Butterfly Cove Page 4

  “I feel strange. Restless. Medicated.”

  “How about your shoulder?”

  “It’s throbbing, but nothing terrible. Not like in the storm.” She closed her eyes at the memory.

  Rafe stood up slowly, looking uncomfortable. “They’ll take good care of you. I don’t want to bother you. I’d better go.”

  Olivia hated how much she wanted him to stay.

  She glanced up at a knock on the door. “More nurses coming to check out the new deputy? News really does travel fast. Come in,” she called.

  But Walker Hale opened the door, studying Olivia with concern. “Hey, Livie. How are you doing?”

  “Not so bad. I’m still groggy.” She frowned down at the brace on her shoulder. “Not much driving or anything else for me right now.”

  “No worries there. I’m under orders from Jilly to drive you home once your paperwork clears here. We can stop by your house, but Caro and Jilly laid down the law. You’re going back to the Harbor House until you feel better.”

  “That sounds nice.” Despite the painkillers and a growing throb at her shoulder, she felt tension fill the room. She glanced from Walker to Rafe. “Sorry. I should have introduced you. Walker, this is Rafe Russo, our new deputy sheriff. He’s the one I ran into in the storm last night. And I mean literally ran into. Rafe, meet Walker Hale. He and Jilly were married in Colorado after they met at a knitting workshop there. We couldn’t have managed all the work on the Harbor House without Walker’s help.”

  Olivia forced a smile and tried to ignore the pain radiating from her neck and shoulder. If she thought the tension would fade after the two men were introduced, she was wrong. The cool, assessing stares went on and on.

  She tried to sit up, but Rafe leaned over her with a frown. “Don’t move. You know what the doctor said. You’re not supposed to do anything until they check you out. Tell me what you need, and I’ll get it.”

  “What I need is my knitting. Since that’s out of the question for now, I would love a drink of water.”

  Rafe found her glass and held it while she drank.

  “Thank you, Rafe.” She gave a big yawn. “I guess these painkillers are working.” Her eyes drifted over to the window. “Is it still raining, Walker?”

  “Afraid so.”

  “More mudslides?”

  “Nothing major,” Walker announced. “Most of the big roads are open again.”

  “That’s good.” Olivia yawned. “I may slip off now. I can’t seem to stay awake...”

  She saw Rafe walk to the window. His face was harder than it had been when he left Summer Island. He was lean and controlled in all his movements.

  Olivia saw a thin scar above his right eye. “You have a scar,” she said sleepily. “I don’t remember that.”

  “Fuel dump exploded,” Rafe said tersely. “Go to sleep, Livie.”

  Olivia had a thousand questions. Had he been happy? Was there a woman in his life?

  And the war...

  But Olivia was too tired to think straight. Besides, Rafe had cut her out of his life a decade ago with a finality and coldness that still left painful memories. Though he was back, nothing between them had changed.

  Olivia had to remember that whatever they’d once had was over.

  “Say hi to the nurses,” she murmured as her eyes closed.

  “There aren’t any nurses,” Rafe said.

  “But there will be...there always are. You still don’t understand, do you?” Before Rafe could answer, she was asleep.

  * * *

  “WHAT DID SHE mean about nurses?” Walker asked as he closed the door to Olivia’s room.

  “Nothing.”

  Walker leaned against the door, sizing Rafe up slowly. “You’ve known Olivia long?”

  “Since I was nine. We had a little history between us.”

  Walker crossed his arms. “I see.” Both men were silent as boundaries were drawn, strengths and weaknesses measured. This was about testosterone and tribe.

  Rafe studied Walker. “Marines?”

  Walker nodded.

  “Same here. I was in the Sangin Valley.” Among other places, Rafe thought.

  “Bad?”

  Rafe shrugged. No war was good. The valley had been the scene of a dozen firefights, one of which had left most of his platoon dead. It wasn’t the sort of thing you forgot.

  Rafe stretched out a callused hand. “So you and Jilly got hitched. That’s good. Nice to meet you.”

