The Pickle Boat House (4 page)

And the ringing began again. “What?” she shouted into the phone, and the voice on the other end began to laugh.

“Don’t call me again,” Van snarled as a flash of cold fear shot up her spine. “I have caller ID. I’ll report you.”

“Wait, don’t hang up,” said the voice. It chuckled devilishly again. “Say something else.”

“What do you want?” Van yelled at the phone. She rolled into a sitting position, drawing the attention of others nearby, including Boardwalk Man.

She immediately transferred her ire to him. “Piss off. Go find someone else to stare at!”

But by this time, Boardwalk Man was almost doubled over with laughter, and Van could feel the heat from her anger rising in her face and igniting her eyes. As he began walking toward her like some kind of psycho stalker, her anger evaporated, and she dropped her hands into her lap and closed her mouth. Instinct was rapidly pushing her from fight to flight, but she was still incapable of moving.

“Am I ringing your phone? Are you five-five-five, four-five-one-seven?” The man heaved with laughter and continued to look directly at Van. “Don’t you think that’s funny?”

When Van continued to give no response his demeanor suddenly changed and the laughter froze on his lips. “I’m … so … I think we … your wrong number. I’m terribly sorry,” he said.

She checked the phone in her hand, looked at him and back at the phone again. “This is
you
?” The improbability made her smile. “I do want you to know that I am on the ‘do not call’ list and that you can be fined a lot of money if you call me again,” she said, half laughing.

“No, no, I promise, no more calls,” the man said, holding his hands out in surrender. “I’m really sorry, but the look on your face was priceless.” He gave a final awkward wave and walked off the boardwalk toward the parking lot. There was a last muffled laugh, and he was gone.

A little unnerved, Van took a deep breath to slow her pounding heart as a final shiver ran down her spine. Boardwalk Man was attractive, yet the adrenaline still coursing through her screamed a silent warning. She took another deep breath and tried to relax and stretch her long, slim legs out in front of her. A check of her watch assured her that she had about half an hour before she must head back to the house, her desk piled high with uncompleted work reports. She tried to pull herself back into her comfort zone, but her concentration was shot.

“Could I interest you in an ice cream?” said a familiar voice. Van jumped, startled. It was Boardwalk Man, standing in front of her with two ice-cream cones. “My feeble attempt at an apology for bothering you and making you mad?”

“That would be a really sweet gesture if you weren’t standing in front of a ‘No Eating on Boardwalk’ sign.” She tried not to laugh, but the corners of her mouth started to escape her control. If she didn’t take a cone, he was going to be in trouble pretty quickly. As she looked at him closely, she saw something in his eyes that called to her in a primal way. Unmistakable attraction trumped any flight reflex she might have had.

“I can see you’re enjoying this,” he said, a little smile beginning to touch his eyes. “How about over on the street—can we go over there?” he said, gesturing with one of the cones he was holding.

“Maybe, though my mother told me never to accept sweets from strangers.” Embarrassing him was like shooting fish in a barrel, and she was enjoying it. Boardwalk Man was actually pretty cute when he got embarrassed. She decided to let him dangle and twist for a while.

“Well, since you’re already talking to a stranger, you must not listen to everything your mom taught you. Which way is it going to be: ice cream cone with a stranger, or the bench by yourself?”

“How could I be that cruel with you standing there and ice cream dribbling down your arm? But, I guess you already figured that, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I’m feeling very irresistible right now,” he deadpanned. His eyes darkened as if he sensed her warming to him. “Can you take this before my fingers start sticking together?”

Van took the cone and quickly ran her tongue around the bottom of the ice cream to catch the drips. Not only was it chocolate, it was
good
chocolate.

“I’m sure your mother will give you a pass,” he said.

“My mother is dead,” she said coldly.

He froze in his tracks, and Van could almost see the wheels turning in his head. “I’m so sorry. That was so thoughtless of me. I really seem to be batting zero today—at least with you, anyway.”

“It’s okay,” Van murmured. “It’s been a while. Sorry I snapped at you. You just caught me off guard. She comes up so rarely in conversation anymore. I’m sure I would have gotten an etiquette lesson if I had left you to fend for yourself with two ice-cream cones.”

