Текст книги "Native Affairs"

Автор книги: Doreen Malek Owens

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Текущая страница: 27 (всего у книги 37 страниц)

“Miss Talbot, I’m glad you were able to get back to me so quickly,” the attorney said when she reached him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to sign the papers you had for me,” Ann replied. “I’ll come back to your office tomorrow.”

“That will be fine, but that’s not the reason I’m calling.”

“Has something happened?” Ann asked anxiously. Something else she added silently.

“I’m afraid so.”

Ann’s heart sank at his tone. “Tell me.”

“Your brother has been transferred to a hospital about ten miles from the county jail where he was being held pending disposition of his case,” Caldwell said.

“Hospital?” Ann said faintly.

“Yes. It seems he got into an altercation with one of the other inmates and came out the worse for it.”

“How bad?” Ann said quickly.

“He has a fractured skull and a broken leg.”

Ann gasped, gripping the phone. “How could that happen? Don’t they have guards in those places?”

“Of course they do, but fights among convicts are commonplace—they really can’t be stopped completely.”

“My brother is not a convict, Mr. Caldwell,” Ann said tersely, on the verge of tears for the second time that day.

“Certainly not, it was just a figure of speech, please forgive me. I am so sorry to be giving you more bad news, but I thought you should know about this new development immediately.”

Ann said nothing.

“What was the result of your conference with Mr. Bodine?” Caldwell asked, obviously hoping for a ray of light in this ocean of darkness.

“May I call you back tomorrow, Mr. Caldwell? I’ll discuss it with you then.”

“Certainly, but don’t wait too long. If your brother has become a target in this particular jail, he could be in for more trouble once he is released from the hospital.”

“Can’t you have him transferred or something?”

“It’s not as easy as it sounds, Miss Talbot. I would have to show cause...”

“A fractured skull isn’t cause enough?” Ann asked, her voice rising.

“I will try. I just can’t promise anything,” the lawyer said. “I know this is a difficult time for you, but we have to address this whole situation quickly, not just the transfer, but the matter of Tim’s bail. If I could get him released, we obviously wouldn’t have to worry about the rest of it anymore.”

“Work on it, and I’ll call you first thing in the morning,” Ann replied, and hung up the phone. Then she stretched out on the bed with her face down into the pillow for a long time.

When she finally stood, there was a determination in her movements that bespoke a renewed purpose.

She went into the adjoining bathroom and turned on the shower full force, waiting until the steam billowed out into the bedroom before shedding her clothes and stepping under the gushing, almost scalding water. She took a long, luxurious shower, letting the heat soak into her bones and the purifying steam clear her head. By the time she turned off the water and reached for the hotel robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door, she had made up her mind.

Ann went straight to the phone and dialed information, asking for the Miami number of Bimini Boat Works. When told by a sweet-voiced secretary that Mr. Bodine was not in his office, Ann left the message that she had called, along with her phone extension at the inn.

She was sitting in the armchair next to the phone ten minutes later when it rang.

“You called me?” Heath said without preliminary when she picked up the receiver and said hello.

Just the sound of his voice made her hands start to shake. “I’d like to get together and discuss the details of your offer,” Ann said quietly.

“I’ll meet you for dinner at the inn’s restaurant tomorrow night at eight o’clock,” he replied. He didn’t ask why she had changed her mind so quickly. He didn’t ask why she had changed her mind at all.

Obviously he didn’t care.

“Fine,” she said.

Ann heard a click as the line went dead. He had hung up without saying goodbye. Somehow, it seemed appropriate.

When you made a deal with the devil, common courtesy was probably de trop.

She sat back in the chair and for the first time since she’d returned to Florida she let her mind dwell on that fateful summer eleven years earlier, when she first met Heath. She had pushed the memories back for so long that when she finally opened the floodgate they all came rushing through, under pressure, drowning her in technicolor images of the past. She saw Heath as he had been; then as now the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

Chapter 3

Eleven years earlier...

