No Breaking My Heart (13 page)

“I have a forklift.”

“That should impress your dates.”

“It doesn't.”

“Danny would be out of his mind.”

“I'll have to show it to him sometime.”

Sometime
. Alyn wondered when that might be. Once he returned to Richmond after pre-season? A year from now? She wouldn't mention anything to her brother. She didn't want to get his hopes up. “He'd like that,” was all she said.

“So,” he broached. “Do you permanently live with your mom?”

“I had my own apartment before my dad died.” She dug one hand in the sand, let the white grains filter through her fingers. Sighed. “Bad things often occur in threes, in my case, fours. I lost my father, my business partner stole from our joint business account, I got dumped by my boyfriend, and Quigley got hit by a car. Danny's yet to forgive himself.”

“He will, once Quigs walks again.”

“I'm hoping so.”

A tiny shell stuck between her fingers, broken down the middle with uneven edges. It reminded her of herself. She went on to reflect. “Life flattened me for a short time, but I'm standing again. My previous partner and I never had a permanent retail location. We advertised and sold refurbished pieces from two rental units. The space was costly, and my bank account dwindled. I closed one unit, and moved half the furniture home. It's crowded, but my mom hasn't complained.”

“You have plastic on your couches.”

“To protect them. Danny spills soda and drips ice cream.”

“You've enough lamps to light Richmond.”

“The brighter the better.”

“All those mirrors.”

“I caught you looking at yourself.”

“I was checking you out. I liked what I saw.”

“I'm not much to look at.” Stated as fact; she wasn't fishing for a compliment.

“You're more than you know, babe.”

Nice of him to say, but she didn't believe it. She was the woman of the moment, sitting beside him on the beach. It was extremely late. She tossed the shell aside and stared out at the Gulf. The water was dark, dappled by moonlight. Quigley snored softly between them. Her pug looked so comfortable, she hated to move him.

Small talk. Halo next asked, “Have you lived in Richmond all your life?”

She nodded. “Born and raised.”

“Me, too. Odd we never ran into each other over the years.”

“It's a big city.”

“I've found you now.”

“No, I found you,” she corrected him. “On the sidewalk outside Jacy's Java.”

He chuckled low. His dimples, deep. “I went in for a double espresso, and came out to a chicken.”

“We never did see the show air.”

“I have connections, and can get a copy of the tape if you really want to watch it.”

She wondered if he'd call Alex or Natalie the model. Natalie would offer more than the tape. “Thanks, but no thanks. It's not worth reliving.”

“I agree.” Halo sat up then. He kept one leg straight and bent the other, resting his elbow on his knee. “What do you do when you're not a chicken?” he asked, genuinely interested. “When you're not collecting antiques?”

“Spare time is spent with my family,” she told him. “Growing up, I assisted my dad in the greenhouse. He had a green thumb, but most everything I touched turned brown. Still, he welcomed my help. I like movies, double-features. Buckets of popcorn. Big jigsaw puzzles. Reading. Quigley's become a top priority. He pretty much goes wherever I do.” She cut him a glance. “How about you?”

“Action keeps me sane,” he said. “I'm flammable as hell, and sports burn energy. If I'm not playing baseball, I'm shooting hoops. Jogging. Working out. I'm not good at sitting still.”

“You're sitting with me now.”

“Your calm rubbed off on me.”

“Not me, the beach. It's restful and relaxing. Although you should be with your teammates.”

“I talked with most of the guys at the Blue Coconut early on. I'll check on them before last call at Boner's.”

The players didn't wait for Halo to check on them, they began texting him. His iPhone rang with four consecutive posts. Long and detailed. He ran one hand down his face, relaying to her, “Will was playing darts, and didn't wait for Jake to retrieve his round from the board. Will darted our first baseman in the ass. Jake retaliated, threw one back. Nailed Will in the thigh.”

“That had to hurt.”

Halo frowned. “They've had a lot to drink by now, so aren't feeling any pain. Hank Jacoby invited one of the female limo drivers to breakfast. She dropped the players at Boner's, then drove him to Scramblers, an all-night diner. They've yet to return. The team's one limo short. Sam Matthews passed out in a booth. The chick he picked up got pissed, and took a permanent marker to his cheeks. Shit. Sam now has cat whiskers. Will's calling him pussy face.”

That didn't sound good.

His brow creased with concern. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered. “The guys lost Landon outside the Oyster.” He closed his eyes for half a second. Opened them. “I need to find him.”

