The Honeymoon Cottage (A Pajaro Bay Romance) (9 page)

She wished her dad was around to give her advice. She doubted even he had seen a house quite like this one, but he knew all about repairing old houses, and she sure could use some help. But he was out of reach. Her family members were all out of reach now, either physically like her father, or emotionally like her mother.

Best not to think about Mother. Not Mom, Mama, or Ma, but Mother. That voice that echoed in her head, telling her she was sure to screw things up, she was her father's daughter and so she must end up being a loser and a failure like him. Maybe if someone had believed in her—

No, she refused to go there. She wasn't going to use her mother as an excuse for her mistakes. She was an adult and this was her life. She would take responsibility for both the good and the bad. The mistakes she'd made and the successes she'd had. She was on her own in this, and she'd better stop staring blankly at the cottage and figure out a solution.

She went around to the back yard, picking her way through the overgrown hydrangeas and bits of trash. Why on earth had Dennis dumped this place on her? It seemed like the last bit of cruelty, to take her boss's money, ruin her job and destroy her reputation, abandon Oliver, and then top it off by giving her this charming little junk pile.

"What are you doing?"

She turned at the voice. "Oh, Thea." Thea Paris, her real estate agent, was staring at her. "I guess I do look like a mess, don't I." She ran her hand through her curls self-consciously.

Thea, as always, looked perfect. Teetering on three-inch heels ($500 from a San Francisco boutique, Thea had previously informed her), her hair a glossy sheet of ebony perfection (a $300 keratin treatment would even be able to 'salvage' Camilla's hair, Thea had helpfully explained), and Thea's essential accessory, that slightly snooty air she'd apparently been born with. Camilla wondered if it was too late to switch agents to someone a little less annoying.

Camilla pulled her pink sweatshirt straight and wiped her hands on her dirty jeans.

"What are you doing?" Thea repeated.

"Oh. Sorry. I'm looking for building supplies." She started to turn back toward the front of the house when she spotted something—"Hey! A shed."

"What about it?"

"Have you looked in here?" The little garden shed was pretty good-sized, at least as big as the kitchen in the house. "It might have old tools, junk, even a few pieces of wood." Camilla put one hand on the rusty door handle. "It might be a gold mine."

Thea shook her head, looking offended by the thought of touching the handle. "Get away from that place, Camilla. It's probably disgusting inside."

"That's okay; I can handle a little dirt." She pulled the door open. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the gloom, but then she squealed in glee. It was a gold mine. She could see discarded beams of old-growth redwood against one wall, a bookcase of solid oak in the corner, and, leaning against an old chest freezer in the back of the shed, "Yes!"

"What?" said Thea's voice right behind her.

"Look—this is great." Camilla picked her way through the stuff, climbing over a stack of wood and pushing aside a moldy cardboard box. The box fell open and out tumbled—"Diamonds!" Camilla said with a laugh. Gorgeous old glass doorknobs in a rainbow of colors spilled across the floor, catching the light from the doorway. Replacing some of the rusty doorknobs in the house with these would really dress up the place.

"Get out of there, Camilla," Thea warned.

"It's okay, I'm already dirty. But stay back or you'll wreck your shoes." Over Thea's continued protests she continued on until she got to her target: a stack of old window frames. The frames leaned up against the freezer, covered in a thick layer of grime. She pulled them out, one by one. Some were missing glass, some missing muntins, but add them all together, and she'd have enough parts to bring every window in the house back to perfection—or perfect lopsidedness, as the case may be.

She pulled one likely suspect out of the stack and made her way back to the doorway, where Thea stood, looking relieved.

"Thought I'd break my neck, huh?"

"You looked like you'd gone nuts. Is that thing what you wanted?" She eyed the broken window in distaste.

"Original wavy glass." She leaned the window against the side of the shed, while Thea shut the door.

"You should keep this locked. Oliver could get hurt if he went messing around in there."

"You're right. I'll pick up a lock next time I'm in town." She headed back toward the front of the cottage, Thea alongside her.

They stopped at the front door.

"How about a cup of coffee?"

