When Adam Came to Town

“Hey.” The man straightened up from petting the shepherd. “I’m Cal Carson. You met my brother and sister and dad the other day.”

Cal’s face was narrower than Sylvie’s and Dusty’s, and he had only a sprinkling of blond in his short, brown hair. He looked intelligent around his eyes, which were as bright blue as the rest of his family’s, but they held a hardness that hinted at disappointment.

“Adam Hunter. Come on in.” Adam shook Cal’s hand and stood back to let him through the door. Romeo brushed past him with hardly a wag, probably miffed to find Moonbeam hanging around.

“You babysitting Sylvie’s cat?” Cal nodded at Moonbeam, who sat on the old trunk that he was using as a coffee table. The old, battered furniture that had come with the house was what you’d expect to find in a neglected summer home. He planned to replace it at some point, but it served its purpose for now.

“Nah. Rom and Moonbeam haven’t worked things out between them yet. Sylvie keeps the cat in during the day so Romeo can stay outside, and she lets it out at night. It’s lousy out tonight. So...” He ran his hand over Moonbeam again.

Cal smirked. “That bit of fluff can come and go as she pleases. She’s got a cat door. She’s just taking advantage of you. Give them enough rope, they all do.”

Ouch. Sounded like the guy had been burned recently. “Want a beer?”

“Sure. Sylvie says you’re looking for help to do some renovations.” Cal followed him out to the kitchen, where Adam grabbed a couple of beers from the ancient green refrigerator.

He handed one to Cal. “That’s right. I’m in a race against the weather at this time of year, but I’d like to get a new roof on, replace some windows before it gets too bad. Ideally I’d like to replace all the windows and doors.”

Cal looked around the room while Adam took a saucer from the cupboard and poured some milk into it for the cat. He wouldn’t blame Cal if he turned and walked out the door. Wood flooring showed through the worn linoleum in front of the green stove and rust-stained, white enamel sink. The cupboards were made of plywood, painted a nonintrusive beige. It was the largest room in the house, but unfortunately one third of the country kitchen had been walled off for a mudroom.

“What kind of roofing are you thinking about?”

“Metal. I checked out a couple places today, got some costs.”

“I could probably get you a better price.”

“You’re free to do the renos?”

Cal’s mouth tightened at the corners. “I am now.” He drank deeply and set his bottle on the table with a thunk. “Let’s take a closer look at the rest of the house. Tell me what you have in mind. One thing, though.” He scowled at Adam. “I take the job, I’m the foreman. I don’t mind if you want to help. Matter of fact, that would be good ’cause it’s hard to scare up a crew at this time of year. Have you done much building?”

“Not much but I learn fast.”

Cal narrowed his eyes as if trying to bring him into focus. “Most people wouldn’t move to an isolated village like Collina and take on a project like this. Do you always jump in with both feet?”

Adam smiled as if Cal had made a joke. “Not always.” Only when it felt as if his life depended on it.

“You win the lottery or something?”

He relaxed his tight grip on the beer bottle. At least he got to tell the truth with this one. “I inherited both of my grandmother’s properties, but I’m not interested in living in the States, so I sold that house and decided to renovate this one.”

He still hadn’t forgiven himself that he’d been in jail and not free to attend her funeral last year. When he was a kid, he couldn’t wait to leave Toronto in the summer to visit his gram. He’d always felt safe with her. Both his parents had such mercurial moods, but Gram was always the same. Kind and loving, and when he was with her, he felt good about himself. He’d often daydreamed about what life would be like if he lived with her, but then who would have taken care of his mother? Their visits had always been too brief, and once he hit his teenage years...she wouldn’t have wanted him around, anyway. Thank God those years were behind him.

When he discovered she’d left both houses to him, he invested the money from the sale of her house in Maine before his mother could find a way to get her hands on the cash. She’d burn through it in a few months, which was probably why Gram had named him her heir. When, and if, his mom wanted to get clean, he’d made sure to put aside enough money to help her.

“You think I can take that wall out without the whole floor falling down on me?” he asked, shifting the conversation to safer ground. He outlined what he wanted to do with the kitchen, inquired how many walls he could knock out and what Cal’s rate was.

