Beach Colors (24 page)

He nodded and smiled up at her. He was so sweet she wanted to take him home with her.
Bad way to think,
Margaux told herself.

She bought a blueberry muffin from Mrs. Prescott. “Has Connor gone on the Moonwalk yet? There are some fun things to do in the children’s area.”

“Nick said he’d come take him when he gets his lunch break.”

They both looked around at the crowd, understanding clear between them.
If he gets a lunch break.

Margaux lowered her voice. “Why don’t I check back before I leave, and if he hasn’t come, I’ll take Connor . . .” She remembered that she was supposed to be staying away. “Or I could watch the table while you take him.”

Mrs. Prescott beamed. “You are so sweet. But I’m sure Nick will come for him.”

“Okay. See you later, Connor.”

Connor grinned and waved goodbye, then disappeared from view.

When Margaux caught up to Bri and Grace, Bri had already filled one of her tote bags with tablecloths and doilies.

“This stuff is great,” she said. “Oh, look over there, blue glass.”

They followed her to the next booth where she bought several apothecary bottles. Grace shrugged at Margaux and they moved on. By the time they made their way outside, they were all carrying loaded tote bags, most of the items bought by Brianna.

They stopped by the Beach Auxiliary table where with a laugh and a shake of her head, Jude allowed them to store their purchases while they continued shopping.

“I hope you didn’t buy any of the things we just donated, Margaux.”

“Not me, most of this is Bri’s nonsense. I’m looking for more practical things for the shop—the workshop.”

“Ah.” Jude put the tote bags beneath the table.

They bought fresh-squeezed lemonade and drank it sitting at a picnic table under the shade of a large tent. Then they hit the rows of vendors outside.

They wandered down the fairway while the day grew hotter and the crowds got bigger. By the end of another hour, Margaux was tired and hungry, but she’d scored two dress racks from the Baptist Ladies’ Auxiliary.

She wondered if Nick had gotten a chance to take Connor to the children’s area. She could see it across the way; there was face painting, spin art, a fishing booth, and an inflated Moonwalk where swarms of children jumped up and down squealing with delight.

She was about to suggest they pick up their purchases from Jude and find a nice air-conditioned place for a late lunch when Bri said, “Omigod. Look at those hats.”

She picked her way across the trampled grass to a square booth with hundreds of old-fashioned hats for sale. Grace rolled her eyes and followed. Margaux took one last look at the kiddie area, that familiar pang of longing cutting deep inside her. She should ask Bri about the adoption process.

She didn’t have to be married to have a child. Once she got her finances back in order, she could adopt. Of course, she’d have to work double time to be able to afford a child in the city and that wouldn’t be fair to the child. The same old argument. One that Louis had often used whenever she suggested it was time to start a family. But if she lived here . . .

She felt someone tug at her jeans.

She looked down to find Connor looking up at her. He had an American flag painted on his cheek, there was a red ring of cherry snow cone around his mouth. He was holding a piece of drawing paper in a sticky hand.

“Hey, where did you come from?”

He glanced over his shoulder. She followed his gaze to a booth but she didn’t see Nick or Mrs. Prescott.

He nudged her with his piece of paper.

She took it from him while she perused the area for one of the Prescotts. She looked down at the paper. It was his picture of the seashore. He’d added a strip of blue sea. Three stick people stood on the beach, two big ones with a little one between them, holding hands.

Margaux swallowed her reaction. “Is that you and Uncle Nick and Grandma?”

Slowly he shook his head.

“Connor!”

She’d know that voice anywhere. Connor pressed close to her side. She instinctively placed her hand on his hair.

Nick strode toward them looking like thunder. He shot Margaux a searing glance before he dropped to one knee. “How many times do I have to tell you, you can’t run off like this.”

Even Margaux cowered under his anger. Connor began to tremble.

Nick immediately calmed down. More quietly, he said, “I didn’t mean to yell, but you scared me. You need to stay with someone you know, not wander off. Understand?”

Margaux felt Connor’s slow nod beneath her hand, then his head turned up at her.

“He wanted to show me his picture.”

Nick stood up.

