The Lottery Winner (11 page)

His mouth moistened in anticipation. He distributed plates and utensils and handed her a bottle of water. He had a shrimp almost to his lips when he noticed her bowed head and paused. A churchgoer. That didn't necessarily mean she wouldn't swindle an older lady.

She lifted her head, pushed a hush puppy into her mouth and chewed, then fixed her gaze on him. “Logan, besides the great food, what do you think makes Fisherman's Widow such a successful restaurant? It's ranked highly by all the travel guides.”

Thrown by the question and even more by the fact that he'd caught himself watching her eat, he tried to figure out where she was going with this. “Location.”

“That's a good guess. But you're only partially right. There are a few vacant storefronts on the street, so the setting alone doesn't guarantee success of any venture. Right?”

She paused, eyebrows hiked, as if waiting for his response. “Right. The food's very good.”

“Yes, it is. And it's reasonably priced. But the Widow's biggest asset is Miri herself—not just her cooking. Have you noticed how interactive she is with her customers?”

“Yes,” he ventured, trying to follow her angle.

She flashed him a quick smile. “She feeds a lot of locals—not just tourists—and she treats her regulars like family. She knows all about them, their children, grandchildren and even their pets. They know the same about her. Correct?”

He nodded. This conversation felt familiar. Why, when he hadn't had it with Jessie or anyone else?

She ate another shrimp, biting the flesh from the tail. He couldn't help noticing her short nails, long fingers and white teeth. Then she dabbed her lips with a paper napkin. He blinked. What was wrong with him today? You'd think he'd never seen a person eat before.

“Have you ever considered how hard it would have been for Miri to pretend to be cheerful and play the gracious hostess just days after her husband's death while facing hour after hour of condolences from people who knew her and Jack so well? She would have been reminded of her worst pain over and over again.”

The insight made him uncomfortable. “You can't run a business with closed doors.”

“I suspect her regulars knew and understood the circumstances. I'd bet most even came to Jack's funeral.”

“They did.” Why hadn't he thought of this before?

“Did it hurt her bottom line any in the long run to take that time for herself?”

“No. What are you? A grief counselor?”

“No.”

“A lawyer?”

She gurgled a laugh, a warm sound that washed over him in an unsettling way. In fact, this whole lunch was disturbing. He'd intended to grill her and yet she'd turned the tables on him. He was the one on the hot seat.

“I'm not a lawyer, either. What I am is someone who learns a lot from observing. For example, I saw my grandfather lose interest in everything after my grandmother died. We were afraid he would succumb to a broken heart.”

“That's romantic babble. Nobody dies from a broken heart.”

“Modern medicine says otherwise.”

“Marriages end every day. People pick up the pieces and move on.”

“Is that what you did?”

He would not discuss the failure of his marriage with her. “We're not talking about me.”

“No, we're not. But you need to realize that your situation was very different from Miri's. The end of a good thirty-five-year marriage to your soul mate is not the same as voluntarily ending a shorter one. It takes longer for some to move on than others. My mom had to drag her father around like a dog on a leash and make him go through the motions of living until he found his footing. He, like Miri, needed to establish a new normal. He had to realize that he could survive without his life partner by his side—something he'd never expected to have to do.”

He wasn't going to waste time with this conversation. He'd only half finished his lunch, but despite the food being delicious, his appetite was gone. He lifted the camera from the table. “Move closer to the palmetto. I'll get a picture of you for your family.”

“No. Don't.” She raised her hands to shield her face.

“You don't want memories of this trip?”

“Trust me, I won't ever forget it.” She didn't sound as if her recollections would be fond ones.

Her panic over a simple photograph was suspicious. Tact and patience evaporated. “Who are you hiding from, Jessie? And is Miri at risk when he finds you?”

“I'm not running from anyone. I just hate having my picture taken—especially when I look like this.” A hand swept up and down to indicate her makeup-free face. He bit his tongue on the urge to tell her that even with her hair pulled tightly back and her shiny skin she was a beautiful woman. “Like Miri did, all I need is time to establish a new normal.”

