Those Cassabaw Days (12 page)

Matt had informed her their mother had signed for them all at seventeen—Sidney at sixteen—to enter the service. Mr. Wimpy was the oldest and was about to turn eighty-seven in June. Although they all fought health problems, that they still were steady and strong completely amazed Emily.

Mr. Wimpy led the pack, his blue bucket hat perched on his balding head; white sneakers that had seen better days covered his feet. When they reached the veranda, he gave Emily a wide grin. She grinned back. “Well, if it isn’t the Beasts and Terrors. Morning, fellas.”

“Hey, gal!” Mr. Wimpy said, and his blue eyes twinkled. His voice was a little gritty, but still warm and friendly. She imagined in his youth he’d been a big, loud teddy bear. “You beat us to it this morning, eh?” He climbed the steps, a slight struggle but not too much of one, and sat beside her.

“Hey now,” Ted remarked, and claimed the other chair beside Emily. “Sunrise and a sexy dame?” He winked and opened his thermos. “That’s a fast second to winning the war! Or the World Series!”

By
war
, Ted meant
the
war. The Second World War. That this group of men had fought together and then lived to tell the tale of it seventy years after the war ended was beyond a miracle. It was a living, walking piece of history. No wonder Matt liked them so much. She found that she did, too.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” Dubb asked with a grin. “I know it ain’t too early for him. He’s a jarhead.”

Emily narrowed her eyes over the rim of her cup. “He’s not my boyfriend. We’re just...old acquaintances, is all.”

The men all looked at each other and chuckled.

“Reacquaintin’ don’t take but a minute, girly,” Putt offered. “That’s how I met my Pee Wee.”

Emily cocked her head. “Pee Wee?”

Wimpy laughed. “That’s his wife, Anita. A cute little gal from Cuba.” He shook his head. “A stick of dynamite, that one.” He leaned back in his chair. “Makes the best black beans and rice you’ll ever put in your stomach.”

“Amen, brother,” Putt added, nodding, as though it was Bible law. “Amen.”

More chuckles.

“That boy Matt, he’s seen a lot,” Wimpy added. “Done a lot more. Most civilians don’t realize what a soldier goes through, I reckon.” He turned a wizened blue gaze on her. “Sometimes a fella just doesn’t know what to do with himself anymore, after he’s out. Like he doesn’t fit anywhere.” He rubbed his jaw. “And it takes the right kind of woman to understand a soldier. Or to show him there’s life after war. After the corps.”

Emily and Mr. Wimpy shared a silent glance. It was as though he could read her mind, her inner thoughts.

The others had quieted as they all listened to their eldest comrade speak. Emily nodded. “I understand. Thank you.” She did, too. She and Matt were friends, plain and simple. If he needed her, she’d be there for him. Even if he never admitted needing her.

Together with a group of men from a generation unlike any other—heroes, in her eyes—Emily sipped coffee and watched the sun slowly climb over the coast of Cassabaw. Gulls dipped, swooped, cried. The water sparkled like so many rough-cut slivers of sea glass as the sun washed over it. Emily didn’t think she’d ever grow tired of watching it.

But, there was work to be done. “All right, fellas,” she said, and pushed up once the conversation turned to baseball. Not that she didn’t like baseball, but she wasn’t up-to-date on the latest Braves players. She gave them all a wave. “I need to get busy if this place is going to be up and running by the Fourth.” She inclined her head. “I’ll see ya around.”

“Don’t forget about the Kites!” Sidney called out. He pulled an inhaler from his pocket and took a big puff.

Emily grinned before she stepped inside the café. “I won’t!”

Inside the café, Emily pulled a chair beneath one of the larger white milk-glass domes and climbed up to get a better look at the light fixture. To her surprise she found the delicate, aged pattern of a mermaid etched into the glass.

“No way,” Emily breathed, fascinated. She continued to follow the design. “That is so stinking cool...”

“What is it?”

Emily spun around on the chair. “Matt! Good Lord, you scared me.” Her heart raced in her chest, and she wasn’t sure if it was just from his unexpected presence...or his presence. Period. She glanced at the milk glass, then back at him. “These aren’t simple gorgeous milk-glass light domes,” she said with a quirky grin, and waited for Matt’s response.

After a moment of expressionless silence, Matt glanced at the milk glass. His eyes moved back to hers, but he said nothing. Just...waited. With that intense stare he had.