Ann pulled off her sunglasses and sat up in annoyance, looking around for the source of the noise. She had been up late at a dance the night before and was trying to take a nap, but someone was racing the motor of her father’s powerboat. Every time she thought the grating sound had stopped, it would begin again, wearing on her nerves. She’d been just on the edge of sleep during a period of blessed silence when the engine roared to life once more.

Ann winced and sighed. The sound was drowning out the gentle lapping of the water against the bulkhead behind her. Ann fastened the straps of her bikini top and grabbed a towel from her deck chair, padding barefoot across the patio and the lawn and down to the dock that fronted the canal running behind her house. A thirty-two foot cabin cruiser and a twenty-foot speedboat were tied up there, the speedboat with its engine racing. Ann stood on the dock, hands on hips, waiting for the din to subside. When it finally did she yelled “Hey!” and paused for a response.

There was none.

Muttering to herself, she climbed down into the front of the boat and walked around to the rear well. There a deeply tanned figure was bent over the engine housing, fiddling with a screwdriver.

“I’m talking to you,” Ann said loudly.

The man turned to look up at her, and she froze under his stare, finally taking a step back and draping her towel self consciously over her shoulders.

She felt as if he were undressing her with his eyes.

He was about six feet tall, his skin nut brown from the sun, his hair and brows and lashes blue black, the color of anthracite. His face was arresting: wide amber eyes, a narrow nose, high cheekbones and a sculpted mouth with a thin upper lip and a full, cushioned lower one. His expression was not friendly as he looked her over, taking in her scanty bathing suit, bare feet and hair pinned up in a careless bun. He didn’t look more than a few years older than Ann. She fingered a hanging tendril nervously as he said shortly, “What do you want?”

“I want you to stop making all this noise,” Ann replied, her discomfiture making her sound equally abrupt.

“You from the house?” he said, jerking his head toward the lawn. He climbed out of the engine well and dropped the hatch.

“Yes.”

“You giving me an order?”

Ann gazed back at him, unsure of how to reply. He was wearing cut-off jeans that frayed to a stop at his muscular thighs, with lace-up work boots and nothing else. Perspiration ran in rivulets down his arms and back and his hair was damp with it. He was lean, but not thin, his well-developed biceps flexing as he moved. A sprinkling of black chest hair spread over his flat nipples and disappeared in a narrow line below the waistband of his jeans. He had a flat, concave stomach, ridged and tight, and his limbs were traced with a laborer’s prominent veins. His hands and the tip of his nose were smeared with engine grease.

Ann realized she was staring and looked away. “Wh-what do you mean?”

“You hired me. If you want me to stop, I’ll stop.”

“My father must have hired you. It’s his boat.”

The workman wiped his forehead with the back of his arm and then pulled a folded sheet of paper from the rear pocket of his jeans. “Henry Talbot?” he said.

“That’s my father.”

“I’m from Jensen’s Marina. I have an order from Henry Talbot to tune up this engine—it’s been misfiring. It can wait if the noise is bothering you too much. I’ll come back.”

He was looking at her with his cat’s eyes, hands on hips, waiting for her response. Ann could only imagine her father’s reaction if she caused a delay in the repair of his precious toy.

“No, go ahead. It’s getting too hot out here anyway, I’ll go inside.” Ann walked to the front of the boat and then realized that he was following her. She stopped short and looked around at him. He hopped onto the dock in one graceful movement and then bent down, extending his hand to help her climb out of the boat. He saw that his fingers were covered with sticky engine fluid, so he wiped them on on his pants, then reached out to her again.

Ann slipped her hand into his and he pulled her up next to him. He was so strong that she seemed to fly through the air and land on the dock with no effort at all on her part.

“Thanks,” she said, looking up into his face.

“No problem, Princess,” he said, and smiled.

