Back To Us (Shore Secrets 3) (2 page)

Finally, just when Piper was ready to bolt to escape the tension gathering in the air, Ward lifted one shoulder. “You’re Piper.”

What a cop-out. It had her reaching for her wine with tight lips and an even tighter heart. Seriously, the heart was a muscle, right? Why couldn’t it get a charley horse? Then he spoke again. So close, this time, that his breath feathered across her ear in a warm caress.

“No single label could ever sum you up.”

God. She tried every single day to ignore the yearning she had for this man. To concentrate on Ward’s faults, like the way he wrapped a present more clumsily than a toddler. His idea of dressing up was swapping out a plain flannel shirt for one in plaid. He clammed up and brooded, instead of talking out a problem.

None of those faults ever lessened her wanting, but she kept trying. Piper was goal-oriented, and getting over Ward Cantrell was a goal she’d been working at for almost a decade. And then...then...he had to go and say something so supremely
right.
If she hadn’t already been sitting, her knees would’ve wobbled right out from under her.

Her hands felt like they should be trembling. But when she picked up her glass—with both hands, to be safe—they didn’t so much as bobble the thin glass stem. Piper took a sip. Winced at the sharp nip to her taste buds and set it back down.

“If you didn’t want company, why’d you come to a bar?”

“Didn’t want to be alone, either.” He retreated to his empty stool, retrieved his beer and returned to her side. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Piper reminded herself he would’ve said exactly the same thing if Casey or Ella were there instead of her. The four of them were old friends. Best friends. Just because she wanted to read a certain, deeper meaning into his words didn’t automatically invest them with it. “You know me—always happy to help a friend.”

“What are you doing here? You’re not the type to hang out alone in a bar.” Ward angled sideways, crowding in beside her.

“I ditched my date. He was...” Biting her lower lip, Piper tried to think of what to say.

“Old? Dull? Fat?”

Not you
, she thought. Simple as that. She rubbed the stem of her glass with her palms, turning the liquid inside into a churning sea of red. “Not up to my standards.”

“Ah. The famous Morrissey standards. I’ll bet if you started dating the president, even he wouldn’t live up to your family’s standards.”

“Well, he’s married. Worse yet, he’s the wrong party,” she joked.

“Where did you meet this loser?”

“Up at Hobart.” The college nestled at the northern tip of Seneca Lake.

Ward’s eyebrows shot up. He rasped a hand over his cheek. “Trolling for them young now, huh? Decided they’ll be easier to train if you start before they’re even old enough to drink?”

Since he’d come back to town, they’d fallen into a pattern of being fine when they hung out as a group, with Ella and Casey. Mostly fine. Sometimes snippy, but overall...fine. The group dynamic was so natural, and so important to both of them, that they worked hard to maintain the deep friendship. When it was just the two of them, however, the gloves came off. Fast. And they jabbed with matching sharpness. Didn’t make it hurt any less, though, when Piper was the one on the receiving end.

“That was a low blow. And utterly uncalled for, might I add. Perhaps you
would
be better off by yourself tonight.”

“Jesus, I’m sorry.” Ward slammed down his beer mug to take her hand. “It just came out. I was teasing. I know there’s no way you’d go after a college kid. Not in a million years. It was a stupid thing to say.”

“Yes.”

His thumb rubbed back and forth over the top of her hand in a slow, soothing stroke. “I’m really sorry. I swear I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Sincerity roughened his voice, darkened his eyes. Put a tiny vertical crease between his eyebrows. Piper believed him. She also believed that it could’ve just as easily been her jabbing at him too hard. “I know. It’s okay.” Then she looked down, pointedly, at their joined hands. Because she couldn’t stand him touching her without the right intent for another second. “Want to let go, Romeo? Because you lost your shot at getting handsy with a woman when you shooed that blonde away.”

“Sorry.”

The balding man with a soul patch who’d managed to dance with just his upper body while plucking the bass squeezed in on the other side of Piper. He kissed the woman on the next stool long and noisily, then drained half a glass of wine in a single gulp. The cute but dopey way she smiled up at him, the easy way their fingers laced together as she blotted his forehead with a napkin highlighted just how on edge and decidedly uncomfortable Piper and Ward were. Piper was tired of it. Tired of only having Ward back in her life halfway. Tired of never dropping her guard around him for fear of him poking at her.

