Moonlight on Monterey Bay (8 page)

He frowned. “What’s this?”

“I thought we could do some stencils in here, something gay and bright. Then paint everything else—the bookcases, woodwork, window seat—white, and spread bright cushions everywhere. And I’ve found some wonderful children’s furniture—”

“Children’s furniture?” His brows pulled together. He turned slowly and stared at her. “What are you talking about?”

“For your daughter,” she said. “It seemed the perfect room for her, with that wonderful window seat and all the bookshelves. It’s a little girl’s dream room.”

“My daughter doesn’t live with me,” he said.

“I understand. But when she visits you—”

He shook his head. “I visit her.”

His tone was controlled, calm, and cool.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” Maddie said.

“No need to be sorry. Just make it into a guest room, like the others.” He was out of the room and down the steps. “What else is there? Eleanor mentioned papers—”

“Yes,” Maddie said, finally catching up with him. “There are some papers we would like you to sign, but they’re at my house.”

Sam was heading out the door. He could almost see Sara in that room, her small agile form racing toward the window to look out at the sea. Was that what five-year-old girls did? And the fact that he didn’t know pressed heavily on his heart as he drove in silence to the other side of town and the tree-lined Santa Cruz street on which Maddie lived.

“Well, this is it,” Maddie said.

Sam pulled the car up to the curb and got out. He looked up at the freshly painted house. A friendly, broad porch holding rockers and a swing and a jungle of plants ran across the front of the house and along one side. Flower boxes overflowing with geraniums hung at each window.

“Home sweet home,” Maddie said.

“Yours?”

“I rent it from Joseph.” She held open the screen door and Sam walked in.

In an instant Eeyore was off the couch and at Maddie’s side. He sniffed at Sam’s pant legs for a
few seconds, then batted the visitor’s legs with his thick tail.

Maddie laughed. “You’ve passed inspection.”

“I like you too,” Sam said to the dog. He scratched Eeyore behind his ears as he took in what he could see of Maddie’s house. The front hall was small but light and clean, and smelled of wildflowers. The moldings around the doors and ceiling and floor were dark and rubbed to a lustrous shine, the walls white with paintings of the sea and forest, of wild birds and brilliant flowers and vivid sunsets over the ocean.

“Do you like it?” Maddie asked, leading him into the living room. Her eyes were bright, her voice touched with pride. This house was light-years away from Sam’s land of place, but when she had moved in five years ago, she had worked tirelessly, sometimes staying up all night, making it hers, a place where she could mend.

“It’s wonderful,” Sam said honestly. He looked around again, admiring the simplicity. “It’s peaceful and soothing, not cluttered with stuff. I like it.”

Maddie was surprised at his insightfulness. He had seen through the plainness right to the heart of what she had sought in her home. “Thank you,” she said, her smile warm.

Sam could see Maddie’s talent everywhere. In the choice of fabrics, the picture groupings, the ability to take an old couch and transform it into a bright, flowery piece of furniture. A strange, almost uninvited
feeling swept through him as he began to sense her spirit in the house. He frowned against the feeling. Maddie was really getting to him now. Next thing he knew he’d be talking to ghosts.

“The papers?” Maddie was saying. She looked up at him, into his dark, pondering eyes. “These are the agreements with our subcontractors that Joseph would like you to sign. Why don’t you sit here and look them over while I get us some tea, and then you can be on your way before it gets too late.”

Sam took off his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves, then sat at the round oak table in the window bay and sorted through the papers, scrawling his name on the bottom. But he couldn’t concentrate on papers or subcontractors. The house was so much like the woman who lived in it that he had the odd sensation of being surrounded by her. He could feel her, smell her, touch her.

When Maddie brought in the tea, she discovered he had moved over to the sofa, settled his long frame into the soft cushions, and closed his eyes. Eeyore slept comfortably at his feet.

“Are you asleep?” she whispered.

One eye opened. “I’m just relaxing.”

“Okay, but don’t fall asleep, Sam. You still have a drive ahead of you.”

“Right.”

“But I’m glad you’re relaxing. You certainly don’t do much of that.”

