A Home by the Sea (19 page)

 

N
OAH STOOD UP
and stretched, shaking his head at the chaos of wires, fuses and timing devices ranged over his work space. Another day, another bomb, he thought grimly.

“You closing up soon, boss?” Anna, his tech expert, studied him carefully, one hand on her hip. “Don't you have to text your lady friend?”

“I'll handle my private life, Anna. Just get your new forensics report on my desk first thing.”

“Will do. But here's a tip, boss. We women can be tricky. We don't like it if a man forgets about us.”

Noah ground his teeth. “I sent her roses, Anna.”

“Good call. But that's just an opener. You need a follow-up plan.”

Noah rubbed his neck and smiled thoughtfully. “I have six of them. She's a knitter. She's got a surprise coming.”

Anna's eyebrow rose. “A knitter, huh? She must
be good with her hands. Sensual, too. All that merino and angora and cashmere. Why don't you blow this place and go find her? Those wires aren't going anywhere.”

She left before Noah could shoot back a smart answer. But she had only voiced the thoughts circling through Noah's head for the past week.

He missed her laugh, her cool, focused intelligence. He wanted to feed her more s'mores with his fingers, Noah thought wryly.

“You still here, McLeod?” Noah's boss looked in, his coat draped over his shoulder. “Nice work at that forensics task force today. Your presentation got noticed. It might mean more funding for us.”

“Thank you, sir.” Noah sat back, frowning. “You know I have some private time coming, sir. I thought after this new case report is completed, I'd take a week off.”

Noah's boss didn't move. “A week? Half of our people are still at that EEC briefing.”

“How about two or three days then?”

“I could probably manage that. Not easy, but possible. So where are you going? Too cold for fly-fishing in Montana.” Ed Merrill pulled on his coat. “Tell me it's a hot beach in the Caribbean. Clothing optional.”

Oregon,
Noah thought. And he hoped that clothing would be very optional. “Not sure yet, sir. I'll put in a formal request tomorrow.”

“I'll shoehorn it through. I wish I could get away, too. This weather is killing me.”

Noah glanced outside. “Don't tell me it's snowing again?”

“And another storm predicted.” Noah's boss shook his head. “Didn't they get the memo about global warming?”

 

G
RACE'S PHONE CHIMED
. She put down her knitting and grabbed the phone.

 

How's life at the beach?

 

Not bad. Jilly made brownies that would wake the dead. I'm actually doing some knitting. I almost forgot how.

 

No way. You're too good for that. My mom loved the pattern and the yarn. She's got two squares done already. Says thanks for recommending.

 

Excellent. Tell her hello. My grandfather walked across the room today. We helped him, but still… Progress.

 

Great news. You should celebrate.

 

Grace looked at her greasy top and torn jeans. Her nails were beyond any hope of repair. Meanwhile,
there were two boxes of old fixtures to clear out of the storage area.

 

I'll keep that in mind. Still busy?

 

A little this, a little that.

 

Grace didn't want to push. He'd come if he could. She stopped, one finger poised over the phone. Before she could answer him, another message appeared.

 

Put in for leave today. You change your mind?

 

She rubbed the center of her chest, feeling her heart take a sharp dive. Heat swirled through her cheeks.

 

No way. I've got a menu all planned. Three kinds of chocolate and an organic single-origin espresso from Bolivia. Killer stuff. We'll go park at Lover's Point and watch the sun come up.

 

She closed her eyes, wishing she could see his face.

 

Keep the coffee warm. Here comes the sun. We'll see it together.

“W
HAT ARE
YOU
GRINNING FOR
?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, Lindstrom.
You.
A major Cheshire-cat version.” Jilly poured herself a fresh cup of coffee. “You just spoke to the Flower Guy, right? When's he showing up?”

Grace gave up trying to hide a grin. She leaned back in her chair—and almost collapsed backward.

“Whoa. Careful. Get those raging hormones under control.”

“I am not—that is, my hormones are
not
raging.” Grace closed her eyes. “Frothing a little, maybe.” It felt wonderful to froth, Grace thought.

To dream and imagine and hope.

She could start making plans for Noah's arrival right away. “Jilly, I need that recipe for dark chocolate ganache with organic espresso bits.”

“Coming right up. Anything else? Truffles? A magnum of champagne, maybe?” Jilly asked.

“A great
guy
meal would be good. I was making Noah chipotle coffee chili when we got interrupted. That's my favorite, but I need something new.”

