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  She might even leave before he did, just to prove she could walk away. Meanwhile she had tonight.

  By the time she’d finished her half of the omelet and two glasses of wine, she was having trouble holding her eyes open. “That was delicious, but I can’t seem to stop yawning. Would you mind if I wait until morning to do the dishes?”

  She hadn’t made the bed before they’d left. Now she barely managed to peel off her clothes and drag on her pajama top. Tomorrow she would get busy sweeping and dusting and worrying about the rest of her life and how she was going to fill a big hole in her heart.

  Maybe Stu and Annamarie would have babies.

  Maybe…

  Eleven

  Hearing Rafe in the shower, Molly stared up at the water-stained ceiling and went over her mental worry list again. Annamarie would be all right; she had Stu now. And Stu had had Rafe for a role model, so how could he possibly not do well? Which brought her back around to the top of the list.

  How about Molly? How was she going to keep from bleeding to death when she watched him drive off in that noisy old rust bucket? Or when she watched him fly off in that shiny white plane with the green palm tree and the orange sunset? Could she shrug it off, pretending it didn’t matter?

  It wasn’t as if he had promised her anything, or even asked for anything. She would willingly have given him her heart, but then, why would he want a heart that had another man’s footprints all over it?

  Babies, she decided, would be a link. He’d be the uncle, she the aunt. There would be holidays, family reunions—those were real big occasions back in Grover’s Hollow. Maybe not so big in Pelican’s Cove, but then, it was something to look forward to, which was a whole lot better than nothing.

  Outside the open window a mockingbird tuned up and ran through an impressive repertoire. It occurred to her that before the summer was over, the same bird might be showing off an X-rated vocabulary. Maybe she would think about that possibility and laugh, rather than think about impossibilities and cry.

  “I saved you some hot water,” Rafe called through the door. He poked his head inside, his wet hair several shades darker. His eyes were…veiled was the only word she could think of to describe the way he looked at her. “Rise and shine, lazy bones. You’ve got a kitchen full of dirty dishes that have to be washed before I can make us some breakfast.”

  Funny, Molly thought, how quickly habits could be formed, rituals established. She washed the dishes and then she stripped the beds. And since the sun was shining, she put in a load of wash. The washing machine protested—its innards were probably full of sand—but being busy was the only way she knew to keep from thinking.

  She ate two scrambled eggs and drank freshly squeezed orange juice and Rafe’s strong Columbian coffee and thought, This is the last time we’ll share breakfast. Stu and Annamarie will be here this afternoon, and Rafe will want to get back to whatever he left down in Florida.

  Or whoever.

  “I’m going to the store. Do you want to come with me?” he said, raking his chair back and glancing at his watch.

  Even his voice set off her internal seismograph. “No, you go ahead. I need to hang out the wash.” They had discussed it yesterday and decided to clean out their leftovers from the refrigerator and restock it with easy meal makings. With one hand in a cast, Stu wouldn’t be a whole lot of help for a week or so, and Annamarie had never been particularly domestic.

  Through the front window, Molly watched Rafe drive off. She tried to tell herself she was allergic to salt air, but it wasn’t salt air that was making her throat ache and her eyes brim over. Maybe it wasn’t love—she’d been fooled before—but whatever it was, right now it hurt like the very devil, and she had to start getting over it. No way was she going to waste the rest of her life moping over a man who was probably down in Florida feeding some skinny little bimbo in a string bikini his Irish coffee and sweet potato casserole.

  “Balderdash,” she muttered.

  She hung the wash, including two of Rafe’s shirts, a pair of khakis and two pairs of briefs, and thought with a wicked sense of satisfaction, He can’t pack up and leave until his laundry dries or it’ll mildew.

  Glancing at the sun, feeling the southwest breeze on her face, she felt her spirits droop. So maybe she would simply leave before he did. Dressed in her black skirt and turtleneck. Of course, it would be too hot because today promised to be a scorcher, but it was by far her most flattering outfit. She could drape a scarf over her shoulder so that it would flutter in the breeze as she walked away. Not looking back, leaving behind only a taunting whiff of Je Reviens, which the clerk had told her meant something like “I’m coming back” in French. Would that be subtle enough? Too subtle? Would he even notice?

