The Chesapeake Bride Page 12

  “Ruby, that table is really dirty.”

  “You be dirty, too, you spent forty or so years just standing around in the attic.” She raised her eyes from the register to stare him down. “I suspect you know where I keep the cleaning things. Also suspect you know how to use ’em.”

  “Even so, there’s no way I can bring that table down here by myself.”

  “Lucky for you, Alec be along before you set dinner out. He be a willing helper.”

  Owen sighed and went into the kitchen in search of cleaning supplies.

  “You’re a tough taskmaster, Gigi.”

  “Gotta earn your keep somehow.”

  LIS AND ALEC wandered into the store at six thirty. With Alec’s help, Owen had the table set up in the garden exactly where Ruby directed.

  “Last of the summer things blooming,” Ruby pointed out. “Afore long, won’t be any color out here ’cept green and maybe some morning glories. Maybe a few dahlias hang on awhile, a few black-eyed Susans, some of the roses. Mostly all else be dying back soon.” Ruby stood on the back porch and stared at her flower beds. “Shame to see all that color fade away.”

  Lis came up behind her. “Happens every year, Gigi. And you have said the same thing every year for as long as I can remember. They’ll all be back again next year, just as pretty.”

  “If I be around to see it. Never can tell.”

  “And you say that every year, too.”

  “Never can tell, Lisbeth.”

  “Gigi, I’m betting you outlive us all.” Owen had brought a chair out from the house and placed it next to where Ruby stood.

  “Wouldn’t surprise me”—Ruby sat down—“the way you run around here and there, diving down under the water one day, flying up to the sky the next.” She tapped Owen on the arm. “I’m talking to you, boy.”

  “I heard you, Gigi.” The sports car pulling into the driveway diverted his attention. He tried not to stare as Cass unfolded herself from the driver’s seat and smoothed the front of her sundress before looking toward the store.

  “We’re all out here,” Owen called to her, and she raised a hand to let him know she’d heard.

  She opened the trunk and removed something before slamming the lid. As she drew closer to the store, Owen saw she carried a six-pack of beer in each hand.

  “You got the beer.” Owen walked across the yard to meet her.

  “That was the deal, right? I bring the beer, you cook the crabs.” She looked to the garden when the porch door slammed. “Oh, are we eating outside? I love that. I’m so glad you thought of it.”

  “Actually, it was Ruby’s idea.”

  “Whoever. I love it.”

  He reached to take the beer from her but she declined. “I’ve got them. I’m not sure how cold they are at this point, though.”

  “Let me put them in the store cooler. Alec brought some beer as well, and his should be nice and cold by now.”

  “You didn’t mention that Lis and Alec would be here.” Obviously pleased, she flashed a happy smile, and Owen’s stomach did a little flip. She handed over the six-packs. “Some of my favorite people all in the same place. And what a pretty place it is.”

  Cass walked past him to the backyard, where she greeted Lis and Ruby. Alec came out of the store carrying a chair under each arm, and he, too, got a warm hello from Cass.

  Wondering if he was one of her favorite people—though doubting it—Owen went inside and tucked the beer into the cooler after moving around some of the soda cans. He stopped at the back door to gaze out the window. Cass was conversing lively with Lis, and Ruby was smiling as if approving of everything Cass was saying. He gave himself just a minute or two to look at her because he just flat out liked the way she looked. It was as simple as that. He liked the way her short blond hair curled around her ears, liked the way her dress, something light blue that looked like a long T-shirt, just grazed the top of her knees and skimmed over the rest of her, liked the way . . .

  Owen sighed. There wasn’t anything he could see that he didn’t like. He forced himself to look away from the window and retreat into the kitchen, trying to decide if the presence of the others was a good thing or a bad thing. Probably good. If he and Cass were alone, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to think of much to say—so out of character for him, but she had that effect on him sometimes. At least the others would keep the conversation moving.

  He hadn’t been lying when he told his sister he wasn’t sure what he felt for Cass. Attraction, of course—he’d admitted that along with a list of other things he liked about her. So what, he asked himself, was so different about her? He’d been attracted to more women than he could remember.

  But he didn’t remember having been aware of those other things—how smart a woman was, or what she cared about, as long as she cared enough about him. Past relationships—if he could call them that—usually had more to do with how comfortable he was, how hard he had to work to have things the way he wanted them, and he usually hadn’t had to work hard at all. And in the past, he reminded himself, women had generally found him pretty much irresistible. He couldn’t remember anyone having expectations of him that he hadn’t met. Which probably meant that the bar hadn’t been set high.

  Maybe he was losing his touch. Or his hair. He frowned and ran a hand through it. Nope. That wasn’t it.

  And most of the women he’d known in the past hadn’t spent all that much time talking. Not that Cass was a chatterbox. The conversations they’d had had been about something. The island, its history, and its people. The renovations to the houses Deiter had purchased, the designs she’d drawn up for the new ones. He’d even helped her in that, assisted her and Alec in tracking down some of the residents who’d just picked up and left, so they could purchase the properties.

