the golf hut. She almost wondered if she should think twice about handing him the credit card Cami had issued her for such things—he was such an unknown quantity in ways, and so far he didn’t exactly come across as a fine, upstanding citizen. But the whole encounter with him had her so flustered that she’d have probably handed him her own credit card just to get rid of him for a while.
As she watched him drive off in the old red pickup in need of a muffler, her heartbeat slowed. And life began to seem normal again. The beach lay serene in the distance as families and couples began to dot the sand now that the sun had risen higher in the sky. A seabird cawed as it flew by overhead. Coral Cove was at peace, and so was she. But that was a far cry from how she’d felt while caught in a verbal sparring match with Jeremy Sheridan. Not to mention when he’d been lying on top of her.
Ready to push the whole incident from her mind, she crossed the street and walked toward the Hungry Fisherman, visible in the distance. Yes, talk to other people, clear your head. That’s a good idea. Any distraction at all from what had just transpired seemed wise.
As she approached, she found Polly sitting at a table on the patio with Cami and Reece. All of them smiled at her—too boldly.
“Um, hi,” she said, wondering why they all wore goofy grins.
“That was a nice show there,” Polly said.
Oh crap.
“Maybe a little early in the day for something like that, though,” Reece added. “Might want to keep it a little more G-rated for the little kids headed to the beach.” He finished with a good-natured wink, but Tamra could scarcely recall a time when she’d been more embarrassed in front of her friends.
“That was no show,” Tamra assured them. “That was the Neanderthal Cami hired being a clumsy lout and using the opportunity to be totally inappropriate.”
At this, Reece’s eyes narrowed. “Inappropriate how? Did we make a mistake here? Do I need to have a talk with him? Or get rid of him altogether?”
Tamra hadn’t expected Reece to come flying to protect her honor, and now she almost felt bad about the accusation. Mr. Scruffy Beard had been inappropriate—but . . . did it still count as inappropriate if it had made her heart beat faster with excitement? She didn’t like admitting that to herself, but she couldn’t deny the truth—the hard, cold reality that it hadn’t been completely one-sided. “Well . . . he was just very flirty when he fell on me, that’s all. But I handled it and I’m sure it won’t happen again.”
In response, Cami still sat there smiling, looking almost as if she had a secret.
Tamra lowered her chin and squarely met her gaze. “What?”
“You just look . . . flushed or something. Maybe a little flirting isn’t a bad thing.” Cami finished with a wink, as if to emphasize the point. Ugh, why had Tamra spilled her guts about her sexual needs? It was so much easier to just keep private things private.
She tilted her head and said, “Really, Cami? Have you seen him?”
Cami just shrugged. “Under all the hairiness, he might be cute. Christy says so anyway.”
“And he’s got some nice muscles on him, that’s for sure,” Polly said. “Hubba-hubba.”
Reece spun to look at Polly. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Polly, but I don’t think people say ‘hubba-hubba’ anymore.”
She planted her hands on the hips of her rust-colored uniform. “Well, they might if they saw him.”
“But back to Tamra and Jeremy,” Cami said, switching her attention from Polly to Tamra.
Rats, Tamra had thought maybe she was off the hook. And she was extremely uncomfortable with this whole conversation. “Let’s get something straight. There is no me and Jeremy. The guy works for me. Which I didn’t even want, if you’ll recall. And he’s a handful, but I can manage it. And that’s all there is to it.”
“Handfuls of some things can be fun,” Polly mused.
But Tamra didn’t return her playful expression, even as Cami laughed out loud. Instead she just said, “Can I please have a Coke? I need to restore my energy before the handful gets back from Home Depot.”
As Polly stood up to get Tamra’s soda, Reece rose from the table, too. “I’m gonna go check on Fifi, work on getting her habitat winterized today.” Fifi was Reece’s six-foot-long giant iguana who lived in a room behind the Happy Crab’s check-in desk.
And as soon as he was gone and the two of them were alone, Cami said, “Don’t get mad at me, but you really do look a little flushed, and I really do think he’s cute underneath the hair. And given that you’re—you know—feeling certain urges, maybe you should just be . . . more open-minded.”
“Let me get this straight,” Tamra said. “You think it’s a good idea for me to hook up with an unkempt, impolite, homeless guy who was arrested for attacking a stranger.”
Cami pursed her lips. “Well, when you put it that way . . .”
“Thank you,” Tamra said with a terse nod of victory.
“But he’s a war veteran. So he has reasons for . . . not being at his best,” Cami argued. “It really doesn’t mean he’s a rotten guy.”