He couldn’t stop grinning when they’d gone over the entire house. His dream was coming together. It was finally happening. Cal was an okay guy, a bit grim, but Adam thought they’d work together just fine. He certainly sounded knowledgeable when it came to renovations.

“No reason not to start tomorrow,” Cal said. “I’ll order the steel for the roof. We can start stripping the old shingles off first thing in the morning. Shouldn’t take too long, it’s a small roof.” His eyes roamed over the living room. “You’ll never get back the amount of money you’re planning to invest in this house. We’re too far away from everything. Not a lot of people are interested in moving here. Hell, most of the young people move away first chance they get.”

Adam nodded. “It’s not an investment thing for me.” Not financially. “I appreciate you bringing it up, though. Thanks.”

“One more thing.” Cal pulled a piece of paper out of his jacket pocket. “You know anything about this?”

Adam took the wrinkled paper. Holy! It was a pencil sketch of him doing tai chi in his backyard. Pretty hard to pretend it was of anyone else. The artist had gotten his broken nose exactly right. A thrill shot through him before the horror set in. Had Sylvie done this? “Where did you find it?”

“You didn’t know Sylvie was drawing you?”

“No.” He passed the sketch back to Cal. “She’s good enough to make a living from her drawings?” The drawing was good, not the best he’d ever seen, but what did he know about art? What he should be concentrating on was damage control. He didn’t want Cal to think he’d been coming on to Sylvie. Hell, he didn’t want him to think he’d even looked at his sister.

“She had quite the career going, but then Pops had his heart attack and things have been pretty rough for her the last few months. She stopped painting ’cause—I don’t know why. I don’t think she does, either. But this—” He fluttered the sketch in the air. “This is the only thing I’ve seen her draw in weeks.” He studied Adam. “So, what’s the deal?”

“Deal?” Adam choked out as he watched his plans sink out of sight. Finding a contractor with an open schedule at this time of year was a blessing. Finding one right in the village was a miracle. He knew Sylvie was trouble the minute he’d laid eyes on her.

The Carson men weren’t going to be happy about a stranger cozying up to their angel. Especially someone like him. He was the first to admit he’d done some stupid things in his life. He wasn’t perfect; he had issues. But he had to believe if he kept working at it, someday he would become a good man. Right now his dreams were about to go down the toilet if he couldn’t convince Cal he hadn’t a clue about the sketch.

“Has she said anything to you?” Cal placed the sketch on the old trunk.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. She usually paints landscapes, and she hasn’t done much except for that mural since she came home. Why you?”

“Haven’t a clue.” Adam tried to quell his desperation. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting? So, she drew a picture of me. Big deal.”

Adam caught himself forming fists and forced his hands to relax and hang loosely at his side. He inhaled, held his breath and slowly released it. Only then did he allow himself to look Cal in the eye. Jake would be proud of him. “The only thing I’m interested in is fixing up my house.”

After a minute, Cal smiled. “It wasn’t a very good sketch, anyway. She used to be really good, but, like I said, she’s messed up now. Can’t paint. I was hoping that you inspired her or something. She’ll be going back to Toronto soon, anyway. Oliver—that’s her boyfriend, a doctor—is probably fed up with her staying away so long.”

The last of Adam’s tension slipped away. The only thing Cal had been concerned about was Sylvie’s career. It probably hadn’t even occurred to him that Sylvie would give someone like Adam a second look. Not with a doctor boyfriend. Which was good.

Adam forced his attention back to what Cal was saying about the renovations. His house was important; not Sylvie nor her boyfriend. Or the fact that she was returning to Toronto soon. The only thing he cared about was making a new life for himself here.

CHAPTER THREE

THE AIR HAD a bite to it the next day when Sylvie finally ventured outside midmorning. Not cold, but not summer warm, either. She shivered as she walked along the beach. She’d always hated the change from summer to fall. It signified having to leave and go back to school. Although she’d completed her master’s degree a couple of years ago, her family would still be expecting her to leave soon.

She was running out of reasons to stay. Since Pops had moved into a seniors apartment at the complex, he didn’t need her as much. And all she did at the café was order supplies and fill in for Tyler.