His teeth were very white against his dark face, the incisors slightly crooked. A silence grew between them as they stood on the dock, immobile, their eyes locked.

Luisa appeared in the kitchen doorway and called, “Miss Ann, your mother wants to speak to you.”

Ann tore her eyes away from her companion and said, “All right, Luisa, I’m coming in now.”

“So long, Princess,” he said, and hopped down into the boat. He disappeared around the curve of the bow as she looked after him, then Ann turned reluctantly toward the house.

Luisa was making lunch as Ann came inside, closing the sliding-glass door behind her to contain the conditioned air. Luisa nodded toward the hall and Ann went down to her mother’s room.

“Mom?” she said, outside her parents’ door.

“Come in,” her mother called.

Ann walked into the dressing room where her mother was stepping into a pair of pumps.

“Hi, honey. I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be having lunch at the club. I’ve already told Luisa to save something for your father whenever he wanders in from his golf game, so just be a good girl and eat whatever she gives you, okay? And remember, those carpet people are coming, so stay out of their way and let them work. Your father has been griping about the stains in his den for the last three months. What are your plans for the afternoon?” Margaret Talbot’s cool, aristocratic tones, still retaining a hint of New England, floated toward Ann as her mother clipped on a pair of earrings.

“I thought I’d just hang around here, maybe take a swim. Amy is coming over tonight.”

“All right, sweetie, have fun. It’s so nice to have you home again. And remember, we’re going shopping tomorrow on the big island.” Her mother came over to her and kissed her cheek.

“Okay.”

“See you at dinner. Bye-bye.” Margaret picked up her purse and tennis racket, grabbing her carryall and waving to her daughter as she left the bedroom.

“Bye.” her mother into the hall, returning to the kitchen to find Luisa pouring out a glass of iced lemonade. Several oatmeal and raisin cookies and a folded napkin sat beside it on a ceramic tray.

“Is that my lunch?” Ann asked.

“Of course not, your mother would have a fit,” Luisa replied crisply.

“It’s for that boy working on the boat, isn’t it?” Ann said, snatching a cookie.

“So?”

“I’ll take it out to him.”

“You will not,” Luisa said firmly.

“Why not?”

“Your father wouldn’t want you talking to that boy,” Luisa replied, picking up the tray herself.

“What’s wrong, is he a criminal or something?” Ann asked around a mouthful of oatmeal, intrigued.

Luisa didn’t answer, merely walked toward the back patio, the tray in her hands.

“So then why is it okay for you to talk to him, Luisa?” Ann inquired logically, abandoning the remains of the cookie on the kitchen table.

The front doorbell rang.

“I think you’d better get that,” Ann said to Luisa, deftly taking the tray from the older woman’s hands.

“You can answer it,” Luisa said.

“No, I can’t. It’s the carpet cleaners, I can see the van through the window. You have to talk to them.”

Luisa sighed and turned around as Ann slipped through the patio doors, balancing the tray with one hand as she moved the slider closed with the other.

Ann walked carefully over the back lawn toward the boat as the ice clinked in the tall glass. She was almost to the boat when she heard a yelp and a curse, followed by frantic rummaging sounds. She put the tray down on the lawn and ran the rest of the way, jumping down from the dock and peering into the engine well.

The workman was sitting cross-legged on the deck, wrapping a filthy towel around his hand as blood gushed from his thumb.

“Oh, my God,” Ann said, running to his side. “What on earth did you do?”

“I was trimming the fuel line when the knife slipped,” he replied tersely, wadding the dingy terry cloth against his hand. It was rapidly turning red.

“That’s really bleeding badly, you have to get to the hospital,” Ann said. “Let me just run inside and get my car keys and I’ll take you there.”

“No way,” he replied. “My truck is parked out by the road, I can drive.”

