Sanctuary

  And I’ve done considerable studying on the subject. You could even say I’ve dedicated a small portion of my life to it, with mixed results.”

  “It’s not a matter of how they all work.” Patiently Giff began replacing screws. “You gotta focus in on the one. It’s like an engine. One don’t necessarily run the same as another, even if they’re the same make and model. They’ve just got their particular quirks. Now, Alexa ...”

  He trailed off, carefully sending another screw home, selecting the next. “She’s almost too pretty for her own good. She thinks about that a lot, worries over it.”

  “She’s got enough glop on her bathroom counter to paint up a Vegas chorus line,” Brian put in.

  “Some women feel that’s a responsibility. Now, Lex, she gets ticked off if a man’s not dazzled by her twenty-four hours a day, and if he is dazzled twenty-four hours a day, she figures he’s an idiot ’cause he’s not seeing anything but the surface. The trick is to find the line, then choose the right time and place to cross it.”

  Brian flipped eggs onto a plate. It was Lexy to a tee, he mused. Contrary and annoying. “Seems like too much work to me.”

  “Hell, Bri, women aren’t anything but work.” Giff flicked up the brim of his hat, dimples flashing. “That’s part of the appeal. She’ll run for you now,” he added, nodding at the dishwasher.

  Gauging the time, he calculated that Lexy would be coming back in for her orders any moment. “Ginny and me and some of the others are thinking of having a bonfire on the beach tonight,” he said casually. “Down around by Osprey Dunes. I got a lot of scrap wood put by, and it’s going to be a clear night.” When Lexy pushed through the door, Giff was a satisfied man. “I thought you might want to tell your guests here, let the cottagers and campers know.”

  “Know what?” Lex demanded.

  “About the bonfire.”

  “Tonight?” Her eyes lit as she set dishes on the counter. “Where?”

  “Down around Osprey.” Giff carefully replaced his tools in his dented metal box. “You’ll come on down, won’t you, Brian?”

  “I don’t know, Giff. I’ve got some paperwork to catch up on.”

  “Oh, come on, Bri.” Lexy nudged him as she reached for the new orders. “Don’t be such a stick. We’ll all come.” Hoping to irritate Giff, she flashed an inviting smile at Nathan. “You’ll come down, won’t you? There’s nothing like a bonfire on the beach.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it.” He slid a cautious glance at Giff, hoping the man had put his hammer away.

  “Terrific.” She beamed at him as she walked by, the full-candlepower smile she saved for special occasions. “I’ll start spreading the word.”

  Giff scratched his chin as he unfolded himself and rose. “No need to look so uneasy, Nate. Flirting comes naturally to Lexy.”

  “Uh-huh.” Nathan eyed the toolbox, thought of all the potential weapons inside.

  “Doesn’t bother me any.” At home, Giff took a biscuit out of a bowl and bit in. “Man decides to take on a beautiful woman, he’s got to expect a little flirting on her side, a lot of looking from other men. So you go right on and look.” Giff hefted his toolbox and winked. “Now, you do more than look, we’d have to go around some. See you tonight.”

  He went off whistling.

  “You know, Bri ...” Nathan picked up his plate to carry it to the sink. “That guy has biceps like rock. I don’t believe I’m even going to look.”

  “Good thinking. Now you can pay for that breakfast by loading the dishwasher.”

  “I don’t feel like socializing, Kate. I’m going to do some darkroom work tonight.”

  “You’re not doing any kind of work.” Kate marched over to Jo’s dresser, picked up the simple wooden-handled hairbrush, and shook it at her. “You’re going to put on some lipstick, fix your hair, and go down to that bonfire. You’re going to dance in the sand, drink some wine, and by God, you’re going to have a good time.”

  Before Jo could protest again, Kate held up a hand, traffic-cop style. “Save your breath, girl. I’ve already had this round with Brian, and won. You might as well just throw in the towel now.”

  When she tossed the hairbrush, Jo caught it before it beaned her. “I don’t see why it matters—”

  “It matters,” Kate said between her teeth and wrenched open the door on the rosewood armoire. “It matters that people in this house learn how to have a little fun now and then. When I’m through with you, I’m going to go browbeat your father.”

  Jo snorted, flopped back on the bed. “Not a chance.”

  “He’ll go,” Kate said grimly as she studied what there was of Jo’s wardrobe. “If I have to knock him unconscious and drag him down to the beach. Don’t you have a blouse in here that looks remotely like you care what you have on your back?” Disgusted, she shoved aside hangers. “Something the least bit stylish or attractive?”

  Without waiting for an answer, she went to the door, calling out, “Alexa! You pick out a blouse for your sister and bring it down here.”

  “I don’t want one of her shirts.” Alarmed now, Jo hopped up. “If I have to go, I’ll go in my own clothes. And I’m not going, so it doesn’t matter.”

  “You’re going. Put some curl in your hair. I’m tired of seeing it just hang there.”

  “I don’t have anything to put curl in it with if I wanted curl in it, which I don’t.”

