On Lavender Lane (35 page)

Like everything else he’d done, Duncan Chaffee’s work had always been personal. In that case, he’d been building a school in the highlands, where he’d served during the war. After years of Agent Orange defoliation, the area was gradually returning to normal. Duncan had hoped that his school—another of his pro bono projects—would be one more building block in the restoration of relations between the two countries.

The Save Our Salmon coalition, normally known as SOS, had been another of his father’s great passions. Not just for himself as a fisherman, but because he’d believed that restoring the Pacific Northwest’s wild salmon and free-flowing rivers could be a vital economic engine for local communities hit hard by the loss of timber jobs and the recession.

“The Vietnam school was the last project he did,” Lucas said.

“Yeah, I know. Which is a damn shame, because, like I said, he was a freaking artistic genius. He’d already recommended someone else in his firm, Dylan Delaney, to do the work, but I decided just to wait.”

“Dylan’s a great architect,” Lucas said.

“I’m sure he is. But, like I said, I was willing to wait for Duncan. Which I’m glad I did, because if I were living up in Seattle in a Duncan Chaffee house, I’d probably never be able to give it up and move down here to start this project.”

“I appreciate you giving me a shot to bid it.”

“Hell, from what your dad said about you, I figure that while you might not have the fancy degree—which, by the way, I recently read that neither did Frank Lloyd Wright—you
two shared a vision about architecture, along with a work ethic I require in anyone who works with me.”

“I’m used to hard work.”

“You wouldn’t have made it as a SEAL if you weren’t. And another thing you’ve got going in your favor is that we vets have to stick together.” He glanced through the jagged, broken pane of glass that had once been a window. “We’ve got company.”

As Lucas looked down at Maddy getting out of the driver’s seat of that rental car, he was hit by a slap of lust. And something even stronger. An emotion so strong he wasn’t sure it might not cause his heart to burst.

He was, as Sax would say, so toast.

And he so didn’t care.

In fact, it felt damn good being back here in this special place. With the woman that the gods, good fortune, or just fickle fate were giving him a second chance with.

And this time he was not going to let her get away.

“Hey!” He called down to her. “Stay put. I’ll be right down.”

Those wild black curls tumbled down her back as she tilted her head and looked up to find the source of his voice. She spotted him, waved, and sent him a smile bright enough to light up the entire coast for a month of Sundays.

“Lucky you,” McGrath said.

“She’s a client,” Lucas said. His dad had taught him early not to kiss and tell, which he never had. Except that one time in that bunker, when they’d all been trying to take a dying battle buddy’s mind off his situation. A night Lucas would’ve bet serious money on that none of them would have survived.

“I’d say, given the look on your face, that she’s a helluva lot more than that.”

“We knew each other growing up. And yeah, we share a bit of a checkered past.”

“Now, see, I’ve always been one of those glass-half-full
guys,” the older man offered. “The way I figure it, any past, checkered or not, gives you an edge on your competition. Because you can skip past all that getting-to-know-you stuff. And work on any of the negative issues.”

Lucas hadn’t, until this moment, considered having any competition. Other than the Frenchman who, obviously being an idiot, had put himself out of the picture. But Maddy was bright, gorgeous, and, he remembered, had always been well liked. It would be stupid to think that he’d be the only guy in town who’d notice that she was suddenly, conveniently, available.

Which meant he was going to have to pick up his game. Patience was one thing. Stupidity another.

45

Just days ago Madeline had considered herself happily married. All right. Not happily. But she’d certainly been hoping things would turn around. Because, the same way she could salvage a cloudy consommé, she’d been certain she could repair her marriage.

Wasn’t that why she’d been running like a dervish, taping those shows, demonstrating cookware all over the damn country, taking care of her husband’s books because he didn’t trust any accountant not to gossip about his precarious financial situation? She’d even continued to work the front of Maxime’s on Columbus many nights, whenever she had any time off.

And look where that had gotten her.

