Beach Colors (15 page)

“A hundred? That’s highway robbery.”

“Okay, how about fifty?”

“I mean, I’d be taking advantage of you.”

Linda pulled her glasses down and peered at Margaux over the rims. “Fifty bucks, and that’s my last offer.”

“Twenty-five a week. If I stay longer than a couple weeks, we’ll renegotiate. And if you’re able to rent it out permanently, I’ll move out without notice.”

“Done.”

Margaux handed Linda twenty-five in cash and they sealed the deal with a second cup of coffee and a chocolate chip cookie.

“I’ll move in tomorrow if that’s okay. And I’ll clean out the place, so you don’t have to.”

“Works for me.”

Linda walked Margaux to the porch and watched as she wheeled her bike down the front sidewalk to the street. “Bon Jovi!” she screeched, pointing to the bike’s license plate. “This is going to be great.”

Margaux only hoped she wasn’t getting into something she’d regret. Linda was nice but Margaux couldn’t have her interrupting all the time. And though twenty-five dollars was more than reasonable—it was a downright steal—she didn’t really have any money to spare. On the other hand, she couldn’t do better than to pump what she had into jumpstarting her comeback.

To celebrate, she rode to the Cove Market and bought a quart of milk, a bunch of bananas, a head of lettuce, a tomato, a loaf of twelve-grain bread, and a half pound of hamburger.

The grocery bag fit nicely in her wire basket and she felt very content and a little eccentric pedaling through town on her purple bike. She got a few looks and a couple of waves. One from Roy Oglethorpe, who was coming out of Harry’s Newsstand. And one from the woman that ran Cupcakes by Caroline.

She was actually feeling inspired as she rode toward Shore Road. She waited to make sure no cars were coming before she crossed the street and headed for home.

Moments later, a car sped past her. The bike wobbled, she gripped the handlebars fighting to keep the bike under control as it rattled beneath her. A police car, siren screaming, raced after it. It created a blast of hot wind that buffeted the bike. Margaux instinctively wrenched the wheel away from the road, but the bike began to skid on the rocky shoulder. Margaux hung on, praying fervently that she wouldn’t go down.

She managed to turn toward a grassy verge just before the bike slid out from under her and she toppled off the side. She hit the ground and lay there too stunned to move.

T
he cruiser’s radio crackled. Nick automatically tossed his book onto the seat and started his engine when Finley’s voice came over the radio.

“Chief, I’m in pursuit of a red convertible, New York plates, speeding east on Shore Road. Lonnie’s on backup. But I’ve got a cyclist down. She’s on the south side of Shore Road, west of Skilling’s Ice Cream.”

“I’m on my way. Did you call an ambulance?”

“I don’t think it’s that serious.”

“Okay. I’m two minutes away.” Nick flipped on his siren and sped toward Shore Road. He slowed as he reached the location Finley had given him, and scanned the side of the road for any signs that the cyclist was still down or injured.

He saw nothing until the top of an auburn head popped up from the drainage ditch that ran alongside the road. Nick cursed and jumped out of the cruiser with his heart racing and a prayer on his lips.
Please let her be okay.

She sat on the ground, the side of one leg caked in mud. The bike lay several feet away, half submerged in the drainage ditch.

Nick bent down beside her. “Are you hurt?”

She gulped in air, shook her hands, flicking bits of mud onto his uniform, and rolled her wrists.

“Thank God, no. They seem okay.”

“Have you tried to stand?” Nick asked, exasperated that she only thought of her hands.

She shook her head and started to shake.

“What happened?”

“I was riding my bike—with the flow of traffic,” she said between chattering teeth. “This car sped past. It had to be going ninety. But I held on until you whizzed by. Then I lost control and fell off.”

“It wasn’t me. It was my deputy.” And he was going to kill Finley when he saw him. “I came because he called it in.” Nick tried to calm down, but his temper exploded. “Did you ever think that riding along Shore Road might be dangerous?”

She shrank back. “I used to ride along here all the time. All the kids did.”

“You’re not a kid.”

“You don’t have to remind me.” She struggled to stand up. Nick steadied her as she put weight on shaky legs.