  He took the crab cakes from the fridge and turned on the oven, trying to recall if he’d ever spent that much time in conversation with a woman other than his sister or Ruby. He was embarrassed he couldn’t think of a one. Even Cyndi and he hadn’t spent all that much time talking. Well, she’d talked and he’d pretended to listen.

  Had he really been that much of an insensitive ass all this time?

  The back door opened and closed, and he heard footsteps coming toward the kitchen.

  “Owen?” Cass paused in the doorway. “Ruby said you’re doing all the cooking tonight. Is there something I can help you with?”

  “Everything’s under control, but thanks.”

  Cass came into the kitchen and peered at the tray. “You made all those crab cakes from those few crabs we caught?”

  “Ahh, no. I made about five from what we caught. Lis and Alec caught a bunch this morning and decided to toss theirs in with ours.” Owen smiled and turned back to the stove. “If my sister can find a way out of cooking, she’ll take it.”

  “What else are you making?” Cass leaned on the island.

  “Baked potato fries. Lis made a salad and she brought dessert.”

  “Sounds fabulous. Thanks for inviting me.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Can I at least peel the potatoes?”

  “No need. I just scrub them and cut them into wedges. A little olive oil, a little salt, a little pepper.”

  Cass moved behind him, so close her dress brushed against the back of his knees. “Where’s your scrubby thing for the potatoes?”

  “Really, Cass, you don’t have to—”

  “I want to. I like to be busy. I can sit around for only so long. Not that the company out there isn’t stellar. I just feel like . . .”

  “Like what?” He turned around.

  “Like being busy. Useful. I’m an okay cook. I’ll never win any awards, but I’m okay. I’m pretty sure I can scrub up a couple of potatoes without screwing it up.”

  “Only one way to find out.” He pointed to the vegetable scrubber on the counter next to the sink and the pile of potatoes he’d left there. “Have at it.”

  “That’s some garden Ruby has out
there.” Cass turned on the water and got to work. “Her flowers are beautiful, and I can’t believe she grows all those vegetables by herself.”

  “She’s always had a garden, always planted everything from seed. She shares her flower seeds and can point to every garden on the island—some in St. Dennis, too—where her flowers have taken root. I know Grace planted a bunch of Gigi’s seeds at the inn some years ago. I guess the flowers or their progeny are still growing. Gigi’s big on perennials.”

  “I’ll try to remember to ask Grace. But how does a one-hundred-year-old woman tend a garden that size?”

  “For starters, we’re not talking about your average hundred-year-old lady. This is Ruby Carter,” he said, his pride apparent. “She’s the toughest of the tough, and the wisest of the wise.”

  “That describes her to a T. But still, there’s all that bending, planting, and weeding. Gardening is hard work. Okay, I’ve finished scrubbing. Where will I find a knife to cut the potatoes with?”

  “Top drawer next to the dishwasher, and the cutting board is right there on the counter. Just cut them in half lengthwise, then half again. This summer I did most of the planting and weeding. Other years, some of the neighbors’ grandkids came over and helped out in the mornings. Their grandmothers wouldn’t let them take money from Ruby, so she paid them in sodas and chewing gum.”

  “So how’d your dive go this morning?” Cass said casually.

  “It was okay. A little cold. But it was an easy dive.”

  “Find anything?” She kept her eyes on the potatoes, but Owen knew her interest went beyond making casual conversation.

  “I did. There’s definitely a ship down there. What it is, when it’s from, who it belonged to, all remains to be seen. Jared’s going to map it before we disturb anything. Once we can get to the cargo and the cabin, we’ll know what we’re looking at.”

  “What does that mean in terms of our dock?” She still hadn’t taken her eyes from her task.

  “It means you probably should start looking for another location.”

  “Oh, Dad’s going to love this news.”

  “I’m sorry, but if I were you, I wouldn’t wait until the state gave me official notice. I’d start looking now and find another place to build the dock.”

  “Gee, what a swell idea. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “I wasn’t trying to be a smart-ass, Cass. What’s the alternative?”

  “We’ve already spent so much money on that dock. We’ve dredged and brought in those huge pilings, and they were not cheap.”

  “You’re just lucky you didn’t dredge anywhere near the ship. You’d have a mess on your hands if you’d dug that up.”

  “I guess I should be thankful for that. But still, if we have to take it down and start somewhere else . . .”

  “I get it. But I repeat: What’s the alternative?”

  She blew out a long breath. “I guess there isn’t one.”

  “There has to be at least one place where the water is deep enough that with a minimum of dredging you’ll be able to bring your boats to dock.”

  “You think?”

  Owen nodded. “Let me check out the bay side. They used to bring large fishing boats into the cove, so we know there’s some depth. I don’t know how much of that has changed over the years due to shifting sands and such. But it’s worth looking into. Any specific reason you started building on the river side?” “My dad thought it was more picturesque. He figured when we were done using it to bring in building materials, we could offer docking rights to some of our customers who had boats. He thought it would be a nice perk.”

