Haven Creek (9 page)

“How late do you work?” he asked.

“I usually try to leave before it gets dark.” She had never gotten used to driving at night because none of the roads was lit. The alternative was to take the ferry at the Sanctuary Cove landing back to Charleston, then pick up the causeway.

“I’ll wait with you,” Nate volunteered.

She shook her head. “That’s not necessary.”

“Mo, please don’t fight me on this. I know you leave before nightfall because you probably don’t like driving in the dark. And that means I’ll wait.”

Resting her hands at her waist, she angled her head. “You’re not giving me much of a choice, are you?”

“Not tonight.”

If he’d been any other man, Morgan would’ve thought he was trying to dictate what she should and should not do. That was what the last man she fell in love with attempted to do.

“Okay, Nate. Let’s eat first.”

M
organ washed her hands before covering the table with a white linen cloth, then set it with round placemats made of bulrush sewn with strips of saw palmetto. Then she set out napkins, plates, silver, glasses, serving dishes, and spoons. She emptied the large containers of sweet tea into a pitcher.

Nate, having washed his hands in the bathroom, stood watching her. “Do you do this every time you sit down to eat?”

She glanced up at him. “Of course.”

“Aren’t you making a lot of work for yourself when you could just eat from the carton?”

“Don’t you ever eat at the table?”

He moved behind one of the chairs, resting his hands on the back. “When you work at a construction site, you sit on the ground and eat whatever you’ve brought with you.” Nate pulled out the chair. “Come sit down, Mo.” He seated her before taking a chair on her left.

Morgan handed him the dish containing a crab cake and a shrimp cake. “Please take one of each.”

“Only if you’ll have some of the neck bones I ordered.”

She ladled a spoonful of neck bones onto her plate, along with a serving of potato salad. They ate, concentrating on the delicious cuisine. Morgan broke the comfortable silence when she said, “Tell me about the work you did in California.”

“There’s not much to tell,” Nate said as he picked up a light, fluffy golden biscuit.

Morgan stared at Nate’s profile. The contours of his face reminded her of Michelangelo’s statue of David. Her gaze shifted to his large hands, with their long, slender fingers and clean, blunt-cut nails. She recalled the calluses on his palms, indicating he was no stranger to hard work.

“I still want to know.”

“Why?”

Resting her chin on the heel of her hand, she lowered her gaze. “I’m curious as to why you stayed away so long.”

Picking up his napkin, Nate wiped his mouth. “Money.”

She blinked. “Money?” she repeated.

He nodded. “I’d gotten a full academic scholarship to attend several colleges, but I decided on San Diego because a widowed aunt lived there. She’d married one my uncles, and because she never had any children she invited me to live with her. Despite not having a lot of money, she bought me a secondhand car so I could commute to and from campus. Halfway through my freshman year I got a job with a local contractor building custom kitchen cabinets. Whenever he paid me I took out enough for gas and incidentals and gave what was left to my aunt. It wasn’t until my father called to ask me whether I was selling drugs that it hit me that Aunt Lizzie had called him. He went on and on, threatening to come to San Diego and beat me if I’d gotten involved with drug dealing. I had to explain that I’d taken a part-time job, while still keeping my grades up.”

“What was your major?” Morgan asked in between bites of the expertly prepared fish cakes.

“Business. I continued making cabinets even after I’d graduated. That’s when a developer approached me to work for him. It was the beginning of the housing boom and he was in demand, putting up mini-mansions and subdivisions in southern California, Arizona, and Nevada. I put in an average of sixteen hours a day building cabinets and designer doors. I carved a set of doors for a house in Vegas made of Brazilian mahogany that sold for two million dollars.”

Her jaw dropped. “You’re kidding, aren’t you?”

“I wish. The client owned a share in one the casinos.”

“Talk about conspicuous consumption.” There was a hint of revulsion in Morgan’s voice.

“The price was obscene, but he never batted an eye when he wrote the check. I’d made so much money that the IRS owned my soul, so that’s when I decided to invest it. I ran into a guy I knew from college who’d gone on and on about building self-storage units similar to those used by commercial companies. He nagged the hell out of me until I agreed to sit down with him, and we worked out a financial feasibility plan. We started with one location in L.A. Two years later we had six in Los Angeles and three in San Diego. Collectively we owned more than two dozen sites when I sold my share earlier this year. I was amazed at the number of people who are hoarders. And they’re not like the folks you see living in filth, like those on reality TV shows, but people who are loath to throw anything away.”