They made their way over to one of the benches that lined a little grassy playing field. Van could feel his eyes on her, and she was beginning to like the way it felt. It was refreshing. There was a definite undercurrent of attraction between them as they sat in the sunshine, trying to keep ahead of the dripping cones. Her mother was probably doing barrel rolls in her grave.

“I would hope you’re reading my T-shirt,” Van said.

Boardwalk Man laughed as his eyes moved back up to her face. “Of course. So you’re left-handed and the only one in your right brain?”

“Absolutely. It runs in my family. Everybody’s a leftie. You have a problem with that?”

“No, I guess not. Everyone should be passionate about something.”

“So … where are you from?”

He stopped in mid lick and chuckled. “Wow, you’re direct. Is it that obvious that I’m not from around here?” He turned and smiled, and Van knew that she hadn’t insulted him. It was a soft smile that made his eyes sparkle.

“You bought ice cream for someone you don’t even know, and you’re calling
me
direct? Pot or kettle? I think it’s called the beauty of living in a small town. Everybody knows everybody. Of course, that applies to your personal business as well, but the trade-off is worth it. So unless you’re the prodigal son returned, I figure you’re either just passing through or a new resident. Most people are trying to escape
from,
not
to,
Nevis. Nicely dressed—you don’t look like you’re escaping from anything.”

He continued to look at Van for a moment, then let his gaze drift out across the field. He turned back to her and put out his hand. “Ryan Thomas. It’s nice to meet you.” He followed the outstretched hand with a smile that could calm the most skittish heart. It was hard to imagine someone with so dazzling a smile being unaware of its effect, especially on the opposite sex. “I was born and raised in Delaware; now I live in New York. I’m passing through, doing a little business, taking a holiday of sorts—getting the lay of the land, you might say.”

“Do you work in New York?”

“I work in acquisitions with a firm there. Why? Do I scream ‘New York’ that loud?”

“Something like that. What do you acquisite?”

“I don’t think that’s the queen’s English, but to answer your question, I acquire certain commodities for Hector Young and Associates, depending on what the specific needs are at any given time.” He smirked. “I can see your eyes glazing over with eager interest. How about you?”

“I wasn’t born here, but like most residents, I can trace my family back here to the founding fathers. Only the young people move away from Nevis, and if they do, they generally come back when they return to their senses. Guess you could say I’ve done that, too. I’m back here permanently now after years of quick trips on weekends.”

“Do you work in Nevis?”

“No, D.C. I’m a historian at the Smithsonian; only right now I’m on a leave of absence—a working vacation of sorts. But that’s okay; it’s giving me time to exorcise my demons.”

He tilted his head sideways and looked at her with soft, inquisitive eyes. “You have a few to exorcise?”

“Yeah, doesn’t everybody?”

“Probably, if they’re totally honest about it—which most of us aren’t.”

She hadn’t expected that. It had been ever so long since she had someone understand what she was feeling, let alone pay attention to what she was saying. Van squeezed her eyes shut so he couldn’t read her emotions. The silence that had felt at first like camaraderie now felt awkward. She got to her feet, and Ryan quickly followed. It felt like being back in high school on her first date.

Van forced herself to look up into Ryan’s face. “Thank you for the ice cream. Consider us even—all forgiven.”

He looked relieved. “Good. I didn’t want to leave with that on my conscience.”

“Could I leave you with one thought?”

“Sure.” He hesitated, as if bracing himself for bad news.

“Next time you decide to pick up a girl by plying her with ice cream, order it in a cup.”

“Sure. Next time.” He snorted with relief and looked down at the ground. “I’d like there to be a next time,” he said. He looked directly into her eyes, and there was that overwhelming smile again.

Van could feel herself melting. As a decent, sensitive human being, how could she say no to
that
? “I’d like that,” she said softly. “I’d give you my name and number, but”—gesturing with her hands—“no paper, no pen.” Van felt embarrassed again. She was actually
flirting
with this guy. She could feel the heat move up into her face.

“I only have a pen,” he said, chuckling. “We may have to end this acquaintance right here. So great was my remorse, I deleted your number after I misdialed.”

