See You at Sunset (12 page)

Holly studied Micah’s face. It was radiating determination.
Oh, what the hell.
“Honestly, that sounds like a slice of heaven, but it would take a huge amount of your time. It’d be a lot to ask of you.”

“If we’re going to do it, let’s do it right.” He came back to stand beside her and carefully rested his hand on her shoulder, almost as if he expected her to jerk away. His palm was callused and a little rough. It felt wonderful against her bare skin.

“I’m counting on you to help me talk them into this,” he said.

“Of course I will,” she said, forcing a smile. “I don’t know how to thank you, Micah. It’s a truly amazing and thoughtful plan.”

Only her desperate fear of where kissing might lead them—
up to my bedroom
—stopped her from launching herself at him. But they
were
friends, and that friendship was important. The last thing she wanted to do was screw that up.

He shrugged. “It’s no big deal. How about I take some measurements now? That way I can get started right away on ordering some of the lumber. And since I’ve got the day off tomorrow, I might as well get going with the demolition.”

His sexy voice somehow made demolition sound like a ton of fun.

“Go right ahead,” Holly said. “But aren’t you hungry? You obviously haven’t had dinner.”

“It won’t take long,” he said. “I’ll just get my toolbox out of the truck.”

“I could throw together something quick, like pasta and sauce,” she said. “And a salad? How does that sound?”

Dumb, that’s how it sounds.

She was acting like Micah was still just her old pal, and she was just inviting him to stay for a casual meal. Though she’d done that many times over the years, what she was feeling now was anything but casual.

His eyebrows ticked up. “Sounds great, but only if you join me.”

She gave him a mock scowl, trying to keep things light. “I told you I’d already eaten. Are you trying to make me fat, Micah Lancaster?”

He laughed. “A salad doesn’t count.”

His smile faded, and the look in his eyes changed from amused to smoldering as his gaze trailed over her body, lingering briefly on her chest before dropping to her hips and legs. “Besides, I don’t think a little pasta could even begin to mess with perfection.”

The dark tone of his voice sent her heart rate up to jackhammer level and made her realize just how much trouble she was in.

Because she didn’t have much food in the house—and because she’d needed to get away from Micah for a few minutes—Holly had popped next door to the store and picked up some basics, including a box of rigatoni, a jar of tomato sauce, and a quart of chocolate ice cream. Fortunately, she still had some salad fixings from her trip to Whole Foods yesterday after her visit to the hospital. She knew Micah wouldn’t complain about the hastily prepared, plain dinner. Fancy for him was anything that didn’t come out of a freezer or a can.

And he absolutely loved chocolate ice cream.

As she prepared the meal, she snuck frequent peeks at him through the patio doors. He seemed as focused and precise about measuring the deck as he was about everything he did. Micah’s strong, comforting presence made her feel utterly secure whenever he was around.

With one eye on the pasta that boiled on the range beside her, Holly worked on the salad and warily probed her own feelings. It had been a long time since she’d felt like this around a man—since she lost Drew, to be exact. In some ways, Micah was a lot like her husband, although Drew had been more intense. He’d been the kind of man who charged through life full bore.

With Drew, every trip home from overseas or from his stateside base had been a celebration. Making dinner while he puttered around the house or worked on his motorcycle had been a blissful refuge from her demanding and frenetically paced job. She’d loved nothing better than a quiet evening at home with the man she loved, cocooned from the demands of their busy lives. But soon Drew would leave again. The quiet times had been only a temporary respite for both of them.

Still, she missed those moments with an intensity that could still make her body ache with longing. And no matter how much fun she had with Jackson or how involved she was in her job or new partnership, the ache never fully disappeared. Some days, in fact, her life felt pretty shallow, especially in comparison to the one she’d led with her husband.

And what would her husband have thought of a man like Jackson? That question nagged at her, and she didn’t think the answer was one she’d want to hear.
But Drew had really liked Micah, as Micah did him.

She jerked her head up at the sound of the patio door sliding open.

“Wow, you look pretty intent there. Does it take that much concentration to make a salad?” Micah said in a teasing voice as he strode through the kitchen with his toolbox.