  “Hah!” was Kate’s only response. “Alexa, you bring that blouse and your hot rollers down here to your sister’s room.”

  “You stay out of here, Lex,” Jo shouted. “Kate, I’m not sixteen years old.”

  “No, you’re not.” Kate gave a decisive nod, the little gold drops in her ears bobbing at the movement. “You’re a grown woman, and a lovely one. It’s long past time you took some pride in it. Now, you’re going, and you’re going to put some effort into your appearance, and I won’t take any sass about it. Damn kids, fighting me every which way,” she muttered and swung into Jo’s bathroom. “Not even a wand of mascara in here. You want to be a nun, enter a convent. Lipstick is not a tool of Satan.”

  With a blouse slung over her shoulder and a case of hot rollers in her hand, Lexy came in. Her mood was up in anticipation of the night ahead, so she grinned and wiggled her eyebrows at Jo. “On one of her rampages?”

  “Big-time one. I don’t want my hair curled.”

  “Oh, loosen up, Jo Ellen.” Lexy dumped the rollers on the dresser, then checked out her own appearance in the mirror. She’d kept the makeup subtle to suit the casual event. In any case, firelight was terrifically flattering. Most would be wearing jeans, she knew, so her long, flowing skirt covered with red poppies would make an interesting contrast.

  “And I’m not wearing your clothes.”

  “Suit yourself.” Lexy turned, pursed her lips, and gave her sister the once-over. She was feeling just good enough to be companionable. “Hmm. Frills aren’t your style.”

  “Now there’s news. Just let me note that down.”

  Lexy let the sarcasm roll off her perfumed shoulders and walked a slow circle around her sister. “Got a plain black T-shirt that isn’t so baggy two of you could slide into it?”

  Wary, Jo nodded. “Probably.”

  “Black jeans?” At Jo’s assenting shrug, Lexy tapped her finger to her lips. “That’s the way we’ll go then. Sleek and hip. Maybe some dangles at the ears and a good belt to accessorize, but that’s all. No curls, either.”

  “No curls?”

  “Nope, but you need a new do.” Lexy continued to tap her finger, her eyes narrowing, her head nodding. “I can fix that. A little snip here, a little snip there.”

  “Snip?” Jo put both hands to her hair in defense. “What do you mean, snip? I’m not letting you cut my hair.”

  “What do you care? It’s just hanging there anyway.”

  “Exactly.” Kate breezed back in. “Lexy’s got a nice touch with hair. She trims mine up if I can’t get over to the mainland. Go wash it
, Jo. Lexy, go get your scissors.”

  “Fine.” Defeated, Jo threw up her hands. “Just fine. If she scalps me I won’t have to go sit on the sand with a bunch of fools half the night listening to somebody sing ‘Kum Ba Yah.’ ”

  Fifteen minutes later, she found herself sitting with a towel bibbed around her and bits of hair falling. “Jesus.” Jo squeezed her eyes tight. “I have lost my mind. It’s now official.”

  “Stop squirming,” Lexy ordered, but there was a laugh in the order rather than a sting. “I’ve barely done anything. Yet. And think how long this is going to keep Cousin Kate off your back.”

  “Yeah.” Jo forced her shoulders to relax. “Yeah, there is that.”

  “You’ve got great hair, Jo. Good body, a nice natural wave.” She pouted a little, studying her own wildly spiraling mane in the mirror. “Don’t know why I have to pay such money for curl, myself. My hair’s straight as a pin.”

  With a shrug for life’s vagaries, she concentrated again on the job at hand. “A decent cut’s all you need. What I’m doing is giving you one that you won’t have to do a thing with.”

  “I already don’t do a thing.”

  “And it looks it. This won’t.”

  “Just don’t cut off too . . .” Jo’s eyes went huge, her throat closed as she watched three inches of hair flop into her lap. “Christ! Oh, Christ! What have you done?”

  “Relax, I’m giving you bangs, that’s all.”

  “Bangs? Bangs? I didn’t ask for bangs.”

  “Well, you’re getting them. A nice fringe to the eyebrow. Your eyes are your best feature. This will highlight them, and it’s a nice, casual look that suits you.” She continued to comb and snip, stood back, scowled and snipped some more. “I like it. Yes, I like it.”

  “Good for you,” Jo muttered. “You wear it.”

  “You’re going to owe me an apology.” Lexy squirted some gel in her palm, rubbed her hands together, then slicked them through Jo’s damp hair. “You only need a little of this, about the size of a dime.”

  Jo scowled at the tube. “I don’t use hair gunk.”

  “You’re going to. Just a little,” she repeated, then switched on her blow-dryer. “You can air-dry it too, but this’ll give it a little more volume. Won’t take you more than ten minutes in the morning to fuss with it.”

  “Doesn’t take me more than two now. What’s the damn point?” Jo told herself she didn’t care about the cut. She was tired of sitting there being fussed with, that was all. She wasn’t nervous.

  “Fine.” Lexy switched off the dryer, tugged out the plug. “All you do is bitch and find fault. Go ahead and look like a hag. I don’t give a shit.” She stormed out, leaving Jo to tug the towel aside bad-temperedly.

