Package Deal (6 page)

She handed Steve the cup, pointing to the sugar and creamer on the counter. “So, where do you think we should begin? I suppose I should start small, not too expensive, but I’d love to live close to the beach.” She laughed at herself. “Probably can’t have both, huh?”

“Actually, you’re already in the right place if you don’t mind some old folks for neighbors.”

“I wouldn’t mind. Why?”

“Ormond Beach is lined with small communities along A1A. Built in the fifties, the homes are small and so are the rents. Best of all, they’re close to the ocean.”

She leaned back against the kitchen counter. “So, what’s the drawback? I can hear a “
but"
in your voice.”

“Well, not all the houses are kept up well. There aren’t any homeowner associations, and many of the older residents can’t get out and do regular lawn work. Those neighborhoods are turning around though. Younger people are grabbing the houses as soon as they become available.”

“Sounds okay to me.
I don’t need fancy, and having a few grandmas on the block might be nice for Lacy.” Excitement rippled through her. “What are we waiting for?”

Steve doctored his coffee with sugar and creamer. “You’re right. It’s so great outside. We shouldn’t waste another minute. Can I take this with me?”

“Sure, let me get my bag.” She hurried into the bedroom and returned, purse in hand. Crossing over to the window, she switched off the air conditioner, pausing for one more peek at the sea.

Steve joined her. “You can’t beat the view.” He sighed. “God, I love the ocean. I couldn’t live anywhere else.”

Kelly smiled. “Just looking at it calms me. I loved the Bay Area and the California beaches, but the water is so cold Lacy’s lips would turn blue in fifteen minutes. She shakes like a vibrator for half an hour after she gets out, even
after
I wrap her in blankets.” She laughed. “I won’t miss the fear of my six-year-old daughter catching pneumonia.”

“I think California’s overrated—mud slides, earthquakes, icy water, surfer eating sharks, forest fires—”

She whirled to face him with a grin curving her lips. “Okay. Okay. I get it. You’re not a fan.”

They both laughed.

“You’re right,” she conceded. “The water here is warm and inviting, but I know you have your share of shark bites, too.”

Steve conceded with a shrug.

“Like I said, I guess I could have stayed somewhere nicer, but the view of the ocean on The Glades’ web site, plus the low price, won me over instantly. I’ll take this kitchen and the extra space over a one room luxury hotel room any day.” She crossed back to the kitchen. “Besides, I’m into midnight snacks,” she openly admitted her sin. “Somehow I always seem to get the munchies after the stores close.”

Steve chuckled. “I’ve been known to succumb myself. Matter of fact, I keep a ready supply of microwave popcorn and M&Ms on hand at all times. Never know when the mood will hit, although it definitely will during a football game.”

Kelly’s heart lurched at the mention of football.
He’s one of those men, like Ken,
remote in hand, glued to the television during football season.
Her spirits took a nosedive. Ken hadn’t even watched the games at home but at the sports bar on Monday nights, a friend’s house on Wednesdays, and all day Saturdays somewhere else. She never actually knew where.

“Okay.” She tried to alter the path of her thinking. “Ready?”

“Your carriage awaits, milady. Do you have any idea what we’re looking for today?”

“Well, I only need two bedrooms, but I’d prefer two baths if possible.” She locked the cottage door and climbed into the passenger seat. “I have a feeling I may be bringing a lot of work home, so three bedrooms would be ideal. I could use one for an office. A roomy kitchen and a screened-in porch are also a must. I’ve heard rumors that the mosquitoes here are radiation mutants.”

Steve’s laugh was seductive, rippling through Kelly’s brain, reminding her of a stone skipping over water. She looked away, letting his effect on her fade, hoping her face revealed nothing of the physical attraction he stirred in her. She wouldn’t deny the fact. Any woman with a normal hormone level would react the same way—the very reason she was so uncomfortable. Actually, she was counting on Steve being a complete bore, devoid of personality. Even a beautifully wrapped box, if empty, was easy to throw away. Empty or not, she couldn’t stand the thought of Steve McCarthy, or anyone else, thinking she was a bitch. Childhood hang-ups again.

“You’re in luck. Screened-in porches are standard equipment in homes and apartments around here. Unfortunately, our mosquitoes are not our only mutants.”

Kelly knew he meant the giant water bugs thriving in Florida’s warm, humid climate.

“
La cucaracha?
We’ve already met. I chased two down this week and dealt them both lethal blows with my shoe. I’m not thrilled about wearing the shoe again,” she joked. “I suppose I’ll get used to it. I’m a survivor. You can’t live on the west coast without being adaptable.”

“As long as you understand there are no bug-free guarantees, we should have you and your daughter in a home in no time.”

As they drove, Kelly avoided looking at him, chanting the mantra,
he’s a football lover. He’s a football lover
, in her head.

Chapter Seven

F
irst stop was a mainland real estate office managed by an old high school classmate of Steve’s. Jerry Rowland refilled their coffee cups and settled them at a table in the back office. He handed them a file of sales and rentals, set up access to the computer listings, and gave them some information on a couple of rentals that had called in shortly before they arrived. Kelly read the descriptions aloud while Steve scribbled frantic notes.

When he’d filled two pages with addresses, they thanked Jerry and drove back across town toward The Glades to look at several properties in Daytona's neighboring communities of Flagler Beach and Ormond by the Sea.