Having been brought up to believe that there was nothing she couldn’t accomplish, she’d refused to acknowledge what Maxime had always known. That their marriage, which he’d never sincerely wanted, had been on life support since the moment they’d exchanged vows. She had pushed him up that aisle to the altar, and then once they were husband and wife, while on some level she’d realized her mistake, she’d still kept trying to fix it.

When had she stopped allowing herself to want something for herself? To be happy? To feel, as she did now, as if her heart, which had been dormant for so long, might just
float all the way up there to where Lucas was framed by that broken window.

Flynn McGrath didn’t look like a stockbroker. He was, Madeline thought, as Lucas introduced them, a dead ringer for Paul Newman. Not the younger one from
Hud
or
The
Long, Hot Summer
, but the forty-year-old actor who’d proven he was still one of the sexiest men on the planet playing Cool Hand Luke and Butch Cassidy.

He was tall, cowboy lean, and had blue eyes that blazed out of a deeply tanned face. But when he began talking about creating from reclaimed wood, his passion was contagious.

“You’re absolutely right on the mark about using salvaged wood to fit into your restaurant theme of sustainability,” he said, when Madeline told him what she’d planned to do. “It’ll help establish your brand.”

“Oh, please.” He might be sexy, but she’d hoped never to have to hear that word again.

“You’re right. The term’s become a cliché, but it’s a necessity in this day and age,” he said. “More and more businesses, including restaurants, are using
green
as a marketing tool. Even ones who might only stick an LED lightbulb over their salad bar. Having tables from reclaimed trees would definitely not only make you stand out, it’ll put you at the forefront of your field.”

“And get
you
some advertising in the meantime if the show gets on TV,” she said dryly. One thing life in New York and the restaurant business had taught her was that everyone had an angle.

“To tell you the truth, we’ve got more business than my two partners and I can handle,” McGrath surprised her by saying. “If you decide you want to do business with us, we’d have to put off other spec jobs we’ve been saving some pieces for.”

“Then why would you consider my restaurant in the first place?”

“Because you’re right. Being on television wouldn’t hurt. Not because we need the business, but because featuring reclaimed wood on your show would help get the word out about tree salvage. These days most end up as mulch, if they’re lucky. The trees we deal with have lived long, productive lives in our own neighborhoods. They’ve shaded us, helped clean our air, given birds a home, provided oxygen for a planet, and just flat-out made us feel better by looking at them. They deserve to be respected. Reclamation provides that respect.”

“Chefs are taught to respect the food we prepare,” she said, thinking how similar their work sounded.

“There you go. We’ve tried to build a whole bouillabaisse of green values from using nontoxic, water-based wood finishes to offering the sawdust free to residents for mulch, and recycling all our paper and wood products.

“We also always hang bare cedar boughs from our open ceiling trusses—which is something we’re going to have to work in,” he told Lucas. “There’s a local Native American belief that it cleanses any lingering negative energy from the lumber that enters. I figure that’s just one more bit of respect.”

“I like that,” Madeline said. “Maybe we could incorporate it into beams in the restaurant.”

“Works for me,” Lucas said.

“Along with sharing values, there’s another reason I’d be willing to take your job on,” McGrath said.

She crossed her arms. Here came the angle. “And that reason would be?”

He flashed a bad-boy grin that was pure Newman at his best. “You’d be the prettiest client I’ve ever worked with.”

“I merely inherited good genes,” she said. “Getting back to your trees…”

He slanted Lucas a look. “Lady gets right down to business.”

“Ms. Durand’s got a timeline thing going.”

“Well, that might be a bit of a problem.” McGrath rubbed his jaw. “Working with wood isn’t like painting with oil or pretty watercolors. It’s an unforgiving medium. Being a force of nature, as it is, it can bring a lot of pitfalls with it.

“It’s not just the different species. Every tree is different and it can take a while to find its soul.”

Madeline suspected other people might find that idea a bit New Agey. Fortunately, she often felt the same way when it came to how to treat a particularly challenging yet irresistible fish one of her suppliers might surprise her with on any given morning.

“Clients who are drawn to salvaged wood have to be adventurers,” McGrath said. “Because there’s definitely an element of risk. The negative part is that it can take time. The flipside is that you get to be part of the process. But you also have to be patient and trust that we know what we’re doing.”

