Forever Blue. Suzanne Brockmann
on the serving tables, even in candlesticks mounted on the walls. The effect was lovely, giving the entire room a flickering, golden, fairy-tale like glow.
The dining tables covered half the room, leaving the other half of the hardwood floor open for dancing. A small band—drums, keyboard and guitar—was set up in the corner opposite the bar.
Lucy recognized many of the people scattered about the big room. It was a who’s who of the county’s wealthiest and most powerful citizens. The police chief and his wife were there, as was the president of the bank. The mayor and his wife were chatting with the owner of Carolina Island, the seaside resort located several miles north of the Hatboro Creek town line.
The women wore glittering gowns and the men were dressed in black tuxedos—all except for one. One man—Blue McCoy—was dressed in the resplendent, almost shimmering white of a naval dress uniform. As he turned, the candlelight gleamed on the rows and rows and rows of ribbons and medals he wore on his chest.
His shoulders appeared impossibly broad, with his well-tailored uniform jacket tapering down to his lean hips. He wore officer’s insignia, and Lucy was reminded that Blue was a full lieutenant—unless he’d been even further promoted since the last time she’d asked Gerry about his stepbrother’s naval career.
He was carrying a white hat in his hands. His hair, a dark, shining golden blond, reflected the dim light. He was talking to Mitch Casey, the chairman of Hatboro Creek’s chamber of commerce. Blue’s tanned face looked so serious, so stern, as he nodded at something Casey was saying. He was listening intently, but his blue eyes kept straying toward the front entrance, as if he were waiting for someone. Her? Lucy felt a flash of pleasure. He was. Blue McCoy was watching and waiting for her.
He held himself slightly stiffly, as if he wasn’t quite comfortable in his surroundings. But why should he be? Gerry and his father were the ones who had had the memberships to the country club. Throughout high school, Blue had chosen to hang out and work down by the docks where he kept his little powerboat.
Even when Blue was dating Jenny Lee Beaumont he had stayed away from the country-club set. He’d been a loner back in high school, with only one or two friends who were also outcasts or misfits. He wore a leather jacket and rode a motorcycle that he’d rebuilt from parts, yet unlike the other tough kids, his grades were exceptionally above average. Still, he had a reputation for being a troublemaker simply because he looked the part.
Even back in high school Blue had been slow to smile. He’d been serious and quietly watchful, missing nothing but rarely stepping in. Unless, of course, the cruel teenaged teasing and rudeness went beyond the limits—like the time five members of the boys’ junior-varsity baseball team decided to demonstrate just how unhappy they were that a girl, a Yankee girl, had made the cut and gotten onto the team.
Lucy could hold her own in a fair fight, but five to one were tough odds.
Until Blue fearlessly stepped in, ending the violence with his mere presence. The other kids had learned to keep their distance from him, wary of his quietly seething temper and his ability—and willingness—to fight. And to fight dirty, if he had to.
Apparently he’d had to more than a few times.
According to the story Lucy had heard, Blue had been five when Gerry’s father had adopted the little boy out of obligation. Apparently neither Blue nor Mr. McCoy had been overly happy about that, but Blue had had nowhere else to go. Blue had grown up in his elder stepbrother’s shadow, clearly a burden to his stepfather. Was it any wonder that the little boy should have quickly become self-sufficient and self-reliant? And quietly grim?
Was it any wonder that both the boy and the man he’d become were watchful, intensely serious and slow to smile?
Lucy remembered the way Blue had smiled at her that afternoon. Had Blue smiled at Jenny Lee that way back in high school? It was hard to believe that he had. If he had, with a smile like that, surely Jenny would be marrying Blue this coming Saturday rather than his elder stepbrother.
As Lucy watched, Blue’s attention was pulled away from both the main entrance and Mitch Casey when Gerry McCoy and Jenny Lee Beaumont swept onto the dance floor.
Jenny was wearing a long, pink dress that set off her soft, blond curls and her peaches-and-cream complexion. It had been fifteen years since she’d been in high school, but her skin was still smooth and clear. She still looked like the captain of the cheerleading squad, with her sweet smile and perfect, beautiful features—a fact that no doubt had helped her land her job as entertainment news reporter for the local TV station.
Gerry, however, looked tense, his smile forced as he led his bride-to-be in a slow dance. Was he feeling threatened, perhaps, by his stepbrother’s larger-than-life presence?
Physically, the two men couldn’t have been less alike. Gerry was taller than Blue but slighter, almost willowy, if that word could be used to describe a man. Although they both had blond hair, Gerry’s was a lighter, paler shade, and his hair was fine and slightly thinning on top, not thick and wavy like Blue’s. And though Blue’s smiles were scarce, Gerry’s were almost constant. In fact, Gerry’s carefree, fun-time, no-worries attitude contrasted so sharply with Blue’s serious intensity that Lucy found it hard to believe the two men had lived under the same roof as young boys. It seemed almost impossible that they’d shared a home and not driven each other crazy with their different approaches to life.
But the talk around town was that despite their differences, Gerry and Blue had been closer than many blood brothers, that their strengths and weaknesses had complemented one another. Lucy didn’t know for sure that that was true. By the time she and her mother had moved to Hatboro Creek, Gerry was off at college, and by the time Gerry returned after college, Blue had already left to join the Navy.
Lucy gazed across the ballroom, studying Blue’s face, watching him as he watched Gerry dance with Jenny Lee.
His gaze swept around the room, passing directly over Lucy with no glint of recognition, as if she weren’t even there—or as if he’d forgotten that she even existed, as if she paled so absolutely compared with Jenny Lee.
Lucy’s stomach clenched in disappointment. But really now, she scolded herself. What did she expect? Did she honestly think she’d be anything to Blue but a poor substitute for the woman he truly wanted? She had to keep her imagination in line here. If she wasn’t careful, she’d start believing that Blue had unconsciously reached out to her because deep down he was searching desperately for a good woman to love. Or she might start believing that she could make Blue fall in love with her, that just one glorious night of lovemaking with Lucy would soften his damaged heart.
No, the sad truth was, Lucy had come here tonight with her eyes wide open. She knew exactly what Blue wanted from her. He wanted sex. No strings, no desperate search, no falling in love, no softening hearts.
She knew that, and she’d come anyway.
Except now the way Blue’s eyes seemed to look right through her signified a decided lack of interest on his part.
Lucy was a fool for thinking she could ever compete with Jenny Lee. Even though Jenny was engaged to marry another man, she was so pretty and sweet it was crazy to think that Blue wouldn’t be carrying a torch for her. No doubt he’d asked Lucy here tonight hoping for a distraction—a distraction that she’d failed to provide.
Lucy knew she should turn away, walk out of the room and down the long corridor to the stairs that led out to the back parking lot. But she couldn’t move. She could only gaze at Blue and wish that things were different.
His rugged features were impassive, his eyes revealing nothing—no emotion, nothing. And that, of course, convinced Lucy that there was something Blue was working so hard to hide.
On the other hand, she had to admit it was a no-win situation for Blue. She knew that she was not the only person in the room watching him for his reaction to his stepbrother and his former sweetheart’s dance. If he smiled, it would be with “bittersweet longing.” If he frowned, it would be with “barely concealed jealousy.”
No,