“Go, then,” she encouraged. In one continuous motion, she collected Quigs and stood. Her pug was all warmth and snuggles. They brought comfort to each other.

Halo scooped up his shirt, shook it out, and slipped it on. Buttoned up. Then grabbed the dog's wheelchair. “I would've liked to sit a while longer,” he said as they trooped across the sugar sand. He sounded as if he meant it.

“The beach isn't going anywhere.”

They walked in silence. Each holding his and her own thoughts. Alyn was leaning toward sleep and Halo needed to track down his best friend.

They soon reached the inn. He walked her up the sidewalk, assisted her onto the porch. “See you upstairs?” he asked.

“We're good from here.”

He handed her the cart. Stood at her side. Both her hands were occupied when he made his move, careful not to disturb her dog. But she wouldn't have pushed him away, even if her hands were free.

The warmth of his palm settled on her shoulder as his fingers brushed back her hair. Leaning in, he kissed her neck softly, slowly. All warm breath and scratch of stubble.

Her eyelids grew heavy.

Pure sensation. Prickles, tingles, a rash of goose bumps. An undisguised shiver.
More
, she silently sighed, but got less.

Halo eased back. “Sleep sweet.” And he was gone. Before she even opened her eyes.

Arousal shared her bed.

Seven

L
ast call at the Lusty Oyster, and Landon Kane stood outside the bar. Hands in his pockets. Face to the sky. Breathing deeply. He was in need of fresh air. He had a major buzz going, and hoped to clear his head. Even a little. Two of his teammates were stumble drunk. His own eyes were blurry. He blinked to bring the street into focus.

The morning hour would take him to Boner's. A bar beyond the city limits that tipped the scale on cheap booze and loose morals. He decided to loop in, loop out. Sleep was suddenly more important than another six-pack.

He crossed his arms over his chest, wrinkling his blue button-down. Then scuffed his short boots on the sidewalk. Where was their limousine? he wondered, scanning the street. One vehicle had already left. A second should be parked in the general vicinity. He just couldn't locate it. Shit.

The bar door swung wide, and stayed open as after-hour singles became couples. Despite being paired up, women still winked, grinned, and openly flirted with him as they walked by. A brunette took his hand, raised her eyebrows, willing to dump the guy she was with for him. Land shook his head. It wasn't going to happen. There would be no woman in his life tonight.

Or so he thought, until a black Porsche stopped at the red light on the corner. It was an eye-catcher. Everyone on the sidewalk stared. Including him.

Land knew his classics; he was a collector. The 1965 coupe 911 was undeniably one of his favorites. Moonlight shimmered on its polished surface. Reflected off the windshield. The sunroof was open, and Jon Bon Jovi's “Livin' on a Prayer” rose on the night air.

He looked closer, checked out the driver. Damn if he didn't know her. It was Eden Cates, with her wild hair and quirky glasses. He wondered why she was out at this hour. Alone. Driving a hot car on a main party strip.

The traffic light turned green, and she crossed through the intersection, cruising slowly, toward him. Her window rolled down, and she lowered the radio. She blocked traffic. Her glasses sat low on her nose, and she stared at him over the rainbow rims. “O'Rourke, is that you?”

He couldn't help but grin. She'd called him by his cardboard cutout. “It's me, Marilyn,” he responded in kind, unreasonably glad to see her. He stepped into the street, and approached her vehicle. “I missed my ride to Boner's.” He held out his thumb, as if hitchhiking. “Going my way?”

“Not to Boner's.”

“Where then?”

“Home.”

Her place, why not? “Works for me.” Anywhere was better than standing on the street corner. “Offer me a cup of coffee and I'll be your best friend.”

“I already have a best friend.”

“Just coffee then?”

How much thought had to go into his question? Yet she took her sweet time responding. Behind them now, a man in a mini-van lay on his horn. Eden needed to move. “Okay, fine,” she finally agreed. “Hop in.”

He was inside before she could change her mind. He dropped on the seat, placed his feet on the floor mat. He inhaled the scent of aging leather and appreciated the original wood of the dash and rimmed steering wheel. He hand-rolled down his window, rested his elbow on the edge. “Nice ride. Yours?” he asked her.

She drove barefoot, he noticed. A gold ankle bracelet flashed when she pushed in the clutch and shifted gears. Her black dress slid above her knee when she released it. Her thighs were toned, lightly tanned. Easy on his eyes.

She rounded the block before answering, “My cousin Zane restores vintage cars in his spare time.”

