More to Love Page 8

  So they drove the rusted SUV Rafe called the rust bucket, with the bracket of pole holders on the front that gave it the appearance of a snaggletoothed rhinoceros, and parked across the narrow highway from the pony pen. He switched off the ignition and they sat for several moments, watching another flight of pelicans following the dune line. “What’s bugging you, Molly?” he asked out of the blue.

  “Bugging me? I don’t know what—”

  “Cut it out. Look, it’s none of my business, but you’ve been distracted ever since that letter came. If you’ve got a problem that could use a disinterested perspective, I’m offering my services. I know for a fact that when you’re in over your head, an outside view can sometimes be helpful.”

  She heaved a sigh that steamed up the windows. Or maybe he was doing that. Or maybe it was a joint effort. Rafe could think of a few more pleasurable ways of steaming up the windows, but in this case they were inappropriate. Which was a damned shame, because it might be interesting to see—

  “My ex-husband. The letter was from him. At first I thought he’d found out where I am, but that’s silly. There’s no way he can find out because the post office won’t give out that kind of information. Will they?” she asked plaintively.

  He almost lost it then. Almost reached for her in the pure interest of offering comfort.

  Yeah, sure, you’re a saint, Webber. All compassion. “Let’s get out and let the sun bake out some of the mildew. We’ll take it point by point, okay?”

  Not until they were leaning into the stiff southwest wind that blew sand across a deserted beach did he speak again. Without thinking, he’d taken her hand, and now he tucked her arm in his and adjusted his stride to her shorter legs. “So your husband’s written you a letter and you don’t particularly want him to know where you are, right? Is he stalking you? There are legal measures against that sort of thing.”

  “Kenny’s not a stalker, he’s more of a—well, a leech.”

  “Suppose you start at the point where things went wrong. If we take it from there, we should be able to pinpoint the problem and figure out an efficient way to deal with it. I do it all the time.”

  As a businessman he operated that way. On a personal level he made a point of remaining uninvolved. If problems arose, he simply cut his losses and moved on, having learned at an early age to avoid messy entanglements. Over the years he’d had to haul Stu off the reefs a few times—the least he could do was offer Molly the same service.

  “Well. Here goes. The life and times of Molly Dewhurst. You can stop me any time by holding up a hand.” With a funny little half smile, she lit into a recital that skimmed over falling in love for the first time, marrying in haste, all the way to repenting at leisure. Some of it he’d heard before, but because he liked her voice, liked the feel of her at his side, the occasional whiff of baby powder and something wildly exotic, like hand lotion, he listened attentively, putting in a probing question or two from time to time.

  “Did you ever think of getting a restraining order?”

  “Restraining him from what? Being a pest? Actually, I considered it, but when I tried to think of what I could tell a judge, it didn’t sound all that bad. I mean, he wasn’t exactly stalking me. It was more of an embarrassment than a threat. He’d come by where I work and hang around, talking to everyone else in the office, making a general nuisance of himself. I always got lectured once he left. Once the coffee money disappeared, and I’m pretty sure it was Kenny, but that was hardly a felony. Somebody stole a fur-collared men’s coat from the cloakroom last November, but if it was Kenny, I never saw him wearing it. There were some other things, little things that hardly seemed important at the time, but mostly it was that he was always hanging around, making a nuisance of himself and whining to anyone who would listen about stupid laws and stupid rules and stupid bureaucrats. First thing I knew, I’d be out of another job.”

  “Honey, there are laws against that, too.”

  “I know,” she said with a sigh. “There’s a government agency for just about everything, but I hate having to ask some bureaucrat to solve my personal problems. And anyway, I didn’t see it as a pattern when it was happening. I’d just get another job and start over again. Things would be all right for a while, and I’d tell myself I’d imagined it, but then he’d show up again, needing money or begging to move in with me.”

  “Didn’t he have a job?”

  “He was always on the verge of something big.”

