No Tan Lines (8 page)

Save a Tree, Eat a Beaver
drew a lot of attention. Every male tourist on the boardwalk openly stared. Some smirked. Others made buck-toothed faces.

Trace took his own hits. One woman put on her sunglasses against the glare of his neon board shorts. A hot chick in a bikini asked if all his other clothes were in the laundry. A man in a lemon yellow Speedo winked at him.

He picked up his pace. The soles of his feet felt on fire. The cement hissed like hot coals. He caught up to Shaye at the door to the Denim Dolphin, a children’s store.

She cast a look over her shoulder but didn’t acknowledge him fully. The boardwalk was her domain. She
allowed
him to walk with her.

They reached the general store, where everything from fresh fruit, toothpaste, pots and pans to sunscreen was sold. Nicole Archer stood just inside the door. Her eyes widened when she saw them. Her uncertainty showed.

“You’ve changed clothes,” she managed. “Interesting choices. I’ve not seen this side of you before, Trace.”

“Shaye likes walking in the rain,” he said. He didn’t add the fact that he’d been afraid he would lose her if he hadn’t walked, too.

Trace knew that Shaye hated renting to anyone other than a Cates. She could’ve darted off in any direction to avoid showing Nicole the shop. He’d dogged her steps and gotten drenched for just that reason.

“We stopped in Three Shirts for something dry,” he added. He’d paid an outrageous price for his outfit.

Nicole reluctantly eyed the beaver on Shaye’s shirt. She fingered her multichain necklace, completely at a loss for words.

“Roomy.” Shaye pulled out the sides. The men’s large could have fit two of her easily. “The design is all about saving the ecosystem.”

“I see that now.” Nicole was always polite.

Trace moved things along. “Are you ready to see your new shop?” he asked. The sooner he could get out of these board shorts, the better. The web lining scratched his balls.

“The store is two doors down, next to Madame Aleta the Fortune Teller,” Shaye said.

“Is she any good?” Nicole asked.

“She has
the sight.
” Shaye used air quotes.

“I’d love to get a reading.”

Trace took Nicole by the arm. “Save it for another day. Focus on your shop.”

They reached their destination in a matter of seconds. Shaye’s cousin was already on the premises. Kai leaned against the doorjamb, his arms crossed over his chest.

Kai welcomed Shaye with a raised eyebrow and tight smile. Trace saw the look the two exchanged. He was certain Shaye was silently requesting that Kai neither judge nor comment, that she would explain later when they were alone.

Shaye then introduced Nicole. “Nicole Archer, my cousin Kai Cates.”

Nicole offered her hand, but Kai was slow to take it.

Nicole withdrew first. She dusted off her hands, looking out of place in her stark white shift.

Kai stood stiffly. There were wood shavings on the shoulders of his olive-green T-shirt, the knees of his jeans, and the steel toes of his work boots. He wore his tool belt low, like the holster of a gunslinger. Kai looked ready to draw on Trace. The men had never been friends.

Nicole wasn’t shy. She inspected every inch of the shop. Trace leaned against a wobbly wooden display case. He looked on as Kai and Shaye lowered their voices. Trace had exceptional hearing, so he eavesdropped.

“You’re here because ... ?” Kai asked.

“Nicole is a jewelry designer,” Shaye explained. Stress drew white lines at the corners of her mouth. Trace caught the rapid rise and fall of her chest beneath her baggy T-shirt. “She’s been looking for a shop to rent.”

Her cousin curved the fingers of his right hand around the handle of a hammer. His knuckles turned white. “You brought her to
our
boardwalk?”

“We have space available.” Shaye’s mood ring glowed with multicolored stripes. The lady was conflicted.

Space, available?
Trace looked around. The shop was being gutted. Torn Sheetrock hung off bare studs. The entire room was no bigger than a bread box. He hoped Nicole would have adequate space for her custom creations. There was no alternative.

He heard Shaye sigh. “It was a trade-off,” she softly confessed to her cousin. “I got the volleyball tournament if he got a shop for his girlfriend.”

“His girlfriend?” Kai balked. “That’s the same as renting to a Saunders.”

“Let’s hope they don’t marry anytime soon.”

Trace saved the fact that he and Nicole were no longer involved for another day. He let Kai and Shaye sweat it out.

“How long will she be here?” asked Kai.