“Were you affected when the bottom fell out of the housing market?”

“No, only because I was an independent subcontractor—not a developer who buys land, builds homes, then waits for someone to purchase them at outrageously inflated prices. When everything went bust I was living in L.A.”

“I can’t thank my granddaddy enough for willing me his house, because there is no way I would’ve been able to afford to buy a house on my former salary. I did update the plumbing and wiring and expanded it to suit my lifestyle.”

“Is the showerhead operable?”

Morgan screwed up her face. “You know you’re not right.”

He smiled from ear to ear. “It’s just that when you pay someone to do work for you it should be done right the first time.”

“Have you never had to go back for a do over?”

“Never. Only because I had an incredible teacher. My father would make me cut and sand a piece of wood over and over until I was ready to clobber him with it. He said he couldn’t in good conscience take folks’ hard-earned money and do a half-assed job. There’s an old sign on the wall in the shop that reads
IF IT’S NOT PERFECT, THEN IT’S A SIN
. I don’t know how long it’s been hanging there, but it’s become a Shaw credo.”

“Are you going to put it up in the barn?”

“I’m not overly superstitious, but something tells me if I take it down it’ll bring bad luck.”

Nate was more than lucky. He’d been blessed. In addition to his college degree, he had inherited a skill that went beyond anything he could learn from books. It was almost inconceivable that someone would pay him two million dollars for a set of doors. But for those who had more money than they knew what to do with, it was little more than a drop in the bucket. He’d become the fortunate recipient of their folly.

“If it ain’t broke, then don’t fix it,” she intoned.

“You’re right about that,” Nate said in agreement.

Morgan glanced at her watch. It was a lot later than she realized. The research she wanted to finish would have to wait until she got home. “I think I’m going to call it a night.”

Pushing back his chair, Nate stood. “What about your research?”

“If I’m not too sleepy I’ll do it at home.”

She rose to her feet, reaching for the dishes. Nate had answered her question as to why he’d elected to live in California, but there was another question she wanted answered: how he’d met his model-actress wife. That might have been too personal, and she didn’t want to cross the line and jeopardize their newfound working relationship. Even though he would be an independent subcontractor, she still held the purse strings.

Nate reached for the serving dishes. “I’ll clean up the table while you take care of your office.”

“There are containers in the cabinet over the sink for the leftovers. You can take home whatever you want.”

Nate met her eyes. “What about you?”

She managed a tired smile. “I have food at home.”

Morgan hadn’t realized how fatigued she was until she stood up. She’d gotten up at dawn to go cycling with Francine. Her friend always biked from the Cove to meet her, and then they returned to the Cove before Morgan biked to the Creek, cycling along the causeway’s bike lane. The early morning ride always left her invigorated. Occasionally they would walk down to the beach and watch the sun rise. After a leisurely shower, fortified with her usual breakfast of fiber, seasonal fruit, and a cup of herbal tea, Morgan was ready to meet the challenges of the day.

Most times she could be found in her office hours before the business district was beginning to stir. The exception was when she decided to stop off at the Muffin Corner. Lester and Mabel Kelly always opened early for customers looking to buy freshly baked bread, doughnuts, and other bakery items.

“Are you sure you don’t want save some for tomorrow’s lunch?” Nate asked as he walked into the kitchen.

“I try not to eat the same thing two days in a row.”

“You don’t eat leftovers?”

“If I eat chicken today, then I won’t eat chicken again until Friday.”

“Picky, picky,” he mumbled under his breath.

“I heard that,” she called out to his broad back. “Just rinse the dishes and I’ll stack them in the dishwasher.”

She’d gone through a phase when she’d not only been a picky eater but also ate only enough to keep from being malnourished. On one occasion, she’d gotten sick after she’d gone to a restaurant with her family to celebrate her father’s birthday. Her illness had become so severe her parents had to take her to the hospital. Unfortunately the doctors were unable to identify what had gotten her sick, which frightened Morgan so much that she was afraid to eat for fear of a violent reaction. Once she got over her phobia she monitored everything she put into her mouth in the hope that she would be able to identify what made her sick if she were to experience a similar reaction.

“I do know how to use a dishwasher,” Nate called out as he emptied the remains of their dinner into glass containers.

