Knowing You (14 page)

Nodding, he stood up and yanked off his sweaty T-shirt, crumpling it in one tight fist. The air against his skin cooled him off a little, but not much. “Think of her as a cold,” he muttered, already beginning his run again. His footsteps pounded out a rhythm that jarred his bones. “A virus. You can beat a virus. Sure, it gets into your blood, heats you up a little … but it's not
fatal.” See? He smiled to himself. Now that made sense. Scientific. Rational. Logical.

He picked up the pace, and in a few minutes he was passing the runners ahead of him. Anyone watching him would think he was trying to outrun a pack of demons, hot on his heels.

And he was.

The trouble was, Paul's demons were running with him.

*   *   *

Under all that dirt lay a pretty cute dog.

Sort of.

Stevie glanced at the tiny thing and felt a pang of sympathy. In the morning sunlight, there was no hiding the fact that the little animal had led a less than blessed life so far. Even clean, Scruffy, as she'd been appropriately named, looked a little rough around the edges. Her brown hair stood up on end at the crown of her head, and one of her ears was bent over at a weird angle. But she had a sweet nature and big brown eyes that still shone with trust despite whatever she'd been through.

“Is that a dog?”

Stevie shifted a look at Joe, her longtime mailman, as he skirted wide around Scruffy.

“Of course it's a dog.”

“Couldn't be sure, but it pays to be cautious.” He kept a wary eye on the animal as she inched over to cower behind Stevie. Quickly Joe thumbed through the stack of mail in his hand, then thrust a bundle at Stevie.

“Another stray, huh?”

“Yep,” she said. “Who could resist such a face?”

“When are you going to stop trying to save the world anyway?” he asked.

“I'm not trying to save the whole world,” she told him, hardly paying attention to the familiar conversation. “Just my little corner of it.”

“You ought to keep fish. Neat. Clean. In a bowl.” His bushy gray eyebrows drew together as he scowled at Scruffy. “Don't bite.”

“You're prejudiced against dogs.”

“My scars give me the right.”

Stevie smiled at him. “Maybe it's the uniform, Joe.”

“Nah.” He shook his head until his graying ponytail swung like a pendulum. “Dogs don't need to see a postal uniform. They can spot a mailman at fifty yards. Even when I'm off duty, they growl at me. Hell, my
own
dog doesn't like me.” He backed away, not trusting the newest addition to the Leaf and Bean. Dogs didn't have to be big to bite.

Stevie chuckled and dropped her gaze to the stack of mail in her hand. Bill, bill, bill, ooh, new catalog. Damn. A letter from her mother. Well, she'd worry about that later. It was way too early in the morning to have to deal with Joanna. Shuffling that long white envelope with the British stamp on it to the back of the stack, she lifted her gaze back to the mailman. “You ever consider therapy, Joe?”

He wagged one finger at her. “You know what they say … you're not paranoid if they really
are
after you.”

Joe left whistling, and alone again, Stevie forgot about the mail and just enjoyed her view. Gazing up and down Main Street, she watched the early-morning types shake up Chandler. The usual assortment of joggers
were winding their way into town after running along the beach or through the patch of woods just to the east. Several women were already inspecting the fruit in front of the small grocery store on the corner, and Sheriff Tony Candellano was making his first walk down the street. Knowing Chandler, Stevie had no doubt that Tony's ears would be ringing with complaints or questions or demands.

Now that summer was over, the citizens of Chandler could turn their full attention to the business of getting ready for the Autumn Festival. In a town that depended on tourists for survival, you had to come up with lots of different celebrations that could take you through the year. Summer—hell, it was summer. But still, there was the big Fourth of July blowout. The end of September meant Fall Festival, when local artisans set up shop in the meadow for the arts and crafts fair. And soon tour buses would be rolling through, taking people on day trips to see the foliage that would be dotting the countryside with brilliant splashes of scarlet and gold.

Winter meant Victorian Christmas—with street stalls selling everything from hot apple cider to meat pies and roasted chestnuts. Then in spring there would be Flower Fantasy, when the farmers for miles around ran the flower market, selling cut flowers, plants, seeds, and bulbs.