  Rafe knew the type. They usually worked harder at avoiding work than most nine-to-fivers ever did at work.

  They walked for a couple of miles, passing three groups of fishermen and several vehicles, including a familiar-looking green pickup truck. Molly was reminded all over again that when it came to romance, she’d do better to take up needlepoint. The only men who showed an interest were interested for all the wrong reasons. She didn’t know what the right reasons were, but she knew what they weren’t. And she was tired of being a one-woman support system for losers.

  By the time she accepted a hand up into the rust bucket she was already starting to regret having confided in him. Rafe could tell by the way she twisted her hands in her lap and avoided his eyes. Bless her heart, did she think she was the first woman ever to pour out her worries? Sooner or later, most women he knew intimately did. Mostly it was petty stuff, occasionally family troubles. Now and then an earth-shaking decision such as whether or not to have plastic surgery, and whether implants would have the same sensitivity as real breasts.

  Rafe didn’t always know the answer—sometimes there wasn’t a definitive answer—but if listening helped, then he was available. He liked women. If a woman he’d once had an affair with came back after several years and asked for his help or his advice, he was glad to do what he could. Usually they didn’t, but once in a while someone did.

  But this, he reminded himself, was Molly. If Stu stayed married to Annamarie, then they’d be family. It might be smart to go easy here, on account of Molly’s idea of family and his own weren’t even in the same ballpark.

  “Well…thanks for listening,” she said as he pulled up in front of the house between her car and a red convertible.

  Six

  They could hear the parrots all the way out in the yard. Pete’s “Bad-ass, bad-ass!” fought for airtime against Repete’s string of four-letter words. Molly said, “Oh, Lord, the neighbors,” and hurried up onto the porch.

  And then she stepped back and looked over her shoulder. “Rafe? The front door’s open. Did you say Stu and Annamarie were coming today or tomorrow?”

  He was beside her by that time. “Tomorrow,” he said quietly. “Know anyone who drives a red convertible?”

  She shook her head slowly. “But you know how parking is around here. Wherever there’s a space, you squeeze in. Anyway, Sally Ann says there’s practically no crime on the island, at least in the winter-time.”

  “In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s no longer winter. Go next door and stay there until I come for you.”

  “I’ll do no such thing, I’m responsible for those birds. And Shag. Annamarie would die if something happened to that cat. She’s had him forever.”

  Clasping her shoulders, Rafe eased her to one side. His breath was warm on her cool face, but there was no hint of warmth in his eyes. “Humor me, will you? It’s probably nothing, but—”

  “Molly? Is that you, darling?” The voice came from inside the house.

  Even before he saw her reaction, Rafe had a pretty good idea who their intruder was. He had personally locked the front door, but if he knew Stu, his brother had probably left a key stashed outside in the most obvious place. As a kid he used to lock himself out at least once a week.

  Still gripping Molly’s shoulders, he whispered, “Recognize the voice?”

  Wordlessly she nodded.

  “The ex?”

  Her eyes said it all.

  “Shall I invite him to leave?”

  She sighed. “Could you
just wait outside for a few minutes? I don’t want to have to explain you.”

  His shrug said, “It’s your call,” but he didn’t release her, not until she looked pointedly at his hand on her shoulder. And by then it was too late.

  A guy wearing an unseasonable fur-collared top-coat and a politician’s smile appeared in the doorway. The smile disappeared. “Moll, who’s this?”

  Rafe, who had always considered himself fair and unbiased, despised him on sight.

  “Just a—a friend of a friend.” Under her breath she hissed, “Don’t you dare call me darling! Don’t call me anything. Just go away!”

  “You wouldn’t answer my letter, you wouldn’t return my calls—what am I supposed to do when my wife ignores me?”

  Rafe shrugged and headed out to the SUV where he raised the hood and pretended to tinker with the battery cables while the other two stood on the porch talking. If they went inside, he’d have to think of something else, but no way was he going to leave her alone with some jerk who followed her down here and claimed they were still married.

