Shadowed Paradise (3 page)

“
Glad I came along.” His eyes lingered
on her, as if to emphasize his words. He dropped her hand and
grasped the pickup’s steering wheel so tightly Claire wondered if
he needed an anchor. She certainly did.

“
Sea Grape’s off Bay Road,
right?”

Startled out of churning emotions mixed with
uncomfortable memories, Claire seized the pragmatic inquiry like a
lifeline. “Yes. It’s a private road, just dirt. Sand and shells,
actually.” Dear God, she was babbling like a teen on a first
date.

“
That must be Virginia Bentley’s place.
Are you visiting her?”

“
She’s my grandmother. Jamie and I are
living with her now. We moved down here about three months
ago.”

“
I met her at the library once. Signed
one of her books for me. Nice lady. Golden Beach takes pride in
having a best-selling author living here.”

Surprise. A Florida redneck who recognized
Ginny’s name. Men were not prone to read Gothic novels, and Ginny
had been retired for more than a decade, her seventieth birthday
coinciding with a dwindling market for first-person tales of
heroines, frequently naive and helpless, who ventured into a
stunning variety of dangers and evidently gave birth through
immaculate conception.

And now her peaceful home on the Intracoastal
Waterway had been invaded by a granddaughter and
great-grandson.

“
Ginny was kind enough to give us a
home until we can manage a place of our own,” Claire explained,
working hard not to sound defensive. “I’ve already got a job, and I
think we’re settling in pretty well. Unfortunately . . . I didn’t
have sense enough to realize we shouldn’t have been out on the road
tonight.”

Brad hid a gleam of satisfaction under
cover of darkness.
No husband
.
“It’s a mistake anyone could have made,” he assured her. “Not even
the old-timers have ever seen rain like this.”

“
Aren’t you an old-timer?”

The question from behind surprised Brad into
a choking cough. “Uh, not that old, Jamie. I’m talking about people
who’ve been here for sixty or seventy years. Some whose families
have been here for more than a hundred years, since Florida was one
big open range with ranchers making their living shipping cattle to
Cuba.

“
Cattle? You’re kidding.

“
No way.” Brad glanced sideways at the
woman sitting so primly beside him. “Hasn’t your mom taken you
anywhere but the beach? This town has several ranches. There’s even
a small one still holding out close to the center of town. And some
bigger ranches not more than ten minutes from the beach. Also a
couple of horse farms.”

“
You sure?” Though obviously determined
to mind his manners, Jamie’s skepticism was clear.

“
I can see you need a proper tour of
this town. Golden Beach is a lot more than sunshine and tourists.”
He opened his mouth to offer them Brad Blue’s personal tour of the
real Golden Beach when it occurred to him that rushing fences was
one of his faults—or so people kept telling him. Just because
Claire Langdon had a certain appeal, even disheveled and dripping
wet, didn’t necessarily mean she returned the sentiment. “Where’re
you working, Claire?” Brad asked, switching to the safety of the
commonplace.

How on earth did he know her name? Stupid.
The same way he knew her address. She’d written it down twice,
hadn’t she? Obviously, the man could read. “I’m doing computer
marketing for a real estate firm.”

“
Which one?”

“
Tierney and Tierney.”

“
Ah.” There was a small, significant
pause. “Good old TNT. So you’re working for Phil.”

Phil was Philippa Tierney, owner of T & T
Realty, founded by her father when Golden Beach was little more
than a cluster of stores a couple of blocks back from the beach.
The office now occupied two adjacent storefronts on Main Street,
one devoted to sales, the other to Golden Beach’s second prime
business, seasonal rentals. T & T’s logo, an explosion of
fireworks, was considered an appropriate symbol of what had
happened to Golden Beach in the last forty years. Naturally, the
natives referred to the business as TNT.

“
It’s quite an organization,” Claire
said with genuine admiration. “The complexities of the rental
business never cease to amaze me. It’s been a real eye-opener. I
love the computer work, but I’m thinking of getting my real estate
license. Marketing someone else’s listings is never going to put us
in a place of our own, and I don’t want to be a burden to Ginny any
longer than I have to.”

