He poked his head through the door. "Yeah?"
She gestured toward his suitcase. "You left something in here."
"Just until we flip for the big bed."
"Nice try. It's my party. You get the kiddy bedroom."
"I'm the client, and this one looks more comfortable."
"I know. Which is why I'm taking it."
"Fine," he said with a surprising display of good humor. "I'll drag that other mattress onto the porch. I can't remember the last time I slept outside." He tossed her suitcase up on the bed then handed her an envelope with her name on it in Molly's handwriting. "I found this in the kitchen."
She pulled out a note written on Molly's new line of Nightingale Woods stationery. "Molly says this is one of her favorite cottages and she hopes we like it. The refrigerator's stocked with necessities, and there's a cookout on the beach at six o'clock." The P.S. Annabelle kept to herself.
Do not do anything stupid!
"Fill me in on this book club." He moved his suitcase out of the way and set a shoulder against the doorjamb as she slipped the note inside the pocket of her slacks. "How did you get involved?"
"Through Molly." She unzipped her suitcase. "We've been meeting once a month for the past two years. Last year Phoebe said she thought it would be fun if we all went away for a weekend. I think she had a spa in mind, but Janine and I couldn't afford it-Janine writes young adult books-so Molly jumped in and said we should all come to the campground. Before long, the men were involved."
Annabelle and Janine were two of only three book club members not directly associated with the Stars. The other was Heath's dream woman, Gwen. Fortunately, she and Ian were closing on their new house this weekend and couldn't come.
Heath gave a soft whistle. "This is one hell of a book club. Phoebe and Molly. Didn't you mention Ron McDermitt's wife?"
She nodded and flipped open her suitcase. "Sharon used to teach nursery school. She keeps us in line."
"And now she's married to the Stars' general manager. I've met her." He gazed directly at the bras and panties lying on top, but his mind was on business, not underwear. "At the party, Phoebe mentioned Darnell. That can only be Darnell Pruitt."
"His wife's name is Charmaine." She surreptitiously slipped a T-shirt over her lingerie pile
"The greatest D.T. the Stars ever had."
"Charmaine played football?"
But he was a John Deere on his way to a tractor-pulling contest, and she couldn't distract him. "Who else?"
"Krystal Greer." She pulled out her toiletry case and set it on the dresser's cracked white marble top.
"Webster Greer's wife. Unbelievable. He went to the Pro Bowl nine years in a row."
"It's the women who are members, not the men. Try not to embarrass me."
He snorted and picked up his suitcase but paused at the door. "Did anybody bring their kids?"
"Adults only."
He smiled. "Excellent."
"Except for Pippi and Danny. They're too young to leave behind."
"Shit."
She frowned at him. "What's wrong with you? They're adorable children."
"One of them's adorable. I'd sign him right now if I could."
"The road trips might be a challenge, since he's still nursing. And Pippi's just as cute as Danny. That little girl is precious."
"She'll be in prison before she makes it to first grade."
"What are you talking about?"
"Just rambling." He headed out the door only to poke his head back in. "Good taste in panties, Tinker Bell." Then he was gone.
She sank down on the side of the bed. The man didn't miss anything. What else about her might he notice that she didn't want him to see? With a sense of foreboding, she traded in her new slacks for biscuit-colored shorts but left the flirty bronze top on. After running her fingers through her hair, she headed for the porch. Heath was already there. He'd also changed into shorts, along with a light gray T-shirt that curled like pipe smoke around the contours of his chest. A blade of light angling through the screen caught one cheekbone, etching its tough, uncompromising contour. "Are you going to sabotage me this weekend?" he asked quietly.
He had grounds for being suspicious, so she shouldn't have been offended, but she was. "Is that what you think of me?"
"Just making sure we're on the same page."
"Your page."
"All I'm asking is that you don't undermine me. I'll take care of everything else."
"Oh, I'm sure you will," she said, sarcastic as all hell.
"What's your beef, anyway? You've been marginally bitchy all afternoon."
She was pleased that he'd noticed. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"And not just this afternoon. You're taking potshots at me whenever you see the opportunity. Is it personal or symbolic of your feelings toward men in general? It's not my fault your last boyfriend decided to play for the same team you're on."
Okay. Now she was mad. "Who told you that?"
"I didn't know it was a secret."
"It's not exactly." Molly wouldn't have said anything, but Kevin still had trouble accepting what Rob had done, which made him the likely culprit. She shoved one of the chairs back under the table. She wouldn't talk about Rob to Heath. "I'm sorry if I've been testy," she said, still sounding testy, "but I have a hard time understanding people who make work the center of their lives to the exclusion of personal relationships."
"Which is exactly why you brought me here. To fix that."
He had her there.
"Shall we?" He gestured toward the porch door.
"Why not?" She tossed her hair and marched past him. "Time to get Operation Suck Up off and running."
"Now, that's the kind of can-do attitude I like to hear."
The fire popped and sparks shot into the sky. Only the platter of chocolate brownies Molly had baked for them in the B &B's kitchen that afternoon remained on the picnic table. A young couple took care of the everyday operation of the campground, but Molly and Kevin always pitched in when they were here. The meal had been delicious: grilled steaks, baked potatoes with plenty of toppings, sweet onions perfectly charred at the edges, and a salad laced with juicy slices of ripe pear. Kevin and Molly had left their children with the couple who ran the campground, nobody had to drive home, and the wine and beer flowed. Heath was in his element, friendly and charming with the women, perfectly at home with the men. He was a chameleon, Annabelle thought, subtly adjusting his behavior to suit his audience. Tonight, everyone except Phoebe was enjoying his company, and even she hadn't done much worse than shoot him a few poisonous glares.
As the music from the boom box began to crank up, Annabelle wandered out onto the deserted dock, but just as she'd begun to enjoy the solitude, she heard the purposeful tap of a pair of sandals coming her way and turned to see Molly approaching. With the exception of the more generous bust-line that nursing Danny had given her, she looked like the same studious girl Annabelle had first met more than a decade ago in a comparative lit class. Tonight she'd pulled her straight brown hair back from her face with a barrette, and a tiny pair of silver sea turtles bobbed at her earlobes. She wore purple capris with a matching top and a necklace made out of elbow macaroni.
"Why haven't you returned my calls?" she demanded.
"Sorry. Things got totally crazy." Maybe she could distract her. "Remember I told you I have a client who's a hypochondriac? I set him up with a woman who's-"
"Never mind that. What's going on with you and Heath?"
Annabelle pulled a little wide-eyed innocence out of her rusty bag of college acting skills. "What do you mean? Business."
"Don't give me that. We've been friends too long."
She switched to a furrowed brow. "He's my most important client. You know how much this means to me."
Molly wasn't buying it. "I've seen the way you look at him. Like he was a slot machine with triple sevens tattooed on his forehead. If you fall in love with him, I swear I'll never speak to you again."