  Unless they were. Rafe had only her word that she was divorced. She could have lied about the semi-stalking ex-husband. Lied about the letter. She could be faking the whole scenario. Maybe she was just into games, trying to reignite a burned-out marriage. He’d known people who never told the truth when a lie would serve as well.

  But Molly? No way.

  The guy didn’t look dangerous, but Rafe had learned a long time ago that looks could be deceiving. Any man who would sponge off a woman was obviously short on integrity, not to mention pride.

  So he pulled out the dipstick and checked the oil while he was under the hood. For whatever reasons, she didn’t want the fellow here or she’d have taken him inside. They were still on the front porch. He could hear them talking, but with the parrots running through their X-rated repertoire, he couldn’t quite make out the words. The guy was sweating. He’d like to think it was because Molly was royally reaming him out, but it was probably the coat. To say he was overdressed was an understatement.

  Molly wore twin patches of pink on her cheeks. In her damp, sandy denim with her hands on her hips, she looked more than a match for any man, but he had a feeling she was the kind of woman who led with her heart instead of her head.

  Frowning down at the distributor cap, Rafe spread his hands on the rusted fender and reminded himself that it was none of his business. Just because she’d confided in him, that didn’t mean he had to take on her battles. Hell, any cop would tell you that domestic affairs were trickier than an octopus at a pickpocket’s convention.

  Still, he couldn’t just walk away. In the few days they’d been together he’d come to know her pretty well. They had talked about everything from politics to poetry. They both liked limericks, only he didn’t know any clean ones and she wouldn’t admit to knowing any of the other kind. Along the way he had come to know the woman lurking underneath that plain exterior.

  Actually, the exterior wasn’t all that plain, merely understated.

  Rafe had no way of knowing if women reacted the same way men did when faced with an unexpected situation. The adrenaline rush. How the devil had she managed to hook up with such a loser in the first place? The guy whined, for Pete’s sake! He dressed for effect, not comfort, which said a lot about him right up front. Probably caught her at a weak moment and played on her sympathy. With a woman like Molly, it would be a surefire technique.

  “Aw, come on, honey, don’t be like that.” Now that the birds had run down, both the words and the tone were clearly audible. “For better or worse, remember? You promised.”

  “Kenny, I said no, and I mean it. I have barely enough gas and grocery money to last out the month. I certainly don’t have enough to lend you. And if you get me fired from one more job, I’m going to—to—”

  Rafe had heard enough. Wiping his hands on his handkerchief, he sauntered back up to the porch. “Molly? Is there a problem?”

  Trapped. That was the only way to describe the look on her face as he moved to stand beside her. He slipped his arm around her waist, presenting a solid front, and there it was, right on schedule. Rafe had never run from a fight in his life. Had a few battle scars to show for it, but damned if he was going to stand by and let this creep talk a good woman into anything against her will. “Hi, I don’t think I caught your name. Rafe Webber here.” Crocodile smile, extended hand. Dewhurst stared at the hand with distrust, but Rafe wasn’t about to let him off the hook.

  Reluctantly the smaller man accepted the gesture. At the feel of that soft, limp handclasp, Rafe, not usually given to impulse, did something totally out of the blue. “I’m Molly’s new husband. Why don’t you go on inside, babe, and heat up the coffee. I’ll join you in a minute.”

  Her jaw fell. She stared at him as if he’d suddenly sprouted a horn in the middle of his forehead, then abruptly she turned and fled.

  Had Rafe lost his mind? Molly asked herself, standing stock-still in the middle of the tiny kitchen. Or had she? How on earth was she supposed to deal with two men, both claiming to be her husband?

  Kenny wanted money, of course. Kenny always wanted money. He used to nag her to get a retail job so he could use her discount. She’d been far more interested in health benefits, only, as things turned out, once she was married she was never able to keep a job long enough for benefits to kick in. To think she had once worked for the same company for seven years. But that was before she’d met Kenny.