“Mac and cheese. Best comfort food around. And don't screw up your nose on me. I can cook high-brow, but guys don't want all that shredded herbs with truffles and three-color oil stuff. Mac and cheese made from scratch. One bite and he'll be eating out of your palm,” Jilly said smugly.

“And you know this
how?
”

“Cooking isn't the only thing you can do in a kitchen.” Jilly gave a silken smile. “Remember that.”

Grace made a mental note to pursue this avenue of discussion later. Something was going on with Jilly and Grace was going to get every detail.

She glanced at her watch and sat up quickly. “It's not that late, is it? I have to be back at the hospital tonight and—”

The doorbell rang.

Jilly flipped a towel over her shoulder. “You expecting anyone?”

“Not me.”

“I told Caro to stay home and rest tonight. She's doing too much,” Jilly grumbled. “If she thinks she's going to clean more cabinets, she's wrong.” Scowling, she flung open the front door.
“What?”

A woman in a brown uniform raised an eyebrow. “Delivery for Grace Lindstrom. Smells like roses to me. Of course, if you want me to take it back to the truck—”

“No.”
Grace reached around Jilly for the box.

“Sign here. Enjoy the flowers.”

Jilly sniffed as Grace carried the box back to the kitchen. “I don't smell flowers. Who's it from? The hunk again?”

Grace slit the tape and pulled away layers of pink tissue paper and then sighed.

A single ball of perfect pink cashmere lay in the box. A single pink rose in a protective cellophane sleeve lay beside the delicate yarn.

Jilly peered over Grace's shoulder and sniffed. “Well. Yarn and one perfect rose. This guy could be worth keeping.”

Grace couldn't answer. She lifted the yarn to brush her cheek, feeling a silly smile starting to form. “Yarn.” He had remembered the kind she liked. The exact color, too.

“You're starting to drool,” Jilly muttered. “I'll go find a vase. One of us needs to be practical.”

The doorbell rang gain. Grace reached it before Jilly this time. A different delivery person held a small box. “Grace Lindstrom?”

“Right here.”

“Need a signature.”

Grace took the box, feeling the silly grin spread all the way to her toes.

“Careful. I think you're starting to levitate,” Jilly murmured.

It was another ball of yarn, slightly darker. The same cashmere. A matching rose lay beside it.

Jilly's breath caught. “Does this guy have any brothers?”

 

F
OUR MORE BOXES
came in the next hour. Each with a rose and yarn in a slightly different shade of pink. They were all lined up on the kitchen counter, matched with a rose in its vase.

“Smooth,” Jilly said after a long time. “Not many guys would be smart enough to send yarn.” She shot a glance at Grace. “You're smiling again. I'm glad for that. As for me, fresh produce is calling. I can't take Duffy this time because they have sheep. He'd run them ragged and all my produce dreams would be ruined.”

“Not a problem. I'll keep him here with me.”

“Be careful with those old boxes. No one has been back there in the storage area for months. They may have spiders and all kinds of crawling things.”

“I'll survive.” Grace was definitely light-headed. “I'm going to text Noah, then get right to work. I want to start something special tonight with his cashmere.”

 

They came. All six boxes. They're beautiful, Noah. You shouldn't have…

 

N
OAH HAD TWO KITTENS
on his lap and a puppy under his arm. He juggled them carefully as he read
Grace's message. He scratched Ivan's head and smiled.

 

Glad to hear it. The bad boys say hi. Ivan just chewed through another shoestring. That makes three this week. I'll call tomorrow. Watch for another box.

B
Y THE NEXT
afternoon Grace's back was aching and she had bruises down one leg where a pile of old boxes had fallen on her. The cleanup work continued, dirty and tedious. The storage room was full of boxes and old papers, with dust everywhere.

Duffy stayed right beside her while she worked, exploring every dusty corner and sniffing the old boxes as soon as Grace pulled them down off a shelf. She brushed a strand of hair out of her face and smeared dust all over her cheek. She didn't want to think about how she looked. Frankly, she was too tired to care. There was no one except Duffy to see her anyway.

“You don't care about how I look, do you, sweetie?”

The dog wagged his tail and jumped up, licking her face and smearing more dust across her cheeks. Laughing, Grace gave him a good scratching and then turned to survey the boxes neatly stacked by one wall. Another hour and she should be done.

Her stomach growled, but Grace was determined
to keep going. Then maybe she would make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Gourmet cooking had faded to a wistful memory. Between hospital visits, work at the animal shelter and cleaning jobs here at the house, she was lucky to have enough energy to toss a salad.

Duffy bumped her leg and looked up at her, tail wagging. “I know. I'm here with the people I love doing work that has meaning. What's a few lost gourmet meals against that?”

