On Lavender Lane (27 page)

A white, waxing moon was rising, lighting up the waves in a silvery trail that made it look as if you could just walk out to the horizon and over the edge of the earth. In the distance, the jagged pillars of sea stacks—land that had broken away from the continent—stood like ghostly sentinels, draped in shawls of fog.

He was looking through the telescope when, in the flash of the enormous prism of light from the Shelter Bay lighthouse, several hundred yards off shore, he spotted geysers of water—monumental clouds of spray and foamlike explosions. A moment later, a pod of whales breached in unison, leaping into the air and crashing back into the sea.

They were, he realized, literally playing in the waves. Several of them began sailing, enormous tails held aloft above the surface as they approached the shore. Just when Lucas feared they’d beach themselves on the treacherous rocks, they’d turn around, heading back to sea for another sail.

Although it was difficult to tell with the dimming light, most appeared to be California grays, on their annual six-thousand-mile migratory spring trek up the Pacific coast from their mating and birthing grounds off the Baja coast, back to the Bering Sea.

He sharpened the lens’s focus, catching sight of a few
humpback whales, which were relatively rare in these waters, though a few pods were spotted every season. This was the first time in several years he’d been fortunate enough to see them himself.

As the whales moved on beneath the water, he idly scanned the beach while drinking his beer. Which was when he spotted Maddy. All alone, perched atop a huge driftwood log.

Drinking from what appeared to be a bottle of champagne.

Which, depending on what Kara told her, and how she’d taken it, could be good. Or bad. Whichever, it could definitely end up dangerous.

“Come on,” he told Scout. “Looks like we’ve got another rescue mission on our hands.”

32

As luck would have it, there was a market not far from the beach. Still wired on adrenaline from her conversation with her soon-to-be-ex-husband, Maddy bought a bottle of chilled champagne and six plastic glasses. Not that she was planning to invite anyone to her party, but they only came in a set.

Then she drove down the curving road to the beach not far from Lucas’ cottage. Though she had no desire to see him, he just happened to live above one of the best stretches of coastline around.

She made her way down the wooden steps, belatedly realizing that she should have taken off the heels. Which she did, leaving them next to a pile of driftwood logs.

Then, barefoot, she walked across the sand, opened the small robin’s-egg blue box she’d been carrying around in her purse since leaving for the airport from the apartment, took out her wedding ring, and flung it as far as she could into the water.

There was a flash; then, after it disappeared beneath the waves, she walked back up to the logs, brushed the blown sand off one of the lower ones, sat down, popped the cork, and poured the sparkling wine into one of the stemmed plastic glasses. As the past ten years of her life drifted through her mind, like a documentary on some mental video screen, she began making inroads on the champagne.

The moon rose as Madeline drank. And remembered.

“There comes a time in every woman’s life,” she quoted her favorite-ever movie actress, “when the only thing that helps is a glass of champagne.”

She took another drink. When the bubbles didn’t feel quite as sparkly, she wondered if her tongue was becoming a bit numb, and held the dark green bottle up to the moonlight to judge the level of champagne remaining.

“Bette Davis. In
Now, Voyager
…No. That’s not right.”

She shook her head.

“
Old Acquaintance
. 1943. Davis said it to Miriam Hopkins. When at the end of the movie, after all those years of feuding, they’re left with just each other.”

She nodded her satisfaction at having remembered. Forties movies were not just her favorites; they were her forte, having spent so many late nights in her teens watching them on television with her grandmother.

Toasting the actress and herself for recalling the line, she tossed back the champagne. “It was probably for the best. Because it if has tires or a penis, it’s just bound to cause you trouble.”

“The tide’s going to be coming in soon,” a familiar deep voice warned.

Speaking of penises
…

“That’s what it does.” She took another drink. “It comes in. Then goes back out again.…In. Out. In. Out. Which is probably one of the few things—hell—maybe the only predictable thing in life.” She looked up at Lucas. “What are you doing here? And didn’t your father ever teach you that stalking a woman isn’t the best way to win her over?”

“I’m not stalking you. You’re on my beach.”