  But when she caught her reflection in the mirror, she stopped, stepped closer. It looked ... nice, she decided, and lifted a hand to brush the tips. Instead of hanging, it skimmed, she supposed, angled over the ears, graduated toward the back. It was sort of . . . breezy, she decided. The bangs weren’t such a bad touch after all. Experimentally, she shook her head. Everything fell back into place, more or less. Nothing drooped into her eyes to irritate her.

  She picked up her brush, ran it through and watched her hair rise and fall in nice, neat blunt ends. Tidy, she mused. Fuss-free, but with, well, style. She had to admit it had style and the style flattered.

  The memory snuck through of sitting on the edge of her bed while her mother brushed her hair.

  You’ve got beautiful hair, Jo Ellen. So thick and soft. It’s going to be your crowning glory.

  It’s the same color as yours, Mama.

  I know. And Annabelle laughed and hugged her close. You’ll be my little twin.

  “I can’t be your twin, Mama,” Jo whispered now. “I can’t be like you.”

  Wasn’t that why she’d never done anything more with her hair than scrape it back into an elastic band? Wasn’t that why there was no tube of mascara in the bathroom? Was it stubbornness, Jo wondered, or was it fear, that kept her from spending more than five minutes a day on her appearance? From really looking at herself?

  If she was going to keep herself sane, Jo thought, she was going to have to learn how to face what she saw in the mirror every day. And facing it, she realized, she would have to learn to accept it.

  Taking a bracing breath, she left her room and walked down to Lexy’s.

  She found Lexy in the bathroom, choosing a lipstick from among the clutter of cosmetics on the counter.

  “I’m sorry.” When Lexy said nothing, Jo took the last step forward. “Lexy, I am sorry. You were absolutely right. I was being bitchy, I was finding fault.”

  Lexy stared down at the little gold tube, watched the slick red stick slide up and down. “Why?”

  “I’m scared.”

  “Of what?”

  “Everything.” It was a relief to admit it, finally. “Everything scares me these days. Even a new haircut.” She managed to work up a smile. “Even a terrific new haircut.”

  Lexy relented enough to smile back when their eyes met in the mirror. “It is pretty terrific. It would look better if you had some color, fixed up your eyes.”

  Jo sighed, looked down at the personal department store of cosmetics. “Why not? Can I use some of this stuff?”

  “Anything there would work. We’re the same coloring.” Lexy turned back to the mirror, carefully painted her lips. “Jo ... are you scared of being alone?”

  “No. I do alone really well.” Jo picked up blusher, sniffed at it. “That’s about all that doesn’t scare me.”

  “Funny. That’s about the only thing that does scare me.”

  THE fire speared up, rose out of white sand and toward a black, diamond-studded sky. Like some Druid ritual fire, Nathan thought, as he sipped an icy beer and watched the flames. He could imagine robed figures dancing around it, offering sacrifices to some primitive and hungry god.

  And where the hell had that come from? he wondered, and took another swig to wash the image away.

  The night was cool, the fire hot, and the beach, so often deserted, was filled with people and sound and music. He just wasn’t quite ready to be part of it. He watched the mating dances, the ebb and flow of male and female as basic as the tide.

  And he thought of the photos Jo had shown him that morning, those frozen slices of lonely. Maybe it had taken that, he realized, to make him see how lonely he’d become.

  “Hey, handsome.” Ginny plopped down on the sand beside him. “Whatcha doing over here all by yourself?”

  “Searching for the meaning of life.”

  She hooted cheerfully. “Well, that’s easy. It’s living it.” She offered him a hot dog, fresh out of the fire and burned to a crisp. “Eat up.”

  Nathan took a bite, tasted charcoal and sand. “Yum.”

  She laughed, squeezed his knee companionably. “Well, outdoor cooking’s not my strong point. But I whip up a hell of a southern-style breakfast if you ever . . . find yourself in my neighborhood.”

  As a come-on it was both obvious and easy. There was her acre of smile, slightly off center now from the tequila she’d been drinking. He couldn’t help but smile back at her. “That’s a very attractive offer.”

  “Well, sugar, it’s one every single woman on the island between sixteen and sixty would dearly love to make you. I just figure I’m getting to the head of the line.”

  Not entirely sure how he was supposed to respond now, Nathan scratched his chin. “I’m really fond of breakfast, but—”

  “Now don’t you fret over it.” This time she squeezed his arm as if testing and approving the biceps. “You know what you’ve got to do, Nathan?”

  “What’s that?”

  “You’ve got to dance.”

  “I do?”

  “You sure do.” She hopped up, shot down a hand. “With me. Come on, big guy. Let’s kick up some sand.”

  He put a hand in hers, found it so warm and alive it was easy to grin. “All right.??
?

  “Ginny’s got herself a Yankee,” Giff commented, watching Ginny pull Nathan toward the damp sand.

  “Looks like.” Kirby licked marshmallow off her thumb. “She sure knows how to have a good time.”

  “It isn’t so hard.” With a beer dangling between his fingers,