As Grace swept, she wondered where Noah was and what he was doing. She wondered if it was dangerous. There were a hundred little things she wanted to tell him—stories about growing up on Summer Island, funny things that Duffy had done.

Most of all she wanted to see him. She imagined him walking up the front stairs, looking good enough to eat. He would smell like wind off the sea and his eyes would range over her in the intense way that always made her heart skip.

Enough fantasies. With a sigh she stretched her cramped muscles, counting the boxes stacked on the far wall. Then she froze.

One of the boxes moved.

Just a mouse, Lindstrom. Nothing to get hysterical about.

She moved closer, Duffy right behind her. “Stay,” Grace whispered.

The mouse shot out from behind a box and Duffy leaped. Grace tried to jump out of the way, tripped
on Duffy and fell sideways, hitting the floor with her right knee.

The old floorboards gave way and her leg plunged down through a hole in the splintered wood.

Grace threw her arm out, trying to balance as the floor made another ominous sound. What if the floor gave way? What if—

She concentrated on crawling forward over the splintered wood. Wriggling, she reached for an old plank balanced against a box. Keeping her movements slow, she gripped the wood and drew it slowly closer.

Something broke free beneath her. Both legs dropped through the cracked floor and dangled crazily.

Duffy barked madly, aware that something was wrong, and Grace tossed her cleaning rag through the kitchen door to the kitchen. The dog shot away to continue the game they had begun earlier.

She had five feet to go to reach the edge of the doorway. Meanwhile, she could feel a new crack forming.

A splinter dug into her palm. She bit back a sound of pain, wriggling out of the hole and forward inch by inch. Sweat streaked her face as she thought about falling into the widening hole. Down and down. Her fear made her think about her grandfather, tired and weak, trapped and frightened in his own way in his lonely hospital bed.

Duffy bounded back, barking at her from the
doorway, the cleaning rag in his teeth. “Stay, Duffy.” Grace's voice shook. She inched onto one elbow and crawled carefully through the kitchen doorway, away from the splintered wood and then collapsed.

Duffy raced forward, barking wildly, licking her face. Grace didn't have the strength to push him away as his wet tongue slicked her face. Tears gave way to ragged laughter. She had never been more happy to be alive.

Abruptly, Duffy bounded away, dancing in excitement as Jilly elbowed open the back door. She was laden down with produce boxes, frowning at Duffy. “What's up with him?” She didn't wait for an answer, stacking fruit boxes and fresh bread on the counter. “I had to go to four different farms before I found what I needed.” The dog raced around Jilly's feet, while she rubbed his head. “He's really wound up.” She glanced over her shoulder at Grace. “Why are you lying on the floor?”

“You don't want to know.” Grace sat up slowly.

Jilly's eyes narrowed. “Your jeans are ripped.” She stalked across the kitchen. “What happened?”

“There's a hole in the floor back there in the storage area. I fell.” Grace took a shaky breath. “I closed the door so Duffy wouldn't get in.”

“A hole?” Jilly's voice rose shrilly. “Are you hurt? Is it bad? Why didn't you tell me?”

“There's no need to yell.”

“I'll yell if I want. Sit right there and don't move. Not an inch.” Jilly strode toward the stairs, calling
back over her shoulder. “I have a first-aid kit. Duffy, bite her if she moves.”

From long experience, Grace knew that Jilly talked tough, but she was fiercely loyal to her friends. Grace also knew that friendship didn't come easy. After growing up in foster care, Jilly had been adopted by a family from Summer Island. She never talked about the years before she was adopted—not to anyone. Eventually her friends had stopped asking.

“Aren't you going to check on the hole?” Grace tried to move her bruised ankle and winced. “It's a real mess back there.”

“The mess can wait. I hate to think of you here alone, hurt. From now on no more working alone. I'll call my contractor to make a thorough inspection in that back room tomorrow.” Drawers slammed down the hall. “Where did I put that stupid thing?”

Grace closed her eyes, trying to relax. She heard her cell phone chime. With shaky hands she pulled the phone off the nearby table.

 

I can be there in a week.

 

Grace's heart skipped wildly. A week? Feeling a little faint, she reread Noah's message.

“Eureka.” Jilly came back, brandishing a white plastic box. “Let me see your leg.”

“He's coming, Jilly.
Here.
To see me.” Her bruises were all forgotten. Grace rubbed a hand over her
chest, feeling the slam of her heart. “Noah,” she whispered. “Finally.” She flopped back onto the floor, gripping the phone. “I think I may faint.”