Take Me All the Way (24 page)

Another big improvement in his life? Very few nightmares lately. He had better things filling his head these days, he supposed. And okay, yeah, he'd woken up in a cold sweat one night last week after visions of being trapped in a bunker with gunfire and dark shadows—but at least that happened way less now.

He almost felt guilty when he didn't have Chuck in the back of his mind, but . . . he supposed it was healthier. He supposed things Tamra had told him were true. That Chuck wouldn't want him to keep suffering. That he couldn't fix what had happened.

And sure, there were moments when a little voice inside him argued, told him that was taking the easy way out, letting himself off the hook, that he should keep punishing himself since no one else was going it do it for him. But then he remembered that torturing himself just made him a useless human being who became a burden to people. Healing, trying to inject a little good into the world however he could, was starting to make a lot more sense to him.

He walked out the door to another beautiful day in paradise. Damn, he liked it here. It felt . . . downright strange in a way to realize he looked forward to each day. He looked forward to working alongside Tamra at the course, he looked forward to whatever the eve
ning would hold, too. He looked forward to seeing the people who'd become pleasant parts of his life now—Polly and Abner, Riley, Reece and Cami, and all the other people who'd made him feel at home here in one way or another.

Life was good.

And a month ago, he wouldn't have dreamed he could feel that way in such a short time.

As he pulled the door to Room 11 shut behind him and walked toward his truck, he took a long glance up Coral Street, quiet at this hour, and another across the way to the beach, flanked by the row of tall palm trees that swayed in the breeze. This place had saved him. The thought seemed cheesy, but he knew it was true. Coral Cove had turned his life around.

When he got in his truck and slammed the rickety old door, his eyes were drawn to the passenger seat—or more precisely, to what was in it. A big brown shopping bag. What the hell?

Perplexed and a little cautious—because he disliked mysterious things appearing out of nowhere in the same way he disliked crowds—he leaned over to peek warily inside.

And he found . . . cat stuff. A litter box and bag of kitty litter, some dry cat food, a couple of bowls with cartoony cat faces on them, and—holy shit—even a collar. Powder blue.

Then he noticed a little white envelope on the seat next to the bag. He didn't have to open it to know who it was from. He tossed a suspicious glance toward the restaurant next door as he ripped into the envelope and pulled out a folded sheet of Hungry Fisherman stationery that looked like it had been around as long
as the restaurant—the edges were even yellow.
Polly's probably been trying to use up this paper since the seventies.
He read the handwritten note.

           
That cat needs a real home. Consider this a housewarming gift for him. But if Reece ever finds out you got an illegal boarder in your room, you never got this stuff from me.

Polly

Well, shit.

He loved Polly—he really did. But this was going too far.

He'd looked out for the cat some, but God knew it was early enough in his recovery that he had no interest in being permanently responsible for anyone else's care—even a tomcat.

Just then, out of nowhere as usual, the big gray cat bounded up onto the hood of Jeremy's truck.

“Shit!” he bit off through the windshield, immediately relieved it was only the cat but still feeling a little bit stalked.

“Meow,” the cat said, though it was muffled with the windows up.

“I'm pretty sure you only like me for my fish,” Jeremy muttered toward him.

“Meow.”

He shook his head. “You're not even skinny anymore. Kind of a hog, really.”

“Meow.”

And then Jeremy made a decision. He wasn't going to be shanghaied into this. He might be fond of Polly, but he didn't like these tactics. And he'd felt charitable
toward the damn cat, but having it around constantly was getting annoying.

“Look,” he said through the window, “we're not gonna do this anymore, okay? I got too much else going on.”

“Meow.”

And something in the cat's plaintive tone made Jeremy realize he had to quit playing softball here—he was being too nice. So he yelled through the windshield, “Get outta here!” He waved his arm, shooing the cat away.

When the cat didn't go, Jeremy opened the door, got out, and reached up onto the hood. And, grabbing the cat by the scruff of his neck, he flung it off the truck. The cat let out a yowl in midair, landing on his feet on the asphalt, then darted around the building and out of sight.

