The Great Escape (34 page)

He turned his smile into the facsimile of a leer. “You’re a hot number, babe. Hell on wheels when you’re naked, but a pain in the ass once you’ve got your clothes on. If you want real communication, pull down your pants.”

She blinked at his crudeness. His stomach twisted, but he was doing what he needed to. Still, he had to will himself not to take her into his arms and kiss the raindrops from her cheeks.

“Interesting.” She pushed her hood back and lifted her chin. “Keep your secrets, Panda. I really don’t care all that much.”

She disappeared, sending him into the foulest of moods.

T
HE SKIES CLEARED, AND
L
UCY
let Toby talk her into going out with him on Big Mike Moody’s boat. The idea of spending the afternoon in the funk of his salesman’s cologne didn’t appeal to her, but it was better than stomping around the house.

Did Panda really believe she wouldn’t see through his crap—that calculated insult and ridiculous sneer? It was his way of reminding her to keep her distance, as if she needed a reminder. This affair was supposed to be another check mark on her reverse bucket list, but by holding on to his secrets, he’d made her do exactly what she didn’t want—think too much about him.

She forced a smile as she and Toby approached the roomy blue and white powerboat docked in the municipal harbor. Toby’s eyes shone with anticipation. “Permission to come aboard.”

“Permission granted.” Mike’s grin showcased his straight, gleaming teeth. He wore khaki shorts, a white Polo with a green logo, and boat shoes. Expensive Revo sunglasses hung by a strap around his tanned neck.

She’d traded her skank clothes for her black bathing suit and a white terry cover-up, but she’d kept her nose ring. He took the tote that held her sunblock, a towel, her ball cap, and some cookies she’d bought at the Painted Frog. Unfortunately, he also held out his hand to help her aboard, but the cologne pollution she remembered was noticeably absent, along with his gold bracelet and college ring.

“Glad you could come with us today, Miss Jorik.”

She was disappointed. “Bree told you who I was.”

“No. Remember how I said I never forget a face? It finally came to me a couple of weeks ago.” He gestured toward her dragon tattoo. “You’ve got a real good disguise going for you.”

Toby dashed to the stern to check out the fishing gear. She pulled her ball cap from her tote. “Nobody in town’s recognized me, so the news doesn’t seem to have spread.”

“I figured if you wanted people to know who you were,” he said earnestly, “you would have told them.”

His openness was refreshing, and she found herself warming to him.

Once the boat was out of the harbor, he let Toby take the wheel. Eventually they passed around the south end of the island. When they were closer to shore, Toby got his rod and began to cast, with Mike giving him pointers. Lucy went over the other side to swim and to not think about Panda.

The next few hours passed pleasantly, but the fish weren’t biting, and eventually Toby gave up and went in to swim himself. As Lucy lounged on the deck, she realized her initial impression of Mike had been wrong. He wasn’t a phony at all. Instead, this good-looking, gregarious salesman was one of those people who genuinely looked for the best in everyone, even the sixteen-year-old who’d rear-ended his Cadillac the previous week while texting his girlfriend. “All teenagers do stupid things,” he said as they bobbed at anchor while Toby snorkeled. “I sure did my share.”

She smiled. “You’re too good to be true.”

“Afraid not. Just ask Bree.”

She couldn’t come up with a polite way of saying that Bree never mentioned him, but Big Mike wasn’t quite as clueless as he seemed. “She hasn’t told you about me, has she?”

“Not really.”

He unzipped a soft-sided cooler he’d brought with him. “I grew up on this island. Except for college, I’ve lived here all my life.” They bounced on the wake of a passing speedboat. “My parents were drunks—couldn’t help themselves—and I was a big, clumsy island oaf with no idea how to make friends.” He took out a bag of sandwiches from the island deli and set it on a table built into the deck. “Bree was one of the summer kids. Every year I’d count the days until she and her brothers arrived. They were great guys, exactly the kind of kid I wanted to be. Always knew exactly what to say, always fit in. But mainly it was Bree I waited for.”