More questions sprang to his tongue. Who had hurt her, and—

“Let's finish this feast before it's ruined,” she interrupted, derailing his train of thought. “Miri will want a full report on the flavor palette.”

A fact with which he couldn't argue. This outing wasn't going as he'd planned. Jessie was beating him at his own game. But he would come up with a way to salvage the morning and find out what made her tick and who had driven her into hiding.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“L
OOK
,” L
OGAN
SAID
.

Jessie scanned the area at which he pointed, and, as had happened a dozen times in the hour since lunch, she didn't see anything other than trees and leaves. “Where?”

He stepped behind her, cupping her shoulders. His torso pressed her back. Then he extended his arm. “There. On the branch. Watch for a flash of red.”

Her heart sprinted. Struggling to regulate her breathing, she followed the line of his bicep, his forearm, his finger, but she didn't spot the small lizard until it puffed out the reddish flesh of its chin. “What is it?”

The tight whisper of her voice was barely recognizable. Under the guise of lifting the camera, she wiggled away from the heat of his skin. Her hands shook a little as she focused the lens. Her back and shoulders still burned with his imprint. Why did he affect her this way when she didn't trust him or even particularly like him?

“It's a green anole, or a Carolina anole. He's a very aggressive little guy and he can change colors.”

“Like a chameleon?”

“Yes. But he's not a chameleon.”

After snapping several shots, she lowered the camera between them. “You've shown me so many birds and reptiles this morning. How do you find them in the foliage when most are well camouflaged?”

He shrugged. “I have Jack and Miri to thank for that. They taught me how to see and appreciate what's around me. I'm sure you're just as perceptive back home in...?”

She ignored the unspoken question. “I guess I am. They must have been great surrogate parents.”

“They were. There wasn't much Jack didn't know about the outdoors.”

“And Miri?”

“She taught me how to cook and clean up after myself.”

The genuine love and loss in his face tugged at her heartstrings. “I heard you already knew how to do that.”

“Not to her specifications.” He spoke with tenderness rather than rancor. She suspected Logan might be a nice guy when he wasn't busy being a domineering jerk. And maybe he was nagging Miri because he loved her and wanted the best for her. Then she mentally yanked herself back in line. She couldn't afford to let down her guard with Logan, and if he continued being nice, she just might do that.

“I really should get back. We've already been gone much longer than I anticipated. Thank you...for everything. I have so many pictures and ideas.”

That couldn't be disappointment on his face. A crease pleated his brows. “All right. We'll have to do it again.”

“Um...maybe.” But it wasn't a good idea.

* * *

T
HE
F
ISHERMAN
'
S
W
IDOW
was at the tail end of the lunch rush when Logan pushed through the kitchen's delivery entrance. Irritated by the lack of progress during what had actually been an otherwise enjoyable morning with Jessie, he sought out his aunt.

Miri stood at the stove beside her chief cook, Hal. She looked up. “Oh, good. You're back. I was just telling Hal about the shrimp. How was it?”

“Fine. Did you ask Jessie to run interference with me?”

“Damned with faint praise,” she said to Hal, then took the picnic basket from Logan and set it aside. She tilted her head to indicate he join her in her office, where she sat behind her desk. “I asked for her help, yes.”

He was too agitated to sit in the visitor's chair. “Why didn't you tell me to back off instead of involving a stranger?”

“I have. Repeatedly. You won't listen.”

“I listen.”

She shook her head. “Logan, I love you. And I know Jack, the poor misguided fool, probably asked you to look out for me. But he didn't mean for you to second-guess every decision I make. Even he gave me free rein running my restaurant.”

He expelled an exasperated breath. “It's not the same. Your cushion isn't as deep as it once was. You don't have his income to fall back on. You can't afford to take risks.”

“You blame yourself. I get it. But you are not responsible for your exes' bad decisions. You need to get that through your thick head, but you can't seem to, no matter how many times I repeat myself.”

