Carolina Man (A Dare Island Novel) Page 7

  “You box everything up, too?” he asked.

  “I didn’t have a choice. Her rent was paid only through the end of the month.”

  She could have hired someone else to do the job, Luke thought. “So the house is empty.”

  She nodded. “I can take you to the storage unit if you want to look for that picture of Dawn. Or anything else.”

  “What about the cat?”

  “Dawn’s cat? Snowball?”

  “Yeah. You know what happened to it?”

  “No, I’m sorry. It wasn’t at the house when I was there. Did you ask the Simpsons?”

  “Yeah. Jolene told me how they couldn’t take the cat because of her allergies. So I asked her what they did with it.”

  “And?”

  “Nothing,” he said, disgusted. “I called the animal shelter, but they don’t have a record of a white cat being turned in. I thought I might have a look around her old place.”

  “I don’t see what good that will do. Someone else is probably living there now.”

  “I hope so.”

  Her brow pleated. He watched her work it out. “You think if someone moved in, they could have seen it.”

  “Or are feeding it. Yeah.” He shrugged. “It’s worth a shot.”

  “I think that’s very admirable.” She hesitated.

  “Do I hear a ‘but’ coming?”

  She laughed, but her eyes were serious. “Are you ready to take on the responsibility for another living being right now?”

  He wasn’t used to having his judgment questioned. Maybe he wasn’t an experienced dad like Matt. But he was a squad leader, responsible for the lives of his men and the success of their mission. He kept them equipped, conditioned, trained, and alive. He did not have to explain or defend himself. So he joked instead. “I guess this is a bad time to tell you about the dog.”

  “What dog?”

  Definitely a bad time.

  “Listen, we’re talking about a kid’s pet here.” Weren’t they? “Taylor just lost her mom. I can’t tell her it’s too much trouble to look for her damn cat.”

  “And when you’re gone?” Kate asked quietly.

  Yeah, okay, she wasn’t just talking about the cat anymore.

  “We’ll work it out,” he said, not sure how, but it sounded good. “My family will help.”

  “You have a good family.”

  He grinned, amused by her precise pattern of speaking. “Is that your professional opinion?”

  She straightened her shoulders, which did nice things for her very pretty breasts. “My professional opinion is the only one that matters.”

  “Not to me,” he said, and was fascinated when she blushed under her makeup, the little ridge on her cheek standing out white against the pink. A scar.

  “I just meant . . . The court gives more weight to considered analysis than to emotional appeals.”

  “Sure. But emotion enters into their decisions, right? You said yourself that this social worker has to like us. Like me. So, what do you think?” He stood closer, enjoying the way her eyes dilated, the color running under her skin. His own blood heated in response. “Do I have a shot?”

  “I guess we won’t know until we get there.” Deliberately, she took a step back. “We can stop by on our way to the storage center.”

  He was momentarily confused. “Stop by?”

  “Dawn’s house.” Her lips twitched. “That is what you were asking, wasn’t it?”

  His grin mirrored hers. “You’re going with me.”

  “It’s on our way. We might as well check things out.” There it was again, that glint of humor, like a shell tumbling at the water’s edge, gone almost before it could be identified. “Anything’s possible.”

  Ooh-rah.

  And maybe, he thought as he got in his Jeep and followed her to the outskirts of town, the new tenants had adopted the cat already. Maybe Taylor would be satisfied with that, honor would be satisfied with that.

  He wasn’t satisfied yet.

  He wondered if he would ever be satisfied where Kate was concerned. Anything’s possible.

  The houses got smaller and farther apart. White picket borders gave way to chain link fence, boats in the driveway replaced with rusting propane tanks and swing sets. Kate parked on the soft shoulder of the road in front of a brick bungalow. Luke pulled in behind her and got out.

  It wasn’t the greatest neighborhood. But it was a step up from her parents’ place. His respect for Dawn, for what she had accomplished on her own, for the life she had made for their daughter, grew.

  Jolene’s accusing voice played in his head. You never sent a dime . . .

