He needed some time with his niece. Quality time, as they called it. And he sure as hell needed more time with Sharon, too.
His palms felt a little sweaty. He might well be a little bit crazy. Sharon was beautiful. Bright. Fun to be with. And he was awfully casual about their relationship. But then, until his brother had died and he’d become Ashley’s guardian, he’d been awfully casual about living in general. The bar had been good because it kept him close to boats, which had been his life until then. The water, fishing, sailing to the islands, soaking up the sun, just getting by. He’d never been interested in maintaining a relationship; the world had seemed too large, and far too full of bikini-clad women to ever make him want to settle down with just one. Then the unimaginable had happened when his brother had died and he’d had to pick up Ashley from the neighbor who had been baby-sitting, and try to explain to her that her folks weren’t coming home. Those green eyes had filled with tears, and he had held her, forced down the magnitude of his loss, and when she had clung to him, his world had changed. For years, making Nick’s place a success—had been his driving goal. Being a father-figure had become the only commitment of his life.
His love for her had paid off. He believed with his whole heart that he had raised an intelligent young woman capable of being on her own. She had her own wing of the house because, now that she was an adult, that allowed her to enjoy independence as well as his protection and guidance. And he, of course, totally respected the fact that she was an adult.
Yeah, right.
He was worried as hell about this thing she had going with Jake Dilessio. Sure, he liked Jake—as long as he wasn’t messing with his niece. Jake had gone through women like a roll of paper towels since the episode with Nancy Lassiter years ago. Ashley didn’t understand a guy like that, good at his work, almost married to his job. A guy who made no other commitments because the world was out there. Nick did know and understand. He’d been that guy.
Nick walked into the kitchen, puzzled. He pulled a bottle of water from the refrigerator, walked to his bedroom, back to the living room. “Sharon?”
“Here, coming!” Sharon called in return at last, emerging from Ashley’s room.
Nick frowned, surprised to see that she had been in Ashley’s wing of the house. Not that there are any great barriers set up; Ashley never locked the door to her room. Even so, he never entered without a reason, or even without knocking. He’d never seen Sharon in Ashley’s room before at all.
Sharon must have noticed his confusion, because she quickly explained. “Some of Ashley’s things were mingled in with ours when I did the wash. I took them in for her.”
“Ah.”
“I’m sorry. If you were calling, I didn’t hear you.”
“It’s all right.”
“What’s up?”
“Up?” Nick was startled to realize he had forgotten. Then he quickly remembered. “Well, actually, I was thinking…Katie’s got the bar, and it looks like it’s going to be a slow afternoon. I thought maybe you’d like to go for a spin out on the water. Just you and me. Then again, considering you stare at water all the time because of me, you might want to dress up for dinner. We could drive down to the Keys, or up to Fort Lauderdale. Somewhere that serves food that looks good on a plate, where they have linen tablecloths and a real wine cellar.”
“I think Nick’s carries excellent wine.”
He laughed. “I think we carry a lot of good old domestic beer. How about something a little bit more elegant?”
“That would be lovely,” she told him. “One problem,” she said apologetically. “I may have to show a property this evening, around eight. I didn’t know that you might decide to ditch your second child—the restaurant, I mean—tonight, and I’m afraid I’m committed. If the buyer decides tonight’s his only free time, I have to go.”
“We’ll use the time we’ve got,” he told her with a wolfish grin.
“Oh, yes. We should use the time we’ve got,” she answered, wrapping her arms around his neck.
The man with the shotgun walked around to the driver’s window. Ashley had judged him to be an older man at first—maybe it had been his American Gothic attire. She felt as if she’d been swept from the semitropics to Midwest farm country. When he got closer, she could see that the man wasn’t very old at all…thirties, maybe forties. He was wiry, with deeply tanned skin and blond hair beneath the straw of his hat.
“Can I help you?” The question was amazingly polite.
Before Ashley could answer, David leaned past her to reply. “I think we’re a bit lost.” She was startled when he slid an arm around her. “The wife and I are out house hunting. And we were given this address.” He held up the paper and quoted the address wrong.