Somebody to Love (23 page)

“Uh…no.”

“Well, it was one of those fast-and-furious love affairs, you know? Burned out pretty fast. It was hot while it lasted, though.”

“That’s… Yeah. Okay.”

Lavinia sighed fondly. “Oh, good, here they come. I gotta get home and put some Bengay on my back.”

Althea, Collier and Parker came back into the dining room.

“You sure?” Collier was saying. “Tell me that bathroom didn’t tempt you.”

“It’s beautiful, Collier,” Parker said. “But I’m fine in the cottage. It’s very cute.”

“I think you’re being silly,” Althea said. “But do what you will! You always do. She’s got her own ideas, Collier.”

“Which I totally respect,” he said.

“I’ll drive these two back,” Lavinia announced cheerfully. “No need for you to get in the car again, Collier. And hey, thanks for inviting me. It was great to see the old place again.”

James offered Collier his hand. “Thanks for including me,” he said.

Collier squeezed hard and stared at him with his vivid eyes. “Absolutely, man.”

Ten minutes later, they were back at the cottage. Cute, Parker had called it. Right.

She was down on the dock with a glass of water, talking to her kid and the Paragon, while James stared at her, his hands jammed in his pockets, from the back porch, irritable as a hungover porcupine.

He was mad. Jealous and mad and an idiot.

Collier. What an ass. And Althea, pimping her daughter. And his own stupid self, sulking like a teenager. And Parker, constantly…just…whatever. She was sitting, dog at her side, feet in the water, her white dress glowing in the darkness. God forbid she decide that now was a good time for a midnight swim, because he’d have to go in after her, no matter how good she was. No one should go in the ocean in the dark, alone. Currents, tides, drowning. Daylight was bad enough. Seriously, who the hell swam in the ocean up here?

But knowing her, she’d do something like that. Midnight swim. Midnight skinny-dipping, even. Yep. She’d take that dress off and jump in, half to torture him, half because she was the type to jump in dark, freezing water and come up laughing. Right before some drunken Masshole mowed her down in a powerboat.

It could happen. Plus, it gave him the excuse he needed. He was halfway down the stairs before he’d even finished the thought.

At the sound of his footsteps, Parker stood up, Beauty, too, her tail wagging a little.

“Hey,” Parker said. “Entertaining night, didn’t you think?”

He only stopped walking when his arms were around her and his mouth was on hers. She made a surprised little squeak, but oh, God, her lips were so soft, and he kissed her hard, too hard, maybe, one hand sliding through her silky, cool hair, gripping the back of her head, a kiss that reached right in and clamped his heart in a fist…the taste of her, the smell of her, her softness melded against him. The kind of kiss that ruined a man.

Then he let her go, turned around and left her standing on the dock, one hand over her lips, her dog standing at her side.

CHAPTER TWENTY

P
ARKER
WAS
GONE
when James woke up at the late hour of 6:38 a.m. the next morning. There was a note next to the coffeepot:

Early delivery @ flower shop, library thing at 10. If you go out, make sure you shut Beauty in my room, okay?

Nothing about last night, of course. Parker Harrington Welles was not the type to leave a note saying,
Thanks for the kiss, it changed my entire perception of you, let’s get it on, shall we?
or
Never kiss me again, Thing One. Don’t even look at me.
Nope. He’d bet his left nut she’d never bring it up again.

And look. He was stroking the words as if he was that idiot Romeo, the prince of poor planning, and little Miss Capulet had sent him a lock of hair. Totally whipped. With a hearty sigh, he started making breakfast.

Parker’s dog was watching him from the doorway of the bedroom. He had yet to convince the scared little thing he wasn’t about to kick her. “Want some bacon?” he said. She didn’t move. He dropped half a piece on the floor and glanced over at her. Beauty wagged her tail and licked her chops but didn’t move from her spot. Another female who wanted nothing to do with him.

Yep. Whipped.

Well. Nothing a little hard labor and some headbanger noise wouldn’t cure. He went outside, flipped the radio on to the metal station. “Dream On” by Aerosmith.

“Point taken,” James said.

The tin roof was on, the chimney repaired. Time for some deeply satisfying physical labor. Forget the nail gun for now. James picked up his hammer in one hand, a cedar shingle in the other and got to work.

Too bad his father couldn’t see the tidy job James had done. Of all four boys, James had always been the one most interested in their father’s work. The best at it, too. Tom was a general contractor, like their dad; Matt worked at a factory that made Adirondack chairs, and Pete did finish carpentry. If he’d thought there’d been a chance in hell they’d have come up here, James would’ve asked for the help. Sure. At the end of the day, they’d get a six-pack and take turns flirting with Parker, and his brothers would bust his stones over his crush until their father told them to knock it off, at which point Parker would give him a sweet smile as she passed, and Dad would agree that yes, James was pathetic, and the ribbing would start again.

