A Home Of His Own. Judith Bowen
embarrassed because she’d intended to have all the floral arrangements in place before the guests showed up.
“I think so. I need to talk to the steward for a minute…” Bethany and Reg moved off, and Lewis stepped behind a large fake potted palm that was part of the boat’s everyday decor.
His heart stopped. That woman—that woman in the black dress. The one with legs that went on forever and russet hair that brushed her shoulder blades on her very bare back. Her very bare freckled back. Lewis had only caught her profile for a flash before she’d turned away from him.
He watched her accept a glass of something that a tall, weedy blond type had plucked off a tray and handed to her with a smile. The guy wore glasses, the old-fashioned horn-rim kind, but they were probably cutting-edge fashion now—with a certain type of man.
Lewis’s heart started to beat again. Nah, couldn’t be.…
But hadn’t he heard that she’d won some big science scholarship? That she was studying pond scum or fish or bugs or some damn thing at the university? Who could have mentioned it to him— Ma? Billy? He knew that his mother and sister thought highly of the entire Longquist family.
She turned again, this time straight toward him. Lewis’s heart lodged in his throat. Yep. Same nose, same eyes…same freckles everywhere. It was Phoebe Longquist.
Had she seen him? He hoped not, but then he noticed that her hand had tightened on her drink and her companion had turned in Lewis’s direction, too, as if aware that his date’s attention was suddenly elsewhere.
“Lew!” Bethany rushed up to him. Thank the Lord for small mercies.
“What is it, Beth?” Lewis couldn’t keep the irritation out of his voice. It was one crisis after another with this woman.
“You’ve got to go back to the shop—here, take the key!” She thrust a key on a chain attached to a wooden daisy at him. “I forgot the most important arrangement, the one for the buffet table.”
“What about Reg?” All Lewis wanted was to go back to his apartment and turn on a baseball game. He was tired of the florist business. Tired of everything.
He didn’t dare look toward Phoebe Longquist. His brain was still churning, trying to think of what he’d say if she approached him. If he couldn’t avoid her entirely.
“Reg can’t drive and I’ve got to finish up here. Pleeease!” Bethany had tears in her pretty blue eyes.
“Hey, of course I will,” Lewis said soothingly, taking the key chain and feeling a little foolish for even thinking he’d rather be watching a baseball game. He’d intended to help her all along. Trust Bethany to hire an assistant who couldn’t drive.
“I’ll be right here, Lew.” She glanced at her watch. “You’re going to have to hurry. The boat’s due to leave in less than half an hour. We’ve got to be finished and out of here by ten to—”
“Don’t worry.” Lewis impulsively dropped a kiss on her nose. She smiled and looked slightly relieved. Lewis desperately wanted to see if Phoebe had noticed. Why had he done that—kissed Bethany? Except to hope that Phoebe noticed.
All the way back to Whyte Avenue, Lewis cursed himself for a fool. Phoebe Longquist was long out of his life. And he was long out of hers. But he could still see her tender smile, her shining eyes the night she’d raided her mom’s kitchen for him and they’d talked until past midnight on her uncle’s hammock in the backyard. He’d felt her genuine goodness warming him through and through. He’d believed that she really, truly cared for him—a stranger—the way no one had ever cared for him before. Not Ma—who’d always been old and preoccupied, as long as Lewis could remember. Not Billy—who kept to herself and was so much older than he was. She was kind, but he sometimes felt he barely knew her. She never talked to anyone if she could help it, anyone except Ma.
Lewis had a hard time getting the key in the front door of Bethany’s Blooms. And then when he did, it wouldn’t turn. Cursing, he tried the old Yale lock on the back door. It fit—just. Naturally Bethany hadn’t mentioned which door the key was supposed to open. Once in the small shop, he looked wildly around for what might be the missing arrangement. There were all kinds of small stock arrangements in the front of her store. Potted baskets. Violets with ribbons. The sort of thing people took to hospital patients.
The cooler.
That made sense. There was a huge, spread-out arrangement of fall flowers in the cooler. That had to be it. And if it wasn’t—tough.
Lewis loaded the arrangement into the van, taking care not to bruise or break any of the stems. He checked his watch. Still fifteen minutes before the boat sailed.
He made the trip back to the dock in record time and leapt out of the van. It was difficult carrying the awkward arrangement with any speed along the footpath, but somehow he managed, sweating and cursing the entire way. It would be a long time before Bethany Cook roped him into something like this again.
So where was she? Lewis hadn’t thought to look for Bethany’s car in the parking lot and now, aboard the Alberta Queen, she was nowhere in sight. Nor was Reg.
Lewis slammed the floral arrangement down on the buffet table in the space that had obviously been left for it, ignoring the scowl of the steward. Or whoever the dandy was, outfitted in a penguin suit and visor cap and looking as if he was in charge. Lewis ripped off the cellophane covering the flowers and thrust it at him.
“Any sign of the flower lady?” he asked, noting that the steward had speedily handed off the plastic wrap to a surprised underling, who stuffed it in the nearby trash container without comment. There was obviously a chain of command here.
“Flower lady?” The steward gave him an icy stare.
“Oh, never mind.” Lewis stalked off. He headed toward the open foredeck, screened from the afternoon sunshine by a big blue-and-white canvas awning. He scanned the deck. Lots of guests, chatting and sipping their wine, but no sign of Bethany or Reg.
Lewis wheeled, intending to leave the boat and give Bethany a piece of his mind as soon as he located her. He stopped.
Phoebe Longquist was standing right in front of him, with the worried-looking blond man at her side.
“Lewis…”
Lewis took a step back. “Hey,” he said, taking a deep breath and nodding. “Phoebe.”
“I…I thought I saw you earlier, bringing in the flowers…” Her eyebrows rose delicately over green-blue eyes. The color of a mountain lake at sunset. God, she was beautiful!
“Yeah, that was me, all right,” he admitted. “Helping a friend.” He looked around and frowned, saw the light in Phoebe’s eyes dim slightly. Man, he could be an unsociable jerk sometimes. Where were his manners? “So, uh, how are you?”
“Fine. And you?”
“Great. I see you’ve still got your freckles.”
Her eyes flashed dangerously. “And I see you’ve still got your bad attitude. Lewis, this is a friend of mine. Boyd Paterson. Boyd— Lewis Hardin.”
Against his will, Lewis found himself shaking hands with the weedy academic type.
“Professor Paterson,” corrected the blond man, nodding vigorously. “Ha-ha. Just recently appointed to the department.” He turned to Phoebe. “Old friend of yours?”
“You could say so,” Phoebe murmured. Lewis saw that she was ruminating over the word friend. “We’re from the same district in southern Alberta.”
Yeah, well. Lewis glanced toward the open deck. He wanted out of here. Fast.
“Are you in the sciences, too, Mr. Hardin?” the professor asked, the sun glinting off his lenses as he inspected Lewis’s casual attire. He’d obviously missed Phoebe’s comment about the flower delivery earlier. “Freshwater algae, perhaps, like