“
Every other person in town has a real
estate license. You’d do better to get a job in Manatee
Bay.”

“
But I like T & T,” Claire
protested, “and I don’t want to be away from Jamie any longer than
I have to. Manatee Bay’s a forty-five minute commute. Each
way.”

“
Suit yourself, but unless you’re a
nurse, this town is a tough place for a woman alone. And I mention
nurses only because there are so many medical jobs available. But
even for them decent low-cost housing is hard to find. Golden Beach
is a town for people who come here with money. Retirees, seasonal
visitors. Everybody else—from doctors, lawyers and bankers to real
estate agents, plumbers, electricians, store clerks, the kids
waiting tables—we’re just here to serve. Yes, ma’am, no, ma’am.
Right away, massuh, suh.”

Claire took a deep breath, paused to compare
her admittedly naive view of Golden Beach with their rescuer’s
cynicism. “Do I detect a slight chip?” she inquired.

“
We grow up with it around here. Kids
are not to be seen or heard unless old enough to bag groceries,
stock shelves, bus tables. They’re not supposed to live next door,
play games, shout, listen to rock, express opinions. Basically,
they’re not supposed to exist until they’re old enough to be
useful.”

“
That’s not a chip, that’s a
log.”

“
Admitted. I spent the first
twenty-some years of my life in this town. And the last two. The
only thing that’s changed is that it’s gotten a hell of a lot
larger. The attitudes are the same:
I’ve
got mine. Now I’m entitled to sit on my a–uh–butt and be
served.
Quick, efficient, cap-in-hand service, just
like they read about in all those novels about the good ol’ days in
the South.”

“
Whew!” Claire breathed. “Why did you
come back?”

A low barking laugh. “Sorry. I really got on
my high horse there, didn’t I? The truth is, I’m looking to make a
living off the retirees just as much as anyone else who lives here
year round. We’re all in service. Whether we bag groceries or build
houses for the thousands who keep coming even when we all know the
roads are clogged and the water’s running out. Catch 22. We know we
shouldn’t keep developing, but we need to eat.”

It was all rolling out, thoughts Brad was
normally smart enough to keep to himself. The woman had bewitched
him. He couldn’t seem to shut up. “And the money keeps coming. From
the couple who want a two-bedroom for a one-fifty, to the golf
crowd who wouldn’t think of living in anything under four-fifty, to
the truly wealthy who buy gulffront at a million plus. And here we
are, the residents of Golden Beach, just lying in wait to take
their money. So, don’t be fooled, my cynicism works both ways.
That’s why nothing ever changes. Whether we like it or not, the
system works.”

“
But for how long?” It wasn’t the first
time Claire had heard this argument, but she had never before had
it tossed at her with such fierce passion.

“
There are thousands and thousands of
acres of undeveloped land between here and the Glades,” Brad
declared. “Land with enough water for cows, alligators, and birds.
Not people. My only consolation is that we’ll run out of water long
before southern Florida is completely paved over.”

Brad turned hard right onto the road that ran
along the south side of Heron Creek. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Must be
Shared Danger Syndrome. I don’t make a habit of delivering lectures
to a captive audience.”

“
I’m soaking it up,” Claire told him.
“Adding it to the lesson about not going to the movies in the midst
of a flood. After all, it isn’t every day a newcomer to Florida
gets told she’s not welcome.”

Brad groaned.

“
Guess it would be okay if I had money,
right?”

“
I said I’m sorry.” So why the hell
should he care what she thought anyway? Claire Langdon was thirty
if she was a day. She had a kid who was odd, to say the least. And
there was Diane. Drop-dead gorgeous Diane. Dynamic, possessive
Diane. Too damned possessive Diane.

“
So what do you do?”

A peace offering from Mrs. Perfect Mom.
Unfortunately, she wasn’t going to like his answer. “I’m one of the
Beasts,” he told her.

“
What beast?” Jamie’s voice pierced the
tension radiating between the bucket seats up front.

