Lovers at Heart (11 page)

FOR THE SECOND time in less than a week, Treat tossed aside his worries about flashing his wealth and chartered a small private plane. He wasn’t ready to go back to Nassau—not nearly ready. He didn’t know if he’d ever be ready. He had to go someplace that didn’t remind him of Max, even though he knew that anytime he sat in a restaurant—any restaurant—he’d always see her beautiful face staring back at him. If ever he was to touch another woman—who was he kidding? There would be no other woman for a very, very long time. He wondered how he’d ever gone from one woman’s bed to the next like he was changing his socks. The thought sickened him.

As the plane touched down, he reiterated his promise to himself not to get in touch with Max. Why make things any more difficult for her? She deserved a relationship that was right from the get-go, not some guy who screwed up so badly that it hurt her to look at him.

It took some finagling to get a car at that hour, but where there was money, there was always a way. The streets were crowded, which surprised him. October in New England wasn’t exactly high season for tourists. The sun came up as he drove the rental car down a dirt road on a narrow strip that led to the bay. He rounded the last curve slowly, avoiding the enormous rosebush that he continually forgot to ask the gardener to trim back. He stopped the car.
Knock Out roses. Max’s favorite flowers.
Sadness tugged at his heart. A second later, the bungalow came into view and Treat let out a long, relieved sigh.

He breathed in the salty air. It had been too long since he’d last been to the Cape. He pulled his bags from his trunk and headed for the front door. Smitty, the caretaker who had been watching over the house since Treat purchased it eight years earlier, had known Treat’s mother, and he’d always had an affinity toward Treat. Treat felt guilty for calling him at such a crazy hour to prepare the bungalow for his arrival, but he paid him handsomely for his trouble.

He smiled at the weathered cedar shingles. The Cape had been one of his mother’s favorite places. They’d visited a few times, before she was too sick to travel, and each time he arrived at the little cottage, the very things that used to make her smile brought the same joy to him. He’d bought the place from the owners who had rented it to his family each of those times they’d visited.

He could almost hear her sweet voice as he unlocked the door and stepped inside.
Oh, Treaty, look! The shingles have weathered. Don’t you just love the graying and the texture of them?
She’d shake her head and tell him how she loved a house where each of the pieces that held it together was different from the rest.

The curtains whipped around the open encasement windows. He could count on Smitty to do just as he’d asked. He stood in the breeze and stared out over the bay. Goose bumps formed on his arms, and he found his father’s thick, gray cable-knit sweater right beside the sofa table.
Good old Smitty
. He slipped it on, and a strange feeling came over him, as if he was not alone. He looked around the cozy space, and a shiver ran through him. If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought his mother were right there with him in the cottage, smiling about him wearing the sweater she’d knitted for his father. A strand of guilt tugged at his heart for dismissing his father’s beliefs so easily.

He shook the wishful thought away and turned his phone off. The last thing he wanted was to be bothered with resort issues. His assistants were capable and efficient. They could deal with any emergencies that came up. That’s why he paid them so well. And he definitely didn’t want to talk with Savannah, who he was sure would be angry about him leaving without saying goodbye. She’d calm down once she understood the reasons why he’d left. Of course, that would mean owning up to the way he’d made Max feel, and that was just one more thing he couldn’t deal with at the moment. He tossed his phone and keys into the pottery bowl on the dining room table, then threw a few logs into the fireplace, remembering how his mother had taught him to build a tepee out of bark. Once the fire caught, he lay down on the large sofa thinking about Max. Why hadn’t she come after him when she read the notes? Maybe she hadn't read them. Maybe she never would.

He wondered if his father had bared his soul to his mother, and if so, how his mother might have handled it. But he couldn’t wrap his mind around the idea of his parents being in an unhappy situation to begin with. All he envisioned was his mother’s smiling eyes, and all he could feel was the warmth of her generous heart. He kicked his feet up on the sofa’s arm, hunkered down in his father’s sweater, and—with the mixture of cool air flowing through the window and warm air from the fire—he fell asleep to the soothing memories of his mother.

MAX AWOKE WITH a smile on her lips and Treat’s letters beside her. She picked them up and read them again, then turned on the radio. She danced her way into the shower singing along to “My Type of Crazy” by Thompson Square. She was surprised at how much her outlook had changed overnight. The combination of a good night’s sleep and everything Treat had done and said gave her the confidence, and the desire, to try to work things out with him. What kind of man sends an enormous cake to a woman when he’s hurt her? Or leaves notes professing his love on her doorknob?

Treat
.
That’s who
.

It was Sunday, and she was relieved that the festival was over, though she still needed to swing by and go over the final figures with Chaz. She pulled her hair into a ponytail, threw on a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and a hoodie, slipped on her sneakers, and headed out the door. She’d get her work done quickly; then, when Treat called, as she was sure he would after the notes he’d left, she’d make plans to meet him when she was done.

Just thinking about how happy he’d be, how relieved they’d both be, brought a bounce to her step.

CHAZ WAS ALREADY at the office when she arrived.

“How’d they like the cake?” she asked.

He looked up from the spreadsheets. Hints of the late night shone in the dark circles beneath his eyes. “Chocolate smiles for breakfast,” he said with a smile. “Kaylie thanks you, but she said she’ll hate you when it lands on her hips.”