She eased away from him.

Nick was still holding her arm; he didn’t let go. “Maybe you should just rest for a minute. Make sure nothing’s broken.”

“Nothing’s broken. Oh no.”

Nick grabbed for her, afraid she’d been premature in her judgment.

She shook him off. “My bike. And my groceries.”

The bike was half submerged in mud, weeds, and sea grass. There was a carton of milk crushed under the frame; spilled milk ran in white rivulets in the mud. What looked like a loaf of bread had suffered a similar fate. And what the other stuff was Nick couldn’t begin to guess.

She started down into the ditch, but Nick pulled her back.

“Allow me.” He kicked off his shoes, pulled off his socks, and rolled up his trouser legs. With a resigned sigh, he slid down the side of the ditch and stepped into the mud.

The bike was stuck fast and it took several minutes before Nick could pull it back to dry land. There wasn’t much he could do about the groceries. The bread was smashed. Something that had been ground meat was leaking muddy water. He tossed it back into the ditch and climbed out. He managed to salvage her purse and toss it into the basket.

He dragged the bike up the slope to firm ground and lowered the kickstand.

She was staring at his legs. He looked down. He was covered in mud up to his shin bones, the folds of his trousers were caked with it.

“You, too,” he said.

She looked down and gasped. “My new capris!”

It wasn’t just her capris, it was one whole side of her, including hair and face.

He didn’t know which was in worse shape, the bike or its owner.

“And my bike. Is it wrecked?”

Nick squatted down to get a better look at the bike. The frame seemed undamaged, but the front tire was totally blown out and the sprockets were twisted out of shape. “Bike seems okay, but you’ll need a whole new wheel.”

“How am I going to get it home?”

“I’ll drive you.”

She looked at his cruiser, then down at her muddied clothes. “Thanks but I’d better walk.” She kicked up the stand and began to roll the bike down the road on one wheel. It was a hopeless endeavor.

He went after her and grabbed the handlebars. There was a momentary standoff, with both of them holding the handlebars and neither giving way. He was so close to her he could have leaned over and kissed her. Of course that would have been totally inappropriate. Not to mention stepping back into a time when he was young and rash enough to do something like that. Not to mention she’d probably sue.

“Get in the car. Don’t worry about the mud. I’ll put the bike in back and drive you home.” He wrestled the bike from her and carried it around to the trunk.

He secured the bike, walked back, and opened the door for her.

She didn’t move.

“You can walk if you want to, but I’m driving your bike back to your house.”

Her eyes flicked to the seat.

He remembered the
History of the Ostrogoths
. He leaned past her and tossed it onto the dashboard. Without a word, she climbed in.

On the way to Little Crescent Beach, Nick tried desperately to think of something to say. He didn’t want to lecture her on the dangers of bike riding. He wanted to talk about all the things he’d imagined talking about when he’d been young and clueless. But that time was gone, and besides, making idle conversation with a person who was about to fill in an accident report seemed ludicrous.

They didn’t speak all the way to the beach house.

She jumped out of the car as soon as he pulled up to her house. He told himself not to get further entangled, just get the bike out of the trunk and drive away. Let Finley come back for her statement.

She walked toward an outdoor shower at the corner of the house and he followed her. She turned it on and stuck a leg under it. But when she switched to the other foot, Nick heard her intake of breath. She yanked her foot out of the shower spray.

“Let me take a look at those abrasions.” Nick knelt down and gently washed the muddy water away. Her shin was beginning to bruise. The side of her calf was covered with fiery scratches.

“I’ll get the first aid kit out of the cruiser.”

“You don’t have—” She stumbled as her ankle gave way. Nick scooped her up and carried her toward the house.

“I’m okay. Just a little shaky. Put me down.”

He grasped the doorknob and maneuvered her through the door into a mudroom. He didn’t stop there but carried her into the kitchen and deposited her in a chair at a Formica table. The room was old-fashioned and cozy, not at all what he expected.

She tried to get up.

“Stay,” he said, and went back outside to get the first aid kit. He stopped at the outdoor shower to wash off his own feet and calves, then carried the kit into the house. She was standing at the sink, attempting to clean her arms and face, but only managed to make it worse.