He pulled a bottle of sauvignon blanc from the cooler and picked up a corkscrew. “You should have seen her then, so full of life, always laughing, not tense and sad like she is now. Instead of walking from one place to another, she danced.” He pulled the cork. “Star, Toby’s mother, was supposed to be the most beautiful girl on the island, but when Bree was around, I couldn’t look at anybody else, even though I knew she was way too good for me.”

“She is not.” They hadn’t seen Toby climbing up the swim ladder that hung over the stern, the snorkel mask on top of his head.

“She’s had a hard time, Toby,” Mike said as he filled a plastic cup with wine and handed it to Lucy. “You need to look at things from her viewpoint.”

Toby jumped onto the deck, water dripping from his skinny frame. “She never stands up for you. I don’t know why you’re always sticking up for her.”

Because that’s the kind of man he was, Lucy thought. He forgave the kid who rear-ended him, pardoned his alcoholic parents, and now was defending Bree for not returning the feelings he seemed to still hold for her.

Mike ripped open a bag of potato chips. “You’d better grab your sandwich before I eat it.”

Toby and Mike traded jokes as they devoured the chips and sandwiches, along with the cookies Lucy had brought. Toby was a different kid around Mike—funny and communicative, with no traces of his customary sullenness. When they were done, Toby hunkered down on the rear bench and, as the sun began to set, dozed off.

Mike took the wheel, and they headed back. Lucy sat next to him, sipping her third glass of wine and enjoying the shimmer of the fading sun on the water. Out of nowhere, he said, “I did a crummy thing to Bree when I was seventeen.” He spoke just loudly enough so that Lucy could hear him over the noise of the engine but Toby couldn’t. “She was in love with David, Toby’s father, and I was so jealous I started hating them both.” He backed off on the throttle. “One night I spied on them, then spilled the beans to her mother about what they were doing, or at least what I knew they’d be doing if I’d stuck around to watch. The next day, Bree was gone. She never came back, not until a little over two months ago. So it isn’t hard to see why she can’t stand the sight of me.”

Lucy curled her fingers around the plastic cup. “Are you still in love with her?”

He considered the question. “I think real love has to work two ways, and that’s sure not how it is with her. But I don’t like seeing her struggle.” He gave Lucy an apologetic smile. “All I’ve done is go on about myself. Usually, I’m not like this, but you’re easy to talk to.”

“I don’t mind.” In one afternoon, Mike had told her more about himself than Panda had ever revealed.

As they approached the harbor, Mike gave a sigh of satisfaction. “I’ve traveled lots of places, but I never get tired of that view. I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”

“You’ve got to have second thoughts about that in the winter.”

“I spend a couple of weeks in Miami every year, but I’m always anxious to get back. Cross-country skiing, ice fishing, snowmobiles. In other parts of the country, people hibernate in the winter. Up here in Michigan, that’s when we come out to play.”

She laughed. “You could sell sand in the middle of the desert.”

“People know they can trust me.” He glanced over at her, and unlike Panda’s, his eyes stayed above her neck. “I’m the richest man on the island,” he said matter-of-factly. “I don’t take that for granted. Anybody who lives here knows if they’ve got trouble, I’ll do my best to help them out.”

“Don’t people take advantage of that?”

“Every once in a while somebody takes me for a sucker, but I’ll tell you what … I’d rather have that happen than not be there for a person who really needs help.”

Which said everything about Mike Moody. What she’d initially regarded as braggadocio was a true generosity of spirit. Unlike Patrick Shade, Big Mike wasn’t afraid to let people see who he was, warts and all.

P
ANDA HEARD HER FOOTSTEPS ON
the deck. As usual, she was entering the house through her bedroom doors instead of coming in the front like a normal person. His relief at knowing she was safe barely overshadowed his resentment. Worrying about what she was up to had ruined his afternoon.

