until the labor and the heat exhausted him and then eating with his friends and falling into bed.
He continued to work on the deck, skipping lunch in order to get the first parts completed. Ned Tompkins had had the concrete posts poured to support the deck, and all that was left was to build the wooden structure over the posts. Ned wasn’t home, so there weren’t any interruptions, allowing Rory to settle into an enjoyable rhythm. The feel of wood in his hands, the smell of it, the sun’s heat on his shoulders reminded him of Haiti.
But he was done with Haiti, at least for now. He had to be. He’d been completely stressed-out by his life there; the memories were painful. It was a life he’d once loved, and might love again once he had time to gain perspective on his experience in that country. He never walked past a child on the sidewalk in Eden Harbor that didn’t remind him of the two children whose lives he’d seen destroyed by the collapse of their home in Haiti.
He adjusted his tool belt and laid another board over the base structure of the deck. It wasn’t until he realized that the sun wasn’t on his shoulders that he checked the time...
* * *
PEGGY SAT IN The Big Mug, glancing at her watch, answering questions from people she knew about what she was doing sitting there alone, did she want company and why wasn’t she going home after her long day. She didn’t know that a woman sitting by herself in a coffee shop could be such a point of interest.
She’d moved to Eden Harbor two years ago after inheriting money from her father, money that guaranteed her escape from her mother and her life in Seattle, only to find herself in a community that took a great deal of pleasure in knowing each other’s business. As a new, unattached woman, she had been the subject of many conversations, judging by the way people quizzed her while she was taking their blood. Still, she loved Eden Harbor, the friends she made, her job and the time she spent with the local children. She glanced around the coffee shop again. Maybe if she had her laptop with her, or a newspaper, she would feel less exposed. As it was, a rapidly cooling cup of coffee and rising sense of embarrassment at the way she’d fallen for yet another man’s tall tale was all she had to keep her company.
Yet Rory MacPherson seemed so sincere. He’d behaved as if he really wanted to have coffee with her. But had she read more into his behavior than was really there? Was her dateless life getting the better of her? Had it left her to create her own fantasy around a man she’d met only because he needed his blood taken? She’d even chosen a tiny booth at the back of the coffee shop just so they could talk. He’d said he wanted to talk. She shook her head at her gullibility. She’d fallen for his charm and sexiness, his smooth talk—clearly the only talk he planned to offer her.
She glanced at her watch for the hundredth time—4:29 p.m.
With a sigh she finished her coffee, gathered her coat, her bag and got out of the booth. Waving her thanks to the clerk, she headed for the side door leading to the parking lot. She pushed hard, only to have the door pop open, nearly landing her on her backside. Great! Another embarrassing moment, the crowning achievement of her afternoon.
“I’m sorry!” Rory said, grabbing for her with his uninjured hand, pulling her against his broad chest, ending her rapid trip toward the concrete walkway outside the door.
He steadied her as she recovered. “Are you all right?”
She heard the sincerity in his voice and steeled herself against it. Action, not words, was what she needed. “I’m fine.” She adjusted her bag on her shoulder and stepped away from him. “And you’re late,” she said, instantly regretting the words that made her sound like a demanding, possessive woman. She was neither.
“I’m really sorry. I lost track of time.”
He looked so crestfallen she couldn’t resist offering him a conciliatory smile. “Never mind. I have to get home. I have horses to feed, dinner to prepare.”
He let the door slide closed, leaving them standing outside in the parking lot. “Can I make it up to you?”
His words made her realize how much she’d been looking forward to having coffee with him. All her brave thoughts about not minding being alone, of having accepted her single lifestyle, felt like a lie in the presence of this man.
She had tomorrow off, and she wasn’t doing very much other than cleaning her tack room, grooming her two horses and hanging out around the house doing chores. If Rory MacPherson wanted to make it up to her, he could take her to dinner, and she’d be sure to meet him downtown. It was her policy on a first date that she always met the man somewhere away from her home, just in case he was a raving lunatic looking to avenge his angst against his mother on some unsuspecting female.
She hadn’t yet managed to cure herself of being suspicious. “Okay. Why don’t we meet at O’Toole’s in the Wayfarer Inn, say around seven tomorrow evening?”
“That sounds great. Does O’Toole’s have a dress code?”
“Clean and neat as far as I know.”
He turned, his body close to hers, his movement suggesting a closeness that didn’t exist between them. “Can I walk you to your car?”
She moved out of his space, clutching her bag nearer her body. “No, that’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow at seven.”
“Don’t be late,” he said, a teasing tone in his voice.
* * *
THE NEXT DAY Peggy got up early, energized by a good sleep and the prospect of a day off. She’d taken her mare, Suzie, out for a long ride down into the fields next to her farm. The people who owned the property were summer residents but had given her permission to ride their wooded trails. She was sweating almost as hard as her horse when she walked Suzie back into the barn and removed the saddle.
On the ride her thoughts had been firmly on Rory, not a good sign at all. Given her track record in finding a man, she shouldn’t get her hopes up. Coffee with him, after all, had not gone as planned. She’d been left feeling like an afterthought, suggesting to her that he’d not been as excited about seeing her as she’d been about seeing him. Would dinner be fraught with the same mismatch of expectations?
Every man she’d ever been attracted to had turned out to be a dud on one front or another. Her biggest disasters had been her online dating attempts. It convinced her that there had to be a lot of men out there who were more in touch with Photoshop than any woman who came into their lives.
Since she’d moved to Eden Harbor, she hadn’t dated anyone because she didn’t feel like getting to know someone only to be disappointed. Why was it that so many of her friends had found Mr. Right while she couldn’t find even one Mr. Maybe?
She finished caring for Suzie, let her into the paddock with Zeus and headed back toward the house. From across the yard she heard Ned Tompkins calling to her. She glanced over to see that he was standing next to a pile of lumber, and his deck was beginning to take shape. She looked again. Was that Rory MacPherson?
“Peggy! Come on over and meet my new carpenter,” Ned said.
She smelled like sweat and dirt and horse. She couldn’t go over there without a shower. “Hi, Ned.” She pointed to her house. “I’m in a bit of a hurry. I’ll drop by on my way from town,” she said, scurrying along the path from the barn.
“No, I need to talk to you. It’s important,” he yelled as he helped the carpenter with a long piece of wood. Wiping his hands on his pants, he said, “I want you to meet someone,” he insisted as he beckoned to her. “Come on.”
“Oh, all right,” she said, intending to stay downwind, if there was a wind, so that her unwashed body wouldn’t offend anyone—namely, Rory. Reluctantly, she crossed the open stretch of field between the houses. Rory stopped what he was doing and turned to face her. He was even more gorgeous in the morning light. How could that be?
Ned made the introductions, but she wasn’t listening. She was staring up into those gorgeous blue eyes and the mess-me-up-a-little