  “Jilly says you were all pretty close when you were in school. I figure you could tell a few stories about growing up on the island.” Walker gestured toward a vending machine at the end of the hall. “How about some coffee?”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  Walker glanced at Rafe’s badge as the two men walked down the hall. “So you’re the new deputy. I thought Tom Wilkinson had a hiring freeze in place.”

  “He did. But he had an unexpected dismissal. I saw him the day I got back, and one thing led to another. Here I am.”

  “You don’t sound too thrilled about it.”

  “Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad to be here. I didn’t plan it, but job offers are a little thin on the ground right now. Long-range reconnaissance skills don’t add much to a man’s résumé. But that’s not your question.”

  Walker palmed quarters into the nearby machine, dialed up a cup of coffee and handed it to Rafe. “So what is my question, Deputy Russo?”

  “What happened between Olivia and me. But you’ll have to ask her about that.” Rafe ran a hand along his neck and frowned. “One thing I can tell you. Nobody expects to see me on the law enforcement side of things. I had a wild and misspent youth on Summer Island.”

  “The town’s bad boy?” Walker bought a cup of coffee for himself and walked to the window that overlooked the curve of the sea. Up north rain was still hammering the coast. Rescue crews were working hard to reach isolated communities. “Tom Wilkinson strikes me as a coolheaded man. I doubt he would extend an offer unless you were the best man for the job.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe he was desperate.”

  Walker’s eyes narrowed. “Desperate how?”

  Rafe let out a slow breath. “I shouldn’t have brought it up. Ask Tom when you see him next.” He took a drink of coffee. “Thanks for driving Olivia home. I wanted to take her, but I go on duty in forty-five minutes. This storm has left the whole county in a shambles. It’s going to be a busy shift.”

  “Doesn’t look like you had much rest last night either.”

  “I’ll manage. It’s not exactly Kandahar.” Rafe frowned, staring down at his coffee. “It’s still hard to believe I’m actually home. Sometimes I smell the air and wonder what happened to the dust and the burning gasoline.”

  Walker nodded. “Give it time.”

  Rafe shrugged. “If you say so. Well, I’d better go.”

  Walker tossed away his empty coffee cup. “Why don’t you drop by for dinner tonight. It won’t be fancy. We’re down to the wire, trying to finish the renovations on the Harbor House. The grand opening is scheduled in three weeks, and we’re not even close.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll be working late.”

  “Then come late.”

  Something was happening here, Walker thought. He watched an orderly go into Olivia’s room. He noticed the quick way that Rafe turned to assess exactly who was going in and out of that room.

  It was clear that Rafe Russo took his responsibilities seriously. That fit with the stories Walker had heard back in Afghanistan about forward recon teams. A man like that carried a lot of baggage. It was written all over Rafe’s face.

  “Thanks, but I’ll pick up something at the diner on the way home. I won’t be off shift until ten.”

  “We’ll be up. I’ve got plumbing repairs to finish.”

  “I’m pretty good as a second pair of hands on a plumbing job,” Rafe said slowly.

  “I’ll take that as a yes. Jilly’s making southwest lasagna with jalapeño corn bre
ad tonight. I put in a request for double-chocolate cake to go with it.”

  “You make it pretty damn hard to refuse.” Rafe hesitated, staring back through the door to Olivia’s room, where a nurse had wheeled in a cart full of monitoring equipment.

  The frown on his face and the concern in his eyes chased away the last of Walker’s reluctance. “Then don’t refuse. We’ll be up and the food is guaranteed to be good. Jilly’s been testing recipes for a new project. She can tell you about it tonight.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind.” Rafe gave a little nod and headed down the hall.

  He hadn’t given a clear answer to the invitation, Walker noticed. There was a whole lot of baggage hidden in those cool, distant eyes.

  Walker had heard that recon teams who worked deep behind enemy lines sometimes dug into isolated mountain passes for weeks, forward observers in very dangerous places.

  And Walker knew how hard it was to come home from war and try to remember that the world was a good and decent place. The change wasn’t easy. At 3:00 a.m., only ghosts and bad memories kept a soldier company.

