Blue Moon Bay (21 page)

I heard what sounded like footsteps and shuffling outside the door, then the squeak of a rolling chair as a backside settled into it. “Charlotte's gone to career day at the school this morning. I won't be able to give them to her until after lunch.”

Snapping his fingers, Blaine grimaced playfully, then stood up and grabbed his coat—the canvas western sort that says
I'm all man
. “Let's walk across the street and grab a cup of coffee.”

A warm, prickly feeling slid over me, as if I were diving into the coffee rather than talking about getting a cup. “Oh, hey, I don't want to interfere with your day.” Why I said that, I wasn't sure. It bothered me a little, Blaine's smoothness, his confidence, the fact that he didn't ask if I wanted to go for coffee; he just assumed. Admittedly, I was probably splitting hairs, but then, splitting hairs was what I did best. Architecture is all about the minute details. And something about the minute details of Blaine Underhill just didn't add up.

Why was this guy, who undoubtedly had smitten-small-town girls fighting to wrap themselves around his little finger, trying so hard to put the moves on me? What could possibly be the purpose, considering that I wasn't his type and he wasn't mine, and we both knew I'd be leaving Moses Lake sooner rather than later to return to someplace where things actually made sense. “But . . . ummm . . . I do need to pick up some bratwurst at the Waterbird.” Close door. Open door. What a basket case I was.

“Not a problem. The coffee's good there, too.” He circled the L-shaped desk, tapped his computer mouse, and scrolled upward to close the window on the screen. Just before it disappeared, I caught a glimpse of what looked like . . . a video game?

“Ummm . . . you're playing video games?”

He shot a sideways grin, a little boyish, a little devilish. “Investment opportunity. Looking it over.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Software company.” He moved to the door, then opened it and stood back, waiting for me to pass through. “Seriously.”

“Like I believe that.” I was just bantering, really. It didn't matter whether I believed him or not.

Marilyn glanced up from her computer as we exited the office. She gave the coat on Blaine's arm a wary, somewhat unhappy look. “The guy from the software company called.”

Blaine swept me the platter-hand, as in,
See, I told you so.

“The bank in Moses Lake invests in software companies?” I inquired as we crossed the lobby. Was it my imagination, or were all three tellers sending out the hawkeye?

“We're trying to diversify,” Blaine explained. “Trying to convince my dad to grow with the times. In this business, you either get innovative, or you sink.”

“How
did
you end up in this business?” As I recalled, Blaine was headed to a midsized college in West Texas to play football and major in . . . coaching, or something. I couldn't quite remember. His father, a big man with alligator-skin boots and an even bigger cowboy hat, was so puffed up about the scholarship, he'd erected a giant
Congratulations, Blaine Underhill
billboard in front of the hardware store. The family threw a huge graduation soiree at his grandparents' cattle ranch outside town. My mother, Clay, and I were not invited, of course.

Now, considering what Blaine had told me during our walk through the woods yesterday, I wondered how he felt about that scholarship, and the billboard, and carrying the whole town's expectations on his shoulders. He claimed he never even liked football. It was hard to assimilate that information with the got-it-all golden boy I remembered from high school. Amazing how you could be so wrong about someone. He hid his feelings well at the time. Maybe he still did. That was one of the things that both concerned me and drew me in. I wondered who he really was.

“My dad had a heart attack my junior year in college.” He slipped his coat on as we left the bank building and proceeded toward his pickup nearby. “I had to come home to help take care of things. I didn't mind it, really. By then, I was a redshirt on the college team with a blown tendon, and I'd had my bell rung a few too many times. I was okay with coming back to Moses Lake for a while. Dad was in bed under doctor's orders, my stepmother was a wreck, my sisters were just starting high school, and Mama B had started showing up at Dad's office, trying to run the place and driving everybody crazy. I just kind of . . . fell into taking over the bank—there wasn't any way my stepmother could handle that, Dad's rehab, the hardware store, and the ranch at the same time. She can't even keep the books straight at the hardware store, really. I went ahead and finished a finance degree by commuting over to Stephenville. The music major didn't seem too practical anymore, at that point.”

