The House on Blackberry Hill: Jewell Cove #1 (Jewel Cove) (23 page)

It was going to be gorgeous when she got it done.

Abby knelt on a foam pad and sat up, stretching out her back, oblivious to him standing there. The stretch exaggerated the curve of her breasts and the long column of her neck, and then she pulled off her glove and rubbed her neck with her fingers, closing her eyes and tilting her head to one side.

Tom thought about rubbing it for her, working out the tight muscles and the kinks. She’d looked at him differently this morning. The last time she’d been so angry. So hurt. Not that he could blame her for that. But this morning it had been different. She’d teased him, acted like nothing had happened. He wondered if he had Jess and Sarah to thank for that. Wondered exactly how much they’d told her about him, and Erin, and Josh, and what a messed-up situation it had been.

While he watched, she put her glove back on and went to work on another patch of weeds. What would he say to her, anyway? How could he explain about Erin without sounding like a complete jerk?

He knew what she thought. That he’d gone after his cousin’s wife. That he hadn’t was merely a technicality. He’d hovered on the brink, unbearably tempted. Maybe he’d never followed through, but in his mind and in his heart he’d done it a thousand times and he hated himself for it.

He could never explain it all without tarnishing the memory of Erin. She was gone. He’d be damned if he’d put an ounce of the blame on her now.

Abby deserved better. So he turned around and walked away, out of the garden and back to his truck.

The early-summer evening was slow and lazy as he drove into town, past Memorial Square, and parked along the vibrant waterfront. Pockets of people clustered around vendors and storefronts, spilling off the narrow sidewalk onto the plush grass. Someone’s rosebushes were blooming nearby and the scent filled the air, mingled with the smell of fresh fish straight off the boat. They were familiar aromas, ones he’d smelled for as long as he could remember. At least some things never changed. Jewell Cove would always be exactly what it was. The tourists would come and go, people would move in and move away, but there was a stasis to it that was strangely comforting.

He’d been inside among the paint fumes all day. The last thing he wanted tonight was to go home to an empty house and cook. A quick meal in the great outdoors sounded too good to pass up.

He put in his order at Battered Up, the canteen next to the charter boat sales shacks. As he waited for fish and chips, he wondered if Rick had gotten the job he’d applied for with Jack Skillin’s operation. A boy, probably sixteen or so, was hanging up life vests at Jack’s hut, getting ready for the next day’s tours. Inside another shed, a middle-aged woman was tallying receipts for the day. This time of year this side of the dock got crammed with tourists looking for a day of deep-sea fishing or whale watching, for a chance to see humpbacks, minkes, or the rare and highly protected right whale.

When Tom had been a teenager, he and Bryce and Josh had gone out of the bay with their dads a lot. They’d packed a lunch and their gear and spent the day on the water, catching pollock and cod and mackerel, getting a glimpse of seals and whales and the odd blue shark or sunfish.

Those had been good times. He missed them, more than he cared to admit.

His order was called and he grabbed packets of ketchup, tartar sauce, and vinegar before searching out a vacant picnic table. He found one on the far side in the shade of a tree, a stone’s throw away from the Three Fishermen Art Gallery. The brick-red building had warm beige trim and a scalloped screen door that was a work of art in itself. As Tom cut into his fish, he saw two young women come out carrying bags, their leather sandals slapping on the concrete walk. They were pretty, probably early twenties, with their hair up in the artfully arranged disarray that was a complete mystery to Tom. They looked over at him and smiled, and one of the girls nudged the other with an elbow.

Tom treated them to a polite smile and then looked away.

In months past he might have met their gaze a little more boldly, said hello. Maybe he hadn’t officially dated, but he hadn’t lived like a monk, either. He’d just been discreet about it.

But now there was no temptation. He thought he might know why and he didn’t like it one bit. Abby Foster and her house were supposed to be a good thing for him—professionally. Definitely not a romantic complication.

He finished his meal in silence, but when he got up to put his plate in the nearby garbage can he paused awkwardly, halfway up from his seat at the picnic table. Josh and Jess had been coming his way but now halted as they realized he was there, their hands filled with rounded plates of clams, chips, and coleslaw.