“It doesn’t mean he’s a good one, either. But no matter what he is, he’s made a terrible impression on me and I’m not attracted to him one iota, and that’s the end of the story.”
It was a relief when the restaurant’s patio door opened and Polly reappeared with her drink. And thankfully, conversation shifted to preparations for Christy and Jack’s wedding. Tamra, Cami, and the maid of honor, Bethany, were throwing an engagement party and there were lots of plans to be made.
“I met Bethany,” Cami told Tamra. “I think you’ll like her. She’s an artist, like you.”
Tamra smiled. She always appreciated that, being called an artist—recognizing her creations as art was the highest compliment someone could give her. Her mission in life was to leave the world a little richer in that way than she’d found it.
But as the discussion went on, Tamra’s thoughts drifted unwittingly back to what she’d said about Jeremy. The last part might have been a lie. She might have been a little bit attracted. Maybe more than even an iota.
But she didn’t like that—not at all. Because it wasn’t logical; it didn’t make sense. He was unkempt and hairy. They’d been at odds since the moment they’d met. At best, he was cocky and presumptuous; at worst, downright rude. So why on earth had she suffered any twinges of desire for him?
Was she that desperate? Was her body that hungry for sex? Would any able-bodied man who’d fallen on her and refused to get up have elicited the same reaction?
Ugh. Don’t even think like that! You are not desperate. You are not needy. This, too, shall pass.
After all, it was her first morning working with Jeremy, so this was . . . growing pains in their work relationship. It was new and awkward. He was awkward . . . as in too forward and having too much attitude. But soon enough, what had just happened would be further in the past and their time together would start seeming more normal, less fraught with tension. Working with him would become just “another day at the office.”
But maybe for right now, while things were awkward, she’d just arrange it so they didn’t spend a ton of time working directly together. She’d provided him with architectural plans for the hut, so assuming he was as capable a builder as she’d been promised, she wouldn’t really need to be on hand for that. While he worked, she could do other things: tend to the landscaping, design the remaining course obstacles. There were a million things to be done, after all. He’d do his part, she’d do hers, and they didn’t have to be Siamese twins about it.
Meanwhile, Cami was busy scribbling names into a notebook—a result of Polly asking how big this wedding shower party thing was going to be, since she and Abner were providing the food. “It’s nice for Christy,” Cami added, “that there are a few people from her hometown who live here. More will come down for the wedding itself, but for the party, we’ll definitely want to invite John and Nancy Romo. And Jeremy, too.”
At this, Tamra’s eyebrows shot up. “Jeremy? Are you serious?” She made a face. “He’s becoming part of our social circle now?”
Cami shrugged and opened her eyes wider, as if to say: Deal with it. “He’s one of Christy’s few links to her hometown here. And besides, everyone else we know will be coming—it would seem weirder not to invite him. And it might be nice to make him feel included.”
Tamra just sighed. “If he doesn’t get included in things, maybe it’s because he’s . . . say, homeless. Or rude. Or gets arrested because he attacks people.” Now her eyes went wide, silently expressing that she was making excellent points.
But Cami seemed unmoved. “Riley was homeless once, too, you know.” Riley was the manager of the Happy Crab. Reece had taken in the old man out of the goodness of his heart—and now Riley was a beloved member of the community. “Sometimes people just need a little help, someone to believe in them.”
Tamra took that in. She knew it was true. She hadn’t believed much in herself when she’d arrived in Coral Cove with nothing but a car full of pottery and stained glass to show for her first twenty-seven years of life. The kindness of the people here had changed that. And yet she still felt the need to argue, grousing, “Reece needs to be more careful about taking in homeless people—one of these days he could end up with a real nut on his hands.”
But at that, Polly just laughed and Cami said, “Well, we’re still inviting Jeremy Sheridan to the party.”
AS Jeremy walked in the door at Home Depot, he scanned the area, high and low, as he automatically did when entering any new environment. As he turned each blind corner, he kept on the alert, ready for anything. He knew there weren’t snipers at Home Depot, but his body didn’t seem to know—his body stayed tense in any unfamiliar surroundings.
He walked down the tool aisle, then flinched at the sight of a man holding a drill, testing the feel of it in his hand. It’s a drill, not a weapon. Breathe. Slowly. Inhale through the nose. Count four. Exhale through the mouth. Count four. It always helped.
The truth was, he fucking hated being here. He hated being anyplace with a crowd, with strangers milling around. That was a lot of the appeal of Whisper Falls. No crowds. No unpredictability. It had taken some of the tension out of his day. Most people could walk around a store or a town and feel normal, but for Jeremy it wasn’t that easy.