"I can't stay. I just brought you some flyers." She pulled them out, and Camilla felt an odd lurch in her stomach at the sight of the flyer: FOR SALE in big print over a picture of her silly crooked cottage. "Now that you've seen the place, you understand why I had to fudge the details a bit."

"Yeah, I see." Camilla read the description: "Cozy, charming—all the usual code words for a tiny piece of junk." She said it with a laugh, but it made her feel almost disloyal to the little house. But that was ridiculous.

"I have to go now, so I'll leave some of these with you."

Camilla set the window down and took the flyers.

She waved goodbye to Thea, and watched her walk away. Then she turned back to the house. The place was a piece of junk. She did want to sell it. This wasn't her home, it was just a stop along the way toward where she wanted to be.

And where was that? she asked herself.

She picked up the window frame and carried it inside. She could think about that while she worked.

~*~

"Thank you for bringing Oliver home from school, Captain Ryan." Oliver slipped past Camilla through the cottage door to run into the house.

"What's for dinner?" Oliver called out from inside.

Captain Ryan still stood in the doorway, his hat in his hands.

"Well," she said awkwardly, wondering when—or if—he would explain about his abrupt departure earlier. "Um, thanks again."

"No problem. And Hector said your car will be fixed tomorrow." He looked almost sheepish about that, and she waited for the explanation.

"Bye," he finally said, and turned to go.

With a shrug, she shut the door. What had all that been about? It was for the best. She didn't want to get to know him any better, anyway. So if he was going to act like he hated her, that was just fine with her.

"What about dinner?" Oliver repeated.

"Mac and cheese again."

Oliver wrinkled his nose.

"Sorry, kid, but that's the way it is for now." She didn't like it any more than he did, but they weren't exactly rolling in dough. "Get cleaned up and I'll start cooking."

A minute later, she heard a knock on the door.

When she opened the old redwood door on its melodramatically creaking hinges, there Ryan stood, all six feet-plus of muscle, with a hesitant look on his face.

"Yes, Captain Ryan?" she prompted when he didn't say anything.

"Dinner?" He said the one word and then just stood there.

She smothered a grin. So he wasn't as tough as he acted. She felt her back straighten as she realized he actually was, just maybe, attracted to her a little bit. "Yes, we do eat dinner every night when we can get it. Is that your question?"

He looked down. All the confidence gone, like a small boy, lost and very alone, and her heart melted. She couldn't stay mad at him when he looked like that. "I'd love to have dinner with you, Ryan."

"Great." He twirled his hat between his fingers. "Great. Um, now? You and Oliver? Tonight?"

She looked around at the empty house with its mile-long to-do list, and at Oliver standing there. Macaroni and cheese from a box, or dinner out with a hunk of a guy? Tough choice. "Yes, now would be terrific. Let me grab my purse. Come on, Oliver. We're going out to dinner."

They got in his SUV.

"This is great," she said. "We really didn't want to have mac and cheese again."

"What kind of food are we having?" asked Oliver from the back seat as Ryan started the car.

"What kind do you want?" she asked him.

"Thai food. Chicken with peanut goop on it and that weird tea with coconut milk in it."

"Sounds tasty," she said. "How's Thai food sound to you, Ryan?"

Ryan laughed. "Um, how about Mexican food?"

"Why is it funny?"

"Did you even look at the town when you came through, Camilla?"

"No, I was kind of busy dealing with the car stalling. By the way, you haven't told me what the mechanic found."

"I'll explain over dinner," he said somberly. Then he nodded out the window. "Don't blink or you'll miss downtown Pajaro Bay."

He turned down onto the main street through town. "This is Calle Principal." As they drove slowly down the street, he pointed out Santos' Market (the little grocer where she'd bought food the previous day), Treasures From the Sea (a gift shop selling nautical relics), a coffee shop (closed) that looked like they'd never heard of an espresso machine, a dry cleaner, an Art Deco movie theater that advertised live theater instead of the latest double feature, the sheriff's substation, a snooty-looking art gallery with a bunch of copper pipes in its front window, a darling little pet store called, appropriately enough, The Surfing Puggle, the Junque Shoppe that now owned her diamond ring, and then the street dead-ended at the high school.

"Oh," she said.

"Oh what?" said Oliver.

"Oh, there aren't any restaurants."

