Jilted: Promise Harbor, Book 1 (20 page)

“Here.” He pointed. “It’s supposed to automatically add up every month.” His blunt, calloused finger moved across the screen.

“Okay.” She clicked with the mouse. “There’s no formula there. That would add it up automatically.” She glanced at her dad, not sure how much he knew about Excel. She had a feeling not much.

“Shit,” he said. “I must’ve deleted it by accident.”

“Here. I can fix it.” She clicked again then tapped on the keyboard. With a final tap of the enter key, the sum appeared in the cell it was supposed to.

“Huh,” Dad said. “You did it.”

She dragged the formula down so it populated the whole column, figures appearing as she did so. “There you go.”

“So easy.” He rubbed his face.

“Why are you doing this?” she said, spinning the chair a little to face him. “I thought Hal did the books for you.”

“He retired. A few months ago.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that.” Their eyes met, and she sensed the unspoken words between them—if she called more often, she would know. But if
he
called more often, she would know. She also would have known about him and Susan. “Are you going to hire someone else?”

“I haven’t had time to look. I’ve just been trying to figure things out myself. It’s my business—I should know how to do the books.”

She bit the inside of her lip. He was a fisherman. He knew about boats and the ocean, fish and tackle and bait. “Well sure. Maybe I can help while I’m here.”

He turned away. “You don’t need to do that.”

Her breath hitched. “I know. I don’t mind.”

He gathered up some papers on the counter and stacked them. Cleared his throat. “Well. If you have time.” He glanced out the window. “Here comes Enoch with the
Lucky Promise
.”

“That’s it for the day?”

“Yep. Time for supper. I…uh…was going to barbecue a hamburger. If that’s okay for you.”

“Yeah. Fine.”

She turned back to the computer and resumed studying the spreadsheet while Dad went to bring the
Lucky Promise
in and help the passengers disembark. She found some mistakes and fixed them, looked at the file folder of invoices and receipts next to the computer. And got to work.

“Okay, Devon,” Dad said, returning a short time later. “Time to go.”

“Okay.” She saved her work and shut down the computer. “I parked over on Larch Street. I’ll see you at home.”

He nodded without looking at her.

She began the walk to her car. What on earth were they going to talk about all alone over dinner? It had actually been easier when Susan had joined them with her easy chatter. Hey, maybe they could talk about Susan. Or they could talk about themselves. Like Josh had said.

Or they could talk about nuclear physics or existential phenomenology.

Ha.

Making the meal kept them busy. She sliced hamburger buns and found condiments in the fridge while he got the hamburger patties grilling on the barbecue in the back yard. “There’s a bag of potato chips in the cupboard,” Dad said.

“That’s not a very healthy dinner.” She meant it to be teasing, but when he frowned, she realized he’d taken it as criticism. She closed her eyes, holding the bag of chips she’d pulled out. “I was kidding, Dad. I love chips.”

He shot her a surprised glance.

“I assume you don’t eat them every day,” she added.

His lips pursed a little. “No. That I don’t.”

After a few moments of silence, she said, “I got the key from Susan again.”

Dad grunted.

“She’s really nice.”

“I guess.”

“You never told me that you were seeing someone.”

“Well. You know. It’s…”

She studied his face, tanned and square jawed, his eyes so blue, his short hair brushed back from his forehead. “There’s no reason you can’t have a relationship with a woman.”

He pushed back his chair abruptly. “I know.”

Do you love her? How can you love her when you couldn’t love me?
Her chest clenched.

He carried his plate over to the counter, his back to her, and began running water into the sink.

“You should get a dishwasher,” she said, rising to carry her plate over as well. She guessed that was it for their father-daughter conversation.

“I don’t need a dishwasher for one person.”

Great. They couldn’t have a conversation about anything without arguing. After she helped him tidy up the kitchen, she picked up her purse. “Okay. I’m not sure what time I’ll be home, but I still have Susan’s key.”

“Fine. Have fun.”

But the look he cast her was almost…worried.

Chapter Fourteen

Josh went home first, but he knew he was going to have to go see his mom and make sure she was okay. She’d told him she was fine and was dealing with Greta’s disappearance, with the whole wedding-being-off thing and with Greta’s marriage ending, but that hadn’t completely reassured him.

He dropped off his stuff, then headed over to Mom’s place. But to his surprise, she wasn’t there. Huh. Where could she be? Saturday afternoon, he supposed she could be out shopping or something. With a shrug, he climbed back into his car and went back home. He’d talk to her later.

Next stop was Allie’s place, to check on her dad. Since Owen’s accident, he’d had a few cognitive problems, and Allie worried about him. Josh often helped out with things around the Ralston house, things that overwhelmed Allie. Her brothers were there, but they weren’t all that responsible, and since Allie had disappeared he’d better make sure Owen was okay.

It wasn’t like Allie at all to just abandon her family. Which once again made him worry a little. But hell. She’d been looking after everybody for so long…he couldn’t blame her for wanting to disappear.

Huh. He’d come a long way since being pissed off at her for doing that.

But he struck out again at the Ralston home, nobody answering the door, not Owen, neither of Allie’s brothers. Well, another call he’d make later.

Back at his place, he opened some windows to let air into the house that had been sitting closed up for the last week. He looked around, wondering what Devon would think of the place. It was kind of weird, but when he’d bought it, he’d found himself wondering the same thing, thinking that she would like the hardwood floors and the big, carved baseboards, but would hate the tiny kitchen and bathroom. The house was old and needed a lot of work, but that was the only way he’d ever be able to afford a place this size on such a large lot. A full two stories, the colonial-style house had four bedrooms upstairs with a fifth on the main floor, which that he’d already converted to the great room.

