Moonlight on Monterey Bay (10 page)

“Nice exhibition, Sam,” Chuck said from the back. He was leaning up against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, laughter in his eyes.

“Sorry. I got carried away.”

“Is that what you call it? I value my life or I would have stayed in the fray.”

“It’s been a long week.”

“So I see. I see your problem, too, Sam. But it isn’t racquetball you need. You need a good lay.”

The crude words stayed with Sam, bounced around in his head like the small rubber ball on the court. He had been unreasonably angry when Chuck said it, and he didn’t know why. But hours later, in the middle of a long tedious board meeting at the museum, he knew. There was no question he wanted Maddie, yearned to take her to bed, to make passionate, earthshaking love to her. He wanted it when he was with her, and
now when he wasn’t with her. But the coarse words, spoken half in jest, brought it all into perspective. Maddie wasn’t about casual sex or short-term affairs. Everything about her spoke of other things, of sensibilities and sensitivities and passion—even the way she looked at him, a look that went down deep inside of him. A relationship with Maddie Ames, as unlikely as it would be, would require all the things Sam Eastland wasn’t about, the emotional things he had failed at and had vowed to steer clear of: commitment, care, responsibility.

So he had stayed away for a long, frustrating week. And maybe would have stuck it out, if it hadn’t been a slow Friday, or Eleanor hadn’t brought the message to him, or he hadn’t been tired, or it hadn’t been a nice day for a drive. Maybe.

“The first delivery of furniture for the beach house is coming this afternoon,” Eleanor said. “Maddie says it’s wonderful stuff, made by local craftsmen. Why don’t you go take a look? I’d go myself,” Eleanor added, “but Joseph is coming here to take me to the theater.” She smiled sweetly.

“You think I need to see it?”

“Absolutely,” she said, and began cleaning off his desk.

It was a good day for a drive, he rationalized as he stopped briefly at his condo to change clothes. He’d clear his head, and discussing business with Maddie would clear things up, put things back into perspective.
That was why he was going to see her again. To put things into perspective.

Maddie noticed the needle wobbling around empty when she started her car. She frowned, briefly considered getting gas, then decided against it. The deliverymen would be at the beach house any minute, and besides, empty didn’t really mean empty, it meant get gas soon.

But halfway between the beach house and her office, empty meant empty, and the bright yellow VW Bug failed its faithful owner of six years and chugged to a stop.

“Shame on you!” Maddie scolded as she coasted to the curb.

The nearest gas station was six blocks away. Maddie was out of breath when she called Joseph from the pay phone inside.

“I won’t say I told—”

“Good,” Maddie said. “Now, what I need, Joseph, is for you to take the extra key to the beach house and meet the delivery truck. It should be there any minute. I’ll be there soon.”

“Okay,” Joseph said, “but I’ll have to leave them a note if they’re late. I’m picking Eleanor up in San Jose in an hour.”

“Joseph, are you letting your heart get in the way of business?”

“Absolutely! And may I suggest you consider the same, Madeline? It does wonders for one’s outlook.”

Maddie laughed too loudly, and then turned her attention to pleading with Gus, the station owner, for a line of instant credit that would cover half a tank of gas.

Sam peeled the note off the front door and read the scrawled message from the movers:

He ignored the quick stab of disappointment when there weren’t any signs of Maddie. He had imagined her strolling around the house as if it were her own, that dark braid moving in slow motion between her shoulder blades.

He shrugged, tried to tell himself it was just as well, and walked on in. Hell, he could move furniture as well as anyone. He’d arrange the stuff himself. Physical labor was nearly as good as a cold shower in such situations.

But when Maddie and Eeyore arrived ten minutes later, Sam hadn’t moved a thing. She could see him
through the open front door, standing at the end of the hall, looking into the living room. He was leaning against the door frame, his hands shoved in the pockets of khaki shorts, and for a minute Maddie felt dizzy with the simple urge to walk up to him and touch him. Just a touch, that was all, a palm pressed on the flat of his back, a finger brushed along his hairline, across his ear. Silly.

“Hi,” she said instead, her voice lifting more than she intended.

“Maddie,” Sam said, turning slightly, and her heart lifted at the magical way he said her name.

