Summer Beach Reads 5-Book Bundle: Beachcombers, Heat Wave, Moon Shell Beach, Summer House, Summer Breeze (197 page)

Natalie said, “Duh.”

“Right. What I’m trying to do is to find a way to convert woodmass into biofuel.”

Natalie nodded encouragingly. “Okay.”

“Woodmass contains a large amount of oxygen and water. We are using pyrolysis—the thermochemical decomposition of organic material—”

“Of course.” Natalie tried not to roll her eyes.

“I need you to hear this,” Ben told her.

She straightened in the chair. “I’m listening.”

“We’re attempting flash pyrolysis in an ablative process. We’re moving biomass particles at high speed against a large metal mass.” A change came over him as he spoke. His words were deliberate, clipped, clearly enunciated, evenly paced, as if he was trying not to
rush himself in his attempt to articulate his complicated subject. He folded his arms on his desk, leaning toward her, eyes steady, posture upright—and yet clearly his excitement for his experiment pushed him to an emotional high she’d never seen before, not even when they had made love. He transformed into a flame, burning for this subject, yet held firmly in check by sheer force of will. He would not rush. He would not reduce or diminish. He would do it fully and right.

She nodded, her eyes fixed on his as he continued to explain mechanical reliability, carrier gases, reaction volumes, and commercial applications. She couldn’t begin to comprehend what in the world he was talking about, but she struggled as she hadn’t since high school to memorize some of the terms, because she
got
it, what Ben was doing.

He was talking to her. He was telling her what mattered to him, what he did daily, what he was thinking about constantly, what made him absentminded and moody and noncommunicative. Just as she found herself in the midst of a group with her thoughts wandering away toward the penumbra on the bottom left side of her current portrait, so did Ben’s mind return like a homing pigeon to this biomass stuff.

“I have five graduate students working under me,” he said. “I supervise their work. I write detailed applications to various companies, mostly energy corporations, for grants to continue my work. During the fall and spring semesters, I teach three classes and have papers to grade, theses to oversee, and faculty meetings to attend. I’m required to do volunteer work with the students three hours a week; I oversee the chemical engineers club. I attend every conference the university will send me to. I work on papers about our project, which I submit to the most prestigious journals in our field in hopes of getting published, and that’s daunting work. I love my work and I’m obsessed with it.”

“It’s important work you’re doing,” Natalie said slowly.

She had said the right thing. Ben sat back in his chair, his hands curled into loose fists on his thighs. “I think it is.”

“I can’t pretend to understand it, you know.”

“Probably you’ll be able to, kind of,” Ben told her, and he was being honest. “You’re an artist. You know about charcoal and the chemistry of color.”

“Yes, that’s true,” Natalie agreed.

“Probably you could teach me a few things about chemistry and pigments,” Ben told her. “You could never teach me to do what you do—I use real materials and processes, but you seem to pull inspiration out of the air.” He paused, searching for words. “The thing is, Natalie—the thing is, I’m boring. At least to most people I am. I can’t change that.”

Soberly, she told him, “You’re not in the least boring to me.”

Ben shifted uncomfortably on his chair. “I wish I could explain this.… Natalie, I’ve always dated scientists before. So that we could speak each other’s language. And I don’t understand why, but no matter how nice they were or how brilliant, or even if they were chemical engineers like me, I always found
them
boring. But you—I never find
you
boring.”

“Ah.” Natalie sighed. She felt as if she were blossoming like a rose in front of him, the feeling caused by the inexplicable chemistry between them. Probably Ben knew the formula for it.

They talked some more, but he had work to do and so did she. They agreed she’d take his car, drive to her house, and paint. Around five, she’d pick him up to drive to her house for dinner.

