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Authors: Terri DuLong

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BOOK: Postcards from Cedar Key
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I felt Saxton's head nod against the top of my head.
“And children?” I blew out a deep breath. “I love children, but it's never been a burning desire for me to have my own. Again, it isn't something that I feel pressured about. Besides, I'm forty-five and I guess each year I realize there's less of a possibility.”
“And you're okay with that?”
I nodded. “Yes. I think I always have been. What about you? You've only had one daughter that you barely know. Would you want to start a family now?”
“I wouldn't be averse to that happening, but like you, I guess I'm content with where my life is right now.” He reached for my hand and began stroking his thumb up and down along the top. “And do you think you'll stay here?”
Without hesitating, I said, “I do. I love this town. I love the people and the sense of community. My shop is doing well and so is my mail order yarn business.”
“So those are the things that would keep you here?”
“And you,” I said, squeezing his hand. “You would keep me here.”
I heard the smile in his tone. “Good. I was hoping you'd say that. I wanted to ask you something else . . .”
I heard his voice turn serious and sat up to look at him.
“This is probably silly . . . and there's probably no reason to even discuss it. But . . . do you consider what we have to be an . . . exclusive relationship?”
“Exclusive?” I asked, not understanding his meaning.
“I guess what I'm trying to say is, would you be interested in dating anybody else?”
“Oh,” I said, his meaning becoming clear. “Oh . . . no. Not at all. Why would I, Saxton? I love being with you. I love what we share—the fun, the laughter, good times.” I stopped myself from saying that I also thought that I was falling in love with
him
.
He leaned toward me and I felt his lips on mine as his arms went around me. This time when we broke apart, we were both breathing heavily.
“I'm happy to hear you say that,” he whispered against my hair, his voice husky. “Very happy. Because I feel exactly the same way.”
I curled back into his arm and leaned my head against his chest. Before I knew it, I had dozed off. A loud crash outside caused me to jump, and I realized that the room was completely black. I felt Saxton beside me and heard him say, “It's okay. I'm right here. Sounds like something went flying outside.”
I rubbed at my eyes and sat up straighter. “Why isn't the light on? What time is it?”
“Four-thirty, and we lost power about an hour ago.”
I'd been sleeping for over three hours—and in the dark.
“Go back to sleep,” he said. “It's okay.”
“No, I can't. I have to have . . .” I stopped myself before sharing one of my idiosyncrasies with him.
“Have what?” he asked, and I heard the curiosity in his tone.
“It's just that . . . I always . . . sleep with the light on.” There, I'd said it.
But he didn't laugh at me. Instead he fluffed up the pillow in back of my head. “Why don't you lie back down? I'm right here next to you. It'll be okay. Really.”
I let out a deep breath and nodded. I slid down to position myself and felt Saxton stretching out beside me. He reached for my hand, and that was the last thing I remembered before drifting off to a relaxed and easy sleep.
19
I
awoke to the feel of kisses on my cheek and Lola peering down at me. Smiling, I turned my head and saw Saxton peacefully sleeping and realized that his hand was still clutched in mine. It was light out and the sound of rain and wind was gone.
I tried to readjust my position carefully so as not to wake him, but his eyes shot open. He looked over at me, a huge smile covering his face.
“Good morning, beautiful,” he said as he placed a kiss on my forehead. “Looks like we survived Kara.”
I smiled and relinquished his hand to stretch my arms above me. “We did, and I have you to thank for that.”
Saxton rubbed his eyes and yawned. “I'm glad you think so.”
“I can't believe that I slept as well as I did. But I feel terrible. You didn't sleep much at all, did you?” I had a feeling that he had been on guard in case I woke in the dark.
“No, no. I did catch a few winks. How about some coffee? Looks like the power is back on.” He got up to shut off the lamp and stretched.
“Great,” I said, getting up to join him. “I prepared it last night, so you just have to flip the switch. I'll get into the bathroom first, if that's okay.”
“Sounds good,” he said, heading into the kitchen while I headed toward the bathroom.
I emerged following a quick shower, teeth brushed, wearing shorts and a tee shirt, to the wonderful aroma of Maxwell House.
He passed me a mug.
“Thanks,” I said. “Your turn. I left clean towels out for you.”
“Perfect. Oh, and by the way, don't be alarmed when you look out the window.”
