Somebody to Love (Gideon's Cove #3)

Somebody to Love (Gideon's Cove #3) Page 44

They pulled on their clothes. James followed her to the door and kissed her, and watched as she blushed and then made her way down the stairs. She waved from the sidewalk, then walked briskly away.

He closed the door, smiling like a fool. An hour ago, he’d been moody, horny and glum.

He wasn’t any of those things anymore.

Life was good. Wicked good.

“James, dear! The pretty blonde is gone! Could you help me find the remote?”

“Coming, Mrs. K.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHANTAL HAD SHOWN the house twice, and the second couple had seemed genuinely interested. It was August now, and Parker had to face facts. Her time in Maine was winding down. She sighed, sitting down at the kitchen table, the sun streaming in through the windows.

Two nights ago, she and James and Nicky had gone to Dewey’s, along with half of Gideon’s Cove. Nicky had shown off his impressive belching abilities, though Lavinia had him beat in that area; Parker had held little Luke Beaumont while Chantal and Jonah danced; Maggie sat on Malone’s lap to make room for Collier Rhodes, who’d come in to mingle with the locals.

And every time she’d glanced at James, he seemed to be looking at her, a little smile playing on his face.

They hadn’t slept together since she’d gone to his apartment. There’d been some very hot groping on the couch after Nicky had fallen asleep one night—the things her boy toy could do with his hands, without even taking off her clothes, should be documented and sent to men everywhere—but James didn’t seem to mind that it hadn’t gone further. “Another satisfied customer,” he’d murmured against her neck, and if she hadn’t been so weak and trembly, she would’ve smacked him. Ended up kissing him instead. He’d left with a grin on his face.

During the day, James was around, putting on some final touches to spruce up the little house. The fresh shingles, green tin roof and the pots of flowers had sweetened the place; it might not be a jewel, but it definitely looked like a house. Not a shack.

As for Nicky, well, if he didn’t adore James, he didn’t hate him, either. But while James did have a knack for bringing her son great presents—the lobsterman gloves, a key chain flashlight and a shovel that folded—he wasn’t exactly comfortable around her boy. She caught him watching Nick a lot, almost the way a person once bitten by a dog might watch a puppy, as if he wanted to like her son but wasn’t quite sure how to.

But real life was waiting. Parker had to get a job. Since the ridiculous Ark Angels, she hadn’t managed to send in another idea for a series, and the weekly prodding emails from her editor only made her sweaty. The creative part of her brain felt utterly empty.

We were your one and onlies, Spike informed her.

The truth was, she didn’t really miss writing—Thanks a lot! the HRs said, pouting. She loved working with Lavinia, though; Vin had passed most of the duties off to her and spent her time smoking and reminiscing on the great loves of her life. Her cousin adored Nicky, and the two of them spent a lot of time drawing pictures of swords and maces, Nicky’s latest passion.

Another thing to miss about Gideon’s Cove. Lavinia.

But Parker missed Mackerly, too; missed Lucy and the sweet little town, the bakery, the Mirabellis. And now, she actually had a place to live. The rental deal had gone through, according to the email she’d gotten earlier.

“Nicky!” she called. “Come see our new place. The internet’s back up.” James had brought her an antenna for her Mac, so she no longer had to traipse to the library to go online.

Nick came running into the kitchen; James followed, smelling sharply of wood and paint. “Where is it?” her son demanded.

“It’s about three blocks from Daddy’s restaurant.”

“I’m gonna be a chef,” Nicky announced. “Like Daddy. Or a spy.”

“Or both,” James said.

“Yeah! Both! Which one’s my room, Mommy?”

She clicked on a photo. “I thought you’d like this one. See the slanty ceilings!”

Nicky’s eyes widened in a most gratifying manner. “It’s like a fort! Or jail! Like where Grandpa Harry lives!”

Okay. Change of subject called for. “And here’s the yard,” she said, clicking on another picture. Tidy and tiny, filled with flowers.

“I could definitely hide there,” Nick said. “Mommy, put my room back on, okay?”

“Sure.” She clicked on the photo of his room again. A whole lot smaller than his room at Grayhurst, not that he seemed to care. “When are we going back?” he asked. “I miss Daddy.”

“Probably next week, honey. Right, James?”

She glanced up at him, feeling a pang already. But he’d be heading back to Rhode Island, too, so they’d still see each other. They just hadn’t worked out the particulars.

“Yeah, we’re pretty much done,” he confirmed. His face was somber.

“Can I try the nail gun? Please? I’m really careful,” Nicky said.

She raised her eyebrows at James, who shrugged.

“Only with James holding it, too,” she told her son.

“Yes! Let’s make something, James! Come on, come on!” He grabbed James’s hand and towed him outside. James glanced over his shoulder.

“Be careful,” she said.

“Got it,” he answered. He smiled, and her heart lurched. Her guy, her son, together. She sneaked outside, camera in hand.

James was kneeling behind Nicky, putting on safety glasses. “You don’t want to shoot your eye out, so you always wear these,” he said.

“I love these,” Nicky answered reverently.

“Good. Now we’re gonna hold the nail gun up like this—nope, I’ll hold the shingle, okay? You put the gun right there, where the nail’s gonna go…good boy, now squeeze—”

Bam! The nail went in and Nicky flinched, dropping the gun. James caught it. “Good job, kid.”