So she gathered her courage and took a leap. “How about we call a truce?”

“Did I miss a declaration of war?”

No war. Definite hostilities, though. Piper waved her blue-tipped nails, which matched the blue diagonal stripe on her dress, as if erasing her words. “Not a truce, then. I want us to break a bad habit.”

“We don’t smoke.” He tapped his mug against her wineglass with a dull
clink
. “You work at a vineyard and I own a distillery. Neither one of us is giving up drinking.”

Male-patterned obtuseness—another fault of Ward’s. “Not a New Year’s resolution type habit. Something smaller. I want us to stop sniping at each other. Like what just happened. The way I snarked at you earlier about the woman. Neither one of us means it. We don’t want to hurt each other.”

“No, we don’t.”

“We got into a bad habit a long time ago, when we were—” Piper searched for the right words. Angry. Bitter. Hurt. Defensive “—at odds. We made peace, but we never kicked the habit entirely.”

“You’re right.”

“Let’s start all over again, right now. Tonight. For goodness’ sake, we’re twenty-eight. We shouldn’t need the buffer of Ella and Casey to force us to behave. Not if we’re truly best friends.”

Another long pause. The combo was still on a break, so this time only the din of chatting diners and the clang of silverware against china filled the silence. Piper bit her lower lip. Like most men, Ward hated hashing emotional things out. She’d done all the talking for both of them, but there was still a chance he’d clam up and walk away. Maybe a crowded bar wasn’t the best place to delve into dealing with their gnarled history. Maybe she’d pushed too hard. Maybe she’d mistaken the regret she thought she’d seen in his eyes earlier. Maybe—

Ward hooked a thumb at the swinging doors to the kitchen. “I ordered some bread and dips. They should be out soon. Want to share?”

A peace offering that would also fill her grumbling tummy. Things were off to a good start. “As long as we order a charcuterie board too. I’m hungry.”

He scowled. “You’re from upstate New York, not France. Drop the fancy name and call it a plate of meat and cheese.”

There. Normal, friendly banter. She knew they could do it. How long it would last, however, was still to be seen.

“You pay for it, and I’ll call it whatever you like.”

“Ouch. Didn’t see that one coming.” Ward raised his glass in a toast.

Piper responded, but after half a sip she pushed her glass back across the bar. “I know it’s bad luck not to drink after a toast, but I can’t let another drop of that assault my tongue.”

“Is it corked?” He bent low to sniff at it.

“No. At least that would be an excuse. It’s simply cheap. Poorly executed, poorly balanced, and not left to age nearly long enough before someone rushed it out the door to make a fast profit.”

Ward pushed it away. “So you’re saying it’s swill.”

She’d choose a more elegant way to say the same thing, but yes. “More or less.”

“Why’d you order it?”

“I didn’t.”

“Ah. Your mysterious
college boy
—” he crooked his fingers into air quotes and lifted one corner of his mouth to prove he was joking “—is a cheapskate.”

“Precisely.”

Ward barely cocked his wrist before the bartender scooted down to them. “A glass of the Heron Hill pinot noir for the beautiful redhead on my left. And add a plate of charcuterie to my order.”

Piper gaped at him. “The wine you ordered...” She trailed off, too shocked to continue.

He dropped his head back and cracked it in a half circle. Then he scrubbed a hand across his face. “Look, I know, it’s not from Morrissey Vineyards. But if you ask me, I think it makes you look like a douche to drink your own brand in a restaurant. I never order Lakeside whiskey or vodka when I’m out. Even though it’s a far superior product,” he finished with a cocky grin.

“I completely agree. I just can’t believe you remembered my favorite brand and varietal.”

“You’d be surprised at how much I remember.”

Silence hung for a third time. But this time it wasn’t awkward or bad. This time, it was loaded with innuendo and promise as they stared at each other. The kind of silence they hadn’t shared in a very, very long time. Piper half wondered if she imagined it.

Ward hooked the tip of a finger in the drop of her off-one-shoulder neckline. Tugged it half an inch lower. “Sexy. You pulled out all the stops for College Boy. What happened?”