Holly eyed his very fine butt as he passed her. His back and shoulders were pretty darn impressive, too. “Micah, you know very well that I’m more than a little challenged when it comes to kitchen duties. As are you, as I recall.”

“Bullshit,” he called over his shoulder. “I’m totally challenged, but you sure aren’t. And what you’re making now smells great.”

That was a big stretch, but it made her smile. It was nice to be appreciated. “I really should have offered to buy you dinner at the Pot. This isn’t much of anything.”

He turned and looked at her. “I’m glad I have you all to myself for once. Most times when we’ve had a meal together, it’s been with a crowd.” Then he winked at her before disappearing through the front door.

Holly was still thinking about that wink as Micah came back in and went upstairs to clean up. When he returned to the kitchen, he opened the bottle of red wine she’d set out and poured each of them a glass.

“Think it’ll be a problem if I start right in on the deck?” he asked. “I was thinking that Florence will probably want peace and quiet, at least until she gets back to work.”

Holly shook her head. “I doubt that a little hammering will bother her. Besides, she’s going to be on enough antianxiety medication to tranquilize an elephant.”

“You told me she hated that stuff.”

“She does, but she looked pretty blissed out yesterday,” Holly said drily.

She grabbed a pair of cloth napkins and a handful of cutlery and headed through the arched doorway into the dining room to set the table. “By the way, you still haven’t told me whether those criminal record checks turned up anything. I have to say that the thought of some creep skulking around the island looking for places to rob makes my skin crawl.”

Micah was leaning against the kitchen counter, wineglass in hand. She sidled around his big body to get to the stove, resisting the silly impulse to brush up against him.

“After what happened to you, anybody would feel that way,” he said. “The main thing is to keep your doors and windows locked all the time. Everybody here has to get used to doing that. But try not to worry.”

She decided not to mention minor details like how easy it would be for an intruder to smash the glass in the door and twist the dead bolt open. Besides, the slight frown on his face as he stared at the patio door suggested he was thinking the same. Still, she appreciated his attempt to reassure her.

“So has Aiden got any ex-felons working for him over there or not? Micah, I won’t melt into a terrified puddle if you tell me the truth.” At least she hoped not. She took a gulp of wine for fortification, just in case.

He gave a reluctant nod. “Only one guy had a rap sheet. A dude all tattoos and attitude. He was convicted of Class D petty theft when the Portland cops found stolen computer equipment in his apartment. Horton probably planned the theft with the buddy that did the actual break-in, though they couldn’t make that theory stick. He served four months in county jail for that one. Plus he’d done time in a juvie facility before that.”

“Gee, that sounds swell—not. I don’t get why a contractor would hire somebody like that.”

“Experienced laborers can be hard to find during construction season, and it’s worse here in the islands because of the long commute,” Micah said. “Then there’s the fact that some contractors like to give guys like a Horton a break if they’ve had some history as a good, reliable worker. It’s not a terrible thing to do.”

She sighed. “I guess that makes some sense.” She drained the finished pasta. “But he still hardly sounds like a good hire.”

“A buddy at the site is giving him an alibi. I’m not necessarily buying it, but it’ll hold up unless there’s evidence that they’re lying.”

“That’s why you said there’s still nothing to go on.”

“And there may never be.” He hesitated. “Unless there’s another break-in.”

Chapter 10

A
unt Florence, you are
not
going back to work,” Holly said, gripping her teacup with white fingers. “You fell in the hospital, remember? When you tried to get out of bed without any help. Or are we just supposed to pretend that didn’t happen?”

That awful little episode had kept her aunt in the hospital for a few days longer than expected. Fortunately, the fall wasn’t the result of a ministroke, as the doctors had originally feared, but simply as a result of too much antianxiety medication. Once the docs had sorted out the right dosage, Holly and Beatrice had been able to bring Florence home—with strict orders to rest.

Naturally, the old gal had only walked through the door a few hours ago and she was already issuing orders and being a hardhead.

Florence adjusted her old wire-rimmed glasses and gave Holly a glare. “What else am I supposed to do? Lie around on the couch like a lazy dog? Or watch soap operas? You know me better than that, Holly Tyler.”

