The Man She Left Behind (12 page)

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Authors: Janice Carter

BOOK: The Man She Left Behind
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He braked the truck and shifted into park.
“Thanks for dinner, Spence. The chowder was wonderful.” She put her hand on the door handle and pulled.
“I...I hope we can do it again.”
Leigh hesitated midway, one foot on the drive and the other on the running board.
Do what again?
she wondered.
The dinner or the “dessert” they’d had afterward, on Sam’s porch?
“Maybe,” she said vaguely. “I guess it depends how fast I sell the house.”
His eyes shifted from her face to the dashboard. She felt a twinge of remorse at the disappointment she’d seen in them.
Best to level with him now, while he’s not touching you
.
She moved her other foot down off the running board. “Thanks again, Spence. I’ll see you tomorrow and perhaps then we can talk about...about Sam.”
He continued to stare morosely out the windshield. “Yeah, sure, okay.”
She closed the door. “Bye,” she said, and started up the drive.
Suddenly he poked his head out his window. “Say, how did you manage that trick with the hair clip?”
Leigh turned around. “I had it in the pocket of my shorts. Sneaking it out was easy in the dark.”
He gave a throaty chuckle. “I have to hand it to you, Randall. You always were resourceful.”
“Yep. That’s me. Good old resourceful Randall. Night, Spencer.” Grinning, she walked up the veranda steps, feeling his eyes on her the whole way.
CHAPTER SEVEN
T
HE LIGHT IN THE HOUSE went out. Time to go. The woman turned on the ignition, and soft strains of classical music drifted from the speaker. Then she rolled up the windows, switched on the air-conditioning and shifted the car into drive. She was glad she’d left as soon as she’d seen the newspaper, driving nonstop and eating takeout in the car. The trip had allowed her that much more time to think, devise a plan. It wouldn’t do to go barging in. These things had to be handled delicately and diplomatically. She’d learned that lesson long ago.
She took one last look at the house and aimed the car north on the highway toward the ferry dock. One more night in Hatteras should do. Give her enough time to get everything in place. And then... She smiled.
Soon I’ll be with my baby.
 
“Ms. RANDALL?”
The man standing on the other side of the screen door held a paper bag in one hand and a briefcase in the other. His smile was far too cheerful, Leigh thought, for eight o’clock Saturday morning.
“I thought the open house was this afternoon.”
He frowned. “Oh, dear. Sorry, but the agent you arranged this with—Patsy—couldn’t make it. She told me ten. Is that going to be a problem?”
“Not if you don’t mind helping me vacuum the place.”
The smile wobbled Uncertain whether or not she was putting him on?
Leigh relented. “Just kidding. Come in.”
He gestured with his head to the lawn behind him. “I’ve just put up the For Sale sign, with the Open House banner.”
She peered over his head to see a white-and-red sign tilted at a rakish angle.
Reality strikes again
. She held the door while he slipped past. “Seriously,” she went on, “I’ve still got some last-minute moving around.”
“Oh?”
She figured Patsy was going to pay big time. “Just some boxes upstairs to come down to the porch. Unless you don’t mind people tripping over them.”
“Oh, good gracious! That won’t do. Of course I’ll give you a hand.”
Or two, Leigh thought, wondering when his pristine white hands had last done anything more strenuous than lift a wineglass.
He proffered the paper bag. “I brought some breakfast,” he offered smugly.
Leigh felt herself softening.
Everyone has a price. Mine is obviously a cup of coffee
. “Muffins?” she asked.
“Danish. Made this morning right in Hatteras.”
Ah, maybe I’ll move the cartons myself.
“Aren’t you thoughtful! Well Mr....?”
“Brown. Evan.”
“Evan, you just made my morning.” She flashed a warm smile. “Come on into the kitchen.”
“Usually we vet the house before we list it for an open house,” Evan said, following her down the hall.
“Oh, Patsy wanted to!” Leigh asserted, reluctant to get the other agent into further trouble. “But it was a question of time. I only have another week.”
He frowned. “Another week? Gee, I doubt we’ll sell this place that quickly. It’s not the best time, you see. Most people have already committed to summer rentals or purchases by now.”
