Chapter Four

“Today I met someone. Her name is Elle.” Blue Moon

Adam rolled his shoulders and stepped into the bar. It had been an old railroad station with stripped wooden floors and brass fittings. Suspended from the ceiling above the counter was a long hanging frame filled with twisting vines and an explosion of colorful flowers artfully poking out of it, like a floating floral canopy.

Was it one of Laney’s?

True to his word, he’d kept out of her way. It hadn’t been hard, and he suspected she was deliberately avoiding him. Probably for the best. Despite everything, there was still a spark. And she hadn’t ruled out Boston; she’d just needed more time.

Was it true? He could only recall the bitter jab of rejection that she hadn’t wanted to drop everything and be with him. What a jerk I was. She had moved from San Francisco to St. Clair to be with her husband. Which meant his carefully constructed belief might have been wrong. She might have been telling the truth.

What the hell?

If I hadn’t given her an ultimatum– Nope. Not going there.

Been there, done that, lost the sweatshirt to prove it.

He gritted his teeth and ordered a beer. The bar was busy for a Wednesday afternoon. A couple of women nodded at him, and he returned the greeting without a clue who they were. He rubbed his eyes. He’d spent most of last night and the whole day writing, and his shoulders were stiff.

He swallowed a mouthful of beer as a mountain of a guy appeared next to him. His arm was slung around a beautiful brunette.

“Hey.” The guy held out a hand. “I’m Jacob, and this is Melanie. Heard you put on a good show the other day. I would’ve come, but there was no room left. I think most of the female population of St. Clair was crammed in to meet you.”

“He’s only jealous. He used to be the town playboy. But seriously, you were great.”

“Glad you enjoyed it. Paige runs good events,” Adam said.

“Humph.” Melanie snorted

“Honey, we’ve talked about this.” Jacob made a clicking noise.

“Fine. Paige Taylor is a town treasure. Whatever would we do without her? Happy?” The last part was delivered to Jacob, who rewarded her with a kiss. Adam tried to plan an exit strategy. Being around lovers wasn’t his idea of a good time.

“Nice to meet you both.” He picked up his drink and peered around for a spare seat. There was one at the far corner.

“You, too,” Melanie said, following his gaze. “Though, word of warning. If you go that way, you’ll get jumped by Arthur Lewis and his wife. Nice folks, but they’ll talk your ear off about a Scandinavian cruise they went on. Fifteen years ago. There are photos.”

“Sounds ominous,” he said as the couple in question gave him a little wave. He nodded in the other direction. “What about over there? Safe?”

“Sure,” Melanie said with a shrug. “If you like line dancing.”

“Does anyone?” He blinked.

“Yup,” Jacob said as the bartender slid across a glass of wine and a bottle of Bud. “The Lang brothers are married to two sisters, and they teach a class every Wednesday. They’ll have you heel-toeing in no time.”

“This place sounds like shark-infested waters.”

“You have no idea,” Jacob agreed in a pleasant voice. “You should see the town meetings. Carnage.”

“He’s exaggerating,” Melanie said. “Though not by much. It’s safest if you come and sit with us.”

“I—” Adam started to open his mouth but shut it again as a group of girls not much older than the drinking age beelined toward him. He gave them a grateful smile. “Sure.”

An hour later, he got to his feet. Melanie and Jacob had kept him laughing by describing their rocky courtship in hilarious details, then insisting he join them the following morning for breakfast, treating him like a long-lost friend. Even more unexpectedly, he’d said yes.

He’d left his car at the bookstore in favor of the exercise. He walked down to the water to make his way back. As he went, Miley Cyrus blasted out from his phone. He ignored it. A text message followed.

You know I’ll keep calling, right? Talk to me or I’ll arrange to get you on People’s “Ten Worst Ex-Husbands” list.

He’d spoken to Eloise briefly, congratulating her on the baby news before adding that he was staying in St. Clair for two months. Since then, he’d been avoiding her calls, not quite ready for her sympathy. Or for the reminder that he sucked at love.

Groups of people were walking along the sandy beach, and on the reserve families were setting up grills and tents as kids ran around screaming and laughing. He turned and headed in the other direction.

The crowds thinned out as he reached a grassy verge overlooking the water. There were a couple of bench seats up ahead, as well as a gray-haired woman wearing a tuxedo and holding a shovel. She was about seventy. Beads of sweat ran down her brow as she slammed the shovel into the ground. It failed to break the earth.

