Authors: Lisa Jackson

Beach Season (28 page)

BOOK: Beach Season

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“Ooh.” Jane danced away from the surf, smiling. “I think I’ll walk a little closer to the land, then.”

The woman’s laugh carried on the breeze. “You have a good day now, sugar.”

About a mile down, the beach turned inland and she followed its jagged line to three abandoned cottages with boarded windows. The surf lapped at the support pylons. One of the homes had lost its front wall to the water. In a few hours, she suspected that the surf would be slapping at the front doors.

Jane stopped before she got too close, wary of broken glass and boards embedded in the sand near the damaged cottages. She suspected these were the ruins of the hurricane that had roared through this area last fall. She recalled news reports of how the main road had been washed out in five places, but she hadn’t seen any sign of the remaining damage until now.

It was time to turn around.

As she rounded the point, she saw that the fisherman and his wife were still there, and the thought of fresh fish made her mouth water. She was hungry, and it was no wonder. Breakfast had been a long time ago.

“Did you enjoy your walk, sugar?” the woman called out to her.

“It’s a beautiful stretch of beach, but I was sorry to see those houses lost to the sea. Was that from the hurricane?”

“Yes, ma’am, it was.” The woman called her “ma’am,” though she easily had twenty years on Jane. “It’s sad, but when you live in these parts you get used to it. Every year the dunes shift a little. Then you get one of those hurricanes blowing through, and the ocean takes back some of the land and a few houses are lost to the sea. It happens every few years.”

“Why don’t the owners take the buildings down?” Jane asked.

“Who’s got the money when you lose your house and the land it’s sitting on? People just take what they can from the house and walk away.”

Jane looked up the beach at the grand cottages. All this could be gone with one storm. Yes, things could change in a heartbeat; she’d seen how that worked. She turned back to the woman. “I take it you’re a local?”

“All my life. I’m Carol Hawkins. That proud fisherman’s my husband, Jimmy. We run Cappy’s Fish and Tackle, over at the marina, but that’s an early-morning business. Gives us the evenings to get Jimmy out here fishing.”

“I’m Jane.”

“And you’re not from around here,” the woman said with a sly smile.

“Just visiting, but I know a thing or two about storms. I grew up on Lake Erie.”

“I’ve never been there,” Carol said.

“How’s the fishing?” Jimmy asked.

“Great for walleye or perch. My mom used to sauté them in flour and butter and they would melt in your mouth.”

“You’re making me hungry, Jane.”

“I’m doing that to myself. Where’s a good place to eat around here? Within walking distance.”

Carol and Jimmy directed her toward the shopping center near her motel, telling her Bubba’s Barbecue couldn’t be beat. She thanked them and headed back down the beach with a new mission.

The sun sank low over the beach houses, a ball of red fringed by orange and pink clouds.
Red sky at night, sailor’s delight,
Mom used to say. It boded well for good weather tomorrow. No more storms for her. This time tomorrow, she would be planning dinner with her brother in West Palm.

C
HAPTER
4

“Bummer!” TJ’s disappointment was clear. She had decided to place the call while waiting for her sandwich at Bubba’s, a small storefront shop that smelled heavenly. Taking a seat at a window table, she switched the phone to her left ear. “But you’re okay, right? And your rental?”

“A mechanic is looking it over, but it seems fine. I’ll be back on the road early tomorrow morning.”

“I’m sorry. This wouldn’t have happened if I didn’t steer you down to Axel in the Outer Banks.”

“No worries. It’s a beautiful place and the people here have been very helpful. Have you ever seen the beach here?”

“Many times. Pamlico Sound makes for great windsurfing. Kite surfing, too. There’s a spot there called the Canadian Hole that’s awesome for windsurfing. It’s a destination.”

“It really broke up that monotonous drive, but I’ll be glad to finish the trip tomorrow. How’s the cleanup going?”

“Don’t worry; your room will be ready when you get here. Laura is at the store right now, getting a new bedspread. She didn’t think the old moth-eaten blanket I’ve had since college was going to work for you.”

“God bless Laura.” She’d only met TJ’s girlfriend once before, but she had liked her immediately. “Did you clear your gear out of the guest room?”

“That’s what took me all day. Once we got to moving things ...”

Though his voice was crystal clear, Jane lost focus when she turned toward the parking lot and noticed the police cruiser headed this way. Was it the sheriff? In a town this size, was Cooper Locklear the entire police force?

Please let it be him,
she thought, then chastised herself for being so silly. The sheriff had seen her in shock, a definite low point. She should be embarrassed by that, but somehow she felt bonded to him, like a victim to a rescuer.

“Hello, hello?” came her brother’s voice over the phone. “You still connected?”