Because it wasn't true. “They stole from you right under my nose. I should have realized what they were doing. I should have—”

He bit off the words. He should have realized that while he was out busting his ass trying to win new clients his wife and his former best friend were screwing each other sexually and him criminally.

“You'd known Trent since you were children and trusted him to keep your books. But that wife of yours...” She shook her head. “She might have been beautiful and a business asset, but she was always more interested in her possessions than anything or anyone. You can't keep beating yourself up because others betray you. People let us down, Logan. It happens.”

“Especially the ones you hire.”

She snapped upright in her chair. “You need to get a life and stay out of mine.”

“I have a life,” he protested.

“You don't date. You don't have friends—except for that leech of a private investigator. When was the last time you took a woman out for a meal or had a beer with friends?”

“Two hours ago.”

She chided him with a stern look. “The meal I provided for you and Jessie is not what I meant and you know it.”

“I don't need a woman or friends.”

“Yes, you do. Everybody needs friends. And love. And at your age, sex. Although I can see why you're a bit gun-shy, you can't seal your heart off forever. It's unhealthy.”

His face and ears burned at her frankness. “I'm fine.”

“No, you're not. Also, you preach to me about investing, but how much are you socking away for your retirement when you're throwing away all of your money chasing Elizabeth and Trent?”

“That's an investment in my future.”

“You won't have a pot to pee in in your future if you keep wasting money on the past.”

They were treading the same ol' territory. But something Jessie had said this morning about her grandfather had struck a chord. “I'll make you a deal. I'll start dating if you'll close the Widow one day a week. You need the break and so does your staff.”

She shook her head. “I can't do that. My customers want me open.”

“Your customers survived when you were closed two days per week and you cleared just as much money working fewer hours. Wednesdays and Thursdays are slow days. Just think—you could take out the kayak or spend a day in your kitchen at home playing with food.”

He could tell from her squinty-eyed appraisal that she was considering the sincerity of his plan. He wasn't the least bit interested in dating. Sex, sure. He obviously needed to get laid if his sudden fascination with Jessie was anything to go by. He'd watched her all morning as if he'd never seen anybody doodle before. And touching her...had been a mistake. But trust a woman again? Be snookered by a pretty face and a good lay? Not gonna happen.

Then Miri nodded. “I will if you will. You first. Now, let's discuss something more pleasant. How did your morning paddle go?”

She didn't give him time to enjoy his victory. “Good. Jessie did several sketches, made charcoal rubs of some of the leaves and took hundreds of pictures with my camera. She claims she doesn't have an email address or even a computer for me to send her the files.”

Miri shrugged. “She hasn't given me one, either, if that's what you're hinting at.”

“I'm not. But it's odd for someone of her age and obvious affluence not to use the internet.”

“She said she's on a sabbatical. That means taking a break from all the things that keep you from being productive. Email and social media are time sucks. Everybody says so.”

He wasn't getting anywhere. “I'll bring the pictures by on a memory stick tomorrow.”

“You're not hanging out here with your friend to bug me tonight?”

He fought a wince. “No. I's working and I'm going to try to put together a little black book of possible date material. And you have to figure out which day you're closing. We'll need to have the door signs and webpage adjusted.”

He wasn't going to date anybody—at least not seriously. He had nothing to offer. Not anymore. But letting Miri believe he was would get her off his back.

* * *

J
ESSIE
SAT
ON
the dock Tuesday afternoon, letting the sun dry her hair and staring at the scrap of paper in her hand. Upon their return from No Name Key, Logan had given her the name and phone number of the buyer. She was supposed to call and schedule a time to borrow her Key deer painting and take it to the printer's.

Overwhelmed by the thought of making that call, she'd stalled by taking a shower, then going through the phone book and calling three printers who advertised they made the kind of copies she needed. One had impressed her more than the others, and the hundred-dollar price tag was doable with her tip money.