That he was interested, well, interested her. She beamed and pointed. “There is a mermaid etched into this one.” Lowering to the floor, she pulled the chair to another light fixture and inspected the aged glass, then gasped with delight. “And this one? A
merman
!”

Matt’s brows furrowed. “A mer-what?”

Emily put her hands on her hips. “Matt Malone, you know good and well what a merman is. We used to pretend that we were both merfolk. I was a beautiful mermaid princess warrior and you a fearless merman warrior knight of the sea.” She sighed and shook her head, frustrated. “We rode fierce seahorse stallions. Yours was named Jack. No way you forgot that.”

Matt’s expression of horror almost made her laugh. “I must’ve suppressed it,” he grumbled, and frowned at her. “It can stay that way.”

This time Emily couldn’t help it. She burst out laughing, which seemed to make Matt Malone frown and grumble even more.

“What’s so funny?” he asked as she climbed down.

She stood before him, tipped her head back and looked into his eyes, studying him. She tried to understand, to see past the wall he’d built around himself, and remember the words Mr. Wimpy had said. Finally, she offered him a full-blown smile.

“You are, Matt Malone,” she said softly. “Deep down, you really, really are.”

CHAPTER NINE

THE LOOK IN
Emily’s eyes wasn’t mean-spirited. And she wasn’t poking fun, either, or trying to make him feel like an idiot. Whatever it was, it came from her heart. He could see it in her strange, wide hazel eyes. Eyes he knew well. Eyes, he noticed, that had a way of making him squirm, of drawing him in. Yep. He knew her. Better than most, he suspected, even though he tried his best to deny it.

He looked at her smiling self now. She damn well meant every word she said. Somehow, she did, and it shocked the hell out of him.

Emily Quinn still believed in him. No matter that he’d been harsh. Short. Madder than hell at...whatever he was mad at. Life. Civilian life. Whatever.

Yep. Just like Jep had said. A big, bald donkey’s ass.

“You know you want to laugh,” Emily quipped, and punched him in the arm. “Stop trying to hide it.”

Then she crossed those big, beautiful eyes and scrunched up her face.

And he couldn’t help himself.

He tried; tried as hard as he could. Held his face as stony as possible, lips pressed firmly together. But when she fish-puckered those full lips and google-rolled one eye, it just looked so damn...crazy. His mouth pulled at the corners, and he swiped at his jaw with his hand and just looked away and shook his head. “God almighty, girl,” he muttered, hiding his smile.

“Yeah, whatever, Mattinski,” she teased. “I saw.” She put the chair back and he watched as she inspected all of the other milk-glass fixtures. “I can’t believe they all have mer-scenes etched into the glass,” she said, mostly to herself. She looked over her shoulder at him and smiled so big her teeth showed. “It’s so stinkin’ perfect.”

Matt didn’t know what to say to that. He supposed if she liked mermaids and such carved into her light fixtures, then yeah, it probably was perfect. He had remembered their pretending to be merfolk as kids. Definitely remembered his faithful seahorse steed, Jack. At the time he’d thought nothing of it. It was a game. Fun stuff. Now it seemed corny as hell. If his brothers—or God forbid, Jep—ever found out about it, well, the jabbing would be slow, merciless, beyond painful. Torturous.

So he just didn’t fess up to remembering.

“I ordered all the lumber from your list last night.” Emily finished going over the last fixture and came to stand before him. “And new appliances, for the café and the house.”

With eyes that never missed a thing, she looked over the dining area, and when her head moved, that big, messy braid dragged over her shoulder. “Big washbasin and faucet, dishwasher, fridge and chest freezer. And an industrial-sized upright mixer. Everything will be delivered next week, with the café lumber being delivered here, of course.”

Matt studied her, the determination of her set jaw, the spark of excitement and challenge in her eyes. He’d always liked that about Emily. “Next week’s good. I’ll be here.”

“I also ordered some appliances for the house,” she added. “That stove is priceless in my heart, but the temperature is way off and two of the burners are broken.”

Matt nodded. He absently wondered what it’d take—besides being an old stove—to be priceless in Emily’s heart. She loved old things; old music, old people. Something about days gone by appealed to her. He couldn’t help but wonder why. “So what are you going to do with it?”

