Heart of Stone. Lenora Worth

      “What’s wrong with you?” Ana asked Tara the following Saturday.

      They were sitting in lawn chairs behind the tiny Sunset Island Chapel, overlooking the docks of the bay and Sunset Sound to the west. Out over the sound, hungry gulls searched the waters for tasty tidbits, their caws sounding shrill in the late-afternoon air. A fresh-smelling tropical breeze rattled through the tall, moss-draped live oaks, its touch swaying the palmetto branches clustered here and there around the property. Behind them, near an arched trellis, a gardenia bush was blossoming with sweet-scented bursts of white flowers.

      “I’m okay,” Tara replied, her dark sunshades hiding the truth she felt sure was flashing through her eyes. “Just another fight with Laurel.”

      “Oh, yes, that,” Ana said. “I heard.” Taking a quick look around, she added, “Well, she seems to be over not going to the concert. Look at her.” She inclined her head toward the docks.

      Tara leaned up, squinting, then saw her daughter and Cal, sitting on one of the many wooden docks lining the bay where luxury yachts shared slips with smaller, less impressive sailboats, shrimp boats and motorboats. They were talking and laughing, their hands waving in the air. Not far away, a long brown pelican stood sentinel on an aged pier railing.

      “He is a very nice boy,” Tara said, lifting a hand toward Cal. “A good influence on Laurel, if he’ll stick to the rules and not sneak off into the night with her again.”

      “Oh, I think Cal’s learned his lesson on that one,” Ana replied. “His father made him work that particular crime off, sweating and painting all summer.”

      “What about his mother? I never hear anyone mention her.”

      “She died when he was seven. It’s sad, really. Don has sisters and brothers who help him with his children. Cal’s got two older sisters, too, who watch out for him.”

      “That explains a few things,” Tara said, her heart hurting for her daughter. “Maybe that’s why Laurel’s drawn to Cal. You know, losing a parent.”

      “Maybe.” Ana sat up, waved to someone she knew. “Oh, I need to talk to that woman. She commissioned a small sculpture from Eloise, to be delivered to my shop. I want to tell her it’s ready.”

      “Okay,” Tara said, closing her eyes as she settled back to let the sun wash over her. “I’ll just lie here and vegetate a few more minutes before I find the strength to sample more of Rock’s wonderful barbecued ribs.”

      “Yes, my husband does have nice ribs,” Ana quipped, slapping Tara playfully on the leg as she hopped up.

      Tara didn’t bother opening her eyes. The sun felt good on her legs. She’d worn a black gauze sarong skirt, lightweight and cool-feeling, with a knit red-and-black flower-splashed sleeveless top. Lifting at the skirt, she kicked off her black leather thong sandals and tried for the hundredth time to relax.

      But all she could think about was her money woes and the fact that her oldest daughter thought she was a horrible mother. She’d prayed that things would turn around for her family, hoped that God would see fit to give her another chance. But she still had doubts. She still needed answers, guidance, assurance.

      And maybe some solid health and life insurance.

      Help me here, Lord, she thought. Help me to make my life better, for the sake of my children. She’d tried so hard all summer, working on two different land deals. But this was about more than money. Tara needed the money those deals could bring, but she also needed to spend time with her children. She’d taken way too much time off already, and her bosses weren’t too happy about that. What am I supposed to do, Lord?

      A shadow fell across Tara’s face.

      Annoyed, she opened her eyes to find Stone Dempsey standing over her. She didn’t know why her heart seemed to sail off like a ship leaving the cove. She didn’t understand why he looked so very good in his stark white polo shirt and olive-khaki pleated slacks. Tara only knew that she needed some answers. From God and Stone Dempsey.

      “Me,” he said, as if to answer the one question she was about to ask.

      “You,” Tara replied. “What are you doing here, Stone?”

      “I came bearing gifts.” He tossed a bouquet of fresh cut flowers onto her lap.

      Tara sat up, sniffed the lilies and roses. “How did you know where to find me?”

      “I have ways of finding people,” he said. “Especially when I’m in the middle of negotiating a contract.”

      Tara imagined he knew every move she’d made since they last talked, which was a bit too unsettling. But she refused to let her qualms show. “Well, you obviously aren’t too concerned, since you refused to return my calls.”

      He took that in, glanced out at the harbor, then lifted his shades to stare down at her. “I’ve been busy coming up with another plan. And I’m here because I hope we can renegotiate.”

      The heat from his eyes hit her with all the warmth of the sun, causing Tara to shift and straighten her skirt. “Meaning the contract, of course?”

      “Among other things.”

      Tara thought she knew what other things he wanted to haggle over, but she didn’t dare think about that now. “What’s to renegotiate? You’ve named your price and I’ve accepted it.”

      “With a certain stipulation, if you’ll recall?”

      “Yes, I recall. I never wanted to see you again. But I need to sell that property, so in spite of how I feel, I’ve tried calling you to discuss things. You obviously aren’t in a big hurry for that land, after all.”

      “I’m in a hurry,” he said, leaning down so close she could smell the subtle spice of his aftershave. “But I can be patient, too.”

      “What does that mean?” Tara said, trying to get up out of the low chair.

      He reached down and pulled her out of the chair with one hand on her arm, then brought her close, his gaze sweeping her. “Careful now.”

      Why couldn’t she be graceful around him, at least, Tara wondered. Because the man flustered her, plain and simple.

      Not so plain and not so simple.

      “I told you, I’m through playing games,” Tara said, trying to move around him, her flowers clutched to her side.

      “I’m not playing, Tara.” The look in his eyes washed over her like a warm, shimmering ocean wave, leaving her both languid and alert. “Have dinner with me.”

      “Absolutely not.”

      “I won’t take no for an answer.”

      “Oh, yes, you will. Because it’s not going to happen.”

      “Tara, what’s going on with you and Stone?” Ana asked Tara later that night. “He’s called here three times.” Before Tara could reply, Ana clapped her hands together. “Did you take me up on my suggestion? Is that it? Are you going out with Stone, like on a date?”

      “Oh, please!”

      Tara sat across the massive kitchen counter of the tea room, folding napkins for tomorrow’s after-church brunch crowd. The girls and her parents were down on the beach with Rock and Cal, leaving the two sisters alone in the big Victorian house that served both as Ana’s tea room and art gallery on the bottom floor and Ana and Rock” s home on the second and third floors. Business had been so good at the quaint restaurant, Rock and Ana hadn’t really had a proper honeymoon—just one weekend together alone in this big old house. But Ana didn’t seem to mind. She was happy. Too happy to understand this problem with Rock’s brother.

      Which was why Tara had debated telling Ana about Stone. Now she didn’t have any choice. He’d called here, asking for Tara. Luckily, Rock hadn’t answered.