Nantucket Romance 3-in-1 Bundle (68 page)
Later, Landon stood at the water’s edge, the cool water nipping at his toes, while she stood poised barefoot on the first plank of the pier like a 747 aimed at a runway. At the end, the light glowed against the black sky.
Even in the dimness, she saw his hard, flattened lips and knew they suppressed a reprimand, just as he knew a scolding would not stop her.
Sam smiled impishly at him, then darted forward, building speed in just a few long strides. At just the right spot, she sprang into a round-off and followed it with four back handsprings.
Her hands and feet alternately punched the boards, making a rhythmic
thud-thud, thud-thud
. She landed solidly in the spotlight four planks shy of the water. Nearly a record. She was no Mary Lou Retton or Julianne McNamara—she was too tall and big-boned to be nimble—but she didn’t care so much about form.
She strode back toward Landon and stepped into the dark water, making sure to keep her clothes dry.
“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Landon said before compressing his lips into a tight line again. His olive green eyes looked almost black in the nighttime shadows, and she could see the shimmering lights from the water reflected in them.
“I haven’t fallen yet,” Sam said as she worked her toes into the silty sand until the tops of her feet were covered.
“When you do, don’t come crying to me.”
Sam smirked at that because Landon knew she never cried, and if she ever did, he’d be the first one to scoop her up and sweep away her tears.
When the moon was high in the sky, Landon’s mom called him in, so they said good night and Sam went home. She could hear the TV blaring in her mom and Emmett’s room, so she crept into her bedroom and shut the door. After getting ready for bed, she lifted her window to invite the night breeze inside and set the flashlight on the sill.
Sam curled up on her side and closed her eyes. Sometime later, she heard her mom and Emmett talking on the back porch. She strained to hear them.
“The flower beds look nice,” her mom said.
“Took the better part of the day.”
Sam heard a rush of exhaled breath and envisioned the puff of cigarette smoke from her mom’s mouth.
“What are our plans for tomorrow, baby?” Emmett asked.
Sam pictured her mom crossing her arms, shrugging him off.
Sam thought she must have missed her answer because there was such a long pause. Then she heard her mom’s reply. “We don’t have any.”
There was a haunting tone in her mother’s words that Sam hadn’t heard before.
Their voices lowered to low mumbles she couldn’t interpret, so Sam listened to the nocturnal orchestra outside her window. A loon called out over the buzz of the insects, and the water licked the shore-line. If she concentrated hard, she could hear Mom’s boat knocking against the pier bumper. A breeze rattled the tree leaves and carried the sweet scent of salt-spray roses through the air. Her body began to relax. Her thoughts slowed and her breaths deepened.
Seaside Letters
OTHER NOVELS BY DENISE HUNTER
Surrender Bay
The Convenient Groom
Sweetwater Gap
Seaside Letters
DENIS HUNTER
© 2009 by Denise Hunter
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of Thomas Nelson, Inc.
Thomas Nelson, Inc., titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fund-raising, or sales promotional use. For information, please e-mail [email protected].
Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Hunter, Denise, 1968–
Seaside letters / Denise Hunter.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-1-59554-260-1 (pbk.)
I. Title.
PS3608.U5925S44 2009
813'.6—dc22
2009027368
Printed in the United States of America
09 10 11 12 13 RRD 5 4 3 2 1
Table of Contents
An Excerpt from Sweetwater Gap
Sweetpea: Betrayal flips a switch you didn’t know existed. Suddenly you’re on guard. No one is above suspicion, no one is as honest as they seem, and it’s all because of this basic truth: You’re too afraid to risk it all again.
Sabrina Kincaid heard the jingle of the café’s glass door opening and glanced at the clock above the workstation: 7:12 on the dot.
She grabbed the fresh pot, turned toward the tables crowding the Cobblestone Café, then headed straight to his table—might as well get it over with—table seven, a two-topper near the front.
He would be seated against the beadboard wall, facing the kitchen, unfortunately. He would be wearing a blue “Cap’n Tucker’s Water Taxi” cap, a light-colored T-shirt, and a crooked grin. She would offer him coffee, he would accept, then he would spread open
The Inquirer and Mirror
and take thirty minutes on all twelve articles while she waited on other customers, her bony knees knocking together like bamboo wind chimes.
“Evan,” Gordon called from the kitchen. “Table twelve needs to be bussed.”
