Trapped in Tourist Town (2 page)

There was one street light that he'd counted. Not a single Starbucks, Barnes & Noble, McDonalds, or any other sign of civilization. He knew that going in, having read that the town was zoned as a historical landmark and would not allow any chains to build inside city limits. The reality of it was no less of a shock to his system. If it were possible to go into withdrawal over these modern conveniences, Burke was sure he was experiencing it.

Fumbling for the key that he'd picked up from the realtor in the town-proper, he headed for the weathered front door. He paused to scrape the mud from his shoes before entering the cottage. He'd been expecting a musty, closed-in smell, so he was pleasantly relieved to see the windows cracked open and crisp curtains rippling in the slight breeze. He detected a whiff of lemon—furniture polish, perhaps.

The front door opened directly into the kitchen with a hallway to the right that led to the rest of the house. Burke's tour was over quickly, as there were only three other rooms to explore. The living room was on the other side of the hall. A quick glance out the large bay window revealed tall pines obscuring his view of his neighbor. He shrugged. This was probably a good thing.

One bedroom and a small bathroom were at the back of the cottage. Burke peered into the bedroom, ready to find fault with the tiny room. He arched a brow, nodding his approval at the sight awaiting him from this vantage point. Now, there was the ocean. Sure, it was farther away than he would have liked, but he imagined sunrises and sunsets were spectacular. There was no writing desk in the bedroom and he began to mentally calculate whether or not the beat-up table in the kitchen would fit down the hall and through the narrow doorway. This was where he wanted to write.

And as it did, more often than not of late, thinking of writing brought that niggling sensation of dissatisfaction. Burke wanted to write. He loved putting his thoughts on paper. But travel writing? Working for the magazine? It wasn't his passion. He wanted to write novels.

Not just any old novels, but horror novels. Grinning at the irony, Burke wondered if Maine was big enough for two horror authors. Hopefully his schedule would allow for a weekend sojourn to Bangor to visit the home of master storyteller Stephen King. The man was a legend. Burke would make the time.

Sparing one more glance at the inspirational view of the Atlantic, Burke headed back outside to get his things. It wasn't the Ritz-Carlton, but this was his home for the next few months. Recalling that at least one writer on the magazine's payroll would be sleeping on the cold, hard ground tonight put his own situation in perspective. Provided he could get a latte every morning, and a little time with Blondie Ponytail, it might not be so bad.

“There's no way your piece of junk is going to pass inspection,” Chase called from under the hood of Cady's ancient Honda Civic.

“Oh, it's going to pass. It
has
to pass. That's my only transportation.”

Cady bit her lip and frowned at the expression on her brother's face when he finally reemerged. He was giving it to her straight. If Chase couldn't fix it, she was done for. She'd always been lucky enough that her father or brother was around to fix minor car needs. The less she had to fork out on car expenses, the more she could squirrel away for New York.

“My diagnosis? Junk it. Get a used car. You must have enough in savings by now to buy one outright.”

“You know damned well that I can't touch that savings. It's my ticket out of here.” Cady switched strategies, batting her lashes and favoring her big brother with a pleading smile. “Unless, you could
help
it pass inspection?”

“Whoa! I'm going to pretend you didn't just suggest that. You know it's a criminal offense to bribe an officer of the law?”

“Hey, I wasn't bribing you. That would involve money. And we've already established that I intend to hang on to every penny.” She tried for a humbling tone. “I'm just saying it would be awfully nice of you to help out your baby sister in her time of need.”

“Well, why didn't you say so? I'd be happy to take you down to the lot and help you pick out a dependable used car. I'll wear my uniform. No one will dare give you the runaround.”

“Oh, you ...” Cady glared at her brother and stormed off before she said something she'd regret or hurt him—or both.

Her family was kind. She knew without a doubt that they loved her, could see it in everything they said and did. They were indulgent of her plan to move to the city. They knew it was something she'd wanted for a long time. But they didn't actually believe it would happen. Perhaps they didn't want it to happen. She chose to think it was because they loved her so much that they didn't want to lose her. So she was used to chasing this dream on her own.

