Package Deal (7 page)

“Hurry up! You’ll miss the big one,” Steve called to her.

Delighted by his enthusiasm and spontaneity, Kelly shook off her hang-ups and joined him at the rail. The only spontaneity Ken had ever exhibited was on
his way out the door to meet his friends.

With minimal assistance, Kelly popped her rod apart and assembled it, thinking back to the fishing trips she’d taken with her dad. Steve rigged her rod with weights, a float and a lure. Using his own rod to demonstrate, he showed her how to cast. Casting wasn’t a necessity here on top of the bridge. They only needed to release the line and drop it into the water far below. Steve, a self-proclaimed serious fisherman—must have decided, somewhere between the Jeep and the bridge railing that the art of casting would benefit her in the long run.

Kelly’s first attempt would have stopped traffic had it been moving. Watching closely and copying his technique, she snapped the rod back, ready to whip it forward in a perfect arc, but she released the line prematurely. The hook and sinker whirred through the air, snagging on the lane divider behind her.

A shower of line unraveled overhead then drifted down over them, resembling streamers on New Year’s Eve.

Surprised and embarrassed, Kelly glanced over at Steve, who appeared as startled as she was. Kelly tensed, anticipating a critical response. During her years with Ken there hadn’t been much she could do without drawing his anger or cutting remarks, and now she expected the same from other men.

Speechless, Steve stared back at her, and all of a sudden laughed. “Nice casting, Pearson.” He tugged at the mess covering everything within four feet.

Relieved at his good humor, a smile crawled across Kelly’s lips. Her tension eased despite yards of fishing line strung all around them.

The scrambled line covered Steve’s shoulders and hung from one ear. “This must be how it feels to get tee-peed.”

Several strands draped across Kelly's head and face. “Tee-peed?” She tugged at the nylon line, giggling.

“You know, in high school…at night… tossing toilet paper into trees. You never tee-peed anyone?”

“Never.” She struggled to control her amusement. “You’re right though. There’s a definite resemblance.”

He glanced over at the concrete partition behind them. “I think you’re better at high jumping than fishing.”

“I can’t argue.” Her face burned with embarrassment, but she was smiling.

She reeled in as much tangled line as she could then cut the rest free. “God, I hope no one was watching.” She collapsed into giggles and wiped tears from her eyes.

 
Steve gestured around them with a wide sweep of his arms. “Are you kidding?
Everyone
was watching!” He gave her an affectionate glance.

She smiled back, unable to resist. Steve McCarthy was fun.
 
He made her feel sixteen again.

She picked at the line caught in her hair. “Wow. What a mess.”

“It’s not so bad. Nothing every good fisherman hasn’t done before.” He reached up and gently plucked several strands free. “Hold still before you hang yourself,” he ordered playfully.

Kelly grinned inside and out but remained motionless, her breath rising in her throat whenever Steve’s fingers brushed her face and neck.

“Done,” he announced, dropping a wad of nylon line into the tackle box.

“It’s a good thing we weren’t depending on me for the dinner menu.” She exhaled, her body tingling with a crazy mix of relief and desire for more of his touch.

A uniformed officer appeared at the top of the bridge and motioned the cars to move again. Kelly and Steve sobered and scurried to clean up the jumble of fishing line. They had bundled the rods, and gathered the tackle box before the first car moved off the bridge. Scaling the partition, they jumped into the Jeep just as the car in
front of them lurched forward.

“Talk about timing,” Kelly gasped, catching her breath.

“Nice jumping, Pearson. I thought you might panic, but you performed like a champ.”

Positive strokes had been few and far between in her life with Ken, and a rush of pleasure rippled through her.

“Thanks. You weren’t so bad yourself.” She leaned back against the seat, years of tension erased in thirty minutes. She hadn’t been this relaxed with a man in years.

Chapter Eight

O
nce across the bridge, Steve took the river road, which meandered alongside the lazy Halifax River. They followed the water for several miles, looking for Cabana Court on their right. Kelly saw it first.

Steve took a right, and they traveled another block and a half until they spotted the For Rent sign outside the house.

“This one doesn’t look bad from the outside,” Kelly remarked. “The yard is pretty.”

The outside of the
house appeared well maintained. A typical cinder block construction, the house boasted a fresh coat of light gray paint with bright white shutters and a dark blue front door. Colorful flowerbeds of yellow lantana
, lavender periwinkles, and brilliant orange origami-like flowers on a bird of paradise plant surrounded an oval of thick green grass and
green succulents
. Two palms shaded the front corner of the lot, and a low hedge of red bougainvillea sprawled around one corner of the house, draping the garage in vibrant color.

Kelly’s face flushed with joy. “I love it already!”

“It looks too
good to be true,” Steve warned. “Don’t forget, you can’t judge a book by its cover. Let’s go in before you sign the
lease."

First impressions weren’t good.
Once inside, Kelly sobered. The former tenants had moved out quickly, leaving the place scattered with papers and overstuffed trash bags.

“The owner is a friend of Jerry’s. The renters moved out yesterday. I doubt the guy expected anyone to see it yet. At least not until he’d had a chance to get it ready to show anyway.”

