Nantucket Romance 3-in-1 Bundle (80 page)

It can’t be.
She stared at the photo, taken beside a boat. No, it was definitely him. The blue cap, the dark curls, the T-shirt with his company’s logo. Tucker McCabe whom she waited on every morning at the café. How could it be? What were the chances?

What do I do?
He was sitting at his computer, waiting for her reply. Did he—oh, for heaven’s sake, no—did he expect her to send a photo of herself?
I can’t do it.

Sure, it was easy for him. He had nothing to hide with his dark good looks and muscular physique. What would he think when he discovered who he’d befriended? That it was the Ice Princess from the café? The plain, gawky one with a ponytail and sharp tongue? He’d want nothing more to do with Sweetpea, that’s what. And maybe that was best, because a real relationship was not going to happen.

Her pulse began to pound at her temples.

I have to write back. What do I say?
She cupped her forehead in her palms. Maybe if she didn’t reply, he’d think she’d gone to bed. But that would be rude after he’d sent his photo. And they always said goodnight before they signed off for the night.

Another email appeared.

Hello?

She had to respond. She put her fingers on the keyboard.

I’m here.

She sent the message and waited
.
Finally a reply appeared.

Am I that ugly?

She closed her eyes, then forced her fingers onto the keys again. What to say? She bit her lip.

Of course not.

She hit Send.
A few seconds later another email appeared.

I’d love to see who I’m spending all these hours with. I want to picture you. ..

She’d known it was coming. What should she do? If she sent her photo, he’d know who she was. It would be the end of their relationship, one way or another. At the very least, mornings at the café would become awkward. What if he wasn’t repelled by the fact that Sabrina was Sweetpea? What if he wanted to start dating or something?

An email appeared in her inbox.

Are you there? Are you downloading a photo or fretting over it? I don’t care what you look like (in case you’re won-dering).

Sabrina choked on a laugh. But of course he cared. He was a man, wasn’t he? She’d learned early that a woman’s looks were her currency, and Sabrina had been bankrupt from the beginning. If she hadn’t known it before she’d moved in with her cousins, she’d learned it afterward. Arielle and Jaylee had no idea how lucky they were to be born with—

The picture. Arielle had sent a photo of herself the week before. Maybe she could send it . . .

That’s not right, Sabrina.

But what did it matter?

She couldn’t let him know who she was, so what did it matter if he thought she was beautiful? He probably already did.

She opened her cousin’s last email, copied the photo, then pasted it into a reply to Tucker. She stared at the picture. Even at the beach, Arielle’s face was artfully made up, her lips cherry red. The photo resembled a CoverGirl ad. Dread sank like a weight in her stomach. Before she could reconsider, she sent the photo.

Her fingers tapped on the desk while she waited. Had she done the right thing?
It’s not as if you have a choice. He can’t know who you
are. What could it hurt if he thinks you’re beautiful?

It’s not as if they were going to meet. Well, they
had
met, but it’s not as if Tucker would discover her identity. And if he had to imagine her, why not picture a beautiful woman? If she’d refused to send a photo, he might assume she was homely. And what if he decided to discontinue their relationship? She couldn’t bear the thought of returning to the lonely life she’d had before their email relationship. She couldn’t lose him.

She shook her head, trying to connect the visual image of Tucker with the mental image of Harbormaster. He was the one who listened so carefully, who took her ideas and thoughts seriously, who never judged her regardless of what she said.

What was taking him so long to reply?

He was probably on his knees, thanking his lucky stars that she was so gorgeous.

The weight in Sabrina’s stomach sank lower. She opened the email with his photo. She couldn’t believe it was Tucker.

But he doesn’t know it’s you.
Thank God for that.

A reply appeared in her inbox. She rushed to open it.

Thanks for the photo. You don’t know how much I enjoy our chats.

Sabrina reread his words. He hadn’t mentioned her appearance.

She’d expected a compliment at least. It wasn’t the first time Tucker surprised her, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

A knock at the front door snagged her attention. She closed out the email. So much for remaining detached. This was harder than she’d thought it was going to be. She opened a new one and began reading.
Stay detached,
she told herself
. You do not know these people.
They are characters, like the ones in Renny’s—

Another knock sounded. She listened for Tucker’s footsteps but instead heard the deep rumble of his voice from the deck outside. Still on the phone.

Sabrina went to the door and opened it. Blondie stood on the stoop, hands pocketed in his Hawaiian-print swim trunks. “Sorry to bother you—uh, didn’t catch your name before.”

“Sabrina.”

She was rewarded with a bright smile. “I’m Cody. My friends and I are grilling steaks, and we forgot to get steak sauce. You wouldn’t happen to have any?” He winced like he hated to ask.

She turned and saw Tucker sitting in the deck chair, his feet propped on the railing, the phone tucked against his shoulder. Surely he wouldn’t mind. “Come on in. I’ll check.”

After riffling through the contents, she found a bottle of A1 Steak Sauce corralled in the fridge door behind a bulk-sized bottle of ketchup. She grabbed the sauce and took it to Cody. He was leaning against the door frame when she returned.

She handed him the bottle.

“Great, thanks,” he said but didn’t budge. Instead he asked her a few questions about the local beaches. After they covered that topic, he straightened. “Say, we made plenty of food. You want to come over for dinner?”

“She’s working.”

Sabrina turned at the sound of Tucker’s voice. She hadn’t heard him enter. His arms crossed his chest, and his jaw was set in a way she’d never seen.

Sabrina turned back to Cody. “He’s right. But thanks for the invite.”

“Maybe another time.” His eyes swung to Tucker’s, his smile smug. “Thanks for the steak sauce.”