She lifted her head and summoned him over.

“You look like you’ve used one of these before.” She thrust it at him. “I need a hole about a foot deep. Think you’re up for it?”

“Sure.” He took the shovel and plunged it into the spot where she’d been digging. The soil was hard, and the metal handle vibrated up and down his arm. The dry earth finally broke, and with the next thrust the soil gave way completely.

She nodded in approval and smoothed down the tuxedo. It was teamed with a baby blue bow tie and cummerbund much like his own prom outfit a million years ago.

“So. You’re the writer,” she said as he continued to dig. The rich scent of broken dirt combined with the sea air tickled his nose.

“I am. And you’re the woman who—” He paused. “Actually, I’m not sure what you’re doing.”

“Tilly.” She grinned and held out a hand. “You could say I’m in the death business.”

“Death business? Sounds ominous.” He raised an eyebrow, now thoroughly intrigued. To think that he’d dismissed St. Clair as being boring. With her short-cropped hair and round face, she looked like she’d been raised on apple pie and milk. “Tell me, Tilly. Are we committing a crime?”

“No. Definitely not—” She paused, and her blue eyes filled with consideration. “Actually, digging up public land probably is a crime, but we’re not burying any bones. It’s for Douglas Right.”

“Okay.” Adam was none the wiser. It must have shown on his face, and she laughed while at the same time pointing her finger to the ground. He dug deeper, the unexpected exercise humming through his veins.

“I’m a funeral director,” she explained. “I buried Douglas’s wife five years ago, but I’ve kept an eye on him. I can usually tell the ones who’ll recover and ones who won’t. Doug was the latter. Poor guy. Anyway, he was taken to the hospital with pneumonia yesterday. I figured I’d get a memory box together. Some photos, the penknife he always kept in his pocket, his favorite cookies…that kind of thing.”

Adam stopped digging and wiped his own sweat away. He’d been in his gated community for five years and was only on nodding terms with a guy who wore a cowboy hat while washing his yellow Porsche and a woman with two white dogs who power walked along the beach beneath his balcony each day.

Yet after being in St. Clair for two days, he knew Jacob and Melanie’s life story and was now aiding and abetting a funeral director on behalf of a widower named Doug. It was unexpectedly satisfying.

“And the soil?”

Tilly nodded to the nearby bench seat and produced a glass jar from a box on the ground. “He proposed to Mary Hinchcliffe here. Sixty years ago now. Has a photo of it in the cottage. I can’t lug the bench up to him, so I figured this was the next best thing. But no dry earth. Something rich and full of life.” Then she fixed him with a level stare. “You going to tell me I’m mad?”

“Not when you bury people for a living.” He grinned, meeting her unflinching look. “I think it’s nice.”

It was true. He wondered who’d bother to dig up the ground to give him some soil. Ryan might, if he thought of it, but somehow Adam doubted anyone else would. He took the large glass jar from her hands. It still had a giant pickle on the front label.

“You’re in the minority. Some folk around here think it’s odd to make a memory box,” she said as Adam lowered himself to the ground and pushed the glass jar into the rich, dark soil. The earthy scent mingled with the sea air, and he breathed it in, the knot in his shoulders loosening. He shook the soil down into the jar and twisted the lid on.

“Trying to change what other people think about you is like banging your head against a wall.” He’d learned that the hard way when people started calling him Doctor Josh and asking him for advice. At first, he’d refused, but after being branded rude, he’d ended up going along with it. Feeling more and more like a fraud every day.

“I like you. Now, pick that box up and carry it to my car,” she instructed, though her eyes were twinkling. Her abrupt air was amusing, and he covered the hole up, hoisted the shovel over his shoulder, and followed her to a bright pink hearse.

“That’s some ride.” He lifted an eyebrow.

“It lets folks know straight up if I’m the funeral director for them.” She shrugged, pride in her voice. “Just because I’m in the death business doesn’t mean it needs to be all black and gloomy.”

“I like it,” he said. His mother had died ten years ago, and the funeral had been as cool and clinical as she’d been in life. He supposed it had been a good match.

“I actually think you mean it.” She hit a remote, and the passenger door opened. He put the box on the floor. “So, Adam Fitzpatrick, what are your thoughts on climbing a tree?”