“I know. Patsy warned me about that. She also said I could get someone here to act as sort of a proxy for me. To sign back any offers on my behalf.”
“True, we can do that. But it seems to take more time that way—all the back-and-forth business, more paperwork, you know.”
Leigh shrugged. “I may not have a choice.” She stared him down.
“I guess if that’s the best we can do...”
“Great!” Leigh gave a dazzling smile. “Now,” she said, opening the paper bag, “which coffee is yours?”
Fifteen minutes later Evan had taken off his seersucker jacket and was carrying boxes downstairs to the porch. Leigh followed, swooping out on the open swing of the screen door.
“I think that’s it,” she announced.
Evan was wiping his forehead with a handkerchief. The motion reminded Leigh of Spencer’s bandanna, still folded in her purse. She’d put it on the hall table so he’d see it when he came by later.
“Right,” Evan said, tucking the square of white cloth into his pants pocket. “Shall we get down to some details about the house now?”
“I thought I told Patsy everything.”
He summoned a quick tight smile. “I’m sure you told her what you considered the best features of the house to be. Now I want the rest of the information—the things I don’t want to be surprised about when I’m showing it.”
He’s got you there, kiddo. You’ve met your match
. “Okay. Well, shall we start with the foundation pilings?”
Later, when Leigh had admitted to a grudging respect for Evan’s attention to the smallest detail, she sat down with him at the kitchen table. The scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the room.
“I guess I should have made muffins. Isn’t that what they say you ought to do when you show your house?”
Evan pursed his lips. “I don’t think the gimmicks make up for a good house. This place—” he made a sweeping gesture with his hand “—is rock solid. Old-fashioned, mind you. And—” he paused dramatically “—no skylights, sunrooms or sauna. The trinity of cottages.”
“But there’s a deck.”
“Yes. Well—” he gave a slight sniff “—I just hope no one wants to have that checked out. How long ago was it built?”
“A little more than ten years. My father was in a nursing home in Raleigh the last year of his life. When he came for weekend visits, my mother wanted him to get some fresh air where she could watch him from the kitchen.”
Even waited a respectful moment before continuing, “Anyway, in spite of the obvious inconveniences of old plumbing fixtures and questionable wiring—”
“There’s nothing wrong with the wiring!”
“So you say, but I think the fuse box is overloaded. So long as you don’t run too many appliances while I’m showing it, we can manage.”
“I certainly don’t intend to put any money into this place before I sell it.”
“I’d never advise you to do so. Only that you may have to settle for less if someone raises the matter.”
“I’m willing to come down of course. I’ve got a job and apartment in New York City. You may want to point out to people that this place is one of the few last private properties outside the village. Everything else is owned by the National Park Service. The beach is right across the road.”
“Do you own that land, too?”
“No, but we have right-of-way to it. It was part of the agreement when my father sold the land next to us to the Park Service. The rest of the beach belongs to the state.”
“That’s a selling point, I have to admit. And quite a few people like the...the old-fashioned look these days.”
Leigh closed her eyes. She wondered how her father would have reacted to this conversation.
He’d never be having it, that’s how.
She rubbed her forefinger in the groove between her eyebrows. Most of the night she’d tossed and turned, thinking about Sam. About Spencer. About the way she’d felt when he was kissing her. Even about Jamie, wondering how much he’d seen and what he must think of her. She was also starting to get tired of Evan.
A loud rattling at the front screen door propelled her out of her chair and down the hall. She could make out Spencer’s blurred outline through the mesh. Her heart picked up speed.
“You’re finished already?” she asked, pushing open the door.
“Yeah, he wimped out before nine. ’Course, I think the partying he took in last night at Howard’s might have been a factor.”
“I can’t think of anything worse than going out on the Sound with a hangover.”
“I knew I’d be back earlier when I noticed the green tint in his skin after he drank the double-strength coffee I made at five-thirty this morning.”
“Ooh, I never knew you had such a cruel streak,” she teased. “Come on in. Evan’s here enjoying a regular cup of coffee.”
He halted midstep. “Evan?”
“The real-estate guy showing my house today.”
Spencer felt the vise clamped on the back of his neck loosen its grip. “Ahh,” he said, filled with such relief he decided he’d just paid back any guilt debt he owed his hapless client that morning. He stepped into the hall and, once his eyes had adjusted to the shadows, saw a man standing in the kitchen doorway.
