Beauty and the Beach (14 page)

~~~

Adam heard Izzy come inside, but he continued to work on the thick gold bracelet, setting precious stones around the middle. When he didn't hear anything more, rather than get up, he picked up his phone and texted: Where are you? A minute later he heard his phone beep and eagerly reached for it.

I'm pulling weeds in the backyard.

He considered telling her he had a guy come in for that once a week, but figured she wanted to feel useful so he hesitated, then texted again: You should come up here and talk to me while I work.

I would…but I'm not allowed in the workshop, remember?

Adam smiled: I could make an exception.

No way. I wouldn't dream of having the rules bent for me. Rules are made to be followed.

Adam chuckled, his thumbs busily tapping the screen: There's rules, and there's rules. In the military we have our orders. What if I ordered you to come up here?

Lol. Good luck with that.

He laughed: What if I came out and joined you?

Sorry, but there aren't enough weeds to go around.

I could come and observe. I could point out all the weeds you missed. Phone in hand, Adam waited. When she didn't respond right away, he checked what he'd written and wondered if he'd crossed a line. He stood and considered going to the window to check and see if she had her phone in her hand but didn't want her to catch him spying. Finally the phone beeped.

Lol. Only if you have a death wish.

He laughed again: Fine. Do you have any plans tonight?

No. Why?

I was thinking that since all you do is work and all I do is work, maybe we should plan something fun for later.

Again there was a long pause as Adam checked and rechecked his phone. Finally it beeped.

That sounds fun, but it won't be a date or anything, right?

Adam blew out a breath as some of the fun leaked out of the situation. She wasn’t ready to date. Everything was complicated at the moment. He needed to remember that. He quickly texted: No way. I'm still waiting for the end of summer for my date so don't rush me, okay? Just friends hanging out.

Lol. Okay. What did you have in mind?

While it’s still light out we could make sandwiches and go down to the beach and look for seashells for a project I'm working on.

Note to self: Come up with seashell project idea.

So basically you're looking for slave labor? Okay. I'm in.

He laughed again: Good. I'll meet you in the kitchen at 6:00.

She sent back a smiley face icon.

He set the phone down, leaned back in his chair, laced his hands behind his head, and grinned. She might not think this was a date, but like his dad always said, a rose by any other name…

~~~

Caitlyn checked her low-cut blouse, decided the girls were perfectly displayed, and opened the wood and glass doors to Wilder’s Jewelry. She stepped inside the elegant store, high heels clicking on the wood floor. After talking it over with her aunt, they’d decided the best way to impress Adam would be to wear his jewelry and thus demonstrate how much she loved it and, of course, Adam by association. As she well knew, flattery was the best way to woo a man.

She spotted a tall, thin, and slightly sullen-faced man cleaning one of the jewelry displays. He looked about her own age. “Hello?”

He straightened, interest brightening his eyes. “Hello. Welcome to Wilder’s,” he said warmly. “How may I help you today?”

She held out a hand. “I’m Caitlyn Gilroy.”

He gripped her hand a little too firmly and she could feel every bone in his stick-like fingers. “Frank Finn. I’m the manager here.”

“Manager?” He was definitely not the same man who’d been there the last time. That gentleman had given her a twenty percent discount and, since she was running low on funds--at least until she received her divorce settlement, or could convince Adam to marry her--she needed the break. “Where is the older gentleman who helped me the last time?”

Frank’s upper lip curled. “You must mean Stephen.”

“I don’t remember his name.”

“About six feet tall, gray hair?” There was a definite sneer in the man’s tone. “A recovering alcoholic?” That last part she hadn’t known. Nor did she care. She just wanted the discount and didn’t want to haggle for it.

“A recovering alcoholic?” she said, putting a touch of horror in her voice. “How ridiculous that he was a manager at a store of this prestige.”

“Yes. If you can believe it, he got the job ahead of me.”

Ah. Hence the sullenness? “Amazing. So, what happened to him?”

He leaned on the glass counter and said in a low, conspiratorial tone, “If you really want to know, a necklace went missing. And not just any necklace, it was the Starfire, the best piece in Mr. Wilder’s collection.”

Now she really did feel horrified. Anything of Adam’s could also be hers in the near future. “That’s terrible.”

Frank nodded. “The owner hasn’t said anything yet, but in my opinion the ex-manager is the main suspect. Let me show you something.”

He pulled a laptop from behind the counter against the wall, tapped the keyboard for a few moments, then set it on the glass in front of her, swung it around, and showed her a picture of a necklace.

Instantly mesmerized, breath catching in her throat, Caitlyn put a hand to her chest and leaned forward, a hank of long dark hair falling over one shoulder. Set against white velvet, the golden star glittered with rubies, diamonds, and sapphires. It was the single most beautiful piece of jewelry she’d ever seen. She wanted it, and was suddenly miffed with that Stephen person for stealing it. It had to be hers. When she married Adam, she’d insist on one just like it for their wedding. She finally tore her gaze away to catch Frank ogling her chest. “It’s gorgeous. You’re positive it was stolen?”

The man met her gaze and shrugged. “I don’t know for sure. But it went missing at the same time our manager was fired.” He straightened. “Since I replaced him, I’m officially in the management position at the moment. Hopefully it’s a permanent appointment.”

“No one has been accused at this point?”

“No. But Stephen Kenna certainly looks suspicious.”

Her brows rose. “Did you say Kenna?”

“Yes. Stephen Kenna.”

“There’s a girl living with Mr. Wilder right now named Isabelle Kenna. Any relation?”

There was a slight hesitation before Frank audibly swallowed. “You’ve met Mr. Wilder?”

