Love on Lavender Island (A Lavender Island Novel Book 2) (10 page)

Adam stared after her, blowing out his breath, and then turned toward Denny, who was staring up at him, cocking his head to the side.

“How the hell did we get into this mess, Den?”

Denny gave him a good bark that had just as much male confusion wrapped in it.

Adam pulled his phone back out of his pocket, made his call to Rosa’s, and ordered two enchilada meals, then stared out his kitchen window at the hangar.

Now there was another wall of frustration. He had some cleaning out to do.

The hangar was old, filled with dusty boxes stacked high on one wall and along shelves at the top of another. The domed ceiling ran about fifty yards back, and was once used to house some of the fire planes after World War II. But these days, only his and Noel’s Cessnas and the one fire plane stayed on the property permanently, and none used the hangar. He kept them tied outside, for easy accessibility. And they had several ties they rented out to others who wanted to fly in privately. The hangar, therefore, had grown to be an enormous storage shed since the 1950s. There must be 170 boxes in there.

He trudged across the meadow. He had about a half hour until the takeout would be ready, so he’d get started on this now, then come home and get ready for the party.

He wandered inside across the hangar’s dusty floors and started looking up at the boxes piled along the sides. He was specifically looking for the box marked “Private” that his father’s will said would be there.

He wasn’t really interested in finding it. It was just on his list of things to do. It didn’t intrigue him in the least that his father had a private box. And if it so much as dared to have some pathetic letter of apology for being a terrible father, or for not “being there” for his sons and all that bullshit, Adam was going to have to hurl it against the wall and blow the place up.

But he looked anyway. His eyes roamed over the cardboard: “Logs 1950,” “Logs 1960s,” “Winter,” “Movies,” and one box marked with a big fat pen with the scrawl, “OIL.”

He saw nothing that said “Private.”

He gave it a half hour, scouring one entire side, but then gave up. He’d have to start hauling these boxes into a moving van at some point and find storage for them once the place sold until he could go through this crap.

But his half hour was up. And no luck. He’d head over to Rosa’s.

And he’d start thinking about something much more pleasant, like Paige Grant.

He wondered if it would be weird if he delivered her meal in person.

Paige unloaded her belongings into the corner of the room and crashed on the freshly made bed. She stretched her arms over her head and rubbed a new knot out of her left shoulder as she allowed herself to play back her porch encounter with Adam.

About fifty times.

The way he’d looked at her was something she’d never experienced. At least from him.

Part of her wondered if she could use that to her advantage: if he liked her, maybe he would be more likely to cooperate about the wedding.

But as soon as she had that thought, Paige batted it away.
Damn.
Maybe she was becoming more like her mother every day. That would be Ginger’s plan. And while Ginger would highly approve of heavy flattery and flirting to get a deal done, Paige was not that kind of person. Ginger thought of it as guerilla-warfare tactics—all was fair in love and business—but Paige could never quite get on board with those methods. Of course, that was probably why her mom was a successful businesswoman while Paige was barely able to pay her bills.

She rolled off the bed and limped her way into the bathroom, where she started a hot shower, then peeled off her clothes. She thought she might have heard a knock on her door, but she ignored it and crawled into the steamy shower, letting the droplets wash away the dirt, the dust, the day.

When she got out, she saw a rectangular piece of paper slipped under her door that almost looked like a bill, but when she opened the door, she saw instead a napkin and a tinfoil meal sitting in her hallway. The napkin read, “For you. From Adam.”

She walked the meal back to the table in her room, laid it down, and stared at the napkin for an unreasonably long time.

And tried to ignore the fact that her heart was not hardening. In fact, it was pounding crazier than ever.

CHAPTER 10

Adam slid his chair toward the table and fingered the pale-green napkin that lay on the pink-and-lace tablecloth at Rosa’s. He and Bob had decided to come to the party early so they could grab a real meal and have time to talk. The rose that had been tucked inside the napkin fell out, and Adam hastily shoved it back as he glanced across the table at Bob.

“This is very romantic,” he said drily.

Bob smiled, creating lines like parentheses around his eyes. His bushy white eyebrows—which matched the snowy tones of his hair—bent in the middle as he studied the table and flickering candle. “Want to eat in the bar?” he asked.

Adam shoved himself to his feet before Bob even got the entire question out. They flagged Tooey, the headwaiter, to let him know he had an extra table available.

Rosa’s bar was even darker than the dining room, with shadows cast across the wooden floor. Silver nut bowls lined a mahogany counter that ran the length of the east wall, and a full-length mirror lent a Wild West look. Two pool tables took up one side, and a jukebox stood on the other. Rosa had put up white streamers across the front of the bar with paper bells hanging from them.