  Go now, and don’t look back. She’d heard that clichéd line all her life, and hadn’t a clue where it came from, but suddenly it didn’t seem all that melodramatic.

  “I stocked up on deli stuff and a frozen pumpkin pie,” Rafe told her as he unloaded the rust bucket. She was in the yard taking in the sheets, which had dried, and feeling her jeans, which would never dry. He’d almost caught her testing his briefs, which were dry except for the elastic.

  He handed her a plastic sack. “Brought you a gift, something to remember me by,” he said with that grin of his that ought to be labeled as hazardous to a woman’s health.

  He’d brought her a bright orange plastic raincoat and matching hat. “Lose the beige,” he said.

  She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “I’d planned to. It doesn’t shed water anymore.” Clutching the plastic raingear to her chest, she tried to think of something to give him in return. Something that would remind him of her when he was back in Florida.

  “Think this’ll serve as a traveling cage?” He dragged a banana box out of the back of the rust bucket. “It’s ventilated.”

  “A cage? You’re taking the birds?”

  He frowned, and she thought, I’d rather have one of his frowns than a smile from any other man in the world. “Pups. I thought I might take a couple. If I don’t, Stu’ll get suckered into taking the whole litter. He’s got a weakness for animals—always did have.”

  “Well, now we know what they have in common,” Molly said dryly. “Annamarie dragged home every stray in Grover’s Hollow. Did I ever tell you about the dying pony someone gave her? Mama had a fit, but Annamarie was so sure she could cure the poor thing and learn to ride it. It was her dream back then—to be a cowgirl.”

  “I’m afraid to ask what happened.” Rafe shoved the box onto the porch and took a sack of groceries in each hand.

  Molly draped the fresh-smelling sheets over her shoulder and lifted out the last sack. “I buried the poor thing. And let me tell you, it’s not easy digging a pony-size hole in our section of West Virginia. Annamarie nailed together a wooden cross and was about to dig up Mama’s rosebush to plant on his grave, but I bribed her with three packets of flower seeds and a trip to the library. You do know the puppies aren’t even weaned yet, don’t you?”

  “They’re not? Carly never mentioned it. I guess I’ll have to come back in a couple of weeks, whenever they’re ready to fly.”

  Oh, sure. Once she was gone he could come back any old time and stay as long as he liked. There wasn’t a single reason in the world why that should make her feel like an outsider, but it did. “Are you allowed to keep pets?”

  “Yes’m, I’m allowed,” he replied, and his eyes took on that look of gentle amusement that melted her defensive anger before she could dig herself in any deeper. She had slept with the man, for heaven’s sake. She was ninety-nine percent in love with him. So? As Carly would say—get over it!

  “That’s right. You own the hotels, or whatever, don’t you?”

  “At the moment, one of them could be described as a ‘whatever,’ but the Coral Tree Inn is completely renovated and ready to go on the block.”

  “To sell, you mean. Is that what you do? Sell hotels?”

  “B
uy ’em, renovate or demolish and rebuild on the property, then sell and start all over again. It’s an interesting business.”

  “I’m sure,” she said, trying not to sound the way she was feeling, which was left out in the cold. Miffed.

  No, not miffed, dammit, devastated!

  Loaded with laundry and groceries, she paused just inside the door. “You’d better put the cold stuff in the refrigerator. I’ve got beds to make and packing to do.” As a romantic, dramatic parting line, it left a lot to be desired, but it was the best she could come up with. Some women just weren’t cut out for leading roles in any man’s life.

  While Molly was remaking the bed and straightening the office, replacing the stacks of books, papers, tapes and recording equipment on the cot Rafe had used when he wasn’t sleeping in the other bed with her, Stu called from Oregon Inlet to say they’d be getting in by midafternoon.