“You were a
music
major?” I queried, as he started the truck.

He waited until he'd backed out of the parking place to answer. “Yeah, you know, I was gonna head for Nashville and make it big if football didn't work out.” A soft laugh seemed to dismiss the idea as comical now. “Funny, the dreams you have at eighteen.”

A memory teased the dust moats of my mind. I was sitting in the back row of the school auditorium. Our English teacher had dragged us over there to watch the dress rehearsals of the talent show. I just wanted to go home. The cheerleaders had finished doing some dance in spandex, and then Blaine walked on stage. Just Blaine and his guitar. “I remember you in the talent show rehearsals,” I said, drawing a breath. “You were good.”

“Well, you know, you grow up and life gets in the way.” He paused, seeming to reassess whatever he was about to say. “Sometimes what you've got in mind and what God's got in mind aren't the same thing. They needed me here. I got to help look after my grandpa the last couple years of his life. My stepmother couldn't have done it alone. She had all she could handle with Dad's heart attack, and Mama B was wearing herself out, trying to take care of everything and everyone. I moved in at my grandparents' ranch and kind of fell in love with home all over again, you know? Decided I wanted to stay. Your priorities change. You grow up and leave some things behind.”

Main Street rolled by as I contemplated priorities while watching our reflection paint a wavy spill of color against the old plate-glass windows of the hardware store, the dime store, a couple of antique stores, the chamber of commerce. I'd never believe that Moses Lake could be anyone's dream. “Guess that's true. Things happen. You could still do it, though. Strap your guitar on your back and head for the big city.”

“Nah, I'd miss my boat too much.” A glance toward the lake seemed to say that he was already fishing in his mind. “It's good here. I can leave the ranch and be at work in ten minutes—fourteen if I get caught behind the school bus. No sitting in traffic for hours on the way to work. You city folks don't know what you're missing.”

“No theater, no museums, no five-star restaurants . . .” I retorted, but I was just teasing, really. Blaine seemed so completely at home in Moses Lake, so completely at peace with himself. I envied that.

“We've got Catfish Charley's,” he countered.

“No shopping mall . . .”

“Thank goodness,” he answered, and both of us laughed. The rest of the way to the Waterbird, we talked about Seattle and my job. He actually seemed somewhat impressed when I mentioned the national and international clients for whom we'd designed commercial buildings. My job had taken me all over the world. I didn't mention that on most trips I'd seen little more than the insides of hotels.

“Sounds exciting,” he said as we parked at the Waterbird. Neither of us moved to exit the truck.

“It can be,” I admitted. “Mostly, it's a lot of details and a lot of chipping away at a project, but when you see the steel going up, it's like watching something from your imagination come to life on a massive scale. It's an amazing feeling, even with the stress factor. Projects never go exactly the way you plan them.”

“I've financed enough construction to know that.” He rested an elbow on the window frame, seeming content to sit there talking.

I sensed an open door to opportunity. I needed to bring the conversation around to Clay, Amy, and the issues in Moses Lake. “I imagine you have to be careful about what kinds of investments you take on, being a small bank, I mean.”

“Yes we do.” His attention veered off as the little dark-haired girl who'd served us pretend tea on my last visit to the Waterbird stepped out of the building. This time an old man was with her, and both of them were carrying fishing poles. They crossed in front of our truck, hand in hand.

Blaine opened his door and waved. “Hey, Birdie, you taking your granddad fishing?”

“Yeah-huh.” The little girl smiled enthusiastically. “Gonna get a big bass.”

“There a school vacation today?” Blaine leaned farther out the door, and both the old man and the little girl gave him sheepish looks.

“Had to ugg-go to the udd-doctor today,” the old man answered, his speech strange and slow. “Purdy udd-day fer fishin'. Udd-don't tell the uhhh . . . school ubb-board.”

