That Summer at the Shore

Kim Wheeler studied the deed to the waterfront property. “I have to compare this to Zack’s paperwork,” she said finally. “And we may require an official survey.”

Jamie shrugged. “Fine, but I’m not budging, and the Little Blue Fruit Stand is opening on Wednesday to get the business going smoothly by the Memorial Day holiday. Granddad’s records indicate it’s a busy weekend.”

Kim tucked the copies into her briefcase. “If you don’t mind me asking, why run your business on that land? It’s on a dirt road, at the dead end of a public access. There must be more profitable locations.”

“It makes a profit, which I can use, but the stand isn’t solely about selling produce. Granddad could have gone closer to the highway, but he didn’t because he wanted to spend his days by the beach. His customers liked going there, too. It can happen that way in small towns. And he got tourist traffic, too.”

“I see.”

Jamie yawned again. “Sorry. I was awake till four.”

“Couldn’t sleep?”

“I was working—got caught up in a new design and didn’t notice how late it was. I make jewelry and market it in local tourist and gift shops.”

“You’ll have to show me your jewelry sometime,” Kim said politely. “But I should go now and let you go back to bed.”

“Don’t you need a ride?” Jamie asked.

“If I know Zack, he’s likely arranged for a car to collect me.”

“And forgot to tell you, right?”

“He’s concentrating on other things.”

Jamie tried not to sound bitter as she said, “Sure, there’s always an excuse for people acting badly.”

* * *

ZACK DROVE INTO the airport and parked. He raced inside the terminal and read the arrivals and departures boards—he wasn’t late after all; Brad’s flight had just landed.

At the security checkpoint, Zack watched the passengers greeting friends and family, or searching for the baggage-claim area. It took a minute to recognize the thin form limping in his direction. Somehow his mental picture of Brad as a healthy, muscular marine hadn’t changed, even though he’d visited his brother in the hospital. Brad still had the military haircut and neat appearance, yet the man beneath the clothing seemed shadowed and broken.

Hell, he had been broken.

But he was getting better; the therapists said so. He’d simply hit a plateau and would benefit from a fresh environment.

“Good to see you, bro.” As they clasped hands Zack tried not to reveal anything except a hearty welcome.

“I know. I look like crap.” Brad grinned wryly, obviously seeing through Zack’s effort. “I wish you hadn’t needed to drive so far to get me, but the doctor recommended I travel on a larger plane.”

“I was happy to come. Got your luggage checked?”

“A small duffel.”

“Not that small, I hope,” said Zack, and then realized he sounded overly jovial. His father had warned him to act natural—only, what was natural? Certainly not having your brother nearly blown apart by a roadside bomb. “Aren’t you staying for a while?”

Brad’s face was hard to read. “I don’t require much and I can buy more. There must be stores in town.”

“And a shop at the resort.”

“Thanks, but I’ll stick to something less grandiose. I’m sure the shop caters to your high-toned guests, not ordinary jarheads.”

“Hey, those high-toned guests pay the bills,” Zack reminded him jokingly. “But it is mostly golf gear and leisure stuff, so it may not suit you. Feel free to borrow from my closet if you can’t find what you want.”

They stopped for the duffel bag. Zack carried it easily and slowed his steps to Brad’s pace.

Brad whistled when he saw the Mercedes. “Pricey vehicle.”

“We have to provide an atmosphere of luxury. It’s part of the aura that keeps visitors returning. They come to be pampered.”

“You’re the expert.”

Settling into the passenger seat, Brad eyed him. “You seem okay. But what’s going on? Mom hasn’t gotten any emails from you for a week and she says that’s odd.”

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Zack said calmly, and realized he should send a note so it didn’t appear as if anything was wrong; his folks didn’t need to lose any more sleep. “A woman is squatting on my land next door. She has a deplorable trailer and thinks she’s going to use it to sell fruits and vegetables. Kim is here, attending to the situation.”

“What about the police?”

“Ms. Conroe claims she owns the property, and the sheriff insists it’s a civil matter. She has this way of verbally twisting things. Kim actually seems to enjoy her,” he ended in disgust.

“What’s she like?” Brad asked.

“Long brunette hair, stubborn chin...smart mouth.”

“Hmm. She’s made quite an impression on you. I’ll have to meet her.”

“It won’t be on my beachfront land if you do.”

Brad chuckled, at the same time sending him an odd look. Zack wasn’t sure how to react, so he remained silent as his brother tilted his seat back and went to sleep.

Quite an impression.

True. Jamie Conroe had done that, dragging her ugly trailer to the site and putting up those signs. He’d remembered that she was pretty, but still had thought of her as a rugged farmer type in overalls. This morning the sun had gleamed on shining, sleep-rumpled hair, and her worn pink bathrobe had sagged, revealing soft skin that sloped into very sweet curves. Not that he’d seen much. Nor was he interested.

Ten minutes passed and Brad stirred restlessly. “Sorry for flaking out.”

“Go ahead. Sleep.”

“I’m a master of cat naps. We had to grab them whenever we could in Iraq and be alert at an instant’s notice.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Brad shifted and massaged his left leg. “I appreciate the offer. Mom and Dad try, but I can see it bugs the hell out of them.”

“What about post-traumatic stress. Is that a problem?” Zack probed. The frank question was a risk, yet he and Brad had always been honest with each other, and Dad had said to be himself.

“Some. I’ve spoken with the counselors, and they think I’m handling it.”