Wanderlust

Sterling’s Reasons

Enjoy the following excerpt for Sterling’s Reasons

So this was North Ocean City. Away from the mobs of tourists, away from the boardwalk with its openmouthed stores. A short distance off the tip of the steps, the water stretched for miles. She wondered idly exactly where she would land if she set sail from here and steered in a straight line. Always fascinated by answers, she made a mental note to check a map.

Walking around the deck, she inspected everything. It was quiet here except for the roar of the water and the hum of the breeze. No horns blaring, tires screeching, or people rushing here and there. She hoped they would have a hurricane or something wild during her stay. The more fury the water rolled with, the better. Smiling, she tried to take in everything at once. This was exciting and different. The gulls swooped overhead calling a welcome.

Anxious to unpack and take a long walk on the beach, Sterling moved toward her suitcases. Then stopped. The heck with unpacking, she told herself. She chucked her shoes where she stood and ran down the steps. The sand was warm and gave under her light weight. She wriggled her toes in it as she took long strides.

It was nearly ninety degrees. The vicious, glaring sun beat hard on the shore. It was almost one o’clock. Her stomach rumbled. She looked up toward Joe’s cottage as she passed but saw no movement. Maybe he was taking a nap. She couldn’t believe anyone would be inside for any other reason when there was so much to see and experience. And her naps would be taken on the deck.

She walked for a mile. The beach became even more isolated and weeds jutted here and there giving it a primitive feel. Many times she had to detour around old, rotting boards, the remains of walkways or gazebos long lost to the ravages of time and never rebuilt. Maybe the owners had moved on to another beach or simply gone back to the city.

The tang of salt was everywhere. She could almost taste the air. She found seashells along the way and filled the pockets of her blue sundress. Stepping back to catch one that was rolling to shore, she caught the heel of her foot on a rock and scraped it. “Ouch,” she exclaimed.

Plunking herself down, she examined the wound. Blood. Phooey. She headed back to her cottage, carefully, on the tiptoes of that foot. Now it was time to find out how thorough Mr. Ramsburg’s people had been in stocking her cupboard.

Sterling walked a long way and was tired when she finally hobbled home. She was almost past Joe’s place when she looked up and saw him leaning on the railing.

“Hello there, neighbor,” she called up to him, shading her eyes with her hand.

He stared at her a moment before pushing away from the railing. Well, so much for friendliness, she thought to herself as she limped on over to her stairs.

No peroxide. No iodine. Not even a small tube of first-aid cream. But there was tea. She ran water in the kettle and put it on the stove.

In the bathroom, she held her foot under the shower water. Closer examination showed her it was a pretty deep gash and required some attention. An idea struck her. What better way to meet the surly man next door? Sometimes on these cases she would map a plan. Other times she would wing it. She figured it would be the latter for this one. Sterling brewed her tea and took time to enjoy it before crossing the sand.

She wondered briefly if she should climb the sand dune and knock on what served as a front door or simply climb the stairs to the deck. The deck was closest.

Reaching the top, she stopped. He was there, just inside the open glass door, stretched out on a bright, flowered couch. A bottle of vodka tipped precariously against a stack of paperback books. His arm was flung over his eyes. She assumed he was asleep. Before she could decide whether to call out to him or come back later, he moved.

He didn’t sit up, he merely removed the arm from over his eyes. “What do you want?”

His voice was low and smooth, and a little thick with sleep. She hesitated again. He sat up on the couch. Because he was stripped to the waist she saw that his chest was solid and his shoulders were broad. A thick mat of dark hair dipped to a V where his belted Levi’s began. But it was his eyes that struck her. Winded her. It wasn’t just the unique honey-brown color. There were strong emotions lurking beneath, darkening like shadows on silk. His voice, like his heavy lids, made her wonder if he had had way too much to drink or if he really had been sleeping. Either way, he was striking. She was reminded of steel. Of sparks when two rocks were struck together. Of a grizzly bear being disturbed in his den.

Interested and amused, she had to smile. His hair had grown too long to be stylish and his mustache needed trimming. He looked disheveled and disturbed. And ticked off.

She found her voice. “Peroxide,” and almost lost it again when he stood up. Even with his shoes off, he was tall. Over six feet. She had to look up to meet his eyes. His mouth was full and sensuous even though at the moment it was pressed in a tight, annoyed line. Her gaze dropped to his tight-fitting jeans and took in the muscled thighs and the wear to the right knee section.

“What for?” He glared at her, sweeping a hand through his hair.

“Cut my foot. Anything antiseptic will do. I hated to bother you, but we seem to be the only ones down this end and…”

He took her none too gently by the wrist, plunking her down on the couch. The shells in her pockets scraped together. Taking her foot in his hand he turned her heel toward him slightly so he could have look. Without a word, he reached for the vodka bottle and tipped it end up. The few drops that were left in it rolled over the open skin and burned like lightning.

On a yelp, she jumped up. She tried to stand but lost her balance and fell back on the couch again. “That burns.”

He glowered at her impatiently. “You said anything antiseptic would do, and it did. Now, is that all?”

She got up this time, and he took her place. He picked up a book as he did, but she noticed it was upside down. He was dismissing her. But she wasn’t ready to leave yet. While she looked around, the burning subsided a little. The place was a mess. Clothes everywhere, piles of dirty and stacks of clean. Empty cardboard cartons and boxes proved he frequented the fast-food joints. The furniture was sparse and only what was necessary. Old raggedy curtains hung this way and that, one rod completely off the hook. There wasn’t a TV set or a stereo in the room. Books and magazines littered a coffee table and the floor. Overflowing ashtrays, many of them, sat here and there.

Remembering her manners, Sterling offered, “Except to say thank you.”

“Don’t.” He pretended to read the book.

“Mr. MacDaniels, I…”

The book hit the floor and he shot up to stare at her. “The minute I saw that fine, fancy car this morning, I had you made. You’re a plant from IAD. Damn them.” Disgusted, he stormed to the door and braced his hand against it.

“IAD? What’s that?”

“Don’t play games with me. They figured they’d send some sweet-looking piece down here to keep an eye on me. To find out what they could.” He swung around to face her, his anger darkening his eyes. “Well, it won’t work. I’ve already told them everything. Now get on out of here.”

She pulled herself up to her full five feet five inches. “I’m not with IAD, whatever that is.”

“Then how’d you know my name?” He came close, and she could feel the power that moved in him.

“It’s been in every newspaper…with pictures. Though I must say your appearance has changed somewhat, your hair has grown and your…”

“Bull.” He steamed toward the kitchen area and swung back to accuse her again. “Then you’re a reporter here to get a scoop. Probably from one of those raggy gossip magazines.”

Slumping back on the couch, he let his head rest on his hands.

Her heart went out to the man. He might bellow and stomp and speak roughly, but she saw past that. She sat down beside him. When she did, he looked up at her as if unable to believe she hadn’t run to the deck and down the stairs.