“You can’t drive with your hand like that, especially a manual transmission,” Ann said, already turning for the house. She didn’t wait for him to answer but sprinted back inside, grabbing her purse from her dresser and pulling a pair of shorts on over her bikini bottoms. She paused to slip into her sandals as Luisa came after her and asked, “Where do you think you’re going? Lunch is almost ready.”

“The boy working on the boat hurt his hand badly, I’m taking him to Palm Hospital,” Ann replied, running for the side door leading to the garage.

“You can’t drive him all the way to the hospital!” Luisa called anxiously, scuttling after her charge. “Let one of the carpet cleaners take him.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ann said to Luisa over her shoulder, jumping into her car and pressing the release for the garage door, which began to ascend automatically behind them. “They have a schedule to keep and they’re already unraveling the hose from the van. And you know what my father will say if his rug isn’t cleaned on time. I’m doing nothing, I can take him. Now get out of the way so I can back up the car, okay?”

Luisa moved reluctantly, her expression unhappy, as Ann backed the car down the long drive leading to the street. Once there she saw that the boat workman was trying to do a U turn in his ancient truck, operating the controls with his injured hand.

Ann zoomed in front of him, blocking his truck with her car. She got out, leaving her door open as she walked over to him and looked up inquiringly into the cab.

“Get out of my way,” he said tightly, not even pausing to glance at her.

“Having a little trouble?” she asked mildly.

“I’ll make it,” he replied shortly.

“Sure you will, if you can manage to drive that Stone Age truck with your mangled hand and don’t pass out from loss of blood along the way.”

“Not all of us can afford a new sports car every year, Miss Talbot,” he said irritably. He threw the truck into reverse awkwardly and it lurched and died. He closed his eyes.

“Very good—looks like you’re stuck. Now will you stop being such a macho idiot and let me drive you to the hospital?”

He said nothing, his conflicted expression indicating the struggle between his overwhelming desire to handle the situation himself and his realization that she was right. Logic finally won and he put the truck into neutral and let it roll to the side of the road. Then he jumped down from the cab and said tersely, “I’m going to bleed all over your fancy leather upholstery.”

“Why don’t you let me worry about that?” Ann replied, getting back behind the wheel of her car as he slid into the front seat on the passenger side, trying futilely to rewrap the already sopping towel around his wound.

“Use this,” she said, grabbing a sweater from her back seat and handing it to him.

“Isn’t this yours?” he said, accepting the garment with his good hand.

“I have others,” she said shortly.

He shot her an unreadable glance and then did as she said, dropping the towel on the floor and substituting her pullover for it. He cradled the injured hand in his lap and sat bolt upright, looking out the window as Ann drove.

“Why don’t you sit back and relax?” she said to him. “I’m not going to bite you.”

He obeyed, letting his shoulders touch the seat and closing his eyes. He looked pale beneath his tan and seemed drained. The loss of blood, or the shock of the accident, must have been affecting him.

“You should hold your hand upright and put pressure on the cut,” Ann said. “It will slow the bleeding.”

“Who are you, Florence Nightingale?”

“I had a first-aid course in school.”

“Stop telling me what to do, okay?”

Ann shrugged. “Okay. I’m only trying to help.”

Out of the corner of her eye Ann saw him lift the injured hand with the good one and press his opposing thumb over the cut.

She smiled to herself and kept on driving.

The trip to the hospital over the causeway to Big Palm Island took only ten minutes, but it seemed longer. When they reached the emergency room entrance he bolted out the door of her car as soon as it stopped moving.

“Hey, wait for me!” Ann called, throwing the gearshift into park and grabbing her keys from the ignition. By the time she got inside he was already registering with the clerk.

“Insurance?” the clerk said.

He shook his head.

“You have no insurance?” the clerk asked.

“That’s right.”

“I will pay cash for it,” Ann said, producing her wallet.

He turned around and glared at her. “You’re not paying for this with your old man’s money!” he said in a fierce undertone.

“They might not take you otherwise.”

He snatched the wallet from her hand and tossed it into a nearby trash can.