The first few houses they saw were either too small or had been
badly neglected. The lawns were so overgrown with weeds Kelly joked of having nightmares of a vegetation takeover. Well past noon they exhausted their list and stopped for oyster burgers and beers at Steve’s favorite seafood restaurant in Flagler before returning to the real estate office to build a new list.

Forty-five minutes later, armed with a new list of possible rentals, they headed back toward the intercoastal waterway and turned onto the Granada Bridge. Two-thirds of the way up the steep incline all traffic had
stopped, but the westbound lanes were empty and there was no through traffic coming over the bridge.

“Wonder what’s going on. There’s way too much traffic backed up for a Sunday,” Steve mumbled, dropping the car into first gear and inching to a stop. “Must be bad. Everyone’s turning off their engines and leaving their cars. Let’s walk up and take a look.”

Steve jumped out of the car and walked around to Kelly’s side. She grabbed her purse, as he took her hand and helped her out, a gallant act which she thought contrived, since, in her mind, chivalry was dead in the new millennium. The act was no doubt meant to impress her. She easily could have climbed out without any assistance. The vehicle had no doors.

She was about to say something sarcastic until he turned around. No smugness gleamed in his eyes, only sincerity. The guy was a genuine gentleman.

They headed up the incline, Steve striding ahead of her, assuring Kelly that this indeed
was no date in his mind. This action put her at ease, especially after she had discovered his passion for football. If he so much as tried to hold her hand, she would bite his knuckles. In her experience, men often became possessive too fast, trying to touch and hold hands, when all she’d done was follow them to the copy machine. As attractive as Steve McCarthy was, she wasn’t in the mood to play the dating game. If he hadn’t been a realtor by hobby, she wouldn’t have seen him after their luggage swap.

“It’s an accident,” Steve yelled over his shoulder from the top of the bridge. “There’s a fire truck, a couple of paramedics and a police car in the oncoming lanes. Doesn’t look like anyone’s critically injured,” he said when she joined him. “But we aren’t going anywhere for a while. Looks like someone crashed through the lane partitions. There are chunks of car all over the place.”

Behind them, vehicles packed onto the bridge bumper-to-bumper, leaving no way to turn around. Eastbound and westbound lanes resembled parking lots, and the next nearest bridge lay six miles to the south. They would have to wait until the wreckage was cleared.

Steve swung around and glanced toward the car. “Do you fish?”

“I used to love fishing, but I haven’t done much lately. Why?”

“We’ve got some time to kill.” Steve walked around to the back of the Jeep, and Kelly followed. He rummaged through a duffle bag, pulling free two collapsible fishing rods and a tackle box. “Come on. I’ll refresh your memory.”

A number of people had emerged from their vehicles and now were wandering around the bridge, watching the police direct traffic and clear away the accident.

“Are you sure it’s okay to fish off the bridge?” Kelly asked, noticing a
No Fishing
sign posted half way up.

“Not really, but the police are busy, and we’re pretty far back.” The car sat halfway down the bridge.

Kelly hesitated.

“Pearson, this isn’t the big city. We’re pretty laid back here. Come on. Let’s have some fun. Maybe you’ll catch dinner. Besides, there are already a few old geezers pulling out their rods behind us.”

Clutching the fishing gear under his arm, Steve scaled the concrete lane divider with ease and reached around to offer Kelly a hand.

Kelly eyed him with skepticism.

“Come on.” He grabbed her wrist. “I’ve got you.”

“I don’t know…” The divider looked about three and a half feet high. “I’m not feeling particularly athletic at the moment.”

“Give it a try. Wedge your foot against the wall, and when I say
jump,
you jump. I’ll haul you over.”

 
She wasn’t convinced. “Yeah, sure, and if I fall and break my neck, I’m never speaking to you again.”

“Trust me. I won’t let you fall.”

Kelly wished he’d said anything but
trust me
. Trust was a four-letter word to Kelly—especially rolling off a man’s lips. Those old warning flags waved again in the back of her mind.

“Come on,” he urged, hand extended.

She evaluated the soles of her tennis shoes for tread. Nikes. Almost new. Lots of grip life left in them.

“Okay.”
Here goes.
She pulled up the legs of her calf-length pants to allow better mobility.

“Jump!”

Steve grabbed her, scooping her up and over the barrier. She cleared it by a foot and landed in his arms. She clung to him, legs wrapped around his thighs for a second, then slid down his body, envisioning a fireman’s pole and fighting off a grin. He was hard in all the right places.

The heat on her cheeks spread down her neck and fanned out across her breast, tightening her nipples beneath her t-shirt.
Oh, dear God.
She had her sports bra on. She crossed her arms over her chest.

To her relief, Steve’s reaction to their crash landing seemed casual, but he released her quickly, setting her on her feet beside him, and turning his back to her. She took a moment to gather herself while he bent to retrieve the fishing gear.

Kelly smoothed her t-shirt and hoisted her purse back onto her shoulder, sensing she was safe with him but no longer trusting herself. Her limbs still tingled following the collision of flesh. She would need some time and space to forget the touch of his hard body pressed against the soft fullness of her own. The apprehension she’d suffered at the onset of the outing vanished, replaced by a fuzzy tension she hadn’t experienced in years.