Carolina Girl (7 page)

Maybe it was wishful thinking on her part, but it sounded as
if he was waiting to be convinced otherwise. “We need the park,”
she answered cautiously, feeling her way. “If the state doesn’t
save the beach, someone else will eventually build condos on it. It’s the
swamp the state isn’t interested in that worries me.”

“Even a park will destroy the nests and marsh.”
Setting the bottle down, McCloud folded his arm combatively over his chest,
daring her to disagree with his cynical assessment. “A park will attract
people and reduce the habitat.”

“Other parks have installed signs and fences keeping
people away from the turtles. It’s the lights from development that are
harmful.” She didn’t know why she bothered arguing. He
wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t care, and wouldn’t do anything
about it. She needed to pick Cissy up, and he was in her way.

“What did you think would get built around a park if
not condos and hotels—peach stands?” he asked sarcastically.
“That will make a difference.”

That did it. She didn’t have to stand here and take
any guff from an outsider who hadn’t lived here and wouldn’t live
here and who understood nothing. He blocked her exit from the kitchen or
she’d just walk out.

Poking his chest with her finger—and trying not to
think about the unyielding strength of that muscular plane—Rory nudged
him out of her way. “Fruit and vegetable stands, concrete monuments, gas
stations and minimarts, basket stands, whatever the locals darned well feel
like putting along the road. Why shouldn’t development benefit the people
who live here? Why the dickens should outsiders be the ones who profit?”

“Dickens?” He lifted an inquiring eyebrow but
didn’t retreat any farther than the stool at the counter.

She poked Clay’s chest harder, annoyed that he merely
looked down at her, annoyed that she didn’t seem to intimidate him in the
least. She’d learned to overcome her embarrassment at towering over most
men, knew how to use her size effectively when necessary, but he didn’t
seem in the least bit fazed. “People here aren’t stupid. They may
lack education, but they know what’s good for them, and you don’t.
If you’re not here to help, then you’re part of the problem.”

Abruptly he caught her by the waist and set her down on the
stool as if she were no more than a sack of groceries.

No man had ever attempted to lift her, much less move her.
Too stunned to register anything else, Rory almost missed what he had to say.

“You can’t bully me like you bully everyone
else, Xena, Warrior Princess. If you want help, don’t drive it off when
it arrives.”

She looked appropriately startled, Clay noted with
satisfaction. He didn’t usually manhandle women, but he figured
she’d started it. If they were going to work together, they had to lay
some ground rules—starting with leaving his starving libido alone.

He couldn’t believe he’d actually suggested they
could work together. Impulsiveness was the bane of his existence. They
couldn’t even agree on what was best for the island except that it wasn’t
condos.

“Warrior Princess?” she echoed his words in
disbelief.

So he’d taken a flight of fantasy. He shrugged it off.
“Would you prefer Wonder Woman?”

“How about Amazon Queen?”

He couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or
laughing at him. He grabbed the water bottle and backed off. “My brother
is a comic aficionado. Some of it rubbed off.”

Damn, but she did look like some kind of queen sitting there
on her royal throne gazing down on the peasants. A strand of hair had escaped
her long braid and curled along her cheek, softening the firm line of her jaw.
He didn’t know a thing about women’s clothing, but the royal purple
knit tank top suited her. Suited him, as well. He had some difficulty focusing
on her face and not her cleavage.

She’d been warm and supple and alive in his hands, and
he wanted them around her waist again, but he didn’t have a clue how to
go about it without getting his face slapped.

“How does one graduate from an adolescent who reads
comics to an aficionado?” She jumped down from the stool and stalked
toward the front door.

Hell, she both irritated and tempted him at the same time.
How did she do that?

He really wanted to kiss her. He’d go nuts looking at
that mouth of hers without learning how it felt beneath his.

“By making a million or so drawing them?”
Knowing he wanted to kiss another MBA should drive him straight to his bike,
but he lingered in her emerald Easter egg of a living room, absorbing details
he’d missed the first time through.

