Summer on the Cape Read online

  Too tired to prepare a real meal, she poured a glass of milk, made a peanut butter sandwich, and sliced an apple onto a plate. She carried her little dinner out to the living room, settled into the corner of the comfortable couch, slipped her shoes off, and put her feet up on the coffee table. From where she was sitting, she could see the slimmest crescent of the moon just rising up over the ocean, and, as she drank her milk and ate her sandwich, she let the beauty and peace of this wonderful place settle over her.

  And as she relaxed, Allie thought of Zach Eliot. She recalled his irrationally hostile manner, as though he’d wanted to pick a fight with her. It apparently had something to do with Adam and the project Adam was working on. Or perhaps it was just hostility to outsiders. She was too tired to figure it out.

  She rested her head on the back of the couch and closed her eyes wearily. She remembered Zach’s apology, delivered through clenched teeth. She remembered his long legs and his hard body and his black, wavy hair trimmed close at the back of his neck, and she felt again the startling effect he had on her.

  I think I’d better get to bed, she said to herself, determined to reestablish her customary control over her feelings. It had been a long, hard day, and a lot had happened since she’d had dinner with Adam only the night before. As for Zach Eliot, the hell with him, she thought.

  I came up here to work and I can’t let myself get sidetracked by a handsome hunk with an attitude.

  Chapter Four

  When the first light of morning spread out across the quiet waters of Cape Cod Bay, it found Allie already at work, her easel set up on one of the concrete floats below the town’s dock.

  She’d been up before daybreak, eager to explore her new surroundings. Barely pausing for a cup of coffee and a doughnut, she’d had a quick shower, pulled on a pair of comfy old jeans and a gray sweatshirt and run a comb through her hair as she stepped barefoot into a pair of old Top-Siders. She’d piled her easel and pads and a paintbox into the Cherokee, along with one of the big, baggy, paint-smeared shirts, and taken off down the road, looking for subjects to paint.

  Her explorations soon brought her to the marina at the nearby town. From the rail that bordered the long dock, she looked down on the row of sailboats, fishing boats, and motor launches tied up in the slips below, all hazy in the early morning mist. Soft wisps of fog, like smoky trails, lay along the surface of the water, creating a lovely, diffused light, and a soft wind from the southwest stirred her hair about her face. She brushed her bangs back enjoying the breeze, early morning cool and deliciously sensual, on her neck.

  One of the sailboats especially caught her attention. Allie didn’t know a thing about boats, but she had an instinctive feel for quality, and this boat definitely looked like quality. Its lines were smooth and balanced and even an inexperienced eye could tell that it was carefully maintained.

  Perfect!

  She was pleased to have found a good subject so quickly. The boat was tied up in the last slip along the floats, giving her a good angle to work from, and the early morning haze should make an interesting light effect. If she hurried, she might just catch it before the sun was up. In minutes, she set up her easel, laid out her materials, buttoned the big shirt over her sweat top, and got right to work.

  She painted quickly, eager to capture the fleeting light effect, the sense of air moving across the surface of the water, and the feel of the graceful boat, gleaming white in the softly glowing light, ready to sail out to sea, strong and quick in the wind. As she concentrated on light and shade, composition and color, the painting rapidly came to life. For the time being, she forgot about everything else.

  * * *

  Zach had slept badly, the old dream pursuing him through the night. Only this time, Allie was in it, too. It was still dark when he gave up the effort to rest. He brewed up a pot of coffee and stared blackly into the approaching light, deciding that he needed to do something to patch up the mess he’d made of his meeting with her yesterday.

  First light was just breaking when he went upstairs to dress, lecturing himself in the mirror while he shaved. “Listen, buddy,” he said aloud, wagging the razor at his image, “whatever connection she has with Adam Talmadge and that damned project of his, there was no excuse for snarling at her. You could have given her a chance, at least. Maybe she really is just one of Adam’s clients, using the house for the summer.” He rinsed the remnants of shaving cream off his face and toweled himself dry. “Maybe she has no connection with that development plan.”