Then he and Allie had decided to get married, and he’d turned his mind to thinking that it would be a good home for a family. He and Allie had never really talked about having kids, but he’d assumed they would one day.

His eyes fell on the boxes sitting on the floor of the empty living room. Shit. Allie’d started bringing some of her things over the week before the wedding. And there were more upstairs.

He had to get rid of those.

He took the stairs two at a time and strode into his bedroom. He flung open the closet, a nice, big walk-in he’d carved out of the bedroom next door when he’d knocked down the wall between them. He grabbed Allie’s shirts hanging there, a pair of jeans and, goddammit, in one of the drawers of the built-in dresser he found a few pairs of panties. He scooped them up, then spied a pair of flip-flops on the floor. With all her things gathered into his arms, he ran back downstairs to find a big trash bag. He shoved the clothes in, unconcerned whether they’d be wrinkled or not. He returned to the master suite and entered the bathroom. Bottles of Allie’s shampoo and conditioner. Her little pink shaver. A hairbrush and a toothbrush and a bottle of some face-wash stuff. He added all that to the bag and swept his gaze over both bathroom and bedroom once more, then nodded.

Back downstairs, he added the bag to the boxes in the corner, but when he returned to the kitchen he spotted a fashion magazine on the counter, and then a hoodie Allie must have left draped over one arm of the chair in the corner of the great room. He got rid of those too and looked around again. That had better be it.

Okay. Good thing he’d noticed that.

He’d have to get that stuff back to Allie at some point. A brief flare of anger reignited at how she’d handled ending things between them. Jesus. He rubbed his forehead. He’d put off thinking about that stuff, but there were wedding gifts they’d have to return. What a mess. Ah well.

He wandered into his kitchen and peered into the fridge and cupboards. Yep, needed food for the coming week. Tomorrow morning at eight he started a twenty-four-hour shift, so he’d better get out and pick up a few things. Maybe a nice bottle of wine to have when Devon came over.

His insides warmed at the thought of seeing her again that night as he scooped up his car keys and once again headed out.

At the grocery store, the first person he ran into was Mrs. Benedeto. “Josh,” she said, her face fully of sympathy and curiosity, laying a hand on his arm. “How
are
you?”

Ah hell. While he’d had the last week to get over it and accept that what had happened was for the best, the rest of the town didn’t know that.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Great.”

“Uh-huh.” Clearly she didn’t believe him. He caught Coby working the nearby checkout watching them with interest. And there was Ethan, one of his coworkers from the fire department, approaching.

“Josh,” he said. “How’re you doing, buddy? Okay?”

Fuck. He hadn’t anticipated this.

“Yeah,” he said again. “I’m good.”

“Sorry to hear about the wedding,” Coby said, and both he and Ethan eyed him sadly.

“Um. Yeah.”

“Is Allie back?” Coby asked.

“I have no idea,” Josh said. He smiled.

Mrs. Benedeto frowned. “You didn’t go after her?”

“Well, I tried.” That sounded lame. “I have no idea where they went.”

“I thought you would. You’re such a good boy.”

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“When she was kidnapped like that, we thought you might get the police involved.”

Rumors. Great. He could only imagine what people were saying. “She wasn’t kidnapped,” he said. “She went with Gavin of her own free will.”

“That’s not what I heard,” Coby said.

Josh gritted his teeth.

“You poor boy, you must be so brokenhearted,” Mrs. Benedeto said.

“Um. Really, I’m okay. Look, I need to pick up a few things. Nice to see you again.” And he separated himself from them to grab a shopping cart and booked it down the produce aisle.

Shit. The whole town was feeling sorry for him. He hadn’t really thought about what he was going to say to people. Apparently Allie wasn’t back. Maybe he should try to call her.

He whipped out his cell phone, found her in his contacts and punched the button to dial her. But within seconds, he heard, “The cellular customer you have dialed is unavailable”.

Okay. Fine. He’d deal with this when he got home, track down his mom, Greta, Allie,
somebody
who knew what was going on. He started tossing things in his cart, including a package of condoms. Next stop, the liquor store for wine.

Wyatt Schyler who owned the liquor store didn’t give him another sorrowful sympathetic look. Instead he looked at him with slitty-eyed hostility. Wyatt was some distant relative of Allie’s. “Josh.” His eyes flashed. “So you’re back to face your shortcomings, I see.”

What the fuck? His shortcomings? He frowned. “Uh…”

“How could you do that to Allie?” Wyatt demanded. “That sweet girl. And then abandon your own family. And hers.”

“I didn’t… What?” Josh rubbed the back of his neck. “Do what to Allie?”

Wyatt shook his head. “If you’d given her the support she needed, she wouldn’t have left you. That poor girl.”

Josh’s eyes nearly popped out of his head, they flew open so wide. Jesus Christ! “I’m the one who got left at the altar!”

“As I said.”

What the fuck? Josh shook his head. “I just need a bottle of wine.”

“Sure. Maybe this Heartbreaker Cabernet? Or how about the Dirty Scoundrel Chardonnay?”

“Cute.” What was it Devon liked? “How about a zinfandel.”

Wyatt lifted an eyebrow. “Zin, huh? Ooookay. Got some nice ones from California here.”

“Not too cheap.”

Wyatt gave him a look over the top of his reading glasses. “Trying to impress a lady?”

Josh ran his tongue over his teeth. “Maybe.” Let people talk about
that
.

Wyatt muttered something under his breath that almost sounded like “asshole” and Josh’s eyes widened. Then Wyatt said, “How about this Original Sin Zin. Twenty-two ninety-nine. It has nice blackberry aromas with suggestions of red cherries, sweet oak, a touch of caramel and spicy background notes.”

“I’ll take it.” Never mind the goddamn cutesy name and the fancy description. And the price! He whipped out his wallet and smacked some bills on the counter so he could get out of there.