She nodded. “I’m his neighbor.”

“I suppose it could be Stephen’s daughter. The older one who works at the Veteran's Hospital. She’s living with Mr. Wilder?”

“Yes, that’s her.”

Frank looked uncomfortable, and worry lines gathered between his brows. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.”

She adjusted her designer purse on her shoulder and smiled slowly. “Don’t worry, I won’t say a word. Now as it happens I’m here to purchase a necklace, and I’m hoping for a bit of a discount. Last time Mr. Kenna gave me twenty percent off. What do you say?”

He looked relieved, no doubt hoping a favor would seal her mouth on the subject of Stephen Kenna’s daughter. “For a returning customer? Let’s make it twenty-five.”

She smiled at him. “Thank you. That sounds perfect.”

~~~

Four hours later, Adam arrived in the kitchen at six o’clock and Isabelle lifted a pretty pink bag. “Dinner's ready.”

“It's all done? Do you need any help?”

Isabelle lifted an eyebrow. “It's turkey sandwiches, water bottles, and cut up fruit and veggies. Do you have a problem with that, Chef Wilder?”

“No. I just like cooking with you. I’m sorry I missed it.”

She couldn't help but smile. “Me, too.”

He picked up the bag. “Let's go, then.”

They headed down to the beach, grabbed the two chairs, and dragged them closer to the shore. Isabelle opened the beach bag and handed him his dinner. As they both sat back and opened the sandwiches, Isabelle dug her feet into the sand. “I love this. I feel like I'm at a vacation resort or something.”

Adam opened the baggie of grapes and handed one to her. “Your grape, madam.”

She giggled, took the grape and popped it into her mouth, taking a few more from the bag he held out.

As they ate their dinner and watched the waves ebb and flow, reaching their toes then moving back, Izzy sighed. “Now that I know this beach is here, you might find me trespassing. After I go back home, I mean.”

“Anytime.”

She wasn’t sure if it was the sun, or the way he was looking at her, but she suddenly felt warm all over. Her gaze dropped to the sand. “Where are the crabs?”

“They won't come out when the sun is shining. They’re most active on cloudy days or closer to sunset.”

“How often are you down here on the beach?”

“Not as much as you’d think.”

“That’s the way it always is, isn’t it? We don’t live too far from the beach, but I swear we hardly ever go there. We always go for the yearly carnival, though. Have you been?”

As he answered, she watched him talk and acknowledged that she liked asking him questions so she could stare at him. His dark hair only seemed to accentuate his tanned and rugged face, all harsh lines and planes. The jagged scar looked intriguingly masculine, giving him dashing and slightly piratical look. She wondered if it bothered him. He certainly didn’t seem self-conscious about it.

She studied his muscled neck, broad shoulders, muscular chest, and long legs. She raised her gaze to meet his--green and intense as he watched her examine him. When he smiled, she gave a quick smile in return and looked away.

Whew!

Her heart had picked up speed and she willed it to slow again. She placed her trash in the beach bag and held it open for him. After he placed his own in the bag, she dug out plastic grocery sacks, handed him one, then set the bag aside. “Are you ready to look for seashells?”

“Sure.”

They started walking on the shore and it didn’t take Isabelle long to find a shell. She picked it up. “It has a chip, but it's still pretty. Can you use it?”

Rather than take it, he held her hand and turned it to study the white shell. She felt electrified by his touch, breathless, and when he looked into her face and studied her for a long moment, she didn’t move; didn’t want to. His gaze dropped to her lips and her own fastened on his. Finally he let go of her hand and stepped back. “That's a good one,” he said, his voice a little hoarse. “Let’s see if we can find more.”

She was grateful when he turned away to search the sand. It allowed her to remember to breathe again, to let her heart slow to a normal rate. She placed the shell in the sack and continued on, putting a bit of space between them.

“Look at this one.” He held up a small shell, tiny but perfect.

“Nice. So do you do this often? Search for shells, I mean?”

“This is the first time since I was a kid. What about you? Do you have a hobby?”

She shook her head. “I haven’t really had time for much but work and school, cooking and cleaning. You?”

“Other than cooking, no. I've been busy these last years. So what if we did have hobbies? What would you do if you had the time?”

“Made-up hobbies for time-challenged people? I like it,” she said. “The next time someone asks us, we should be ready. But they have to be interesting so we don’t sound lame, and maybe general so the details are easy. Let’s practice. You first. So, Adam, do you have any hobbies?”

“Skydiving.”

“That’s a good one. Exciting, but simple. Put on a pack, jump out of a plane. If anyone asks about how it’s done, you can claim the instructor packed your parachute and you don’t have the details.”

“What about you? What do you like to do with all your spare time?”

She reached down and picked up a shell. “I take long walks on the beach and look for seashells.”

“Cheater.”

She laughed. “Fine. I like to read.”

“What do you read?”

“Good books.”

He smiled. “You’d better be careful with that one. People will want details and recommendations.”

“Not if I say steamy romances.”

“Depends who you tell. Some guys will definitely press you for the details.”

She laughed. “Your turn. But I already know what you’re going to say.” At his questioning look, she said, “Scrapbooking.”

He laughed. “No way. I already get harassed for the jewelry making and the cooking. My friends tell me if I wasn’t a Marine, I’d be a girl.”

“And that’s an insult, is it?”

He laughed. “I’m not touching that. Back to the subject at hand before I get myself into trouble. How about hand-to-hand combat?”

“While that sounds manly, and you probably know how to do it, it’s not really a hobby, is it?”

“Why not? I’m sticking with it. Your turn.”

“I’m out. I can’t think of anything.”