That was a pretty mild retort by Florence standards. Holly suspected that the only reason she hadn’t ramped up the volume to combat level was the meds the psychiatrist had prescribed, combined with the strain of her illness. In fact, Holly could hardly believe how frail her darling aunt still looked. Her face was pasty, and she’d lost five pounds off her already thin frame. But it was a good sign that Florence had a fair amount of spirit left in her.

“The doctor told you not to go back to work for at least ten days,” Beatrice said in a firm voice, patting her elder sister’s slender, blue-veined hand. “He was very clear about that.”

“That quack?” Florence scoffed. “I bet he tells every patient the same thing. Probably pushes a little button inside his coat and a tape recorder says the words so he doesn’t have to trouble himself.” She gave a dismissive snort. “He doesn’t know
me
.”

Holly sighed. “Aunt Florence, you know how much I love you, but I swear I’ll lock you in the house if you so much as try to set foot in the store. I’ve lost too many people I love already, and I’m darn well not going to lose you. Especially not because of your pigheadedness.”

“Holly’s right,” Beatrice said. She hardly ever took on her sister, but the recent scare had clearly rattled her. “You have to do what the doctor ordered. If not for your own sake, then for ours.” She was obviously repressing tears.

Florence opened her mouth as if to argue but then closed it again. A couple of moments later, she gave a small nod. “You two should be ashamed of yourselves. Guilt-tripping me like that.” She managed to crack a small smile.

“So you’ll take your medication and rest while Beatrice and I run the store?” Holly asked.

Florence took a delicate sip from her teacup. “We’ll just see how it goes. I’m not making any promises.”

Holly relaxed back into her chair. That phrase represented as close to capitulation as she was ever likely to get from Aunt Florence.

Florence redirected her gaze to her sister. Beatrice, her small, neatly dressed figure ramrod straight as always, stared back at her, obviously determined for once not to cave in to her big sister. Aunt Beatrice was as sweet and mild as Florence was feisty and strong-willed.

“But Holly’s leaving in a few days, Beatrice,” Florence said. “So I’ll need to get back in the saddle at least by then. You’ve never been comfortable running the store by yourself.”

Beatrice suddenly looked sick. She’d clearly forgotten that minor detail.

“I’m not leaving for a while,” Holly said, patting Beatrice’s hand.

While Beatrice could handle most day-to-day tasks at the store, like unpacking and stocking shelves and manning the cash register, she’d never wanted to have anything to do with the financial side of the business and didn’t like having to deal with suppliers. Because Florence was always there, she’d never had to.

Beatrice looked dumbfounded. “But you have to be in New York soon, don’t you?”

Holly had been wrestling with that problem from the moment she first set eyes on her aunt at the hospital. She’d hoped Florence would bounce back quickly so she could keep her stay on the island almost as short as she’d originally planned and then get down to New York. But now that she was back home, she realized that her schedule was a lot less important than her responsibility to her aunts.

David and Cory wouldn’t be happy, to say the least, and she mentally cringed at how that phone call was likely to go. But Holly wasn’t about to leave until Florence was healthy and back in the saddle.

“I can make some adjustments,” she said. “The most important thing is for you to get well, Aunt Florence.”

Beatrice reached over and gave Holly’s hand a squeeze. “God bless you, dear.”

“Thank you, Holly,” Florence said in a tight voice. Florence didn’t do emotion very well, but Holly could see that she was struggling to hold back tears.

“You’ll take advantage of the fact that I’m here for a while and just rest up, right?” Holly asked. “Because you need to totally relax if you’re going to keep your blood pressure down.”

“That’s what the damn pills are for,” Florence scoffed.

“Aunt Florence—”

“Yes, yes. I’ll rest, and I’ll try not to bother you at the store,” Florence said, waving a hand. “But I’ll tell you one thing I’m going to do. I’m going to get on the phone and talk to every single soul I know about that Night Owl permit. Those blockheaded selectmen need to get an earful from people who don’t want to see our store pushed out by a damn chain.”