  “Maybe it still could be, just probably not in that spot. The bay side isn’t as picturesque as the river, but it’s better than no dock at all. We’ll probably need to get an engineer involved at some point, but I’ll leave that up to you. You’ll have to get a permit if it turns out you have to dredge, but we won’t worry about that unless we have to. In the meantime, Jared has some equipment on board that can measure depth, so I’ll ask him to bring his boat over to the bay side when he gets the chance.”

  “That would be great. Thank you. I’d hate to have to call my dad and tell him the dock has to come down, and by the way, we can’t build anywhere else.”

  “Well, you know what Ruby always says.” He smiled at Cass over his shoulder. “ ‘You got a problem, you find a solution. You don’t be wasting time worrying about it.’ ”

  “That definitely sounds like Ruby.” Cass finished cutting the potatoes. “What now?”

  “Dump them into that blue bowl there to your left on the counter. . . .Yes, that one. Then add some olive oil—that’s in the cabinet over the bowl—and salt and pepper.” He watched her as she followed his instructions.

  “That’s it?”

  “You could toss in some red pepper flakes if you’re feeling like a little spice. Then spread them on the baking sheet on the island.”

  When the potatoes were ready, Owen opened the oven and slid them in.

  “That was easy. What else can I do to help?”

  “You could go into the store and grab two beers from the cooler.”

  “I’m on my way.” Cass disappeared into the store. She came back carrying two bottles. “I took two from the back. I’m guessing Alec brought those because they’re colder than the ones I picked up.”

  Owen tossed her an opener and she popped the lids off both bottles and handed one to Owen.

  “Glass?”

  She shook her head no. “It would feel . . . I don’t know, maybe a bit pretentious to be eating crabs we pulled out of the bay ourselves and drinking our beer out of a glass. The bottle seems to fit the ambience.”

  He nodded. She got it.

  “So how did you learn to cook?” she asked.

  “Our mom worked at night sometimes—she waited tables at the inn on occasion—and my father wouldn’t cook.” Owen gave her a rueful smile. “Women’s work, you know? So when my mother worked late, he ate at one of the local bars, and I cooked for me and Lis or we didn’t eat. Gigi showed me how to do some things, others I learned by reading the old family cookbook.”

  “Recipes that have been passed down, you mean?”

  “Yeah. It’s more like a folder than a book. It’s around here somewhere.”

  Cass fell silent.

  After a moment, Owen asked, “Do I see wheels turning?”

  She laughed. “Sorry. I was just thinking how cool it would be to gather some old recipes and make a Cannonball Island cookbook. We could give it to people who buy the houses, and we could—” Cass stopped. “I know. I get carried away. Sometimes I get very enthusiastic about something and my imagination just takes off. This whole project has taken on a life of its own.”

  “It’s a very worthy project, Cass. I admire the way you’re handling things here on the island. And a cookbook would be a great addition to everything else you’re doing, if you could fit it in between cleaning graveyards, renovating some of the old houses, and tearing down others to build new. How are your designs coming along, by the way?”

  “They’re done. I keep tinkering with them, but for the most part, they’re finished. I’m thinking of marketing some of the renovated homes as perfect little one-person retreats. You know, target singles who are looking for a place to get away.” She watched him as if waiting for a response.

  “I saw something on TV last week—something Ruby was watching about little houses. They seem to be popular right now.”

  “Tiny houses are definitely on trend. But ours would be special because they’d have so much history.”

  Owen glanced at her face. She’d taken on a bit of a dreamy expression, as if imagining what those tiny houses might look like. He took a swig of beer to keep himself from leaning over the granite and kissing that dreamy face.

  “History seems to be your thing.”

  “My first love. If my father hadn’t convinced me I’d be more of an asset to Deiter Construction as an archi
tect, I’d probably be teaching history at the high school or college level. My parents both thought teaching wasn’t lucrative enough, and my dad wanted me to join his company in some capacity. I’m one of three architects the firm employs, but when a project comes along that I’m interested in, I always get dibs. The other two guys understand that’s how it is.”

  “The perk of being the boss’s daughter.”

  “It’s one of the only perks, believe me. He works me as hard as he works the guys, expects more from me because I’m his kid.”

  “Do you regret becoming an architect?”

  “Not really. I actually love designing houses. I like imagining people living in the spaces I design. And a project like this one suits me to a T.”

  “Because of the history involved?”

  She nodded.

  “The bay area is crazy with history. From the earliest settlers to the Revolution to the War of 1812, the Civil War, and the connections to the Underground Railroad.” He opened the oven, turned over the potatoes, closed the oven, then took a frying pan from an overhead rack. “Have you been on any of the history tours?”

  “What history tours?” Her eyes widened with interest. “Someone gives history tours?”

  “Well, no, you have to plot them out yourself.” He flashed a grin. “Or know someone who knows where to go.” He turned on the burner under the pan and added butter.

  “Someone like, oh, I don’t know. Got anyone in mind?”

  “Colonial tour. Revolutionary War tour. Eighteen twelve tour. Civil War tour—I’m your man.”

  “Are you volunteering your services as tour guide?”

  “Anytime. Your choice of tour.”

  She smiled and leaned her elbow on the island and rested her chin in her palm. “Hmmm. Something to think about, for sure.”