Angela's Affair (Pacific Waterfront Romances, #13) Read online

  “I’m across the street, in a phone booth. When Kent called up to my room, I—I went out the back way. But I left my purse up there, and my passport. If I didn’t have my calling card number memorized, I wouldn’t even be able to call you.”

  “You could have called me collect.” It had been stupid of them to turn up together, making Charlotte feel hemmed in and threatened. Of course, neither of them would know that. They had come, and Charlotte had run again, with Kent and Harvey in pursuit.

  Easy enough to call Charlotte a coward, but Angela herself was plotting ways to disappear when Kent came back to Port Townsend later today. And if Charlotte was running from Mr. Right, while she was running from Mr. Wrong and the traditional fate worse than death, it didn’t really make any difference, did it? They were both cowards.

  Chapter Five

  Running. That was the thing that got to Angela in the end. She didn’t have to run from anyone! Didn’t she pride herself on being strong and decisive and...?

  Vulnerable. Shivering in his arms...waiting...wanting.

  No, damn it! She wasn’t going to be ruled by hormones and a man with too damned much sex appeal! And she definitely was not going to run away.

  She sewed the windshield onto the top section of a dodger, took it all down to the sailboat it belonged on and found that she had everything about an inch too big. Better too big than too small, but she should have checked it first, made one more trip down to the boat to clamp everything in place and be sure before she put on trim and sewed seams.

  She had the long seam ripped out, the fabric cut back, and the new trim sewn on when he came through the door. Kent. Just Kent, alone.

  She bent her head to the machine. The black binding was over her right shoulder, the windshield under her left arm. She yanked on the trim and the spool overhead uncoiled another turn or two. She folded the trim over the edge of windshield, pushed her foot down on the drive and sewed six inches of trim before she said a word to him.

  He had stopped at the counter, one hand in his pocket. He was, as always, perfectly dressed, the suit emphasizing the broad shoulders subtly.

  “Where’s Dad?” was what she finally said.

  “San Francisco.”

  “Was Charlotte there?”

  He shrugged. “She’s still registered at the hotel.”

  So Harvey was waiting, hoping Charlotte would come back to her hotel room. And Charlotte would have to eventually, because she had left her wallet and her passport behind.

  Angela pushed the drive pedal again and powered over another foot of binding. Her heart was smashing into her rib cage and she could feel the trembling even down in her foot, making the machine surge and ebb. She stared at the walking foot of the machine, watched as it advanced and pulled the fabric step by step. When she lifted her foot, everything was silent. If she sat here, afraid of him, afraid of the effect of a touch, a look, he was going to know. He probably knew anyway.

  When she turned, he was examining one of the sheet bags, not looking at her at all. Then he looked across at her, the bag in his hands. “What’s this for?”

  She pulled on the binding streaming over her shoulder, unwinding it from the spool above, giving herself more room to move. Rope to hang herself, she thought wildly. “It’s for rope, sail sheets. A place to get them out of the way.” She swallowed. “That one—those long, skinny pockets in the back, I made them to store winch handles.”

  He turned the bag in his hands, tested the pocket with his hand, checking either its strength or the workmanship. “You do neat work.”

  “Thanks.” Neat! The windshield was a mess, and upstairs the paper pattern for canvas slacks was just a hopeless jumble.

  “What time are you finished in here?”

  Did he think she had a suitcase packed, ready for a weekend with him? “I’m not going anywhere with you.” Her voice sounded sharp, high and panicked. “If you’ve come for me, you’re—I’m not going away with you.”

  She curled her fingers around the binding that was streaming over her shoulder, across her front to the machine. Why didn’t he say something? She blurted nervously, “I don’t want an affair with you.”

  There was nothing at all to be read in his face. Empty, but harsh, his mouth a hard line. She smoothed the binding she had crumpled in her fingers.

  “Fair enough.” He dropped the sheet bag onto the shelf where he had found it. She thought he might have sounded more upset if a waitress told him he couldn’t have the lobster he had ordered. He shrugged and said, “Harvey said to tell you he would call tonight.”

