The Honeymoon Cottage (A Pajaro Bay Romance) (18 page)

Camilla wrapped her arms around Oliver. "It's okay," she whispered. "Don't worry about anything. You are safe here."

He leaned into her arms and sighed. She rubbed his hair for a moment, but then he pulled away. "Can't I go hang out with Ly?"

Mama Thu came up in time to hear that. "He's welcome to eat in the kitchen with her if you'd like."

Camilla sat back in her chair. "Is that okay?"

She was asking Ryan if Oliver would be safe out of their sight, but Mama Thu said, "Of course. I'll give him his fish and chips there. Ly will be thrilled."

Ryan nodded agreement.

She set their bowls of chowder in front of them, along with a pot of fragrant tea. "Come on inside, Oliver, and we'll get you your supper." He ran ahead of her into the restaurant, obviously glad to get away from their questions. "And now you two can have a relaxing sunset meal," she said happily, and followed him inside.

"Great," she said. "She wants to fix us up. That blew our chance to talk to him."

"We weren't going to get anything out him, anyway." He poured the tea into tiny cups for them both. "I don't want to pressure him, either," he said. "I know you are concerned about him—and I think you're right to be. But we've got to find a way to win his trust." He turned that astute gaze on her. "And I think you're doing it. You seem to really understand him, in a way I don't."

She shrugged. How could she explain that she knew exactly what it was like to be in his shoes—afraid to tell the truth about his past, afraid that he might slip up and give something away that would hurt his family. She looked out at the bay. "But now we've wasted this chance to talk to him."

"Is a romantic sunset meal such a terrible idea?" he said softly.

It seemed no matter how much she knew being around Ryan was a bad idea, it kept happening. Why did she want to spend time with this man, even when he drove her crazy? There was something the same about them. Both of them needed something. But it would never work.

She could never tell him about her father. In her own way she had as many secrets as Oliver. She couldn't explain her own dad to a cop, of all people. The humiliation, the constant fear of exposure. And then worse, her own criminal past. He would never understand.

She never talked about it to anyone. In college she was terrified someone would find out, and kept everyone at arms' length, never really opening up to anyone. Ryan couldn't possibly understand. But maybe as long as they kept their relationship superficial, things would be fine. After all, she had been reliving that kiss in the clinic all day.

He was still waiting for an answer from her. "No," she said. "Having a nice evening together isn't a terrible idea." Maybe the key was to ignore the future and just live for the moment.

She relaxed then, talking about the view, and the food, and for a little while just enjoying the present instead of worrying about all the problems hanging over them.

She found herself sharing a secret smile with Ryan when Mama Thu brought them another pot of tea and informed them that it was flavored with special herbs she'd grown herself.

When they had eaten the delicately spiced food and been brought cups of steaming Vietnamese coffee, Ryan moved his chair over closer to hers and put his arm around her. She rested her head against his shoulder as they both watched the water turn golden, and then orange, and then deep crimson as the sun went down. She leaned into him, relishing that same ocean-and-man scent she had noticed at the hospital. She felt so safe with him. If only this moment was real, and not just an illusion built on lies—him using her to solve his case, her keeping secrets from him. If only this was built on something real....

"We should go," she muttered when the sun finally disappeared and the view below them had turned to points of glittering lights from the wharf to the amusement park.

He helped her up and they went inside.

The light and noise inside felt jarring after the quiet outside. A large group was gathered in the corner and laughing. She heard a high, squeaky voice say "Oh, Sam!" and everyone laughed. Oliver sat with a little girl and they whispered and giggled through the whole thing.

She looked at Ryan in confusion.

"Sam Spade," he said. "The local jazz station plays old radio shows on weeknights at seven. This is detective show night."

"Radio?" He started to explain, but she held up her hand. "Don't tell me. It's a Pajaro Bay thing."

"Yeah. What can I say? It's just something people are into here. It's a quirky town."

She nodded, watching all the people just hanging out together, having a good time. People who clearly belonged here and felt at home here. She wondered if she'd ever find a place like that for her and Oliver.

~*~

Ryan let them out of the car in front of the cottage. "Go put on your pajamas and I'll be there in a minute," Camilla told Oliver.