Stevie smiled to herself. True, things around Chandler were pretty predictable … but ruts weren't always a bad thing. There was comfort in knowing that her roots ran deep here. That she had friends. And a family … of sorts.

Her brain flashed to the Candellanos, which brought up thoughts of last night's dinner—and Nick, showing up at her door. Irritation raced through her like a bad fever. Nick. Assuming she'd be waiting for him with open arms … despite the fact that they hadn't been together in more than two years.

And Paul. What was he up to? Had he encouraged Nick to come by? Did he know about it? Was he just going to step aside and say, “Go for it, Nick. I've had her, now I give her back to you”?

The seeds of irritation blossomed into a brilliant ball of rage that settled in the pit of her stomach. Was she some sort of prize, to be handed off to whichever Candellano brother was interested at the time? Oh, she knew damn well that she'd been Nick's “fallback” girl. If things got rough, go see Stevie. She'd make you feel better. And in all honesty, she had to admit that that was her fault as much as Nick's. She probably should have broken up with him years before she finally did. For both their sakes.

But Paul. What was she to him? Up until recently, she'd known exactly where she stood with Paul. He'd been her friend. The one person besides Carla whom she could talk to about …
anything
. But now, all of that had changed. They weren't just friends anymore. And they weren't lovers—not when they were both making promises to never do
that
again.

So what did that leave? What exactly was she to him? A quick roll in a rumpled bed? Was he living out a little fantasy? Or was she a chance for Paul to finally get one-up on Nick?

Scruffy leaned into the backs of her legs, and even
through the red mist of anger coloring her vision, Stevie felt the little dog shivering in the cold, damp wind. Instantly Stevie pushed thoughts of the Candellano twins out of her mind and stooped down to pick the dog up. “Aw, it's okay, sweetie,” she whispered. “Never mind about those guys. We'll go in now, okay?”

Fall was in the air and the wind had enough bite to it that she knew her shop would soon be bustling. Lifting her gaze, Stevie watched as storm clouds gathered out over the ocean. Black and dangerous-looking, the clouds hunched together, roiling in a wind too high for her to feel. And she knew the storm was parked out there, over the water, waiting to gather strength before lurching toward shore to slash thunder, lightning, and rain at Chandler and the cliffs below.

It seemed, she thought as she turned for the shop, that she was being besieged by storms … physical and emotional.

And she was getting a little sick of it.

CHAPTER NINE

S
TEVIE KEPT THOUGHTS OF
the Candellanos from crowding her mind by concentrating instead on business as usual. She determinedly lost herself in the daily rituals that she'd always enjoyed. Until recently, at least. Until thoughts of Paul's eyes had replaced thoughts of ordering a new blend of tea. Until remembering the exact touch of Paul's hands on her skin had swept away any interest in refining that lemon/raspberry scone she'd been working on.

This really wasn't fair. She wasn't even enjoying her business anymore.

Leaving the unopened mail in her office, she forgot about the bills and postponed reading whatever it was her mother had to say. She'd learned long ago that Joanna's letters to her only daughter were prompted solely by whatever her own needs were at the time. There'd never been any mother-daughter bond there. Of course, how could there be? Joanna had always been more interested in finding her next former husband
than she was in paying attention to a daughter who was a living testament to the passing of the years. Every time Joanna looked at her daughter, she saw herself getting older. And it wasn't easy pretending to be thirty-nine when faced with a twenty-seven-year-old “little girl.”

Sighing to herself, Stevie pushed thoughts of her mother to one side. Actually, into the tiny dark corner of her heart where wishes still lived. Where she sometimes indulged in a fantasy of what it might have been like to have a
real
mother. The kind who noticed your existence. The kind who made cookies. And went to PTA meetings. And took you shopping for your first bra—instead of sending you out with a maid who didn't speak English and insisted on measuring you in front of God and everybody.