It was bound to happen. In a town this size they were going to run into each other from time to time. They couldn’t go on giving each other the silent treatment or throwing punches and accusations. Tom pushed himself away from the table and looked at Jess, then Josh.

“Nice night,” he said benignly.

Josh said nothing but Jess’s eyes were sympathetic. “It is. I don’t have any classes tonight so I thought it would be a good time to grab some dinner with my big brother.”

Her free arm was tucked around Josh’s.

“How’s the pergola working out, Jess?”

“Great. Sure you won’t join us, Tom?”

Tom looked at Josh’s clenched jaw. There was making an overture and then there was pressing your luck. Josh still hadn’t said a word. Things were not going to be forgiven so easily, then. At least he wasn’t sniping out insults and no fists were flying. Tom supposed it was progress of a sort. Peaceful coexistence he could live with, he supposed.

“No, thanks, Jess. I’ve already finished and I’ve got some work to do at the house. Thanks for the offer, though.”

Jess nodded. “Well, when you see Abby tomorrow, tell her I said to drop by the shop any time. We had fun last night. I kind of hope she stays in town, you know?”

Wasn’t Jess the cool and brave one, pushing Tom’s buttons with one hand while holding the pressure cooker of Josh’s resentment with the other. Tom remembered the look on Rick’s face a few weeks back and nearly smiled. Maybe someone like Jess was exactly what Rick needed to get him back in line.

“I will,” he said, making his legs move. He went to the garbage can and tossed in his paper plate and napkin. But he still had to pass by them and something had to give. Someone had to make the first move.

He looked at his cousin as he came in line with them. “Josh,” Tom acknowledged simply.

Josh’s lips were a thin, harsh line, but he gave a brief nod. “Tom.”

Tom raised a hand in farewell and made his way back to his truck. Oddly enough, the brief exchange with Josh just now bothered him far more than the passionate outburst at the party. Maybe it was remembering those fishing trips they’d taken as boys, but the truth was he missed how things used to be.

Never had it been more clear that nothing would be the same between them again.

C
HAPTER
15

Abby felt the sensitive tingle and tightness before she ever got out of bed. Yesterday’s gardening had been a big mistake. Now her lower back ached, the backs of her legs were tight and painful from bending over all day, and a glorious sunburn bloomed on her forehead and cheeks. Her chest, shoulders, and arms were pink too, though not nearly as tender. She pressed her palms to her face and it was hot to the touch.

How could she have been so stupid? It was June, for Pete’s sake. She should have slathered on the sunscreen before she’d ever gone outside, and put on a hat.

But she’d been so very aware of Tom that she’d forgotten how to be sensible. And then she’d gotten so wrapped up in the garden work she hadn’t thought about it again.

Slowly she crawled out of bed and started a cool shower. The combination of stiff muscles and the tight sunburn made it hurt to move. Using the puff with her soap stung her sensitive skin and she caught her breath as she bent to pick up her towel. She took the stairs slowly, one step at a time, holding on to the rail. Who knew that bending over to pull a few weeds would be so hard on her hamstrings and hips?

She was halfway through her first cup of coffee and putting cream cheese on a bagel when Tom arrived for the day’s work. He knocked and then called out when he opened the door, a sequence that had become a habit, she realized. At least today she wasn’t still in bed.

“In the kitchen,” she called out.

She put the knife in the sink and turned back around as he came through the kitchen doorway.

“Holy hell!” Tom’s jaw dropped as he stared at her.

She wanted to crawl into a ball of embarrassment. “Is it that bad?”

He nodded. “I could make jokes about lobster season…”

“I forgot sunscreen yesterday.”

“You don’t say.” He stepped forward. “It looks painful, Abby. Are you okay?”

She nodded but there was a lump in her throat, both from his concern and feeling stupid. “I hurt everywhere,” she confessed. “My legs and back are killing me from bending over so much and my cheeks feel like they’re on fire.”

“Do you have any aloe gel? You should put something on it. It’s not going to be pretty if it blisters.”

She shook her head, mortified at the idea of her face peeling. Even more attractive.