“I’m going to go. My dinner’s ready, so I’ll call you later.”

They said good-bye, her eyes never leaving the patrol car as it waited for a mother to cross with two little kids before it pulled into a spot.

When Cooper Locklear stepped out of the cruiser, she felt a little glow inside. It was him. Sheriff Locklear, on patrol, and stopping for a sandwich. Just like any other summer night in Avon, only the girl he had helped out earlier that day just happened to be in the sandwich shop.

She pressed a hand to her suddenly warm cheek. Would he remember her? Should she nod and say hi, or pretend to be digging for something in her purse?

Why was she thinking like a kid in junior high?

And then the door was open and before she could pull her thoughts together, he strolled in and looked her way.

“Well, hey, Miss Jane.” His lips curved in a grin as he studied her. “You must have gotten a tip from a local, because you’ve found the best barbecue in North Carolina.”

“I did.”

“Excuse me one moment.” He stepped up to the counter. “Hey, Andrew.”

“Sheriff. The usual?”

“That sounds good. Except I might not want it to go today.” Cooper turned toward her. “Are you dining here, Miss Jane?”

There was something surprising and charming about being called that. “I am.”

“What I mean to say is, would you mind if I join you?”

“Sure. That’d be great.”

She watched as he paid for his meal, taking a bottle of iced tea from the case. Earlier in the day she’d been too rattled to notice, but now she observed the way he filled out his uniform, solid, but probably not an ounce of fat on him. As he sat in the chair across from her, she wondered how one man could fill the room with so much energy and warmth.

“I hope I’m not imposing,” he said as he sat down.

“No worries. I was just sitting here people watching.”

“Then this works out for the both of us. No one should have to eat alone.”

“Don’t you have dinner with the deputies and other cops?” she asked.

“Our department is small, and we have to take our meal breaks one at a time.”

“Do you ever go home for dinner?” she asked, wishing she could add,
And is there a wife waiting there?

“As I said, no one should have to eat alone.”

So ... there was no wife at home. That was good to know, but surprising. How was it that a man as attractive as Cooper Locklear was still not hooked up with anyone?

Just then Andrew came over with two plastic baskets filled with fat sandwiches, chips, and slaw. “Orders are up.”

“I thank you, Andrew.” Cooper reached for the bottle of hot sauce.

“And I’m glad you brought a fork,” Jane said, admiring the sandwich bun piled high with pulled pork.

“Enjoy.” Andrew went back to take the order of a large family that was streaming in the door.

Jane’s first petite forkful of pork truly melted in her mouth in a symphony of barbecue sauce and tender meat.

Cooper sighed over a mouthful, then swallowed. “Good eats.”

“Delicious.” And she hadn’t eaten all day. Jane abandoned her fork, picked up the fat sandwich, and dug in.

“I’m glad to see you looking in the pink,” the sheriff said. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better. I took a walk on the beach. You’ve got a beautiful stretch of ocean here.”

“Our claim to fame. Though this stretch of land has come close to being wiped out a few times over the past two centuries.”

“Hurricanes?”

“That and deforestation. This area originally was thick with forest—live oaks and cedars. In precolonial times, this town was the hub of the island because of its central location and all the lumber used for boat building. Back then the town was called Kinnakeet. Comes from the Algonquian word for ‘that which is mixed.’ ” He paused to take a bite and wipe his mouth with a napkin. “Just stop me if I’m boring you.”

“No, go on. I love the history of a place.” It was one of the pluses of her job—to learn the history of old buildings in New York City. Places that had once been used to manufacture cigars or wool. Penthouses that had received gilded crown moldings from a wealthy resident. Apartments that had once been homes to famous composers, actors, or scholars. “So, what happened to the forests here?”

“Back in the 1800s, the commercial harvest stripped the land of trees. I guess that’s what happens when you’re the center of an industry at a time when eastern sea exploration is big. Once the trees were gone, the other vegetation died out within years. A massive sand dune formed to the west, pulling land mass from this area and shrinking it down to the skinny strip of land that it is today.”

“I can see how erosion is a problem.” She pressed a napkin to her mouth, energized and mellowed from the hearty meal. “Walking down the beach today, I saw a few houses that have been lost to the sea.”

“Water is not a homeowner’s friend.” His blue eyes were thoughtful. “Still, there’s nothing like an ocean view. When I look out over that surf, I know this is where I belong. It’s like the waves call out to me, telling me that I’m in the right place.”

“A point of reference.” She stabbed the air with a pickle spear. “That’s what my mother used to say.”

“Exactly.” He picked up the last of his chips and she wondered how he’d eaten his entire meal while talking. “But you’re not here to vacation, like most people. Where are you headed?”

