Haven Creek (2 page)

Nate found himself transfixed with the fluidity of her hands when she gestured and the graceful lines of her body, outlined in the fitted tangerine sheath she was wearing. He couldn’t imagine why she’d called him or what she wanted to talk to him about. However, he would find out in another three hours.

“Are you really going to the Happy Hour?” Bryce asked his brother.

Nate looked at Bryce, noticing a shimmer of excitement in his large hazel eyes. “No.”

“Come on, Nate. You have to go at least once.”

Resting an arm over the back of his brother’s chair, he shook his head. “If I’ve seen one club, I’ve seen them all. And even if I did go, I’m not taking you with me. You have a curfew, remember?”

Bryce sat up straight. “We could get there around eight and leave in time for me to get home by midnight.”

Nate shook his head. “Sorry. I’m not biting.”

His twenty-two-year-old brother couldn’t seem to stay out of trouble. It’d begun when Bryce went to high school on the mainland. He dabbled in drugs, got arrested for drunk driving, and the year before was arrested for disorderly conduct. In lieu of jail, he was placed on probation for two years. Bryce was required to call the Department of Probation in Charleston every night from his home phone before midnight. He was prohibited from leaving the island, and was subject to unannounced home visits from his probation officer. Nate blamed himself for not being there for his brother when he needed him most, but now that he was back to stay he knew things would be different. Their father’s hypertension had put him at high risk for a stroke, and he had asked Nate to look after Bryce.

Bryce folded his arms over his chest, stretched out his legs, and crossed his feet at the ankles. “Don’t you know how to have fun? You get up before dawn and work on that damn barn all day and half the night. You’re not Noah building an ark because the Lord told you that he’s going to send a flood to destroy—” His words were choked off when Nate’s fingers tightened around his hand.

“Watch your mouth, Bryce,” Nate whispered hoarsely. “You’ve been giving Dad a rough time, but it stops now.” He increased the pressure on his brother’s hand. “Since I’ve been back I’ve turned a blind eye to your smart-ass mouth. The barn will be finished in a couple of weeks, and that’s when
you’ll
start getting up at dawn to work with me. No more sleeping late and sitting around all day watching television. And when you speak to your mother and father, it will be with respect or I’ll call your probation officer and have him violate you.” Nate released Bryce’s hand. “What’s it going to be, bro? Are you willing to work with me, or would you prefer the accommodations at the county jail?”

Bryce gritted his teeth. “Do I have a choice?”

“Sure you do. Some guys prefer three hots and a cot to an honest day’s work. Now, are you going to pick door number one or door number two?”

A beat passed, then Bryce mumbled, “I’ll work with you.”

Smiling, he patted the younger man’s cheek. “See, that was easy.”

Nate didn’t like playing the bully when he’d always been Bryce’s hero. Three thousand miles and twenty years made maintaining the bond with his sister and brother difficult. He called, wrote, and never forgot their birthdays, or his niece’s and nephew’s, and yet, despite his efforts, he had still grown distant from them. His relationship with his father and stepmother took longer to resolve, and it was the first time since Lucas married Odessa that Nate felt they were truly a family unit. It had taken time, space, and maturity to realize he couldn’t change the past. His father’s affair with his wife’s nurse as Nate’s mother lay dying had haunted him for years. Rumors and gossip were as intrinsic to the people who lived on Cavanaugh Island as their Lowcountry cuisine. He’d believed it was simply talk until he saw his father and Odessa in bed together once his mother was admitted to a mainland hospice.

Fifteen-year-old Nate took Manda Shaw’s death hard; he intensely resented the woman who, three months later, had taken her place when she married Lucas. He rejected her and her claim that she was now his stepmother.

After a lengthy stint in California, he’d returned to Haven Creek a week before Thanksgiving, channeling all his nervous energy into his work. Bryce was right when he said Nate spent all his waking hours building the barn. Not only was it therapeutic, but when it was completed it would provide a place for him to live without depending on the generosity of his sister and brother-in-law, who’d permitted him to stay in their guest room.

Nate was snapped out of his thoughts when the wedding planner and her staff began motioning for everyone to take their seats. Nate checked his cell phone. It was eleven fifty-five. The ceremony was slated for twelve noon, followed by a cocktail hour at one and a buffet dinner at two.