  Scattered toys and weeds had overtaken the yard next door, but the grass around the bungalow was recently mowed, the yard empty except for a red-and-white FOR RENT sign.

  No cat lurking in the bushes.

  No helpful tenants, either. Damn.

  “Here, kitty, kitty.”

  “Try the back,” Kate suggested.

  He walked and whistled, poked under bushes and peered under the porch, feeling like an idiot. “Here, Snowball.”

  No answer. He tromped around front again.

  “We should have brought a can of tuna,” Kate said.

  “Are you looking for Dawn?”

  A young woman leaned against the chain link fence, pretty, sharp featured, with a butterfly tattoo on one side of her throat and a baby on her hip.

  “Her cat,” Luke said. “Have you seen it?”

  “Sure. A couple of times. After . . . you know. Dawn died.” The baby grabbed a fistful of his mother’s shirt and tugged, exposing a lot of smooth, young skin and another tattoo. A fairy.

  “Recently?” Kate asked.

  “Four months ago.”

  “No, I meant, when was the last time you saw the cat?”

  “You’re not animal control.” The girl’s gaze slid back over Luke, taking in his olive T-shirt and fatigue pants. “Marines?”

  He smiled reassuringly. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Thought so.” She fixed him with wide brown eyes that reminded him of the dog in Afghanistan. Hopeful. Needy. “How did you say you knew Dawn again?”

  I didn’t know her. We dated in high school and I knocked her up. “I’m Taylor’s father.”

  “Really? What’s your name?”

  “Luke. Do you remember the last time—”

  “I’m Sierra. I’ve never seen you around here before.”

  His jaw tightened. No excuses. “No.”

  “He’s been overseas a lot,” Kate said.

  “Funny, Dawn never mentioned you,” the girl said.

  Luke exhaled hard. Dawn had never mentioned Taylor, either, not to him, which was something else he couldn’t understand and was finding hard to forgive her for. Forgive himself for.

  Not that he spent a lot of time thinking about his feelings, for fuck’s sake.

  “How well did you know them?” he asked.

  She shrugged, making her top slide farther. “Oh, you know. Pretty well. Us single moms have to stick together. Taylor used to come over sometimes and watch the baby. Not that I ever go anywhere. But she’d play with her, read to her, while I did stuff around the house.” She shifted the baby on her hip. “How’s she doing? Taylor?”

  “She’s fine,” Luke said. Wasn’t she? He had a hard time picturing the silent, suspicious daughter he knew playing and reading with a baby.

  “Must have been awful for her, losing her mom like that.”

  Luke’s jaw tightened. “Yeah.”

  Kate took a business card out of her purse and handed it to Sierra. “This is my number. If you see the cat again, will you call me?”

  Sierra took the card, still looking at Luke. Help me. Save me. Love me. “You got a card, too?”

  He shook his head.

  She sighed. “Well, let me have your phone. I’ll type in my number. In case you want to ask about Snowball. You can call anytime,” she said, handing the phone back. “I’
m all alone here. Just me and the baby.”

  “Uh, thanks.” He threw Kate a desperate look. No way was he calling. The girl looked fresh out of high school, for Christ’s sake. With a kid.

  Just like Dawn at that age. He winced.

  Kate coughed. Or maybe she was covering a laugh. “I’m sure the staff sergeant appreciates your offer,” she said smoothly. “We’ll be in touch.”

  He walked Kate back to her car and opened her door.

  He was glad Meg wasn’t with him. His sister would never let him hear the end of it, her tough-guy brother fleeing in terror from a barely-legal teenager. But Kate didn’t bust his balls. She didn’t take offense, either.

  “Thanks for having my six.”

  Kate slid behind the wheel, smiling up at him. “All in a day’s work.”

  “Right.” He frowned. After listening to Kate on the phone, he could tell she cared about her clients. He appreciated the way she went above and beyond in the line of duty. But he didn’t want to be just another part of her job.

  He watched her pull out ahead of him, signaling her turns carefully, giving him a little wave once in her rearview mirror, two fingers and a smile.

