On Lavender Lane (3 page)

“Well, you’re still young,” Birdy pointed out. “Of course, your husband’s quite a bit older, but age isn’t such a big deal for men. They’re not the ones with their eggs getting older by the day.”

And wasn’t that a fun thought?

It didn’t take long for Jebediah and his partner to pull them out of the snowbank, and within fifteen minutes the SUV was crunching its way across the mall parking lot.

“Nice thing about winter,” Birdy said, her optimism once again reminding Madeline of her grandmother. “The snow fills in all the potholes.”

The kitchen setup in the store was as good as promised. As she entered the area to the enthusiastic applause of all the women—along with a few men—who’d braved the weather to show up today, Madeline felt almost like a rock star.

Birdy’s assistant had warmed up the preprepared dish, sending the rich aroma of wine gravy and braised meat wafting throughout the store.

“That scrumptious smell’s goin’ to be drawing them in from all over the mall,” Birdy predicted.

Which appeared to be true as the crowd grew while Madeline demonstrated how to caramelize meat in a sauté pan from ChefSteel, the company with whom her agent had negotiated an endorsement deal. Birdy had gone all out, setting up a video camera, which allowed those in the back of the crowd to watch on a large-screen television.

“Sizzling’s good,” Madeline said as the olive oil danced. “This part takes patience because you want the meat to be nicely colored on all sides. That’s what elevates your dish to perfection.”

She took the ribs out of the pan and put them on a plate. “Now we’ll sauté our mirepoix—which is simply a fancy French name for a mixture of cut celery, carrots, and onions—in the drippings from the meat.”

Again, the assistant had come through with the prep work.

“The fat in the pan is bringing up more meat flavors into the veggies,” Madeline said as she stirred them. “We’ll cook just until they’re tender. An interesting little bit of trivia is that mirepoix is named for a duke who was a field marshal for King Louis the Fifteenth. According to the stories, despite being incompetent, he was given the post of ambassador because the king appreciated his wife’s charms.”

As always, that story raised eyebrows.

“Whatever Mirepoix’s alleged failings, the man could definitely cook. He gave his name to lots of different sauces, but this one’s become the standard.”

As she went on to demonstrate how to deglaze with balsamic vinegar and red wine, Madeline thought the bit of eighteenth-century gossip was the cause of the murmurs humming through the crowd. Then she noticed a couple sharing an iPhone, while others around them were busily tapping into their own smart phones.

Curious, she glanced over at Birdy, who, after looking up from her own phone’s screen, went as pale as the onions sautéing in the pan.

The older woman hurried over to Madeline. “Now that Chef Madeline’s been good enough to share her wonderful culinary tips with us, Julie will be serving the final result,” she announced. “And I know you’ll all enjoy it.” She took hold of Madeline’s arm and dragged her behind a tall counter filled with shiny, upscale coffeemakers.

“What’s wrong?” Madeline asked.

“I don’t know how to tell you this, dear, but one of the women in the crowd apparently hit on a YouTube video while Googling your name. My guess is she’s a shopper who didn’t know about you being here today and went online to find out more about you.”

“Which video?” The network kept several of her past episodes on their Web site.

Birdy winced. “It’s hard to explain. Maybe I’d best just show you.” She handed Madeline her phone.

The screen was small and a distracting glare from the store’s bright overhead lights at first made it difficult for Madeline to make out what she was seeing.

It appeared to be a man and woman having sex. Energetic, hot, sweaty sex. Fortunately, the phone’s sound had been muted.

Madeline was still wondering what this had to do with her when realization hit like a meat mallet to her head.

It wasn’t just any man. The crescent-shaped birthmark on his butt gave him away.

It was Maxime.

Her husband.

Proving, Madeline thought as white spots like snowflakes began to dance in front of her eyes, that not everything that happened in Vegas
stayed
in Vegas.

2

The sky was high and as blue as a robin’s egg the spring day Navy SEAL medic Lucas Chaffee buried his father at sea. The sea Duncan Chaffee had loved so well.

The
Kelli
, a gleaming white boat operated by Cole Douchett, brother of one of Lucas’ former SEAL teammates, cut through the waves as they headed three miles away from the coast.

