The Shucker's Booktique Page 3

  Willa swore one of the birds told her to drink her tea. She smiled and padded down to the kitchen to do just that. Normally, she’d help herself to a cup of coffee or two, but this morning, she craved the drink she’d shared with Lon last night. The spices still lingered on her tongue, bringing back the memory of her night-time visitor and the power of his touch.

  With her mug in one hand and her tablet in the other, she sat down to scan the news and check her e-mail. As the tension of the morning seeped from her shoulders, the shrill ring of the phone demolished the tranquil moment.

  “Hello,” she said into the old receiver after plucking it from the wall. She used to make fun of her aunt for keeping the thing, with its tangled, extra-long, coiled chord. But now, as she handled the phone, a reassuring warmth spread through her palm at the thought of her aunt.

  “Willa.” Her mom’s blunt voice came through the connection as clear as the morning outside.

  Willa winced. She needed a pep-talk from her mother about as much as she needed a hammer to the head. “Hi, Mom.”

  “Have you finished the month-end finances?”

  “I just got here two weeks ago.”

  A pause. “I don’t see your point.”

  “I’m not even sure I’ve found all the receipts, invoices and bank statements. You know Aunt Jenny, she’s not exactly the most organized.”

  “No. She’s a spineless dreamer. You have a lot in common with your father’s sister. It must be genetic.”

  The insult would’ve stung had it been the first, or even second or third time Willa had heard it, but her mom held nothing back when it came to expressing her opinion of her youngest daughter. Well, you and my sisters made me this way.

  “When can I expect you to e-mail them?” her mom asked.

  “I’ll try to get to them today.”

  “Don’t try, do.”

  “Mom, I—”

  “If you spent half the time doing as you were told instead of whining, you’d probably have the job done by now.”

  Wow. What would her mother and sisters think if they knew she’d spent time entertaining a handsome late-night visitor instead of balancing the books? “I wasn’t whining. I wanted to know if the police had contacted you. Have you heard anything about Aunt Jenny?”

  Her mom went silent on the other side of the line. Willa could imagine her clutching the cell phone with a death grip and pursing her lips. She used to wonder what she’d done to piss off her mother so much. Now, she just wanted to be left alone.

  “Are you so eager to foist off your aunt’s store on someone else?” her mom finally asked.

  “What? No!” How could her mom even think that? “I want to know Aunt Jenny is okay.”

  “Humph. Well, we’ll see about that. If you want to help your aunt out, you’ll do a better job of running her business. That bookstore turned a profit every year since she started, surprising for such a dilapidated, hinky place.” Her mom sneered the word bookstore. “Full of fluff-heads. You need to report your sales to me daily.”

  Mom had never managed to say the name of the store, The Shucker’s Booktique. Found it beneath her, and “fluff-heads” in her mom’s own words were people who didn’t take life seriously. Or as Willa decided, people who had a sense of humour and found enjoyment in life.

  “Yes, Mom,” Willa replied. “I’ll send an e-mail.”

  “Yes, you will. And stop sounding so upset about it. You should thank me for sending you down there instead of one of your sisters. They would’ve been more capable, but they have families. They have lives.” She snorted. “It’s not like you had anything worth sticking around for in Lewiston. Not after George left.”

  “Mom…” Willa closed her eyes, knowing instinctively where this conversation headed, yet powerless to stop it.

  “What? If you knew how to keep a man, you wouldn’t be thirty and alone. You’ll end up like your aunt. You should ask your sisters for advice. Maybe one of them can help you.”

  Willa took a deep breath. What was the point? In the past, she’d tried to defend herself and her choices, only to get steamrolled by her mom’s indomitable will, or her sisters’. Better to just smile and nod and then, maybe, she’d be left alone. “Yes, Mom.” She nodded. “You’re right, of course.”

  “Humph. Well, just make sure you send those e-mails right at close.”

  “Okay. Talk to—”

  Her mom hung up and the dial tone responded to her instead of her mother’s voice. Her mother. Once Willa had wanted to hear the words “I love you” or “I’m proud of you” come out of her mom’s mouth. Now, Willa knew better. Those words would never come. Her very existence insulted her mom somehow and Willa had resigned herself to accepting she’d never know why.