“Don’t be mad. He knows me, he must have thought it was all right.”

“I’m not mad.” His jaw was set so tightly she thought it might shatter.

She lifted her chin. The man was going about this the wrong way.
Don’t get involved,
she warned herself.
Not your problem.
But she couldn’t ignore the small boy trembling beside her.

Nick’s mouth tightened even more. He took a controlled breath. “You’re right. I probably didn’t make it clear.”

Bri and Grace walked up at that moment and came to stand by Margaux, a united front.

“Come on, Connor. Let’s go back to Nana.”

When Connor didn’t move, Nick scooped the boy up and carried him away. Connor looked back over Nick’s shoulder, his eyes round and sad.

Margaux realized she was still holding his picture with its yellow beach and happy family.

“Wasn’t that Nick Prescott? What was that all about?” asked Grace.

“Connor wandered away from him. He was upset.”

“Huh,” Bri said. She was wearing a wide-brimmed lavender hat with butterflies dancing at the end of narrow satin ribbons.

“Now there’s a fashion statement,” Margaux said, but Bri wasn’t listening. She was staring after Nick and Connor.

“Well, well, well,” she said. “I think we just met Margaux’s merman.”

Sixteen

S
o is it true?” asked Grace, sipping her Mojito at the Sea Dog Pub. “Is Nick Prescott your merman?”

“No. Yes.” Margaux twirled her glass of Pinot Grigio around on the table. “I was out drawing on the jetty when he came out of the woods and went for a swim.”

“Commando?” asked Bri.

“He was wearing shorts.”

“Too bad. Then what happened?”

“He swam around. I was in a fanciful mood, so I drew that picture. He got out and left.”

“A golden opportunity missed.”

“I don’t know.” Grace paused to take a sip of her Mojito. “He’s downright scary. No wonder that poor kid was shaking in his boots.”

“That poor kid,” said Bri, “is Ben Prescott’s son.” She sighed. “It’s a damn shame. Life is weird, you know? Some die, some live. It just doesn’t make any sense.”

“No, it doesn’t,” said Grace.

They all ruminated on that for a moment, then Bri broke the silence. “But to get back to the police chief. I always thought he had the potential to look good if you just got rid of the uniform, dressed him up, and took him to a good stylist. Too spit-and-polish to be fun. But him all sleek out of the water and covering you with that burning gaze he was laying on you at the flea market. Now that’s an image a girl could get her teeth into.”

“Then go for it,” Margaux said.

Bri held up both hands. “Not me. I have enough on my plate. Besides, I’m not going down that road again.”

“What road?”

“Letting a man back in my life. I just don’t trust myself to have the discipline to do what I need to do when there’s a man around. I get distracted easily.” She glanced over at the lavender butterfly hat.

Grace laughed.

Bri shrugged. “It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. Anyway, it’ll make a good dress-up hat for when I get the girls.”

“So tell me how this all came about,” Margaux said.

“The girls?” Bri took a sip of her martini. “While I was in Switzerland recovering from my accident, I got involved with Smile Train, this organization that treats facial deformities in Third World children. There were so many children who needed someone to love them, so I put in the paperwork.”

Grace lifted her glass to Bri. “A very compassionate attitude.”

“It’s not all altruism on my part. They said I probably would never be able to have kids from all those years of not eating, and all those other things I did to stay thin. These days I can eat whatever I want and I stay thin. Go figure.”

“Just out of curiosity. Have you tried to have children?” asked Margaux.

Bri leaned back for the waiter to place her chicken Asiago in front of her. “Not really. Never found anyone I thought I wanted to wake up to for more than a couple of days in a row.”

“Me either,” Grace said, and tucked into her chopped salad.

“And I met the wrong man,” Margaux said.

“No offense,” Bri said, “but that asshole is beyond wrong. He’s just plain out evil.”

“Is he? I keep thinking that he must have just gotten into something over his head and things snowballed.”

Bri pointed her fork at Margaux. “Do not start making excuses for him.”

“I’m not. Right now, I hate him and don’t care what happens to him. I guess it’s just that I want to exonerate myself for making such a huge mistake.”