  And just maybe, he continued silently, as he pulled on his pants and buttoned them up, you might run into her around town, and get a chance to act like a normal, grown-up man instead of shooting off your mouth like a dumb kid.

  He hadn’t counted on getting his chance so quickly.

  Customers for the small sailboats would be arriving by eight o’clock, and the rising tide would be early this morning, so his first chore would be to check the boats. The first bit of the rising sun was just showing above the horizon by the time he reached the dock. From a distance, he saw the Cherokee, parked down at the far end.

  I’ll be damned, he said to himself, surprised that his chance had arrived so soon.

  What the hell’s she doing down here?

  He pulled the truck up next to her car and turned off the motor. He sat back, resting an arm on the frame of the open window, and watched her working on the pier below him, the pale light just touching her hair, the soft wind whispering through it. She was concentrating intently on her painting and was totally unaware of his eyes on her. Zach studied her thoroughly as she worked, glad of the opportunity to examine her at his leisure.

  He was amused by the baggy shirt that now concealed the graceful form he’d seen yesterday, outlined against the sunlight. He was amused, too, by the bare feet in the deck shoes. She doesn’t like to wear socks, he observed, remembering from yesterday her bare feet in the white tennis shoes. Very nice, he thought, relishing the sensual image of those slim feet, bare inside their shoes. And he was charmed by her way of brushing abstractedly at her bangs, which had grown long and ragged past her lovely, darkly golden eyebrows, and which were clearly in need of a trim.

  When he’d had his fill of watching her from a distance, Zach opened the door of the truck and swung his long legs out, reminding himself to keep a light touch with her.

  Give her a chance, he thought.

  And give yourself a chance, he added, remembering how he’d jammed his foot into his mouth yesterday. His lips tightened as he thought, inevitably, of Adam Talmadge.

  And try to keep a lid on your temper, will you, he reminded himself.

  Allie continued to work, unaware that Zach had come up behind her and was watching her. She was just adding a wash of cerulean blue to the picture’s sky when his voice behind her made her jump.

  “That’s a nice painting, Ms. Randall,” he said, his voice even.

  Startled, she turned and saw Zach Eliot, of all people, standing behind her. She noticed instantly that today he was not glowering at her. Indeed, there was a small smile on his handsome face.

  Well, well. Could it be that the natives are getting friendlier?

  “You surprised me,” she said, a little warily. “Have you been here long?”

  “A while. I’ve been watching you work.” His smile broadened, and, in his brilliantly blue eyes, a good-natured twinkle was asserting itself. “You’ve got paint on your nose,” he added.

  Embarrassed, she dabbed at her nose with her hand.

  He laughed aloud. “You’re making it worse. Here, let me do it.”

  Allie stood still, like a little girl, while Zach took a spotless white handkerchief from his pocket and rubbed hard at the paint on her nose. She winced.

  “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he said, pausing to look gently into her eyes.

  “Not really,” Allie said.

  How many years has it been since someone cleaned smudges off my face?

  A stab of the
old loneliness caught her unawares and she quickly turned her mind away from it, knowing the pain that memory always brought.

  “I’m sorry you messed up your handkerchief, Mr. Eliot.”

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s no problem. But call me Zach. Everyone around here does, and ‘Mr. Eliot’ sounds so formal. Now stand still,” he continued, with mock sternness. “I’m not finished.” He put his broad, rough hand under her chin, turning her face a bit to the side. Although he held her firmly, she could feel the gentleness of his touch, and his warmth ran through her skin and down her back and arms, all the way to her fingertips.

  “How did you manage to get smudged all over?” he asked, frowning slightly.

  A weakness was developing in Allie’s knees and it took a considerable effort for her to speak in a normal voice. “I always do that when I paint. I forget what I’m doing.” His hand on her face was taking command of her senses, and she wasn’t sure what she was saying.

  Zach had stopped rubbing at the paint, but kept his hand under her chin, his fingertips holding her firmly. He was still smiling as his eyes moved slowly over her face, pausing at the bangs that brushed her eyebrows. Then, as though he were shaking himself awake, he blinked and dropped his hand.