  ****

  After putting her dishes away and brushing her teeth, Willa flipped the sign over and opened the door to let some fresh air circulate through. She scrolled through her mp3 player to find the right playlist. Today would be a classical day; the perfect music to play along with the chirping birds.

  Customers took advantage of the turn in the weather and trickled in to say hello. They all wanted to know how the investigation into Jenny’s disappearance was going and more than a few purchased books—pity purchases, most likely, but if Aunt Jenny ever returned, Willa wanted to have some money waiting for her.

  Willa put the feather duster behind the counter, and tapped her fingers on the hard wood surface. She’d walked through every aisle this morning to dust the bindings, but her thoughts kept circling back to Lon and his stormy eyes. His strong hands, and hard body…

  Her heart fluttered.

  Maybe she should sweep the floor. Again. Anything to keep her mind off her night-time visitor and the feelings he invoked. She could take the books off the shelves one by one and clean behind them. What would she find? More dust? Blood?

  Willa shuddered. Her aunt was still missing. She needed to focus on that and do something about it.

  When her mother demanded Willa drop everything to help out, she’d been confused. Surely the book business should be the least of their concerns. Wasn’t it a crime scene? But the local police assured her they’d already scoured the little shop and found no signs of foul play. After a lengthy interrogation, they allowed her access to The Shucker’s Booktique.

  Despite knowing her mom wanted a piece of the profits, Willa decided her presence here might turn out to be a good thing. Maybe she could find something if she stayed. Maybe her aunt would return to the shop, and if she did, Willa wanted to be here for her. So Willa had agreed to run the bookstore. Her mother was right on one account—with George already out of the picture, she didn’t leave much behind; just an office job, and an idiot of a boss.

  The bells rang as Betty Quinn, the owner of the Sea Crest Inn, walked through the front door. The other bookstore in Lobster Cove sat on the same property as Betty’s Inn, so when Willa first met Betts two weeks ago, she’d expected some animosity or rivalry, but the older woman had been warm and welcoming. Motherly, if Willa had a good example to go by.

  Betts nodded at the other customers as she made her way to Willa at the counter. “Ms. McCorkle is under the weather today,” she said. “I’m looking for one of those old romance books she loves so much. Do you recommend anything?”

  “Has she read the latest Scarlette LaFlamme?”

  “Of course that Irish biddy has,” Betts replied with a laugh. “Do you have anything else?”

  “I know just the thing.” Willa smiled. “Follow me.” She stepped out from behind the counter and led Betts to the back corner of the store. The books in this section had covers of half-naked, long-haired men in lunge positions with distraught women throwing their Regency-clad bodies against them. Willa had a hard time believing in fairy tale romances. Her only serious relationship certainly hadn’t ended with a happily ever after, but the books were perfect for Ms. McCorkle.

  “Perfect,” Betts echoed her thoughts and then scanned through the used
books. “You look a bit pensive, dear. What’s on your mind?”

  “You’re a Covian, right? Your family’s been here for generations. Do you have any clue to Scarlette LaFlamme’s real identity?”

  Betts laughed and shook her head. “No, and if I knew, Ms. McCorkle surely would’ve badgered it out of me. She’s been on me for years for secrets I don’t possess.” She fingered the bindings of the old romance novels and walked a few steps away. “Are you sure it’s LaFlamme you wanted to ask about?”

  Willa glanced around to find them alone in the book aisle. Well, with Ms. McCorkle sick, no one else would be in this corner of the bookstore, anyway. “I need to get a hold of a…customer…from yesterday. But I only know his first name. I thought maybe, with your knowledge of everyone in town…”

  “That I might know him? It’s a possibility. What’s his name?”

  “Lon.”

  She shook her head. “Odd name. Doesn’t ring a bell. Means ‘fierce’ in Gaelic, right?”

  Willa shook her head. She had no clue, but it fit.