Sam was smiling at her, but he wasn’t moving, and now he looked back to the living room and the furniture she had so painstakingly found. Maddie frowned. Why wasn’t he saying anything?

“Well?” she asked. “What do you think?”

He turned and smiled at her again, but it was an odd smile, Maddie thought, certainly not what she was expecting, not the look of pure delight at the absolutely incredible furniture.

She moved closer, her dark brows lifting curiously. She peered around his shoulder into the living room.

Her mouth opened, closed, then fell open again. But no sound came out. Stunned, she stood and stared at the room. Finally, after what seemed like a long time, Maddie broke the silence with an expletive that startled even Sam.

“Shame on you,” he said, raising one brow. His eyes were full of laughter.

Maddie gulped. “I don’t know what happened here, Sam—”

The airy living room was crammed with furniture. In the center was the focal point: a high canopied bed fashioned from thick dark wood. Ponderous sweeps of crushed, crimson velvet looped from one ornate poster to the next. The matching dresser was low, backed by a huge oval mirror in a masterfully carved frame of naked bodies twisted around one another in a variety of innovative poses. The tufted sofa, upholstered in the same plush velvet, stood off to one side, and leaning against it was a nearly life-size portrait of a Rubensesque odalisque, her naked body reclining sensuously on a furry blanket and her plump, bejeweled fingers lifted into the pastel-tinted air. Love seats with velvet heart-shaped backs and gilded chairs were scattered everywhere.

“Interesting choices,” Sam murmured, “but I don’t know about the portrait. Don’t you think Madam’s lipstick clashes with the velvet on the bed?”

His words punctured the tension like a needle in a tight balloon, and Maddie released a whoop of laughter. It came from deep down inside of her, bubbling up and erupting into the air, filling the room and shaking her slender body until tears ran freely down her cheeks. She tried to talk, tried to say
something intelligible to Sam, but then she heard his own laughter, deep and rumbling, mixing with hers.

And then it was Eeyore’s tarn to get into the act. Tiring of sitting still between Maddie and Sam, he bounded across the room and in one flying leap landed smack in the middle of the wide bed.

Maddie’s laughter increased.

“I think he likes the bed,” Sam observed. “Maybe it comes in a smaller size.”

The dog thumped his tail wildly.

Maddie walked over and wrapped her arms around him. She scratched him behind his ears and scanned the room once more. “It might take a little getting used to—”

“I’m already attached.”

“It
does
have a certain ambience.”

“No question about that.” Sam walked over and leaned against the high bed, his shoulder rubbing against Maddie’s. His deep blue eyes crinkled.

A pounding on the door sent Eeyore’s ears upright. Heavy footsteps followed immediately. “Hey, lady, off that bed,” demanded a scowling, bearded man in overalls. Behind him was another man, this one sporting tattooed biceps. “You gonna ruin that bedspread,” said the first.

Maddie ran her palm over the velvet. “Perish the thought. That would be a disaster.”

“Sure as hell would. That’s a special bed, y’know.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Sam said. “But I think it’s made for heavy use.”

“This ain’t your furniture,” the bearded man said slowly, waving one hand through the air. “A mistake was made here. Happens occasionally.” Then he guffawed loudly and grabbed the painting, swinging it up into the air. “Cute babe, don’t you think?” He looked at Sam and winked broadly.

Sam tilted his head, scrutinizing the painting. “Lots of personality,” he said finally. “We’ll miss her.”

“I know what you mean, mister,” the delivery man said. “She’s the gen-u-ine thing. Ran a house up in San Francisco in the thirties. Things were easier then,” he added, looking longingly at the painting.

“Where is the furniture that belongs here?” Maddie finally asked.

“In the truck. No problem, little lady. We’ll have it in a jiffy. The folks at the summer theater were a little”—he glanced at Maddie, coughed, and continued—“they were a little peeved when we brought in that plain stuff. Said it wouldn’t work at all for
The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas
.”

“I don’t suppose so,” said Maddie.

“So you can have it back,” he offered graciously.

“Decent of you,” Sam said, nodding.

“No problem. We like to please folks. All a part of the business.”

Maddie slid off the bed and stood next to Sam. She peered at the name pin on the man’s dirty white
T-shirt. “Okay, Ralph,” she said, “let’s go for the plain stuff.”

