He straightened when he saw the two of them approach. Removing his work gloves, he wiped the faint sheen of sweat from his face with his forearm.
“Hey there,” he called out.
“Hi,” Heather responded shyly. She stared wide-eyed for a moment, trying to think of something to say. “You’re back.”
She cringed inside. You’re back? Why had she said that? It sounded critical. Idiot!
“Sure. I’m back,” Bo replied good-naturedly. “I’m not done, am I?” He turned to face Flo. “Morning, Miss Flo.”
“Bo! What are you doing here?” asked Flo, clearly pleased to see him.
“Working on the new deck. Brett hired me to finish it three weeks ago and, well . . .” He gave a slight shrug, his face suddenly filled with emotion. “I just wish he could see it when it’s all done.”
Flo patted his arm and sighed. “It’s all so horribly sad, I know. How sweet of you to honor his memory by finishing a project so close to his own heart. He loved Miss Lovie, you know. By the way, Cara appreciated all you did to help with the funeral. Getting all the rental furniture and dishes picked up and put out, and the tent . . . We all did.”
Bo bowed his head. “Of course. It was an honor to be asked to be an honorary pallbearer. You know, Brett was a mentor to me. We worked on a lot of projects together, and he taught me so much.”
Heather suddenly understood where Bo had been the past week. His helping out friends in need spoke a lot to who he was as a man.
Bo said, “I still can’t believe he’s gone.”
“Life goes on,” Flo said, reaching up to give his shoulder a slight shake of encouragement. Her hand was large, her fingers slightly bent with age. “One of the hard-won wisdoms of old age.”
Heather was eager to avoid any further conversation. She was exhausted from the confrontation with the dog lady and would only make more inane comments if she stayed. She started to shuffle off toward the house, mumbling something about needing to check on the canaries. Her surreptitious retreat was cut short.
“What in heaven’s name is being delivered?” Flo suddenly asked, pointing toward the road.
Heather turned her head to see a large delivery truck pulling a long trailer attempting a sharp turn into the narrow driveway of the beach house.
“I wonder what that could be,” Heather mused. It looked like the truck was going to hit the small loquat tree on the way in. She held her breath as the big front hood cleared the tree by mere inches. The truck emitted a roar and rolled up the drive, spitting gravel. On the trailer was a bright and shiny silver golf cart.
“Looks like you’ve got a delivery,” said Bo, stepping closer.
She stared at the truck. “There must be some mistake. That’s not for me.”
“Too bad,” Flo said with a shake of her head. “Those things sure do come in handy on an island like this. Always wanted one for the turtle team. Not that we can drive it on the beaches, of course. Still, I always wondered if we could get a permit for one of those four-wheelers.”
The truck stilled and a man in a brown uniform jumped from the cab and approached them carrying a clipboard. He looked hot and tired as he flipped through the pages. Nearing the small group, he looked up and searched their faces.
“Which one of you is Heather Wyatt?”
“I am,” she replied, surprised that he’d called her name.
“Got your golf cart here. Sorry it’s a bit late. We’ve been backlogged for delivery. Just sign here and tell me where you want it.”
“Wait,” Heather said, confused, not accepting the clipboard. “I-I didn’t order a golf cart.”
The deliveryman appeared concerned that she wasn’t expecting it. He referred back to his papers. “Says here it was ordered by a Mr. and Mrs. David Wyatt for Miss Heather Wyatt at this address.”
Heather flashed back in her mind to her father’s telling her that he and Natalie had sent her a gift. “It sure isn’t a Crock-Pot,” she muttered to herself with a light laugh.
“No, ma’am,” the deliveryman said, all business. “And it’s not really a golf cart, either. It’s one of them street-legal carts. It’s got all the bells and whistles.”
Heather flushed. She hadn’t intended for him to hear. “It’s very nice,” she blurted out.
“Let me get it down and I’ll show you. Where you want it?”
“Uh . . .” Heather quickly glanced around, and pointed near the porch. “Somewhere over there, I guess.”
“Lucky you!” Flo exclaimed, sidling closer. “Isn’t it cute? I’ll let you take me for a spin, what do you say?”
Heather couldn’t say anything. She was speechless. She hadn’t asked for the golf cart. She didn’t even want it. Bo came forward to help the deliveryman ease the cart off the transom. The man drove it with ease right up to the side of the house. It wasn’t large; it could hold two people in the front and two facing the back. He handed her a thick packet of papers, then began walking her around the cart, pointing out all the features. Heather was silent and tried to keep up as the deliveryman raced through the explanations. She got that there was a windshield and wipers, electric lights and turn signals. But she was unsure what he’d said about the batteries. It all was very overwhelming.
After she’d signed the papers, the deliveryman managed to extricate his truck from the driveway and drove off in a hurry. Heather turned back to see Flo standing with her arms crossed, grinning, apparently finding the whole experience very entertaining.
“I best be off, too. Have fun with your new toy, dear,” Flo called to Heather with a wave, and headed through her fence gate toward home. “Don’t be a stranger, hear?”
Bo waved to Flo, then turned to look at Heather. Suddenly aware that she was alone with him, she felt that dreaded awkwardness that left her tongue-tied. He appeared equally unsure. He slipped his hands into his back pockets and she thought he wanted to say something, but he only waved and told her, “I’ll be out back.” He turned to leave.
Heather stood for a moment staring at the golf cart with the heavy feeling that she was collapsing into a sinkhole. The panic attack had walloped her self-confidence, and now something as straightforward as a golf cart was overwhelming. The straw that was bending—if not breaking—the proverbial camel’s back.
“Heather?”
She startled and turned to find Bo at her side. His eyes searched her face, and he seemed to read all the emotions she was feeling.
“I was wondering,” he began, and scratched behind his ear to appear casual. “Do you know how to run one of these things?”
She looked helplessly at the golf cart. “No,” she admitted. “Not a clue. Do you?”
“A golf cart? Sure. What’s to know? It’s a piece of cake.”
“Really?” she asked, with a flicker of hope.
“I’ll show you.” He approached the cart. “Hop in.”
Heather walked to the passenger side and started to climb in.
“Oh, no, you get in behind the wheel,” he told her. “You’re the driver.”