He’d grown up in a Long Island mansion with
professionally decorated rooms of Oriental carpets, designer fabrics, and
antiques he hadn’t been allowed to touch. He’d moved to California
and a streamlined beach house of glass and wood and leather. He knew this room
was done in appallingly bad taste from any standard he was aware of, from the
green velvet sectional sofa to the cheap walnut bookshelves, but he felt at
home here. Which was unusual. He never felt at home anywhere except in front of
his computer.

When he didn’t immediately follow her to the door, she
swung around, her braid flying. “A million dollars? Your brother made a
million dollars drawing
comics
?”

He should have known money would catch her attention.
Shoving his hands into his jean pockets, he returned his undivided fascination
to Xena.
Rory
really didn’t fit her. “I don’t ask him
for financial statements. He’s not starving. Now, are we working together
or not?”

He’d caught her so off guard that she stared at him
with complete unself-consciousness, giving him time to appreciate the impact of
purple pansy eyes, long lashes, and a wide mouth parted slightly in
astonishment. He liked her with her defenses down. What would he have to do to
keep her like that?

“How would we work together?” she demanded,
sensibly enough. “You’re the one who will provide the state with
the list of Binghams and sell us out.”

“If I don’t give them the list, you won’t
have your park.”

“You don’t even believe there should be a
park,” she countered.

“
I’m
not the problem. You’re the
one who has a problem if you want to force the state to do things your way. I
can just throw out the program, tear up the list of Binghams, walk away, and
protect turtle nests by stopping the park.” Until the state hired someone
else.

He knew better than to believe he had a snowball’s chance
of halting the park, but there was some tiny chance they might limit
development in the swamp behind it—if he and the MBA princess could work
together.

At his mention of stopping the park, a look of panic reached
her eyes, and he wondered what that was all about. What in hell did she have
riding on a state park? Not that he cared about her hidden agendas, of course.

“The county zoning commission,” she murmured,
drawing back from her dazed state and looking confident again. “They need
a recommended-land-use plan.”

“I’m not a lawyer, but zoning sounds like a good
start.” If he was smart, he’d be wary when she started looking
confident. “What about the EPA? Aren’t the turtles
protected?”

She grabbed her purse and pulled out her keys, still not
looking at him. “They’re loggerheads, threatened but not protected.
But we can bring in environmental groups and try for some temporary injunctions
until zoning can be decided. Development can’t be halted. We need the
money out here.”

“Along the highway only,” he persisted, wanting
parameters established. Condos in the wooded swamp next door to Cleo and Jared
would destroy their safe haven.

He told himself it was for Cleo and Jared that he did this.
He couldn’t think of any other reason to be involved.

As if she heard his thoughts, she shouldered her purse and
pinned him with her glare. “And what do you get out of this?”

Time with you
didn’t seem to be the appropriate
answer. He probably didn’t have an appropriate answer.

Clay snapped his helmet on. She didn’t budge an inch
but stood practically nose-to-nose with him, waiting for a reply.

“I’m paying penance for my former life, okay?
Just tell me if you want my help or not, and I’ll get out of here.”

Oddly, his heart beat a tattoo while she considered his
offer. He really didn’t want to get involved, he told himself. He was
waiting for her to boot him out so he could go back to his cloistered world and
work. He didn’t know why he’d volunteered in the first place.

“All right.” She whirled around and started for
a sweet little Beamer beside the house. “I’ve got your phone
number. I’ll call you when I have a list of the zoning restrictions and
commission meeting dates. Initial that budget I gave you and get it back to
me.”

Clay did his best not to grin as she slammed into her car
and roared off in a cloud of sand. That attitude of hers worked fine when she
was wearing the armor of her business suits, but failed completely in royal
purple with paint on her nose.

With a pang of guilt, he realized he’d been judging
Aurora Jenkins by her business suits, just as people judged him by his
appearance or his job title or his financial statements. He’d learned to
deliberately use his looks and bad attitude to steer people away.