The chamber music changed to a processional, and everyone turned to watch as two marines in their dress blues escorted Kara’s mother and Jeff’s grandmother to their assigned seats. The best man wore his dress blue uniform, and Kara’s maid of honor was resplendent in a cornflower-blue halter-style A-line gown. She walked with the best man down the white carpet to the place where Reverend Malcolm Crawford stood next to Jeff, who was also wearing dress blues. The music changed again, this time to the familiar strains of Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March.” The assembly stood, turned, and stared when Kara appeared on the arm of her father.

Nate’s eyes met Morgan’s when she turned in his direction. A smile played at the corners of her mouth before it grew wider, her dimples deepening until they were the size of thumbprints. Unconsciously, he returned her smile, then shifted his attention to what was touted as the wedding of the season.

A
s he was driving to the reception, Nate followed the signs pointing the way to valet parking. Within minutes of the exchange of vows and rings, he and Bryce had left the beachfront wedding ceremony to avoid a traffic jam. There were more posted signs, these to indicate the location of comfort stations.

When Morgan had asked Nate if he was familiar with the layout of the property that had given the town its name, he hadn’t lied to her. Today the historic house was surrounded by yellow tape to keep out intruders and the curious. Nate was ten when he came to the rose-colored Greek Revival–style antebellum limestone mansion with his father for the very first time. It’d been Theodora Patton who’d asked Lucas Shaw to replace the worn rosewood-and-mahogany decorative inlaid border on the living and dining room parquet floors. At that age Nate had been awestruck by the sheer size and furnishings of the largest house on Cavanaugh Island. He’d stood there gawking until his father instructed him to sit and watch what he was about to do.

He spent that summer and the next eight as an apprentice to the man who had a reputation as the most skilled furniture maker in the Lowcountry. When he’d graduated high school it had been Nate’s intention, like that of so many other young men on the island wishing to escape its mundane, small-town existence, to enlist in the military. However, he’d promised his mother that he would attend college, and her deathbed plea superseded his most fervent yearning. He’d been offered a full scholarship, and despite his father’s adamant protests he left South Carolina for California.

Coming to a stop, he got out of the Sequoia, leaving his jacket on the second row of seats. Bryce did the same. The valet gave him a ticket, which Nate pocketed. Shielding his eyes with one hand, he gazed out at the expanse of landscaped property, his gaze taking in a carpet of green dotted with trees and well-tended shrubs. More vehicles were maneuvering into the parking area as he and Bryce walked along a stone path leading to a trio of tents.

They encountered a quartet of elderly men belonging to the local American Legion, each holding handfuls of bright red poppies and asking for donations to assist disabled and hospitalized veterans. “Good afternoon, son. Are you or have you been in the military?”

“No, sir, but I’ll definitely give you a contribution for me and my brother.” Reaching into his pocket, he gave the man a bill.

“Damn!” Bryce drawled as he looked around. “This reminds me of your wedding reception.”

He looked at Bryce and shook his head. He knew it hadn’t been easy for the twenty-two-year-old to find himself alienated from his friends as well as cut off from Charleston’s nightlife. It was the first time in nearly seven months that Bryce had been given permission from his probation officer to attend a social function.

“Everything does look nice,” Nate said noncommittally.

He didn’t want to agree with Bryce, because that would conjure up memories of his own wedding, which resembled an epic movie with a cast of thousands. Unfortunately, that day he hadn’t been so much a participant as a spectator at an event destined for failure. His gaze shifted to an enormous red-, white-, and blue-striped tent about the size of a traveling circus’s big top. Row upon row of tufted blue chairs were pushed up under round tables covered with alternating red and white tablecloths. It was Memorial Day weekend, and in keeping with the patriotic theme, vases of blue delphiniums and red and white sweet peas adorned the center of each table. There was a smaller tent from which wafted the most delicious aromas as the waitstaff circulated with trays of hors d’oeuvres and flutes of Champagne. A third tent was set up for the DJs, who played an upbeat tune that currently topped
Billboard
’s Radio Songs chart through speakers set up around the property. Couples were already gliding across the dance floor.

Bryce draped an arm over Nate’s shoulder. “Is it okay if I have a drink?”

Shifting slightly, he met Bryce’s eyes. There was no mistaking the fact that they were brothers. Both were tall and slender, and shared the same complexion, high cheekbones, and even features. The only exception was eye color. Bryce’s were a sparkling hazel; Nate’s a clear golden brown.