“I might have some spray-on stuff in the truck in the first-aid kit. Hang on.”

He disappeared only to return a few moments later with a can of antiseptic spray in his hand. “Here. Hold out your arms. They’re not nearly as bad as your face, but you should have something on them.”

She held up one arm and watched as his gaze focused on her skin, spraying a cool layer of mist over the surface.

“Now the other one.”

She should insist on doing this herself. But it was too tempting to let Tom take care of her just now. No one had ever really taken care of her in years—except maybe Gram, before she got sick.

He stood back and met her gaze. “What about your … neck?”

“It’s fine. I think my hair protected it from the worst of the sun,” she answered.

But instead he only stepped closer, aiming the nozzle at her collarbone where the slightly pink skin was visible above the collar of her linen shirt. “You silly, silly girl,” he said quietly. And he aimed the can and hit her square in the chest with the cold spray.

“Ah!” she cried out at the sharp contrast in temperature. “Hey!”

A wicked grin curled up his cheek. “Did I get it all? How low does it go, Abs?”

Her face and limbs weren’t all that was hot. Tom’s concern was moving toward teasing now. And his gaze had dropped to the neckline of her top, where the thin linen touched skin. Her breasts tightened under the thin fabric.

“Not
that
low,” she managed, trying to sound stern but knowing she was a damned liar. The suggestive tone in his voice was all it took to make her body react.

She wanted to stay angry. Wanted to be sensible about the fact that he came with even more baggage than she did and she shouldn’t be looking in his direction. But he made it impossible. He was just too
Tom
for that to happen. It was pointless to deny it.

He laughed, a deep, sexy rumble inside his chest, and sprayed some of the antiseptic into his palm. He rubbed his hands together and then came close, so close that she was forced to back up against the wall where her cupboards used to be.

He held up his hands and smoothed the palms, his fingers, over the tender skin of her face.

The medicinal smell of the liquid should have killed anything arousing between them. It certainly wasn’t some sweet-smelling massage oil or chocolate-flavored body butter … good God, where were those ideas coming from? And yet, despite the sharp scent it was his hands, his fingers, which sent her into a slow melt. The way his palms ran from her cheekbones over her jaw, how the tips of his fingers trailed down the curve of her neck.

Like a caress.

A strange look passed over his face, one Abby couldn’t decipher, but it was so serious, so conflicted, that her heart did a bump in response.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said quietly, his fingers hesitating but remaining lightly on her skin.

She knew he wasn’t talking about her sunburn or anything else. He was apologizing for the party, and this time she knew he truly meant it. This time she understood why he’d done it.

“You should have told me,” she whispered. “I would have understood, Tom. You let me believe that you’d…”

“I know,” he said, but still his fingers traced the curve between her neck and shoulder.

“Why?”

His dark gaze met hers. “Because I’m an ass. Because I wanted to forget about Erin and Josh and just pretend to be a guy inviting a girl to a picnic and not feel guilty about it.”

“But you didn’t deserve what he said. Jess and Sarah told me…”

“Jess and Sarah don’t know everything, Abby.”

Of course they didn’t. How could they? Tom kept his cards close to his chest, didn’t he? He wasn’t the kind to spill his guts, even to family. She understood that—probably better than he could imagine.

Abby squeezed his arm. “Of course no one knows
everything
. Everybody has their secrets. But you never say what you really mean. It’s like you’re afraid for people to get too close. Like with the house. Like the party. Why is it so hard to be honest?” In the back of her mind the words “pot calling kettle” echoed, but she ignored them. With Tom she’d always made her wishes crystal clear. Whatever else she’d kept to herself didn’t signify.

“I don’t know.” He swallowed and she saw his Adam’s apple bob. “I don’t know why it’s so hard to be honest with you.”

Her heart stuttered. Only with her? “Maybe it makes you feel vulnerable.”

“Maybe it does.” He took a deep breath and let it out. “What do you want to know?”

They hovered in the moment, a pause that felt like once this moment was over things wouldn’t be the same between them. She desperately wanted him to kiss her again. To kiss
her,
not some ghost from his past. And he was waiting for her to say something.