  “There you are, ma’am. You’re all clean now.” He stepped back and, forcing his attention away from her face, took a good look at her painting. “You have a fine touch,” he said with genuine admiration. “Sea Smoke has never looked prettier.”

  “Sea Smoke?” Allie tried to focus on what he was saying, tried to forget the sensation of his work-hardened hand on her face.

  “The boat you’ve been painting. The ketch.”

  “Oh, the boat. Well, she certainly is beautiful. I don’t know anything about boats but she looks so clean and graceful in the sunlight, with the water all blue and bright around her. Even in this misty light, she seems to be gleaming, as though she’s eager to get out to sea.” Allie couldn’t help noticing the softening of Zach’s expression as she spoke. “Do you know who owns her?”

  “I sure do.” He was obviously pleased. “Sea Smoke is mine,” he said. “And she is a beautiful boat. One of the last wood-hulled sailboats around. I’m glad you wanted to paint her.”

  “I had no idea. I didn’t realize this was your boat.” It suits him, she thought, letting her artist’s glance run quickly over his lean, hard, competent form. “Should I have gotten permission to paint her? I would have asked if I’d known.”

  “That’s all right,” he said. “She’s been painted and photographed many times. In fact, I know how you artists are. You always want to examine every little detail closely. Why don’t you come on board and I’ll show you around? Maybe I can even rustle up a cup of coffee for you.”

  Well, thought Allie, considerably surprised. This native is getting a lot friendlier than I’d expected. She wondered what had brought about the change from yesterday’s bad temper.

  “I’d love to see Sea Smoke from the inside. I’ve never been on a sailboat before.”

  She cleaned her brushes quickly and wiped her hands on her shirttail. “Will my things be okay here?” At home in New York, Allie wouldn’t have dreamed of leaving her possessions unattended.

  “They’ll be all right,” he said drily, climbing up a little block of portable steps that stood next to the boat’s side. A curious look—almost of contempt—flashed across his face. “You’re not in the big city now.” He stepped onto Sea Smoke’s deck and held out a hand. “Steady now. Here, hold on to me.” He held out a hand for her as she stepped onto the boat. Her grip on Zach’s hand tightened as she felt the motion of the boat, rocking gently against the mooring lines. She stepped down into the cockpit and he released her hand and, with an air of nautical formality, he announced, “Sea Smoke and I welcome you aboard.”

  He saw that Allie began immediately to absorb the visual details of everything around her, so he put one hand on the boat’s helm and began his lecture.

  “The wheel, here,” he said, “is mounted on this pedestal. At the top of the pedestal is the binnacle. That holds the compass. All the engine controls are also mounted here on the pedestal.” He pointed into the after cabin, behind him. “I use that mostly for storage space, but if it’s cleaned up, there’s room to sleep two, in addition to the space forward.”

  Allie was struck forcefully by the lean grace of his body as he swayed slightly with the boat’s motion. His hand was resting on the main boom and he leaned against it as it rocked slightly in its rigging, his eyes narrowed against the sunlight that was beginning to burn through the light fog. She found herself calculating the best angle for a painting, probably a low eye level, she thought, to emphasize his height against the tall masts rising up into the morning sky above his head. She had to squint her eyes slightly, looking at him silhouetted against the sun, and she brushed the soft bangs away from her eyes. Zach smiled at the now-familiar gesture.

  “Let me get you that cup of coffee,” he said. He climbed down the ladderlike steps into the cabin. “Come on below and I’ll show you around.”

  Allie was surprised by what she saw when she descended into the cabin. Even to an inexperienced landlubber like herself, the sharp contrast between the interior of Sea Smoke’s cabin and her shipshape appearance above decks was striking. Up on top, not a single mark marred her glistening white paint, her sails were furled tight against their booms, and the canvas covers were tied and snapped snugly around them. Every piece of line was neatly stashed and there wasn’t so much as a cotter pin lying about.