“You two kids want to take this outside?” the clerk said in a bored tone, pencil poised above the admitting form.

“I’ll pay cash,” he said firmly as Ann rooted in the trash for her wallet.

“Fine,” the clerk said. “Fill in the bottom part of this form and then see the triage nurse.”

He took the clipboard with his good hand and sat in one of the plastic chairs lined up in the emergency room. Ann, wallet secured, sat next to him.

“Look, you did me a favor and brought me here, now you can go,” he said to her.

She looked back at him blankly.

“Thank you,” he added shortly.

Ann didn’t move.

He sighed and began to fill out the form, holding the clipboard awkwardly on his lap.

“You’re getting bloodstains on that paper,” Ann said.

He ignored her.

“You’re putting the information in the wrong section,” Ann noted pointedly, and he turned to her abruptly, dropping the clipboard on the floor. He groaned.

“Why don’t you let me do it?” Ann suggested as she retrieved the board for him. “Just dictate and I’ll write. You’ll bleed to death before they see you at this rate.”

“I can do it myself!” he said as her sweater slipped off his hand and a fresh smear of blood stained his pants.

Ann scribbled the date and time in the correct square and said, “Name?”

He closed his eyes in extreme forbearance, waited a beat and then said resignedly, “Heath Bodine.”

“Last name spelling?”

He spelled it.

“Address?”

He gave a Port Lisbon address unfamiliar to her.

“Age?”

In the course of the exercise, she found out that he was a nineteen-year-old male and worked full-time at Jensen’s Marina. Her reaction was disappointment. The only thing she hadn’t known before was his age and she didn’t learn any new information.

He turned in the form and was called by the triage nurse, who determined that he could wait his turn among the senior citizens, the toddler with a fever, and the plumber who had caught his hand in a pipe, all currently sitting in the reception area. He returned to his seat and stared straight ahead as Ann said, “Heath?”

He looked at her.

“Why are you trying so hard to get rid of me?”

“There’s nothing more for you to do.”

“I’d like to wait and make sure that you’re all right.”

“I’m all right, or the triage nurse would have sent me in ahead of the others. The cut’s hardly bleeding anymore, you can see that. You can go.”

She held his gaze with hers, feeling his cat’s eyes penetrating to her very soul. She felt like she was drowning in them.

“Humor me, okay?” she said softly.

His lips relaxed slowly into the trace of a smile.

“Okay,” he said.

They sat in companionable silence for another fifteen minutes. Toward the end of the wait, Ann got up from her seat and purchased a can of orange juice from a nearby vending machine. She took a sip and then handed it to him.

“What’s this?” he said.

“An atomic bomb,” she answered.

He shot her a sidelong glance.

“Juice to help your system replenish the blood you’ve lost,” Ann said.

“Another souvenir of your first-aid course?” he said.

“Haven’t you ever donated blood?” Ann asked. “They always give you juice and cookies.”

“Good works are not high on my list of activities,” he replied dryly. “So, where are my cookies?”

“I’m working under makeshift conditions here. Juice is the best I can do.”

An emergency room nurse in surgical greens came through the admitting door and called Heath’s name.

“Courage!” Ann whispered as he got up, and he looked back at her, obviously suppressing a grin.

When he returned a short time later, he had four stitches in his hand and a prescription for antibiotics. He didn’t volunteer what he had done about the bill and Ann didn’t ask.

“Thanks a lot for your help,” he said, grimacing down at the bandage on his palm. “I can get home from here.”

“I’ll drive you.”

He stared at her.

“Don’t give me an argument, Heath. You have no transportation and I’m standing right here with a fully functioning car waiting outside that entrance.”

He shrugged and followed her through the glass doors to the parking lot. They got into the car and he sat with his long legs stretched out, speaking only to give her directions. When he told her to stop, she looked around in bewilderment. They were at an intersection with railroad tracks on one side and a series of bars on the other.