Still, a little support now and then would go a long way. All she needed was a working car for a few more months, just something to get her around while she saved up a little more cash. She was so close. Then once she got to the city she could sell it. She wouldn't need a car there. But Chase wouldn't help her out. And by not helping, he was holding her back.

Cady barreled angrily through the door, stomping into the kitchen. Her expression softened when she spied Amanda, her best friend and now sister-in-law, seated at the table, a laundry basket in front of her. The very pregnant young woman was folding baby clothes. The little wisps of fabric were so tiny, so precious. Cady's sigh was weary as she slumped into a chair across from Amanda. She plucked a miniscule sock from the basket and held it in the palm of her hand.

“Bad news about the car?”

“Bad news about my life.” She slid the sock across to Amanda, who held its twin. “You realize this ruins everything. I need every penny I have in savings. I can't afford a new car—not now, when I'm so close.”

“It's just a setback, sweetie. You'll do this.”

“Yeah, well if
your
husband could just pull some strings ...”

Amanda laughed outright at this.

“You two are so alike. When Chase is angry or annoyed with you, it's always ‘
your
best friend', never ‘my sister.'” She fixed Cady with a sobering look. “You know you can't ask him to use his position like that. He takes his job on the force very seriously.”

“Tell me about it. Do you remember when he was just a summer rent-a-cop and he slapped us with citations for jaywalking? I tried to get Mom to talk him out of it, but she insisted he was just doing his job. She always took his side.” Cady knew she sounded petulant but she didn't care.

“It hurts him, you know ... that you want to leave town so badly. He takes it a little personally.” Amanda pushed the laundry basket aside and leaned closer to her childhood pal.

“Would it be so awful to stay in Scallop Shores? What are you looking for that you can't find here?” She covered Cady's hand with her own. “We used to talk about living next door to each other, raising our kids together.” As one they turned to focus their gazes on Amanda's swollen belly.

“I've explained this before, Amanda. What I need ... it just isn't here. I want to have adventures. I want to experience culture. I want to live!” She squeezed her shoulder blades together and tried again.

“It's not like I'm going to fall off the map. I'll be back for holidays, birthdays—any time you need me. I'm just a few hours away. Call me and I'll come home.”

Cady stood up, rounding the table to kneel in front of Amanda. She wrapped her friend in a warm hug, then sat back on her haunches, a sad smile on her face.

“I know it's hard for you to understand. You've always loved it here. It's enough for you. I get that. Try to put yourself in my shoes for just a moment. There is so much world out there that we'll never experience just living our lives in Scallop Shores.” She stood up and began to pace.

“No one ever does anything exciting or out of the ordinary here. Everyone has routines. Lives are patterned after the generation before, and the one before that. That's great for some people, but not for me.”

“But if you fell in love? That could change your outlook, right?” Hope shined in Amanda's eyes.

“You were lucky. You've got a good guy there. I know he drives me up the wall sometimes, but Chase is a really decent person. You'll be very happy here. I want that for you. It makes me happy.”

Cady had been circling the kitchen island. Now she hopped onto the countertop, drawing her legs beneath her.

“At this point in my life, it's too hard to imagine falling for a man who I'd give up everything to be with. No way. I need to get out of Scallop Shores, see what I'm missing. There is so much I want to experience before I even think about settling down.”

“Promise me you won't get so caught up in your new life that you forget us?”

“Bite your tongue, sister dear. That would never happen.”

• • •

A twangy guitar riff coming from her ear buds muted the screeching of the seagulls and the crash of the surf to her right. Cady's sneakers pounded the packed surface of the beach as she felt the slow burn building in her muscles. At nearly six o'clock in the morning, she had this stretch of sand to herself. She did her best thinking out here.