Dream on was right. What had his father called him the last time they’d spoken? A slick little bastard. Which had not stopped dear old dad from cashing any of the checks James had ever sent.

Helping Parker was a way to do Harry a final favor, after all the man had done for him. Not just the healthy salary, either. He’d given James a place in the world when James had had none, given him a father figure, and when your own father hasn’t looked you in the eye since you were twelve years old, that meant something. Harry was the only person James had ever told about Mary Elizabeth, and one of the few who saw him as a loyal, decent person.

The irony was so thick, James would need an ax to cut it.

So yeah. He owed Harry. And he owed his own family. He sure as hell owed Mary Elizabeth. And Parker. And her son.

But it got tiring, owing everybody everything all the time. Living in a debt of guilt. Trying to look at yourself in the mirror.

He felt a tickle at the back of his leg and looked down. It was Parker’s dog, standing next to him, looking up at him with those big brown eyes. Her tail gave a tiny, noncommittal wag.

“Hey, Beauty,” he said. She wagged again. “Are you a sweet girl?” She bent her head, seeming to acknowledge that yes, in fact, she was. Very slowly, he knelt down. She didn’t run. “Are you a pretty girl, Beauty?” The wagging grew more constant, though still tentative. “You got any pointers for me, dog?”

When James was a kid, they’d had a dog. Brandy, a big old Irish setter. After what happened, it seemed as if she was the only one left who still liked him. She died two years later, and the Cahills had never gotten another.

Slowly, James reached out to pet Beauty’s head, but just as he almost touched her, a car came roaring up to the house, and the dog bolted, disappearing around the front and down the stairs toward the dock.

Collier Rhodes. Why not Jay Gatsby, right? Same overall message. The Porsche purred to a stop, and James threw his hammer down with more gusto than was perhaps necessary and walked over to the driveway.

“Hi, Jim! How’s it going here?”

“Collier.”

“So, is Parker around?”

Why don’t you go step on a rusty nail, huh, pal?
“She’s either at the flower shop or the library.”

“Awesome.” Collier glanced around the cluttered little yard. “Think she’d be interested in having dinner on my boat tonight?”

Yep. Lockjaw would definitely improve you.
“Better ask her.”

“I will.” The guy looked at him for a second. “So this buddy of mine and I were talking the other day.”

“Sebastian Junger?”

“No. Though he and I did shoot the breeze at a fundraiser a few years ago. Why? You know him?”

“No.”

Collier frowned. “Anyway, this buddy of mine happens to work at the SEC.”

Oh.

James gave him a long look, noting the smug gleam in the alien blue eyes. “I have to get back to work,” he said. He turned and walked back to the side of the house.

“Does she know?” Collier called.

James didn’t answer, and a minute later, he heard the snug thunk of the sports-car door closing, then the expensive thrum of the motor as Collier left.

* * *

“P
OOR
L
ITTLE
K
ITTEN
went through the pearly gates into heaven, where there were rainbows and butterflies and flowers and fields, and so many friends! Poor Little Kitten was not poor anymore, nor was she squished from the tractor. ‘It’s beautiful here!’ she mewed happily.

‘I know,’ said Spike. ‘Now, don’t forget, you have to choose a heaven-name.’

‘I choose Princess,’ said the sweet little cat, and all the other cats cheered. With that, Spike kissed the little kitten on her soft, fluffy head, then sped back to earth on his magical roller skates.

‘Her heaven-name is Princess,’ he told the children as their tears dried in the sunshine, ‘and she’s very, very happy. Now, who wants some angel food cake?’ And with that, Golly, Polly and Molly, Ike, Mike and Spike brought the mortal children to their special tree house, ate cake, and everyone felt much, much happier. The end.”

Un-fricking-believable that these books had made a fortune.

Parker swallowed the familiar bile that had crept up her throat during the reading and looked at the assembled children. Collier and her mother stood together in the back, and Lord have mercy, Collier was wiping away tears.
Grow a pair, pal,
she thought, even as she nodded with a smile.

James wasn’t here.

Just thinking his name made her heart speed up. But James was absent, despite her note telling him exactly where she’d be. So what was that about? A guy kisses the stuffing out of you, you’d think he’d accept a blatant invitation to come see you. But he hadn’t. And it was a bit surprising how disappointing that was.

“Any questions?” she asked.

“Did you write
Harry Potter?
” asked a cute little blonde girl. Judge Freeman’s granddaughter, if she wasn’t mistaken.

“No, honey, I didn’t, but I sure love those books, don’t you?”

“Are you gonna go to Hollywood and see the movie of your books?” asked another little girl.

“No, not to Hollywood. But my son and I will see the movie, sure. He’s five. Anybody else here five?”

Several hands shot in the air, and for the next hour, Parker took questions. Which Holy Roller was her favorite? Why did Mike have blue eyes and Ike have brown? Did she draw the pictures? Why not? Was she rich? Why not? Had she ever met Harry Potter? Why not?

Was she writing more books?

