A High-End Finish(6)

I murmured my thanks to the two men as I walked away.

“You okay?” one of them asked me.

“Just great.” I limped across the sand to the fading sound of hoots and whistles and cheers. Only in Lighthouse Cove, I thought, and realized that some of those people up there might’ve been in the betting pool at the pub.

Was that the reason an audience had gathered to watch? Had they been waiting to see if we would kiss and go home together? Had the applause come from the winners of the bet?

I wondered if my neighbor Jesse was part of the crowd.

I hoped he was happy since I had just helped him win the pool. Okay, maybe I hadn’t struck Jerry in the family jewels, exactly, but I’d come as close as I ever wanted to get to Jerry Saxton again.





Chapter Two


I didn’t sleep well that night. It wasn’t because I felt guilty. Far from it. Jerry had deserved everything he got. Including the kicks and my flimsy death threat. I mean, it’s not like I would ever follow through, for goodness’ sake. But it felt good to put some fear of God into the man.

But no, the reason I couldn’t sleep was because half the town had been out there to witness the fight, which meant that people would be talking about me for weeks. I didn’t care as much about them overhearing the death threat, since any other woman would have said the same thing.

But I hated being taken for such a fool by that big creep. To think I’d actually started to like him. It made me feel like a complete idiot.

And here was a question for the ages: Why did Jerry want to kiss me in the first place? I could tell he didn’t feel romantic toward me. Had he honestly thought he deserved “payment” for one lousy dinner? I didn’t get that mentality. One of these days I would ask a man I trusted to explain it to me.

But back to the subject of my small town and the fact that in a single instant I had become fodder for the gossip mill. Everyone in town knew I hadn’t been out on a regular date with a man in years. Obviously, that was what had spurred the creation of the pub’s betting pool. So now, if there was someone living under a rock somewhere, even he or she would hear all the gory details soon enough.

One thing is for sure, I thought as I climbed out of bed. I will never go out on a blind date again. At least I had some remnant left of the good judgment I was once famous for.

Normally I was willing to put up with the usual good-natured teasing from the locals. But in this case I wasn’t ready to face people yet. As I washed my face and brushed my teeth, I decided I would avoid my usual haunts for a few days until everyone found something more interesting than me to chatter about.

I would have to cancel my breakfast with Dad at the Cozy Cove Diner. I couldn’t face being grilled by him just yet. Instead maybe I would swing by the Scottish Rose Tea Shoppe on the town square. My good friend Emily owned the shop and would be sympathetic to my need for a friendly face and some privacy. Right now I could use some quiet solidarity. The only downside was that I would have to make do with English breakfast tea rather than coffee. But fine, I would do it and blame that pompous jerk Jerry Saxton. What a nightmare he’d turned out to be. One of these days, I thought, that man is going to push some woman too far.

Exhausted after a long night of head-spinning replays of that ugly scene by the pier, I decided to go for a run. I threw on my sweats and sneakers and jogged down to the beach for some exercise. Not only would it clear my head, but it would also keep me in shape. In my line of work, it was important to stay strong and agile. My work was labor-intensive and I didn’t ever want to have to shirk any of the physical tasks I made the guys on my crew perform.

The sun was just peeking over the eastern hills when I reached the boardwalk. Others were already out on this brisk, clear morning, running with their dogs or walking to the rhythm of whatever music was blasting into their ears through their tiny earbuds. It was an unwritten rule at this early hour of the morning that nobody had to speak to anyone else if she didn’t want to, but I did give a brief, friendly nod to a few of the locals I passed.

At the low concrete seawall that separated the boardwalk from the sand, I hesitated. A chill skittered across my shoulders as I gazed at the wooden stairs that ran down from the pier. I hated that I was having any reaction to this spot at all. And I refused to let thoughts of that jerk kill my run or my enjoyment of the morning. This was my beach and no way was Jerry Saxton going to ruin it for me.

I hopped over the seawall and plowed my way through the stretch of sand to the water’s edge. As I started my slow run south, I concentrated on my breathing instead of the disturbing image of Jerry Saxton grabbing me.

Pacing myself, I passed all the familiar landmarks: the paddle tennis courts where I’d strained a ligament in my knee four years ago; the rocky breakwater where my high school boyfriend, Tommy Gallagher, had first kissed me; the penny arcade where Tommy had won the fake diamond ring I still kept tucked away in my jewelry case; the T-shirt shop where Jane and I got our first real jobs when we were sixteen; the fire pit where Tommy had tearfully broken up with me.

Obviously, there was a time when my entire life revolved around Tommy Gallagher. Those days were long gone, thank goodness, though there was some comfort in knowing that the two of us were still friends.

The sound of my own breathing and the pounding of my shoes against the hard-packed ground drove me on. I followed the slow curve of blond sand that marked the beginning of the Golden Strand, where some of the town’s most prominent citizens lived in beautiful Victorian-style mansions built by my father.