I walked farther into the kitchen and glanced out. “Oh! My God!” I exclaimed. I looked down onto SR 24 and Second Street to see water covering the entire street, looking more like a pond than a means for transportation. A few rowboats went past with people pushing oars back and forth.
“It's okay,” he said, and I felt his arm go around me. “This has happened before with severe storms. Unfortunately, it was high tide during the height of the hurricane. But the water will begin to recede pretty quickly and we'll have our streets back.”
“Do you think the chocolate shop got flooded?” I asked. I couldn't believe what I was seeing outside my window.
“You may have gotten some flooding. Do you have a shop vac? We'll get it all cleaned up as soon as the water recedes.” He kissed my cheek. “I'm heading into the shower. At least we have our power back.”
I smiled. Ever the optimist.
“You're right. How about a muffin with coffee?” I asked as I realized that, no, I did not have a shop vac.
“Definitely,” he said, before heading for the bathroom.
 
Saxton was right. By early afternoon the water covering the streets was gone and we decided to venture outside. As we came out of my courtyard onto D Street, I saw a crowd of people in front of the bookshop.
“Wonder what that's all about,” I said as we headed in that direction.
Most of the people congregated were locals, but some were visitors who had been on the island when the hurricane struck. I saw Mr. Carl in the crowd and went toward him.
“What's going on? Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, Miss Corabeth's inside with that reporter and Officer Bob. Nobody allowed in there right now. Seems that reporter is accusing Miss Corabeth of being that Erica writer. I think he was harassing her, so she put out a call to Officer Bob.”
“Erica writer?” I asked with confusion. “What on earth is that?” All of a sudden, it hit me. “Do you mean
erotica
writer?”
He nodded. “Yeah. You know, those books that Raylene was complaining about.”
“Are you serious?” Saxton said, shaking his head. “Where the heck did the reporter get that idea?”
“I heard something about his girlfriend working for the
New York Times
and she gave him a tip. He didn't come here to cover a hurricane—he came to interrogate poor Miss Corabeth. Imagine accusing her of something like that.”
I now felt quite justified in my dislike of that reporter the day before. And he didn't even purchase one piece of my chocolate.
“Well, that's just plain crazy,” I said as Suellen came up to join us.
“What's going on?”
I filled her in, and disbelief showed on her face.
“That reporter must be kidding,” she said. “Corabeth's no author. So Officer Bob is inside? Maybe I should wait to open the coffee café.”
“Good idea,” I said as I looked across the street to my chocolate shop. “Well, guess I'll go inspect my damage. You don't happen to have a shop vac, do you?”
“I do, and as soon as I can get inside and clean up, I'll let you borrow it.”
“Thanks,” I said as Saxton and I crossed the street.
I put my key into the lock and opened the door. Puddles of water covered the floor, but other than that, the shop looked the same.
“Not too bad,” I said. “I guess we were fortunate.”
Saxton nodded. “And when Suellen brings over the vac, we'll get the puddles cleaned up. Why don't we walk around town and see if anybody needs help.”
“Good idea,” I said as we walked out and I relocked my door.
Heading down Second Street we saw merchants sweeping water out of their shops, putting wet items on the sidewalk to dry, but for the most part there was no serious damage. We walked over to City Park, where branches and palm fronds littered the ground. The ocean still looked pretty choppy, but with the sun now shining it didn't look quite as menacing. We headed over to Dock Street and saw the same type of cleanup was going on. Everyone seemed to have things in order, so we headed back to my shop. By now the crowd had dispersed in front of the bookshop, but it was closed and the door was locked. We walked next door and went into the coffee café, where a few people were gathered. Suellen was busy filling orders and gave us a quick wave. She came over to our table a few minutes later.
“What the heck was that all about next door?” I asked.
Suellen shrugged. “Beats me. It seems that reporter was pretty insistent that Corabeth is the erotica author Lacey Weston.”
“That's insane,” I said. “Corabeth isn't even an author. Is she?” I looked at Saxton like he was supposed to have the answer.
He laughed. “Not that I'm aware of.”
“What did Corabeth say?” I asked. “And what happened to the reporter?”
“When I came in here, I heard Corabeth denying it. She said she had no idea what he was talking about. Officer Bob made the reporter leave the island. Said if he didn't, he'd charge him with harassment.”
