The Coldwater Warm Hearts Club (5 page)

She evidently had a wicked little who-cares-if-he-is-married part of her heart. She probably needed to stomp that bit of her into submission lest she end up on the Methodist prayer chain again.

But what surprised her most was that part of her—maybe it was that wicked part—was glad she was back in Coldwater Cove, too.

 

—What Effie the Disdainful means when she makes that “
meh-eh-eh
-ing” sound

 

 

 

A
solid knock on the door startled Lacy and made her yank her hand away from Daniel. Guilt constricted her chest. She glanced heavenward.

But the knock at the door had broken the spell and Daniel was putting on his hat again, adjusting the brim low over his forehead. She wondered if places like Coldwater Cove had their own thought police for the ethically challenged. If so, she'd been well and truly busted.

“Lacy, it's me.”

The voice on the other side of the door belonged to Jacob Tyler. Feeling silly at the way her heart rate had shot up when Daniel touched her, she breathed a sigh of relief that she'd been spared from making a fool of herself over it and hurried to let Jake in. She'd never have believed it, but she now considered the heartthrob of Coldwater Cove High completely “safe.”

At least compared to the married guy in her kitchen.

“Glad to see the stairs aren't a problem for you.”
Lacy, you idiot. Could you be any more insensitive?
If there'd been a way to shove the words back into her mouth, she'd have done it, even if she choked on them.

He didn't seem to take offense. “I'm a little slower on them, but since my knee joint is still intact, I manage. In fact, my place is above the grill so I do stairs all the time.”

Arms full, Jake moved past her into the small kitchen. A savory scent with a hint of garlic streamed in with him.

“Figured you wouldn't have time to cook.” He found an empty place to set the insulated catering bag on her counter. Then he looked pointedly at Daniel. “Didn't expect to see you here, officer.”

Officer?
Daniel and Jake had been inseparable in high school, and they'd been friendly enough to each other in the Green Apple the other day. Neither of them looked especially friendly now. If they'd been dogs, both their ruffs would be straight up.

“I was just leaving.” Daniel paused at the door. “Remember what I said, Lacy.”

She patted the pocket where his card rested. “I'll remember.”

“Lester's back in town,” Jake said without glancing Daniel's way. “Thought you'd want to know.”

“Why? He's nothing to me.”

Daniel and his dad had been estranged before she'd left for Boston, but she'd hoped after all this time, Daniel had made peace with the old man. For his own sake. “He's still your father.”

“No, he's my sperm donor,” Dan said curtly. “I don't have a father.”

Once the door closed behind Daniel, Jake made a low noise deep in his throat. She couldn't decide whether it was a grunt of satisfaction or disgust.

“Meat loaf okay with you?” he asked.

Based solely on the heavenly aroma, Lacy suspected Jake's meat loaf was good enough to serve at a state dinner at the White House.

“More than okay. You brought enough for you, too, didn't you?” She took a couple of plates from the cabinet. The used Bruins mugs seemed to be the only survivors in the cup box, so she opened the box marked “glassware” and fished out two heavy Coke tumblers. She filled the glasses with water from the tap.

Her friend Shannon in Boston would have been embarrassed to offer a man who'd brought her meat loaf nothing but tap water, but Lacy felt no shame. Coldwater Cove didn't get its name for nothing. The artesian wells that served the town went deep. Even unfiltered, it was the best water Lacy had ever tasted.

“Yeah, there's enough for two,” Jake said. “And blueberry cobbler with homemade walnut ice cream for dessert.”

Jacob put the sweets in the fridge. Then he unpacked garlic mashed potatoes, fried okra, and fresh rolls. Judging from the yeasty, buttery smell, those rolls hadn't popped out of a can of refrigerated dough.

“When did you become Martha Stewart?” Lacy asked as she surveyed the feast.

“Martha?” Jake arched a dark brow at her. “Please. Emeril, maybe, but not Martha. Think we can do a little better than water, too.”

He pulled out a bottle of merlot.

