Stargazey Point (19 page)

He didn’t blame her for being pissed; she’d signed on for one life and he’d changed the rules on her. He could tell by the spark whenever their eyes met; the spark that had once been desire was now just anger, and he didn’t blame her for that either.

He didn’t regret her decision—or his. Actually he was relieved. He was happy and satisfied in his work, even the smaller renovation jobs he’d taken on in the last few months. And now that he’d met Abbie, he would never be able to date someone like Bailey again.

Bailey was beautiful, the kind of woman that any man would be proud to have on his arm. Yet as he looked at her, all he could think of was Abbie, her corn-silk hair wild about her face, digging frantically in the mud.

He shoved Abbie from his mind and concentrated on getting rid of his visitors.

Bailey turned back at that moment, and for a moment her eyes flicked with interest. He quickly looked away; he’d been staring at her and thinking of Abbie. He didn’t want to give Bailey any encouragement to think he might change his mind. He hadn’t.

“So where can we look at this?” Tony said striding back into the room with a cardboard tube in his hand. “After all, it was your baby.”

Cab turned away from Bailey, knowing he’d made the right decision. “I’ll just move this stuff and you can lay it out here.” He shoved some gears aside. Pushed oil cans and sandpaper away and covered the table with a fairly clean scrap of canvas he kept for cleaner work. It would have to do.

Tony unrolled the spec sheets. “Remember the east exit gates?”

Cab nodded, looking over the familiar sheets. “They’re still insisting on that? You did tell them it would dump thousands of people into the parking lot and the main exit artery?”

“Yes. They have brains like sieves.” Tony shot his fingers through his hair. “Jesus, Cab. When are you gonna get over this back-to-nature crap and come back to work. We need you, man.”

“Not going to happen,” Cab said distractedly. Bailey was moving toward the back room where the animals were stored.

“Bailey,” he called.

Bailey turned slowly, gave him that look, the look that once had seduced him into doing whatever she wanted. Could have him taking her in a closet of an empty condo they were considering buying, on the deck of her lake house while a party raged on inside . . . but not here, not ever.

“That’s off-limits.”

True to form, Bailey stepped inside.

Cab headed after her. “Bailey, stop, it’s climate controlled.”

“Jesus,” said Frank coming up behind him. “Are these what I think these are?”

“You’re working on a goddamned merry-go-round?” Tony asked. “You left Bloomquist and Ryan and moved to Hicksville for this? You been smoking funny cigarettes or something?”

“Originals?” Frank asked, stepping around Cab and going to inspect Midnight Lady. “Do you have any idea how valuable these are?”

Cab sighed. “I do; that’s why they’re in a climate-controlled room.”

“A bunch of merry-go-round horses?” Tony asked. “You’re shitting me.”

“No,” Frank said. “I’ve heard of these babies going for thousands apiece. Are these by somebody famous?”

“No shit. Hey, I know a guy who can set you up on eBay,” Tony volunteered.

“They’re not for sale,” Cab said through gritted teeth. He really wanted them out of here.

“Come on, you can’t be serious about running a carousel.” Tony glanced at Bailey and lowered his voice. “You can’t make a living doing that. Especially not here. Have you looked at this town? It’s on its last leg. Come back to the firm and do this on your free weekends. It’s a hobby, man, not a way of life.”

“I’m doing some architectural work,” Cab said.

“Yeah? Anything interesting?”

“Interesting to me,” Cab said, but he didn’t elaborate. A few missing newel posts for the Crispins. A small renovation job on a historical cabin in Platteville. A few others, none he was willing to share.

Tony shrugged. “You at least have time for a couple of drinks?”

“I really need to get going,” Bailey said and shot a look at Cab that could freeze men’s balls, and all he thought was,
yes, please leave
.

Tony and Frank exchanged confused looks.

Cab didn’t try to dissuade them. He waited for them to file out of the room. Bailey was last; she didn’t look at him or comment. Her silence said it all.

He turned off the lights and closed the door with a sigh of relief.

H
ere they come,” Sarah said, practically jumping up and down. She leaned close enough to the window to fog the view. “Man, don’t go with them, Third.” She grabbed Abbie and yanked her away from the window. “Come on, it’s intervention time.”