In Aunt Eleanor’s house, the air-conditioning hummed softly, keeping the air cool and dry, which was just what Natalie needed for her paintings. She drifted into her studio and studied her work—the charcoal of Ben swimming. Yet some unusual atmosphere surrounded her as completely as the conditioned air. It was as if an incense were pumping through the coils of the machine into the air she breathed, wafting her into a sense of bliss, as if she were on some invisible drug.

She realized she
was
on an invisible drug, and it was love.

• • •

“Mom?”

“Natalie. Are you okay?” Marlene’s voice went up an octave.

For an instant, Natalie was breathless, stabbed with guilt. It had been over a year since she’d seen her mother, and weeks since she’d phoned her.

“I’m fine, Mom, just fine. In fact, great. How are you?”

“How’s Slade?”

“He’s fine, too. And, Mom, I’ve sold some paintings! I got a great review in the
Hartford Courant
.”

“Oh.” Marlene hesitated. “That’s wonderful, Natalie. You really are becoming a success.”

“I want you to come see them. I want you to meet my new friends. Especially, I want you to meet a man.”

“You do?” Marlene’s voice lifted in surprise.

“Of course I do. You know there’s plenty of room in Aunt Eleanor’s house—”

“I think I’d like that.”

Natalie babbled on, “Mom, I like it so much here. I might stay here. Not in Aunt Eleanor’s house, but in this area. The people next door have become such good friends. Bella is about my age, and her brother Ben is the man I want you to meet. Her parents, the Barnabys, own the house next door.… What? What did you say?”

“I said I’d like that.” Marlene sounded shy. “I’d like to come visit. I’d like to meet your friends.”

Shocked, Natalie said, “Well, good, Mom. How soon can you come?”

“I’ll have to find someone to deal with the dogs. But I’d like to come as soon as possible, if that’s all right with you.”

“Yes, please do that,” Natalie agreed.

“I’ll call you right back,” Marlene promised, her voice stronger now.

Natalie didn’t return the phone to its cradle but sat holding it in her hands, as if the instrument still retained her mother’s words—and more than that, her mother’s tone of voice, which had been rich with affection. Was it possible that Marlene had changed? It would be strange, Natalie supposed, if her mother
hadn’t
changed
over all these years. When Natalie was a young girl, her mother’s voice had been warm, enticing, adoring. During Natalie’s teenage years, Marlene’s voice had been strained and curt. Of course, Marlene’s life had been difficult then, and it was a pretty safe bet that teenage Slade and Natalie had not filled Marlene’s life with joy.

So Marlene had changed—but, Natalie realized, she had changed, too. Watching Morgan with her small son made Natalie understand how a woman can love a child with all her heart at the same time she’s being driven mad by that same child. Morgan had to stretch emotionally, from sweet to strict, from practical to consoling, from counselor to cuddler, in the space of minutes. Natalie didn’t know if she could ever do that. And now she understood, a bit, all that her mother had done for her and Slade. Not perfectly—and who could do it perfectly?—but well enough.

For the first time since she’d left home, Natalie was eager to see her mother.

Bella had set her laptop computer on the display counter so she could be available in case a customer walked in. She sat on a high stool, a sheaf of notes in a pile beside her, and she had several windows open on her screen.

Her mother had not used a computer to run Barnaby’s Barn, but Louise had been organized. She kept a ledger and several accordion files marked with the names of the artisans, each of their works, their asking prices, the dates the pieces were set out for exhibit, the dates they sold, the prices that were paid, the commissions Louise took, the amount and number of the checks sent to the artisans. She also kept, for tax purposes, a record of every paid utility bill—electric, water, heat. Snowplowing in the winter for the parking lot. Lawn mowing in the summer.

Basically, Bella was realizing, her mother’s shop had been an endeavor of love. Louise had always made enough money to clear expenses—as long as she didn’t pay herself a salary.

That was the past. The question was, could Bella’s support itself and Bella’s own real life? Her fingers flew from the columns on the screen to the Dashboard calculator. She chewed her lip as she worked.

“Hey.”

