Chloe Timberlake knew that she had truly reached the end
of her long journey to Sanluca, Florida, when the earthy
scent of the Everglades muck gave way to the fragrance of
the Atlantic Ocean wafting on the breeze. She leaned her
head out the car window and let go an exuberant whoop that
was heard by no one except perhaps a few tree frogs
chirring in the scrub oaks overarching the road. And her
cat, of course.
"Come on out, Butch," she said. "We're a long way from
Farish, Texas. The Frangipani Inn is straight ahead." She
nudged open the tattered carpetbag where the big orange
tomcat liked to sleep when traveling.
Butch poked his head out and twitched his whiskers. No
litter box for him; Butch was toilet trained and hadn't
forgiven her for that last grungy rest stop on the Glades
Highway. He looked down his nose at her before indulging
in an indolent stretch, then sniffed appreciatively at the
brine and seaweed.
When the car emerged from the shelter of the trees, Chloe
turned off at 1200 Beach Road, the shell-rock driveway
crunching under the old blue Volvo's tires. Ahead of them,
her father's family home was surrounded by an encroaching
tangle of vegetation, growing thick and lush now, in late
May. Nearby, a boardwalk led down to the beach. "I wonder
whose Jeep that is," Chloe mused as the headlights swung
past a decrepit vehicle, its pockmarked sides spattered
with mud. As she braked to a stop under a gumbo-limbo tree
at the rear of the inn, a lithe shape detached itself from
the side of the building and moved toward her. Chloe was
wary; the inn, her cousin Gwynne had assured her, was
unoccupied.
The shape morphed into a man and, still suspicious, Chloe
rammed the car into Reverse for a quick getaway. His
presence rattled her, even though Sanluca's crime rate
ranked so low it wasn't even on the charts.Yet why was
this fellow, who was now sauntering toward her car,
lurking in the shadows of the Frangipani Inn?
He stepped within the circle of headlights, and with a
jolt, she recognized him. She hadn't seen Ben Derrick in
years, not since that summer when she was sixteen; but she
would have known him anywhere. He'd been unrepentantly
handsome and sexy as sin, though he'd never seemed to
realize it. Now he was bare-foot — ill-advised considering
the incidence of sandspurs in the native scrub. Baggy
shorts rode low on his hips, and his hair — dark,
generously sun-streaked and needing cutting — was tousled
by the breeze from the ocean. He looked scruffy and
nondescript, and he was sixteen years older than when
she'd last seen him, but he was still Ben Derrick. And
still a heartbreaker, no doubt.
He squinted into the glare. "Gwynne?" he said.
Of course. He'd always preferred her cousin, teasing her,
joking with her and ignoring Chloe. When Ben had
disappeared late in that summer of her sixteenth year,
Chloe had been devastated. She'd been shy in those days,
had never done anything to draw attention to herself, had
been content to hang out in Gwynne's shadow. She'd never
told anyone that she'd fallen hopelessly in love with Ben
Derrick.
Chloe rested a restraining hand on Butch's head so that he
wouldn't take it into his fool head to make a grand leap
from the car. "I'm Chloe Timberlake," she said over the
stutter of the Volvo's engine. "Gwynne's my cousin." She
didn't add, You remember — I was the redheaded, flat-
chested girl who hung on your every word, who followed you
around like a lovesick fool for two whole months. And you
couldn't have cared less.
Ben leaned down and peered in the window, studying
her. "You're Chloe?" His voice was a rumble in his chest.
"Right," Chloe said. "I was here one summer a long time
ago. Actually, I visited a lot of summers, but we only ran
into each other that year." He'd worked as a diver for Sea
Search, Inc., the local marine salvage company whose
search for sunken treasure had been the subject of many
National Geographic television programs.
"I boarded here sometimes when Gwynne and her mom ran the
place as a bed-and-breakfast."
"I remember." Oh, yes. He'd been a charismatic character
in those days, tall and tanned and utterly charming.
If Ben recognized her, he gave no sign. "I've just rolled
into town and was counting on Gwynne and Tayloe's having a
room for me."