“Neil and I—”

Drawing a hand across his throat and blowing a raspberry, he cut her off. “Stop. Neil?
Neil?
A name like that? Of course it didn’t work out.”

The name had thrown her at first too. But it seemed like such a petty reason to turn down a date. A bad name was a grudge to hold against the tasteless parents. With a giggle she tried to turn into a stern scowl, Piper said, “I’m starting over. Zane and I were on campus—”

This time he held up a hand to cut her off. “Sorry. Gotta stop you. Again. It’s
Professor Buchanan
when you’re talking about Zane at his job. The guy worked hard to rack up all those degrees on cult stuff. Give him his due.”

Ward was being playful. The bartender had just deposited a fresh glass of wine in front of her. This was already ten times more delightful than her aborted date. “Titles are good. Maybe I should call you
that hot guy with bedroom eyes
.”

The waitress placed a basket of crostini and a trio of spreads on the bar. Ward immediately started layering tapenade and pimento cheese onto the bread. Piper assumed he was starving, until he pushed a filled plate in front of her. God. Another utterly sweet gesture that was probably simple courtesy...even though it felt tinged with romance.

“Neil teaches at Hobart and was talking to Zane when I arrived. He was cute. Full of compliments, but not in a smarmy way. So when he asked me out, I said yes.”

“Yet you’re here with me now. What happened? Did you kick him to the curb just because he’s got crap taste in wine?”

“If that was a bar I made men live up to, I’d never date again. Even here in wine country. No, the problem was that there were three people on our date. Me, Neil and his phone.” Thinking back on it, Piper’s temper flared once more. “He checked it seven times in the first five minutes. Texted. Shot off an email. Never once apologized or offered up an excuse. He’s not a heart surgeon scheduling a transplant, or a detective tracking down a murderer. The guy teaches classics. Latin, of all things. It’s a dead language—there are no emergencies with Latin!” Yup. She’d finished at full-on rant volume and could tell her cheeks were heated to a pink that clashed horribly with her red hair.

Ward made a multi-dip sandwich out of his bread and shoved it in. Without looking at her, he said, “Neil’s an idiot.”

“Definitely.” Zane was going to get an earful about his colleague. He should warn the entire female faculty and staff to steer far clear of Mr. Self-Absorbed.

“He’s being punished for it.”

“How?”

Now Ward looked up. Shrugged. “He doesn’t get to spend the night with you.”

Piper’s heart rose up in her throat. For a couple of seconds, she actually forgot to breathe. Until her autonomic nervous system kicked in and had her gasping like a goldfish. “I’ll, uh, be right back.”

“I’m making serious inroads on this pimento cheese. Don’t expect much left if you dawdle,” he warned as she pushed back from the bar.

That was the Ward she was used to. The friend who fought her for the last scone at breakfast. The one who always used his turn on movie night to force her to watch horror flicks just because it made him laugh when she covered her eyes and shrieked. Once he came back to town, Piper had made a decision to put the past behind them and treat him the same way she did Ella and Casey. She could deal with him like that.

But their new truce seemed to have flipped a switch in him. Suddenly he was acting very much like the Ward who stole her heart and became her first love. Piper shoved through the bathroom door and made a beeline to the sink to splash water on her face. Tonight’s version of Ward showed glimpses of the man she still loved. But that didn’t matter. She didn’t dare react. Because overshadowing every interaction Piper had with Ward was the memory of how he’d stolen her heart, treasured it...and then shattered it into a million pieces.

Chapter Two

Ward’s hands were slick around the yellow end cap of the sculling oar. Probably equal parts sweat and splash back from the river. There was a good burn between his shoulder blades. The smooth, metallic
hiss
of the seat sliding back and forth sounded like the iconic jazz beat of a brush against cymbals. Early birds twittered from the edge of the Erie Barge Canal. It was a perfect morning.

“Will someone remind me again why the hell we’re doing this?” At the front of the boat, Graydon Locke kept his oars moving in rhythm, but he sounded pissy. If he were one of the barn cats that still prowled around the distillery, all that black hair of his would be standing on end. Ward gauged him at 50 percent annoyed at the early morning and 50 percent annoyed at the activity. Gray liked to run. Period.