“I'll take care of you.”

Frances Hodgson Burnett,
The Secret Garden

A
W CRAP—WHAT
did I just do
? Jeremy's heart felt like a lead weight in his chest.

What's next—I punt him off the deck of a boat?

He let out a breath. “Shit, I'm a jerk.”

It wasn't the cat's fault he'd suddenly felt too pressured by Polly. It was his own problem—still not wanting to be responsible for keeping anyone safe.

“Here kitty,” he said, circling around to the pool area and picnic table. “Here kitty kitty.”

After a minute, he caught sight of Captain crouched at the edge of a little storage shed behind the pool, looking tense.

Keeping a good distance away, Jeremy stooped down, making eye contact with him—and still feeling shitty. “Here kitty.” And maybe he was making too much of it—but something inside him insisted he set things right. “Come on, buddy. I'm sorry. I won't hurt you, promise.” Somehow scaring this innocent animal
who couldn't understand felt almost as bad as things he'd had to do in the name of war.

“Forgive me, Captain?” he asked as the cat took one gentle, tentative step forward. “Yeah, that's right—come on out. Come on over.” Jeremy wished he'd grabbed the box of dry cat food from Polly's bag so he'd have something to lure the cat with, but as it was, he had only his good intentions. “Here kitty. It's all right.”

Slowly but surely Captain came out of hiding and made his way to Jeremy. Though when he got close and Jeremy reached out, the cat flinched and drew back. And Jeremy felt all the worse—he'd made the cat fear him.

But after a moment, Captain let Jeremy pet him. And finally Jeremy drew the big, hulking cat into his arms, against his chest. He scratched behind his ear and Captain began to purr. And when Jeremy next spoke, it was in a whisper. “I'm really sorry, buddy.”

He hoped when he put the cat back down that the incident was truly mended.

And when the cat followed him, nearly tripping him, he was pretty sure they were friends again. “Lucky me,” he murmured on a laugh, rolling his eyes as he got in his truck.

Then he started the engine and drove away.

But he was pretty sure he was going to end up adopting that damn cat, like it or not.

T
HE
following Saturday night after the Sunset Celebration, Tamra sat in her garden wearing jeans and a
cozy sweater to ward off the night chill, drinking a cup of hot tea, and smiling at nothing.

But, of course, she was really smiling because of . . . everything.

She and Jeremy had spent the last week installing the wooden obstacles that she'd designed and he'd built—the miniature versions of Coral Cove landmarks—onto each hole. The retro mini-golf course was almost done. In the beginning, this had been a job to her, and a way to improve the town she loved. But now, it had become a project near and dear to her heart, for many reasons, and she took true pride in it.

All that remained were finishing touches. A custom-made sign, designed to echo a 1950s seaside tourist sign, was due to arrive in a few days, and the clubs, balls, and scorecards had already come. Yesterday she and Jeremy had hung the Grand Opening banner with the date, a week away, when the town would finally get to play miniature golf. Cami had hired the Happy Crab's part-time maid, Juanita, and two of her sisters, to work at the course—though Cami and Tamra would both train them and take some shifts at first, too.

Part of her would be sad not to labor side by side with Jeremy anymore. But she couldn't have been happier that he'd soon be moving on to a wonderful new opportunity—and she was so proud of him for finding a new direction. He'd transformed in so many ways since they'd met.

In fact, he'd even let the big gray cat who'd originally gotten him in so much trouble start living with him. He claimed it was temporary, until he could find him a better home—but apparently Polly had given
him some cat supplies, and when it had rained that very night, Jeremy had brought the cat inside and not put him back out the next morning. It was a secret from Reece, who didn't like pets at the motel, but he seemed to be the only one who didn't know about it.

Though Fletcher and Kim still kept to themselves a lot, they appeared happy when Tamra saw them during his act in the evenings. And she thought Fletcher now looked more at ease.