Her heart raced faster as she pulled her phone from her pocket, but she didn't dial. Meeting the person who'd bought her work and identifying herself filled her with apprehension on so many levels. One, interacting with anyone on a personal basis was risky. They might ask questions and she might slip up. She'd had a hard enough time dodging Logan's sly inquiries today.

Two, if she didn't do it, she'd have no record of the work she'd poured her heart into. Could she just let it go? The emptiness of that thought told her she needed to get her painting copied.

Three, the buyer had paid a lot of money for her work. What if he'd changed his mind after three days of looking at it and decided it wasn't worth it? Returning the cash wasn't an issue. She hadn't spent it. But her ego might never recover.

Four, Brandon would have a fit.

The paper crumpled in her fist. She let herself be distracted by the dive boat cruising past. When Logan had suggested she check out the sunken sailboat this morning, she'd been tempted, but she doubted her colored contacts would stay in if she opened her eyes underwater, and she couldn't risk losing one in front of Logan.

The lenses were nonprescription. She'd bought several sets on the drive down when she'd had the wild idea somewhere around Jacksonville of changing her coloring and going incognito so that she could have a little freedom. She was wearing the last set. Because of her job she could afford to buy more. But could she find them in the Keys?

The phone vibrated in her hand, startling her so badly she almost dropped it. Brandon's number flashed on the screen and she grimaced. He'd called twice this morning and she hadn't called him back. The idea of pretending all was well knotted her stomach. But she didn't have a choice except to answer.

“Hi,” she chirped in her happiest voice.

“Where in the hell have you been? If you hadn't answered this time I was going to drive south.”

“I'm sorry. I went out in a kayak. I had the phone in a waterproof compartment and didn't hear it ring.” The truth. “I haven't been home long.” A white lie—she'd been home an hour.

“You're all right then?”

“Yes. Peachy. Back in the safety of the walled compound.”

“Jessamine, going kayaking alone isn't a good idea.”

“Brandon, you sent me down here and said, ‘Enjoy the Keys.' I can't do that locked in the house.”

“I hear you. I'm just worried about you. You're a target.”

“I'm not a target if no one knows who or where I am.” She thought of the stranger from the restaurant and her stomach muscles clenched. “I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah, right.”

His sarcasm stung. Then she realized she never had before the win. She'd relied on her family too much. It had taken making her safety net inaccessible to force her to become more self-reliant. That was a sad, sobering fact for a twenty-six-year-old to admit.

“I'm fine. I promise. And as much as I hate to admit it...the distance has been good for me.”

“Are you sure you're all right?”

Knowing she'd earned his skepticism wasn't easy to swallow. “Positive. Look, I need groceries and stuff. I've got to go.”

“Be careful, Li'l Bit. And answer your phone next time.” The line went dead.

She lowered her hand and stared across the water at No Name. How had her life come to this?

Her father had been diagnosed her junior year of high school. Wanting to be available to help him if he needed her, she'd enrolled in a college less than an hour from home, then taken a job in the school district she'd attended as a child. Even her little house was only a few minutes from her parents' orchard. But even before that she'd preferred home to partying with friends.

She'd built herself a nice little cocoon. But she'd never tried to metamorphose and fly. Maybe it was time she did.

* * *

T
HE
MASSIVE
K
EY
L
ARGO
VILLA
intimidated Jessie so much she debated driving past and forgetting about getting her painting scanned. But her new resolve made her follow the course. Heart pounding, she pulled up to the elaborate wrought-iron gates and pushed the button on the intercom system.

“Yes?” a male voice crackled through the speaker.

“I'm Jessie...the...painter of the Key deer picture, here to see Mr. or Mrs. Clark.”

“Come in” preceded the mechanical sound of the iron gate smoothly opening.

She drove forward into a circular courtyard that looked like something out of a landscape magazine, but despite the beauty, her hands were shaking so badly she'd never be able to sketch it. Gulping down her anxiety, she stepped out onto the brick driveway. The people who owned this home could afford to buy anything—why
her
work?