Return to Pelican Inn (Love by Design) (11 page)

A wild rush of emotion swirled through her. His lips were warm, soft and strong at the same time. She found herself pressing her palm to the back of his neck, to keep him there, joining them together. The wind cradled the two of them, embracing them in a world of their own, a world of sand and surf and tender feeling. Her pulse pounded a rhythm in time with the waves. A vision of Foster rose in her memory, along with a bevy of sinister thoughts. What would a lawyer like Pike want with a girl like her? She should have wondered the same thing about Foster. She yanked away. “Don’t do that.”

A dog bounded by, followed by Eva Lassiter, and Rosa jerked back.

“Hello, Pike. Hi, Rosa,” Eva called.

Rosa gasped, trying to restore normal breathing. “Hi.”

Pike was somewhat wild-eyed, as if he’d just fallen from a great height onto the sand.

“Hey, Eva,” he said, a slight shake in his voice. “We were just...looking at the boats.”

She shaded her eyes. “That’s Dad’s,” she said, chin bobbing at the wooden beauty. “He’s looking to sell. Are you in the market for one?”

Pike’s gaze wandered back out to the ocean. “I wish I was.”

“Well, anyway, I’m sorry the Pelican sale didn’t go through,” she said. “I hope it didn’t create too many problems for you.”

Pike wrenched his attention from the water. “No. We’ll be fine. Just a delay, that’s all.”

“Good,” she said, turning to Rosa, pulling the long blond hair from her forehead. “I haven’t seen Cy yet.”

“He’s working,” Rosa managed. “Come by anytime. I’m sure he’d love to say hello.” He wouldn’t, in fact, but he needed to get over Piper sooner or later.

“I will,” she said. “Gotta run. I’m helping with the face-painting booth. Bye.” She trotted off, Dragon at her heels.

Rosa was not sure if the dizziness was because of the sand shifting under her feet or the sheer insanity of what had just happened between her and Pike. The kiss might even have been chalked up to a massive hallucination, if the residual river of electricity was not still humming through her veins. She wouldn’t be derailed. Not again. Not by Pike. He stared at the ocean and then down at his shoes before tracking the progress of a wheeling gull.

“I’m not sure what happened there, before Eva came. I apologize.”

“No trouble,” she babbled. “A, uh, mistake between friends.”

“Yes.” He nodded a little too enthusiastically. “Exactly. I’m glad we’ve gotten to the point where we can call each other friends, aren’t you?”

“Definitely.” She beamed. “Much better than enemies.”

They made their way to the car, preserving a careful distance between them.

Her emotions crashed against her reason like sea foam combing the shore. Pike, a friend? The kiss had been anything but friendly.

It was safer to have him for an enemy.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“A
NOTHER
DAY
,
ANOTHER
thousand dollars,” Bitsy said, after the last of the dinner dishes had been cleared away. Rocky and Stu had volunteered to do the washing. They made an efficient team, Rocky scrubbing and rinsing away lasagna residue, and Stu drying and meticulously stacking, his hands ensconced in yellow rubber gloves and an apron tied around his waist.

Rosa rolled her shoulders, which ached from the feverish painting.
Busy, busy, busy,
her mind called.
Keep yourself busy and away from prickly thoughts about
friend
Pike and his tantalizing kiss on the beach.
“I can’t believe we’re almost to the end of week one with only two to go. We’re going to have to push hard this weekend.”

“Well...that might be tricky for the next few days,” Bitsy said. Rosa noticed a new set of earrings sparkling on her lobes.

“Why?”

“The boat festival,” Pike put in.

Rosa drained a glass of water and thunked it on the table. “Yes, I know there’s a festival, for crying out loud. I hear about it all the time. But it’s not going to interrupt our progress.”

A collective raising of eyebrows caught her off guard. “It’s a couple of boats and a hot dog stand down at the beach. We’re up here on the bluff with plenty of supplies. One doesn’t affect the other.”