“I did it!” Nicky’s face was alight with joy. Men and their tools, Parker thought with a smile. She raised her camera and took a stealth picture.

“Can I do more?” Nicky asked James.

“Sure. Nice and careful, now, and try not to drop the gun.”

“It makes a loud noise.”

“It does. You’re right.”

Parker went back inside, feeling a wicked case of the Warm Fuzzles. Nauseating term, excellent feeling. Her menfolk, bonding. It’d be good for them both.

The photo of Nicky’s attic room was still on the computer screen.

A jail, like where Grandpa Harry lives.

A bit hesitantly, Parker picked up her phone.

James hadn’t mentioned Harry lately. She herself hadn’t talked to her father for a while. Well. Being a minimum-security place, inmates were allowed to get phone calls pretty liberally. She figured she’d give it a shot.

“Harry Welles, please? This is his daughter speaking.”

A few minutes later, her father’s commanding voice came on the line. “Parker. Is anything wrong?”

“Hi, Harry. No, everything’s fine. I had a second, figured I’d call.” A breeze blew in from the cove, fluttering the kitchen curtains.

“Oh.” There was a pause. Another bang from the nail gun came from the side of the house. “How’s my grandson?” Harry asked.

“He’s wonderful. He’s here, in Maine with me. He had a great time in Yosemite.”

“Good.”

Another breeze. Nice day, the sun shining, temps in the upper seventies.

“So how are you, Harry?”

“I’m fine.”

“Got enough to read?” It was the only question that came to mind.

He sighed. “Yes.”

Parker glanced at the computer. “Nicky and I found a place to live. In Mackerly. We’ll be heading back next week.”

“I see. He’s starting school?”

“Yes. After Labor Day.”

“Wish him luck for me.”

“I will.”

There didn’t seem to be anything else to say. She waited to see if her father would offer any other subject, but there was only silence. “Well, take care, Harry.”

“You, too.” He hung up.

A memory of her father picking her up from Stanhope Academy on the Upper West Side came to her. She’d been in second grade, wore a white shirt and green plaid skirt as a uniform. Her father rarely came to get her from school, and the sight of him there, so unexpected and so impressive, had practically lifted her off the pavement. “Daddy!” she’d said, running to him, and she remembered how small her hand felt in his. How safe Harry had made her feel.

Back then, her father had been her favorite person in the world.

She swallowed the unexpected lump in her throat.

Parker went back outside. “Boys,” she said, “I think we should go on a picnic.”

TWO HOURS LATER, Parker, James, Nicky and Lavinia were at a lake somewhere west of Gideon’s Cove. Beauty and Nicky were already wet, having dashed in the second they’d gotten there. Nick hurled sticks as far as his little arm would let him, which wasn’t terribly far, but Beauty charged in each time. James and Vin were sitting on a blanket, laughing. Those two were BFFs, practically.

Pine trees surrounded the lake in a dense wall, broken only by the occasional boulder. There was a dock about thirty yards out, and three teenage boys had canoed out there. They were shoving each other and laughing, falling in occasionally, diving like otters, constantly in motion. She snapped a few photos. Maybe this could be her new job—photographer. Or, given her actual skill set, cashier at Wal-Mart, if Wal-Mart would kindly hire her.

“Mom! Mommy! Watch me! I’m a dolphin! I’m dolphin diving!” Nicky yelled. She watched, laughed and snapped a few shots. “Now I’m a shark, Mommy! See? See my fin! I’m eating a seal!” Nicky thrashed around, causing Beauty to yelp in ecstasy.

The sun beat on her hair. No need for highlights after this summer, though she probably had a few new wrinkles after all the wind and sunshine. A few more muscles, too, though the eleven pounds hadn’t gone anywhere.

“I’m hungry,” Nick said, sloshing onto shore. “Vinny, can I please have some chips?”

“Sure, gorgeous,” Lavinia said, offering Nick the bag. Parker looked out at the deep blue lake, so pure and inviting.

“Vin? Want to go swimming?” she asked.

“Hell, no,” her cousin answered.

Parker sighed. “James, that leaves you.”

“Hell, no,” James echoed.

“Hell, no,” Nicky said, falling to his knees and digging in the sand like a dog. Beauty joined the effort.

“Come on, James,” Parker said. She took off her sweatshirt and slid out of her shorts.

“That bathing suit is not fair,” he murmured.

“You look like one of those whatchamacallits,” Vin said, taking off her post-cataract-surgery sunglasses. “Sports Illustrated models.”

“Right. Just with stretch marks and the cellulite I got for my last birthday.”

“You’re perfect,” James said.

“Aw,” Vin said. “Go with her, Jamie. Buddy system and all.”

He shook his head.

“Are you scared, James?” Nicky asked, pausing in his digging.

“Yep,” he answered.

“Really? But you’re a grown-up, aren’t you?”

“Grown-ups can be scared, too.”

“I swim a lot,” Nick said. “I could probably swim ten or thirty miles. It’s not scary.”

“No, it’s not scary. I only think it is,” James said.

Parker studied his face. “Have you been swimming at all since…then?” she asked quietly.