The Renegade (The Moorehouse Legacy #3)(46)

His sudden shift jarred her. One minute he was telling her things she’d never imagined hearing from him. The next, he was back to stone-cold normal.

“Cassandra?”

“Uh, no problem.”

“Thanks.”

Man, this guy could close doors better than anyone she’d ever met, Cass thought as she put the car in gear. In an earlier life, he’d no doubt been a brass hinge.

When they were going down the Lake Road, he withdrew a thick envelope from his pocket. “Can we pull up to that mailbox by the stoplight?”

“Sure.” She eased over to the curb and eyed the snowbank. “Let me drop it in for you.”

He hesitated and then gave the thing to her. “Thanks.”

When she was at the box, she glanced down at the address he’d written in precise letters. Newport, Rhode Island. She didn’t recognize the name.

The trip to the local Shop Rite didn’t take long in spite of how much he bought. Alex was efficient. He knew exactly what he wanted and where to find it in the aisles. Six packs of Ensure. PowerBars. Chicken. Chicken. Chicken. Lettuce heads. Carrots. Vitamins. Orange juice. Yogurt. He worked the U-Scan like a flash, as well.

The bags were in the back and they were heading to White Caps, when Alex looked over at her.

“Thanks for doing this. I’m sure there are better ways for you to blow an hour and a half.”

“It was no problem.” She hit the turn signal and eased onto his driveway. “Would you like some help getting this stuff inside?”

“No. You wait here with the heater running. I won’t take long.”

And he didn’t, even with the cane.

With the last two bags in his left hand, he shut the rear door. She expected him just to wave her off, but he came around to the driver’s side. She put the window down.

“Seriously, thank you,” he said.

Their eyes met.

Ask me in, she thought. Ask me to stay for a while. For the night. I know you have your reasons to keep away, but—

“See you tomorrow, Cassandra.”





Chapter Fourteen




A week later Alex clipped his cell phone shut and stared at the thing.

William Hosworth IV, or Hoss as he was known in sailing circles, wanted to buy a boat. From Alex.

Which was nuts, he thought.

When he’d sent those plans to Rhode Island, he hadn’t anticipated this kind of thing. He’d just wanted another set of eyes to tell him if the changes he’d made to his father’s designs had in fact improved the overall performance of the craft.

What the hell did he know about building a sailboat? Sure, he’d spent hours upon hours rehabbing the damn things in and out of the water. And there wasn’t anything he couldn’t do with his hands.

But building a sailboat from start to finish was a different beast than fixing one.

Abruptly he thought of the unwinterized part of the barn. If it was cleared out, the center aisle was big enough to accommodate a full-size yacht up on blocks. If he bought the wood and hired a couple of guys—

No way. He’d need industrial tools and respiratory apparatuses. He’d have to comply with standards and codes he didn’t know about.

Except, what if he out-sourced the project? Now there was an idea. He knew a pair of brothers up on Blue Mountain Lake who handmade repros of old-fashioned power boat racers. Maybe they’d be interested in doing a partnership.

Then Alex thought of Mad Dog’s impending visit. He knew it wasn’t a social one. His crew was going to want him back at the helm. Soon.

If he decided to return as their captain, he could kiss off the yacht-building fantasy. You didn’t put boats together as a hobby even if you had someone else pounding the nails. You had to monitor the progress constantly, be on hand and available if problems arose.

Like Cassandra was with her work. She was on site every day, dealing with issues.

He looked at White Caps, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. Instead all he saw were three plumbers walking out with their toolboxes.

Each afternoon when the men left, Alex fought not to go over to the house. Cassandra’s presence was a constant—

A pounding on the door brought his head around.

“Hey, Moorehouse!” Spike called out. “You ready to go see your grandmother?”

“Yeah.” He picked up two of his father’s original plans and tucked them under his arm as Spike came in. “And I’ve got another stop I need to make in town.”

“No problem, man.” Spike smiled, his typical, halfcocked grin making an appearance.

Today, the guy was wearing his standard uniform. Black turtleneck, black pants, beat-to-hell biker’s jacket. A pair of aviator sunglasses hung on a leash around his neck. With his hair sticking straight up and the earrings, he looked like a GQ model who’d been styled by a goth anarchist.

Alex grabbed his coat and the two of them went outside. Snow was falling lightly, silently. He looked to White Caps, willing Cassandra to come out. Of course, she didn’t.

“Why don’t you go to her, man?” Spike said quietly.

Alex just shook his head and got in the car.

*

After the plumbers left, Cass sagged against the wall. She felt as if the law of gravity was taking a special interest in her. Her clothes seemed heavy as a lead suit, her arms and legs dragging.