She'd miss her morning runs along the beach. Regret tried to worm its way past the euphoria of her runner's high and Cady banished it by pushing her body to new limits. She would be sore later, but it would be worth it.

The short drive to the shore had only reinforced what Chase had told her the day before. Lucille, the old Civic she'd bought the summer she'd graduated high school, was dying. Cranking the car stereo up to mask its worrisome noises was not going to make them go away. She was putting off the inevitable, and it was to her own benefit to look for a replacement now, while she had the chance to negotiate for a lower asking price. Used-car salesmen could smell desperation on a person and that could take even more of her precious savings away.

She needed money. That tip jar at the bakery wasn't going to bring in the kind of cash that would help her move to the city. No, she needed a second job. Tourist season was just gearing up and there would be no shortage of jobs around the beach areas. The waterfront hotels would be looking for chambermaids, restaurants needed dishwashers and wait staff, and all the little souvenir shops would hire on cashiers.

This was her last summer in Scallop Shores. Surely she could come up with something more exciting than cleaning out hotel rooms, waiting tables, or putting out the latest stock of T-shirts with the state of Maine or a cartoon lobster printed on them.
Think, Cady, think.
What could she do to earn the extra money she'd need to get settled in the city?

Her feet slapped rhythmically as she quickly covered the one and a half miles of waterfront that made up Long Beach. She briefly considered taking her run up to the lighthouse, but she knew she wouldn't make it back to open Logan's in time.

Thank goodness she lived right above the bakery. The cranberry scones she made before her run would be cool enough to carry downstairs after a quick shower. It always amused her that at seven o'clock on the dot, Cady would find a cluster of regulars with their noses pressed to the glass door. If she were even a minute late, she'd hear about it.

Nearing the end of the beach, she pivoted on a heel and began to head the other way, back toward her car. A tiny figure in the distance showed her she no longer had the shoreline to herself. Concentrating on the summer cottages that dotted the opposite side of the road, she forgot the person until he was nearly on top of her.

It was City Guy! And damned if he didn't look just as good in old sweats and a Yankees tee as he did in the fancy duds she'd seen him in before. Maybe better. He slowed his pace as he approached her, stretching his arms over his head and pulling the fabric of his shirt tight across his well-toned pecs. Yeah, definitely better.

“Wearing a Yankees tee in Red Sox country could be dangerous to your health. You ought to be more careful.” Cady trotted to a stop, drawing her knees up to her chest a few times to stretch them out.

“Yeah? Who's gonna jump me? You?” His challenge thrown down, he grinned like the devil.

Cady smirked as she pulled the ear buds from her ears and continued to walk to her car. Not bad.

“Yankees tee, metrosexual … everything else. You're from New York, I take it? What brings you to Scallop Shores ...” She waited for him to supply his name as he raced to catch up with her.

“Burke. I'm Burke Sanders. I guess you could say I'm here to give your town its fifteen minutes of fame. Or try to make a smaller tourist destination a bigger deal. Anyway, I write for a travel magazine. And yeah, I'm from the Big Apple—born and raised.”

The thrill that passed through her upon learning he was indeed from the city, she'd explore later. But for now a giggle bubbled up too quickly to be stopped and Cady let out a chortle. She gestured toward a large, flat boulder near her car and made her way over the smaller loose stones to get to it. This one she had to sit down for.

“You lose a bet?”

“Excuse me?”

“Someone else get the cushier assignment? Are you being punished? What did you do to get saddled with Scallop Shores?” She sat down, drawing her legs up and patting the rock to invite Burke to sit beside her.

“I didn't do anything wrong. I just ... wow.” He shook his head. “You want out of Dodge in a bad way. I'm thinking yours is the better story here.” He took a long sip from a plastic water bottle and then held it out.

The idea of drinking from his bottle suddenly seemed wildly intimate, wholly inappropriate. Her mouth got drier at the thought and she grabbed for the container before she lost her nerve. The spout was still warm from the touch of his lips. She couldn't resist darting her tongue out to search for just a little taste of him.