She leaned in the open passenger-side window and looked at him. "Are you planning on staying out here all night?"

He hoped she wasn't going to start another argument. He gave her his most calm, talking-Mabel-Rutherford-out-of-filing-yet-another-complaint voice: "The county office has authorized me doing this, Camilla. I won't disturb you at all, I promise. But it's not wise to leave you unguarded."

She raised an eyebrow. "I know. I got the message when you showed me the funeral notices."

"Okay," he said. "So you're not going to fight me on this?"

She shook her head. "I'm not stupid, Ryan."

"Never said you were."

"But you seem to think I'm helpless and unable to make any decisions."

Now it was his turn to be exasperated. That wasn't what he thought at all. "Just because you need protection, that doesn't mean I think you're stupid."

"Fine. But you need to talk to me about these decisions, not make them without discussing them with me."

"Okay. Got it."

She leaned forward into the car, and her beautiful green eyes bored into him. "And you are never, ever to question Oliver about his father without me there." She took a big breath. "Ever."

"Okay," he said. "Got it."

"I don't want him upset. I understand what you're trying to do, but we have to work together to get information from him without traumatizing him. You may think grilling him is the highest priority, but I think taking care of him is."

"Okay," he said. "Got it."

"You sound like a parrot. Are you making fun of me?"

"I'm trying to be agreeable and non-confrontational."

She laughed out loud at that. "Geez, Ryan. I'm not Mrs. Rutherford."

He smiled. She looked so adorable leaning in the window that he was tempted to reach over and kiss her, but didn't. "You have no idea how glad I am of that."

Something of what he was thinking must have burned in his eyes, because she glanced away quickly, then started to blush.

"So I'll be out here keeping an eye on the cottage," he said to break the tension.

"I—I don't want you to do that."

He frowned. "I thought we agreed—?"

"That wasn't what I meant." She paused, the blush grew on her face, then she looked him in the eye. "Are you going to stay in your car all night?"

He nodded. "I'm on duty now. We're going to make sure no other accidents happen."

She paused. "What I mean is, do you have to sit in the car?" She took a deep breath. "I mean, it's awfully cold and cramped to spend the night out here. Maybe, I mean, could you guard us from inside the cottage?"

He must have looked surprised, because she said a flustered: "I didn't mean, you know, anything personal by that, you know...." She stammered to a stop and stood there, looking helpless.

Her blush was now bright red. It was so cute he wanted to say something more. He was so tempted to say they could share her sleeping bag, but he was here on official business and that would be unprofessional, so he just said, "I won't be sleeping. My job is to keep an eye on things. I'll be glad to come inside, Ma'am."

She laughed. "All right, Captain. Come on in and I'll make you a cup of my famously lousy instant coffee. We don't want you to fall asleep on the job."

~*~

He sat in the kitchen nursing his cup of terrible coffee, listening to the soft murmur of Camilla and Oliver's voices in the living room as they settled down to sleep. He felt the sense of life in the little cottage, the warmth she had already brought to this abandoned little house, and to his life.

You're leaving, you're leaving, he kept silently repeating to himself. This is your last job. Don't get attached. But he worried that it was already too late for that.

~*~

Chapter 10

The next morning Camilla had trouble taking her eyes off Ryan. He was still in his uniform, but with sleepy eyes and rumpled hair, he seemed almost little boyish—a little boy in a man's body.

The three of them sat around the kitchen table eating their cereal. Ryan and she had agreed, in a whispered conversation before Oliver woke up, that she would be safe enough during the day while Oliver was in school. They had another deputy on loan from the county who would watch the school, while Deputy Serrano watched the cottage. That way Ryan could get a few hours sleep, and then he'd be back that afternoon.

She crunched her cereal thoughtfully, wondering how Dennis would try to get to them—if he'd try to get to them. It was still hard to believe this was really happening.

"My, this is cozy." Miss Zelda swept in the kitchen door.

Ryan immediately stood up. "Ma'am."

Miss Zelda turned back to the door and Camilla saw there were two people behind her: a skinny young guy in a black top hat and an androgynous-looking person with short blond hair and big, sad eyes.

