Trinity Harbor 3 - Along Came Trouble (16 page)

In the kitchen, she flipped on the bright lights, fil ed the teakettle with water and put it on to boil. She found the tea bags in the cupboard and a pitcher in the cabinet above the sink. Everything was exactly where it had always been, yet it al felt different.

Once upon a time, in the early days of her teenage romance with Tucker, they had spent a lot of late-night hours sitting at the round oak table in this room, confiding their hopes and dreams for the future. Ironical y, the man with whom she’d eventual y shared her future had seldom set foot in here.

He’d considered it the housekeeper’s domain.

Struck by a sudden need to recal something that had once been as familiar to her as breathing, she poked around in the refrigerator until she found a package of already prepared chocolate-chip cookie dough. She’d developed an addiction to chocolate-chip cookies years ago because of Tucker, and it had been the one thing she’d clung to during the years since. Whenever she was feeling down, she baked chocolate-chip cookies. It was her secret way of going back to a happier time. Mrs. Gilman had been instructed that there was always to be a package of ready-to-bake dough in the refrigerator.

Liz broke the pieces apart and placed them on a cookie sheet, then popped them into the oven. By the time Tucker final y joined her, the room was fil ed with their sweet scent.

Tucker regarded her with surprise. “You’re baking at this hour?”

She gestured toward the package. “I’m cheating, but yes. I wanted to do something that would remind me of simpler, happier times.” She met his gaze. “Wil you stay a little longer?”

“As long as you want,” he said, pul ing out a chair, then gesturing toward the oven with a grin. “But if you burn those, I’m out of here.”

Liz sniffed the air. Sure enough, the aroma was subtly shifting to something less appetizing. “Blast it al ,” she said, whipping open the door, grabbing the sheet of cookies, then yelping in pain. “Blast and damn!”

Tucker was on his feet at once. “What?”

“No oven mitt,” she muttered, her teeth clenched.

“Sit,” he ordered. “Where’s the first-aid kit?”

“I’l get it. You save the cookies.”

He pushed her none-too-gently back into the chair. “I can do both.”

The cookies Tucker scooted onto a plate were a little dark and crisp around the edges, but looked edible, she concluded, then suddenly grinned.

“Maybe my skil in the kitchen hasn’t changed al that much, after al ,” she said.

Tucker joined her at the table and cast a critical eye at the cookies. He plucked one off the plate and took a bite, his eyes twinkling with merriment.

“Obviously you were subconsciously going for the nostalgia factor. For a long time, I didn’t know chocolate-chip cookies weren’t supposed to taste this way.”

“Of course you did. Daisy’s never turned out like this.”

His gaze met hers and the amusement faded. Something familiar sizzled between them as he said quietly, “Why would I eat hers, when I had yours?”

Tears stung Liz’s eyes. “Oh, Tucker,” she whispered.

Before she knew it, great, gulping sobs were rising up in her throat and hot, salty tears were splashing down her cheeks. Tucker reached for her.

“Oh, darlin’, don’t cry,” he whispered, holding her close. “It’s going to be okay. I promise. Everything is going to be okay.”

“How can it be?” she choked out between sobs. “I’ve made such a mess of everything.”

“And we’re going to fix it,” he told her, smoothing her hair back from her face, his gaze locked with hers.

“But—”

“No buts,” he insisted. “We’re going to find out what happened here, and then you’re going to put that part of your life to rest and move on.”

“To what?” she asked, swiping at the tears with the back of her hand. “I’m obviously an emotional mess. I haven’t cried this much in years.”

“Then you’re long overdue,” he told her. “And you are not a mess. Anyone would be distraught after what you’ve been through. Deciding to ask for a divorce is a big step in anyone’s life. Having your husband murdered is beyond what most people ever have to deal with. You’re a strong woman. You’l find your way again. What were you planning to do after the divorce?”

“I’m not sure,” she admitted, choking back another hysterical sob. “I should have had a plan, but I didn’t. It took everything in me to rehearse tel ing Larry that I wanted a divorce. That was as far ahead as I could think.”