Her family and friends believed all her problems would go away once she returned to her life in Toronto. But even before she’d come home it had become a daily struggle to go to her studio and produce something other people might be interested in. Not that she considered her audience when she was painting. Nothing killed an original idea or approach faster than letting public perception intrude.

Weeks before Pops’s heart attack, the joy she’d once felt from creating had shriveled into a hard knot of anxiety. Her therapist hadn’t helped. Dr. Carmichael had managed to get her to admit she hated living in Toronto, and that Oliver was as much a prop in her life as her studio and her Yorkville apartment. Who wouldn’t be depressed by an admission like that?

She stopped walking and watched as the sun dappled gold on the ocean surface. Losing your mother was a turning point in anyone’s life. But to discover her father and brothers had lied about her mom’s death—or at the very least, not told the entire truth—was devastating. Sylvie couldn’t even decide what they’d done or not done, but she knew they would have made any decision with her best interests at heart—which was wonderful when you were nine years old. But at twenty-six years of age she needed the whole truth if she had a hope of dealing with this new view of their not-so-idyllic family life. They’d had more than a few years to come clean, and yet they hadn’t.

As recently as last week, she’d stopped by Dusty’s with a six-pack of beer, hoping to loosen his tongue. She’d wasted her money because he’d been on to her scheme before he’d finished one beer and made up a fantastic story about Pops joining a cult of mermaids. She laughed out loud. Maybe she hadn’t wasted her money after all. They’d had a great time, just the two of them, kicking back and trying to best the other with how silly they could be.

But to have Adam Hunter move in right next door... If her memories that had surfaced from the shock of almost losing her father were true, then his grandmother was responsible for wrecking her parents’ marriage, and thereby indirectly responsible for her mother’s death. That long-ago night, she’d overheard her parents fighting about Adam’s grandmother, and soon afterward her mother had stormed out of the house and died in a head-on collision with a truck not even two miles out of Collina. Sylvie shivered. Had it really been an accident or had her mother killed herself?

She wished Adam would go back to where he came from instead of hanging around her backyard.

Maybe she wasn’t being fair, but she hated the constant reminder of how things weren’t right with her family.

She turned when she heard a sound behind her and plowed into her father. “Pops!”

“There now.” He engulfed her in a hug, surrounding her with all things safe, the smell of Old Spice and the feel of rough wool against her cheek. “You were off in a world all your own.” He patted her affectionately on the back and released her. “How’s my little Em this morning?”

Sylvie forced a smile. Her father had given her the nickname when the critics noted her work was reminiscent of Emily Carr’s art. “What are you doing here, Pops?”

“I need to get in my two kilometers a day, so I thought I’d join you for your walk on the beach.” He slipped his arm through hers, and they started down the beach. “I wanted to check out the new neighbor, as well. Cal likes him.” Pops smiled. “That’s high praise coming from your brother.”

They strolled amicably along the beach for a few minutes before Pops tugged her closer to his side. “There’s something I need to talk to you about, honey. You see, I’m thinking of putting the café up for sale. I thought I should tell you first, even though you’ll be heading back to Toronto soon, anyway.”

“What?” She stumbled and almost fell. Not only was he expecting her to return to Toronto any day now, but he also wanted to sell the café.

“It doesn’t make sense to keep the old place. You’re living in Toronto, the boys are both settled in their careers, and I’m tired, hon. I don’t want the responsibility of taking care of the café. I never did, really. When Mrs. Marley ran it, I didn’t have to do much, but since she’s retired, it’s like I’ve got a whole new job. Plus, the money from the sale will make my life a lot easier.”

Tears rushed her. She’d never seen her father look embarrassed before.

“The last few months I’ve been dipping into the profit margin from the café because my pension doesn’t cover all my medical expenses. That works in the summer when we’re doing a good trade, but now the season’s over, I’ve got to find money somewhere. The boys think it’s a good idea.”

“But, Pops—”

“Now, honey, don’t cry. I know we’ve owned the old joint forever, but it’s either that or sell the house. I can’t hang on to both.”

Sylvie gulped for air. The café was called Plain Jane’s, named after her mother, the Jane part, anyway. Twenty years younger than Pops, her mother had been a stunning beauty. Sylvie sometimes wondered why her mother, so young and beautiful, had married such a gruff old fisherman. Pops had a heart of gold. But still.