  It was enough to make him think . . . Hell, he didn’t know what to think.

  He was used to sizing things up, acting swiftly to secure a situation or an advantage. Kate Dolan was too guarded to be read. Too careful to be rushed. Too complicated to resist. A challenge, in fact.

  He’d never been any damn good at all at backing away from a challenge.

  Six

  KATE UNLOCKED THE numbered storage unit door, acutely aware of Luke behind her. Not crowding, but she felt him anyway, a subtle pressure, a prickling awareness on the back of her neck.

  She shivered and yanked on the locking bar, sliding it out of the way.

  All in a day’s work, she’d said, her voice cheery, but this errand felt deeply personal.

  There weren’t enough pieces of her own past left to fill a cardboard box, let alone a storage unit. Her kindergarten artwork, a dollhouse from her aunt, a blue candy dish, a stuffed monkey she’d clung to in the hospital when she got her tonsils out at six . . . Gone, all gone. Useless junk, her father had barked when it came time to move again. Get rid of it. And her mother had always acquiesced.

  Some memories weren’t worth holding on to.

  But Kate had done her best to preserve Taylor’s. To save the bits and pieces of her childhood, her legacy from Dawn.

  Everybody should have a picture somewhere, even if the happy family it depicted was a lie.

  It was hard for Kate to imagine her mother smiling. But she would love to believe there was a photo of her somewhere, of the two of them together, tucked in the attic or the bottom of a drawer, something that had escaped her father’s notice and control.

  Luke bent and grabbed the metal handle, arms bunching, all those lovely muscles sliding under his shirt.

  Kate looked away, a little out of breath. The overhead door rattled up, releasing a draft of stale air. She breathed in the smell of mothballs. She was out of her comfort zone here, uneasily aware of overstepping her own boundaries into uncharted territory.

  “I have to get back,” she muttered.

  He looked surprised. And then he shrugged. “Sure. Leave the key. I’ll lock up.”

  “No, I meant . . .” Her face heated. Get a grip, Dolan. “Never mind.”

  She fumbled for the light. Flipped it on. The contents of the storage unit jumped into stark relief, stacked cartons and shrouded furniture looming out of the shadows.

  Luke inhaled sharply. She glanced over as he moved inside the unit, turning his back to the wall.

  Oh. She bit her lip in sudden comprehension. She’d seen cops stand like that at the courthouse, protecting their rear, watching the entrance, guarding against attack.

  Luke was just back from a war zone. It would take him time to adjust to civilian life.

  If he ever did.

  Compassion squeezed her chest. She dug in her purse, giving them both a moment to recover. “I boxed all the framed photos and albums together,” she said, her tone deliberately matter-of-fact. “I have a list . . .”

  “Of course you do.”

  She narrowed her eyes, suspecting some kind of dig. But he was smiling, watching her with lazy blue eyes. A little rush of pleasure ran over her skin.

  “My mom makes lists,” he explained. “Military family, remember?”

  She hadn’t thought of it that way, as a habit she’d learned from her father’s frequent deployments. As something they could have in common.

  She didn’t want anything to do with that life anymore.

  Blindly, she looked down. “Here we go.” She smoothed the pages. “‘Living room—Pictures.’ It should be near the front.”

  He nodded and turned away to scan the sides of the cartons.

  Kate followed suit down the other side, trying to dismiss that inconvenient spark of attraction. Everything was jumbled together, the boxes sorted by size rather than content. KITCHEN, CHRISTMAS, SUMMER CLOTHES . . . Even without opening the boxes, Kate could see Dawn’s pink sweaters, her big hair, her bright smile. She’d been so young. Three years younger than Kate. Her whole life ahead of her, the minister had droned at her funeral.

  Her throat ached. What was she doing here? Luke was perfectly capable of searching the storage unit on his own. What was she hoping to accomplish?

  Kate blinked fiercely, forcing the swimming letters on the boxes into focus: TAYLOR—BOOKS, TAYLOR—BEDROOM. Maybe . . . Had there been a picture of Dawn on Taylor’s dresser? She couldn’t remember. She tugged that box toward her. She could hear Luke shifting cartons on the other side of the unit, stacking them to get to the ones farther down in the pile. Tape ripped.