Tucker moved her hand aside and dabbed at the tears with his handkerchief. “Then you’l make a plan now. You have al the options in the world,”

he said, as he concentrated on putting first-aid cream on her burned fingertips. “You can do whatever you want. You can travel. You can get a job. You can marry again, have the children you always wanted. It’s up to you.”

“I can barely think ahead to tomorrow,” she said, though an image of toddlers underfoot crept into her head and wouldn’t leave. They al looked exactly like the man seated across from her. For so long, with Larry’s insistence on putting off a family, she hadn’t al owed herself to think of children at al .

She sighed heavily.

Tucker gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Hey, it’s okay. Right now al you have to do is think ahead to the next minute or the next hour. Tomorrow wil take care of itself. So wil the day after, and the day after that.”

“When did you get to be so wise?” she asked, studying his face. Before she could stop herself, she reached out to trace the lines fanning away from the corners of his eyes. “The wisdom shows right here.”

He chuckled. “I thought that was old age creeping up on me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Liz said fiercely. “You’re not old. Neither am I, though right at this very moment I feel ancient.”

Tucker captured her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Darlin’, if you’re what ancient looks like, people would stop carrying on about staying forever young.”

She managed a wan smile. “You’re stil good for me, Tucker. I don’t think anybody else could have made me laugh today.”

“Yeah, I’m a regular comedian,” he said, getting to his feet and putting the first-aid kit away. “Let me make that tea you promised me and then I’l get out of your hair.”

She sighed as he moved away, wishing that he hadn’t broken the spel , knowing it was best that he had.

When he returned to the table, he had two tal glasses of iced tea. As she took a sip of hers, she realized he’d already sweetened it just the way she liked it.

“How’s your hand feel?” he asked. “Any blisters?”

She examined the reddened tips of her fingers but saw no sign of blisters forming. “I think I’l live.”

“Never any question about that,” he said. His gaze locked with hers. “You’re a survivor, Mary Elizabeth. Don’t ever forget that.”

Whenever he said her name—Mary Elizabeth—in that lazy, honeyed tone, she felt as if she were thirteen years old again and first realizing that she was fal ing in love with the boy who’d been her best friend. Larry had been the first person to cal her “Liz” and the name had stuck with their circle of friends in Richmond. She’d been glad that Larry had used the shorter nickname, because in her head she’d been able to remember the way her name had sounded on Tucker’s lips.

She was even happier that Tucker hadn’t adopted the nickname since her return. It would have seemed symbolic of the distance between them.

Now, whenever he drew her name out with slow deliberation, she felt as if he might be accepting her back into his life. Maybe not in the same intimate role she’d once played, but at least as his friend.

And one thing she’d come to realize over the last six years was that being Tucker Spencer’s friend meant more to her than any other relationship in her life. Maybe they could never have more, but she wanted to earn his trust and respect again.

After that…wel , time would tel .

King was stil seething over the public spectacle Tucker had made of himself the day before by hanging around that blasted Chandler woman after the funeral. It had taken every ounce of wil he possessed to make himself brave the likely gossip that would be running rampant at Earlene’s this morning.

But a Spencer never let a little idle talk make him turn tail and hide. He’d taught his children that, and Lord knew they had put it to the test often enough. King walked into the riverfront restaurant and headed straight for his usual table in the back. Along the way, he spotted Frances sitting al alone in a booth pushing scrambled eggs around on her plate, her gaze distracted.

He was annoyed as the dickens at the woman, but he couldn’t very wel ignore her. He waved at Pete in the back, then slid into the booth across from Frances. She barely glanced at him before returning her gaze to something only she could see.

“You okay?” he asked final y, after Earlene had poured his coffee, cast a worried look at Frances, then shrugged and left.

With a heavy sigh, Frances turned back and met his gaze. “Does it matter?”

“Dammit al , woman, of course it matters,” he retorted, then realized that he’d said it loudly enough to draw stares. “Sorry,” he apologized to Frances. “But you surely know that I care what’s going on with you.”

“Do you real y?”