“Sarah, no. Leave the guy alone.” But Abbie let Sarah pull her back through the house and out onto the porch without much resistance. It might be awkward, but she wanted to get a close look at Bailey, herself.

Abbie had just enough time to suck in a breath before Sarah opened the front door and they both walked nonchalantly onto the porch.

Three people came out of the building followed by Cab. Two men and a woman, tall, with dark, shoulder-length hair that swayed when she walked. She was “done” from the red nail polish Abbie could see from where she was standing to the expensive slacks and silk tee.

“Bailey,” Sarah breathed in her ear.

She was beautiful. Next to her, the two men looked like car salesmen and Cab looked working class.

They stopped at the car.

“Just let us know if you change your mind,” said the driver. The two men got into the car, which left Bailey and Cab staring at each other across the hood. Abbie suddenly really wished she hadn’t let Sarah push her outside. It was such an intimate moment that it made Abbie feel sick, just watching it.

Then Bailey broke contact, shook her head. “You are pathetic. Your daddy was right about you. You’re an insult to the Reynolds family name.” She snorted, and even that vulgarity was done with breeding.

And Abbie hated her for it, because she could imagine what Cab’s father might have said when Cab gave up everything to run a carousel. And she hurt for him.

Bailey turned away, and her eyes met Abbie’s. Her expression changed. Her eyes narrowed, and her mouth hardened into a sardonic smile. She looked back at Cab then leveled another look at Abbie.

“So,” Bailey said, her words dripping disgust. “I should have known. You’ve got a little piece of white trash on the side. You better watch yourself, love. She’ll end up barefoot and pregnant and after your portfolio, then where will you be?” She opened the car door and gave him one last sultry look. “Peter Pan.” She flicked a nasty look at Abbie and got inside.

The car backed up and sped away, and Sarah and Abbie were left looking at Cab.

Cab had been watching the car, but now he turned back to Sarah and Abbie.

“Oops. That was a little more successful than I intended.” Sarah slipped away; Abbie heard the screen door slam behind her and wished she had followed. That way she could pretend that she hadn’t heard, that she hadn’t been caught eavesdropping. She wanted to tell Cab not to listen to Bailey or anyone who tried to make him feel bad, to pretend she hadn’t been the brunt of Bailey’s insinuations. But she just stood there.

“Well,” he said. “Do you think I’m pathetic?”

Abbie shook her head.

He stood there, angry, defiant, and obviously expecting more of an answer than a shake of the head.

“I think you have a right to live your life the way you want. Save that surly attitude for your friends.”

Cab stepped back as if she’d physically slapped him. “Sorry—”

“Look, I just came to apologize for acting like an ass the other night. I guess I had a lousy sense of timing.”

“You mean Sarah had a perfect sense of timing.”

Abbie smiled in spite of herself. “She wanted to stage an intervention.”

He fought a smile then gave up. “She doesn’t let up. But for once I’m grateful. I thought they’d never leave. And you don’t have to apologize.”

“Yeah, I do. I overreacted when you showed me the carousel. I loved carousels as a kid. I just had an experience that um—and it took me by surprise. So don’t take it personally.” She began backing away. “So thank you for the tour and for dinner. And everything. Bye.”

She spun around to make a run for the porch.

“I know, Abbie.”

She stopped, staring at the screen door, praying that he hadn’t meant what she feared.

“I didn’t understand why you were the way you were, so I did something I don’t like doing.”

“You googled me.”

“Yeah. I saw the YouTube video.”

Her stomach lurched.
Don’t turn around, just go inside.
It would only take one step, the rest would follow. If she ran, she wouldn’t have to hear what he thought, see his sympathy, feel his disappointment.

But she was tired of running. It was time to face it—to face him. “So now you know . . .”

“Some. At least it helped me understand why you freaked.”

“I didn’t freak.”

“Why Lady
upset
you, then.” He stepped toward her. “It was the donkey, wasn’t it? Seeing Lady’s head, you saw the donkey.”

She nodded.

“And it wasn’t because I nearly hit that old man and his cart, was it?”

She shook her head.