The eyebrows remained elevated.

“Okay,” she said. “I give. What’s going to happen tomorrow? Tell me, so I can be prepared to work around it.”

Bitsy stifled a yawn. Baggy followed with his own a moment later. “Probably best to see for yourself.” She went around the table and kissed everyone good-night. Manny closed his eyes when she kissed his cheek.

“All right,” Rosa called to her departing back. “But nothing is going to derail my schedule tomorrow. We’re doing flooring and painting.”

“Flooring and painting for you,” Manny affirmed as he rose, “and window seat finishing and painting for us, right, my boy?”

Cy gave two thumbs up.

Rosa was pleased that Manny seemed in good mental shape and his cheeks had a healthy glow. Plus, there had been no unpleasantness between Pike and her father over dinner. One night’s reprieve was helping with the current frazzled state of her nerves. She gave him a smile and said good-night as he left.

“You know, sis,” Cy said, the gleam of inspiration shining on his face. “I got this totally amazing idea to frame that ugly mirror you picked up.”

Rosa gave Pike a “what did I tell you?” look. “Yes, brother? Do share.”

“Hand-forged nails.” He beamed.

Rosa waited patiently.

“We found tons of them under the window seat and in the shed.” He looked from Rosa to Pike. “They’re Mr. Herzberg’s nails, originals from the 1860s, still as straight and true as the day they were forged. Unbelievable craftsmanship.”

“Nails, yes, I get that part,” Pike encouraged.

“I’m going to cluster them to make a frame around the mirror.” He sat back, triumphant.

Pike was not impressed. “You’re going to hammer nails around the mirror?”

“Nah. See here.” Cy sketched a quick picture on his paper napkin. “I’m going to construct a wood frame, spray paint it black, lay the nails down, side by side, and wire them in place to cover the wood.”

“That’s going to take a lot of nails,” Pike said.

“Hundreds,” Cy affirmed with a joyful grin.

Rosa readied the argument she’d fired off countless times and that never so much as made a dent in her brother’s plans. “Cy, that is going to take hours that we don’t have.”

“No problem, sis. I’ll pull a couple of all-nighters if I have to. It’s worth it.”

“Are you sure?”

He held up his hands and worked his magic. “Picture the faces that will gaze into that mirror, framed by the very nails that Mr. Herzberg used to build his house some hundred and fifty years ago. Present meets past, history peeking into the here and now.” He shook his head. “It gives me the chills.”

Rosa laughed, gave her brother a hug and kissed him, accepting that the project was no longer negotiable. “Me, too, Cy. Let me know if I can help.”

“I’ve got Stu collecting nails in between gardening tasks. He’ll do it, as long as he can pick up the nails with tongs, wearing his gardening gloves, so he doesn’t get his fingers dirty. He’s found a hundred or so already.”

“Stu is a good worker,” Pike said. “I’m embarrassed to say I never really noticed that before.” His happy expression dimmed. “I’ve got feelers out, to see if any of the locals are in need of a handyman after the Pelican is sold.”

“Any bites?” Cy said.

“No.” Pike rubbed a hand across his eyes. “Anyway, are we ready to pull off the painter’s tape and reveal our lily-pad stripes?”

“Mossy linen, and we’ll do it tomorrow to be sure the paint has dried completely.” Rosa couldn’t hold in a giant yawn. “I’m exhausted. Time for bed.”

Baggy perked an ear.

“Sometimes I think he can understand English,” Cy said. “I knew he was a smart dog.”

“I’m still not convinced he’s actually a dog,” Pike said.

“Of course he’s a dog,” Rosa said. “What else would he be?” Baggy skittered over to Rosa and waited to be scooped up. She complied, rubbing her chin on his lopsided head. “Did you do anything interesting today, Baggy?”

He cast a wandering eye at Pike and then back to Rosa. “Not as interesting as you,” he seemed to say.