“Please try not to overdo it. Remember your actions have consequences.”

Bryce patted Nate’s back. “I told you I’m not going to jail.” He headed for the bar while Nate picked up a flute of Champagne off the tray of a passing waiter.

Nate didn’t want to quash Bryce’s fun, but on the other hand he didn’t want Bryce violating his parole, forcing him to serve out his sentence. A knowing smile tilted the corners of his mouth when he saw his brother reach into the pocket of his slacks for his driver’s license. It was apparent that Jeff had instructed the bartenders to card those they suspected were under the legal drinking age.

He’d just put the flute to his mouth when he saw Morgan with David, and wondered whether she and the attorney were a couple. He was still stunned by her transformation, but then a lot of people and things on Cavanaugh Island had changed during his absence. Although both he and Morgan lived in Haven Creek, Nate had only occasionally caught glimpses of her when she and Francine went on their early morning bike rides. But once, when he saw her walking into a shop in the Creek’s business district, he’d given her more than a cursory glance, thinking that she was an anomaly compared to the casually dressed young women who lived and/or worked on the island. Everything about her radiated big-city sophistication and reminded him of the fashionably dressed women who lived in some of the large cities he’d visited.

His gaze lingered on her long, shapely legs, rising up from a pair of strappy stilettos. Nate smiled. It was apparent that Morgan was very secure when it came to her height. The sexy heels put her close to the six-foot mark. He continued to stare at her while sipping the extra-dry Champagne.

“Would you like to try the crab cakes, sir?” Nate shifted his attention when a waiter handed him a cocktail napkin. He speared a miniature crab cake slider topped with a dollop of crème fraîche and chopped green onions, then placed it on the napkin. “I suggest you also try the spring rolls. They’re incredible.” The waiter handed Nate another napkin.

“Thank you.” Nate took a bite of the miniature spring roll, savoring the variety of spices on his tongue. If the appetizers were an indication of what the caterers had prepared for the buffet, then Jeff and Kara’s guests were in for a sumptuous feast.

The tents were quickly filling up, and Nate scanned the crowd for his family. He’d planned to attend the ceremony, offer his personal congratulations to the bride and groom, and then leave. But Morgan had piqued his interest when she said she wanted to talk to him about a project. The fact that she’d left him two voice mails indicated that whatever she wanted to discuss had to be important to her.

He lost track of time reuniting with friends and classmates he hadn’t seen in years, most chiding him for becoming a recluse since his return. Even the excuse that he was busy helping his father at the shop sounded hollow to his own ears. Nate’s number one priority had been making certain his brother stayed out of jail. His second priority had been monitoring his father’s health.

The elder Shaw’s hypertension had become a concern for his primary physician, and Dr. Asa Monroe had cautioned Lucas to drastically change his diet and shorten his work hours. When his father called to let Nate know that Bryce had been arrested and was facing jail time, he knew it was time to come back to Haven Creek. The decision to leave California had been an easy one. His marriage was over, leaving him the opportunity to return home and work the family business. Now that his father had cut back on his hours Nate found himself alone in the workshop several days a week, which he enjoyed. The hard work kept his mind off other things, such as his failed marriage.

A smile spread across his features when he saw a woman he’d dated briefly in high school. Their relationship never progressed beyond the platonic stage because she was a minister’s daughter, and the last thing he’d wanted was to incur the wrath of her fire-and-brimstone-preaching father by sleeping with her. Extending his arms, Nate wasn’t disappointed when she came into his embrace. Lowering his head, he dropped a kiss on her sandy-brown twists, which were pulled into a ponytail.

“Hey, beautiful,” he crooned.

Chauncey Bramble angled her head up at him, smiling. “You always know what to say to make a woman feel good.”

Taking her arm, Nate led her away from a group of older guests who were watching them like hawks. “Have I ever lied to you?”

Chauncey was voted prettiest girl in their graduating class and had been homecoming queen. He’d read that Chauncey had married her college sweetheart a month after he was drafted by the Atlanta Hawks. He and Chauncey were similar in that they both had married high-profile celebrities whose professional
and
personal lives became salacious fodder for television shows, magazines, and supermarket tabloids.

She stared over Nate’s shoulder. “No,” Chauncey said after a pregnant pause. Her eyes met his. “Where did I go wrong, Nate? I should’ve married you instead of Donnell.”