“Planning on getting me drunk and having your way with me, I see,” Lacy said with a laugh.

“Let me know if it starts working.” As if he was serving at a church potluck, he dished out heavy-handed portions for both of them.

By this time, Lacy had completely forgotten about the cat, but Effie was evidently tired of being ignored. She leaped up onto the bar stool in the light-footed way of felines.

“Careful!”

“Of what?” Jake popped the cork and rummaged in her cabinets, looking for wineglasses. She hadn't found the box holding them yet. He settled for a couple of juice tumblers. “It's just a cat.”

“Just an attack cat. After the way she mauled the movers, I'm in no mood to be trusting.”

Then Effie began making a new noise, one Lacy had never heard from her—a loud, rumbling purr. The cat jumped down from the stool and twined sinuously between Jake's legs, rubbing both his muscular calf and the titanium with equal fervor. Finally, she groveled on the hardwood before him until he bent over and scratched her exposed belly. The cat writhed in pleasure.

“Effie, you little slut. You made a liar out of me,” Lacy said. “She normally doesn't like anyone.”

Jacob shrugged. “Seems to like me well enough.”

“Guess she found her person,” Lacy said. “Evidently, your charm works on females of all species.”

He grinned up at her while he gave Effie a final long stroke. “Does this mean you'll let me rub your belly, too?”

Lacy punched his shoulder, sure he was kidding. They were just friends now. She carried the plates to her little bistro table. Jake moved the unpacked boxes off the top so she could set them down.

“This way we can see each other,” he explained.

That was okay. Jake was easy on the eyes. As long as they kept things casual, she was all for spending time with Jacob Tyler.

Anything else was a proven hazard to a girl's heart.

The food was as good as its aroma promised. “Honestly, Jake, I never knew you could cook like this.”

He flashed that ever-ready dimple. “Neither did I. But after I came home from Afghanistan, I had to figure out something to do pretty fast. I had a little put by and the Green Apple was for sale.”

“And you figured, ‘How hard could it be to burn a burger or two?'”

He swallowed a bite of meat loaf. “Something like that.”

“But why here? Why come back to Coldwater?”

“Why not? It's home.”

“Actually, I'm feeling a little homesick for Boston.”
At least, the pre–Bradford Endicott Boston.

“What would you be doing tonight if you were still there?” Jake asked.

“My friend Shannon and I might meet for drinks after work.” Shannon Keane had been a student at the same institute where Lacy had studied design. Majoring in fashion, Shannon could not only draw beautiful clothes, she was a wiz with scissors and a sewing machine. Lacy could thank Shannon for most of the pretty things that would soon find their new home in her tiny closet.

“Do you think there are no bars in Coldwater?” Jake asked.

“I'm sure there are.” The place she and Shannon favored was sleek and trendy, all chrome and polished wood. The tables in the Coldwater Cove bars were probably covered with red-checked cloths. The walls would most likely be bristling with dead heads, antlers, and large-mouth bass. But Lacy decided it wouldn't be polite to share her citified opinions about rustic décor. Jake might take offense. After all, the Green Apple Grill would never make the pages of
Architectural Digest
either.

“Then maybe after drinks,” she went on, “my friend and I would go clubbing or take in a movie.”

“The Regal's still in business here.”

“I noticed,” she said. “They're playing a movie I saw six months ago.”

He shrugged. “We're a little slow out of the gate, but the movie hasn't changed because we wait for it a bit. And I'll put the Regal's popcorn up against anyone's.”

“Granted. But I'm willing to bet any amount of money that Coldwater doesn't have a club scene,” she said.

“You've got me there. The best we can do is the local big band. If you like to dance, it's playing over at the Opera House tonight.”

“Are you asking me to go dancing?” Then she remembered his leg and felt all the blood rush to her cheeks in embarrassment. “Oh, Jake, I . . . I didn't mean . . . I forgot.”

He shook his head. “It's OK. I haven't tried to dance since the injury, but that doesn't mean I can't. You don't have to walk on eggshells around me. I'm glad you forgot about my leg for a bit. It helps me forget about it, too.”