  “Describe him for me.” Betts pulled out a book and glanced at the cover before flipping it over.

  “Really tall, lots of muscles, face like…like it was carved from porcelain rocks by the ocean. He had these eyes…they looked like thunderclouds.” Willa wrung her hands together as a wave of heat swept through her body. Even now, with Lon nowhere in sight, she wanted him.

  Betts turned to her with large rounded eyes and parted lips that formed an O.

  Willa coughed into her fist. “Tall, muscular, black hair, gray eyes. Do you know him?”

  “Did he look like this, dear?” Betts held up a book with a dark-haired, bare-chested hero with a pirate ship wrecked on the beach behind him. His chest and abs well-defined as if sculpted from rocks, chiseled cheekbones, a straight Greek nose and piercing eyes that radiated sexual heat from the worn cover.

  Willa cleared her throat. “Yeah, that kind of nails it.” She took a step away and reordered some of the books. Her cheeks burned and she hoped Betts couldn’t see through her innocent question to the lust raging underneath. God! She didn’t even know this man. “Minus the pirate gear, of course.”

  “Of course. But I don’t think I know him.” The older woman shook her head again and after reading the back cover of a few books, she waved one in the air. “This will do nicely.”

  They walked back to the counter in silence.

  “Is there anything else I can get you?” Willa asked before ringing up Betts’ purchase.

  “No, dear. I’m sorry I don’t know your Lon. I’m sure from your description I would remember such a man.”

  “He’s not my Lon,” she said, maybe a little too quickly. Heat spread across Willa’s cheeks again as she fumbled to bag the woman’s purchase. Betts had seen straight through her question, all right.

  The woman chuckled. “He must be something.”

  “Um, yeah. He left an impression.” Willa handed Betts the bag without meeting her gaze.

  “If I see your gentleman, I’ll let him know you’re looking for him.”

  “What? No! That’s not why…I just wanted… Oh never mind.” Willa’s shoulders sank, and Betts flashed her a knowing smile before walking out of the store.

  Maybe if Willa knew more about Lon besides his first name. Surely, he’d have been seen by others if he’d been good friends with Aunt Jenny.

  Or did he always visit at night? During horrendous thunderstorms?

  Another pang streaked through her chest, and she wheezed out a breath. He said he wasn’t Jenny’s lover. Why did she still feel pain at the idea of him spending time with her aunt? He’d known her long before he met Willa.

  Steeling herself against her lusting body, she moved from around the counter to help an older man with white hair and a slightly stooped posture with his purchase. He wanted a book for his granddaughter who’d just moved to Canada with her family. Willa smiled and handed him Robert Munsch’s 50 Below Zero.

  He chuckled and nodded.

  While Willa rang up his purchase, she thought of her aunt. Why would she leave this place? Without a word, without money and without a struggle. Her aunt might be a quiet recluse, but surely she would’ve put up some sort of fight.

  Willa handed the man his purchase with a smile.

  “That man,” he leaned in and whispered. “The one you asked Betty Quinn about?”

  Willa’s body snapped to attention and her nails dug into the wood counter. “Yes?”

  “I’ve seen him,” he said. “Always down by the water.”

  “Do you know him?”

  “No,” the man said, and then he leaned in. “Seems like the dangerous sort. I’d keep my distance if I were you.” He held up the bag and nodded in thanks before sauntering out of the store, leaving Willa more torn than ever.

  She needed to learn more about Lon…Lon whatever-his-last-name-was.

  ****

  The old man’s warning rang through Lon’s incorporeal form. The stooped figure stood ankle-deep in the lapping water in the early afternoon and spoke in a low, rumbling voice. Who was this guy? The old man certainly knew all about Lon.

  It wasn’t taboo, per se, for others to know about him and his brothers. Lots of supernatural creatures existed and something about this man’s energy and the way it crackled in the ocean told him the old man might be in the “other” category like himself.

  Lon’s brothers swirled around the stranger’s feet in question, but Lon told them to leave the man alone. Unless he posed a direct danger to exposing the existence of Tempests, he’d be safe, just like Jenny had been. She’d figured out Lon’s secret from reading one of her blasted books, not from Lon. The distinction mattered.