  But the scene below decks was one of congenial clutter. Although the interior of the cabin was as beautiful as the exterior, with teak cabinets and wonderful brass fittings, all well cared for, Allie laughed to herself, thinking that her painting of this beautiful boat gave no hint of the very masculine disarray that was concealed inside its cabin.

  On the galley top there were tools of all kinds, together with a marine radio, a cell phone, a teakettle, pieces of rope. Stacked carelessly on the cushioned seats and on the table between the seats were cans of motor oil and plastic containers of nails, together with marine charts and pieces of hardware that Allie couldn’t identify. A pair of high-power binoculars lay on the table next to a logbook, and an electronic navigational keyboard was half covered by Coast Guard notices.

  Zach looked completely comfortable in the midst of the clutter. He set the kettle onto the alcohol stove, turned on the flame, and took mugs and instant coffee from the cabinets behind the small galley sink. Every move he made was smoothly efficient and Allie found that she was making mental notes of the way Zach’s muscles moved for the portrait of him she knew she was going to paint.

  “I hope you like your coffee black,” Zach said. “When Sea Smoke isn’t cruising, I don’t keep ice on her, so there’s no milk.”

  “Black is just fine.” Despite the casualness of their conversation, Allie was sharply aware of Zach’s physical presence, made more intense by the intimacy of the cabin interior’s close space. From where she stood, leaning against the steps, she could see past the galley into the sleeping cabin forward, comfortable and snug, cushioned all around, with beds built onto a kind of low platform.

  “Do you travel much on Sea Smoke?” Allie asked, trying to find a safe subject, one that wouldn’t reflect the disturbing sensations that were stirring in her.

  To her surprise, he didn’t answer her immediately, and his face clouded over, his blue eyes darkening momentarily under his craggy brow. Allie was puzzled by his response to a question that seemed innocent enough.

  Finally, he spoke. “No. Not much.” Then he paused, seeming to have said all he was going to for the moment. “I run a boat rental business here, and there’s a lot needs to be done. Doesn’t leave much time for gadding about,” he said shortly.

  Allie wondered what had shadowed that handsome face, but she sensed that he wasn’t likely to tell her, and that he wouldn’t want her to ask. Maybe someday, if they go
t to know each other better—

  For now, best to change the subject.

  “May I look around?” she asked. Her professional eye had already made a close inventory of the details, filing them away in her mental sketchbook.

  “Sure,” Zach said. “Come on. I’ll give you the tour.”

  He motioned her into the forward cabin, where the cushioned platform formed a deep vee-shaped sleeping space. Portholes let in the sunlight and a teak door could be closed to shut off this compartment from the main cabin behind it.

  She stepped into the sleeping cabin and was instantly touched by its comfortable atmosphere.

  How sweet it would be to wake up one morning, far out at sea, snug inside this sheltered place.

  “It’s almost like a nest,” she said softly, turning to Zach.

  He was standing just behind her, inside the forward cabin.

  “Yes. It is like a nest,” he said. “Completely separated from the rest of the world. Very private,” he paused, and then added, “and safe.”

  He was looking into her eyes, and she became aware of the sunlight, filtering through the portholes and glinting through his dark hair, lighting up the graying strands and turning them silver. She was acutely conscious of his closeness, as though she were being gathered up by a powerful, masculine energy. Feeling surrounded, engulfed, she sank down into the center of the vee formed by the cushions. Zach braced both his hands against the sides of the cabin roof over her head, and his tall, muscular body leaned over her. He was so close, she could smell his newly washed shirt, the masculine scent of his skin.

  She was unable to say a word. Her face was turned up to his, and she could feel her breathing, deep and slow, as she was held, transfixed, completely controlled by his intense blue eyes. He made no move to touch her, but the entire surface of her body was aware of his presence, as though his hands—those fine, work-hardened hands, those hands that felt rough and gentle at the same time—were passing over her whole body, exploring her, stroking her hair and her face and feeling their way, through her clothes, to the shivering, tingling skin concealed inside. She felt her own response, a spasm quivering deep inside herself.