She looked up to see Slade standing in the doorway.

For once, he wasn’t in all black. He wore blue jeans and a snow-white tee shirt that made his black hair shine like ebony. He
lounged against the door, cocky, relaxed, slightly amused by whatever private joke was running through his head.

“Hey, yourself,” Bella answered. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m in the area. Scouting for Ralston’s.”

“Ah. Finding anything?”

“Could be.” Slade’s eyes were hooded as he stared at Bella, transfixing her.

She dragged her gaze away, back to the computer screen. Sliding off the stool, she minimized the page she was on. She stretched. “I’m trying to make a business plan.”

“A business plan,” Slade echoed.

“Yes, you know. Outgo. Versus income. How much I should spend on advertising, how much of that should be in local papers, how much on Internet sites. I’ve already listed on Facebook and LinkedIn.”

“How’d you do yesterday?”

“Not good. I sold two pieces of Penny’s jewelry. A couple came in to look at Natalie’s work, but they didn’t buy anything.”

“You know, in a business like this, you survive from large sale to large sale. You can’t expect to sell something every day.”

“I do know that.” Bella leaned on the counter, picked up a pen, and doodled on one of her notebooks, thinking. “Still. To be painfully honest, Slade, I’m just not sure I can make a go of it.” Talking to herself more than Slade, she murmured, “I don’t know why I didn’t take a good, hard look at the money side before. I think I got carried away by the excitement and romance—”

“What if you had a partner?” Slade asked.

She wasn’t really listening. “Hmm?”

Slade ambled across the room and leaned on the counter facing her. He crossed his arms. His hands were almost, but not quite, touching hers.

“What if you had a partner?” he asked again, his voice low, almost a growl.

Bella looked up at Slade. His dark blue eyes were nearly black. His mouth was quirked slightly in that seductive way he had, but
she felt tension steaming off his body. His muscles were taut, his hands clenched on the counter, the knuckles almost white.

“You?”

“Why not?”

Bella cleared her throat. “Surely the real question is
why
,” she said quietly.

“We’d make a good combination, don’t you think?” Slade’s voice was warm and tempting.

All she had to do was touch his hand.

She pulled back. She moved away. She came out from behind the counter and walked to the door, stepping just outside to stand blinking in the full blast of the summer heat. She stared out, unseeing, at the parking lot. The towering oak at the side threw a circle of shade over the grass and the bench.

She’d learned so much this summer, and why she hadn’t learned it all before now, she had no idea. For one thing, she now knew that she, Bella Barnaby, good, sweet, petite Bella, could want to jump a man’s bones simply because he made her weak with lust. But that was not love. That was not even liking. If she
loved
Slade, she could overlook the Morgan incident, which hadn’t really amounted to much. But the bittersweet truth was, she didn’t love Slade.

For better or worse, she loved Aaron. That meant that one way or the other, she was in for heartbreak, because she couldn’t have Aaron and this particular shop on rural 202. But she shouldn’t hook up with Slade because she couldn’t have Aaron.
Keep it simple
, she told herself, for she’d seen that advice mentioned many times on Internet business plans.

She sensed Slade coming up behind her, and then she felt his hands on her shoulders.

His mouth was at her ear. “Bella. Imagine the possibilities.”

It was easier to do it this way, without facing him. “It wouldn’t work, Slade. Not you and me. Not in business, not in any other way either. I don’t know, I’m not sure of much right now. I’ve got to check out apartments in Amherst, I’ve got to check out retail location rents in the town—”

“Why so depressed? Your parents own this building. You don’t have to pay rent.” His hands tightened on her shoulders.

“I think I do. If I want to grow up.”

He tried to turn her around. “I’ll help you grow up.”

She felt his heat, the force of his sexuality. His physical pull was like a planet on its moons as she turned around in his arms.

She put both hands on his chest and shoved him away more brusquely than she’d intended. “Slade, no. I’m saying
no
.”