"You didn't call first?"
"I got a recorded message about the number not being in
service at this time."
"That's because the Frangipani Inn is no longer a bed-and-
breakfast."
"I'm sorry to hear that." For someone who needed a place
to sleep for the night, he delivered the line with a bit
too much nonchalance. He slapped absently at a whining
mosquito. "Where have Gwynne and Tayloe gone?"
"Gwynne's off finishing her master's degree in speech
pathology, and my aunt Tayloe remarried last year and
lives in Mexico with her husband. I'm here to work for the
summer. I design jewelry."
This was the season for thunderstorms riding in on warm
moist air from the Gulf of Mexico, and over the sound of
her voice, Chloe detected a rumble of thunder in the
distance. Tonight's predicted stormy weather was fast
closing in.
"I don't suppose you'd rent me a room anyway," he said.
The crash of the breakers on the other side of the dunes
filled the silence. She gazed up at the clouds scudding
past the turret of the inn for a long moment before
answering. "I'm not planning to run the house as a B and
B."
Chloe felt the first spatter of rain. As she raised the
window and cut the Volvo's engine, the scene went dark,
and all she could see was the white stripes of Ben's shirt
a few feet away.
"C'mon, Butch," Chloe said. She grabbed the cat and her
backpack. Fortunately, the clouds from the oncoming storm
had not yet obscured the moon, and as she slid out of the
car she was able to get a good look at Ben Derrick. His
eyes were murky in the darkness, and she couldn't recall
their color. Strange, since she'd thought she'd never
forget anything about him. Were they blue? Gray? She had
no idea.
"Can I help you with that?" He reached for her pack, but
she sidestepped quickly and whipped it out of his reach.
"No, I'll handle it. Thanks."
"I'd better check out the house with you this first time,"
Ben said gruffly.
"I don't think so," Chloe retorted. She turned, wondering
what it would take to make this guy get in his Jeep and
go. Couldn't he take a hint?
"The reason I suggested going in with you," Ben said with
great patience, "is that if the house has been vacant, no
telling what's inside."
Chloe was mindful of Gwynne's stated reasons for offering
to let her live in the sea-worn old mansion. She'd
mentioned concerns about vagrants, beach bums, kids
partying inside and no one detecting their presence until
much harm had been done. Maybe it would be a good idea to
let Ben check out the place.
"Let's hurry. It's beginning to rain," Chloe said tersely.
She started along the winding sandy path to the house as
huge raindrops began to fall. The wind kicked up, and the
air took on a sudden chill as rain sluiced down in great
torrents, drenching them both.
They ran past thrashing clumps of sea oats and salt grass.
When she reached the haven of the porch, Chloe set Butch
down. The cat, spooked by the change in weather, shook
himself and immediately bounded into the bushes below.
"Butch! Get back here!" She could barely make herself
heard over the wind and rain.
Of course the cat didn't. Chloe wasn't concerned that
Butch would try a disappearing act, since he knew who his
food came from, but she wished he hadn't left her alone
with Ben.
Who conveniently produced a flashlight from his pocket and
beamed it on the rusty old lock. Chloe, clumsy in her
haste, fumbled with the key, inserted it and swung the
door open on a cavernous front hall.
A flock of dust bunnies scattered in the fresh gusts
admitted through the open door as something dark scurried
toward the nether regions of the house. Chloe groped for
the light switch and flipped it. The lone bulb remaining
in the overhead fixture flared and died.
"I'll turn on a lamp," Chloe said, wiping her face with
her forearm before dropping her backpack on the hall
settee. As she spoke, Ben trained the flashlight on the
parlor to her right.
The house had been in her father's family since the early
part of the century, and she and her older sister, Naomi,
had spent many glorious summer vacations in the
bigVictorian mansion when she was growing up. A year ago
when she'd last visited, the Frangipani Inn hadn't been in
this state of disrepair. The furniture, layered with white
covers, loomed eerily as she felt her way into the
parlor's depths, where she knocked into a table, caught
herself before keeling over and managed to turn on the
light over the piano. It cast the shrouded shapes into
gloomy shadows.