  Rafe Russo looked as if he had more than his share of both.

  * * *

  IT TOOK ALMOST an hour to finish Olivia’s paperwork for her release. But she balked at taking a wheelchair. “I don’t need one. I can walk perfectly well.”

  Walker shrugged. “The nurse told me it was hospital policy. Something to do with lawsuits.”

  Olivia sighed and then sat down carefully. “Fine. My shoulder feels much better already.” She hesitated and then scanned the parking lot. “Rafe left, I guess?”

  “He had to go on duty. I invited him over for dinner, though.”

  Olivia’s mouth tightened.

  “Is that a problem?”

  “No. Why should it be?”

  “Because he said you two had some history between you.”

  “We did. Past tense. He’s free to do whatever he wants.”

  Walker rolled her toward his Jeep. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said thoughtfully. “You know, I dislocated my shoulder when I was thirteen, and I didn’t take time to let it mend the way it should have. I still have twinges in cold weather. So take my word for it, follow every instruction. Give yourself time to heal. You can’t cut corners with your health.”

  “No work and no knitting,” Olivia said glumly. “I’ll go crazy long before I’m healed.”

  * * *

  “MORE TEA? HOW about another chocolate scone?”

  Olivia smiled at Caro and shook her head. “I’m saving my appetite for lunch. But I could really get used to all this attention,” she joked. She drank in the wonderful aromas that came from the nearby kitchen.

  Caro straightened Olivia’s heating pad and draped a blanket over her legs. “Jilly’s got something special planned. She’s been up cooking since dawn. I don’t know where she gets the energy.”

  “You know Jilly. She has two speeds—fast-forward and out of control.”

  Olivia surveyed the sunny room with quiet pride. The little café next to the yarn shop was almost finished. The freshly painted walls glowed, the old wooden floor gleamed and bright new curtains hung at the windows that overlooked the harbor.

  No one would have believed how derelict the place had been. Olivia couldn’t even believe the change herself.

  She tilted her head, caught by the smell of spicy soup and fresh bread. Her stomach gave a loud rumble. “If that’s your special chipotle tortilla soup, I promise you my firstborn,” Olivia called to Jilly, who was at work in the kitchen. But it was an easy promise to make. Olivia never planned to have any children.

  Right on cue Jilly pushed open the pink café doors, a big tray in her hands. “No need to give up your children. You get this for free. It’s my new tortilla soup variation, but be careful. Those rolls are fresh from the oven and very hot.”

  “Be still my beating heart,” Olivia murmured. But she quickly discovered that eating soup with her left hand was not going to be easy, especially with her shoulder in a brace.

  Jilly frowned at Olivia’s clumsiness. “Sorry, I should give you a cup. Then you can just drink it.” Jilly carried the big bowl of soup back to the kitchen. “How’s that heating pad? Does it help?” she called over her shoulder.

  Olivia nodded. She wasn’t used to being fussed over. She never asked for help unless she had no other option. Growing up, she had learned that displays of affection were frowned upon. She was expected to excel but to do it quietly, and without any assistance.

  The one thing Olivia had wanted most as a girl was to earn her father’s love and respect, but that had never happened. She had never measured up to his critical eyes.

  Olivia shrugged off dark memories as Jilly breezed back from the kitchen. Steam poured off a big cup of tortilla soup. “So when are you due back in Seattle?”

  Olivia winced. She had put off telling her friends that she had been fired. Her job hunt had been going nowhere even before the accident. Once she had learned that no one was hiring locally, she had sent résumés all over the state and turned up two possible openings, but both had been quickly taken. “I have two more weeks. But I may be able to swing some extra time.”

  Jilly shot a measuring glance at Caro. “How can you do that?”

  “I’ve built up some sick days.” Olivia sipped the hot soup slowly. “This is fantastic, Jilly.”

  “You like it?” Jilly glanced again at Caro. “I—that is, we have a question for you. No, let’s call it a proposition. Caro and I have been talking, and Grace agrees. We want to hire you.”

  Olivia frowned. “Hire me for what?”