Steve lifted several trash bags and peered under them. “Carpet doesn’t look dirty,” he said. “There are even visible vacuum marks.”

Kelly nodded and moved down the hallway and peeked into the rooms. “The kitchen and bathrooms are clean, bedrooms look fine.”

Steve kicked a few old newspapers. “I guess the trash just needs to be taken out.”

With a critical eye, Kelly gave the place a thorough examination. The living room and dining room wrapped around a small, yet adequate kitchen with more cabinets than Kelly could fill. High ceilings, with exposed redwood beams, balanced the sunlight pouring into the house through several full length windows and one narrow window over the kitchen sink. Kelly found the house bright and cheerful, a pleasant change compared to San Francisco’s constant fog and gray skies.

Built in the late 1950’s, the house had two bathrooms, both tiled in mauve and mossy green, outdated but quaint. Green border tiles with terra cotta sea horses further embellished the master bath.

“Oh, I love these tiles, Steve.” Kelly dragged her fingers across the wall. “Look. They’re little seahorses! Aren’t they darling?” she gushed with delight.

Steve chuckled. “Yeah. They’ve been darling for the better part of the past fifty years. I’m afraid seahorses and seashells are more common on bathroom walls than in tide pools—a Florida cliché. But I think it’s cute that you like them.”

She gave him a playful swat and moved on, completing her inspection of the house, before moving outside into the backyard. A small, screened porch took up part of the lawn.

“Steve,” she sighed. “There’s an old oak—a climbing tree for Lacy. We never had a yard. She’s spent her entire life in an apartment.”

A tire swing, hanging from one limb, was the icing on the cake. The house just kept getting better.

Steve added, “Basic, functional and 50’s old Florida.”

“It couldn’t be more perfect.” Kelly spun in circles, taking it all in. The house was everything Kelly wanted right now. And, the ocean was an incredible short block and a half away. “I’ll take it! Thanks, Steve. This is awesome!”

They drove back to the real estate office, contacted the owner, and Kelly wrote a check for the deposit. Signing the lease, she experienced a curious, yet delicious feeling. At last, she was home.

On the way back to The Glades, they stopped by an exterminator. It was Sunday so it was closed, but they got the phone number off the door. Kelly would make arrangements to have the house de-bugged before she and Lacy moved in. Thirty minutes later, the tires skidded across the gravel, grating to a stop in front of her beach bungalow. Steve let the motor idle.

An awkward silence passed before Kelly said, “Want to come in for a cup of coffee or maybe a beer?” He’d helped her solve one of her major problems, finding a home, and she thought it rude to send him off without at least a cup of coffee.

“I’d like to, but I promised my neighbor, Gary, I’d go fishing with him this afternoon.” He twisted his wrist to view the face of his diver’s watch. “He’ll get antsy if I’m more than fifteen minutes late.”

Kelly’s mood soured.
Heaven forbid good old Gary should get antsy.
“Come on in. I owe you. You’ve earned a beer. I’m sure Gary will understand.”

Steve hesitated then glanced again at his watch.

Kelly shifted on the seat.
Never mind.
 
She shouldn’t encourage him anyway. Her heart would be safer without pushing a relationship with this man. She recalled her reaction on the bridge when she’d jumped the concrete partition and ended up entangled in his arms. Dangerous emotions had reawakened inside her. The warning flags were there—football and Gary Benson.

She snatched her purse from the back seat and got out. “Maybe another time.”

Steve stiffened. “Sure. I mean I hope so. When are you leaving for California?”

“Friday night.”

“Too bad.” He looked genuinely disappointed. “I’ve got to be in Houston tomorrow. I’ll be at NASA all week.” He paused then added, “Well…you’ve got my number. Give me a call when you get back into town, and I’ll take you and Lacy to dinner.”

Kelly nodded, muttered thanks, and strode off toward the cottage. Once inside, she hurried to the kitchen window and watched his Jeep turn left and disappear down A1A.

Disappointed, she left the kitchen and flipped on the TV. She’d caught herself hoping Steve McCarthy might be different than the other men with whom she’d shared her life. She wouldn’t deny she’d enjoyed their day together. He was easy to be around, and she hadn’t laughed so hard in years. But once again, the joke was on her.

Gary Benson!

She poured herself a glass of wine and wandered into the living room where she plopped down on the sofa, the dregs of old emotions creeping over her. The house hunt was over, and Steve McCarthy had somewhere to go. Big deal. So, why did she feel so prickled by his refusal to stay for one lousy cup of coffee? It wasn’t like she’d changed her life plan and decided to give him a try. She was content with her life the way it was—just her and Lacy, without a man to shake things up. So, why was she upset when Steve hadn’t come in? She knew better than to have expectations of a man. Her jaw tightened. He wasn’t so different than Ken after all. He’d chosen a guy over her, too.

Believing her judgment had improved over time, she sighed, her shoulders slumping with the realization that it hadn’t. She tossed the glass of wine down in one long, deliberate swallow, wondering who’d gotten her share of female intuition when God was handing it out.
 
Consulting
a
Ouija board would have given her better results.