“How are you doing?” a quiet voice asked. Charity Tiernan had become his stepsister during the brief time his father had been married to her mother. She’d stayed his friend long after their parents’ divorce.

“I’m okay. If he had to go, at least he went exactly the way he would’ve wanted. Having a great day on the water.”

“That is something. Do you have any plans?”

He’d had one. One that he and his dad had been discussing in back-and-forth e-mail between Portland and Afghanistan for the past year.

Which was what made the timing of his father’s death so ironic.

The plan, as carefully detailed as the opera house with its soaring wings that his dad had designed on Hong Kong’s harbor, had been for Duncan to step down from the presidency of the architecture firm he’d founded; then the two of them would go into business restoring old homes up and down the West Coast.

Having grown up on construction sites, and mentally exhausted from struggling to save lives on battlefields, Lucas had jumped at the idea, which included taking the obligatory professional training and the exam covering business practices and laws. So, at the moment, he had an Oregon state contractor’s license, but no work and no plans.

“I haven’t a clue.” He dragged a hand through his hair, which, while not nearly as short as a Marine’s high-and-tight, was still shorter than he’d worn it during his days tracking down terrorists in the Afghan mountains. “I was thinking this morning Scout and I might hang out in Shelter Bay a while. In the house.” His father had built the gray-shingled, oceanfront Cape Cod cottage as a place to escape after Lucas’ mother had left them both. It was the same cottage where he and Charity had lived with their parents during what was, hands down, the second-best summer of his life.

The best had been that later summer when he’d discovered love with an impetuous, stunning girl with smoky eyes and a mass of dark, corkscrew curls that had danced in the sea breeze around a face that had, the first time he’d seen it, stopped his heart.

Even now, the memory of how that summer had ended pricked a heart that was already aching.

On hearing her name, Scout, the German shepherd seated beside him, happily thumped her tail. He absently reached down and patted the dog’s head.

Charity’s smile was brighter than the sun that was creating diamonds on the water. “Oh, I’d love that.” She immediately sobered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to sound as if I’m glad—”

“I know.” He took hold of her hand, the one that wasn’t holding the white rose she’d brought for the ceremony, as they stood side by side at the gleaming brass rail. Since turning his family’s fishing boat into a tourists’ charter boat, Cole had spiffed it up a lot. “I’d like a chance to catch
up, too.” It was his turn to smile. “And make sure that Marine you’ve hooked up with is good enough for you.”

“It’s a lot more than just a hookup. And Gabe is really, really good for me. You’ll like him.”

“He’s a jarhead.” Even after all these years apart, the easy verbal sparring felt familiar. And loosened the anchor chain that had been around his heart since he’d gotten the news of his father’s heart attack from one of the associate partners in the firm.

“That’s funny.” Her eyes danced with teasing laughter. “Because although I wasn’t going to mention it, especially given the circumstances, he called you a Frog Boy.”

Lucas laughed. A deep, booming laugh that swelled his chest and broke the chain. “Your loyalties have shifted.”

She immediately sobered again, reminding Lucas how much family meant to Charity. Which made sense, given her serial-marrying parents. “I was kidding,” she said.

“I know. And I can’t think of anyone who deserves a happily-ever-after more than you. So if you’re happy, I’m happy.”

“I’m beyond happy. What about you? Are you still involved with that decorator?”

“She’s an interior designer.” Brooke Kendall, who’d worked on developments with his father, was gorgeous, smart as a whip, talented, and ambitious. On the rebound from a divorce, she’d been available when he’d landed back in Portland two months ago after his separation from the Navy. “I suppose that depends on what your definition of
involved
is.”

“But you’re still dating?”

He cringed at the idea. “Geez, that sounds so high school.”

After all he’d seen, all he’d been through, those days seemed to have taken place in another lifetime. He might not have come home with flaming PTSD like others he’d served with, but he wasn’t the same person he’d been before
his first deployment. Hell, he wasn’t even the same guy who, despite his father’s concerns, had turned his back on medical school and gone off to SEAL BUD/S training so he could do his part in the war against terrorism.

“You’re right. I hated it when my mother kept referring to Gabe and me as dating. So, are you sleeping with her?”