“Up until a minute ago, I wasn’t aware I had any thoughts on it. Let me guess: Doug liked trees?” He wiped the dirt from his hands. The wide sky was still impossibly bright as it stretched out across the Pacific Ocean. He had a similar view from his L.A. apartment, but it seemed different, condensed. More edited. Out here, it was like the director’s cut of the same scene.

“Robin eggshells. There’s a nest over in the walnut tree. Of course, the only way of knowing if there are any shells is for someone to go up.”

Adam studied her. He suspected if he hadn’t come along, she would have been the one climbing the tree. Tuxedo and all. He liked her style. And how long had it been since he’d done anything unexpected?

Once upon a time, his life had been based on spontaneous decisions. Quitting a crap job? Moving to a new city? Writing a book when he didn’t have a clue what it involved? Sure. Sign him up.

The irony wasn’t lost. His spontaneous decisions had led him into the exact kind of life he’d tried to avoid. Even being on tour had somehow become a routine. Not to mention lonely.

Why the hell not climb a tree to help some old guy in the hospital?

“Lead the way,” he said just as footsteps sounded out behind him.

“Sorry I’m late,” a voice puffed, followed by a sharp bark. He spun around as Laney walked toward them, a long ladder awkwardly tucked under one arm. She adjusted it against her hip to stop it from dragging on the ground. It had the added benefit of highlighting her curves beneath the sapphire blue dress.

Her eyes flashed in annoyance. It helped cool him down.

“Just in time. I’ve got an extra recruit.” Tilly marched in the direction of a clump of trees. Laney gave her a weak smile and then turned to Adam, mouth pinched.

“What are you doing here?” she snapped in a tight whisper as she walked. The ladder slipped from her arms, and she paused to right it. The fabric strained more, and he swallowed. Would she bite his head off if he offered to carry it? Probably. Which meant there was no point asking. He plucked it from her arms. As expected, she glared at him.

“I thought that was obvious.” He easily balanced the ladder under his arm.

“But why?” she demanded, color rising up her cheeks. She’d always been cute when she was mad. The fact he was turned on by someone who unabashedly hated him probably wasn’t a good sign. In his defense, seeing her with a ladder, obviously planning to help Tilly, reminded him of the Laney he’d first met.

Sweet and wild. The one who did like being spontaneous and taking risks.

“Because I offered,” he said, then frowned. “Actually. I might have been shanghaied. Want me to go?”

“Yes. Absolutely,” she said, not missing a beat. Before he could reply, Tilly spun around, waving for them to catch up.

“Everything okay?”

Laney’s face underwent a series of transformations. He suspected it involved a bit of mental swearing.

“Everything’s fine. Let’s go find these eggs.” She pushed past him, her glossy hair tumbling down her back as she walked away. He remembered another time, when they been hiking and she’d run ahead before swinging around to face him, her T-shirt gone to reveal a tiny bra.

The memory hit him like a generator, and his nerve endings hummed with energy. His breathing quickened as she stalked away, oblivious to the effect she was having on him.

Oh, hell. He always had been a slow learner.

…

What was it with Adam Fitzpatrick and trees? Laney gritted her teeth and clutched at the ladder to keep it steady. She’d only offered to help because she hated the idea of Tilly climbing. The fact he’d obviously thought the same thing only annoyed her more.

He promised to stay out of her way, yet here he was, being all rugged and smelling of nice things. Her fingers tightened around the ladder, and she kept her focus firmly ahead on the bark of the walnut tree. No good could come from looking up.

“Got some.” He lowered himself down. He used one hand to hold onto the ladder while the other was cradled against his chest. “Here, if you take these, I’ll go back up. There’s a second nest.”

She looked.

Damn.

His strong legs were pressed against the ladder, so close that all she needed to do was reach out and touch them. Her knuckles tightened on the frame as she reluctantly climbed the first two rungs so she could reach his outstretched hand. He leaned forward, carefully holding out the collection of delicate blue shells in his large palm.

It was an enticing combination of soft and hard. His fingers grazed the side of hers as he carefully deposited the shells into her hand. Invisible heat caressed her skin.

Doesn’t mean anything.

Nor did the memory teasing at the edges of her mind. Despite having a job that kept him at the computer, he’d always been active. Cycling, jogging, hiking. Making love—

“Well done, Adam,” Tilly said from somewhere behind Laney. It snapped her out of the thrall. She drew her hand protectively into her chest and hurried down the ladder. Just because he was helping Tilly didn’t mean a thing. Adam Fitzpatrick was bad news. She had the book to prove it.