The Sweetheart Secret (26 page)

She had just started scribbling out a note when the back door opened. Major barreled through first, followed by Colt. Her heart stuttered when she saw him, and she wondered if that reaction would ever stop. It didn't matter if he was in shorts and a T-shirt or wearing those damned khakis and ties, just the sight of him made her pulse race.

He smiled when he saw her, and her heart did that silly little flip again. “Just the person I was looking for.”

She put down the pen and crumpled up the note. “I didn't know you'd be back today.”

“I took the rest of the day off. Thought maybe we could go on one of those picnic lunches you've been trying to talk me into. And tonight, dinner out, just you and me. A real date. What do you say?”

She bit her lip and studied the tile floor. The envelope seemed to chafe her skin, as if the documents inside were trying to climb out. This was the right decision, she knew it was. She just had to say the words, and it would be done.
Tell him. Tell him before you start believing in the impossible again.
“I won't be here tonight, Colt.”

“No problem. We'll go tomorrow night.”

“I won't be here then, either.” She lifted her gaze to his. “I'm moving out.”

The light in his eyes dimmed, and the smile on his face dropped. “Moving . . . out?”

“Emma already moved into the Hideaway Inn because Nick got enough of the electric and plumbing repaired for us to stay there. So I'm going to go there, too.”

“You don't have to stay with her. You can stay here.” He moved closer. “With me.”

How tempting those words sounded.
With me
. She could tear up the papers in her hands, and just slide into life with Colt all over again. She clutched the envelope tighter and shook her head. “Come on, Colt. We both know this isn't going to work. For one, your grandpa needs a real nurse to be with him, not me. And I can't stay here and keep . . .” She bit her lip and shook her head. “Keep thinking this is going to turn into something more. Besides, my cousin needs me at the Hideaway. After all, someone's going to have to answer the phone to handle all those new bookings.” She gave him half a smile, then dropped her gaze again because it hurt too much to look at Colt's face.

“That's an excuse, and we both know it.”

“It's easier than saying I signed the divorce papers.” She held out the envelope.

He stared at the package for a long time, then took the envelope and looked inside, as if he couldn't believe she had really done it. “Why?”

She tried another smile but it hurt her face. “We both knew this was a temporary deal. Quid pro quo, right? I have the inn on the path to restoration and you . . . have your freedom.”

“Happy ending all around?” His voice was harsh and cold.

Just push through this,
she told herself. Once she was moved out and living at the inn, it would be easier. And it was the best decision for all of them. “I already talked to your grandpa and told him what I was doing. He agreed to let a visiting nurse come in every day until you find someone else.”

“You thought of every detail.”

“I didn't want to leave you in a bind.”

“How thoughtful.”

She heard the hurt in his words, and averted her gaze before he saw the tears in her eyes, and she was tempted to undo all she had done. “I'm going to go pack.”

“Daisy, wait.” He grabbed her arm and spun her back to him. “Why are you really doing this?”

“One night together doesn't change the fact that we are two different people, Colt. We always have been.”

“Are we? Really? Because I see two people who have been let down by the people who love them. Two people who are scared to trust each other. But if we do, we can make something great.”

She wanted to believe him, wanted it more than anything in the world. But they'd been down this road before and she could already predict the ending. “We're oil and water, Colt. They don't mix.”

He took her hand, and waited until she looked at him. “I think we're more like tinder and a spark together. Sometimes we come together and create an explosion, something that is really hot and awesome to watch. But the problem with us is we never took the time to let the fire die enough to see what was beneath it. I'm willing to try, Daisy. Because I think what's underneath will be even better than the fire above.”

She shook her head, and the old familiar fears chased up her throat, tightened her airway. “I can't, Colt. I just . . . can't. I'm no good at staying in one place or making commitments. I thought I wanted that when I came here, I really did. All my life, I've looked at my cousin and her family and wanted what she had, what I've missed out on by flitting from here to there and never settling down. A family. A sense of belonging. Something permanent.”

“We can have that together, Daisy.”

She swallowed and kept talking. “Then I realized I'm not that sort of person. I don't even know how to be. I don't put stock in people, and I don't put stock in places, because most of my life, I lost it before I could even get attached. Until I came here. Now I have something I want to hold on to, but I'm scared as hell to put down roots, to stay here and run the Hideaway. To be honest, half the time I think about packing up my car and heading anywhere. Just . . . away.”