“Zane, the hurricane hunter?” Rylan spoke of his brother often. Zane was with the Air Force Reserve 53rd Weather Reconnaissance Squadron, based at Keesler Air Force Base in Biloxi, Mississippi.

She nodded. “He worked on Geddes for a year. The car was a rusted, dented frame pulled from the junkyard. She's all original parts. A true beauty now.”

Eden had christened her car. Somehow that didn't surprise him. It took him a moment to place the name.
Anne Geddes.
He was disbelieving when he asked, “You named your Porsche after a baby photographer?” Her sports car was high-end luxury. He owned one himself. A later model. Geddes was not a fitting name. Or so he thought. “The woman takes pictures of babies in flowerpots and chocolate Easter eggs. Wrapped in lettuce.”

Her chin went up and her words were clipped. “I admire her talent. She takes emotional photos that go beyond their individual elements.”

Great. He'd ticked her off. He made amends. “My sister has an Anne Geddes calendar.” Twelve months of vegetable infants hung next to the refrigerator. “I got choked up over the baby peas in a pod.”

“No, you didn't.”

She would be right. “Photography's subjective,” he said. “I like action shots. Especially in sports. A runner taking a hurdle. A swimmer off the starting block. A basketball player making a jump shot. A hockey player shooting the puck. A race car burnout. A perfect click of the camera stops time.”

She glanced his way. “Sounds intense. Do you shoot?”

“I've taken a few photos, now and again.” Quite often, actually. Becoming a professional ballplayer had topped his list of ambitions as a kid. Sports photography came in a close second. Preserving athletes and events on film fascinated him. Their expressions, musculature, told a story. An underdog's struggle to become success. A star's tragic moment of defeat. The ultimate win.

Landon drifted with the night. He relaxed deeper in the seat as they cruised the main beach road. The sunroof opened to a partial moon. Numerous stars. The occasional streetlight. He was a day person who found nighttime challenging. His teammates came alive after midnight. Land functioned best on eight hours of sleep.

He turned slightly, asked Eden, “Why are you out so late?”

“I was at a wedding shower for one of my girlfriends. Time got away from us.”

“Partying?”

“Not in the way you were tonight.”

“I'm not drunk.”

“You've never spoken more than a few words to me on your own. I think Land Shark's talking for you.”

Whoa. “You know my brand of beer?”

“You and Halo Todd were drinking Land Shark at Rylan's backyard picnic last year.”

Lady had one hell of a memory or perhaps she'd been more into him than he'd initially imagined. “You were watching me?” he asked.

“I was seated on a lawn chair near the metal ice bucket. You and Halo Todd were discussing fast cars and superheroes. You hit the watering hole hard.”

They'd drunk their fair share of beer. He'd noticed her, too, from the corner of his eye. Wild ponytail, big sunglasses, and a continual smile. Sipping pink lemonade. He remembered her graphic T-shirt designed with small puzzle pieces. His teammate Jake Packer had stood before her overly long, staring at her chest, trying to fit the parts together. Jake never had figured it out. Landon immediately recognized the image as the Eiffel Tower. The observation deck rounded her right nipple.

He hadn't spoken a single word to her at the picnic. Their second meeting at the boardwalk flower show hadn't gone much better. She put him on edge. He didn't like being at a disadvantage.

He yawned, rested his eyes, and she tapped the brake. Jarring him. “No passing out,” she said.

“Not even close.” He was wide-eyed now. He concentrated on the street signs. He knew the basic layout of the town. But didn't recognize Sandpiper Boulevard or Starfish Way. She turned off the main road, heading east, away from the beach. Driving rural. The two-lane road was paved, but bumpy. Palm and cypress trees flanked the sides. Low-hanging branches made a grab for the Porsche. She eluded them.

“Where to?” They'd been on the back road for fifteen minutes now.

“You'll see.”

He soon did. Another five, and the woods parted to a small clearing, stalked by vegetation. The Porsche tripped a security system, and flood lights pushed back the darkness at the front of the property. She pulled in, and parked. Killed the engine. Hopped out. Motioned for him to follow her.

He sat tight. For the moment, anyway. He stuck his head out the window, looked around. There was no sign of a house or trailer. Not even a tent. Only the beginning of a stone walkway. Eden had already disappeared down the path.

Where had she gone? Alone in the woods didn't sit well with him. She might be Rylan's cousin, but Landon barely knew her. He hadn't taken her for psycho, but she was quirky. Did she like to scare people? This was the perfect setup for her to jump out of the bushes or sneak up behind him. He was big and strong, and basically fearless. Still, he didn't like being fooled or played. Not when he could avoid it.