He turned her around and marched her back to the table. He wet a wad of paper towels and placed the kit on the table before pulling out another chair and sitting down in front of her.

She flinched when he lifted her foot, but he thought it was as much from surprise as pain. He rested her foot on his thigh while he inspected the abrasions more closely.

“This might hurt a little.”

Nine

H
ow on earth had she ended up sitting at her kitchen table with her foot resting on the Crescent Cove police chief’s hard, muscular thigh. She’d already seen it up close and personal at the cove, but the sight was nothing compared to—she tried to ease her foot away.

“Sorry. Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head. His hands were rough and callused, but remarkably gentle, which seemed odd since the rest of him was so intimidating.

He took her ankle and dabbed the damp towel up the outside of her leg to her knee.

Margaux sucked in her breath.

“Sorry, almost done.”

Thank God,
Margaux thought, because even the pain didn’t prevent the path her thoughts were taking.

“That’s much better, thanks. I’ll be fine.” This time she pulled her foot away.

He straightened up and began returning things to his first aid kit. He suddenly seemed as anxious to leave as she was to have him leave.

N
ick stood up and pushed his chair beneath the table, fumbled with the clasp of the first aid kit. Suddenly the inviting kitchen was way too hot. He grunted something, grabbed the kit, and headed for the door.

It wasn’t until he was sitting in the cruiser that he remembered the accident report he hadn’t taken. He’d have Finley come by tomorrow. There was no way he was going back in there.

He hadn’t felt this socially inept since he’d been seventeen and socially inept, sitting across the library table from her, wishing like anything that she’d say something to him. Just notice him.

Which was stupid because she’d only been thirteen. An ocean of difference at that age.

Or any age,
he reminded himself
. Just drive away, jackass
. He started the engine. He didn’t mean to look back, but couldn’t stop himself. She stood at the door, her hand on the knob. She looked so forlorn. Vulnerable. Something he hadn’t noticed before.

He was so tempted to go back, but he merely lifted his hand and drove away.

He didn’t look back again; he was too busy trying to see the road and fighting feelings he didn’t know existed. Not in him anyway. Not for a long time.

M
argaux watched Nick drive away, then turned her back on him, determined not to give him another thought. But she thought about him anyway as she packed up her art supplies for the move to Linda’s.

She was in the kitchen, contemplating dinner and ruing the loss of her ground beef, when there was a knock at the kitchen door.

She could see the silhouette of someone on the other side of the screen door. A large someone. A flutter of anticipation shook her. It wasn’t fear, because she recognized the owner of those wide shoulders.

She hurried to the door. Nick Prescott stood outside, a bag from the Cove Market in one arm. And a bouquet of flowers in the other. He’d changed into jeans, black T-shirt, and Windbreaker.

Margaux held the door open for him. He walked straight inside, put the grocery bag on the table, and handed her the flowers.

“Compliments of the Crescent Cove Police Department with our sincerest apologies.”

Margaux took the flowers, embarrassed to realize that she was blushing. Hopefully he wouldn’t notice.

“You didn’t have to do this.”

He nodded brusquely. “The least I—we could do. I’m not sure I remembered everything.” He began unpacking the groceries. “Milk, bread, hamburger . . .”

Margaux rushed to stop him. There was something too intimate about watching him unload her groceries.

“I’ll get those.” She reached for the carton of milk he was holding. Their fingers brushed. Electricity jolted down to her toes. She snatched the carton away and shoved it into the refrigerator.

The chief was already heading for the door.

“Do you have to go back to work?” she asked, kicking herself simultaneously for the words. What did she think she was doing?

He hesitated, looked back over his shoulder. “I’m off duty but on call in case there’s an emergency.”

“Do you get a lot of emergencies?”

He turned to face her. “Always, but more so in the summer.”

“Which is right around the corner.”

He nodded, almost warily.

“Well . . . Maybe I could whip up a meal or something,” she said tentatively. “There’s a decent bottle of wine.” She shrugged and added, “Since you brought me groceries.”