Nerves fluttering, she escorted Pike to the door. He hung his painter’s cap, now smeared with mossy linen streaks, on a peg by the door. Cool ocean air whispered across the threshold. A perfect moon hung low in the sky, a sweetheart’s moon, her mother used to say.

There will be no thoughts of moons or sweethearts or any other such odd notions,
she scolded herself. “Well, good night then,” Rosa said. “Thanks for the help.”

Pike tucked his fingers behind the straps of his overalls, moonlight washing his clothes in pearly silver. “Anything for a friend,” he said. The lighting cast a wistful shadow on his mouth, those full, sweet lips that had turned her heart upside down only hours before. She snapped herself back.
He’s a lawyer, a professional peer of Foster’s. What more proof do you need that he’s poison?

Did you do anything interesting today, Rosa?
her inner voice teased.

Interesting didn’t even come close.

She pushed the door closed behind Pike and hauled Baggy up to bed.

* * *

D
REAMS
OF
FABRIC
PANELS
and woven sea-grass carpet awakened Rosa well before sunrise. She tossed and rolled for a while, trying to rid herself of the vision of overall-clad Pike. For a moment, just one tiny second, she allowed herself to remember that amazing kiss. It did nothing to calm her nerves so she tried to push the memory aside by considering slipcover options.

Her feet were icy since she’d forgotten how chilly California’s central coast could get at night. Not wanting to wake Cy, she quietly grabbed the warmest things she could find in her suitcase—an old hooded sweatshirt and a pair of green flannel pants embellished with flying pigs, Cy’s present to her from a long-ago Christmas. She also helped herself to a pair of the sweat socks that lay in a neat pile on a chair. Swaddled against the cold, she crept back into bed and concentrated on relaxing, without success.

Finally, when the clock staggered into the neighborhood of 4:00 a.m., she gave up and went downstairs. She found her father in the kitchen, a cup of instant cocoa in his hands. She hesitated in the doorway, thinking about turning around and departing, but Baggy wobbled down the stairs and joined her. Manny turned, bolted halfway from his seat and knocked over his cup of cocoa, a smile of unadulterated joy on his face that abruptly faltered into uncertainty.

“Dad,” she said, grabbing some paper towels, but not before the stream of cocoa poured onto the floor. Baggy set about trying to lap up the small pool before she sopped it up. She scooted him away before he got more than a mouthful. “Sorry I startled you.”

“You didn’t...” He paused, picking up the mug and wiping the wet bottom on his shirt. “I just didn’t see you clearly.” His eyes were damp.

“What are you doing up so early?”

He shrugged. “Don’t sleep so well sometimes. You?”

“Too many things on the to-do list.”

They settled into an uncomfortable silence.

“So, how’s your helper getting along?”

“Who?” she asked, heart thumping.

“Mr. Overalls.”

“Pike? Oh, he’s great. A good worker.”

He slouched back in his chair. “His family sank that boat, and he knows it. He probably even helped.”

“Dad, stop saying that. You don’t understand. Pike loved that boat.”

“Facts are facts,” he said. “Only thing I couldn’t find was an eyewitness.”

She did not want her father to start up the whole conversation again. “I’ll make some proper cocoa,” she said. “Instant is terrible. That’s one thing Bitsy taught me. There’s always time to make proper cocoa.”

She was babbling.

“No, wait,” he touched her arm and she sat. They didn’t speak. She heard the soft tick of the mantel clock, the creaking of the old house and the faraway drip of the bathroom faucet. Baggy sank down at her father’s feet. “Maybe we can just stay here for a while.”

“Dad, this is weird for me,” she finally managed. “Having you here, working with us.”

His smile was sad. “Yeah, I haven’t been a presence in your life, as the magazines say. Or is it an absentee father? Your brother rolls with it, all right, but I can see it’s not easy for you.”

“You could say that.”

“You took it hard when I left.”