“Florida. I’m going to visit my brother,” she answered, grappling for a way to turn the conversation away from her. She didn’t want to give up any more personal details; as it was, the accident would leave enough of a paper trail here.

“Florida’s going to be awfully hot this time of year. Sticky, too.”

“It will. Thank God for AC.”

“Are you going to take the ferry to Ocracoke, or drive back inland?”

“I haven’t decided. But enough about me. You’ve done the paperwork. You’ve got my info. I think it’s my turn to ask the questions.”
Before you start digging too deep.

“Okay. Knock yourself out.”

“You’re from around here?” she asked.

“Homegrown. I went to high school with Rusty, the owner of the Quickstop. We both had summer jobs in Nags Head.”

“But there’s something different about you.” She narrowed her eyes, trying to pinpoint it. “Your accent; it’s not as strong.”

“I left for a while. Went to college at West Point. Six years in the service as an Army Ranger.”

“So, you did leave home. Did you travel in the military?”

“My first assignment was North Korea. Then Afghanistan.”

“Oh ... wow.” Jane had never met anyone who’d served in that difficult situation. “That must have been intense.”

“You don’t think about it much while you’re in the thick of it. That’s a big part of the problem. Your mind just shuts down. Then when it’s all over, once you get home, all the horrors and tension come barreling toward you like a runaway train.”

She paused, studying the tiny lines that fanned out at the outside corners of his eyes. So this was where he’d gained his wisdom; this was why Cooper Locklear was an old soul in a young man’s body.

And yet, he didn’t seem lost anymore, thank God.

“I can’t imagine the pressure ... and all the difficult memories that you had to process.” Had he dealt with post-traumatic stress? Had the military given him therapy—any assistance at all? She would have liked to know more, but didn’t want to probe. “It’s no wonder you decided not to make a career of the army.”

“I did my time, but being under someone else’s command wasn’t for me in the long run. Someone tells you where to live, when you can see your family ... I couldn’t abide by that for the rest of my life. I’m glad I served, but I couldn’t wait to get home. I missed the sunshine and the ocean. I missed surfing and steamed crab and good barbecue like this. And boy, did I miss the people. Decent folk who care about their neighbors.”

“Back in New York, most people don’t even know their neighbors.”

Amusement flickered in his eyes. “Then I guess that’s one of the things that make Avon a little gold mine.”

“So ... you came back here. And they just happened to have an opening for the sheriff’s job, and you were a perfect match.”

“I like the part about the perfect match, but there was a little nepotism involved. My old man used to be sheriff. He retired with the intention of handing the reins over to me.”

“Oh, really? So law enforcement runs in the family.”

“I like to think of it as public service,” he said with a slow grin.

She smiled over her iced tea. “I’ll give you that. You certainly saved my skin today. But it says a lot about this town that after traveling all around you chose to make it your home.”

“I saw enough of the world to show me that Oz isn’t what it seems.” He took a draw of the tea, the lump on his neck working as he swallowed. “As Dorothy learned, there’s no place like home.”

Jane sensed that there was one hell of a story under his blithe paradigm, but it wasn’t the sort of thing you’d spill to a stranger at Bubba’s Barbecue.

“Words of wisdom.” She looked down at the empty baskets on the table, wishing that she could go home. But really, she had no safe haven. Her apartment was luxurious, but it had served mostly as a showplace and a venue for entertaining clients. She had clearly outgrown the old house in Buffalo with Aunt Minnie, and she hadn’t lived with TJ since he’d left for college. That was the problem with independence like hers. When you wanted to return to the nest, you turned around and found that it had been knocked out of its tree.

Cooper stacked their baskets and rose, and she was sorry that their time together was ending. “I thank you for the company, Miss Jane.”

“You know, we’ve broken bread together, you can call me ‘Jane.’ ”

He grinned and his whole face warmed. “Old habits die hard, but I’ll try. Let me give you a ride home, Jane. It’s getting dark out there.”

She glanced out at the fading light, despite the indigo glow in the sky. “It’s not far. I can walk.”

“I wouldn’t hear of it.”

Secretly, she was glad, and it wasn’t just the security of being accompanied by the local sheriff. Something about Cooper Locklear made her feel alive again, restored to her old self before terror had spilled into her life.

It was nice having doors opened and closed for her, being reminded to buckle her seat belt. It made her feel safe ... even precious.

Sneaking a glance at him while he drove, Jane imagined that they were a couple on their way home after a quiet dinner out. How sweet that would be! Maybe they even had kids ... and a dog.

Her throat knotted with emotion over the imaginary scenario. So simple, and yet so far from the reality of her day-to-day life.

Cooper’s Oz imagery stuck in her mind.

BOOK: Beach Season

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