The little bloodsuckers always asked the hard questions.

“I’m taking a little break this summer,” Parker said. “But I’m reading a lot. What are some of your favorite books?”

There. Truth deferred.

The truth was, Parker still had nothing. Every day, she’d tried, and yet every idea had been so ridiculous that she couldn’t bear to go on. Fairies, leprechauns, gnomes, dwarves, giants. Farm animals, wild animals, domestic animals. City kids, country kids, kids from the future, kids from the past, kids on drugs—that was going to be a young adult novel, which had petered out after sentence number four. Horses with wings, horses with horns, horses with psychic powers. Wild cats, domestic cats, long-haired cats, big cats, blind cats who formed a penal colony and ruled using their heightened sense of smell.

Yeah. The only decent things she’d written this summer were the postcards to Nicky, so he’d have something from her every day.

“Well, kids, hasn’t this been wonderful?” the children’s librarian said. “Can everyone thank Miss Welles for coming in today?”

“Thank you, Miss Welles!” they chorused, and Parker gave out hugs and autographs. Being with the kids made the Nicky-ache swell, but the hugs were so sweet, given with unhesitating affection. Maybe she could get her master’s and teach.

At the moment, though, she couldn’t afford to go back to school.

When the kids had left, Althea approached, her arm through Collier’s.

“Parker, I’m really,
really
moved,” Collier said, his eyes still wet. “I’m so moved. Wow. That was beautiful! Such a statement of faith and simplicity. Truly touching, Parker. Where on earth did you get the inspiration?”

A pair. Grow one.
“Oh, heck. You know how it is, right? I mean, you’re a writer, too.”

Collier gave a pleased shrug. “I guess I do. Yes. Yes. Hard to put a finger on exactly where ideas are born. The muse strikes when she chooses. Well said. You’re right.”

“Darling.” Althea put a bejeweled hand on Parker’s bare arm. “Let’s have lunch, shall we? Collier knows a wonderful little place in Bar Harbor. He’s friends with the owner.”

Of course he was. “Actually, Collier, do you mind if I steal my mom so we can have a little time alone?” she asked, smiling up at the guy. “I’m going on Skype with my son, and he’d love to see his mimi’s face.”

“Mimi. That’s adorable. Of course. I understand completely. Your son comes first.” He winked, as if showing her he’d Truly Been Listening last night, then kissed Althea on the cheek. “See you later, beautiful ladies.”

“I really think you have a shot with him,” Althea said as they watched him leave.

“I really don’t want one,” Parker said. “Come on, Mom. I was serious about Nicky. Over here.” She waved to the librarian, who was used to Parker coming in every day, and sat in front of the computer. A few minutes later, she was looking at her son’s beautiful face, his twinkling brown eyes, that adorable nose.

“Hi, baby!” she said, the sight of him filling her with a bubble of joy.

“I have a loose tooth!” he announced. “Look!” He grabbed his top front tooth and leaned closer to the computer screen and wiggled. Nothing seemed to move, but Parker cooed anyway.

“Oh, Nick! That’s so exciting! Hey, buddy, look who’s here. It’s Mimi!” She slid over and gestured for her mother to get closer to the screen.

“Hello there, Nicky,” Althea said.

“Hi, Mimi! My tooth is loose! See?” Again he demonstrated the alleged looseness of the tooth. “Guess what? Daddy got me a knife. I whittle now. I’ll make you a bird, Mimi. Or a worm. A worm’s easier because I’m not too good yet. Also, my knife isn’t sharp. Daddy says he’ll sharp it up when I get better.”

As her son babbled on, Parker felt almost dizzy with love. Sweet, sweet Nicky. He didn’t think it was strange that Althea rarely visited; it was simply the way it was. Faraway Mimi, Close-Up Nonny, he’d once said.

“My goodness, you’re such a handsome boy,” Althea said, and her frozen smile seemed to grow a bit. “Are you having fun in…”

“Yosemite,” Parker supplied in a low voice.

“Yosemite?” Althea added.

“It’s great. I’m gonna live here when I’m a grown-up.”

“Is that Althea I hear?” came Ethan’s voice. A second later, his face appeared next to Nick’s on the screen. “Hello, you gorgeous creature.”

“Oh, Ethan, you devil. How are you? I hear you got married. Such a shame.”

Parker rolled her eyes. Ethan had a way with the hot-flash crowd, it was undeniable. Part of his appeal. As her mother chatted with Nicky and Ethan, Parker checked her phone. No messages.

Not that James would call her. Not when they lived in the same house.

Not when he was steaming mad.

That kiss last night…she’d never been kissed like that, just grabbed and…and…
owned.

She swallowed. Hot. It was hot in here.

“Mommy! I found a rock this morning. Wanna see?”

“Yes! Hold it up,” she said. Rocks were Nicky’s thing. Ethan had already shipped a box back home, he’d told her, since clearly Rhode Island didn’t have enough.