Dust was everywhere, and cobwebs trailed spookily from the
high ceiling. The windows were coated with a thick coat of
salt spray, and the air smelled musty. As she stood taking
in all the decrepitude of a place that she remembered as
bright, light and uplifting, Ben said, "Things deteriorate
rapidly near the ocean. The place has been unoccupied for
how long?"
"Almost a year," Chloe told him, her voice echoing because
of the high ceiling. In order to see what was what, she
shoved aside white muslin to reveal a wicker chair that
belonged on the porch. One of its wooden rockers was
split, and she tugged the cover back over it.As she did
so, something scrambled frantically across her toes,
something warm and furry with quick little feet.
At the same time, a flash of lightning and an earsplitting
clap of thunder rent the silence. Chloe screamed and would
have bolted if Ben hadn't caught her and held her steady.
"Easy," he said. "That was only a field mouse." His arms
were hard-muscled and strong, she noticed through her
panic. His heart beat steadily beneath his damp shirt, and
his wet skin was slick beneath her fingers.
"I h-hate mice," she stammered.
He released her, and she saw that his eyes were a deep,
velvety brown. He smelled of sun and salt, of the sea and
sand, bringing back memories of that summer so long ago.
"There are bound to be one or two mice in here," he said,
the voice of reason.
She recovered enough to scoff at that. "One or two? Ha!
They breed," she said. She stalked toward the door. "I
can't live with mice. I'm leaving."
Ben cocked a head toward one of the windows, which was
rattling in its frame due to the energetic pummeling of
the elements. "It's raining hard now, and there's
lightning. Besides, there's nowhere else to go."
"Where is that cat when I need him?" she muttered. She
threw the door open. "Butch? Butch!" Rain blew in her
face; it tasted of salt. There was no sign of a big orange
cat, no glimmer of his white bib under the shelter of the
rubbery round leaves of the sea grapes.
Ben walked up behind her. "I saw him run under the house.
He'll have a grand old time there chasing the mice and
palmetto bugs."
"Palmetto bugs?"
"The state insect of Florida. See, there's one on the
curtain." He pointed at a huge cockroachlike bug in the
library on the other side of the foyer. It was an ugly
dark brown, almost two inches long and waving curious
feelers in their direction.
Chloe shuddered. She'd rather eat roadkill than bunk near
that creature. "I'll sleep in the car. I'll —"
"No need to do any such thing. I'll run over to the other
part of the house and get the bug spray." He started
toward the kitchen.
Since she had no intention of being left alone with the
palmetto bug, Chloe wasn't far behind. "Okay, but what
about the mice?" She was seriously questioning her recent
and possibly foolhardy choice to start a new life in this
place.
"I'll take care of them, don't worry."
"Humanely, I hope."
He glanced at her over his shoulder, the corners of his
mouth twitching. "Oh, of course. I'll invite them to leave
in a pleasant voice, and I'll reassure them it's not them,
it's me. I'll say that I hope we can still be friends, and
even throw them a farewell party if you'd like."
"Please," she warned, "don't make light of this." She
wasn't in the mood for humor.
"I thought maybe kindness to rodents ran in your family.
Tayloe used to trap live mice and release them in the
thickets, which I warned her was silly, since they — and
their loved ones — would only come back for a return
engagement, but that was the way she wanted it."
"You know where to find the mousetraps?"
"They're in the hall leading to the caretakers' annex."
They went along turning on lights until they came to the
kitchen, Chloe doing her best to unstick her wet blouse
from her skin along the way. Someone had broken a window
in the back door and had evidently camped out there,
abandoning dirty dishes and silverware in the sink, which
was dripping a steady stream of rusty water.
"Here we are," Ben said, throwing back the bolt to the
door of the annex, where a small apartment was built down
close to the dunes. "Bug spray. And traps."
"Could you deal with the palmetto bug first? He creeps me
out big-time."