Sam lifted one brow.

“Well, it’s obvious.” She put the tray down on the glass coffee table and sat beside him. “Santa Cruz will be good for you. It’s hard not to relax here.”

“There is a kind of spell about this place.”

“I know. That’s why I’m here.”

“I thought you were a native.”

Maddie’s laugh was low and soft. “Maybe I lived here in another life and I simply found my way back, I don’t know. But I do love it here. Santa Cruz has given me something important. I came here looking for it, and I found it.”

Sam watched her eyes deepen as she spoke. They were like the sea, a pool of light and color that was always changing. Now, in the dim light of the small room, they swam with emotion. He wanted to ask what brought her here and what caused the flickering emotion in those remarkable eyes. But years of caution, of avoiding connections, stopped him, and instead he asked, “What has it given you, Maddie?”

“Myself,” she said simply.

Sam nodded. “How long have you been here?”

“Five years. A lifetime—” She filled a teacup and extended it to him.

Her fingers brushed his hand accidentally and Sam felt a rush, a melting deep inside him. He took a deep breath and leaned back into the couch. “So you didn’t come here for the job with Joseph?”

“No, not a job. I came here … to live.”

Sam lifted one arm to the sofa back and rested
it there. She moved when she spoke and her long thick hair brushed against the bare skin of his arm. He didn’t move.

“Anyway, Sam,” Maddie went on, her voice picking up, “I think once your house is done, you’ll see that East of the Ocean can be a tonic for you, a soothing, wonderful—”

Sam’s concentration flagged and Maddie’s words began to float about his head. Soothing and wonderful … hell, he felt that way right now, here, in this small, plain house. His fingers dropped to her shoulder and touched the smooth bare skin. He felt her sharp intake of breath.

“Sam, I—” she began.

“Yoo-hoo, Maddie!”

Sam pulled his hand back. In the next second a door banged and glass rattled.

Maddie turned toward the hallway. “Hi, Lily.”

A pretty blond woman a few years older than Maddie stood in the doorway. Her eyes shifted from Maddie to Sam, then widened in delight. “Well, hello there! I didn’t know Maddie had company.” She grinned and walked in, flopping down in an oversized chair.

“Lily, meet Sam; Sam, Lily Thorpe, a good friend. Lily lives next door with two beautiful kids and the best husband in the world.”

“All sound asleep,” she said. “I got the kids bathed and bedded, then settled down with Jack to a wonderful, romantic dinner with wine and candles and
even oysters—they’re an aphrodisiac, you know, and sometimes, well, with the kids and all, a little extra help is nice.” Her hand flew through the air. “And anyway, guess what happened? Jack was so exhausted, he fell asleep while I was clearing the table. And just as I was getting my second wind!
C’est la vie
,” she said with a comical grin. And then she turned her full attention to Sam. “All right, now tell me about you. You’re not here on business, Sam, are you?” Her eyes beseeched him to say no.

Sam laughed, and Lily went on, “Tell me that you and Maddie are—”

Maddie broke in quickly. “Lily, I think what you need is Jack. He’d love it if you went home and woke him up in one of your artful ways. Do you want some tea before you leave?”

Lily ignored her. She leaned forward, scrutinizing Sam’s face. “Now I remember who you are. Sam. The beach house.” She frowned. “You are not what I imagined, Sam-of-the-beach-house.”

Sam settled back in the couch, his hands folded behind his head, a half smile on his lips. “And what was that, Lily-of-next-door?”

Lily laughed. “Good. A sense of humor. That’s important.”

“Important for what?” Sam asked.

“For courting my dear friend, Maddie.”

“Lily! Sam is—”

“—far more handsome than you admitted, Maddie, but I knew you were hiding something.”

Maddie shook her head, then said to Sam, “Lily’s shy.”

“And charming,” Sam said.

Lily leaned forward and patted his knee. “I knew from everything Maddie didn’t say that I would like you, Sam Eastland.”

Sam matched her serious tone. “And I can tell I like you, Lily.”

