Her House Divided (Beach Haven Book 1) (2 page)

Chapter Three
 

 Bea Ahrend's house was the first in a row of beach houses that lined Lake Shore Drive. It was a tidy white building with blue trim and a wide front porch that seemed to beckon passers-by to sit down and enjoy the shade in one of the comfortable-looking wicker chairs. The house was surrounded by a waist-high brick wall, and the previous owner had made up for the cement courtyard by decorating with potted geraniums and flowering cacti. A heavy black anchor on the peak gave the place a definite nautical air, and a hanging piece of driftwood had been hand-lettered with the words "The Seashell".

"All of the cottages along the Front Row used to have names," Ethan explained. "I remember some of them. The Hideaway, the Jonathon Livingston, the Lemon Drop. Grandma loved to sit out on her porch and make fun of some of the names."

"And drink her iced tea," Tara added.

"I put lemon in her tea once. Thought she was going to throw it in my face." He grinned at the memory.

"She was a sweetheart, but she sure let you know when you did something wrong! The first time I did her hair, I used the wrong size rollers. It turned out too tight, and she made me shampoo it out and re-set it! I thought she hated me, but she requested me every week after that. She was my very first 'regular' client."

"She was always strict like that," he said. "If I didn't make my bed just so every morning, I wasn't allowed to play outside until I re-made it to her standards. She actually bounced a quarter on the sheets to make sure they were tight enough."

Tara wondered about his parents, wanting to ask him why he had been raised by his Grandmother. But she decided that now was not the time. "Shall we go in?"

He nodded.

Tara took her time getting out of the vehicle, reflecting that giant SUV's were definitely not the vehicle of choice for people recovering from major surgery. Or for anyone under six feet tall, for that matter. She slid her feet down to the running board and awkwardly grabbed for the handle with her left hand.

Ethan was suddenly there, guiding her. "Careful," he warned her. "That first step is a doozy."

"Thank you," she murmured. She caught her breath when his large, warm hands encircled her waist. It took every ounce of strength not to lean in closer and drink in his clean, masculine scent—a scent so different from Randy's overpowering cologne and aftershave—

At the thought of her ex-fiancé, Tara straightened and looked at the house. Without another word, she turned on her heel and headed toward her new home. No matter how wonderful Ethan smelled, she was not going to think of him as anything other than the obstacle that stood between her current run of hard luck and her one chance at owning her own home. She wasn't going to be distracted by his charming smile or sparkling blue eyes.

Oh, for goodness sake! She rolled her eyes at her own stupidity and focused on navigating the three steps onto the front porch. The white wicker rocker beckoned to her, but she refused to give in to the urge to sink into it. It had already been a long day, and she was incredibly tired, but she refused to let Ethan Davis know that.

She used her new house key to open the heavy glass door, expecting to be greeted by a musty, empty smell; she knew that the house had been closed up a few months ago, when the elderly woman had been forced to move into a nursing home after a stroke. Surprisingly, though, the house actually smelled clean and fresh.

Ethan laughed at the look on her face. "I made sure the house was cleaned once a week," he explained. "Just because Grandma was in a home, there was no excuse to let 
her 
home fall apart."

"Tell me about the house," she prompted.

Grudgingly, he guided her through his grandmother's home, showing off the spacious living room and newly updated kitchen. "I did the work myself over the past couple of years," he said. There was a note of pride in his voice, but also a hint of something else – shyness, perhaps? Maybe modesty was a better word for it. She sensed that he was not the kind of man who liked to boast about his work. "Grandma said she didn't need all of it, but I just hated to see her struggle with that old stove and dishwasher. She wouldn't let me do it all at once, so I had to do it bit by bit over the years."

She suddenly realized that she had no idea what Ethan did for a living. She was on the verge of asking that very question when he opened the door to the master bedroom, and the words died on her lips.

It was quite simply the most beautiful room she had ever seen. It was dominated by a large four-poster bed that had been made up with an antique-looking quilt in hues of blue and gray. The creamy white walls were decorated with cross-stitched and needlepoint pictures of seagulls and beach scenes, while one entire wall had been given over to curtain-draped French doors. When Tara opened one of those doors, she stepped out onto a small shady patio that was surrounded by rose bushes in enormous concrete pots.