“A short time, no longer than a month, maybe two,” Shaye whispered.

“How much is she paying?”

“We haven’t settled on a price.”

Trace took that moment to join them. He spoke directly to Shaye. “The rental agreement will run a full year.” He was emphatic. “Nicole won’t be charged a dime.”

“You’re bullying me.”

“And you blindsided me.”

She shook her head. “This isn’t fair.”

Trace looked down at his T-shirt and board shorts. “What wasn’t fair was your cousin Jenna charging me sixty bucks for these clothes. Paybacks are a bastard. You’ll eat the rent and pay for the remodeling. Twelve months will establish Nicole in business.”

“Jackass,” muttered Shaye.

“Beave,” said Trace.

“You two argue like an old married couple,” Nicole commented as she approached them.

Trace’s throat tightened.

He swore he heard Shaye gag.

Married.
The word would never extend to a Cates and a Saunders.

“The shop is perfect.” Nicole touched his arm in an appreciative gesture. “I can envision the renovation.”

“Envision it small,” Kai said darkly.

Trace had never seen Nicole glare at anyone as she now did at Kai. She had fire and fight in her eyes. And a backbone. Kai’s jaw jutted at a don’t-mess-with-me angle.

Battle lines were now drawn between the jewelry designer and the handyman. Trace hoped it wouldn’t escalate into an all-out war.

He had his own problems with Shaye.

She would try to double-deal him down the road.

He had to expect the unexpected.

Three

S
haye Cates expected Nicole and Trace to depart shortly after viewing the shop. But there was no hurrying them. They pushed an hour into ninety minutes. Nicole shared her vision of the store with Trace while Shaye and Kai stood by the door.

Twice Kai held the door open.

Twice the two ignored his hint that they leave.

They’d stuck around forever.

An apprehensive lump formed in Shaye’s throat, one she couldn’t swallow. Kai was ticked at her, as he had a right to be. Anger poured off him in waves. His aversion to Trace went back years. However, his immediate dislike of Nicole Archer proved puzzling.

Kai was laid-back and never judged anyone, yet Nicole seemed to hit a nerve from the get-go. Perhaps it was because she was Trace’s lover. Kai saw them as a team. Both of them were trespassing on Cates property.

Shaye rolled her shoulders to loosen the tension. The knots only tightened. She might have gotten off easier had Nicole paid rent. A total freebie wouldn’t sit well with her family. Not well at all.

The designer’s free pass would force other shop owners to cover her rent so the boardwalk remained solvent. Business was slow, and everyone was struggling. Nicole would add to their burden.

Shaye glanced at the couple as they moved toward the door. Could they walk any slower? She scrunched her nose.
If
she were objective, she’d have to admit, the two looked good together. Handsome men and beautiful women were drawn to each other. Trace and Nicole were no exception. They complemented one another, even amid the gutted shop.

Wood shavings now speckled the satin ankle ties on Nicole’s wedge sandals. Dirt smeared her white shift. But she had the polish and poise to pull it off. Her jewelry dazzled amid the dust.

Then there was Trace. His
Volleyball
T-shirt accented his chest, the tribal tattoo a stamp to his masculinity. His board shorts hitched low on his hips. Pink wasn’t his color, but neither did the neon detract from his long, muscular legs. Barefoot, he watched for discarded nails and picture-frame hooks. He looked more like a tourist than the heir to a town.

He listened attentively to Nicole, then made a few suggestions of his own. His lover took them all in, nodding her approval.

Nodding was not good, Shaye realized. Each agreement raised the cost of the renovation. The Cateses would be laying out a fortune. Kai would do the work. Maybe he could cut a few corners.

“What shop was here most recently?” Nicole asked. “There are picture hooks all over the floor.”

“Behind the Lens,” Shaye said. “My Uncle Dave was a professional photographer. He restored historical photos of the town and its earliest residents. He also made scenic postcards and amusement-park videos. Tourists flocked to the memorabilia. He retired this spring.”

Shaye still had dozens of Uncle Dave’s photographs safely stored away. Her favorite was one of her great-great-great-grandfather William standing on the shore at twilight. His pant legs were rolled to his knees. Waves splashed his ankles. He held a fishing pole. A bucket of bait was submerged in the sand. He appeared as free as the breeze that mussed his white hair.