“
Not to worry, Jamie. I’m just teasing.
I’m a real friendly beast.”

“
Is that why you have long
hair?”

Claire’s’ neck snapped round. Good
Lord, he
did
have long hair.
So wet and tightly pulled into a knot at the nape of his neck that
she hadn’t even noticed it. The length of the hair below the knot
was lost behind the broad expanse of his shoulders.

“
No, Jamie,” said Brad, “I’m afraid
that’s because my grand–uh–I guess I just don’t care much for
barbers.”

“
Me too,” Jamie confided earnestly.
“Mom, don’t you think I . . .”

“
No, I don’t,” Claire interjected from
between clenched teeth. Jamie, wise to that tone, was
silent.

To the right, Claire caught an occasional
dark sheen of water where Heron Creek flowed out of its banks,
drowning docks and turning backyards into shallow ponds. Reminding
her the long-haired hunk sitting behind the wheel had risked his
neck to help them. The least she could do was be polite.

“
So what’s a Beast?” she
asked.

“
I’m a developer.”

“
You’re
what
?” Claire squeaked.

“
Just another native Floridian turned
entrepreneur. Another greedy s.o.b. getting his from the silver
brigade. Uh, sorry, Jamie. You didn’t hear that, okay?”

“
Well, you sure could have fooled me!”
Claire’s voice rose by several decibels. “Tell me, do you have some
sort of love-hate relationship with yourself?”

“
Sure I do. Just because I take the
money doesn’t mean I have to believe what I’m doing is God’s gift
to Florida.”

Oh, great. Somehow their confident, hunky
hero was managing to juggle defensive, truculent, and smugly
sophisticated. Beast indeed. He worked both sides of the street,
yet refused to acknowledge she had a right to be confused.

“
There’s the bridge!” Jamie
cried.

Brad pulled over and parked the pickup next
to the patrol car that was blocking the south entrance to the
flooded bridge. “I’ll check on the tow truck,” he said. “Stay here.
I’ll be right back.”

They had missed the most dramatic moment.
With the rain gone, Claire and Jamie could easily see the far side
of the swollen creek. The Toyota was safely in tow, its rear end
waving at the end of the cable hook as the tow truck gingerly
maneuvered past the patrol cars. When the driver paused, stuck his
head out of the cab, Brad gave him the traditional circled thumb to
index finger before turning back for a few casual words with the
deputy. A smile, another wave of thanks and he was back in the
pickup, putting it in gear. The scene of the accident faded away
behind them.

“
Do you know everyone in town?” Claire
inquired, impressed in spite of herself.

“
Not any more. But when I was growing
up, just back from the beach there was one small section of town
with mom and pop businesses, including a one-screen movie theater.
A half mile away was the school—two modest buildings, twelve
grades. Outside of that, there was nothing for twenty miles in any
direction but ranch land, orange groves, horse farms, some truck
gardening, and miles of glades. And, yes, I knew every person in
the high school and nearly every single person in town. That’s one
of the hardest things to see disappear. Most days I look around
and, outside of the men I work with, I don’t know a damn
soul.”

“
You’re saying downtown—where T & T
is—was all there was. There were no other stores, no other housing,
no shopping centers . . . ?”

“
No shopping centers, no malls, no
housing developments, no condos, no Interstate, no Intracoastal
Waterway. Just a sleepy little town with miles and miles of beach
and sun. Five minutes from downtown you could drive off the road
and catch wild pig for a barbecue. Alligators stretched out along
the banks of the Calusa and rattlers sunned themselves in the
middle of the roads.”

“
Rattlesnakes? You’re kidding,” Jamie
declared. But the grownups didn’t seem to hear him.

“
I remember,” said Claire, frowning in
concentration, “when I was very little we could still walk to the
beach from Ginny’s house. There was a wooden walkway across the
bay.”

“
That’s right. Before the Intracoastal
cut people off from the beach. Not enough political clout in the
south end of town to get a drawbridge built. You have a good
memory. That old walkway must have come down twenty-five years
ago.”