Adam studied the scotch selections as he dragged the bar stool up.

“How’re the horses, Joseph?” he asked the bartender.

While Adam helped himself to the bowl of nuts, Joseph filled him in on the new pony, born two months ago, and asked if he could bring it to Nowhere Ranch’s corral in a month to train with Kelly. Adam started to say yes before remembering he might not even be there in a month. He ordered a Glenfiddich neat and changed the subject.

After they studied the menu, Bob leaned on his elbow.

“So Ginger wasn’t the one to arrive, huh?” he asked.

“No, it’s one of her daughters.” Adam took a long swig of scotch.

Bob took a sip of his own drink and winced at the burn. “Which one? I think I’ve met them all.”

“I had, too. But I barely remembered her. This is Paige. The youngest?”

“No, Natalie is the youngest. I remember Paige, though.”

Adam nodded.

Bob’s eyebrows rose, and a smile spread across his face. “She’s probably a hard-ass now, right?”

“Well . . . I wouldn’t use that term exactly.” Adam recalled his reluctant appreciation of Paige’s ass in the window the first day he saw her and realized he’d call it something other than “hard.” Maybe “round,” “tantalizing,” with that perfect curve at her back . . .

He cleared his throat. “She was at the fire,” he said instead.

“Ah, that’s right,” Bob said. “She’s the one who saved you, right?”

“I wouldn’t put it that way.”

“Seems everyone else did.”

Adam shrugged and took a sip of his scotch. He couldn’t think about that now. He could hardly admit to himself that Paige was the same girl at the fire, the same girl who’d sat at his dad’s dining table, the same girl who might have been his stepsister if things had gone differently, and the same woman now who was rattling him in ways he didn’t understand.

“How’s Amanda anyway?” asked Bob.

“Better. I think.”

Bob nodded. “So what did you need my help with?”

Their dinners came, and they both leaned back. As soon as the waiter was gone, Bob lunged into his steak, and Adam filled in more details about Paige’s plan to sell to Dorothy Silver.

“It’s an interesting idea,” Bob said, “but frankly I don’t know if you can wait that long.”

Adam stared at his plate for a long time. He didn’t know why he was even bringing this up. They’d had a plan; he’d already put the wheels in motion. He knew he needed to hurry and leave for Amanda—everything should keep moving forward. But, for some reason, Paige’s presence, and Paige’s idea, kept causing the record to skip.

“Though, I have to say . . . ,” Bob said, his voice drifting off toward some unspoken idea.

Adam glanced up. “What?”

“Something doesn’t feel right with MacGregor.”

Adam nodded. “I’ve been feeling the same way.”

“But MacGregor’s offering cash. If you’re in a hurry, it’s the easiest thing to do.”

“I’m in a hurry.”

Bob nodded. “When’s he coming anyway?”

“Tomorrow.”

Bob paid attention to his meal for a couple of minutes, giving Adam the amount of time he needed to make friends with this new reality.

“I’m sorry your dad put you in this position,” Bob said. He always seemed to apologize for George, as if he could’ve talked him into other financial arrangements—like putting Adam and Noel on titles as partners, or otherwise saving parts of the property from probate—but Adam knew what a mule his father had been.

“It’s not your fault, Bob.”

“We’ll make it work,” Bob said, his voice drifting off.

Adam nodded yet again.

“But now”—Bob’s eyes twinkled as he looked up from his dinner—“I want to hear more about Paige, and why you get that look on your face every time you say her name.”

“What look?”

“
That
one,” Bob said, pointing with his fork.

Adam looked away and pushed some potatoes around his plate. But as he glanced up, he caught a glimpse in the mirror of something that made his gut tighten. “Looks like maybe you can see for yourself,” he said.

Bob looked at him with confusion, and Adam nodded toward the mirror. “She just walked in.”

Paige stood in indecision in the doorway, her earrings brushing her cheek, staring at Adam at the bar with an elderly gentleman.

Maybe this was a terrible idea.

She clutched her laptop closer to her chest. Maybe she should eat in the dining room. She could actually get some work done, which was the lame excuse she’d given herself for coming here in the first place.

In full makeup.

In her favorite outfit.

Wearing her lucky pair of earrings.

As she took a step back, however, Adam turned in the bar stool and looked right at her. He didn’t exactly motion her over. In fact, he didn’t move at all. He simply stared.

Since he’d caught her eye, though, she told herself she shouldn’t be impolite.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” he said when she arrived at his shoulder. “I left something at your door.”

“Yes, thank you. I, uh . . . I decided maybe I’d get out a little. Get some work done.” She lifted her laptop satchel for proof.