"Beautiful!" she breathed.

"And you haven't even seen the master bathroom yet," Ethan told her.

"If it's got a claw-foot tub, I may just think I've died and gone to heaven," she said. At the look on his face, she gave a small cry and hurried as fast as her aching body could move toward the bathroom. Sure enough, there was an old-fashioned claw-foot tub and shelves lined with thick, plush blue towels.

Tara closed her eyes and imagined herself reclining in that tub, immersed in warm, scented bubbles and surrounded by candlelight. Suddenly, she pictured Ethan sliding into the warm water with her, touching her with his large, strong hands. Kissing her neck. Murmuring in her ear.

"Oh, my!" Tara's hands flew to her warm face. "I—I – think we should see the rest of the house," she stammered.

Ethan's face looked as flushed as hers felt. For one crazy, panicked moment, she wondered if he could read her mind. But no, she realized he was probably feeling angry at the way she was taking possession of his childhood home. She could easily imagine that he didn't appreciate the idea of her waltzing in and taking over the master bedroom and bathroom.

Wordlessly, he turned and led her down the hall to the other bedroom. 
His bedroom.
 She gulped, mentally scolding herself.

This room was also large, although not as large as the other. It too was done up with antique furnishings and another homemade quilt, this time in shades of dark green and brown. Tara ran her fingers lightly across the surface of the quilt, picturing her old friend putting in each and every stitch. "Your grandmother made this quilt, didn't she? I remember her showing it to me – she called it a Log Cabin pattern."

Ethan nodded. He turned and stalked out of the room, leaving her alone.

Tara wondered if she should follow him and try to talk reasonably about making this work; was this the right time to discuss living arrangements, or was it wiser to stay back and give him a few minutes by himself? She sighed again, suddenly exhausted by the events of the day. She sat wearily on the edge of the bed and tried to calm the crazed thoughts spinning through her tired brain – not the least of which was this overwhelming urge to chase after Ethan and feel his touch one more time. She moistened her lips and imagined herself kissing that little scar at the corner of his mouth.

What on Earth was wrong with her? The relationship with Randy had imploded only a few short months ago, and here she was already fantasizing about another man! A man who, she reminded herself firmly, she had just met. And with whom she was going to have to share living quarters for the foreseeable future.

"Get a grip, Tara," she told herself. "You can't afford that kind of nonsense right now."

Chapter Four

After the tour, Ethan drove Tara to her downtown apartment. He tried to walk her all the way to her door, but she stopped him at the main building entrance. From there, he drove to the house he shared with an old childhood friend. In all fairness, he had to admit that they didn't exactly "share" the place. The house actually 
belonged 
to Sean Jackson, who had been nice enough to let Ethan stay with him in the months following Ethan's divorce.

Ethan knew his friend would be relieved to know that he would soon have his home to himself again. They had been buddies since Pre-school, but that didn't mean it was a great idea for them to share living quarters for any length of time. No, Ethan decided, moving into The Seashell tonight was probably the best possible way to salvage what was left of their friendship. He gathered up his clothes and favorite coffee mug and the few personal items he had brought with him, scribbled a quick note to his buddy, and drove across town once more.

He knew it would have been smarter to stay at the Seashell all along. It was silly to impose on his friend while his Grandmother's house sat empty. But there was just something ghoulish about moving in and taking over while she was in the nursing home.

He hoped for a good night's sleep in his childhood home, but sleep eluded him. The word "sleep" hardly applied to the hours of tossing and turning and awakening from steamy dreams that featured a delicate, curvy redhead. He kept waking up and trying desperately not to think about her in this house, or the images that had popped into his brain while she darted around with child-like enthusiasm. There was nothing childish about her nicely rounded behind when she bent over to examine the claw-foot bathtub, or about his sudden urge to join her in that tub. And he thought he might scream in frustration when she ran her fingers across his bed. How on earth was he supposed to co-exist in this house with that woman when his body and imagination kept reacting like a hormonal teenager?