“Ha! Wrong answer.” She held up an index finger. Or was it two? “I may have been away for a while, but I happen to know that beaches in Oregon are public. So you have no right to claim this one, Lucas Chaffee.” Damn. Her tongue really was getting thick.

“You got me. But it’s the beach below my house, which is how I spotted you. And did it ever occur to you that walking out on a public beach alone late at night can get you into trouble? Why don’t you just send out an invitation to the Green River Killer while you’re at it?”

“He’s in prison. I saw him on one of those TV newsmagazines a few years ago. He claimed his career was killing people. He may not be legally insane, but I gotta tell you, he’s definitely crazy.”

She shook her head. “Then again, maybe we’re all crazy. In our own way.”

She polished off another glass and reached for the bottle she’d stuck into the sand.

Lucas was quicker, scooping it up. “You’re drunk.”

“You think?” She considered that for a moment. “Maybe just a little.” She held out her glass, inviting him to fill it again. “But not enough. Not yet.”

“What happened?”

“Shelter Bay is not a war zone. And I’m not a terrorist. So it seems to me that I should be able to celebrate without being interrogated by a Navy SEAL.”

“Former SEAL. And it was merely a question. So, what are we celebrating?”

“Independence Day.”

“Sounds good to me. You’re not talking about the Fourth of July kind of Independence Day with parades, flags, and fireworks, though, are you?”

“No. Though fireworks might be in order.”

Then she thought of his poor, sweet, three-legged dog who’d followed him down and was now sitting alert at his feet, seeming to be watching for any seagulls that might dare try to land. “On the other hand, probably not…I’m getting a divorce.”

“I thought we’d already determined that.”

“True.” She nodded. Slowly. Solemnly. “But today made it official.”

“You don’t waste any time.” He sat down beside her.

“My husband and his lover are in a hurry. Enough so that he was willing to pay me back all I put into his restaurants.”

“Good for you.”

“It gets better. I held out for more.”

She could see the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. The mouth that she was suddenly wishing was on hers. That idea made her head spin. Or, more likely, it was the champagne.

“Even better.”

“I’ve discovered lately that I’m a very good negotiator. Better than good. Excellent. Maybe even world-class…

“So, now that I have enough money for the restaurant and school, I decided to throw my wedding ring into the ocean so some poor, unsuspecting woman won’t buy it on Craigslist and end up with bad-luck vibes and a lying, cheating husband.”

She waved her hand toward the moon-gilded surf. “It was a combination engagement and wedding ring. Two carats. Marquis cut. Surrounded by another two carats of pavé diamonds. From Tiffany’s.” She pointed down at the blue box she’d dropped on the sand. “Though I never wore it on TV, so you wouldn’t have ever seen it, being such a huge fan of the Cooking Network as you profess to be. It was, let me tell you, very, very flashy.” She was having to concentrate not to slur her words. “Blindingly so.”

“Which isn’t at all you.”

She bestowed her sweetest smile on him. “You know me so well, Lucas. Which, although I hate to admit it, is making it more and more difficult for me to hate you.”

In fact, it was odd, she thought, through the cloud hazing her mind. Ever since she’d run into him in her grandmother’s kitchen, Lucas had stirred her up, tangling her emotions. But for some reason, his sitting here beside her, while
bringing back memories, also calmed her down. And felt surprisingly right.

“I’m glad to hear that. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Are you going to pour me some champagne or not?”

He shrugged. Seemed to give up.

“You’re a grown woman. If you want to get trashed because some jerk’s too stupid to realize that he had a gem far more precious than some overpriced hunk of crystallized carbon, far be it for me to stop you,” he muttered, pouring a few more inches into the glass.

When she continued to hold it out, he cursed beneath his breath and filled it to the plastic rim.

“I’m
not
getting drunk because of Maxime. Not really. I’m getting drunk because…well, because I never have before.”

“Ever?”

Although he’d known her for only five summers, from when she’d first arrived in Shelter Bay at thirteen to that summer after her high school graduation, she’d always been a straight arrow. Which is why, although he’d walked around with a near-perpetual hard-on, he’d been so hesitant to be the one who took the virginity she’d suddenly been so eager to give up. He’d known sex was a serious thing to her.