“Won’t brighten up the place the way this beautiful furniture does,” Ralph said.

“We’ll have to adjust,” Maddie said.

“That bed would be a lot of fun, if you get my drift.” Again the grin was directed toward Sam. “But, hey, you can’t have everything.” With that Ralph motioned for his silent partner to pick up a gilded mirror and follow him out to the truck.

Maddie looked at Sam and grinned, then shrugged. “Easy come, easy go.”

“It’s going to be a tough act to follow, Maddie—”

“I’m up to the challenge.” She looked out the door, saw that Ralph had begun to unload the correct delivery, and glanced back at Sam. “I think it’s time you took a swim.”

“That’s been said to me in far less delicate ways.”

Maddie smiled. “I want you to see the room the right way, with everything in its place. Give me an hour or so.”

Sam looked down to the beach. It was a perfect California afternoon: blue skies, hot sun, and a light, cool breeze. He looked back to Maddie. “I should probably give those guys a hand—”

“Nope. It’s their job. We don’t need you.” She placed her hands on his shoulders, turning him slowly toward the door, and pushed him gently. “I found a pair of swim trunks in the boat house. They’re washed
and hanging in the bath, if you want them. Or try nature’s way, whatever. See you in an hour.”

“Bossy little thing, aren’t you?”

Maddie grinned, then turned and walked out the front of the house to the truck.

Sam watched her go. A half smile slipped across his face. Her slim, faded jeans fit perfectly. A loose cotton V-neck sweater fell over her breasts, then rested on the pleasing roundness of her buttocks. She wore no makeup. No pretense. She took his breath away.

And with the image of her long lean body crowding his mind and disturbing other parts of his anatomy, he descended the steps to the boat house. When he finally plunged into the ocean, he discovered that a swim in the cold, bracing sea was just what he needed.

It took an hour to get the old furniture out and the new in. With Maddie directing, Ralph and his buddy, perspiration streaming down their weary faces, shifted and juggled and arranged, then rearranged. When Maddie finally announced, “It’s perfect!” Ralph pushed his partner toward the door before she could change her mind.

For a few minutes Maddie fussed, moving a chair a few inches this way, a vase to the center of the table, straightening a pillow. And then she stood back against the wall and smiled. She loved it, every single solitary bit of it.

She bit down on her lip. But would Sam?

Before she could go and find him, he came to her.
She felt his presence before she saw him. She knew he was behind her, standing at the deck doors, looking in at the room. He was frighteningly quiet. Slowly Maddie turned around.

“Well?” she said. She had told herself it didn’t matter if he wasn’t enthusiastic. It was perfect, whether he realized it or not. Some of the furniture was hand-carved, some plain and straight and simple, but all of it was made of wood by local craftsmen whom Maddie had charmed and bribed and talked out of their favorite pieces, and the final product looked as if it had sprung up right there in the room, right along with the house. The sofa, upholstered in a natural, loose cotton fiber with muted streaks of tan and green and blue, was set in a wooden frame that encased the pillows like a box. It was long and simple and clean. The sides and back were inlaid with pieces of a darker wood that outlined the whole. Neat pillows along the back invited one to curl up in the softness and look out over the rolling waves of the ocean. And the tall bookshelves, reaching clear up to the skylight, polished and smelling of linseed oil, were lovely. Each item was different, special, but bound to the next like a friendly relative. The large coffee table, with its thick sheet of glass, held up by slender, curved pieces of driftwood, and the tall piece of brilliant blue pottery in the center, the muted rug beneath it, were all exactly as Maddie had envisioned them.

But Sam’s silence made her realize that what had
been in
her
mind might not be at all what Sam had been expecting. And if there was an opposite to the kind of decorating she had seen in his office, this was it. He could, quite conceivably, hate it.

“You’ll get used to it, Sam,” she said. “I know it’s not what you’re accustomed to, but it’s really perfect for this house. Honest. East of the Ocean shouldn’t be cluttered with elegant things, you know. Or maybe you don’t, but it’s true. This house needs simply to sit back and be beautiful all by itself.” She would have gone on longer, words pouring over words, but she ran out of breath.