  And then . . . It was awfully quiet all of a sudden.

  She dropped the folds of comforter she’d used to pad the box and turned. Luke stood motionless by an open carton, staring down at the frame in his hands.

  Kate couldn’t see the picture. She didn’t need to. His expression told her all she needed to know. He was doing that stone-faced Marine thing again, jaw bunched, thick blond lashes veiling his eyes.

  She swallowed the lump in her throat, struggling for a brisk tone, trying to protect them both from an excess of emotion. “Did you find what you need?”

  • • •

  WAR TAUGHT YOU to shut up about your feelings. To shut off your memories. Which was a good thing, because at that moment Luke had more feelings and memories churning around than he wanted to deal with.

  “Did you find what you need?” Kate chirped.

  Dumb question. But he was grateful for her voice, pulling him back to the dim storage unit.

  “Yeah.”

  The Dawn in the photo was a year or two years older and maybe fifteen pounds heavier than the girl he remembered, her face rounder, fuller, more grown-up. But despite the changes and the baby on her lap, she still looked the same, like the girl he knew in high school. The girl he’d loved, or at least loved having sex with.

  He could see a bit of birthday cake, a pink party hat perched like a crooked horn on Taylor’s smooth blond head. He wanted to build some fantasy where he belonged in that picture, his hand on Dawn’s shoulder or his arm around the baby. Or out of the frame, taking the shot. But he couldn’t. There was no room in that photo for anybody else. Mother and child looked like a unit. Happy. Complete.

  Dawn sure never looked at him the way she looked at that baby.

  Gently, he laid her picture back in the box.

  He’d been pretty broken up when she dumped him.

  I’m not waiting for you, she’d cried when he told her he’d enlisted. I want to get out of here. I want a real home. A real family.

  Luke hadn’t cared so much about getting out. The island was home to him. But he had been determined to prove himself. Matt was the responsible one in their family, Meg was the smart one. He was the afterthought, the baby, their broth
er. Until he became a Marine, like their father.

  Maybe nobody knew anymore if the war had been a good thing, but nobody had questioned his choice back then. Not in the wake of 9/11. Oh, his mother had cried a little before she did that mom thing with her face, smiling through her fear, telling him she was proud.

  Dad . . . Well, Dad never said much. But Luke thought he was proud.

  What if Dawn had come to him then and told him she was pregnant?

  What would he have done?

  “Taylor’s first birthday,” Kate observed softly beside him.

  He twitched, but he didn’t react the way he would to, say, a Taliban insurgent popping up at his elbow. So that was good. He looked down again at the picture in the box, a funny pressure in his chest.

  “Were you there?” he asked Kate.

  For some reason, she flushed. “No, I . . . She wasn’t working for me then. Not that we saw a lot of each other outside the office. But—”

  “Hey, you don’t need to apologize.” He managed a smile. “I wasn’t there, either.”

  She bit her lip. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t an apology,” she added hurriedly. “I just meant . . . It can’t be easy for you, missing out on so much of your daughter’s life.”

  So many milestones, he thought. First birthday. First step. First day of school.

  But he didn’t want Kate’s pity. Anyway, she was wrong.

  “That’s not the hard part,” Luke said.

  She was close enough that her curls brushed his shoulder. Despite all the makeup she wore, she smelled fresh and clean, like shampoo.

  His chest felt tight. He exhaled. “The hard part is what she’s going to miss going forward, what they’ll both miss. All the other birthdays for the rest of Taylor’s life. Her high school prom. Her graduation. Christ, her wedding day. Her mom should be there. She needs her mom.”

  Kate’s hand squeezed his arm. He turned his head. Her gaze met his, soft and compassionate. “She has you.”

  “That’s not enough.”

  “It’s quite a lot. Daughters need their fathers to develop a positive self-image and healthy relationships with the opposite sex.”

  He raised his brows. “Are you speaking from experience?”