“Oh, honey. We all made mistakes. Okay, maybe not Grace. But look at me. I wrecked my life and I can’t even blame it on a man. Well, I could, but . . . Oh yeah, I see what you mean.”

Grace called for another round of drinks and by the time coffee and dessert arrived, they’d passed onto brighter topics.

They walked arm in arm back toward the marina, dropping Grace off at her apartment on the way.

Margaux put Bri and her packages into her truck.

“Are you sure you’re all right to drive?”

Bri gave her a look. “Trust me. I won’t make that mistake again.”

Margaux yawned as Bri drove away. She’d meant to go back to work, but between the flea market, the wine and food, and the fact that it was almost eight o’clock, she was exhausted. She’d start again tomorrow after a good night’s sleep.

J
ude slipped her hand into the crook of Roger’s elbow as they walked to the parking lot.

His other hand closed over hers. “It’s been a productive day. Are you too tired to have dinner?”

“Of course not.”

“Good. We never had two minutes to ourselves today. Do you have a place in mind? Shall we take one car or two?”

Jude hesitated. “I thought we might eat in tonight.”

“Your place?”

“Why not? We don’t always have to go to a restaurant.”

Roger’s elbow tightened. “Sounds nice.”

They drove separate cars back to Jude’s condo. They waited for the elevator without speaking, and Jude thought how much like the embarrassment of a first date the situation was. There shouldn’t be anything unusual about inviting an old friend to dinner, but she couldn’t stop the nerves that had been let loose in her stomach.

She’d lived in her condo since she moved out of the beach house ten years before. She’d never invited Roger inside until now. It was time.

They took their drinks out to the balcony and leaned against the railing while they watched the sun go down. A breeze drifted up from the water, and Jude thought how comfortable it was standing here, two old friends, alone, and being good companions to each other.

Good heavens, she was thinking like an old woman. She was young, energetic, wanting to be loved. But not wanting to commit to something new.

“Sunset becomes you,” said Roger, then laughed. “Sounds like a song, but I mean it. The sun sets off your hair until it positively glows.” He put his drink down and turned to face her.

“I’d better start dinner.”

He grasped her shoulders, gently but firmly. “You know, Jude, I’ll always love Alice. Just as you will always love Henry. That will never change.”

Jude cleared her throat. It felt thick and uncooperative. “You think they would want us to move on?”

He shrugged slightly and smiled. “It doesn’t matter what I think. It matters what you think.”

W
hen the lights of the gym were finally turned off, the trash was carted away, and the last van had pulled out of the parking lot, it was after midnight. Nick climbed into his cruiser and drove across town to drop off the car at his mother’s.

It had been a shit day. He’d yelled at Connor, he’d snapped at Margaux, and when he took Connor back to his mother, her look of disappointment made him want to howl at the moon. And there was a full one tonight.

Things were slipping out of his control. No matter how hard he worked with Connor, the boy just didn’t seem to come around.

And now he’d attached himself to Margaux Sullivan, which ordinarily would have made Nick happy; he liked having her around. But he was afraid that Connor would backslide once she left him. So he’d practically ordered her to stay away.

Was he a fool? He wanted to see more of Margaux himself. But that was selfish, and there was no room in Nick’s life for that.

He walked back to his apartment, the moon lighting his way, his hands shoved in his pockets. His feet hurt, his back hurt, even his soul hurt. He’d reached the stairs to his apartment when he noticed a window open on the first floor.

He sighed and started to walk around to the front door to lock things up when a noise came from inside. Instantly alert, Nick unsnapped his holster and eased around to the front of the house.

The front door was ajar. Damn Margaux. She was just asking for trouble by being so lax and now she’d gotten it. Though what some punk thought he could steal in a gobload of material and sketches was beyond him.

He crept up the porch steps, slipped into the dark foyer. The studio door was also ajar. He pulled his pistol, held it ready, kicked the door open, and yelled, “Police, freeze.”

A voice yelled back, “Don’t shoot. It’s me.”

Nick slowly eased his finger off the trigger and holstered his .45, his pulse pounding. “Margaux?”

“Yes.” She appeared out of the back room, looking ghostly in the light coming through the window.