What he wanted to tell the still-attractive woman with the sprinkling of freckles dotting her upturned nose and high cheekbones and the sparkling dark brown eyes set in a face the color of golden raisins was that she didn’t have to stay with a man who constantly cheated on her and was now forced to pay child support to three different women.

“Even though we can’t change our pasts, we shouldn’t blame anyone but ourselves if we repeat past mistakes,” he said in a quiet tone.

Chauncey affected a wry smile. “You’re so right. And I repeat the same mistake more times than I can count whenever I forgive Donnell for his infidelity. When I heard about the first baby it hurt me to my heart. I was shocked with the second one, but I still forgave him. Once he told me about the third I was so numb that I wasn’t able to react.” Her expression changed, her features seemingly crumbling before his eyes. “I wish I could be more like you.”

Lines of confusion appeared between Nate’s eyes. “Be like me in what way?”

“I wish I had the strength to leave my husband the way you did when you found out your wife was having an affair.”

He gave her a comforting smile. “Things have a way of working out for the best.” Nate didn’t want to appear insensitive; however, he didn’t want to talk about his past. He spied the person he’d been looking for, giving him the out he needed. He kissed Chauncey again, this time on the cheek. “My father just arrived and I need to talk to him about something.”

Chauncey rested a hand on Nate’s shoulder. “My kids and I are spending the summer in the Creek, so maybe I’ll see you around.”

“I’m sure you will.”

Chauncey had mentioned the strength it took for Nate to leave his wife, but for him it had nothing to do with strength. Although he’d had trust issues, his love for Kim outweighed them. He’d known their marriage was over when he found out that his wife was having an affair with her manager. When he’d confronted Kim she glibly admitted to having several affairs during their engagement
and
throughout their marriage.

Nate wended his way through the guests who were claiming seats under the big tent now that the cocktail hour was winding down. The first thing he noticed was that his father was alone. “Hey, Dad. Where’s Odessa?” It was rare that anyone saw Lucas at a social event without his wife.

Lucas smiled at his elder son. “She’ll be along once she decides what she wants to wear. As long as I live I’ll never understand women. Why can’t they make up their minds when it comes to clothes?”

Nate returned the smile. “I don’t know, Dad. You’ve known them longer than I have,” he countered, giving his father a long, penetrating stare. Lucas pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket, blotting the moisture dotting his forehead. At five ten, the sixty-three-year-old Vietnam veteran had been a powerfully built man with large hands and muscled forearms, but had lost more than thirty pounds since he’d been placed on a restricted diet. He’d had to buy an entirely new wardrobe to accommodate the weight loss.

Again, the resemblance between the Shaw men was remarkable. Nate knew what he would look like in twenty-five years whenever he stared at his father. Those who lived in the Creek said you could always tell a Shaw man because all of them looked alike. Lucas had grayed prematurely and several months ago had decided to shave his head, which had prompted him to wear hats to protect his scalp against the sun’s harmful rays.

Taking off his brand-new Panama, Lucas wiped his head with a handkerchief. He’d pinned the commemorative poppy on his hatband. “How long you going to hang out here?” he asked.

“I’m not sure. Why?”

Lucas set the hat on his head at a jaunty angle. “I was wondering if you were going to drive Bryce home.”

“I’ll take him back, but first I have to meet Morgan at three.”

Lucas pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. “Now I know I must be getting old. I forgot to tell you that she called and left a couple of messages wanting you to call her.”

Nate scanned the tent for Morgan, finding her surrounded by several men, as if she were holding court. The expression on her face spoke volumes. Either she was bored or bothered by all the attention. He also hadn’t missed the obvious stares directed at her from a group of young women watching the exchange.

“Yeah, I know. She let me know about it.”

Lucas followed his son’s gaze. “What does she want?”

“I don’t know.”

“You know she left Ellison and Murphy to open her own business.”

Nate nodded. He’d read about Morgan going into business and setting up M. Dane Architecture and Interior Design in Sanctuary Cove. “I saw the article in the
Chronicle
saying that she’s been commissioned to oversee the restoration of Angels Landing.”

“That’s a big job for a little girl.”

“Mo is hardly a little girl, Dad.”

A beat passed. “You’re right about that, son.” He snorted audibly. “I can’t stand it.”