Blaine chuckled and waved. “I won't say a word. I promise.” He watched them disappear across the parking lot. “See, that's the beauty of doing business in a small town. We helped old Len get the money to finish fixing up his house, so he could raise that little granddaughter of his. The man's a military veteran, injured in combat in Vietnam. He ought to have a decent roof over his head. He deserves a road to live on that's passable in the wet weather, so he can get little Birdie to school, too. When it rains, Len has to take her three miles to the bus stop on a mule, or bring her across the lake in a boat, in the rain. That's just not right. People wouldn't put up with it over on this side of the lake, but the folks with money really don't care what happens up in Chinquapin Peaks. That's one of the reasons I put my name in the hat for county commission. Some things just need to be different, you know?”

“That does sound wrong.” I found myself trying to jibe the mental image of the guy who was trying to steal my family land with one of this guy, who wanted better treatment for families in Chinquapin Peaks. Even I knew that the undeveloped side of the lake was like the Land that Time Forgot. That was one of the reasons I felt good about helping to bring in the new Proxica facilities. “The real solution is jobs, though. If people have income, they're not at everyone's mercy.”

Blaine turned my way, gave me a long, appraising look, his brown eyes intense. I realized I'd strayed too close to the real reason for my visit here. For an instant, I wondered if he knew, but then his intensity lessened. “You're not thinking of throwing your hat into the commissioner's race, are you? Because I've already printed my signs.”

I pretended to consider it. “I think you're safe. I couldn't get elected trash collector in Moses Lake, anyway.”

He caught my gaze again. “Don't be too hard on yourself. You're not so bad after a while.” He grinned, and a laugh convulsed from my lips.

I liked Blaine Underhill a lot better than I wanted to.

The realization both tempted and worried me as we exited the truck and went into the Waterbird. Uncle Charley, Uncle Herb, Burt Lacy, and Nester Grimland were playing dominoes in one of the back booths. They registered surprise as we walked in, and I quickly realized that coming here probably wasn't the best idea. It would soon be common knowledge that Blaine and I were out for coffee. His stepmother would probably come after me with a wooden stake and a sledgehammer.

Blaine didn't seem the least bit worried. He chatted with the coffee club and the woman behind the counter, Sheila, as we procured coffee and doughnuts, and then took a booth as far as possible from the ongoing domino game. To restart the conversation, I asked how long my brother had been dating his cousin. I tried to make it sound like an innocent question.

“A while, I guess,” Blaine replied vaguely.

“Do you think it's serious?”

He scratched his head, brown curls sweeping off his forehead, then falling into place again. “Feeling protective? Amy's a nice girl. I promise.”

They just pulled an all-nighter, and then he got a sexy text from Tara,
was on the tip of my tongue, but I didn't say it. Ears were straining our way from the domino booth, for one thing. I wasn't sure how much they could hear. I sipped my coffee and tried to decide what else to say.

We made small talk about the wall of wisdom for a few minutes. Blaine's favorite entry was
May the holes in your net be smaller than the fish in it—Irish blessing.
He and his grandfather had written it on the wall in 1985, a bit of homage to the old country.

“My dad and I wrote one together, too,” I said, feeling a kinship.

“Well, it's kind of a tradition, bringing your kids here to sign the wall.” His cell phone rang in his pocket, and he pulled it out, sneering at the screen. “Now you see why I don't carry one of these things in the evenings.” He answered the call, and it was clear from the conversation that he was needed back at work. While he finished talking, I bought a batch of the Waterbird's famous bratwurst and then we returned to the bank.

“Raincheck,” he offered, walking backward as we parted ways in the bank parking lot. “How about we finish the conversation over dinner?”

“Sure” was out of my mouth before I even had time to think about it. It made sense, though, considering that I hadn't been able to roll the conversation around to my brother, Amy, bank loans, and substance abuse. How did one smoothly bring up such subjects, anyway? Blaine flashed a smile, and even though I knew that agreeing to have dinner with him might not turn out to be one of my better ideas, I suddenly wasn't sorry.