Anger flared hot and bright inside. “Wouldn’t you? If your mother died and your father deserted you? I had the right to take it hard, Dad. You left when we needed you most, when I needed you. Cy tried to be father and brother at the same time, and that wasn’t fair to him, either. You took away his childhood.” Tears threatened. She wanted to wound, to cut his heart like he had hers, and it shamed her, this terrible need to hurt an old man. What had happened to Rosa Franco? To the joy and laughter that used to ring through the Franco family in spite of everything?

He stared into the empty cup. “I’m sorry,” was all he said.

The two words kept her prisoner in the chair, though her body wanted so badly to sprint away. She craved the why, the explanation that would make the pain subside into the comfortable haze of memory. Some fact or phrase that would transform his long-ago departure into something understandable, forgivable. She waited, breath held.

He offered nothing but silence until she could not stand it anymore.

“Going to make that cocoa now,” she said, getting to her feet. “I’m sure Cy will want some, too, when he gets up.”

Manny watched her with such grief on his face that her question emerged, pulled out by the heavy emotion that echoed inside her own breast.

“Dad, why did you spill your cocoa when I came in? What startled you so badly?”

He hitched in a breath and forced it out, his voice quivering. “I don’t see so well anymore, I guess. I was sitting here, thinking things over, and then you sort of appeared there in the doorway. Caught me by surprise.”

There was more. She waited.

“You looked so much like your mother.” He smiled then, tears gleaming in his eyes like diamonds. “For a moment, I thought you were her.”

She could not breathe. She could not move until, at last, he got up, looking as though he meant to hug her. “I’m not Mom,” she whispered.

“No, I know that,” he said, throttling the mug in his fingers. “I loved your mother more than anyone on the planet. You’d think her drinking would have changed that, but it didn’t. I guess my heart is a foolish old thing—weak, you see. Worst thing I ever did was to follow it away from you and your brother. I don’t deserve forgiveness for it and I won’t ask.” He looked at her for another long moment and then left, calling over his shoulder. “Don’t worry about making cocoa. I had enough.”

Rosa wandered into the sitting room and collapsed into a wing chair that desperately needed reupholstering. Baggy scrambled onto her lap, turning in three precise circles before easing down onto her thighs. She stroked his black fur, satin soft, feeling the delicate bones underneath that somehow kept the oddball animal together.

“I wish you could understand, Bags,” she whispered. But perhaps the dog knew more about abandonment than she’d realized. Left in a paper bag, dumped like a load of garbage on the back step of a pet store. Had Baggy thought his owners had loved him? Cherished him in spite of his ugliness? Was he surprised to be discarded, left cold, hungry and homeless?

“Were you confused when they threw you away, Bags?” she asked, tears streaming down her face and mingling with his fur. “Did you think maybe it was because there was something wrong with you?” The old pain tugged at her insides as Baggy reached up to lick the tears from her cheeks.

Was there something wrong with you?
How many nights had she lain in bed, wishing she was just a little bit better so her mother would stop drinking. Surely a nicer Rosa, a smarter Rosa, a more thoughtful Rosa would be worthy of her mother’s sobriety.

And some years later, grief would pour out on that pillow again, along with more wishes. If Rosa was just a little bit more loveable, her father would come home. Perhaps a child with a sweeter temper might be enough reason for a father to stay close, a daughter who was better at tending house, one who did not talk back to her teachers. But her father had not returned because, the cruel truth was, Rosa was not enough. Not for her mother, her father, or Foster.

Her adult mind knew she had not been abandoned because of anything she did or did not do. But still, in the quiet moments when Rosa was once again an awkward teenage girl, her heart stubbornly returned to the same question.
Is there something wrong with you?

Baggy settled down once again on her lap, allowing her to massage his misshapen head. He did not seem to hold it against the world that he had been thrown away in a paper sack. He took love as it was offered, without filtering it through the lens of past disappointment.