So what was she hiding behind her suits of armor?

And why the hell did he itch to find out?

Rubbing his fingers beneath his helmet while surrounded by
reflecting balls and laughing dwarves, he wondered if he’d finally let
his last screw loose. Jared would laugh his fool head off when he heard about
this.

Unable to justify the expense of a cell phone when the
island reception was iffy on a good day, Rory had canceled hers when she moved
home. She regretted that decision now as she huddled with the cordless in her
bedroom, away from the trailer’s other inhabitants, keeping her voice low
while she tried to argue with a car dealer in Charleston over the BMW’s
worth, without success.

Grimacing, she clicked off the receiver and looked up to see
Cissy stepping out of the bathroom, robe wrapped around her, hair still damp,
watching her with curiosity. Cissy’s end of the trailer only had a
shower, so she had been using Aurora’s tub.

“Did that whirlpool gadget help?” Rory had put
the device on her credit card with some vague hope that by next month, she
could pay for it.

Her severance package might cover groceries and utilities
for a while longer, but somebody in this family needed to start working soon.

“It felt good,” Cissy admitted. “I tried
to do too much yesterday. Who were you talking to?”

“I’m still trying to sell the Beamer. We need to
make an expedition into Charleston, I guess, pick out a truck and trade it
in.”

“They’ll give you cash back?”

She had no idea. The Beamer was the first car she’d
ever owned. But Cissy was looking at her expectantly, and Rory hated to
disappoint her. “I’m sure we’ll find someone willing to deal.
Maybe we can even swing two trucks and some cash. We’ll have to think
about what’s best.”

She’d be stranded in this trailer if she didn’t
have transportation of her own. Trapped. Her breath caught in her throat with
that panicky thought, but she shoved the panic aside. Family first. She’d
find her way out again.

“Daddy will know someone with an old truck they want
to sell,” Cissy said with a shrug. “You shouldn’t have to
sell your car. What do you think of that guy he brought out yesterday?”

Unable to sprawl across the high bed with her damaged hip,
Cissy merely leaned against it. She was only three years older than Rory, but
she’d stepped into their mother’s role with natural talent.

Panic momentarily checked, Rory accepted the part of younger
sister that they both needed right now. They’d spent many an evening
sprawled across this bed after Mandy had gone to sleep, talking of beaus and
life and love.

“Scary,” Rory answered without thought. At
Cissy’s raised eyebrows, she regretted the admission. “McCloud has
some weird California notion that we need to preserve the whole island.”
She might admire his idealism if she didn’t think it was selfishness
behind his offer to help.

“I don’t think that’s what I asked,”
Cissy said dryly. “He doesn’t talk much. How did you get that out
of him?”

“He talks, when he’s so inclined. He saw a
turtle nest yesterday and was suitably impressed. You did good.” Unable
to sit still, Rory roamed the room, tucking away cosmetics and combs and
hairpins.

“He’s from California. He rides a bike. He hangs
out at the Monkey. He’s a little too much like Daddy, don’t you
think?”

“Probably.” Rory picked up her budget file and
flipped it open. She had too many things to do to discuss men, especially ones
whose macho attitude concealed a dangerous level of intelligence. “But he
knows computers and has a millionaire brother, so he could be useful.”

“A millionaire brother?” Cissy waited for more.

“Something about his brother being a comic artist. I
didn’t ask questions. I wanted to pick you up before Pops talked you into
riding home with him.”

“You know better than that.” Crossing her arms,
Cissy watched her walk around the room. “I’ve heard about a guy on
the other side of the swamp who draws comic strips. He married the owner of the
hardware store. Didn’t know he was a millionaire. I don’t think
they have anything fancy over there.”

Small town gossip never changed. The grapevine was useful,
but Rory didn’t know how much she wanted to get involved. She just wanted
to talk with the zoning commission and be done. “McCloud is living in a
shack down by the beach behind the old Newsome house. If his brother owns the
Newsome place, then they’ve fixed it up some.”