“There are no houses here,” she said.

“That’s right.”

“But where is yours?”

“I can walk.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll drop you off at the door.”

He was already out of the car. He leaned back in through his open window and said, “Thanks for what you did, Princess. I really do appreciate it.”

Ann watched in amazement as he walked off down the street. Short of chasing him down with the car, she had to let him go.

He obviously didn’t want her to see where he lived.

Ann made a U-turn in the middle of the street and went back the way she had come.

* * * *

Luisa was waiting for Ann in the front hall of the Talbot house when she returned.

“What happened? Are you all right?”

“Of course I’m all right, Luisa. What’s the matter with you? I took Heath to the hospital, they stitched up his hand, and I drove him home. End of story.”

“You drove him home?”

“Well, to the intersection at Railroad Avenue. He wouldn’t let me go any farther. Where does he live, anyway?”

“Never mind about that, just sit down and eat your lunch. I’ve reheated the soup.”

“I don’t want any lunch, Luisa. I want you to tell me why you’re so twitchy about that guy. Did he just bust out of the county jail or something?”

“Your father would not consider him suitable company,” Luisa said expressionlessly.

“Why, because he lives in Hispaniola? So do you.”

“All poor people are not the same,” Luisa said firmly. “My family may not have much money, but we are always respectable. We work hard, we take care of our children, and we don’t accept welfare.” Her tone was disdainful.

“And Heath’s family?”

Luisa set a bowl of soup on the kitchen table and pointed to a chair. “Sit,” she said.

Ann sat. “If I eat my porridge like a good little bear, will you tell me?”

“It’s none of your business. Why are you so interested in that boy’s background?”

“I’m just curious, that’s all.”

“You’re curious about too much that doesn’t concern you, young lady.”

“That’s because nobody ever tells me anything.” Ann lifted a spoonful of steaming vegetable soup to her mouth and swallowed it ostentatiously. “It’s too hot for soup, anyway, whose idea was this?” she said peevishly.

“Your mother wants you to have a balanced diet.”

“She’s probably eating potato chips and onion dip for lunch at the club,” Ann muttered. “With chocolate turtles for dessert.”

“Your mother is an adult.”

“So am I. In six months, anyway, according to the State of Florida.”

“Until then you’ll eat your soup.”

Ann peered over at the housekeeper, who was now folding dish towels. “What happened to the truck Heath left here earlier?” Ann asked. “I didn’t see it when I drove in just now.”

“I called the marina and they sent someone to pick it up,” Luisa replied.

Ann absorbed the information in silence. Luisa hadn’t wanted Heath to return for it.

“He’s going to come back to fix the engine on the speedboat,” Ann said. “He wasn’t done with it.”

“The two men who came here for the truck fixed the engine,” Luisa said shortly. “The job is finished.”

Ann dipped her spoon in and out of her soup thoughtfully. “If you dislike Heath so much, why were you fixing him a snack today, before he was hurt?”

“I don’t dislike him. You can’t blame a child for his parents,” Luisa replied cryptically, and stalked off to the linen closet with the stack of towels.

Ann pushed the soup bowl away and folded her arms on the table, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger thoughtfully.

One way or another, she was going to find out more about Heath Bodine.

* * * *

Amy Horton propped one leg up on a pillow and inspected her bare toenails. “What do you think, amiga mia? Papaya Passion or Suncoral Kiss?”

“Suncoral Kiss,” Ann replied, handing her friend the bottle of bright nail polish. She tiptoed to the door of her room and opened it a crack, making sure her parents were still having after-dinner coffee in the den. Then she turned back to Amy, who was sprawled on the double bed, carefully dabbing coral-colored goo onto the nail of her right big toe.

“Do you know a guy from the island, a couple of years older than us, named Bodine?” she asked Amy.

Amy’s brush stopped moving as she looked up suddenly and said, “Heath Bodine?”