And even at the beach, there were vast open spaces—it was easy to stay aware of what went on around him. In a store, though, he was confronted by aisles, and tall shelves, things you couldn’t see around.
But it’ll get easier. It’ll get a little easier every time.
As he found a large cart and began collecting what he needed, his mind drifted back to the jobsite, to his interactions with the princess who refused to be anybody’s princess. He didn’t know what he thought of her. Shades of light and dark there. Shades of challenge. And he wasn’t up for mysteries these days, so it was probably best to just do his work and let it alone. It being her. It being whatever weird pull he’d felt moving between them.
It hit him, as he located the size 10p nails he needed for framing, that she’d actually made him laugh. Unwittingly maybe, but still—he couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed and really meant it. Maybe that was why he’d kept egging her on.
She stayed on his mind as he gathered the rest of the building supplies, and it was only as he headed to the checkout that he realized he’d spent the last few minutes not looking around waiting for something bad to happen.
And by the time Jeremy left the store with his purchases loaded into the bed of his truck, he felt a little stronger than he had going in.
AS the sun sank over the ocean in the distance a few days later, Jeremy sat eating takeout from Gino’s Pizzeria up the street at one of the picnic tables behind the Happy Crab. It had become a favorite spot for him since arriving here, a peaceful spot. He supposed in summer, when the place was more crowded, the motel’s pool might be busy with laughing, splashing kids, or the dock area more bustling with boaters, but for now it was a relatively tranquil place where he could quietly take in this little corner of the world.
The thing that made it even better tonight was that he’d bought his dinner. No one had given it to him out of generosity. He appreciated generosity—he’d elicited more than his fair share since returning home from Afghanistan—but it was nice not to need it for a change. Although he’d only worked a partial week so far, today he’d gotten his first paycheck signed by Jack DuVall, proprietor of the Coral Cove Mini-Golf Paradise.
After cashing it, he’d promptly headed to the motel’s office and paid Riley for at least a little of his bill—it had felt good to start chipping away at that. Then he’d bought a couple slices of pepperoni pizza and a large soda, bringing it back here to the peace and quiet he found peering out over the masts and sails of the boats lining the dock area and the bay beyond.
He’d spent these last days erecting the small building Tamra had put him in charge of. He’d forgotten how much he enjoyed working with his hands. Or . . . maybe he hadn’t ever really liked it as much as he suddenly did now. Seeing something begin to grow that hadn’t been there before made him feel worthwhile. Even if it was only a mini-golf course. He supposed it just felt good to be doing something right for a change.
He hadn’t seen much of Tamra—she’d informed him she’d be working on other things. And he was pretty sure he’d just scared her off that first morning. But still she stayed on his mind. Maybe he’d liked the idea of having company as he worked. A surprising thought for a man who’d chosen to isolate himself for so long. Or maybe he’d just expected company—normally you get a job, you deal with people on that job.
Once upon a time, he’d been smooth with women, good with girls. What had happened with her that first morning on the job didn’t make him feel smooth, but flirting had come shockingly easy—even if it might not have been appropriate.
These days he didn’t examine stuff like that. Unlike the Jeremy Sheridan of old, he didn’t have much of a filter these days, and he kind of liked it that way. It made life a little more interesting anyway.
And maybe he’d liked pushing her buttons. He wasn’t sure why—except maybe because they were just so easy to push.
Oh well, probably didn’t matter much if she was going to keep her distance. He supposed that was a hint and that he should probably take it.
Even if there was something about her . . . under the surface. Something he could sense more than see. She was so prickly on the outside—yet he suspected there was something softer, gentler, underneath. It made him want to uncover it . . .
But take the hint, like you just told yourself.
Even if she’s the first woman to spark any interest in you, of any kind, for a very long time.
Just then a certain gray tomcat came trotting up the dock, almost blending into the weathered wood. Camouflage, Jeremy thought. Looked like the cat had recovered from what had happened the last time they’d crossed paths.
The big, lean cat paused at the end of a ramp that led to—oh hell—the same boat the frat boys had occupied that fateful night. Jeremy hadn’t seen any movement on the boat—tonight or since he’d been arrested—but still he silently willed the cat: Don’t go there, bud. I can’t save you this time.
His throat seized slightly then, and his chest tightened, realizing the words that had just passed through his brain.
You can’t save anyone. Not even a damn cat.
When the cat finally moved on, Jeremy whispered, “Good.”
And the small sound made the cat look over at him with his remaining eye.
And he realized that this time he could give the cat something to eat.
Pinching a bit of thick pizza crust off in his fingertips, he held it down where he hoped the cat would see it. It was dark out, but the area was lit.
The cat didn’t hesitate—he walked right up to Jeremy and took the offered bite of food, and then another, gobbling them down.