“Of course.” Zane propped his oar on his knee. Then he straight-armed one fist into the air. “To defend my honor!”

Ward snorted out a laugh even as he dug harder to compensate for the missing stroke. The professor was always good for some dramatic announcement or stupid trivia—Monday’s had been the exact number of slave laborers it took to construct the Sphinx. Zane said spreading the knowledge was his homage to Labor Day. Seriously. Nobody but the professor would use a word like
homage
while slurping down a red, white and blue Jell-O shot.

From the back, Joel McMurray slapped at the water with the flat of his oar. “First off, you’re not some quaking medieval virgin whose honor needs defending. Hell, as far as the virginity thing goes, do you even remember back to when you lost it?”

“Of course.” Zane twisted around in his molded seat. “Jessie Delavine. She of the golden locks and thirty-six C breasts. We made her parents’ minivan bounce like a pogo stick. I was seventeen.”

“Slowpoke,” Ward commented dryly.

He flexed his biceps. Or at least made the pose. Hard to tell, what with the baggy blue fleece covering him. “Hey, I may look all ripped now, but remember, I started out as a nerd.”

“You’ve got more degrees than I’ve got ties. You’ll always be a nerd, Buchanan.”

“I’ve made my peace with that.” Zane flashed a smug grin. “I’ve also made up the quantity gap over the years, believe me.”

Before a couple of months ago, Ward would’ve been happy to trade stories. Compare the relative merits of redheads to brunettes, for example. Debate if the reckless triumph of a quickie in a restaurant bathroom was more or less exciting than the overall allure of a gymnastically trained cheerleader.

Not to get all girly about it, but Ward felt gypped. He’d just gotten to know Zane and Gray. They should’ve gone camping this summer. Swapped stories around the campfire. Peed off of waterfalls. It was how guys cemented their friendship. He and Joel had done it, years ago. Came home with a bucket full of trout, hangovers that lasted two days, and a story involving a sleeping bag and a squirrel that they’d vowed to take to their graves. It had been awesome.

Not only had he missed out on the beer and bonfire with these guys, but his window on hearing those stories had slammed shut. Because his new friends had gone and fallen in love with Ward’s best friends from high school. Fine. Gray and Ella, Zane and Casey—they were all happy. Perfect for each other. Whatever. Why couldn’t they have waited to fall in love until after one damn long weekend in the woods? Now certain topics were forever off-limits.

Ward dug deep into the water. Somebody had to pick up Zane’s slack. Still. “Seeing as how you’re engaged to my best friend, let’s not go into detail about the notches on your bedpost. Once I know something—anything—Casey worms it out of me.”

“But she wouldn’t have any way of knowing what we’re talking about right now.”

“Female magic,” said Gray.

“It’s the only answer,” Joel agreed.

He couldn’t explain how Casey did it. Ward just knew she could. She’d worked her mysterious mojo to get too many secrets out of him over the years. The name of the girl he’d lost his V-card to—in the Thunderbird from their production of
Grease
on opening night. The embarrassing fact that he’d cried after getting a birthday card nine months after his mom walked out on them—and three months past his actual birthday. Even that he’d sold his own plasma when things got tight after leaving college.

“I’m telling you, she’d figure out something new was in my head, and not let up until I spilled. Be warned, Zane. You’re going to have your hands full.”

“Every night, if I’m lucky. Both hands.”

This time, Ward splashed him. A lot.

“Can we get back to the questionably weak motivation you’ve offered as to why I had to get up at the crack of ass?” Gray had passed pissy and backtracked to a full-on whine. This guy really was not a morning person. “There wasn’t even coffee brewed when I left this morning. And I live in a hotel. There’s almost
always
coffee going.”

“You don’t need coffee if you get the kind of wake-up Casey gave me...” Zane’s voice trailed off suggestively. Hell, forget suggestively. He did everything but install a neon I Just Got Laid sign at the bow of the boat.

God. Ward would jump overboard to avoid hearing any more. “Seriously. You’ve gotta stop. I refuse to picture my best friend doing anything naked.”