The café was the last link she had to her mom, and in her mind, Plain Jane’s had always been her backup if life tipped out of control. Just as the house was her refuge. Between the two, she’d believed she had a safety net. If Pops sold the café that would mean...she supposed it would mean she’d have to finally grow up. No more I can always go home.

“I’m not going back to Toronto.” The words spilled out before she could censor herself. She’d rehearsed this conversation over and over and had been waiting for the perfect time to talk to her father about what was troubling her. Guess the perfect time had arrived.

“What?”

“I hate living there. It’s not working for me. I want to move home full-time.”

“Don’t be silly. You’re...you’re famous. You can’t walk away from everything you’ve worked so hard for.”

“I’m not famous, Pops.” But she loved him for believing she was.

“Well, you can’t move back here.”

“Why not? It’s my home.”

Pops ran a hand over his chest. “Of course it’s your home. But there’s nothing here, except your family. What would you do?”

“I’ll run the café.” She’d been playing with the idea off and on for the last few weeks, but it didn’t feel like play now. The idea fit. It felt inspired.

“You’re an artist, Sylvie. You don’t know the first thing about running a business.”

“Then teach me.” Her voice rose as the words tumbled out. “I’m no longer an artist. You know I’m stuck—I can’t paint anymore.... I’m twenty-six years old, and I’ve got nothing except my family, and even you don’t want me.”

“That’s not true. Of course I—” Pops’s face contorted with pain. “I don’t feel so good. Maybe we should head back to the house.”

“God, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shouted at you. Are you okay, Pops? We could sit down for a minute, or I can run home and get my car. I’m so sorry.” Sylvie beat back the burning sensation in her chest. No time for a panic attack now. If anything happened to Pops...

Pops smiled gently at her. “You’re going to give yourself a heart attack if you don’t slow down. I’m fine. I get a little winded sometimes. The doc says I push too hard.”

“You always have.” Sylvie slipped her arm through his and guided them slowly toward the house. She hated seeing her father vulnerable and weak; his fragility was the first hint that things couldn’t continue as they were. But that didn’t mean he had to sell the café. If they’d only give her a chance, she knew she could make the business even more successful.

“I have some money saved,” she said after a few minutes of silence.

Pops patted her hand. “It’s not only the money but also the responsibility of running a business. It weighs on me.”

“I’ve been giving it some thought. It would be good for me to try something other than painting for a change. I could run the café business. I know I could. I’ve got lots of ideas.”

Pops laughed. “Of course you do. You’re our genius.”

“I’m not a genius, Pops. I’m just an ordinary person with a gift.”

He wasn’t listening. No one listened to her. The familiar pang of disappointment tightened inside as she followed her father’s gaze out to where a fishing boat was taking its time winding through the marked channel. By the bright blue hull, she could tell it was Ron Hachey’s boat. Lobster season was just around the corner, and the fishermen were anxious to get their traps in the water. Yesterday in the café, she’d heard Ron say he planned to try out his new motor today.

Pops turned his attention back to her. “There’s not an ordinary bone in your body, honey. That’s why you can’t stay. Collina is too small for you. I know you get homesick from time to time, and that you love us. But to live here full-time? I honestly can’t see you being happy.”

Hard to argue against such certainty. Maybe Pops was right, maybe living in Collina would drive her nuts. But she’d been here six months already, and despite the frustration of people thinking they knew what was best for her, she hadn’t been bored. Much. The fact was Toronto didn’t feel right to her anymore; the city didn’t fit. She was better off here for the time being.

As they approached the house, she noted her father’s normally robust complexion had turned gray, and his breathing was coming in short, harsh gasps. She’d phone the doctor later and ask if Pops’s fatigue was to be expected at this point of his recovery. Maybe they’d missed something in the last checkup. It didn’t feel right to her that he still struggled to do normal, everyday things. And she likely wasn’t helping his recovery; it must have weighed on his mind, knowing he had to tell her about putting the business up for sale.

He was right about one thing. Other than her family, there wasn’t much holding her here. If the café didn’t prove challenging enough, she’d have to leave and find something else to do.

