Sandpiper Way (Cedar Cove #8)(14)

Men didn’t give her flowers. She wasn’t that kind of woman and she hardly knew how to react when a man did something nice for her. James’s interest terrified her; Teri said it was because Christie didn’t know how to respond to a decent, hardworking man. She was more accustomed to losers, men who stole from her and smacked her around.

Even now she had no idea what had caused this brain malfunction when it came to men. Her genetic makeup must’ve gotten all messed up; it was the only reason Christie could figure. Either that, or a lifetime of bad examples—although Teri had broken the pattern when she met Bobby Polgar. In any event, Christie would meet a man, generally unemployed and down on his luck, which was all too frequently a permanent condition. Substance abuse, whether drugs, alcohol or both, always seemed to be involved as well. These guys would tell her their tales of woe: The world was against them, they’d been cheated by bosses and partners, cheated on by wives and girlfriends—an endless series of sad complaints that, somehow, all sounded the same.

Nonetheless, her heart would ache for them and before she knew how or why, Christie would end up taking responsibility and trying to make everything better. In no time, she’d be head over heels in love.

Talk about stupid, and yet she did it again and again. She wished she could meet someone like Bobby, someone who’d love and respect her the way Bobby loved and respected Teri.

Now Bobby’s driver was interested in Christie. In contrast to all the previous men in her life, James Wilbur was the perfect gentleman. In fact, his politeness was downright excessive. And calling her Miss Christie, as if she was—oh, she didn’t know what. Special? Hardly. It was just one of his affectations, she told herself grumpily. He irritated her so much that she’d insisted she didn’t want him driving her anymore. She had her own means of transportation, such as it was, but despite the bald tires and faulty transmission, she did not require a chauffeur.

Teri might be used to such exalted treatment, but Christie didn’t like it. Besides, James showing up at her apartment complex in that fancy car caused too much speculation among her neighbors. It embarrassed her.

James made her feel self-conscious, opening the door for her, helping her in and out of the limousine. She didn’t need assistance to get into a car or out of one, either. That was so ridiculous it was laughable.

And yet, she had to admit his intentions were good. There was a kindness about him…. Christie closed her eyes. She couldn’t bear to think of him in pain. He’d been hurt recently, beaten by a couple of thugs who’d attempted to kidnap her sister, only they got her friend Rachel Pendergast instead. And they got James.

It all had to do with a chess tournament and a rival player who’d wanted Bobby to throw the match. He hadn’t; he’d won through some complicated maneuver and in the end the other player had been arrested.

Christie hadn’t expected to like Bobby Polgar. And she hadn’t gotten along with her sister for years. They’d simply avoided each other. It was just better that way.

Then all of a sudden they were back to being friends…being sisters. Christie wasn’t sure who’d done the maturing—probably both of them. And she suspected Bobby’s influence had made Teri more confident, more tolerant and forgiving. Bobby had been a good friend to James, too—not that she knew much about their history.

She reached for her beer and sipped it, wishing she could stop thinking about James. He lingered in her mind and she couldn’t make him disappear, which flustered her. She’d demanded he leave her alone, and he had, which flustered her even more. No one had ever done what she’d asked before.

When she learned he was hurt, she’d hurried to him, but James no longer wanted anything to do with her. He’d made it plain that he didn’t want her company. Christie got the message. She left him a rose, the way he’d left her one, and slipped out of his living quarters, feeling lower than dirt.

“You need another beer?” Larry asked, filling a couple of glasses from the tap.

Christie shook her head. “No, thanks.” She quickly changed her mind. “On second thought, maybe I will.”

Larry nodded approvingly, then leaned against the bar and whispered, “You feeling down about something?”

She shrugged. “You could say that.”

Larry set a glass of cold beer on the counter. “If you want to talk about it, just say the word.”

Christie shook her head again. Her feelings for James confused her; she wouldn’t know what to tell Larry or anyone else. The person she needed to talk to was her sister. Maybe Teri would help her understand what was happening.

“Hey, look!” Kyle, a plumber and a regular at The Pink Poodle, called out. “That limousine’s parked here again.”

Christie instantly felt heat invade her face. James was parked outside, waiting for her.

A couple of men walked over to stare out the window.

“What’s a limousine doing here?” Bill asked. He worked at the shipyard and was another regular. Both men were divorced and preferred spending time at the Poodle to sitting alone in front of the TV. Christie understood that desire for a social outlet; it was one of the reasons she was a regular herself.

“I saw that car before,” Kyle commented.

“Who in here would ever need a fancy vehicle like that?” Bill asked, turning to look at Larry.