“Ah.” Adam nodded.

Paige turned to the older gentleman, who was studying her with interest.

“Ms. Grant, this is Bob Hastings. Bob, Paige Grant.” Adam turned to flag down the bartender with something that looked like sheer desperation.

“Nice to meet you,” Bob said enthusiastically, holding out his hand. “I’m Adam’s accountant. How’s your mother?”

Paige blinked back surprise. “You know my mom?”

“I’ve known the Masons and the Grants for a long time. Lived here on Lavender Island since the seventies. I met you when you were a little girl.”

“Oh. Well, nice to meet you again.” She shook his hand.

“Why don’t you join us?” he asked.

Adam suddenly coughed, chaotically, then slammed his chest with his fist.

“Thank you, but that’s okay,” Paige said. “I need to get some work done. Thanks for the invitation, though.”

Before Bob could argue—he looked the type to always put forth an effort of gallantry—and before Adam could start choking again, Paige retreated to a quiet back corner. She felt silly moving so far away, since the room was practically empty, but she needed to get out of earshot. She didn’t want to appear to be spying on what looked like a possible business meeting. And who knew—maybe it was even about the Dorothy Silver sale. Of course, her mother would probably approve of spying. But even though Paige wanted to do her mother proud, she still couldn’t bring herself to take on Grant-women guerrilla tactics. Becoming her mother’s daughter would have to come in steps.

She chose a table against the window and stole one more look at the bar. Adam was still watching her. An unrecognizable thrill shot through her, and it had nothing to do with furthering her position in a business deal.

Biting her lip, she chided herself. She couldn’t get herself worked up like she had sixteen years ago. This guy was exciting her on every level, but he’d already broken her heart once. And there was no way she was going to let it happen again.

As her mom said, she was just going to have to be smart.

“Are you determining the angle of the creases in her slacks or how many buttons she has undone to her bra?”

Adam looked with embarrassment at Bob, who was smirking at him relentlessly.

“My life is falling apart,” Adam said, turning back toward his scotch. “How could I look at her with anything but dismissal?”

“Well, I’ve got a fifty that says you’re looking at her with something other than dismissal.”

Adam stabbed at his dinner. “Listen, regardless of how beautiful a coral snake is, you stay away.”

“Those are the poisonous ones?”

“‘Red touching yellow kills a fellow’?” He waited for some recognition to alight on Bob’s face, but when none came, he shook his head. “Bob, you’re not much of a mountain man.”

Bob’s eyes crinkled at the edges, and he let out a warm chuckle. “Sometimes ignorance is bliss. Sometimes you just want to enjoy beauty for beauty’s sake and not worry about what’s poisonous or not. Aren’t those snakes generally reclusive unless you bother them?” Bob looked at him for a long time, chewing his steak.

“Are you giving me hell, old man?”

Bob laughed into his potatoes. “I’m just saying I’ve known you a long time, Adam, and I’ve seen you through many a girlfriend, but that woman looks more your type than anyone I’ve quite possibly ever seen.”

Adam pushed his plate away and stole a look at her over his shoulder. “Too bad she’s a beautiful coral snake.”

Bob took another sip of his scotch and suddenly moved off the bar stool, getting out his wallet.

Adam looked at him with alarm. “Where are you going? We haven’t even talked yet.”

“Listen, son,” Bob said. He threw several bills onto the bar. “Let me pay for your dinner, and let me buy that lady a bottle of wine, and I want you to walk over there and apologize for whatever you did or said that’s making her sit way over there. Then I want you to sit with her and have a couple of drinks and ask her to dance at least once and celebrate with Tanya and Antonio tonight. You’ve looked like something the cat’s dragged in for the last three years, and seeing that look on your face right now makes me happy. So make me happy tonight.”

“I’ve got to get back, Bob. There’s so much to do. I’ve got books to keep, and—”

Bob chuckled into his wallet. “You must be losing your touch, son, if you can’t stay up late enough for a few drinks and some dancing and still get your bookkeeping done.”

“Amanda doesn’t like to be alone in the house late at night.”

“I’ll swing by and bring Amanda some pie. I’m sure she’ll be fine. Denny’s with her, right?”

“Yeah.” Adam glanced over his shoulder. Maybe Bob was right. He’d aged about twenty years in the last five. And Paige was looking incredible. And it had been a long time since he’d sat across a table over a flickering candle to have a few drinks with an interesting woman. Paige was funny and smart and intriguing, and he hadn’t been around a woman in years who’d captivated him quite like she did.

“Send her a chardonnay.” Bob clapped Adam on the shoulder and left.