Sabrina shut the door, feeling like she was in trouble. “He’ll bring it back.”

Tucker pursed his lips, and she wondered what he was thinking. It was only steak sauce, for crying out loud.

“You were on the phone.”

Shadows danced over his face as his jaw clenched and loosened. He turned toward the patio door.

Okay then. “I’ll get back to work.” She was almost to the hall when his voice stopped her.

“It’s her birthday today,” he said.

It took a moment for his words to register. “What?”

“Her twenty-fifth birthday. And all I can do is send a stinking email greeting.”

Maybe that’s why he was all moody. Then anxiety kicked in. Did he know it was
her
birthday? There was nothing to give her away. No card, no present, no bouquet of flowers delivered to the restaurant. She looked into his eyes. She wanted to soothe away his sadness. She wanted to lay her palm against his cheek and tell him it was okay. She wanted to—

She turned away.

“I need to find her.” His tone was sobering. “I want to be with her.”

His words filled a hollow spot inside her. Sure he wanted to be with her, she reminded herself. Because he thought she looked like Arielle.
Because he doesn’t know who you are and what you did.

Sabrina cleared her throat. “I’m working on that.”

She could hear the water lapping the sides of the pier outside. The ferry horn sounded in the distance.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said.

She glanced at him, then looked away, resisting the pull of those eyes. “What?”

He stood. “Let’s go for a ride in my boat.”

“I’m working.”

“You’ve read a lot of messages already. You’ve got notes. Bring them along, and we can toss ideas around.”

Panic welled in her, rushing her words. “It’s getting late.”

“There’s plenty of light. Come on, you’re not afraid of a little water, are you?”

“Of course not.”

“Then come on.” He approached and reached for her hand, tugging. The contact felt good, his hand warm and strong around hers.

“All right, all right,” she snapped, pulling her hand away. She turned toward the door.

“Don’t forget your list.” His eye held a sparkle of humor, but he blinked away the expression before she could fathom its meaning.

Sweetpea: My aunt entered me in a beauty pageant after I came to live with them. I felt like a fraud with layers of caked-on makeup and hair goop. After overhearing other contestants laughing behind my back, I purposely bungled the interview to assure I wouldn’t final. Not that I would have anyway. My aunt never again entered me in a pageant.

Chapter Eight

They were miles from shore by the time Tucker cut the engine. She’d expected they’d take his large passenger boat, but instead he’d led her down the steps of his deck, where a smaller craft was roped to a piling. A much smaller craft. Instead of being spread out on a fifty-foot boat, they were side by side on pedestal seats. Miles from land. Miles from the nearest person. Alone took on new meaning.

A seagull flew overhead, its piercing cry echoing the panic building inside Sabrina.

Tucker swiveled his seat around. His cap removed, his curls were wind tousled. Wondering what the wind had done to her own hair, she smoothed it back toward her nape, feeling all the strands that had escaped the rubber band.

He looked more relaxed than he had earlier, his lips slack, almost grinning. He loved the ocean. He’d once said he never felt better than when he was on the water. He’d said even on his worst day at work, he never regretted giving up a career in law.

Watching him now, she believed it. He looked at peace with the world, his eyes closed, his head leaning against the headrest.

“So,” he said without opening his eyes, “have you come up with anything that might help me locate her?”

Sabrina took the list from her bag. It had been tricky pulling details from the letters. She’d chosen facts that might mislead him and omitted details that pointed to her.

“I think she might be from the South,” Sabrina said.

He opened one eye, peeking at her sideways. “What makes you say that?”

“She mentioned Piggly Wiggly once. She doesn’t say she goes there, but she uses it in a metaphor.”

He shrugged. “Could be. But everyone’s heard of Piggly Wiggly, haven’t they?”

“It wouldn’t be the first thing to come to mind if she didn’t live near one.”

“She doesn’t have a Southern accent.”

Sabrina smirked. “You’ve never talked to her.”

“It would come through in email, don’t you think? ‘Y’all’ and ‘bless your heart’ and all that,” he said with a country twang.

“No stereotypes there.”

He grinned. “What else have you got?”

She perused her list. “Some of the same things on your list. Her allergies, the poetry, the food preferences.”

“What about her ex-fiancé?”

She crossed her legs, tucking her feet under the chair. “What about him?”

“They met at college. Maybe if we can figure out which one, we could go from there.”

“She mentioned being a literature major,” Sabrina admitted reluctantly.

“What was Jared’s major?”

Hearing Jared’s name on his lips distracted her, and she opened her mouth, the words
political science
on her tongue. Then she realized she’d never revealed that. “I don’t think she said.”

“Hmmm.” Quiet settled around them, filling the space between them.

He probably thought she wasn’t earning her pay. She studied the list again. “If you combine the clues of her major and the fact that she seems to spend a lot of time at the computer, maybe she works in a library. Or maybe she’s a journalist,” Sabrina added, remembering her old ambitions.

“If only I knew her name.”

Sabrina had been careful about that. She’d never revealed her initials, other than her original screen name on Nantucket Chat and, even then, they were backward. But he didn’t know those were initials.

“Are there any Piggly Wigglys near the Gulf Coast?” she asked.

“Why?”

She jotted a note on the paper. “The photo taken at the beach. She’s been careful about the details she’s given, so I think we’ll need to combine facts and draw conclusions.”

He tipped his head back, and the setting sun cast a golden glow over his skin. His dark eyelashes brushed the top of his cheeks. She studied the Cupid’s bow of his upper lip. She wondered how he’d react if she dipped her finger into the arch.