She was afraid she might burst into tears. Something she was doing a lot of these last few days.

He stepped closer. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t do anything to cause that kind of pain.”

“I know, it’s fine. Neither one of us meant to hurt the other’s feelings. We’re even. I’ve got to go.”

She stepped off the porch. There was no chance of her making a new life for herself here. They would all know soon and pity her. You couldn’t start a new life surrounded by pity.

But you can’t start a new life if you don’t stop running.

“I’m sorry about the stuff Bailey said. She can be pretty caustic when she doesn’t get her way.”

“It’s okay. She’s angry and had to take it out on someone. Let’s just forget it.” But she would be sure to thank Sarah later for her idea of an intervention; if anybody didn’t belong together, it was Cab and Bailey.

He nodded but didn’t say anything.

“You know, I’d like to meet Lady for real, if you’ll give me another chance.”

Cab looked at her for a long moment. “You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

He waited for her to reach him, then they walked side by side through the open plywood doors. Cab paused just inside the room, and she thought he probably did that every time he entered the room, his pride and delight as palpable as if he’d explained it in words. She felt it, too. The magic was still there, waiting for someone—Cab—to bring it back to life. A thrill shot up her spine.

Without a word he walked her toward the back door. In the light of day, she saw that it was made of reinforced metal. Inside, the lights were blindingly white. Midnight Lady was lying on her side fully visible; a long gouge scarred her flank.

Abbie repressed a shudder and felt Cab slip an arm lightly around her shoulders.

“What happened to her?”

“Don’t know. They were all moved inland several times during storms. It might have happened in the last move. Maybe vandals. She’s almost a hundred years old.” He laid his free hand gently on the scar before he led her to another horse, this one standing: a white high-prancing beauty, with gold mane and tail and a bright red, white, and blue saddle. One leg was unpainted, a replacement for the original, which was lost or damaged beyond repair.

They moved through the crowded room with its smell of linseed oil and turpentine.

“A pig,” Abbie exclaimed, stopping before a huge, round beast, its pink snout riding above a smiling red mouth.

“There’s also a dolphin, a sea horse, a lion, and two chariots in addition to the horses.”

“And you’re restoring them all?”

“Little by little. But it’s a mongrel setup. Not one of the classics. The animals come from different places. I’m trying to get the major repairs done before I open. After that, I’ll rotate them out to finish the job.”

A rumble filled the air and Abbie jumped, even as she told herself it was just some kind of ventilation system.

“We use some pretty volatile chemicals, so I have an air exchange system to keep us from getting high or sick.”

“We? I’m thinking I know who might be helping you.”

He smiled and motioned her to follow him. They went through a narrower door and stepped down into a square room filled with daylight. Rectangular panels lined the walls in various states of cleaning. Some were barely recognizable for the grime and fading. A few looked brighter but still indistinct; two on the end had been completely restored to a colorful scene of Victorian families at play.

And at the very end of the row, seated on a straight-backed chair, was Beau Crispin, oblivious to their presence as he leaned forward, carefully detailing a figure in black.

So that was where he went off to every day. When he wasn’t fishing or sitting on the old pier pilings carving his little piece of wood, he was helping Cab restore the carousel.

“Did he do the replacement parts, too?” Abbie whispered.

“A few of the smaller, decorative pieces, but I really needed his painting skills. He balked at first, no matter what I said to persuade him. But he couldn’t stay away.” He stopped, and they watched in silence as Beau’s brush ran fluidly over the wooden panel.

“He’s good.” Millie had told her about Beau painting in the gazebo—until his father “put an end to it” and sent him to military school. Was painting his first love? Was this Beau Crispin’s guilty pleasure?

He glanced up as she came to stand behind him, winked at her, slowly like all his other gestures, and went back to his work.

Abbie peered over his shoulder at the wooden panel he was working on. Unlike the others, this panel was new wood, treated with something white but not previously painted. He’d sketched out a scene: tall, pointed trees on the right, cypress trees maybe, and a point of land, the beginnings of the ocean in the background and a tiny boat out to sea.

It was the view from the gazebo, Abbie was sure of it. And Beau was painting it by heart. Something wrenched in her own heart, though she didn’t know what.