She began slowly walking through the dining area, and he couldn’t help but follow her movements with his gaze. “I don’t know yet,” she began. Her long legs moved her around the chairs and tables. “I’ll figure out something great. My mom used it for as long as I can remember.”

“I know.”

She stopped, staring at the rafters, from one corner of the café dining area to the other. “What now?” Matt asked.

“I have a superbly phenomenal idea,” she said. “Come on.” Without hesitation, she headed for the door.

Matt just stood there.

At the front, Emily turned. “Well, come on, Matt. You’re my employee, right? I need your help.” She cocked her head. “Unless you have something else to do today?”

Jep, Owen and Nathan were all out on the trawler. The lumber wouldn’t be available until next week. He could probably find some things to do but what the hell. He had nowhere else to be. “Your Jeep’s finished.”

“Oh! That’s fantastic! Did you drive it here?” she asked.

He gave a nod. What was she up to?

“Okay. We’ll leave it parked out back.” She grasped the door handle and looked over her shoulder at him. “Why aren’t your feet moving? Come on!”

With a reserved sigh, Matt shoved his hands into his pockets and strode from the café. Behind him, Emily locked the doors and all but danced off the veranda. Her excitement did something to him. Something he couldn’t define, really. Probably best if he never did.

“Want me to drive?” he asked. He knew Jep’s truck could be tricky.

“No way,” she said, and hopped excitedly into the driver’s seat. Leaning over, she unlocked his door and patted the bench seat. “This thing is too fun to drive.”

Climbing in, Matt settled into the old leather and simply shook his head. “Where are we going?”

Emily started the truck, grinding the gears as she shifted into First. “Oops,” she gasped, then laughed and looked at him. “Don’t tell Jep I did that.”

Matt hid a smile with his hand and looked out the window. “Where?”

She shifted again and backed out of the café parking lot. “Caper’s Inlet.”

With a quick look he slid his shades on. “That’s halfway to Charleston.”

Shifting once more with only a small grind, she pulled out onto the road and headed off the island. “I know.” She grinned, peering over the sunglasses she’d just put on. “I found this great little quirky antiques store that I’ll hopefully find some supergreat stuff at for the café’s decor.” She wiggled her brows. “I’ll even buy breakfast.”

Matt stiffened. “I have money, Emily. I don’t need handouts.”

Emily’s gaze shifted to the road in front of her and she blew out a sigh. “‘Thanks, Emily. Hey, you buy breakfast, I’ll buy you lunch sometime.’” She kept her eyes dead ahead. “See how it works?” A fast slip of a gaze, then back to the road. “So crotchety these days.”

Matt let out a slow breath and rolled the window down. Another inhale, another exhale. Maybe he was being too defensive. And too aware of her. Beside him. Cramped in the truck. Smelling like vanilla and flowers. “Thanks, Emily. I’ll pick up lunch sometime.”

“Great!” she said. “I love lunch!”

He shook his head. “I can’t believe I’m going antiquing,” Matt muttered. “I’ll never live this down.”

“For a small fee I won’t tell.”

Another smile pulled at his mouth, and this time, he didn’t hide it. He was powerless to fight it, anyway.

Emily Quinn was definitely a thorn that burrowed fast and deep, and had sharp, serrated teeth.

As they drove along the coastal road, Emily proved to be like a kid in a candy store. Everything she saw, she loved: the towering oaks that overhung the road, their long, jagged limbs draped in Spanish moss. The palms, the old wooden churches and other structures that more likely than not at one time belonged to old homesteaders in the area. The moment she saw a produce stand on the side of the road, she whipped Jep’s truck into it and purchased several jars of homemade blueberry jam and onion relish.

Not five miles down the road, another stand, and this one was an old Gullah woman, selling baskets woven out of saw grass. Emily all but skidded the truck to a stop in a cloud of dust and pebbles, and leaped from the truck.

Matt could do nothing but watch in fascination.

And climb out after her.

Emily Quinn was hands down the most spontaneous person he’d ever met.

Each time they stopped, Matt got out and helped her juggle her purchases, then load them into the truck.

“Oh, my Lord, would you just look at this?” Emily gasped as she climbed behind the wheel clutching a big hand-woven basket. “This will look so great by the hearth.”

Matt closed the door, looked at her and lifted one brow. “You conned me into going girly shopping with you.” Christ, if any of the guys in his unit found out...

The dimple in her cheek sunk in as her lips parted. “Right? God, I’m good.”