After introductions Leigh said, “Spencer’s going to help me take the boxes up to Hatteras for recycling.”
Evan’s face broke into a big smile. “Wonderful! Then with your permission I’ll take a couple of the patio chairs around to the front. It’s important for clients to have a chance to appreciate both views.”
Spencer helped with the chairs while Leigh ran upstairs to get her purse. She made a quick side trip to the bathroom to check her hair. It was still damp at the back from her shower, but the ends were finally training themselves to curl under. Her hairstylist had warned her that the cut was definitely out, but Leigh didn’t care. Fashion trends had always managed to escape her notice until they were on the wane, anyway.
Maybe a touch of lipstick, she thought. She stood back, eyeing her white shorts. Perhaps not the best thing for hauling boxes in and out of a truck. But the shorts fit perfectly and looked terrific with the periwinkle blue halter top. When she turned to leave, a memory flash exploded in her mind.
Laura Marshall and the crisp white tennis outfit she wore to our midnight picnic on Portsmouth Island That’s why there were no life jackets in the boat. Laura insisted on using them for cushions, to protect her white shorts
.
Leigh’s stomach churned. She waited, holding on to the doorjamb for support. Then she took a deep breath and returned to her room to change her shorts. When she came downstairs minutes later, Spencer and Evan had just finished moving the chairs onto the porch.
Spencer smiled up at her from the foot of the staircase. “I was going to suggest you change your shorts. Not that the white ones didn’t look great, but my truck seems to leach oil these days.”
“Yeah, I thought the same thing,” she murmured. “Black is definitely more appropriate.”
“A more dramatic contrast with the blue, too,” Evan put in.
Leigh turned his way. “Oh, why, thank you.” She caught the grin on Spencer’s face out of the corner of her eye. “Um, I’m not sure how long this is going to take, Evan.”
He waved a hand. “Don’t rush back. We prefer not to have owners around while we’re showing the place, anyway. I hope you’ve locked up any priceless antiques.”
“Yeah, right. Okay, then, if I’m not back before you leave, will you let me know later how things went?”
“Of course. I should warn you it’s not likely you’ll get an offer today. Do you want me to lock up for you?”
“Oh, I don’t think so. We never used to worry about that. What do you think, Spence?”
“Maybe in prime tourist season, but not now. Although this place is outside the village proper.”
“Just close the big door. My neighbors, the Jensens, are down the road a bit, beyond that cedar row,” Leigh said.
“Here’s my card,” Evan said. “If you don’t hear from me by Monday afternoon, give me a call.”
Leigh was relieved to see that the men had also loaded the boxes into the back of the pickup. “You got them all in!”
“I thought we might as well head right to the ferry, rather than go back to my place for your car. Is that okay?”
It meant spending more time with Spencer than she’d expected. Not that she minded, but the thought of last night’s trip down memory lane set off a few warning bells. “Sure, I guess so,” she said, climbing into the truck. “Although it kind of ties you up for the day, doesn’t it?”
He smiled across the seat from her. “I think I can live with that.”
But can I?
Leigh tried to appear casual. “Great. So, how’s Sam today?”
“You wouldn’t even know he’d suffered an angina attack. Up and raring to go. Jamie and I had to practically sit on him to make him promise to stick around his place today.”
Spence reversed the truck onto the highway. He glanced at Leigh, her right arm angled on the rolled-down window, wind tossing her hair behind her. She looked so young and beautiful. He could hardly believe fifteen years had passed—until he caught himself in the mirror and saw a line somewhere in his face for every one of those years. Not to mention every one of the mistakes of his youth.
Maybe if he played it right this time, those mistakes wouldn’t turn out to be a life sentence. Being thirty-five, instead of nineteen, helped, too. Priorities had gelled; boundaries were clearer.
Except you’ve got more responsibilities now—Jamie and Sam
. Yeah, he thought, but he could handle it. Spence made himself relax. One step at a time.
For now, it was Saturday. His cares were sitting nicely on the back burner. The sun was brilliant, the sky an aching blue and the woman he’d always loved was beside him again. What more could he ask?

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