What he hadn’t foreseen was that she’d been willing to toss away all her plans for her life once he’d given in.

“Never.” Her mist-dampened curls fanned out as she shook her head. “Ever. So, it seemed like a good idea tonight.” Her brow furrowed. “But thank you for saying that about me being a gem. That’s sweet. Very, very sweet.”

She smiled up at him, her eyes gleaming seductive silver. Although Lucas knew it was his imagination, he could’ve sworn he heard the sultry songs of sirens singing out beyond the breakers.

“It’s true.”

“It’s still sweet. Why don’t you have some champagne? I hate to drink alone.” She frowned. “I left the other glasses up in the car.”

“I’m not fussy.” He tilted the bottle to his lips and allowed the champagne to slide down his throat. Although he preferred beer, the French bubbly wasn’t half bad.

They sat there, side by side, in a surprisingly comfortable silence, watching the waves wash onto the shore.

“I saw the whales earlier,” he said. “Right before I came down here.”

“That’s so special. I love the whales.” She took another drink. “Love. Them. Remember that time one washed up on shore?”

It was the summer he’d been seventeen. She’d been fifteen, and he’d returned to town to discover that the last of her baby fat had turned into amazing curves. “Yeah.”

“That was so sad.”

The entire town had tried to keep the tragically misdirected, huge gray whale hydrated. He and Maddy had both been part of the bucket brigade. Oregon State had sent team of biologists, who, when the tide failed to wash it back out to sea and its breathing had become labored, had no choice but to euthanize it.

“So, so sad.” He heard the choked sob on her voice.

“Yeah. It was.” With his fingertip, he wiped away the tear that was trailing down her cheek.

They fell silent again. He hoped she was thinking of better summers.

The temperature began to drop.

“It’s getting cold,” he said when she shivered. “We’d better get you inside.”

“Inside your place?”

“Well, I could take you home. But you’re not driving yourself, because friends don’t let friends drive drunk. You’re also welcome to spend the night.”

“Aha!” She turned toward him and lifted her glass to, apparently, make some sort of point. “We’re back to that.”

She really was on her way to being wasted. “To what?” He plucked the nearly empty glass from her hand, put it on the sand next to the bottle, and stood up.

“To you wanting me.” Although he’d expected an argument, she took hold of the hand he extended, allowing him to help her to her feet. “And me wanting you.”

He suspected it was the alcohol that had loosened her inhibitions enough to allow her to make that admission out loud.

“I always want you.” He took hold of her shoulders, balancing her when she swayed. No way was he going to let her climb that wooden stairway to the cliff on her own. “But you’re safe tonight, Chef Madeline.”

“Oh.” Those full lips he was aching to taste turned down in a pout. “Isn’t that just like a man? You’ve already changed your mind and undoubtedly moved on to some other woman.”

“I haven’t changed my mind. In fact, if the tide wasn’t about to start coming in and the temperature wasn’t dropping like a stone, I’d be temped to reenact the beach scene in
From Here to Eternity
.”

“Like we haven’t already.”

Now, there was a summer memory. He could recall that night in the cave in vivid detail. Hadn’t he relived it in dreams over the years? Which wasn’t helping his control any.

She was doing that swaying thing again. Catching her before she toppled into the tide, which was getting closer, Lucas scooped her up and threw her over his shoulder.

33

“I’m perfectly capable of walking myself.”

Like hell.
“Shut up,” he said mildly.

“Excuse me?”

“I said, shut up. You’ve had a rotten few days.”

“They haven’t exactly been a picnic,” she agreed.

“Which is why I don’t think you’d want to top them off by falling down the steps, breaking your neck on the rocks, being washed out to sea, and ending up some shark’s entrée.”

“Well, that’s an appealing scenario. Don’t forget my shoes,” she said. “They’re new.”

He bent down and scooped up the flimsy little red sandals that had been a ridiculous choice for the beach.

“I know why you came down here,” she claimed.

“You canceled our meeting. I figured this was as good a chance as any to talk with you.”