  She reached for the coffeemaker, changed her mind, and scowling, marched back to the front door in time to hear Rafe say, “If you hurry, you can just about make the next ferry. I wouldn’t bother to call first, just show up at the office, tell him Webber sent you and—yeah, wear what you’re wearing now. It’s perfect.”

  Halfway down the steps, Kenny glanced over his shoulder. His face was flushed. Molly couldn’t tell if it was fear or excitement she saw there, but whatever Rafe had said seemed to have worked. He was leaving.

  “I know where you got that coat,” she called after him. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself!”

  “Ashamed?” Rafe murmured, both dark eyebrows lifting. To the man hurrying down the front walk, he called out, “Do we understand each other, Dewhurst?”

  “Yeah, sure thing. No problem. Wish you luck—you don’t have to worry about me, I’m outta here.”

  Rafe draped an arm over Molly’s shoulder and smiled benignly. There was nothing at all benign about the way his gaze followed the departing man.

  “Did I step over the line?” he asked once the red convertible was out of sight.

  “Probably.”

  “I tend to be impulsive.”

  “That, I doubt.”

  His smile broadened into a grin. “Hey, it takes practice. I’m working on it.”

  “Whatever you threatened him with, it seems to have worked,” she said, but for a second she’d glimpsed another side of Rafe Webber. Where men were concerned, she had learned the hard way that what you saw was not necessarily what you got.

  “Hey, I made a suggestion, that’s all.”

  She very much doubted if that was all, but she let it go. “I’d have promised anything just to get rid of him. Can you believe he wanted me to cash in my measly little IRA? He says he’s in the stock market now, and he has inside information on a sure thing.”

  “Last I heard, insider trading was against the law.”

  “I don’t think that will slow him down. And I seriously doubt if he’s any kind of an insider. Kenny just likes to collect snippets of rumors and weave them into his own little fantasy.” She sighed. “Poor Kenny. He knows better than to try threats on me. They won’t work, because I know him too well.”

  “What works?”

  “Bribery.” Molly sighed again, and then she chuckled. Rafe had forgotten to remove his arm from her shoulder, and she tried to ignore the heat and weight of it. “He knows just how to embarrass me until I give in and let him have whatever money
I have on me just to get rid of him. Trouble is, I can’t afford to buy him off any longer. I’m trying to build a retirement fund, but it’s not easy.”

  A retirement fund. It had been his experience that women, including his own mother, counted on men to secure their future. But then he’d never met a woman like this one. Not knowing quite what to say, he changed the subject.

  “What’d you mean about the coat?”

  “Only that I’m pretty sure he stole it.”

  “Do tell.” And then, for no reason at all, they were suddenly grinning like a pair of conspirators.

  Molly said, “I don’t know how you managed to get rid of him—threats or promises—but I doubt if he believes we’re married.”

  “What’s not to believe?”

  Lifting her eyebrows, she stared at him. “Me? You?”

  Before she could react, he leaned over and kissed her on the tip of the nose. “Don’t worry. I didn’t threaten to take out a contract on him, I only suggested that a change of climate might work wonders for that flushed skin of his. Mentioned the name of a modeling agency down in Tampa that was always on the lookout for men with his looks and a flair for wearing good clothes.”

  Molly almost strangled. “You what? Kenny can’t afford to go to Florida. He probably couldn’t even get off the island if it weren’t for the free ferry.” The funny thing was, though, that she could almost see him as a male model. His favorite sport had always been trying on clothes.

  “Depends on the motivation, I suppose. What do you say we eat out tonight?” Rafe suggested, thus changing the subject from the man he had subtly threatened by dangling the carrot, then showing the stick.

  “I thought you were leaving this afternoon.”

  “As long as I’m here I might as well hang around another day. The honeymooners will be back tomorrow, and there’s no telling when I’ll be able to free up time for another visit.”