And though she still wished he'd gotten to know Bethany better, she seemed fully recovered now—and had just last night announced to all the girls over drinks on the Hungry Fisherman's patio that she'd made a monumental decision: She was going to stay in Coral Cove, even after Christy's wedding.

Although she'd had one gallery showing at home in Cincinnati, sales at the Sunset Celebration had made her realize there was more than one way to be an artist and that selling her paintings to tourists on a pier made it so that “I actually have an audience!” she told them. “And who doesn't love the beach? And warm winters?”

She'd then said that although she'd been staying with Christy and Jack, now she needed to find an affordable place of her own. And Cami had told her, “Well, don't worry, if you don't locate anything right away, there's always the Happy Crab. Even if you can't afford the room rates.” She winked. “Reece has been known to be generous that way.”

And Christy's wedding was coming up fast, the week after the golf course grand opening. Since Fletcher was the best man and Bethany the maid of honor, everyone wondered if that would be awkward
now, but Bethany had been quick to assure Christy, “I wouldn't ever let anything overshadow your day.”

So all seemed right with the world on this quiet night.

And though Tamra and Jeremy hadn't made plans to see each other tonight, inspiration struck her. And she thought of calling or texting him, but they were comfortable enough now that she didn't even bother. She simply slipped on a pair of comfy flip-flops, got in her SUV, and drove to the Happy Crab.

As she approached his door, her heart rippled.
I should be used to it by now, the way he makes me feel. But I'm not. And maybe I never will be.
Maybe it was premature, but the very notion of such an enduring desire made her smile as she knocked on the door of Room 11.

He pulled it open, looked surprised to see her, then laughed.

“What's funny?” she asked with a smile.

He gave his head a small shake. “Normally I don't like surprises. But this one I do. What's up, Mary?” He tilted his head and flashed her favorite sexy grin.

She bit her lip and said, “I had a wacky idea.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Booty call? Because if so, I'm okay with that.”

She let out a laugh. “You wish.”

“I do.”

She glanced at her watch, and then back up at him. “Here's the deal. It's after eleven—the streets are all rolled up for the night, not a soul out and about.”

“This is still sounding booty-call-like, just so you know. And I'm still okay with it.”

She ignored his silliness and went on. “I was thinking . . . that you and I should . . .”

“Yeah?” he asked eagerly when she trailed off.

“Inaugurate the golf course. That we should play the course, just you and me, one time, before anyone else gets to. It's really ours, after all. We made it. We should play it. As a little way of celebrating it.”

A slow smile formed on his face, but he didn't answer.

So she said, “Is that stupid?”

“No,” he said. “It's genius. Let's go.”

J
EREMY
found it both peaceful and downright fun to secretly play mini-golf with Tamra on the course they'd built together. Instead of turning on the course lights, they lit their way using a portable floodlight already on the jobsite. That made playing a little more challenging, but it reminded Jeremy that some challenges in life he actually liked. And, of course, the woman he was playing golf with was the biggest part of the appeal. Her smile shone nearly as bright as the flood lamp when he glanced at her. She smiled so much more than she used to.

“Damn,” he said as his ball completely missed the opening in the tiny Happy Crab sign on Hole 7, colliding with one of the little red wooden pincers with a thud. “Maybe I should have made that slot bigger.”

“Or maybe you're just bad at mini-golf,” she quipped.

He cast her a sideways glance. “Gettin' saucy on me, woman?”

She laughed. “Just telling it like it is, Sheridan. We want the course to be challenging.” Then she shifted her weight from one flip-flop to the other. “However,
given the poor lighting, I'm willing to give you a do-over.”

The competitive part of Jeremy didn't want to take it. But . . . “It's damn hard to see this hole right now, so I'll take your do-over. And you get one, too. But that's it. One apiece. After that, we let the balls fall where they may.”

She nodded succinctly. “Fair enough.”

“And after the place is open, we play again, in normal lighting.”

“You sound like a guy who's afraid he's going to lose,” she said playfully.