  She heard a crash from the shop but didn’t turn her head, couldn’t look away from Kent. She heard the door open, then Barney came in, his welding mask tipped up, his shirt and pants and face black from the steel he had been working on.

  “Ferguson. You’re back. Where’s Dad?”

  “San Francisco.” Kent took one look around the room. What did he see? Barney, the sheet bags, a display of T-shirts, a rack of Sunbrella and canvas in a variety of colors. Just Angela and her machines, with the mess around them.

  Good-bye,” he said. “I’ll be off.”

  He turned and walked out and she stared through the window at the red Chevette until it reversed out of their little parking lot. Gone. He really hadn’t wanted her that badly. He had not put up an argument at all, had not come close to brush those long fingers over her cheek. After last night, he had to know that he could make her tremble for him with just the lightest touch, but he had not even tried.

  Barney laughed and she turned to stare at him.

  “Talkative devil, isn’t he? If Fergusons have to marry into our family, I’d far rather it was Charlotte. Look, Angie, I’m going to clean up and get out of here. I’ve got to pick Sally and the baby up at the hospital.”

  “Sure, go ahead.”

  Marry. Charlotte had run at the thought, and the last thing Kent wanted was to marry. If he ever married, she’d be willing to bet it would be all thought out ahead, debits and credits and his woman would be a good bargain, an asset. Ben had been so impulsive it was ridiculous, jerking all around the country in a crazy life where everything but the trailer was transient. Not Kent. Impulsive was the last thing he could be called.

  He was gone. That was all that mattered.

  Harvey called that night after Angela got to the house.

  “Angie? She finally came back to the hotel. I—we’re having dinner. I might—well, I might not be back for a while. I think I’ll stay here and—”

  “It’s okay, Dad.” If Harvey wanted to have an affair out of sight of his family, to have some time alone with Charlotte, he certainly didn’t have to explain to his daughter-in-law. “Give Charlotte my love, and enjoy yourselves.”

  That was the last she heard from him for six days. She finished the dodger and worked out the canvas pants. She washed a section of 8 ounce canvas to shrink it, threw it in the dryer with fabric softener, then started cutting. She made the first pair for herself, wore them for a day and decided to change the design of the pockets.

  Sally got the second pair, and loved them. Angela made the third pair for a customer who came in asking about canvas clothes, then she laid out for a complete set, one in each of four sizes, to send down to the store in Seattle that handled her fisherman’s shirts.

  It was a quiet week, customers everywhere, but none of it seeming to penetrate her thoughts. She kept expecting Kent to walk back in. He didn’t. Just a man wanting a dodger repaired right away, because he wanted to go sailing Saturday. Another sailor with a broken motor mount that Barney looked after. An order for sail covers for a big ketch.

  Harvey on the telephone.

  “Angie? Look, ah...we’re going down to Cabo San Lucas for a couple of weeks. Could you dig my passport out and express it to me here at the Sheraton?” He sounded slightly embarrassed, but happy. “And...ah...could you tell Barney? A week. Maybe two weeks.”

  “Enjoy yourself,” said Angela softly. She hoped
it would work out. She didn’t want Harvey hurt. If Charlotte gave him a fling, an affair, and then walked out on him...

  “Yeah.” Harvey coughed.

  “And give Charlotte my love.”

  Two weeks. It seemed insane to keep expecting Kent to come through that door, but she did.

  He came, finally, on a rainy Friday afternoon in the last week of August. Barney was down on the waterfront with the portable welder. Harvey was presumably still in Mexico with Charlotte. Sally was home with Jake and the new baby.

  Angela was the only one in the shop. She was cutting out the pattern pieces for slacks in 8 ounce canvas. She had only been interrupted twice all afternoon. Even the customers weren’t interested in browsing or looking for repairs with the rain pounding down in a twenty-knot wind.