"Sandy," Miss Zelda said. "See that the chimney sweep makes a thorough inspection. We can't have the Honeymoon Cottage going up in smoke."

Sandy nodded and directed the top-hatted man toward the living room.

"Um," Camilla said, but got no further than that.

"Sandy is my man-of-all-work, Camilla. He'll see that the job is done properly." She turned to Ryan. "It's time for Oliver to go to school."

"Yes, Miss Zelda," he said. "Come on, kid."

Oliver wiped his mouth with his napkin, jumped to his feet and ran off for his backpack.

Ryan helped Miss Zelda into a chair while Camilla watched.

She was dressed head-to-toe in gray today, from a felt fedora with a gray feather, to tiny suede boots on her feet. In her arms she held what Camilla at first took to be an elaborate fur muff, but then realized it was a Persian cat when it reared its head up to look disdainfully at her.

"Ophelia," Miss Zelda said. "She's a monster, but she needs her outings."

"Yes, Ma'am," Camilla said, at a loss.

"You may go now, Ryan," Miss Zelda said with a dismissive nod.

He nodded to her, glanced at Camilla with a little half-smile and went to get Oliver. Camilla heard the front door creak and then they were gone, and she was alone with this overwhelming woman.

"I see you have already begun work on the cottage."

Miss Zelda set Ophelia on the floor, and Camilla saw the cat wore a silver harness and matching leash. It sat and glared at Camilla.

"I'm sorry, Miss Zelda. I mean—"

She waved a hand at her. "No apologies are necessary, Camilla. I am glad to see you are working on the place. The broken windows were a terrible thing. Weather damage could decimate this darling home if it's not nipped in the bud."

Camilla let out her breath. "Oh, good. I didn't want to do anything against the rules, but I had to start some of the basic repairs right away." She stood up. "Would you like a cup of coffee? It's terrible, but it's hot."

"Sounds lovely. We'll have time to talk over your plans while Sandy supervises the chimney sweep." It wasn't a request.

Camilla made Miss Zelda a cup of coffee and offered her a cookie, which the lady accepted with a regal nod.

She sat back down across from Miss Zelda and waited, feeling like she was trying to impress the queen with instant coffee and packaged cookies, and failing miserably.

"Now. Why is there a for sale sign on your cottage, Camilla?"

That wasn't a question she'd been expecting. "Um, because I'm selling it."

Miss Zelda raised an eyebrow, and Camilla quickly stammered, "I'm not trying to be impertinent. That's why it's for sale. Because I'm broke."

"Didn't Dennis pay for the house in cash?"

"Dennis? How do you know—"

Miss Zelda waved a hand. "Shall I call Felix?"

"Felix?" Of course she would know him. "Have you talked to Mr. Cordova about me?"

She shook her head. "I haven't spoken to young Felix in several months."

Young Felix. The man had a daughter Camilla's age.

"But you do know he's a neighbor."

She shook her head.

"He owns a beach house a couple of miles down the coast. Quite an ostentatious place, not to my taste, but he wanted a home for all his electronic toys. Interactive video walls and all that sort of thing. We certainly wouldn't have let him do that with a Stockdale, so he built himself a 10,000-square-foot pseudo-Adobe monstrosity." She shook her head. "Glad you aren't trying to do anything like that."

"Yeah, well, I don't exactly have the resources to do anything wild, even if I wanted to."

"But the point is you don't want to. You appreciate what the Stockdale mystique is about."

"Do I?"

She smiled. "Yes. Even if you called this a drunken leprechaun cottage, you appreciate the history of the place now."

She wasn't even going to ask how Miss Zelda knew she'd called this a drunken leprechaun house. "What makes you think I appreciate this place? I'm trying to sell it."

Miss Zelda frowned. "I will have to talk to Felix. He isn't pressuring you to repay the money Dennis stole, is he? That's most inappropriate."

Miss Zelda—" she paused, trying to choose from among the dozen questions that came to mind. "Do you know Dennis Hutchins?"

"Of course. Although he called himself Dennis Henning when I met him."