She reached across the table and patted his forearm. Its musculature was rock hard. “Thanks. I shouldn't bore you by whining about Boston. I don't mean to be a pain.”

“You aren't. I asked, remember.”

“Well, then if it's any consolation, the next thing Shannon and I would probably do is wonder where all the good men are.”

He grinned at that. Lacy had to admit that any town that could boast guys like Jake and Daniel was blessed in the man department.

“So you're saying your love life in New England was not what you were used to?” Something about his expression said he'd be more than a little glad if he was right about that.

Unfortunately, he was.

“Not even close.” Bradford constantly nagged her to tone down her accent. And her opinions. But he'd dazzled her by dangling the promise of his grandmother's five-carat Harry Winston. The thought that she might marry into an old-money family and have her rustic roots covered by the thick coat of Endicott sophistication was seductive stuff.

Not anymore.

She'd left Coldwater to stand on her own. It was probably a good thing she and Bradford never tied the knot. She'd have been assimilated into the Endicott fold and lost her uniqueness just as thoroughly as if she'd stayed in Coldwater.

“Guess the Baystate boys didn't appreciate my brand of Ozark snark,” she admitted.

“Go figure.”

“But at least I had the career I was born for and the excitement of the city.” She glanced at Effie. The cat had claimed the stuffed chair, where she could make blinky eyes at Jake from across the room. With her front paws tucked under her, she looked like a furry loaf of bread with a cat head. “Now at the end of the day, all I have to look forward to is a bad-tempered cat.”

Jake's mouth opened and shut as if he'd considered saying something and then thought better of it. “You still need to finish arranging your new place. Want some help with that?”

“No, that's OK. I'm kind of particular about where things go.” Besides, she needed something to keep her busy while she figured out what to do next. “My folks volunteered to help me move in, but I nixed that pretty quickly. Dad doesn't need to do that much lifting and going up and down those metal steps repeatedly would not do his knees any favors.”

It occurred to her that her dad's legs were in better shape that Jake's, but he didn't react to what she'd said.
Dang, will I ever stop putting my foot in my mouth?

“Then there's my mom,” she chattered on, anxious to quickly put any mention of men's legs behind her. “She'd be horrified at the paltry number of ‘accessories' I own. She'd be over here with a trunk full of throw pillows before I could stop her.”

Jake refilled both their wineglasses. Lacy didn't remember emptying hers, but she must have. Wine usually relaxed her. Ordinarily, she'd be asleep under the table in short order.

Instead she felt all fidgety inside, as if her thoughts were running in a hundred different directions.

“I'm a fan of uncluttered countertops myself,” he said. “More room to work.”

“Absolutely. Bare essentials, that's me. A coffeemaker and a toaster near an outlet is all I need left out, and if I can find a way to hide them while keeping them easy to reach, I do it,” she said. “Everything else has its place in a drawer. No dust-catchers, please.”

“What?” he said with raised brow. “No collection of teapots along the top of the cabinets?”

“I have a cat who treats that space like her personal boardwalk. Can you imagine what Effie would do to anything I put in her way?” Lacy said. “Besides, a Warhol is all the decoration any kitchen needs.”

She'd already pounded a nail into the wall and centered her copy of the iconic print of a Campbell's soup can above the sink.

“The rest of my apartment will be similarly spare once I clear out all the boxes.” She polished off the last of her fried okra. That was something she couldn't get in Boston. She'd missed the distinctive dish. “Once Mom sees the place, she'll bring over an armful of her precious ‘knickknacks and scarcities' trying to fill my blank spaces. She finds my style ‘empty.'” Lacy sighed. “I'll have to fight to keep it that way.”

“Emptiness can be restful.”

She cocked her head at Jake. It was unusual for anyone else to get that until she showed them how it worked in her designs. “A blank space in a room is like a rest in a piece of music. It's a pause, a slice of silence. It lets the mind take in what surrounds it.”