“There you go, buddy,” he whispered. “Eat up.” He found himself scratching the cat’s head for a second, then reached up to tear off more crust for him, along with a little cheese this time, too.
“What’s your story?” he murmured toward the cat. “You got a death wish or something, hanging out around that boat again?” He chuckled. “Or you want to be the captain, head out on a big fishing trip.”
Just then, the motel office’s back door opened and Jeremy looked up to see Reece walk out. “This the guy whose honor you were defending last week?” he asked, peering down at the cat.
“Guilty as charged,” Jeremy replied.
“Speaking of that,” Reece said, reaching the picnic table, “got some good news for ya.”
“That’s something I could use,” Jeremy said. Though, in fact, he already felt more at ease inside than he had in a long time. Maybe good news was just the icing on an already pretty decent week or so. Relatively speaking anyway.
“The assault charges were dropped,” Reece told him.
And though Jeremy hadn’t let himself think much about that, it had placed a weight on his chest that he’d been ignoring because it was easier than facing it. He’d gotten too damn good at that. But things were changing now, thank God.
He didn’t hide his relief. “That’s more than good news—it’s the best damn news I’ve heard in ages.” He released some of that pent-up tension with a sigh, then asked, “How’d you make that happen?”
Reece shrugged. “The kid’s been in some trouble—didn’t need any more. And I think his dad realizes he’s an ass and probably had it coming.”
Jeremy met Reece’s gaze again. “I owe ya, man. Big time.”
Reece let out a good-natured laugh. “You’re right, you do. But lucky for you, I don’t keep score. Just glad things are going better for you.”
Yet Jeremy still needed to say more. “You’ve really . . . kept me on my feet here. I won’t forget it.”
Reece took the gratitude as easily as he did everything else. He just nodded comfortably and said, “So the work’s going good then? You and Tamra aren’t gonna kill each other?”
Jeremy let out a quick, unplanned laugh. Clearly word had made it around that the two of them had butted heads a little. Even though, technically, it had been more like butting bodies. Which was a lot more fun, and a memory that still made him feel . . . alive, in a man/woman kind of way, more than he had in ages.
“I won’t kill her as long as she doesn’t kill me. She’s keeping her distance, though, so guess we’re both safe for now.” He tossed a sideways glance in Reece’s direction to add, “Don’t think she likes me much.”
When Reece didn’t reply to that, only keeping an amused expression in place, Jeremy added, “What’s her deal, anyway? Seems uptight.”
Reece shifted his weight from one flip-flop to the other. “She is, a little. But . . . she had a rough time earlier in life.”
Jeremy let that statement hang in the evening air for a minute. It was easy to forget that most everyone had demons of some kind, especially when you were battling your own. “Don’t suppose you’re gonna tell me in what way?” It was none of his business, especially since he barely knew Tamra, but he couldn’t help being curious.
“Nope,” his landlord said. “That’d have to come from her.”
Now it was Jeremy who nodded, letting it drop, but still wondering what made Tamra . . . Tamra.
“She’s one of my closest friends,” Reece said then. “Just so you know.” A gentle warning came through in his tone.
And Jeremy replied, “Understood and respected.” He got the point.
After which Reece’s gaze took on a speculative look as he tilted his head and observed, “You seem . . . cooler than you have up to now.”
Jeremy couldn’t argue with that. “Guess getting out, working, is good. A step in the right direction.”
“That’s good to hear. Keep it up.” And with that, Reece pointed over his shoulder in the general direction of the shore to say, “Well, I’ve got a date with a hot blonde for a late walk on the beach, so I’m gonna take off.”
“Okay, man. Enjoy,” Jeremy said, watching him go.
That was when a meow drew his attention back to the big gray tomcat at his feet. He’d continued dropping bite-size bits of pizza down to him, but had run out as he and Reece had talked. “Sorry, pal,” he said now, peering down at the cat, “but you cleaned me out.”
Though he instinctually reached down to scratch the cat behind the ear anyway, watching his one pensive green eye fall contentedly shut. There was something satisfying in bringing the cat a little peace that way. Maybe it brought him a little peace, too.
But that kind of peace, he knew, was only temporary—you could only pet a cat so long.
So after a while he stopped, sat back upright on the picnic table’s bench.
When the cat opened his good eye again, their gazes locked. Until, after a few seconds, the cat suddenly turned and trotted away, over toward the Hungry Fisherman’s back door, clearly in search of a bigger dinner.
“Don’t get yourself in any trouble, bud,” he murmured as the cat disappeared into the darkness.
Yeah, that kind of peace was only temporary.