The newly engaged drove him freaking nuts. Zane and Gray swaggered around like they’d just single-handedly defeated an army of thousands. Casey and Ella focused an ungodly amount of their conversations on things like lace versus satin wedding dresses. Peonies versus calla lilies. Ward had been perfectly fine never knowing what a calla lily looked like. Now that knowledge was taking up room in his brain previously allocated for something important. Like the pitching stats of the two teams most likely to head into the post-season against his beloved Yankees. “Also, it’s bad form to rub it in when I’m in a dry spell.”

Never mind that it was a dry spell of his own making. Last night wasn’t the first time he’d said no to a pretty smile with no strings attached. Ward found it harder and harder to concentrate on the woman in front of him, no matter how beautiful, when he was thinking about Piper...which was all the time. Yes, they’d both dated in the years since they broke up. No, he didn’t have a shot in hell at ever getting her back. Thinking about her wasn’t a choice. It was an involuntary reaction, like blinking and breathing.

“Sorry for the last-minute heads-up. It was easier to tell Ella just to get your ass down to the dock without going into explanations.” Zane shook his fist at the sky again. “The head of the Geology Department challenged me to a race.”

“So go out to the quad at recess and run laps around him.” Gray barely made it through the sentence before snickering.

“No, dipshit, a sculling race.” Zane dropped his hand to clap the thin metal skin on the side of the boat. “At the Seneca Lake Fall Festival.”

Gray fell out of rhythm. Bobbled his oar. “But that’s only...what...ten days away.”

“Which is why we’re practicing right now.”

We
? Not by a long shot. Zane worked his arms more lifting a mug of coffee at Cosgrove General than he was right now. Ward gave a fast swipe to his forehead with one forearm. “Some of us are practicing. Some are sitting on their ass flapping their lips.”

“Hey,” Gray asked. “I’m just bringing him up to speed. He’s got to know what he’s fighting for to give it his all.”

“You’ve got two minutes. Then your oar goes back in the water,” threatened Ward. He was always up for competition. If Zane needed his help, he was in. No questions asked. As for the early hour, it didn’t matter if his morning workout was in a boat or on a treadmill. But he’d be damned if he’d let Zane get away without breaking a sweat too.

Zane’s oar snicked back into place. “I met Rick, the chair, in the campus gym last week. Barely finished introducing himself to me before he threw down the challenge. He probably thinks that since I’m new in town, I won’t be able to pull together a real team. Those science guys think they own the campus. Expects this to be a cakewalk. Since, you know, I’m in the Sociology Department, all I must do is sit behind a desk and exercise my brain...”

“It’s all he does too,” countered Joel. “He doesn’t spend all day clawing at boulders with his bare hands.”

“Geology, Sociology, it doesn’t matter. You’re all professors.” Gray, at least, was panting. Putting just as much effort into it as Ward. Joel, who rowed the mile to work and back every day
for fun
, probably wouldn’t feel a burn for another half hour. “The only exercise you get in the classroom is stroking an imaginary beard while you pose and ponder for your students.”

The thought of Geology Rick pretending to be a badass irritated the hell out of Ward. Was he trying to prove to Zane he was the big man on campus? That a bunch of rocks on a shelf made Rick bigger than Zane, the rich, famous and bestselling author? Zane, who had fought his way out of tribal cults in the back beyond of nowhere with a just a gun and his considerable wits? God, Ward could not wait to help crush this idiot. “None of them would survive pulling a single shift at my distillery.”

“Not a bad idea.” Zane tapped his fingertips together like a cartoon villain. “Humiliation as punishment. If their team loses, they all have to come help you for a day.”

Sounded good. Ward had people pitch in all the time. It was amazing how many interested tourists were willing to kill a few hours slapping labels on his bottles. “What if you lose?”

“Not going to happen. I’ve got a boat full of ringers. The super soldier in the back could probably win this race without the rest of us picking up an oar.”

“I’m not a soldier anymore. I’m a chef. Why can’t you people remember that?” Joel’s testiness proved that Gray’s bad attitude was as contagious as a head cold.

The peaceful pink tinge to the water from the sunrise would be a waste if everyone spent the whole time bitching. Time for a reset. “Let’s take five.” He pulled in his oar. Twisted around to face the mountain of muscle with coal-black curls hanging out from beneath his grape-green Mayhew Manor cap. “Look, Joel, it makes us feel cool to hang out with a guy who could probably kill all of us with just his pinkie. Don’t take that thrill away from us.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny that rumor.”

