Between Us Girls (26 page)

Every day she crossed off a calendar date and thought of in-her-face tornado memories and cold shoulders and an ugly studio apartment. Most days she could bury those things and get lost in the bliss.

But now, today, Danno had called with his news. Valley Oaks would not be buried easily.

And then she confided in Keagan because—silly goose that she was—she thought of him as another Casa friend, one with a guy point of view. Like Danno or Zeb Swanson's sons or Quinn's little brother, who had often tagged along with them as kids.

But Keagan smiled, and she thought of knights and white steeds.

And then he gave her a jacket.

She stopped rocking, phoned Quinn again, and told her the story.

Quinn said, “Is Keagan the hot one?”

“There is no ‘hot one.' ”

“Yeah, there is. You told me he could do men's cologne ads.”

“That's Chad. He's super good looking and has a kid-brother personality.”

“So who's Keagan?”

“The motorcycle guy.”

“Who can break boards with his bare hands and makes you feel safe and scared at the same time.”

“I didn't exactly say that.”

“You didn't have to.” Quinn chuckled. “So what's the problem?”

“I don't know.”

“If he were the hot one, I'd say you might want to stay put.”

“Honestly, Quinn.”

“Okay, seriously. You're attracted to the guy. Probably like all the women there are attracted to him. Angel, knight, Kung Fu Dude. And what was that about that snarly old actor—Clint Eastwood. Wow. Your guy has everyone's attention.”

“Hey, you're right. Then it's not a huge deal.” She tried out her theory. “Maybe it just says I'm over Nick.”

“Definitely. Except it is kind of a huge deal if it means your heart is waking up again.”

Jasmyn leaned forward until her forehead rested on her knees and groaned.

“Is it mutual?”

“Mutual? No.”

“He gave you a jacket.”

“He'd give one to anyone who needed a jacket.” She sat up. “ ‘Angel' and ‘knight' suit him perfectly. He keeps to himself and then
poof
, appears when someone's in trouble. And the whole time he's so even-keeled, you have no idea what's going on inside.”

“He's probably hiding a broken heart.”

“Quinn, give it up.”

“Okay. Sorry. So, I've been thinking about running the Pig.”

Quinn distracted her. They spoke of wild changes they would make to the restaurant, beginning with a French-themed decor, which made no sense at all unless they convinced people that the Eiffel Tower and French fries were somehow connected.

Thoughts of Keagan faded away.

Forty-Three

Liv propped her fists on her hips and walked a slow circle around the front room of Cottage Three. The place was a disaster. “This place is a disaster.”

Beau knelt in front of the furnace, a narrow unit in the wall. His tool belt clanked as he screwed in a grate. “Nah. It's made to order for a little TLC.”

Liv shook her head. Tender loving care included a good scrubbing and a fresh coat of paint, not major repairs like fixing splintered cabinet doors, holes in walls, broken window panes, and a cracked sink. Not cleaning blood out of hardwood floors.

“Miss Liv, if you don't mind my asking, what happened here?”

“A big mistake.” She groaned and sank onto the window seat. “Normally I have an accurate sense of who belongs in one of my cottages.” Not wanting to sound pretentious to Beau, whom she did not know all that well yet, she held back. No sense scaring off the competent handyman with descriptions of the Holy Spirit tapping her on the shoulder and breathing insight into her heart about a stranger.

“My guess is you are a woman of prayer, Miss Liv. If God says jump, you ask how high.”

She laughed. Maybe she couldn't scare him off. “Something like that. I wasn't paying attention this time. And Keagan, who double-checks my decisions, was out of town. An acquaintance from church asked if her grandson could stay for about a month until his dorm room opened up at school. He was moving down from Sacramento. What she didn't know was that he'd been involved with drug dealers. There was unfinished business between them.”

“That sounds like one big made-to-order nightmare.”

“They found him here after only a week or so. For some reason he opened the gate for them and let them inside. They almost killed him.” She gestured. “And they did this.”

“Is he all right?”

“He survived. Oh, it was awful, Beau. It was about two o'clock in the morning. Piper's a night owl and right next door, so she heard the commotion. She called the police and then started the phone tree.”

“Phone tree?”

“I'll add you. It's our system for calling each other for emergencies or whatnot.” Whatnot. Like her heart attack? Had they used the tree for that? “Piper called Noah and me and we each called others. She called Chad, who went outdoors and unlocked the gate for the police. I don't know if that was stupid or brave.”

“You all must have been mighty terrified.”

“We were. Fortunately, Tasha and Coco slept through it all. I was kind of glad Keagan wasn't around. He would have done something brave and stupid and gotten hurt.”

“Miss Liv, you're getting all stressed out just talking about it. You go on home and have some tea. I'll make a list of what needs to be done here.”

She waved a hand, dismissing his concern, and realized she was rubbing her chest with the other hand, trying to relieve a tightness which, according to her doctor, resided in her imagination. “Beau, I've avoided this for six months. Keagan and Noah cleared out what little furniture was in here, but then I locked it up and thought seriously about throwing away the key.”