“Why? Why not stay? You love that inn.”

“What if I do? And I screw it up? Colt, I've been a screwup most of my life. I dropped out of high school, eloped with you, and I've never had a career, just a lot of jobs serving burgers and scrambled eggs. That's not the kind of person people should be depending on.” She waved in the direction of the inn. “Emma's the one with experience, the one with staying power. She's the one who should be running it, not me. She worked at the inn for several summers, she's got her degree. She's married, settled down. Dependable.”

“And you don't think you're dependable?” He took a step closer. “Because you've been here for me, and my grandfather. And you're here for your cousin.”

“All temporary, Colt. I've never held a job for longer than a few months. Never lived in one place for longer than a year.”

“But you've been married fifteen years. Today, in fact. It's our anniversary, in case you forgot.” He gave her a cockeyed grin.

“Not anymore.”

The truth sat there between them, cold and harsh. Their marriage, such as it was, was ended. A few swipes of a pen, and it was over.

She raised on her tiptoes and placed a kiss on his lips. “You are a good man, Colt. You always have been. I wish I was the kind of woman who would stay around and appreciate that.”

“You coming in with me?” Colt pulled into a parking space outside of Golden Years and parked the car. He was on his fourth cup of coffee of the day, after spending most of the night tossing and turning and resisting the temptation to run over to the Hideaway Inn to try to talk some sense into Daisy. In the week and a half since she had left, the house had become more and more empty and cold without her. She'd been resolute in her decision to leave, and so he'd let her go.

He had yet to file the divorce papers. The envelope sat on the kitchen counter day after day, like a lead weight.

“Hell, no, I don't want to go in with you,” Grandpa Earl said. He sat back against the seat and crossed his arms over his chest. “Why would I want to go in that place? Nothing but a bunch of old geezers who sit around and complain all day.”

Colt arched a brow. “And what makes you think you wouldn't fit right in?”

“Hey, I don't complain.”

“I thought you went and played cards with the guys the other day. After the festival.”

Grandpa looked away. “I didn't go. I said that because I didn't want anyone pestering me. I just needed some time alone. I ended up at the Shoebox Café, had a little . . . episode and they panicked and called in the ambulance.”

“Next time, please let me know where you are. If something happens and I don't know where you are—”

“I'm not five years old, Colt. Stop treating me like I'm gonna break.”

Colt didn't say a word, just turned off the car. Ever since the friendship with Walt Patterson had gone south, Grandpa Earl had found one reason after another to skip the weekly card games the guys had been holding at Golden Years for three years now. Colt had hoped that bringing Grandpa along on his rounds would encourage him to stay, hang out with his friends again. No dice. Maybe things between them weren't going as well as Colt thought. “All right. Well, I'll be a couple hours. If you get bored—”

“I know how to keep myself occupied.” Grandpa waved toward the building. “Just go. I don't need you hovering over me. For God's sake, you were like a mother hen back at the doctor's office.”

Colt bit back an argument, because he knew it would just be the same one he'd had last week and the week before that. Grandpa didn't want to take
any
doctor's advice—and especially not his grandson's. Colt was the one taking notes, asking questions, double-checking the prescriptions. Grandpa acted as if the entire thing was one major inconvenience. At least he'd gone to this appointment. He'd canceled the last three behind Colt's back.

“Grandpa, I love you,” Colt said and turned in his seat. “But I'm tired of this battle we keep having. I miss you and I want to get back the grandpa I had . . . before.”

Grandpa Earl didn't say anything. He just stared out the windshield. His lower lip trembled, but he shook it off. “When you go, leave the keys so I can at least listen to the talk radio station.”

Colt sighed. Why did he keep trying? It was clear that Grandpa was never going to forgive him. “Fine.”

Colt headed inside and spent the next hour or so completing his rounds, checking on patients who had been sick, others who were recovering from surgeries, and popping in to see the ones who didn't always follow his recommendations. Ending with the most contrary patient of all.

Greta Winslow.

Colt entered the morning room and crossed to the round table by the window. “Good morning, Mrs. Winslow. How are you?”