  When the door opened, a twist of wind blew in the rain. She looked up and saw the back of a man’s head, the back of a light brown raincoat as he pulled against the wind to force the door closed. Kent. She shifted the pattern piece and pulled two pins out of her pincushion. She knew it wasn’t a good sign that she recognized him from the back of his head.

  “Did you come looking for Charlotte?” She was relieved to find her voice steady and calm. He took off his raincoat and laid it on the counter. “You could hang that up on the hook behind the desk.” Now, why the hell had she said that? It was almost an invitation for him to come in and stay a while.

  He left the coat where it was and stepped around the end of the display shelves. He was wearing a brown sweater with an open-necked shirt underneath. Except for that night in her living room, it was the first time she had seen him without a tie.

  “Charlotte’s not here.”

  “I know.” He walked along the cutting table, watching as she pinned the pattern down and started cutting. “Do you ever relax? Every time I come in here, you’re hard at it.”

  “What about you?” She didn’t realize the smile was coming until she felt her lips curl. “Do you take holidays? I bet you don’t. I bet you’re in the office every Sunday, and five o’clock some mornings.”

  He leaned one hip against the cutting table. “What makes you think that?”

  She studied him—the eyes, the mouth. “There’s nothing frivolous about you. You have the look of a man who eats for body fuel only and doesn’t get enough fun in his life.”

  “Close.” He picked up a scrap of canvas and rubbed his thumb over the rough texture. “You could change that.”

  “I doubt it.” That kind of thought would be dangerous. She knew better than to try to change a man. She snipped around a curve.

  “I’m wet and hungry. Come out to dinner with me.”

  She glanced through the window behind him, saw the white car sitting in the rain. “That’s not a rental car?” It was the kind of car he would own, she decided, white and expensive. “I’m sure it’s got a good heater, and you only got wet coming from the car to here. You drove, didn’t you? Did you come across on the ferry from Keystone?”

  “Yes, and I’m starved.” He ran his fingers along the fabric on the table and she shivered, remembering those fingers touching her.

  “There’s a McDonalds across the street. You can take me there for dinner if you want.” She smiled, knowing he would turn that down. It was hardly his style!

  “I thought somewhere with candle light.” He moved away from the table. “Music, dancing.”

  “Sorry.” Dancing, his arms around her. “I’m just closing. I’m going to McDonalds. You can go where you want.”

  “Big Macs and fries for supper, then. Let’s go.”

  Startled, she stared at him. “You’re serious? I—I was trying to put you off.”

  “I know. Do you have a raincoat?”

  “Yes.” Her heart was doing it again, thundering in her ears while her mind painted pictures, sensations. She whispered, “In the back.”

  “Get it, then.”

  When she came back, he was waiting at the door for her. He held the door, then took her keys out of her hand to lock up for her. “Did you think I was too much of a snob for a fast food joint?”

  “Yes,” she admitted, flushing.

  “Are you always so blunt? No, stay here under cover while I get the car open.”

  “You’re not driving? It’s only across the street! We can walk.”

  “We’d be soaked.”

  She huddled under the awning, hugging her raincoat to herself, watching through the rain as he ran to his white car and quickly unlocked it. He did not open the passenger door for her at once, but reversed and pulled up right beside her.

  “Come on! Hop in!”

  This was crazy. Why had she said yes? Or had she? She slid into the car, pulled the door closed and stared through the windshield, feeling the intimacy of being shut inside such a small space with him. The last thing she needed was to share a meal with him.

  He gave his attention to driving in the poor visibility. Even when he stopped at the intersection to the highway, he did not look at her, but at the highway traffic, waiting for a break to cross to the fast food outlet.

  Angela was silent. What on earth were they going to talk about? They had nothing in common besides Charlotte and Harvey...except for the explosion that had happened two weeks ago in the darkness.

  Why was he here?

  He took her arm and hurried her inside out of the rain. “What do you want? I’ll order while you find us a table.”

  She thought of insisting that she pay her own share, knew he would object and decided that it would not be worth the hassle. She found an empty table near the window, between three teenaged boys talking in low voices, and an elderly woman reading a pocket book.