An insidious pounding stabbed her left temple. It felt as if her skin had shrunk two sizes too small for her head. God. She squinted, trying to ease the pain. No wonder she had panic attacks. Twenty-six years old, and she didn’t have a clue what to do next. But she was getting ahead of herself. If the café was her sole responsibility, that would be enough to keep her busy, right?

And she wouldn’t stay just for the sake of staying—not after Pops was completely recovered, and they’d had their father-daughter talk and straightened things out between them. But that was one conversation that would have to wait. She’d upset him enough today.

She kissed his cheek. “Why don’t you come inside for a cup of tea, and I’ll drive you back to the apartment after?” She still couldn’t bring herself to call the seniors apartments his home.

“I’m going to see what the boys got done this morning on Adam’s house. Cal’ll drive me back.” He hugged her.

“Would you consider not putting the café up for sale right away? I’d like to stay a few more weeks, and...it would just be nice to hold on to it for a bit longer.”

He narrowed his eyes, reminding her of Cal when he was trying to suss out the truth. Her older brother had ridden herd on her and Dusty in their teen years when Pops was busy fishing. They never could get anything past him because Cal had learned from the master—Pops.

“I guess I could hold off for a bit. It’s not the best time of year to sell, anyway. But I’d like to get it on the market soon. Give folks some time to think about buying.”

“Thanks, Pops. I just need to get used to the idea.” And time to prove to her family she could run the business successfully. “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you home?”

He waved her off. “I want to ask Adam a couple of questions. Cal will drive me.”

Adam again. Surely Pops wasn’t going to ask Adam if he wanted to buy the café. Unless he was fabulously wealthy, and by the look of his older truck and the way he dressed, she didn’t think he was, Adam would probably have to look for work eventually. The lack of job opportunities in town was laughable. But wouldn’t that be rotten luck? Her father decides to sell the café, and Adam turns up on their doorstep with enough cash in hand to buy it.

She hurried to keep up to her father. If Pops started talking about selling the café, she’d steer the conversation in another direction. “I’ve got a few minutes before I have to go to work. I’ll come with you.”

Other than raising his eyebrows, Pops didn’t say anything. She never could get much past the old man. She loved her brothers and father, but her eyes often glazed over two minutes into one of their conversations about...whatever. Building, fishing, fixing engines. But this was one conversation she planned on paying attention to.

When they walked around the corner of Adam’s house, Romeo bounded over to greet them. Sylvie bent down to scratch behind his ears and Rom leaned against her leg like he’d been waiting all day just for her. What a beautiful dog. She looked around the yard. Moonbeam hadn’t been around this morning. Actually, since Adam had moved in, the shameless hussy had barely been home at all.

An armload of old roofing shingles slid off the roof and landed in a pile of debris ten feet in front of them. “Have you seen Moonbeam?” she shouted up at Adam and Cal.

They both stopped ripping at the shingles. “What do you want, Sylvie?” Cal looked impatient. “Oh, hey, Pops. What’s up?”

Nice. She got a snarl, while Pops rated a hello. She bit her tongue to hold back a snappy retort.

“It’s almost lunchtime. I thought you could drive me home, Cal.”

Cal shot a look in her direction.

“I offered,” she said, defending herself. She hated that she still craved her older brother’s approval.

Pops sat on a paint-stained wooden workhorse while he waited for the men to climb down. “What’s the use of living in the same village if I can’t spend any time with you? You work too hard,” he said to his son as Cal climbed down, followed by Adam.

“Have you seen Moonbeam?” When Sylvie turned to Adam, she faltered back a step. She’d been so focused on Cal, she hadn’t really looked at her neighbor.

He wore a sleeveless gray sweatshirt and his faded jeans, weighed down by his tool belt, hung low on his hips. When he raised his hand to wipe a trickle of sweat from his forehead, his biceps bunched into a solid mass of muscle.

Sylvie swallowed and tried to look away from the tuft of underarm hair that peeked out of his sweatshirt and the startling white skin on the underside of his arm. The stark contrast of masculinity and vulnerability, hard muscle covered with velvet skin, thrilled her. She wanted to trace her hand down the underside of his arm and follow the prominent blue vein down to his wrist. She wanted, no, she needed, to get it all down on paper. Everything about this man... The sweat-streaked dirt on his face, his muscles. God, his neck. He had a beautiful neck. Even the shape of his—