Ryan laughed. "Actually, there are a bunch of restaurants in town. It is a tourist town, after all."

"Where are they?"

"Well, there's a nice French restaurant in Torres Alley near the market, the coffee shop's not as bad as it looks, and there are a half-dozen places down by the wharf. You just have to know where to look. But no Thai food. Sorry."

"That's okay," she said. "Mexican food sounds good." She looked back over her shoulder. "But didn't we just pass Wharf Road?"

"Yup."

"But isn't that where the other restaurants are?"

"Yup." He turned those deep blue eyes in her direction and her breath caught in her throat. "Trust me."

Oddly, she did, though until he looked away, she couldn't have spoken to save her life.

He turned away and faced the windshield again. She let out a ragged breath. This man was so confusing, one moment cold and distant and the next searing straight into her with those sad, soulful eyes.

She turned to look out the window in time to see that they were entering the parking lot by the high school gym. There were about 40 cars all parked in the lot, and families heading into the gym. So much for a date with a hunk in some romantic hideaway. Since thinking of Captain Ryan as anything other than the local cop was dangerous, she should be thrilled instead of disappointed. Right?

"I hope at least it's edible," she said doubtfully, looking at the kids running into the old gym.

He raised an eyebrow. "Just wait."

~*~

Chapter 5

The gym was packed, and the smells coming from a long row of tables along the wall were intoxicating—cilantro, meat, chili peppers, cheese. A Hispanic man in a sheriff's department uniform and a white apron grinned widely at Ryan and gave her a quick wave. Camilla hesitantly waved back.

She noticed that a lot of the people in the gym were looking in their direction, most friendly, a few frowning, but all downright curious.

"Why are they staring? You bring a lot of women to this romantic hideaway?"

He shook his head.

A little girl came running up. "Uncle Ryan! You came!"

"Hi, Marisol. This is my friend Oliver."

"My daddy's cooking," Marisol informed Oliver. "Come on." She took Oliver by the hand and started him down the food line in front of them.

The deputy sauntered over, clapped Ryan on the shoulder. "I'm Joe Serrano," he told Camilla with another big grin. "You can call me Deputy Joe." He was looking way-too happy for a casual meeting. "You came," he stated the obvious to Ryan.

"They needed dinner."

"I'm glad," Joe said.

"This is Camilla Stewart."

"And who's my daughter's new boyfriend?" he asked, leaning down to the two kids.

"This is Oliver Hen—Hutchins," Ryan said.

"We're going to eat some of everything," Marisol said gleefully.

Oliver looked at Ryan warily, but seemed to relax when Joe grinned at them again. "Nice to meet you both. Hope you're hungry." He turned back to Camilla. "I'm glad you brought our resident recluse out on a date."

"It's not a date," Ryan said, a bit too quickly.

"No, it isn't," she confirmed, also too quickly. They both sounded like awkward teenagers, and Joe grinned again. She wanted to ask Joe about the "resident recluse" comment, but Oliver interrupted.

"Yes it is a date," said Oliver. "We're having Mexican food."

Ryan handed Camilla a plate and they started down the line after Marisol and Oliver.

"Do you like rellenos?" Marisol asked Oliver.

"Yup," Oliver said with authority.

"My daddy's the best cook," Marisol said.

Oliver nodded. "Yeah. It smells just like Olvera Street."

"Why thank you, Oliver," Joe said.

"What's Olvera Street?" Camilla asked.

"It's in L.A.," Joe answered over his shoulder. "You from Southern Cali, kid?"

From the back Camilla watched Oliver shrink down and hunch his shoulders in what she had come to call his No Snitching look. Southern California. None of the cities he'd mentioned at school this morning were near L.A. Another mystery. She was getting really sick of all these secrets.

Deputy Joe didn't seem to notice Oliver's reaction. He led them all down the line, piling their plates ridiculously high with food.

"What's the matter, Buddy?" Ryan said when they got to the end of the line.

Oliver was frowning at the trays of cookies and slices of chocolate cake.

"Can't make up your mind?"

Oliver nodded.

"Why don't you wait until you've eaten all your supper first," Camilla said. "Then maybe you won't have room for dessert."