“No way,” he claimed. “I was a star athlete in high school.”

She shrugged. “Ancient history.”

And he laughed. And took his do-over. This time, the ball went through, dropped onto the Astroturf on the other side, then rolled neatly into the hole. “Sweet success.”

Another shrug from his opponent. “If you don't count the do-over.”

He lowered his chin, gave her a look. “That's kind of the point of a do-over—not to count what happened before. You'll need yours soon enough, Mary Mary Quite Contrary.”

And she did, on the twelfth hole. She'd continued being pretty smug until then, but that turned the tables, and by the time they started the last hole on the course, they were tied.

Concentrating, and maybe wanting bragging rights for winning the first game ever played here—secret or not—Jeremy strategically putted his ball, trying to put just the right amount of power behind it, along with
careful aim. They both watched as it traveled briskly up a ramp to a higher level, where it veered to the right and neatly ricocheted into the hole. “Ha!” he said. “Hole in one.” Then he glanced over to the woman beside him. “Didn't know you were dating a miniature golf pro, did you?”

“No,” she said coolly. “But since we're dead even before this hole, I'm not sure I'm very impressed.”

He stepped aside as she moved up to the putting pad and said, “Let's see what ya got, Mary. Pressure's on.”

“Quiet,” she instructed.

Then she sized up her shot, gave the ball too hard of a whack, and sent it catapulting up the ramp, where it hit a small wooden palm tree, then flew to smack against one of the coral borders, then ricocheted wildly against still two more borders, before rolling, rolling, rolling . . . into the hole.

Jeremy's jaw dropped. “What in the wide, wide world of sports was that?”

The woman next to him gave him one more smile. “I believe it's called a hole in one.”

“I'll be damned,” he muttered, then laughed. “Guess it's kinda fitting, though.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Oh?”

“I feel like everything we did together to build this place was pretty even, fifty-fifty. Makes sense this would end in a tie.” Then he held up one finger. “But I still want a rematch.”

“Don't worry—you'll get your rematch,” she promised. And he thought her voice held a little flirtation. And even in jeans and a big sweater, she was sexy as hell. Funny, once upon a time he might not have thought that, but . . . she was different now. More con
fident. It flowed out of her like something liquid and hot.

He didn't hesitate to follow the urge to ditch his club on the green in order to step up and ease his arms around her, letting them settle on her ass. “Now
I
have a wacky idea,” he told her.

She'd abandoned her putter, too, and pressed her palms against his chest. “What's that?”

“We could christen the golf course in a whole other way.” He winked and whispered seductively, “Wanna do it on the eighteenth hole?”

Her eyes flew wide.

So he quickly added, “We can turn the lights out. And like you said yourself, no one's around, the town is rolled up, and—most importantly—I want you, honey.”

A hint of temptation flickered in her green eyes for a second—before she said, “The answer is still no. Sorry. But it's too big a risk. We live here, you know?”

Jeremy saw her point but was loath to admit it, lest it make him feel old and sensible at a time when he was just starting to see the fun in life again. So instead he said, “You're no fun.”

“I'm plenty of fun,” she countered.

“Show me then,” he challenged.

She peered coyly up into his eyes. “You know what's fun?”

“Mini-golf course sex?” he asked.

And she said, “No. Getting naked with you in my garden.”

She didn't have to say another word. “I'm a sucker for naked in your garden,” he replied. “Race you to the car.”

T
HEY'D
had sex in the garden twice. But then they'd moved in to Tamra's bedroom because it had gotten chillier outside. Already she looked forward to warmer evenings—but she also had no complaints about having Jeremy in her bed. Nights they ended up there tended to be nights he stayed over, and she liked that. It was nice to snuggle with him while they slept, nice to wake up with him.

It was late, past two, but they were still awake talking. About everything and nothing. The grand opening next week. The upcoming wedding. Jeremy's new job. Places where he might find an apartment. “Which I guess,” he added, rolling his eyes dramatically, “has to allow pets, since I seem to have one. For now anyway.”