I shook my head and laughed. “So is our little town going to be on CNN?”
“I doubt it. He didn't get a story, so I guess that's the end of it.”
 
But that wasn't the end of it. The following week we were all gathered at the yarn shop for our evening of knitting when Corabeth walked in.
Everybody looked up, stopped talking, and ceased knitting.
She took a seat, removed a beautiful pale green cotton sweater from her bag, knitted a couple of stitches, and then laid it in her lap.
“I suppose you gals want the details on the commotion at the bookshop last week?”
“Well . . . no. Not if you don't feel the need to share . . .” somebody said, while somebody else said, “Yeah, I'm dying to know what that was all about.”
Corabeth cleared her throat. “Okay. Well, the truth of it is . . . I've spoken to my publisher and . . .”
“Publisher!” Raylene interrupted. “You mean to tell me
you're
Lacey Weston and you
do
write that smut?”
Completely ignoring Raylene, Corabeth went on. “And my publisher feels the cat is now out of the bag and yes. . . . My pen name is Lacey Weston and I'm an author.”
A collective gasp filled the room as questions were tossed at Corabeth faster than the speed of light.
“An author? Why didn't you ever tell us?”
“How long have you been writing?”
“I can't believe we never knew your secret.”
“Does Lucas know who you really are?”
Corabeth raised her hand in the air. “Give me a chance and I'll tell you everything.” She took a deep breath. “I've always enjoyed writing. And years ago I began writing erotica for my own entertainment. I knew it was becoming more popular in the book industry and it also didn't have the stigma that it did years ago. So, on a lark, I decided to send one of my manuscripts off to a publisher in New York. Imagine
my
surprise when about five months later, I received a letter from them offering me a contract.”
Dora chuckled.
All eyes were focused on Corabeth as she continued her story.
“And those contracts kept coming, my sales skyrocketed, and before I knew it, I was a
New York Times
bestselling author.”
“But why the pen name?” Chloe questioned.
Corabeth laughed. “Not everybody likes the fact that erotica is in bookstores.” Her glance strayed to Raylene, who'd managed to remain silent. “I discussed it with my editor, and we both agreed that perhaps a pen name might be best.”
“I'll be darn,” Liz said. “All those books of yours that I read . . . and I never knew it was
you
.”
“You read them?” Raylene said, surprise in her voice.
“Sure I did. They're good. Maybe you should broaden your own reading horizons.”
Raylene sniffed and resumed her silence.
“So is that why sometimes you were holed up in your house and couldn't make the Garden Club meetings or other events? You were busy writing?” Flora leaned forward in her chair.
“Exactly. When I was on deadline, it got a bit tricky trying to make excuses why I couldn't join the rest of you.”
Dora laughed and shook her head.
Needless to say, I was absolutely stunned with this news. Prim and proper Miss Corabeth, satisfying the sexual appetites of women around the world.
I joined Dora's laughter. “Well, I say bravo to you! But now that your secret's out, will it affect your writing career?”
“No, I wouldn't think so, and my editor said it might even give it another boost. I have another novel coming out in the spring, so I guess only time will tell.”
“Well, I'll be first in line to get one,” Betty said.
“Not if I get there first,” Flora retorted.
“Well, you sure had us fooled,” Raylene snapped. “Here I thought you were a churchgoing woman.”
“Maybe you'll want to get a copy for you and Mr. Carl to read together,” Flora said, causing a deep crimson blush to creep up Raylene's neck. “Who knows how it might spice up your life.”
“What a thing to say. . . . As if . . . I wouldn't . . .”
“Oh, Raylene, lighten up, for goodness' sake.” Betty leaned over and patted Raylene's arm. “We're just joking with you.”
“Yes . . . well . . . I would hope so,” she stammered.
But I couldn't help but notice that her normal nasty remarks were missing. Was it really possible that Raylene Samuels was beginning to mellow a bit?
“Well, my goodness,” Dora said, standing up. “Life is just filled with surprises, isn't it? I think we should take a break now and have some pastry and coffee.”
Yes,
I thought.
Dora's right. Life is filled with surprises, but learning about Corabeth made me realize even more how little I probably knew about my own mother.
BOOK: Postcards from Cedar Key
8.61Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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