“Didn’t I just ask you…” His voice trailed off as he realized that he never had gotten around to asking her to marry him the way he’d intended to the other night. Al that commotion at the marina with Tucker and Mary Elizabeth had pushed any thought of a proposal right out of his head. And after that, he’d been too irritated by Frances’s protectiveness toward Mary Elizabeth to schedule another private dinner when he could pop the question.

“Ask me what?”

Wel , he certainly wasn’t going to ask her here and now with al those people looking on and the ring he’d bought back home in his pants pocket.

“Nothing.”

She sighed again, and her gaze drifted back toward the window.

“What the devil’s so fascinating out there?” he demanded irritably.

“Nothing,” she murmured, but she didn’t look back.

“But even nothing’s better than looking at me?” he asked.

She did face him then, her jaw set. “Sometimes, yes.”

Obviously he needed to do something to make things right. “It’s Tuesday, you know.”

She blinked and stared. “I suppose it is. Is that important for some reason?”

“You usual y like to go over to Colonial Beach for bingo on Tuesday. Do you want to go tonight?”

“I was planning to,” she said. “There’s no need for you to come along.”

“Frances, I am asking if you would like to go to bingo
with me
tonight.” He had to fight to keep an edge of impatience out of his voice. Why did she have to go and make this so blasted difficult?

A clearly reluctant smile tugged at the corners of lips. “Such a gracious invitation,” she murmured. “How could I possibly refuse?”

He regarded her warily. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes, old man, I’l go with you. Thank you for asking.”

“Al right, then. And while we’re at it, wil you plan on having Sunday dinner out at Cedar Hil this week?”

She seemed startled by that. “You haven’t asked in a while.”

“And now I have,” he said. “Wel ?”

“I don’t think I wil ever in a mil ion years understand you, King Spencer.”

He chuckled at the plaintive note in her voice. “Keeps things lively, don’t you think?”

“That is not the word I would use,” she retorted. “I have to be going to work.” She slid out of the booth and stood, then hesitated. Her gaze met his, and her stern look softened ever so slightly. “I’l see you later, then.”

“I’l look forward to it, Frances.”

She leaned down, and for an instant King thought she was going to kiss him right there in public, but, instead, she whispered in his ear, “If you stand me up again, you old coot, it wil be for the last time.”

He bit back a laugh, because he could tel by the fire in her eyes that she was dead serious. Damn, but the woman was a pistol. Always had been.

A man would be a fool to take a chance on losing that kind of fire and passion at this stage in his life, and one thing King prided himself on was not being a fool. He was going to seal this deal with Frances tonight. In fact he had an idea that was going to turn this proposal into something she wasn’t likely to forget.

He was stil sitting there plotting when Anna-Louise slid into the booth opposite him.

“What are you up to?” she asked, inspecting him suspiciously.

“Nothing I’m likely to tel you about,” he retorted. Speaking of pistols, the preacher was as fiery as any woman he’d ever met. He thoroughly enjoyed butting heads with her—not that he ever intended to let her know it. Now he studied her expression and thought he detected something a little sad about her. What the devil was going on with the women around here this morning?

“You okay?” he asked eventual y.

“Fine,” she said without her usual sparkle.

“Anna-Louise, it is not proper for a parson to flat-out lie to a parishioner, especial y me. You and I have been through a lot together. I think I know you wel enough to listen if you’re having a problem.”

“You? Listen?” she said with exaggerated shock.

“I’m darned good at it, when cal ed upon,” he insisted. “Now,
talk—
or I’l recommend that the church elders send you on a vacation til your spirits are lifted.”

“My spirits are just fine,” she said with a little more spunk. “I was just thinking about Liz Chandler.”

King bit back an oath. “Does everybody in this town have to obsess over that woman?”

“I am not obsessing over anybody. I’m just thinking about how quickly her life changed. None of us can count on tomorrow.”

King had a hunch that Anna-Louise’s distress had less to do with Mary Elizabeth than it did with something she was regretting…or maybe wishing for. He never had understood why she and Richard hadn’t fil ed that house of theirs with babies.

“Is this real y about Mary Elizabeth?” he inquired. “Or are you having some regrets about something you’ve let slip away?”

She stared at him in apparent shock. “I haven’t let anything slip away. Nobody understands the value of living each day to its ful est more than I do.”