“I traveled through Europe by myself after graduating from high school,” Madeline said. “Although I grew up in a small village in Umbria and here in Shelter Bay, which isn’t exactly the most bustling place on the planet, I managed to make a career for myself in Manhattan. So although I might not be into extreme sports, I think you’ll find me adventurous enough. As for the patience, you’ve got me there. It’s honestly not my strong suit. So, how about we tackle the project in stages?” she suggested. “Maybe start out with something like a great bar. We’ll see how we work together and go from there.”

“She’s not only gorgeous; she’s also smart,” he told Lucas.

“You don’t have to convince me,” Lucas said.

“You know, I’m not sure it’d make a good bar, but I’ve got this twenty-foot slab of red elm,” McGrath said. “We milled it with a Y at the top because of way the trunk split. It’d make a great focal point on an entry wall. If you don’t mind a huge gash and a burn trail from the lightning strike that killed it.”

“Oh!” Madeline could just imagine it. “That would give it even more character.”

“Again, a woman after my own heart. If Chaffee here hadn’t already staked his claim, I might try my luck.”

“I didn’t say anything about any claim,” Lucas interjected, holding up both hands in a plea of innocence. “Honest.”

“That’s true enough,” the wood artisan agreed. “He didn’t use those exact words. But a smart man, and I like to think I am, knows enough to stay out of the way of a SEAL on a mission.”

“Former SEAL,” Lucas muttered. “I saw the slab,” he told Madeline, obviously as eager as she was to keep this conversation on business. “It’s an amazing piece. The burn looks sort of like a bird. Maybe a heron. You can even see the tree rings on the edges.”

“We call it a live edge,” McGrath said. “It celebrates the topography of the tree trunk and provides visual interest. We prefer to impose as little human interference in the design as possible.”

“But I wouldn’t want to size it down,” Madeline considered the logistics.

“Good. Because I wouldn’t size it down,” the other man said.

“You’ve got room with that second story,” Lucas reminded her. “We could always raise the ceiling a bit higher and use heavy beams so it would stick with a farmhouse look and not appear too contemporary.”

“I really do like that idea.”

“We’ve also got some scrap pieces we were planning to recycle,” McGrath said. “I think we could work up some barstools, if you wouldn’t mind having mixed species.”

“I’d love that even more.” This was getting more and more exciting. And to think that she wouldn’t have even known about Flynn McGrath if her grandmother hadn’t hired Lucas to do her remodel.

“We’re in the process of moving our stock down here from Seattle,” he said. “Since we’re going to do this reconstruction in sections, we thought it only made sense to use some of the older sections for storage. I should have something for you to see in the next three to five days.”

“That would be perfect.” She could feel herself beaming and realized how long it had been since she’d had anything to feel excited about.

“Great. Here’s my card with my cell on it, which would probably be best because I’m between places right now. But I think we can work out some prices and pieces that work for both of us.”

Lucas and Madeline stood side by side as he walked back to his truck, the wedge-heeled cowboy boots adding to his swagger.

“I’ll bet he’d make a fortune in New York,” she murmured. “Women who like to think of themselves as the height of sophistication would be falling over themselves just to show him off, and pay big bucks for his furniture in their apartments.”

“Money doesn’t seem to be that big a deal to him,” Lucas said. “So, you think he’s sexy?”

“Absolutely. But that shouldn’t concern you. Since you’ve staked your claim.”

Lucas cringed. “I honestly didn’t tell him that.”

“But it’s true.”

“I already told you I intend to marry you. So I guess, in that respect, it’s true. But, it’s not like you haven’t already done the same to me. You’re just not ready to admit it yet.…

“However,” he said, reaching out to tuck a wayward curl behind her ear, “since you’re out here, want a tour? Or would you like to get down to work? Or, you know, it’s going to be a gorgeous evening. I’ve got Dad’s boat down here at the marina. We could go for a sail.”

“Why?”

“For fun. You do remember the concept, right?”