“Oh, please. That woman gave birth to twins and is still the hottest girl in all of Allure.”

“Maybe so. She also said that she’d call you later.”

Max sat across from Chaz and began going through the records from the day before. “Hey, Chaz. I’m really sorry that I was so exhausted and in such a petulant mood yesterday.”

Chaz set the papers down. “Actually, it was kind of nice to see that you’re as normal as the rest of us.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” she asked.

“Yeah, actually, it is. You’re always so damned on top of things. So yeah, it was nice to see that you have a less neurotic side to you.”

“Neurotic?” She arched a brow. “That’s not complimentary. I’m a damn good work wife. Just ask your…wife wife.”

“My wife wife loves your neurosis, and so do I.” He looked down at the spreadsheets, and after a couple minutes, he sat back and watched Max work.

“Spit it out,” she said.

“What?”

“Whatever is causing you to look at me like a big brother who knows something that he shouldn’t.”

Chaz laughed. “Is that what I look like?”

She studied his face with a serious scowl. “It’s either that, or I’ve grown a third eye in the middle of my head.”

“Let’s go with me knowing something. It’s not hard to figure out after Kaylie was trying to get you to leave early and Treat showed up in the parking lot.”

“Okay, let’s go with the third eye thing.” She buried her nose back in the spreadsheets.

“Max.”

“Chaz,” she said without raising her eyes.

“Just tell me this. Are you going to fall in love, get married, and move away to a tropical island?”

Max sat back and put her pencil between her teeth. She pushed her glasses up on her nose. “Is that what the stare is for? You’re wondering who will do your sponsor coordination if I’m whisked away under the guise of love?”

“Embarrassingly, no, because I know that no matter where you live, I can convince you to still do the coordination and show up for the festival. I just want to know if I’m going to lose my work wife and, more importantly, my friend.”

Max looked back down at the spreadsheets, thinking about how much that meant to her. “You could never lose me. But no one is running off and getting married. We haven’t even gotten to the being-able-to-spend-seven-hours-together-without-fighting stage.”

“Funny. Treat doesn’t seem like the fighting type.”

“He’s not.” She flashed him a mischievous grin.

Two and a half hours later, they set their work aside.

“I’m so glad you closed the office Monday,” Max said. For the past three years, Chaz had closed the office the Monday after the festival.

“We work so hard over the weekend, it just makes sense. Go relax. Have some fun,” he said.

Max checked her cell phone several times and was surprised not to have heard from Treat. She assumed he was spending time with his family, relaxing after two very stressful nights. She couldn’t wait to erase some of that tension.

On her way back to her apartment, she realized that she didn’t have Treat’s number, which meant she would have to wait for him to call her. Or…

She punched his father’s name into her cell phone, followed the links to obtain his address, and then plugged it into her GPS. With a confident smile on her lips, for the first time in days, she headed out of Allure and toward Hal Braden’s ranch.

TREAT AWOKE TO a knock at his door. With nothing but embers left in the fireplace, he shivered as he answered it.

“TB!”

His childhood friend, Charley “Chuck” Holtz, stood before him. More gray than brown up top and more belly than muscle in the middle, Chuck beamed with the same vibrancy he’d always possessed.

“Chuck, how are you?” Treat waved him in.

“Smitty told me he opened the old place up for you. Saw the rental parked out front and thought I’d stop by. Haven’t seen you in a year. What brings you out?” Chuck had a thick New England accent. The word “parked” came out sounding like “pahked.”

“Just needed a break.”

“Bonnie’s having a bonfire tomorrow night. Wanna join us?”

Treat rolled the idea over in his mind. He had no plans. It might do him good to spend time away from the bungalow, and Chuck and Bonnie were such a nice couple. “Sure.”

“Great. I’m heading into town to meet her now. Wanna come along? We’re having dinner at the Pearl.”

Treat hesitated. Tomorrow night he’d be rested and more able to deal with being civil around company. His mind was still mourning Max. God, he missed her.

“Come on, TB. It’ll be fun. Bonnie would be so upset if she didn’t get to say hello to you. She tells everyone she knows about you. You know how that goes. Around here you’re a big deal, a big fish in a small pond.” He winked.

The last thing Treat wanted to deal with was to be shown off like a trophy. “I’m a little tired. I just got in a few hours ago.”

“Come on. I’ll make sure we don’t stay out too late.”

It was hard to ignore Chuck’s enthusiasm. “Why not.”

“Great. Let’s go,” Chuck said with a wave.

“Now?” Treat looked down at his clothes. He desperately needed a shower. He touched his chin.
And a shave
.

“You’re at the Cape. No one looks at what you’re wearing. Up here, jeans and T-shirts are dressing up.”

“All right then. Just give me a second to wash my face and brush my teeth.” He picked up his bags and went upstairs to the bedroom. “Make yourself at home,” he hollered down. He heard the refrigerator open and the clink of beer bottles.
Good old Smitty.

“I already am,” Chuck called up.

SHOWING UP AT Treat’s father’s house had seemed like such a good idea when she’d first thought of it, but the sight of the sprawling brick home and several expensive cars around an enormous circular driveway had her second-guessing her plan. She parked behind a black Mercedes SLS and looked down at her clothes.
Sneakers?
What was she thinking? She nearly jumped out of her skin when someone banged on her window. She tried to smile when she saw Savannah waving, but she was too nervous to quite pull it off.