  Plenty of time to get away before dark, Rafe told himself.

  Plenty of time to leave before Rafe did, Molly told herself. Meanwhile she would think of some casual, witty farewell line and practice it until the final moment came.

  “I was scared to death driving onto the ferry,” Annamarie exclaimed. “But Stu, bless his heart, didn’t yell at me a single time. Molly, is that your suitcase by the door?”

  Within minutes of their arrival, the cottage Molly had taken such pains to leave spotless was littered with parcels, flyers, folders and books. Neatness was not one of Annamarie’s attributes.

  “I thought I might try and catch the—”

  “Oh, honey, you’re an angel to put up with my babies. I know how cursing gets to you, but they don’t really curse, they just use—well, actually, most of their words have a perfectly legitimate origin if you go back far enough.”

  “Spoken like a true linguist,” Molly said, laughing. She shook her head. She had filled her gas tank and washed the salt from her windshield earlier. She was all ready to leave, while Rafe was sprawled in the easy chair, seemingly in no hurry to go. It was going to work, if only she could remember what it was she’d meant to say to him. Her casual, unforgettable parting line.

  “Golly, aren’t you hot in that black outfit?” Annamarie was wearing the blue pants Molly had picked out, with the white camp shirt. She had kicked off her sandals the minute she’d come inside.

  “No, I—that is, it’s more comfortable for driving than—” She was going to say than tight jeans. Instead she turned to Rafe and said, “It was nice, um—meeting you, Rafe.”

  Nice meeting him? I can’t believe I said that.

  “Oh, I expect we’ll run into each other sooner or later.”

  “Your chambray shirt’s still damp around the yoke and the cuffs. You’ll need to take it out as soon as you get home so it won’t mildew.”

  So much for the memorable parting word. Molly the head housekeeper strikes again.

  “Honey, you need to take your pills. The doctor said—” Annamarie glanced up from the sofa, where she was cradling Stu’s cast on her lap. “Oh, but you two don’t have to leave just because we’re back. At least stay for supper. We can go out somewhere.”

  But it was obvious to both Rafe and Molly that they were superfluous. Rafe spoke for both. “It’s already after four, We’d better get going. I promised your next-door neighbor I’d take a couple of her pups when they’re weaned, though, so I’ll be seeing you before too long.”

  “And you two will be stopping by Holly Hills to see me on your way back to Durham, won’t you?” Molly forced a smile and was reaching for her bag when Rafe took it from her.

  “How about following me to the rental place so I can turn in the rust bucket? You can give me a lift to the airport since you’ll be passing by on your way to the ferry.”

  The newlyweds beamed their approval, obviously delighted that their respective relatives were getting along so well together.

  If they only knew, thought Molly as she hugged them both goodbye.

  “See you in a couple of weeks,” Rafe said. He hugged his brother and kissed his new sister on the cheek. Pride fought with jealousy as Molly followed him outside.

  “You go on, I’ll follow. We’ll gas up your car when we drop off the SUV,” Rafe said.

  “Thanks, but I’ve already taken care of it.” The big payoff. An orange raincoat and a tank full of gas. “Be still my heart,” she muttered as she backed out onto the narrow, oyster-shell-paved road.

  They drove in silence after Rafe turned in the vehicle and climbed into her passenger seat. Molly tried to think of some way to crowd a lifetime into a few minutes. She tried to remember Ingrid Bergman’s parting words in Casablanca, but then, she’d been the one who boarded a plane, not Humphrey.

  “Well,” Rafe said as they pulled into the parking space outside the pavilion. There were three planes left on the tarmac. It was Wednesday. By weekend, there might be a dozen, but his wouldn’t be among them.

  Nor would Molly be waiting for him.

  He thought of a dozen things he could say, all of them clichés. Reaching into the back seat he lifted out his duffel bag and opened the door. “Don’t get out. I know you want to be on your way. I understand the ferries run often enough so that if you miss one, there’ll be another along pretty soon.”