Evan’s blond ponytail flipped over his shoulder as he turned and wiped his hands on his stained brown apron. “Right, dude.”
Sabrina stopped a foot from the scarred maple table, avoiding eye contact, looking only at the fat rim of the ivory mug as he slid it toward her.
How many words had they exchanged in the year he’d been coming to the café? One hundred? Two hundred? Couldn’t be much more than that.
As always her expression was free of emotion, though a powerful hurricane brewed inside. It was a skill she’d learned early, perfected well, and if that had earned her the title of Ice Princess, so be it.
“Morning, Sabrina.” Tucker’s deep voice was raspy. And, as usual, he cleared his throat after the greeting.
Was she the first person he spoke to each morning? The thought made her hand tremble. A stream of hot coffee flowed over the cup’s rim and onto Tucker’s thumb. He jerked his hand back.
Idiot!
Her first spill in months and it had to be Tucker. And with hot coffee.
“I’m sorry. Let me fetch a towel.” She turned toward the kitchen, heat flooding her face.
He stopped her with his other hand. “I’m fine.” He wiped his thumb on a napkin and held it out. “See?”
Sabrina made the mistake of meeting his eyes. Oh, yes. She saw, all right. Under the brim of his cap, his blue eyes contrasted with his summer-brown skin. One strand of dark hair curled like a backward
C
, nearly tangling with his eyelashes. He disliked his curly hair, but hated going to the barber so much that he procrastinated until it was an unruly mop. He wore contacts because he was nearsighted and because glasses would blur under the sprays of water as he guided his boat.
He was still looking at her.
She was still looking at him.
Look away. Say something.
“Anything else?”
“A smile?” Tucker’s own grin lifted the tiny scar near the corner of his mouth—a souvenir from the time his twin sister dared him to jump from his second-story bedroom window when he was nine.
But Sabrina wasn’t supposed to know about that. She pulled at the tip of her ponytail with her empty hand.
“Give it up, McCabe.” Behind her, Oliver Franklin’s voice was a lifeline. “Top me off, Sabrina?”
She turned, grateful for the distraction, and filled his cup. The sand-colored coffee darkened to caramel as she poured, the rich smell of the brew drifting upward on wings of steam.
“Not feeling particularly
efficacious
this morning?” Oliver tilted his round head, his hairline receding another inch as he hiked his bushy gray brows. He gripped the mug with fat hands calloused from garden tools.
“I’m as efficient as always, just a bit clumsy today.” Sabrina took his egg-streaked plate and stacked a smaller plate on top.
“Dagnabit, Sabrina,” he said as she walked away. “Is there a word you don’t know?”
She deposited the plates into Evan’s tub, set the pot on the warmer, and loaded a tray with table five’s food. Was Tucker watching her? She always felt like he was, which was ludicrous. Still, it made her stand a little straighter, smile a little more—at other customers. He was good for her tips.
You’re just some server he toys with. Nothing else.
When she turned with the loaded tray, her eyes pulled toward him.
Don’t look. Just walk.
Look at the sun streaming through the glass front. Look at the family at table four, the toddler, crouched in the wooden high chair, letting loose a wail that could be heard clear down at the wharf. Sabrina pulled a packet of crackers from her apron pocket and slipped it to the mom as she passed.
When she reached table five, she served the food, then tucked the tray under her arm. “Anything else?”
“Tabasco sauce?” the mother asked. “Oh, and he needs a refill of juice.” She handed Sabrina her son’s cup. The overhead lights sparkled off a huge diamond.
“Be right back.” She had to pass Tucker’s table on the way.
He turned as she passed, his sandaled foot sliding into her path as he shifted into the aisle. “Sabrina. I know you’re busy, but I was wondering if we could chat a minute.”
The request stopped her cold. Sabrina didn’t chat with customers. Char chatted with customers, even the rich ones. Evan chatted with customers too. But not Sabrina, and certainly not with Tucker. It broke her unspoken line between customer and server, and that line was the only thing separating her from disaster. “I—I have too many tables.”
“Miss, some decaf, please?” An elderly tourist, seated at the table behind Oliver’s, corroborated her excuse.
“Of course.” Sabrina went to fill the cup with juice, grabbed a bottle of Tabasco and the decaf pot. What could Tucker want? As far as he knew, she was only a server at the café.
Maybe he knows.