He got out of the Porsche, stretched. Then followed the trail of stones, listening for sounds. Crickets. Frogs. A creepy bird. The change in his pocket jingled. Quarters to feed the jukebox at Blue Coconut. Maybe he should drop a few coins to find his way back. He let two dollars' worth slip.

The path curved, and dim spotlights brought a tall, latticework arch into view, one woven with vines. When he ducked under, dead leaves crunched beneath his shoes. A small wooden cottage with a steeply-pitched roof was dead ahead. A heavy, scrolled metal sign hung to the left of the entrance:
WEDDING CHAPEL
.

What the—? It took a minute for his destination to soak in. Why would she bring him here? he wondered. Weird as hell.

The door creaked, and Eden appeared. “Coffee's made,” she told him. The scent of dark roast crooked a finger and drew him inside. “Welcome to my home.” She stepped back, let him enter.

“You live in a wedding chapel?” His surprise was evident.

“People no longer get married here,” she explained, “not for a long time anyway. William Cates founded Barefoot William in 1906. He met his wife in southwest Florida, and had the chapel built for their ceremony. Many Cateses and future townspeople followed in his footsteps. Eventually, the town outgrew the tiny church, and a larger one was built.”

He appreciated the history. She continued with, “Sophie Cates, Dune's wife, is the local historian and museum curator. We came across the chapel a few years ago when we were documenting old buildings. Weathered and dilapidated, the church had long since witnessed its last wedding and heard its last sermon. Still”—she gave a soft sigh—“I fell in love with the place. I asked Shaye if I could renovate it as a home. She agreed, but only after I took countless photos for posterity. My cousin Aidan's a contractor. He did the work, leaving as many original boards and beams as possible.”

Land took it all in. The chapel wrapped him in days gone by. Impressive high ceilings and soaring white walls were balanced by worn, wood floors. Stained-glass windows surrounded the small raised sanctuary. Wall sconces shed light. An ancient upright piano pressed against one wall.

The old and the new. Pretty cool. He followed Eden down a narrow center aisle between several rows of refurbished pews. She ran her hand over the smooth wood. “We were able to save six.”

Just beyond, a modern black leather sofa and glass oval coffee table angled toward an entertainment center and computer pull-out desk. A compact combination.

Then there were the framed photographs. Hundreds of them. Floor to ceiling, they covered every inch of wall space. Eden saw his eyes widen and said, “I shoot more than cutout portraits. I've also restored old pictures of William Cates and early family members. The growth of the town, past to present day.”

Landon moved closer to one wall. He didn't recognize anyone in the black-and-white photos. They dated back to the Model-T and railroads. To a time when the boardwalk had only three stores and industry centered on commercial fishing.

Moving farther along the wall, he came across a picture of Rylan as a boy, playing tee-ball. Then Shaye and her grandfather Frank on the pier. Aidan building a tree house showed his childhood skills as a contractor. The photographs brought a warmth to the chapel. Told the story of lives intertwined, and the way the Cateses had prospered.

He scratched his jaw; there was someone missing here. He cut Eden a look. “Who takes your picture?” he asked her.

“I don't photograph well.”

“You looked good as Marilyn Monroe.”

“My hair was in my eyes and I was behind a cardboard cutout.”

“I liked it.”

Her brow creased. Color rose in her cheeks. His words seemed to confuse her. “Beer goggles.”

“I'm not drunk, Eden,” he told her straight. “I've never used booze as an excuse for my words or actions.”

Their eyes met, and she drew a deep breath. “Me, either.”

“You don't drink at all, do you?” He had her figured out.

“I enjoy a glass of champagne on special occasions.”

“There's lots of joy and happiness within these walls. You have an unusual home,” he admired as they crossed the sanctuary and entered the kitchen. A square, two-person space at best.

“This used to be the chaplain's office,” she informed him. “Aidan constructed a small kitchen.”

Miniscule, actually. He noted the slim-line refrigerator and compact two-burner stove. There was very little counter space. Barely room for the toaster, electric can opener, and Mr. Coffee. No microwave, trash compactor, or dishwasher. The closet door was cracked, and he caught sight of a stackable washer-dryer.

The peaked window over the sink was dotted with pastel Mason jars and vintage glass. She'd planted herbs in tiny galvanized pots. None of her cupboards had doors. Everything was visible at a glance. She kept things neat. She poured his coffee into a ceramic photo mug. Passed it to him. Land studied the action shot. It showcased Rylan scaling the center field wall in order to catch a fly ball.