He didn't have the money to buy out Tara's half of the house; Jacqueline had pretty much cleaned him out in the divorce. And even if Tara could afford to buy him out, which he doubted, he wasn't ready to let the house go to someone who might sell out to the very developers he was trying to protect it from. The only person who could afford to buy out anyone was Jacqueline, and he'd be damned if he was going to let that Ice Queen get her hands on the place.

With a sigh, Ethan dragged himself out of bed. Tara had told him that she would be arriving with her belongings in the morning, and he wanted to be ready. He started a pot of coffee and took a quick shower, hoping that the steam and caffeine would clear his head.

When Tara showed up soon after, he felt guilty to see that she had taken a cab. Of course, he thought with chagrin, he should have remembered that she didn't drive and probably couldn't lift or carry any of her belongings. For the hundredth time, he wondered again about her apparent injury and weakness.

He took two suitcases from the taxi driver at the door. "Can I help you carry in the rest?" he asked her.

"That's all there is," Tara told him. She raised her chin in the defiant gesture he had seen the day before, silently daring him to ask any questions. When he didn't, she cleared her throat and looked around the room uncomfortably.

"So, we never discussed sleeping arrangements," she said, after moment.

"Excuse me?"

"We never talked about who is sleeping in which room. It wouldn't be fair for either one of us to just sail in and take over the master bedroom. I thought we could flip for it."

"Flip?"

"A coin? You know, heads or tails?"

Ethan nodded and pulled a quarter out of his pocket. "Call it in the air," he said, tossing the coin straight up.

"Heads!" She cried.

Ethan looked down at the back of the coin in his hand. "Looks like today's my lucky day," he told her. "I get the master bedroom and you're in my bedroom."

Her face colored.

"I mean – that is – " Ethan stammered, cursing inwardly.

Tara laughed. She didn't have one of those dainty, delicate little giggles that he would have expected. No, she had a deep, contagious belly-laugh that seemed almost too big for the room they stood in. She clapped both hands over her mouth, obviously embarrassed.

"Okay," she managed, still fighting back a giggle; "okay, Ethan, why don't we start over? This is going to be strange enough as it is, so we might as well try to get along with as few uncomfortable moments as possible."

"Agreed." He couldn't help smiling. "Have you had breakfast yet?"

She shook her head.

"I happen to know a great place that has the best pancakes in town. Let me take you out for breakfast, and we can get to know each other better while we eat."

Not long after, they faced each other across a table at a tiny diner in town. He watched as Tara poured a liberal amount of maple syrup over an enormous stack of pancakes in front of her.

"So, where do we start?" He asked.

"I'll go first," she said. "I grew up right here in  Beach Haven, got my cosmetology license right after graduation, and I've worked at Jeffrey Leonard Salon ever since. My Mom lives in Grand Rapids and my older brother is in the Army. And that's about it."

"And my Grandmother was one of your clients?"

Tara nodded. "Every Friday afternoon. When she wasn't able to drive any more, I made sure she was my last client of the day so I could give her a ride home. We used to sit on the porch and drink a glass of iced tea together when I dropped her off. I used to tease her about being my "date" every Friday night." She took a quick mouthful of pancake.

Ethan wondered how many other dates Tara went on, but didn't ask.

"When Bea went into the nursing home, I promised her I'd still visit every Friday after work. I did it for the first few weeks, before . . . " her voice trailed off. She put her fork down and frowned. Then she shook her head and tried to smile. "Enough about me. Your turn."

"Well, you've seen the house where I grew up, obviously," Ethan said. "My mother passed away when I was very young, and my dad did a lot of traveling with his job, so I lived with my Grandma. She really was an amazing woman. "

Tara raised her glass of orange juice. "To Bea," she said.

"To Grandma," he echoed, raising his own. "Well, I teach Math at the High School right here in town. I love working with the kids, even though it's a little strange working with some of the same teachers 
I 
knew when I went to school there. Wait a minute." He looked at Tara again as a thought occurred to him. "Bartlett. As in Jayson Bartlett? Is that your brother?