  Kent unloaded the tray on their table, looked down at the plastic packages that held his hamburger and her chicken nuggets. “You’re sure you wouldn’t rather have a nice steak somewhere? Or a lasagna...maybe lobster?”

  She smiled up at him. He really did look out of place. “What do you propose to do? Throw out this lot?”

  He had a surprisingly nice smile, wide and rather shattering. “Give it to those teenagers,” he suggested. She shook her head, laughing, and he sat down across from her. His leg brushed her knee under the table as he sat down.

  She opened her package of mustard sauce and dipped a chicken piece into it. “It wasn’t the menu I was after when I suggested this place.” She concentrated on the piece of chicken, but couldn’t resist watching through her lashes as he picked up his hamburger.

  “You’re dripping,” she said, handing him a napkin.

  “Hmm.” He caught the drip and took a bite. “I bet it was the bright lights you wanted. Don’t you trust me in the dark?”

  She could feel heat rising in her face, but she answered, “Not as far as I could throw you. I’d be crazy, wouldn’t I? And don’t look so pleased with yourself. You may be very...” She gulped. “...persuasive, but I’m not—er—”

  He nodded, said soberly, “I believe you don’t want to be interested.”

  She looked past him, found one of the teenaged boys watching her. “Don’t you have a girl friend in Vancouver?”

  “Nobody that matters.”

  She swallowed, knowing that was exactly the point. Nobody that mattered. She would not matter either, not afterward. She could see the future, a forecast of her own doom. She could not bear it to happen again, to stand alone and watch a man she cared about walk away with her heart.

  Damn! She jabbed another chicken piece into the mustard sauce. “Have you heard from Charlotte?”

  “Not directly.” He was demolishing his hamburger. “She’s been using her credit cards. Mexico.”

  “Hmm. Cabo San Lucas—she and Harvey went down there together.”

  “Ah, so he did catch up with her in San Francisco. That’s good.”

  She blinked. “Do you actually approve of Charlotte and Harvey?”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, I—I just thought—Harvey’s not exactly...I didn’t thi
nk you’d really approve.”

  He frowned and wiped his mouth with the napkin. “You had visions of my paying Harvey off to get rid of him, get him out of my sister’s life?”

  She nodded, knowing she had misjudged him.

  He asked reasonably, “Why did you think I took him to find her?”

  “I don’t know. I thought—Well, I just thought there must be some reason.” She realized that her fingers were tearing up one of the chicken pieces and stopped abruptly, dropping the chicken back into its cardboard tray.

  “Some devious reason?”

  “I suppose so.” She had thought Charlotte was only an excuse, that Kent had come to seduce her.

  His brows were thick over his eyes, darker than his hair, shadowing whatever she might have seen in the blue of his gaze. His hand moved, reaching for hers.

  She jerked her hand off the table. He had watched her from the beginning. He had waited in the dark for her to return from Charles. Waited for her. She had not really been surprised to find him there. It had seemed inevitable, given that powerful awareness between them.

  She pushed her hands through her hair, sending the curls wild. “Can we talk about something else? Anything else?”

  He did not answer. She knew he could see her discomfort. He was watching her, always watching. His hand was lying on the table between them, those long, strong fingers. If she put her hand back up, he would take it with his. As long as she avoided his touch, she seemed to keep some degree of sanity. Not much, but hopefully enough.

  “Did you read that?”

  She blinked in confusion. “What? Read what?”

  “That book?” He gestured toward the woman across from them.

  “Oh.” A neutral topic. She swallowed again, wishing she could get rid of the lump in her throat. “Yes, I did.” She tidied her hair roughly with her hands. She was restless, could hardly sit still. He seemed just the opposite, as if he could sit there forever.

  “What did you think of it?”

  “I—” She had to get hold of herself. “I didn’t like it much. I read his first two and loved them. When that came out, I bought it right away. Even paid for the hard cover because I didn’t want to wait for it to come out in paperback.”