There was something or someone down the beach from where William stood. It appeared no more than a black dot. No matter the magnification, it was unrecognizable. Shaye thought it might be either a seagull or a sand castle. Perhaps a piece of driftwood. Maybe a fellow fisherman.

She had yet to decide where to display Uncle Dave’s historic collection. The photos were her heritage. The past was a huge part of her present.

Nicole had her own plans for the photos. “You could continue to hang them here,” she offered. “I design vintage jewelry from sea glass. I could drape necklaces over the frames. The photographs would enhance my signature pieces.”

“A possibility,” Shaye was slow to say.

“Not likely,” Kai decided more quickly.

Nicole was not to be discouraged. “I’m ready to sign the agreement.”

“The paperwork isn’t ready,” Shaye hedged. “We can finalize the details tomorrow.”

“You’re stalling,” Trace said. “We’ll follow you to your office.”

Her office
. Most days she worked from the beach. She set up near the pier, needing no more than a sand chair, sunscreen, sunglasses, an umbrella, cell phone, and wireless laptop. Her work wardrobe consisted of three swimsuits and two cover-ups. The sunshine and fresh air cleared her head. The splash of the waves soothed her.

Shaye stood firm. “My office is closed for the day.” Trace glanced at his watch, his look hard. “It’s barely four o’clock.”

“I’m on Barefoot William time.”

“I like the way you do business,” Nicole said, surprising Shaye. “I can set my own shop hours, too. Barefoot William won’t be as strict as Saunders Shores.”

The two towns were nothing alike.

Saunders Shores was as stuffy and starched as its board of directors. Discriminating tourists reserved stretches of shoreline for private parties and sunbathing. A cabana boy raked the sugar sand. General beachgoers were fined for trespassing. At the end of the day, exclusive nightclubs opened their doors to members only.

Barefoot William was casual and carefree, and vacationers could cut loose. The boardwalk and beach were open to the public. The sand was scuffed and scattered and welcomed footprints. Flashing neon lights lit the night sky like fireworks. Music echoed from the shops. Shaye had danced down the boardwalk more than once. She didn’t need a partner.

The party atmosphere was endless and unbroken. The town was an eclectic mix of singles and families, toddlers and grandparents. The air stirred with perpetual motion, as if something new and exciting was just around the corner. It usually was.

Nicole smiled tentatively. “Anyone up for dinner?” she asked. “My treat. How about Slip Twelve at the yacht harbor?”

Shaye was familiar with the five-star seafood restaurant. The menu was pricey, the view, spectacular. Reservations were made six weeks in advance. No problem there, though; Nicole was dating a Saunders. A table would be available for Trace at a moment’s notice.

A silence held for several beats. It didn’t take Shaye long to realize that Nicole was new to the area. She wasn’t yet aware of their families’ dispute. The line their forefathers once drew in the sand had endured one hundred years. It could last another century. Easily.

Shaye appreciated Nicole’s generosity, but dinner was out of the question. She’d had lunch with Trace, and that was one meal too many. She still smelled like coconut cream pie. She refused to face off with the man a second time. They had nothing in common. Fine dining stretched on for hours. Their table conversation would be stilted or nonexistent.

Kai saved her. “Shaye and I have plans,” he announced.

Nicole’s smile slipped. “Another time, perhaps.”

“Another lifetime,” Kai said under his breath.

“Where shall we meet in the morning?” Nicole asked Shaye. The woman was trying to smooth things over.

Under other circumstances, Shaye might have liked her. As it stood now, they’d never be friends. Their situation was too awkward. The designer was Trace’s lover. He’d forced Nicole on her. After the volleyball tournament, Shaye would show Nicole the door. She’d find a loophole, however small.

She looked at Trace and found him eyeing her. Heat crept up her neck, and her stomach gave a strange little flutter. Her reaction was unwanted. His woman stood at his side. Trace should be looking at Nicole, not at her.

Shaye swallowed, her throat dry. “I’ll meet you west of the pier, near the shoreline, at sunrise.”

Nicole blinked. Twice. She appeared stunned by the early hour. Shaye assumed she slept late. Nicole appeared pampered, a woman who preferred brunch to breakfast.

“I won’t keep you waiting,” Nicole promised. “I’m temporarily staying at The Sandcastle until I can find my own place. I’ll request a wake-up call.”