“Dad taught me never to kiss and tell.”

“Which pretty much answers the question. Is it serious?”

“No.” What it was, he considered, was
convenient
.

“Exclusive?”

“I don’t know.” It had been for him. But now that Lucas thought about it, he’d never asked Brooke if she was seeing anyone else.

“Again, if you haven’t even gotten to the point where you’re discussing it, your relationship can’t be that serious. Which, I suppose, is why you didn’t bring her along today.”

“She had an appointment.” When Charity gave him a knowing look, he tacked on, “Hey, it’s a big deal. A chance to handle all the interior design for Winfield Palace’s new Paris hotel.”

“When deluxe will no longer do,” she quoted the chain’s slogan. “That’s impressive, and how exciting for her.…So, how do you feel about cupcakes?”

“I like them,” he said, even as the non sequitur puzzled him. “Who doesn’t? Why?”

“Because I have this friend.…a baker in town—”

“No.”

“You don’t even know her. Yet.”

“I’m sure, if she’s your friend, she’s wonderful. Better than wonderful. She’s undoubtedly a paragon of womanhood. Who can bake, which is a plus. But since I don’t even know what I’m going to be doing next week, this isn’t a good time to meet anyone new.”

“I’m not suggesting you give her your class ring and ask her to go steady, Lucas. I just thought you’d like her.”

There were, Lucas knew, few individuals more determined than Charity. Which was why, according to Sax Douchett, nearly every person in Shelter Bay had adopted a cat or dog from the veterinarian’s no-kill shelter. “And since your designer might be going off to Paris—”

“She’s not
my
designer.”

“Well, then, why don’t you at least keep the possibility in mind?”

“I’ll do that.” It wasn’t the entire truth. But he figured it might put her off for at least a couple days.

It didn’t.

“You have to eat,” she pressed on, reminding Lucas how stubborn his stepsister could be when she set her mind to something. “What would you say to coming over to dinner Wednesday night? Gabe will be back from his meeting with his agent and publisher in New York. We can grill some rib eyes and—”

“You, the jarhead, and steaks sounds great. But just because you’re crazy in love doesn’t mean that—”

He was about to tell her he’d really prefer she not invite the cupcake baker when the boat reached the burial site.

Before he’d arrived at the dock, the cremains had already been transferred to a woven wicker basket lined with biodegradable paper, then covered with flower petals.

His father had stated his wishes to be buried at sea. So although Duncan Chaffee had never been specific about the details, since he’d served in the Navy during Vietnam and had continued to volunteer in various troop-support groups, Lucas had decided to include some trappings of a military funeral.

Sax came forward to present him with a folded flag. Considering that his former teammate felt like the brother he’d never had, Lucas knew the profound sympathy he saw in Sax’s eyes was genuine.

In contrast to the standing-room-only memorial service his father’s partners had insisted on in Portland, the one
that had Duncan’s friends, peers, and clients flying in from all around the world, Lucas had purposefully kept this private service intimate.

On board along with Scout, who’d saved his team’s lives while losing one of her legs to an IED, were Charity; Sax; and Sax’s fiancée, Kara, who was Shelter Bay’s sheriff—which was ironic, considering that Sax had at one time been the town bad boy. Charity’s mother, Amanda Tiernan-Jacobs-Chaffee-Gillette-Rodzianko-Templeton, who may have divorced her third husband but had stayed a close friend, had flown down from Seattle.

Also in attendance was Sofia De Luca, who’d taken his father and him under her wing that first lonely summer Duncan and Lucas had arrived in Shelter Bay, after Lucas’ sister’s death and his parents’ divorce.

Not only had she made sure they’d eaten, but she’d also offered compassion and a female friendship both man and boy had desperately needed. It was, unsurprisingly, Sofia who’d offered to cook this evening’s funeral supper at her lavender farm.

Lucas also had a more personal connection to Sofia, since she just happened to be the grandmother of the girl he’d let get away.

He accepted the flag, handed it off to Charity, then took a deep breath before giving the eulogy he’d been awake all night writing.

“Thank you all for coming today. And a huge thanks to Cole, for providing the boat that’s letting me fulfill my father’s wishes.”