Greta looked up from the table where she was sitting with Pauline and Esther. The ladies had a pile of papers spread out on the table before them, along with a stack of newspapers and a couple legal pads. Pauline scooped up the papers and swept them under the newspapers. Colt bit back a laugh. Must be the ladies' newest letters from the lovelorn requesting advice. Greta had told him about the column the ladies did their best to keep secret from everyone else in Rescue Bay, lest it mess with their “process,” whatever that was. Greta hadn't explained and Colt hadn't asked.

“Why, Doc Harper,” Greta said. “Back again so soon?”

“Here every Tuesday at two for rounds. Just checking to make sure people are taking my advice, following their prescriptions.”

“Well, I would do that if I had a prescription from you. But unfortunately, I left your office before you could write out that little memo. The one for my gastrointestinal health.” She jerked her head in the direction of the table at the back of the morning room, where four men were seated. Joe Hardy, Reggie White, Walt Patterson, and Harold Twohig.

Colt chuckled. “Mrs. Winslow, I assure you, you don't need a prescription.”

She harrumphed and sat back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest. Esther leaned forward and put a hand on Greta's arm. “If you are having a little . . . intestinal issue, Greta, I have some Pepto-Bismol in my medicine cabinet. Or if it's stuck the . . . uh, other direction, I have a year's supply of Metamucil. I knew there was a reason why I entered that contest on the back of the jar.”

Greta rolled her eyes. “I don't need either, Esther. For goodness' sake, I have the constitution of a horse.”

“Horse? I was going to say goat,” Pauline said. “Seems a far more appropriate comparison.”

Colt laughed. “You ladies all seem as healthy as can be to me. I'm going to check on the gentlemen, then be on my way.”

“Doc, hold up a minute.” Greta got to her feet and tugged him to the side, out of earshot of Pauline and Esther. She peered up at him, her pale blue eyes as alert and incisive as a lie detector. “I wanted to ask how things are going with a certain young lady.”

“Mrs. Winslow, I don't discuss my personal life—”

She waved off his words. “I know, I know. But since you are my
personal
physician, I don't think discussing your personal life is anything different than you discussing mine. Besides, if you're happy, that's good business. When the doctor's happy, everyone's happy.” She wagged a finger at him. “That should be a needlepoint on your wall. Esther, the crafting fool, would be glad to stitch you one, if you ask.”

Happy. It wasn't a term he associated with his life. Content, perhaps. Predictable, yes. But happy? No. That word wasn't in his vocabulary right now. For a brief moment in time, it had been, but then he thought of the envelope on his counter and that moment passed.

“I'm fine, Mrs. Winslow,” Colt said. “Just fine.”

“And I'm the Easter Bunny.” She put her hands on her hips. “Now, listen, I know you're the one used to giving advice, but I think it's time you took some.”

“Mrs. Winslow—”

“You are an excellent doctor. And if you tell anyone I said that out loud, I will steal all your stethoscopes and put super glue on the earpieces.”

He chuckled, then made a zipping motion across his lips. “I'll never tell a soul.”

“Like I said, excellent doctor, but an idiot man.” She put up a hand to ward off his protest. “A little birdie told me that Daisy moved out and is now living at the inn. I can't believe you let her get away.”

“I didn't
let
anything happen,” Colt said, then wondered why he was explaining his love life to his eighty-three-year-old patient. “We just decided to separate.”

That sounded better than divorce. Less final. Less un-doable. Yeah, then what were those signed documents in that envelope saying?

“She's just scared.” Greta waved a hand. “A woman like that needs a grand gesture. Something bigger than life, to show that you are serious.”

“Are you telling me to rent one of those biplanes and scrawl something across the sky or throw a proposal on a Jumbotron?”

“Goodness, no. Those have all been done before. Do something . . . special. Just for Daisy. Something that she'll be unable to resist.” She patted his arm. “Be adventurous, Doc. Love is a risk, and you have to show you're a risk taker, too.”

*   *   *

Earl Harper lasted about ten minutes in the car. He'd never been the kind of man who could sit around and do nothing. Truth be told, that was what drove him craziest about living with Colton. That sense of . . . nothing.

At least when he'd had the repair shop, he'd had something to occupy his mind every day. It had kept him from dwelling, and ever since he'd sold his business to Gator Lee, Earl had done altogether too much dwelling.