He fixed his attention on the paperback thriller he’d propped on his chest and pretended to read. He didn’t look up as the sliders opened, but he could see all he needed to out of the corner of his eyes.

She looked windblown and happy. The white terry cover-up she wore over her swimsuit had a food stain on the front. She’d tied it crookedly at the waist so that it gaped open over one breast. The way it nestled in her swimsuit top was as erotic as anything the skin magazines could conjure up.

She took him in as he lay on her bed but didn’t say anything. He crossed his ankles and tilted his head toward the chest of drawers. “I brought my pig along to spruce up the room.”

“I don’t want your pig.”

“You can’t mean that. It’s a great pig.”

“Each to his own.” She tugged at the leg of her suit. She smelled of sunblock and lake.

He set aside his book and dropped his legs over the side of the bed, casual as all hell. “You were gone a long time.”

“I told Temple where I was going.” She yawned and tossed her tote in the corner. “I need a shower.”

He followed her into the bathroom, propped his shoulder against the doorjamb. “She said you were going fishing with Mike Moody. He’s an ass.”

That pissed her off way too much. “No, he’s not. He only seems that way because he comes on so strong. He’s a great guy.”

Exactly what he didn’t want to hear. “Yeah, just ask him.”

She jerked at the tie on her cover-up. “You don’t know anything. Mike is a good man with a huge heart. And unlike you, he’s not afraid to have a real conversation.”

He snorted. Men didn’t have real conversations with women unless they wanted to get in their pants.

Lucy puckered her lips, all prim and proper. “Please leave so I can take a shower.”

They took showers together. She knew that. But he damned well wasn’t going to argue with her about it. “You got it.”

He shut the door behind him, grabbed the book he had no intention of reading, and left the room.

He worked at his computer until one in the morning, catching up on paperwork, but he still had trouble falling asleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw that damned list of hers plastered against the back of his lids with the words “Sleep around” pulsing away.

Chapter Nineteen

T
HE KITCHEN TABLE MOCKED HER
as it squatted in its customary spot on the cracked vinyl floor. It looked like a fat green warthog with a broken leg. Lucy slapped at the counter with a dishrag. “Just once, do you think you could make coffee without getting the grounds everywhere?”

Panda turned from the kitchen window where he’d been scanning the backyard for armed robbers, escaped murderers, or even a rabid skunk, anything that would satisfy his craving for action. “Just once, do you think you could make the coffee instead of me?” he retorted.

“I’m trying to eat,” Temple said from the table. “Would you both shut up?”

Lucy turned on her. “And you … Would it kill you to have a box of Cheerios around, or is that too much temptation for Her Majesty?”

Temple licked her yogurt spoon. “Panda, get rid of her.”

“My pleasure.”

“Don’t bother. I’m leaving.” Lucy flounced across the kitchen. “I’m going someplace where I’m
appreciated.
” She tried to produce a decent burp but failed.

“I hear there’s a new kindergarten in town,” Panda called after her.

“You should know.” Lucy slammed the back door on them both and headed for the cottage. The only bright spot in that encounter was how good it felt to act infantile.

Something had shifted between them, and not just because Panda hadn’t been waiting for her in bed last night when she’d come out of the shower. She’d started feeling a resentment toward him that had no place in a summer fling. Temple knew more about him than she did, and Lucy didn’t like that. She wanted his confidences. His trust. Maybe it should be enough to know he’d take a bullet for her, but not when she knew he’d do the same for Temple, or anyone else he felt responsible for.

Bree was opening up the farm stand when Lucy got there a few minutes later. As Bree set out the Carousel Honey sign, Lucy inspected the new note cards. They showed an old-fashioned straw skep, the forerunner of the modern hive, sitting under a blossoming cherry tree abuzz with fanciful bees. “These are great, Bree. Your best yet.”

“Do you think so?” Bree repositioned a small metal table under the shady oak. She painted there between customers.