“Yeah.”

“Of course I know him. He’s only the cutest guy on Lime Island. He graduated from Palm High with my I cousin Carol. She was crazy about him but he would never give her the time of day.”

“Amy, your cousin Carol is crazy about everybody—that doesn’t mean very much.”

“Why do you ask?”

“I met him today.”

“You met Heath Bodine?” Ann now had Amy’s undivided attention. “Where?”

“Right here. He came to fix my father’s boat and cut himself. I took him to the hospital.”

Amy put the bottle of polish aside and sat up eagerly. “Is he as gorgeous as Carol says? I’ve never seen him.”

“He’s pretty adorable,” Ann admitted. “What I can’t understand is why Luisa was trying to keep me away from him. She did everything but tie me to a chair.”

“Well, she’s from Hispaniola, too, she probably knows his story,” Amy replied.

“What is his story, for heaven’s sake? Luisa wouldn’t tell me a thing.”

“I think Carol said his father is a drunk and the mother abandoned the family. Before she left she was kind of... promiscuous, I guess. That’s what Carol says, anyway. I know his older sister was on drugs and went to Miami to work the streets to support her habit. She died of an overdose a couple of years ago.”

“How awful,” Ann murmured.

“I know you don’t think Carol is a reliable source, but most of that is true. I’ve heard her parents talking about it.”

Carol’s parents represented the less affluent branch of the Horton family, which was why Carol had attended the local public high school with Heath and not Winfield Academy with Amy and Ann. Carol was currently staying up in North Carolina taking a summer course in journalism at Chapel Hill.

“I don’t like the look on your face, Talbot,” Amy added. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did he say he would call you or anything?”

“No.”

“Did he act interested?”

“Not really. He kept trying to get rid of me, but still, there was a look in his eye.”

“That certainly clears it up,” Amy said dryly. “You do realize that if you go after this guy your father will have a stroke and a coronary at the same time. His idea of the perfect date for you is Alan Michael Witherspoon.” She picked up the bottle of polish again and resumed her task.

Ann made a retching sound and dropped into the chair by her bedroom window. “Alan Witherspoon still wears braces and has zits on the back of his neck.”

“His father has forty million dollars, and someday Alan will, too,” Amy replied sagely.

“He has the most beautiful almond-shaped eyes, the color of sherry, and these silky black hairs on the backs of his hands...” Ann said dreamily.

“Alan Witherspoon?” Amy inquired teasingly.

“No, dummy, Heath Bodine. And the longest eyelashes, and the sexiest smile.”

“I see you took a complete inventory. Look, you don’t have to convince me. Carol would have strolled stark naked down Prospect Boulevard if she thought it would make that guy give her a second glance. I’m just telling you that I can guess why Luisa was acting so weird. Your father probably didn’t know who the marina was going to send to your house, and when Luisa saw Heath she decided that it was her duty to discourage your attraction to him.” Amy daintily daubed a toenail, cleaning its edge with her pinkie.

“She didn’t know I was attracted to him.”

“From what I’ve heard, anyone with the appropriate estrogen levels would be attracted to him. Luisa isn’t stupid. She figured if you got a look at each other sparks might fly—and she was right.” Amy put the cap on the bottle of polish and set it on Ann’s dresser, then inspected her foot admiringly.

“Yeah, well, I’ll probably never see him again. The marina sent somebody else to finish the job on my father’s boat, and from Heath’s attitude I doubt if he’ll be inviting me over to his house for tea anytime soon.”

There was a knock at Ann’s door. It opened and Mrs. Talbot stuck her head into the room.

“Ice cream, ladies,” she said. “Come on out to the table if you want some.”

Both girls rose, Amy walking on her heels to protect the drying polish. Ann sent Amy a silencing glance.

“How did you do in the tennis round-robin today, Mrs. Talbot?” Amy asked innocently as they walked down the hall to the kitchen.