“Don’t bother. The truth’s often a letdown.”

Zane’s oar clattered to the bottom of the boat as he twisted back around. “I disagree. Truth is sometimes much more awesome than what you expect. How long do you think a snail can sleep?”

Talk about random. Ward had no idea how the professor kept so much trivial shit stored in his head, on top of all the scholarly stuff that would’ve filled any normal brain to bursting. “Seriously?”

“Yes.” He beckoned with his palms. “Give me your best guess.”

“A day,” grunted Gray.

Nah. This had all the makings of a trick question with some impossible-to-believe answer. Ward stroked a hand over his three-day stubble. “Bears can hibernate for a whole winter. I’ll take the long shot. Six months.” Hell, he didn’t even know if snails lived that long.

“Try thirty-six months,” Zane intoned slowly. “Three years!”

Ward slapped his hands together as if clapping erasers. “Well, that cinches it. Even if Joel single-handedly brought down every terrorist organization in a hundred-mile radius in one day—it still wouldn’t be half as impressive as Sleepy the Snail.”

Their laughter bounced off the leafed-out trees reaching over the canal. Even Joel joined in. For about two seconds. Then he cleared his throat. Hard. Hard enough to startle away a trio of birds overhead. “You ready to hear something actually impressive?”

Carefully, giving the guys a chance to compensate for the weight shift so the boat didn’t turtle, Ward threw a leg back to straddle his seat so he could see everyone. “Gonna be hard to top Zane’s snail factoid.”

Teeth gritted, jaw tight, Joel muttered, “Dawn and I are going out.”

“Only took you...what...three
years
to get up the balls to ask our mayor out? I asked Ella to marry me after less than three
weeks
. Talk about moving at a snail’s pace,” Gray huffed.

That earned him a glare that would’ve shut up many a weaker man. Hell, it would’ve had them diving out of the boat. Slowly, eyes narrowed, Joel drawled, “Lots of women prefer a man who knows how to take his time.”

Gray shook his head. “Come on. Three years, Joel. You took enough time to date, marry, have a kid and get divorced.”

“Well, we’re starting with a date.”

Joel was at least ten years older than the rest of them. Had to be pushing forty or right past it. Ward would’ve thought that, by that age, he wouldn’t want to waste another minute by going slow. The fearless black-ops/special-ops/whatever-dangerous-sneakiness soldier must really be scared about taking things with Dawn to the next level.

“Hang on.” Zane leaned forward, elbows on his thighs. “You asked her out a while ago. Right after Casey and I got engaged. Back in July, right?”

“I was going to. But I backed off for a while because you popped the question. Her face lit up when she talked about basking in the joy of her stepdaughter’s happiness. I didn’t want to mess that up.”

“Great.” Zane rolled his head to crack his neck. “So your snail’s pace is now my fault?”

“A little, yeah. More than a little, actually.” Joel tugged off his cap, roughly scrubbed a hand through his curls, then resituated it. “As soon as Dawn said yes to a date with me, she flew off to Iceland with both of you to meet Casey’s father.”

Talk about slamming the brakes on. An ex-husband back in the picture was a guaranteed damper. This particular ex-husband had run off with his young daughter and joined the infamous Sunshine Seekers cult. It took Dawn almost two years to track down Casey and rescue the eleven-year-old girl. The dad—the man Ward still wanted to beat black and blue as payment for everything he’d put Casey through—fled all the way across the Atlantic to avoid prosecution.

When Zane showed up this summer, he got all hot and bothered about tracking down the lone survivor of the secretive cult. His bloodhound-like pursuit almost lost him the girl. In the end, though, Casey agreed to introduce him to the father she hadn’t seen in fifteen years so he could write the definitive book on the Sunshine Seekers.
Awkward
didn’t begin to describe that reunion. Casey had been one big exposed nerve. She’d texted Ward from the airplane, the airport, the taxi and even the lobby of the hotel leading up to the meeting with the jerkwad. Dawn went along to smooth the waters, so Zane and his brimming bank account had sent her on a dream vacation to Paris afterward as thanks.