Dwelling on mistakes. Dwelling on regrets. Dwelling on the holes in his life, holes that would never be filled again.

He glanced at the retirement home. He could go in there, sit down at the scuffed table in the back of the morning room, and play a couple rounds of poker with the guys. It would pass a few hours, maybe even ease the heaviness in his mind. But going in there would mean delivering an apology to Walt Patterson, and if there was one thing Earl wasn't in the mood to do, it was apologize. Or explain.

He glanced at the keys dangling from the ignition. Then again at the entrance to Golden Years. Earl tugged on the door handle and got out of the car. He stood in the parking lot for a good long second while the Florida sun beat down on his thinning hair, until the decision he needed to make cemented some resolve in his heart.

*   *   *

Joe, Reggie, Walt, and Harold still left an empty seat on the right side of the table, even though Earl Harper hadn't been at a game in more than six months. Colt slid into his grandfather's chair, and waved off Joe's offer to deal him in. “I think there's something in the Hippocratic oath against playing poker during working hours.”

Joe put a finger to his lips. “Don't use the
P
word around here. Nurse Ratched”—he nodded in the direction of the tall, thin woman who often patrolled the morning room—“will kick us out.”

“Then what are you guys playing?”

“A shell game.” Walt winked, then dropped a trio of shells into the pile in the center of the table. “I raise you two scallops and one pear whelk.”

Joe rubbed his chin. Then he raised his gaze and studied Walt. “I think you're bluffing. I'll see your bet and raise you one King's Crown.” He added a giant curved shell to the pile.

“Too rich for my blood,” Harold said. He folded his hand and tossed it onto the table. “Gentlemen, it's been great. But I see my sweet petunia is leaving, and I want to talk to her.”

Walt scoffed. “Harold, you are either a fool or a glutton for punishment. Greta Winslow hates you.”

“That's just a front. She doesn't want her friends to know she's hot for this eighty-four-year-old body.”

Walt snorted back a laugh. “Then she's either blind or desperate.”

“Says the man who's got his eye on a certain bachelorette in this room himself.”

Walt ignored the jab, and added his shell to the pile. “Whatcha got, Joe?”

“Three ladies.” Joe laid his cards on the table and displayed a trio of queens.

“Sounds more like your love life than a hand of cards.” Walt grinned, then laid his own hand on the table. “I've got a whole handful of diamonds. Read it and weep, Joe.”

“I thought you guys said this was a shell game,” Colt said. “Not p—”

“It is a shell game.” Walt winked. “In the strictest sense of the meaning of shell game.”

“As in, our pathetic attempt to fool Nurse Ratched into thinking we're playing a simple game of cards and trading shell collections,” Joe explained.

Colt laughed. “And how's that working for you?”

“Working just . . .” Joe let out a low whistle. “Well, would you lookie there. That's not a sight we see around here nearly often enough.”

Colt turned. His breath caught, and his chest tightened. If he hadn't known better, he'd swear his heart was stopping.

Daisy stood beside Greta, talking to the three ladies. The rest of the room dropped away, and all Colt saw was Daisy's curves, luring his attention in a clingy green dress that skimmed her knees and dipped in a V above those amazing breasts. She had part of her hair pinned back, which left dark bangs skimming across her brows and long curls brushing her shoulders. She laughed at something Greta said, and something in Colt's gut tightened.

“Seems Harold isn't the only smitten man in the room,” Joe said.

“Gentlemen, if you'll excuse me . . .” Colt got to his feet, started toward Daisy, then stopped when Walt tapped him on the shoulder.

“Forgot your bag, Doc.” Walt handed him his black medical bag. “A pretty woman will do that to you.”

“I'm on rounds. I have to . . .”

Walt chuckled, then gave him a little nudge. “Yeah, whatever. Go on over there. Just remember to close your mouth first. Don't want to drool all over her, you know.”

Colt cleared his throat, and shifted the medical bag from one hand to the other. The action helped shake off the temporary stupor brought on by Daisy's presence and bring him back to planet earth. Where he was a doctor, not an infatuated fifteen-year-old. Still, he wondered if she had come here to see him. He hoped like hell that was the case and quickened his pace.