Okay, enough
. Slamming a mental door against any more memories, Stevie focused on wiping down the shop's highly polished oak countertop. “'Morning, Jessie,” she said, and smiled as the other woman merely grunted in response. The new kindergarten teacher, Jessie was a fanatic jogger and never missed a morning's run—rain or shine—or the steaming cup of coffee that followed it. The woman didn't talk much; like most of the early-morning crowd, she preferred silence. Which today, suited Stevie perfectly.

She had company, but no reason to be chatty on a day when she wasn't even good company for herself. Shifting a look at the others in the room, she picked up a coffeepot and headed out on her rounds. Cups needed to be refilled, whether she was in a good mood or not.

“'Morning, Harry,” she said, and poured just a half-cup into the mug on the table.

“C'mon, Stevie,” Harry whined. “Top me off, will ya?”

She smiled and shook her head. “Sorry, Harry. Ellen told me to cut back on your caffeine.”

“Aw, what the wife don't know…”

Stevie winked at him. At sixty-five, Harry was fighting his wife's new health food kick with everything he had. “The wife
always
knows.”

He grumbled, but picked up his mug to at least savor the scent of the rich brew.

Stevie kept walking, pausing as she made her rounds to smile or chat as the customers wanted. Her early-morning people usually liked to keep to themselves. But a few were always more than willing to talk. People like Hannah Jefferson, sitting in the corner, hunched over her morning cup of tea. The lonely ones. The ones without families.

Like her.

Thoughts of Paul and that unopened letter from her mother had naturally opened up old avenues of regrets. Stevie liked to think of the Candellanos as her family, but the plain truth was … she didn't have
anyone
she really belonged to.

There were no cousins or aunts or grandmothers. And since her father's death a few years ago, she'd felt that loss even more than she had as a kid. Carla might complain about her brothers or whine that her mother was interfering … but at least Carla had people to whine
about
.

What did
she
have?

Stevie half-turned to glance through the partially opened office door behind her. Scruffy's raggedy little face looked back at her. Stoic. Silent. She sighed again. She had a tiny dog that no one else wanted. She had strays. Animals and people who had no one and nowhere else to go.

And just what did that say about her? No husband. No kids. No boyfriend—Paul's face flashed across her brain, but that was just a knee-jerk reaction. He was no more hers than Nick was. Not that she wanted Nick anymore. Heck, did she even want Paul? Outside the bedroom, that is.

“Stevie?” a voice called out. “Cinnamon muffin and save my life?”

She shot a glance at Dave Jenkins, the football coach at Chandler High School. Smiling, she said, “Coming up, Coach.”

She reached into the display case, pulled out a cinnamon muffin, and slipped it onto a paper-doily-covered blue ceramic plate. As she carried it across the room she thought about Paul again. Stupid, she told herself as anger flicked at the corners of her mind. Paul. She still couldn't believe how he'd pulled away from her last night. For all of his teasing fingers under the table, he sure as heck disappeared fast. And then Nick shows up at the shop. Had Paul
known
Nick was coming over? Had he graciously stepped aside, giving his twin a free road to Stevie? And if he had, who the hell had told him he could do that? What made him think he had any say at all in what happened in her life?

“Sugar-free?” the coach asked as a matter of course.

“Natch,” Stevie assured him. Despite the fact that she was firmly convinced of sugar's health benefits, she always kept a sugar-free stash around for customers such as the coach. Leaving him to it, she headed back to the counter and noticed that one of the coffeepots was nearly empty. On automatic pilot, she made a fresh pot while her brain kept on truckin'.

Despite Mama's so obvious hints, Stevie wouldn't be swayed. She didn't want a husband. Not really. Not even when faced with the lonely silences that closed in on her when she was alone in her apartment. Hell, she'd watched her mother—whose picture should be in Webster's dictionary under the word
flighty
—go through five perfectly good husbands. Joanna was on her sixth marriage now, and only God knew how long that one would last. So Stevie'd seen firsthand just how “eternal” wedding vows could be. And though a part of her longed for what Mama and Papa Candellano had had … the realist in her knew that the chances of that happening were about as good as—well, getting struck by lightning while she stood inside the Leaf and Bean.