“So you’re not one of those helpless bachelors?”

“Far from it. I can cook, clean, change baby diapers, and put out the trash without being told.”

Sitting in front of her computer, Morgan logged on, printed what she’d saved, then logged off. She had no comeback to Nate’s claim that he didn’t need a woman to take care of his daily needs.

She’d gathered her tote bag when he joined her in the office. “Aren’t you going to take the leftovers?”

Nate shook his head. “I’ll get them tomorrow when I come back to fix the shower.” He glanced around the office. “Are you ready?”

“Let me check the back door and make certain the transom is closed.”

Five minutes later she sat in her Escalade following Nate as he drove slowly along Main Street. The streetlights had come on, and most of the businesses had closed. The lights ringing the town square highlighted the young people who’d gathered around the fountain. Once she drove past the Cove Inn, blackness descended as though someone had pulled down a curtain. A sweep of headlights from an oncoming vehicle illuminated the road. She focused on the taillights of the Sequoia as Nate maneuvered along the road, seemingly having memorized every curve.

Morgan let out an audible sigh when she saw the lights from Oak Street in the distance. It would’ve been preferable for her to set up M. Dane Architecture and Interior Design along the Creek’s main street, but the town’s charter wouldn’t permit two businesses offering the same services to open within one thousand feet of the other. She also didn’t want to anger her former employer. Traditionally, businesspeople who lived in the Creek operated their businesses in the Creek, and it was the same in the Cove. Those living in the Landing were given the option of doing business in either town.

She accelerated, pulling alongside Nate as she tapped lightly on her horn. She lowered the passenger-side window. Leaning to her right, she said, “I can make it home from here.”

Nate stuck his head out his window. “That’s all right. I’ll see you to your door.”

Before Morgan could reject his offer he drove off. When they reached Morgan’s street the solar lights she’d installed on the porch shone brightly in the darkness. Nate was out of his vehicle when she maneuvered under the carport and cut off the engine.

He opened her door and extended his hand, helping her to exit. “The bugs are vicious tonight,” he remarked, swatting at one that had flown too close to his face.

Morgan reached for her tote and handbag, then raced to the porch before she became a feast for the insects. She unlocked the screen door and then the inner door. Nate, who’d followed her, held the door open.

“Rasputin!” Morgan screamed when the cat launched himself at Nate. The cat stopped short of attacking Nate’s leg, then sat, staring up at the tall man standing next to his mistress. The brilliance of the feline’s eyes was reflected in the light coming from a table lamp.

“What the hell…” Nate swore under his breath. “You didn’t tell me you had an attack cat.”

She dropped her handbag and tote. “He’s more a scaredy-cat than an attack one. He runs every time someone comes to visit. My nieces and nephews have never seen him because he hides as long as they’re here.”

Hunkering down, Nate picked up the kitten, who continued to give him the evil eye. “Please don’t tell me your mama named you after the mad monk.”

“He’s a Russian Blue shorthair.”

“Just because he’s Russian doesn’t mean you should’ve given him the name of a crazy man.”

Morgan couldn’t believe Rasputin had permitted Nate to hold him. The kitten bared his teeth and claws whenever she took him to the vet for his checkups. “I didn’t want to name him Boris, Ivan, Nicholas, or Alexander, so I thought Rasputin suited his fickle personality.”

Nate ran a finger over the cat’s head. “He could’ve been Peter the Great.”

“Peter’s too common. And who ever heard of a cat named Peter?”

Rasputin purred softly. “Yeah, I know, Blue. You’re neurotic because you were saddled with a name that makes everyone believe you’re crazy. I should kidnap you and bring you to the shop, because every once in a while we have field mice that come to visit because of the wood shavings.”

Morgan held out her arms. “Give me back my cat. You’re not taking him anywhere.”

Nate dropped a kiss on the cat’s soft fur. “You’ve got a selfish mama, but don’t worry, Blue, when I come back for a visit we’ll have to talk over a few things. And when you’re ready to have a girlfriend I know one you’re going to like.” He placed the purring cat into Morgan’s outstretched arms.

“I don’t plan to mate him.”

“Come on now, Mo. Do you think that’s fair?”

“What’s not fair is having stray cats running around the island.”

“My sister has a short-haired cat that looks a lot like Rasputin. I’m certain if they were bred they would have a litter of adorable kittens.”