  Jilly sat down beside Olivia. “We want you to build a conservatory on the far side of the Harbor House. Your job would be official. We’d be hiring you as our architect of record. You know how hard it’s been to maintain the authentic details of this house during restoration. But with a new conservatory—something bright and welcoming—we could rake in tourists. Then we can add a separate restaurant there, someplace for weekend brunch with a tasteful bar. Every seat would have unmatched views of the coast. With luck, we can book private weddings. That’s where serious money comes in. A yarn shop and a café are nice, but the moneymaker would be the restaurant...and the drinks. I’ve been playing around with recipes, and Grace has already crunched some numbers.”

  Olivia stiffened. “How long have you three been planning this? You never consulted me.” She looked away, hurt at being excluded.

  “Hold on.” Caro put down her box of cleaning supplies. “You had enough on your plate. Your father’s funeral was barely over when we had all those zoning applications to finish. You handled every one so we could focus on the repairs here. We didn’t want to bother you again so soon. And I only heard about this conservatory plan last week. No one is sneaking behind your back.”

  Olivia flushed. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just a surprise.”

  Caro sat down beside her. “Jilly and Walker had the idea first. Then Grace found a picture of a garden restaurant in Britain that was just perfect. We were going to discuss all this with you yesterday, but there was the storm and you were hurt. So what do you think?”

  “It would be a great way to capitalize on revenues. And structure and design fees would be reasonable.” The renovations had run to twice the estimates. Olivia figured it would take five years to dig their way out of debt, but the women were willing to work hard. The Harbor House was a key part of Summer Island’s history. No way could it be lost, torn down for condominiums or a luxury resort.

  And with her job gone, Olivia would have plenty of time to work on a design and then handle the construction plans. “I like the idea. But you don’t need to pay me.”

  “Yes, we do,” Jilly said quickly. “You know how the zoning commission puts us through hoops because this is a historic property. It’s not going to be easy to find an exterior design that preserves the historic style while also serving a busy restaurant. You’re going to earn e
very penny of your salary.”

  Olivia knew that was true. Dealing with historical buildings was a huge pain in the neck. They were beautiful outside, but their inner structure was usually a nightmare.

  Despite the headaches, Olivia would relish the challenge of the new design. A garden and eating area around the conservatory would be perfect for the coastal location. They could also use the garden plantings to attract the monarch butterflies that migrated south each winter to Pacific Grove and Santa Cruz. Fewer and fewer could be seen near the coast at Butterfly Cove, as available wild land was built up for expensive shore communities.

  “It’s a great idea. I’ll help any way I can.”

  “What about your job in Seattle?” Jilly drummed her fingers on the table. “You can’t be two places at once. This may be more than we should ask of you, Livie.”

  “I’ll make it work.” Olivia took a deep breath. “Now can I have another cup of soup? And this time crank up the heat, will you?”

  Jilly gave a wicked smile. “You want hot? I can give you hot.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THREE HOURS LATER Olivia had died—and gone straight to heaven. She was surrounded by a mound of cashmere, silk and merino, each yarn color-coded and separated by weight and fiber, to be displayed on rustic wooden shelves. Olivia had always been very organized, and she liked the security of knowing what was around her and how to find it fast.

  Olivia had done a big part of the planning for the yarn shop. She had carefully chosen patterns for sale to reflect all ages and all skill levels. Each pattern was carefully inserted in a plastic folder and arranged by garment type. Her own hand-knitted shop samples were displayed on wooden dowels and antique dress forms. She and Caro had chosen the pink toile wallpaper and the curtain fabric. They had found an antique rug at a flea market in Seattle, and Olivia had brought two antique wing chairs of her own down to the shop on loan.

  Now the space was bright and cozy, filled with a sense of welcome and inspiration, ready to become part of the community.

  She put down the last ball of alpaca yarn and studied her list of invoices, pleased with the neat rows of numbers and check marks. All the yarn was accounted for. All the shop samples were finished. The yarn store would be ready to open on time, even if the plumbing repairs held up Jilly’s café opening.