  Amber eyes. He could have sworn they were too clear to hide behind, only this time he hadn’t a clue what she was thinking. “Guess this is it, then,” he said jovially, and could have kicked himself when he saw those eyes darken.

  “I guess it is. If I don’t see you again—” Molly’s smile was too quick, too bright.

  Rafe cleared his throat. “Yeah, well…”

  Molly wanted to cry, Kiss me goodbye, dammit, I might die if you don’t!

  She might die if he did. Worse, she might cry and beg him not to leave her, to take her with him, to find a place in his life for her, even if it was only a small place.

  But of course he didn’t kiss her. He closed the door, leaned down and gave her that familiar crooked grin. And she didn’t cry, and she didn’t beg and plead. Instead, she got out and stood there, watching him walk around his blasted airplane, undoing the tie-downs, unscrewing the chocks, testing the various whatchamacallits before he finally climbed inside, gave her one last wave and shut the door.

  And still she couldn’t leave. She stood there beside the gate and waited while he taxied to the far end of the runway. She watched as he came back again, lifted off, circled and headed southwest. She stood there and watched until he was only a faint speck against a cloudless blue sky.

  So much for her new philosophy—feet on the floor and cards on the table. So much for reinventing herself. She might as well go ahead and indulge in a messy midlife crisis.

  Rafe checked the gauges. He adjusted the trim and thought about the workload waiting for him, the decisions waiting to be made, decisions he had put off for too long. His particular stretch of Pelican’s Cove was exposed to serious erosion. Was it wise to invest more there than he already had?

  He could love a woman like Molly. The thought broke through his concentration, and he tried to refocus on the derelict hotel he’d recently bought, that he was going to have to either bulldoze or rebuild.

  Correction, man. There aren’t any other women like Molly.

  For the first time he allowed himself to wonder what would happen if he followed his instincts where a woman was concerned. When it came to business, his instincts were superb. When it came to women…

  What if he already loved her? How would he know? Could he trust himself to love any woman, especially a woman like Molly, who’d been badly hurt before?

  Rafe knew his strengths and weaknesses. When it came to permanent relationships, he dropped off the bottom of the scale. Hell, even his own mother hadn’t sent him a birthday card in three years.

  On the other hand, he hadn’t done a bad job on Stu. The kid still counted on him to come through in a pinch.

  Oh, everybody always counts on Molly whenever they need help. M
olly’s always there. She always knows what to do and how to do it. She’s never let anyone down.

  How many people had let Molly down besides that jerk she’d married, who still counted on her to pull his chestnuts out of the fire?

  “No way, not if I can help it,” he muttered.

  With no conscious decision, Rafe banked and came about on a heading that took him over the stubby white lighthouse and back to the landing strip. Not that he expected her to be there. She’d be long gone by now, and without another set of wheels, he was going to feel like a damn fool taxiing up Highway 12, trying to overtake her car before she reached the ferry.

  By some miracle, she was still at the airport. After making his worst landing in years, he leapt out while the prop was still turning. “Molly! Wait a minute! Wait right there!” She was getting into her car. Rafe jogged across the tarmac and caught her before she could get away.

  “Did you forget something? I was going to leave, but—” She broke off when his arms closed around her, smothering her against the hard warmth of his chest.

  “Me, too. I would have followed you.”

  “What made you—?”

  He answered without words. A pickup truck pulled into the airport parking area and they moved aside without breaking contact. The kiss said it all. When eventually they came up for breath, Rafe said, “Listen, this sounds crazy, but I’ve got to make you understand. The kid you must have been? I love her. And the girl you were when you took over the care of your sisters? Her, too. And the woman you are now, and the old woman you’ll be someday, clucking over every stray chick and—”

  There was such a rightness about it that Molly didn’t even bother to argue. Secure in his arms, she said, “Who was it who promised to come back for a couple of puppies?”

  “Who was it who paid top dollar for fresh tuna for a good-for-nothing tomcat?”

  “Who told you that? It was only a teeny piece.”