The aftermath—reliving over and over the threat to her Casa family—had been too much for her to bear. The night itself had been so full of terror—shouts, mayhem, flashing lights, cops in the courtyard, the perpetrators sprawled facedown and getting handcuffed. By the time the ambulance carried off the poor boy, by the time the police hauled off the others, by the time she entered Cottage Three and surveyed the damage, it was morning and she had felt ripe then for a heart attack or a stroke.

It took a long time for the Casa folks and the neighborhood to regain their sense of safety. Then the busy summer season was upon them. Then Jasmyn arrived. Then came the real heart attack.

Tending to Cottage Three hadn't even made it onto her to-do list until a few days ago.

“It's high time I address this mess,” she said.

“You know what it needs? A good cleaning.”

She eyed the stained floorboards again. “Obviously.”

“No, I mean a deeper kind of cleaning. The kind my Granny Mibs would give it.” He paused and met her gaze.

In an instant she knew what he would say. She wondered why she hadn't noticed before the stuff he was made of. It was plain to see in his open face and hear in the gentle cadence of his speech.

She didn't know much about Beau Jenner. He had come highly recommended by her retired handyman and by Keagan, who knew him from the gym. What else had she needed but their counsel? Now she was curious about the choices Beau must have made that led him all the way from Kentucky to her front door and then to this moment.

Liv folded her hands on her lap. Her chest was fine. It didn't need attention. It didn't need nervous kneading. Her head could do with some kneading, though. How could she not have thought of the obvious?

Because that night…

“It was the most awful thing I've ever experienced.”

He nodded.

“Your Granny Mibs would pray and sprinkle holy water over every inch of this cottage, right?”

He smiled. “You got it, Miss Liv.”

About time she got it.

While Beau went to the hardware store, Liv walked through the wrecked cottage, praying for God's peace to invade it and spraying holy water from a blue plastic bottle.

It was an old custom she had learned growing up in a liturgical church. Syd had thought the water part was silly, but then he'd never been one for mystery.
Tell God what you need, amen, over and done.

She wasn't concerned with explaining or arguing or figuring it out. To her the act, at the least, was symbolic of God's presence, and that in itself soothed her soul. The woman Jasmyn had recently met out in the desert—what was her name?—Nova. Nova would understand. Well, insofar as there was anything to understand about mystery.

“And amen.” Liv tucked the bottle into a pocket of the canvas bag that held an array of items she used around the property, including a small pair of clippers, baggies of all sizes, a crunchable sun hat, garden gloves, cell phone, and screwdriver. Practical stuff. She was a practical woman who acknowledged a very impractical, unseen world.

She stood in the open doorway, facing the L-shaped living room and kitchen, and smiled. “Peace be with you, Cottage Three.”

“And also with you.”

Liv turned, surprised to see that Samantha was the one speaking biblical language.

She stepped into the alcove. “A step-aunt took me to church once. She came for a visit and died the next day. I was ten.”

Liv relaxed the surprise from her face. “Oh.”

“Exactly.” She gestured over Liv's shoulder. “You're getting started?”

Liv wanted to ask about the step-aunt, but knowing Samantha, she'd already said all she wanted to say on the subject. “Yes, I am. I think it's time.”

“If you're ready, then it's time. That night…” She shook her head, her expression more somber than usual. “It will be good to get it behind us. I for one still give this place a wide berth when I walk to the front gate.”

“I wish I would have done it sooner.”

Samantha touched Liv's arm, a rare act. “You couldn't. Is there anything I can do to help?” Her offer was rare too.

“Thank you, dear, but I think Beau has it all under control. He's probably the main reason I feel ready. He's quite competent, isn't he?”

“Mm-hmm.” Samantha shifted her weight and crossed her arms. And blushed. Or maybe that was Liv's imagination ignited by Jasmyn's gossip about Beau flirting.

“Muscular too, hmm? I like a good bicep on a man. And pecs. My Syd had arms and a chest like—”

“Liv! TMI. Are you coming out of there?”

“Oh.” She gave the place one last glance. “Yes, I'm done. You don't care to…”

“No.”

Liv picked up her bag and shut the door. They walked a few steps, and then Samantha stopped and turned toward the cottage.

“Liv, it needs something on the exterior. Somehow it still looks like that night.”

She stood beside Samantha and studied Cottage Three. “It does. Somehow. What is it?”

“I don't know what
it
is, but if the bluish-greenish color goes, maybe it will go too.”

Liv stared at the door. It was aquamarine, not bluish-greenish. The color was carried over to a decorative piece of overhang, the two chairs, and the trim around the window.

“Samantha, dear, that's brilliant.”

“Really? I figured you'd say it's been this color since Hector was a pup and we don't mess with decor that old.”

She chuckled at the echo of her own words. “It has been here for that long, but I'm not that much of a stick-in-the-mud, am I?”

“Not when it comes to plumbing.” Samantha smiled.

“Okay. Well, mark this a red-letter day then. We're going to change the color. It will totally change the vibes.”

“Way to go, Liv.”

“Thank you. Hey, what are you doing home on a Tuesday morning?”