"Yep, Jayson's my big brother," Tara said with obvious pride.

"He was in my grade. Nice guy, fantastic football player. I never knew he had a younger sister." Ethan swallowed the last of his orange juice and leaned back, comfortably full. "What else is there to tell about myself? I am divorced, obviously. Jacqueline got 
our
 house in the divorce, which is why I'm so glad to be able to move into the Seashell. What about you? Did you have any trouble getting out of your apartment lease?"

"No. So, are we ready to go?" Tara hurriedly gathered her small purse and struggled to her feet. A pained look crossed he face, but she shrugged off Ethan's hand on her arm. "I don't need help," she snapped.

"Wait, what just happened here?" Ethan demanded. 'I thought we were getting along pretty well."

"I guess you thought wrong," With that, Tara turned and stalked out of the restaurant.

They rode home in silence and managed to stay out of each other's way for the rest of the afternoon. Since it was Saturday, Tara wondered whether her new roommate would be going out on a date or staying home. She knew that her own social schedule was wide open for this Saturday, as well as every Saturday in the foreseeable future. But she couldn't see any reason for a good-looking man like Ethan Davis to stay home on a weekend night.

She also felt rather guilty after her tantrum in the restaurant. It wasn't his fault that she had gotten uncomfortable about discussing her previous living arrangements. He couldn't possibly know that she had been homeless as of that very morning due her ex-fiancé’s selfishness and her own stupidity. She knew she shouldn't judge Ethan for Randy's past deeds, and that she owed Ethan an apology, but she wasn't ready to seek him out just yet.

After unpacking her two suitcases and sitting outside on the shady back patio with a book for an hour, Tara had to admit that she was bored out of her mind.

She went back into the kitchen and began inspecting the cupboards. They would need groceries, of course, but first she would have to take inventory of whatever supplies were already there. She was pleased to see that they were already fairly well-stocked with canned goods and boxed items. A quick inspection of the refrigerator revealed that Ethan had picked up a few essentials there as well.

Tara smiled as a sudden thought occurred to her. She knew just what to do to apologize.

A short time later, Ethan entered the kitchen, sniffing. "Something smells amazing," he said.

"My specialty peanut-butter no-bake cookies," Tara told him. "My way of saying I'm sorry for being a jerk this morning. The cookies have to cool and set, but some of the first batch should be ready to sample." She gestured towards the sheets of cookie-covered wax paper on the countertops and table, plucked one off the sheet closest to her, and handed it to him.

His blue eyes widened as he took the first bite. "This is amazing! Apology accepted. When can we argue again so you can make more?"

She laughed. "It's the only kind of cookie I know how to make," she confessed. "Probably because it doesn't involve actual baking. To tell the truth, I'm a pretty horrible cook."

"We may starve, then. Because I'm sure I’m even worse. Unless we can live on these cookies."

Tara watched him take another cookie. She saw a crumb on his lip, close to the small scar she had noticed earlier. Without thinking, she reached up to brush the crumb away.

When her fingers touched his skin, she felt that same jolt. He caught her hand in his own and pressed her fingers against his lips.

Tara moistened her own lips and stared up into those blue eyes, unable to look away or pull away. She took a step closer.

With her hand still held firmly in his large, warm grasp, he pulled her fingers away from his lips and leaned in until their lips were almost touching. Tara felt her breath catch in her throat. She knew she should stop this right now, step away from him, but it was as if here feet had been glued to the floor. She leaned closer, lips slightly parted.

His kiss was gentle and tentative at first and became more urgent. His tongue forced her lips farther apart, probing, seeking hers as he pulled her closer. She felt his body press against hers and she responded in kind.

Then she felt his hand in her hair. Common sense returned like a bucket of cold water in her face, and she pulled away from him. In her haste to step back, she lost her balance. Ethan caught her, holding her tightly in his arms.

"No! Please, don't," she gasped.

He released her immediately. "Tara, I –I didn't mean … "

"I know you didn't," she whispered. "Excuse me, please."

She fled to the safety of her own room.