  He couldn’t tell anyone of his otherness unless he bound his life to them. Disclosure was forbidden, and no one crossed the Sea God without punishment. Despite dire warnings, it had happened before; a Tempest, wild with lust, divulged their secret to his lover, only to disappear. Poof! His very existence eradicated from the ocean by their lord and master. Nobody crossed the God of the Sea.

  Bonding was the only acceptable option, but it meant maintaining a human form for the duration of his life. He’d lose immortality and the ability to take the Tempest form except during a storm. No riding the tides with his brothers, no constant motion or travel.

  Lon flowed with the gentle undertow away from the man and his warnings. He sighed at the simple thrill shivering through his wispy, ethereal form.

  No, not happening. No way would he give this up.

  But Willa had been asking about him. He needed to find out what she knew about Jenny’s disappearance and stop her from discovering his true nature. He dove farther into the depths of the ocean and felt the rising energy as the ring of towering thunderstorms drew closer with each circular twist.

  He’d see Willa soon.

  And then he’d get some answers.

  ****

  A loud crash of thunder rocked the old house and stirred up the scents from the summer morning. A streak of lightning followed an instant later, flashing white and orange across Willa’s vision as though she lay directly under the storm, instead of her bedroom’s ceiling. Another loud boom rattled the furniture.

  The wind howled through the birch leaves and rain pounded the road outside and rooftops. In the distance, the eerie low moan of a foghorn announced a ship coming home in the dark stormy night.

  Looks like Mother Nature is back with a vengeance. Willa cast her bedding aside. She couldn’t sleep. She kept thinking of Lon, and this time she’d woken to find herself rubbing against her traitorous hand. She must’ve slipped it between her legs in her sleep.

  Gah!

  A handsome face had never made her feel like this before—like running down the streets until she found him. Crazy thoughts! If she couldn’t hold onto a man like George, what the heck would she do with Lon? Her attraction to an almost complete stranger defied normalcy.

  She padded down the
stairs, flicked on the lights and turned on the kettle. Maybe she held a masochistic streak, wanting to drink more of the tea that reminded her of Lon. Once she plopped the tea bag in her cup—a sacrilegious tea method according to her mother—she sat down and inhaled the bevy of herbal scents. The steam lifted off the tea and warmed her face, and the tension eased from her shoulders.

  She’d closed up shop a bit early and spent some time cleaning up the backyard. The destructive storm had ravaged the trees and Willa had spent hours clearing birch branches and raking leaves. With the wind howling outside again, had it even been worth it?

  She wished there was more she could do for the sad-looking trees. They stood so tall and willowy, defying the harsh summer heat, and she found herself talking to them like an idiot, as if they were people, not bark and sap. Now they were probably getting another good thrashing and Willa’s muscles ached from the effort.

  Thump! Thump! Thump!

  No! She gasped. It couldn’t be. The banging on the front door of the booktique had to be a figment of her imagination. She couldn’t will Lon into existence. Why would he come back? Especially if he was involved. Unless…cold ice prickled up her spine…unless he needed to eliminate her.

  No. Crazy thoughts, Willa. He could’ve taken care of her the night before. No, her heart hammered against her chest for a different reason. But it didn’t matter. The knocking on the door wouldn’t, couldn’t be him.

  Thump! Thump! Thump!

  Could it? She clutched her hot mug in both hands and turned toward the doorway leading to the bookstore. From the kitchen in the back room, she had a clear view through the store to the front door, but not who stood on the other side.

  “Willa!” Lon growled. “Wake up and let me in!”

  Willa gasped and almost dropped her cup. The tea sloshed around, and some spilled over her hands. It burned, but she didn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. Somehow the air got trapped inside her throat. Why was he here? What did he want?

  Oh god, let it be me!

  She bit her lip. Foolish woman! He wouldn’t want someone so plain. Maybe he had news of her aunt. She set her cup down on the table and scrambled to the booktique’s front door.