Maddie watched the exchange. It amused and surprised her. The sophisticated Sam Eastland and Lily, who had probably finished the bottle of wine when Jack fell asleep on her and would no doubt blurt out anything that popped into her head.

“Maddie is a fine, fine person, Sam,” Lily said, nodding as she spoke.

“Lily, quiet already. Sam doesn’t need personal references. I already got the job.”

“Go on, Lily,” Sam said. “This information might come in handy someday, who knows?”

“That’s what I always say, Sam. Be prepared.” Lily laughed again, a deep belly laugh that pulled both Maddie and Sam into it. And then she went on, her eyes glued to Sam’s face, “I’ve known Maddie for almost five years. She practically delivered my twins—and let me tell you, she’s top drawer and don’t you forget it.”

Sam held up one hand. “You have my word, Lily. I won’t forget.”

“I know you won’t.” Lily’s eyes crinkled with laughter. “And I know you’d like me to stay longer,
but really, I can’t.” She closed her eyes, shook her head, and pushed her hands out in front of her. “No, no, don’t protest. I must go. If Jack wakes up without the cold soles of my feet against his wonderful hairy legs, he’ll worry.”

Sam stood as Lily pushed herself out of the chair.

She grinned at him. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Sam. You come back anytime.”

“Funny, I thought this was my house,” Maddie said.

“Of course it is,” Lily said sweetly. Then to Sam: “And you can come to my house too. Come meet Jack and my munchkins. They’re the cat’s meow. Come anytime.”

“Thanks, Lily,” Sam said, and took her elbow. “May I help you home?”

“A gentleman,” Lily said to Maddie, and winked.

Maddie groaned and held open the front door for Sam and Lily to pass through.

“Oh, lordy,” Maddie murmured.

“I can’t see a thing,” Lily said. “I think I’m blind.”

“Damn,” Sam muttered.

Spread out in front of them, as thick and murky as a sea of oatmeal, were billows of gray-black fog. Maddie peered into the darkness. She couldn’t see anything. Not streetlights, or house lights, or moonlight.

Nothing but dense, oppressive, travel-restricting fog.

FIVE

It took only a few minutes to weave blindly through the fog and get Lily safely home. When they returned, Maddie and Sam stood silently on the porch and stared into the gray nothingness.

“You’ll have to spend the night, that’s all,” Maddie said finally. “You can’t drive in this.” In the distance a foghorn bleated out its mournful warning.

“No,” Sam said. He pressed his palms against the railing and leaned forward. “It’s okay. I’ll go to the beach house.”

“That’s silly. It’s three miles away on a winding, dark road.”

Sam was silent, his eyes trying to penetrate the fog.

“Don’t worry,” Maddie said, her voice lifting. “You’re safe here, Sam. I won’t try to seduce you.” Her attempt at levity fell flat. Instead of the deep-throated
laugh she waited for, Sam set his jaw, his blue eyes deepening.

It was bad enough having Eleanor conspiring against him; now nature herself was pitching in with curveballs. Sam wasn’t at all sure the neat white house was big enough for both of them. “This is the damnedest situation,” he said, a little too gruffly.

“Hey, Sam, I didn’t order this fog. It just happened. And it’s not that big a deal, is it?” She looked at him intently, and then the reason for his anger dawned on her—he had someone waiting for him. At this very moment there was probably a voluptuous woman curled up on a wide, silk-sheeted bed in an elegant condo, waiting for the sound of his key in the lock. And here Sam was, fogged in with her. A soft laugh escaped her lips.

The sound curled up inside of Sam, squeezing the air from his lungs. “Don’t do that!” he said.

Maddie’s head tilted slightly. “I was laughing, for heaven’s sake! Listen, I’m sorry about this. And I can see how it would upset you, especially with someone waiting for you. But it’s the way it is. You can use my phone to call her, and if this fog goes away as fast as I expect it will, you can be there before she wakes up in the morning.”

“Maddie—” His voice was low, nearly a growl. “Be quiet. There’s no one waiting for me.”

“Well, good. There’s no problem, then.” Maddie
turned and walked back inside. She buried the instant pleasure she felt at the information by rummaging through the hall closet for sheets.