“Give me your pen,” she said, and taking it, she took his hand, too, and began writing her name and phone number on the back. The hand was warm and strong, and she didn’t want to give it back. Slowly she let go and held the pen out to him.

“No, you keep it. It was never totally happy with me. I think it was just a rebound relationship.”

“Right.” It was her turn to snort as she nodded and put the pen in her hip pocket.

“I’ll never wash again,” Ryan sighed as he looked down at his hand, and they both broke out in nervous laughter. “Why do I feel like I’m in the fifth grade again?”

“I hope you know I don’t do that for just anybody,” Van said.

He looked at her thoughtfully. “No, I didn’t think so. Thanks. I’ll call you. It may be a few days, though,” he added. I’m heading south and then swinging back through on my way back to New York.”

“That is the quickest kiss-off I ever got. You’ve had my number less than a minute, and you’re already making excuses for not calling.”

There was that magnetic smile again. “I promise I’ll call you. Good-bye, Vanessa Hardy.”

“Good-bye, Ryan Thomas. Take the Yankee dimes, but not the wooden nickels.”

“What?”

She grinned at him, then turned and headed back to the boardwalk, resisting the urge to turn around.

* * *

Ryan thought he could hear her begin to hum softly to herself, and it brought a quiet smile to his lips. He watched with admiration as she walked away. Even when women weren’t trying to look sexy, there was still something magical about the way they moved. He looked toward the bay and caught sight of a tern diving expertly into the water. It was the ageless saga of the hunter and the hunted, and it never failed to fascinate him.

He reclaimed his seat on the bench and stretched out his six-foot frame. The slight breeze coming off the water was balmy. It was calm and quiet, with just the sound of bluebirds calling to each other in the surrounding trees. He closed his eyes and began planning step two, and a smile slowly spread across his upturned face. The day was beginning to go better than he could have expected.

He flipped open his cell phone. “Hey, just touching base. Think I’ll be able to wrap this up a lot quicker than I thought. Just met someone who could be the answer to our prayers … No, totally clueless. You know my radar only picks up the cute ones.” The smile abruptly disappeared from his face. “Wait—sending
who
? I don’t need any help.” Ryan got up and began to pace. “Tell ’em to fuck off … Shit, at least send someone else. Where’s Earl? … How far?” His eyes darted around the park. “Never mind. I’ll find the son of a bitch,” he said. “Yeah, I’ll return the favor sometime.” He flipped the phone closed and slid it back into his pocket.

“I would have gone for a Yankee dime while I had the chance,” a quiet voice whispered from behind him.

Ryan jumped. “Damn it, Hector! Don’t creep up on me like that again.”

The figure of a man stepped out from behind a nearby oak and approached. “Glad to see you can fit a little skirt chasing into the business day,” he said, and chuckled.

“Screw you! Making a few contacts in the area will be helpful.”

“Is that what that was? Could have sworn it was personal.” Hector swung around the side of the bench and flopped down.

“And what the hell are
you
doing here? No, wait, scratch that. I don’t care why you’re here. Fuck off back to wherever the hell you came from. I don’t need you breathing down my neck. Where’s Earl?”

“No can do. Suits want to make sure this is all going to go down smoothly.” Hector tossed his cigarette down and ground it out under his shoe. “Earl’s taking care of business somewhere else. Gonna meet up with him later. Look, Ryan, my boy, I don’t really care what you do on your own time. Screw this up and you’ll be packing up your desk. Unless you want to admit that you just don’t have it anymore?” He laughed again—a cold, spine-tingling sound. He lit another cigarette, took a long draw, and slowly exhaled smoke at Ryan as he gazed through narrowed eyes. “Don’t make me hate this any more than I do already. I don’t need you dragging me under—got my own problems. Just take care of business so we can get out of here. No loose ends.”

“Have there ever been?”

“I’d hate to take it out of your hands.”

Ryan looked at him with disgust. “Come on. Let’s go find someone else for you to bullshit.” Ryan got up and headed for the parking lot. Hector chuckled again as he got up and followed. He flicked the cigarette away but didn’t bother to put it out.

“By the way, since you’re such a smart-ass, what
is
a Yankee dime?” Ryan asked over his shoulder.