took the bowl and ate several strawberries, then gestured at her empty displays. “Don’t you keep stock for late customers?”
“Nope, unless I have a reservation for something. That’s why I’m still here. An old friend of Granddad’s is coming for the four flats I’ve got stored in the trailer. Otherwise, as I put on my sign, first come, first served. I order the amount I think I can sell and usually get to close early.”
“You sound experienced.”
“As a kid I spent every August with Granddad, so my policies and attitudes come from him. He also had thorough records on the daily turnover.”
“That must make it easier.”
He seemed drowsy and his left hand scratched his shoulder before settling onto his lap.
Jamie’s sensation of peace returned. She liked Brad Denning. It was bizarre that he was the brother of such an arrogant jerk, but siblings could be very different. Her own brother didn’t look like her, and they certainly didn’t have much in common.
As Brad slept, her brain chewed on designs for her next jewelry project. She’d taken a silver-casting class in college for fun. Tim used to be snide regarding her efforts, so it was an ironic triumph that selling the expensive clothes he’d insisted she wear during their marriage provided the money she’d needed for tools and supplies. Hopefully, marketing her jewelry would be a real supplement to her fruit-stand earnings.
Jamie stiffened, despite the comforting warmth of the sun. Tim had been nauseatingly smug in court, claiming she wouldn’t be able to live without him. Fat chance, just like the split lip he’d given her when she told him she was leaving for good. She restrained a giggle as she recalled the contempt in the expression of the judge, who’d privately congratulated her on getting rid of a pompous jackass.
Her last customer, Mrs. Kruger, came and Jamie loaded the four flats she’d bought into her car.
“Thank you, Jamie.” The elderly woman gave her a check in payment. “The jam tastes different made with berries from the Little Blue Fruit Stand. I suppose that sounds silly.”
“It isn’t silly. Granddad used to say this place had a blessing on it.”
“I believe it.” Mrs. Kruger glanced at Brad. He was awake and blinking sleepily at the ocean. “Are you all right, dear? I understood you’ve had trouble with your neighbor.”
“No worries—we’ve straightened it out,” Jamie said. “It was a miscommunication over the property lines.”
“I’m so glad. And you’ve gotten divorced? What a shame.”
“Some marriages aren’t meant to be.”
“Gabe and me, we’ve had fifty-two happy years.” Mrs. Kruger’s attention kept moving in Brad’s direction. “Do you think you’ll ever get married again?”
“I don’t know, Mrs. Kruger. Right now I’m focusing on my business,” Jamie answered patiently. The motherly types who remembered her from childhood were interested in her romantic plans, though some of the younger wives were also inquisitive, but for entirely different reasons. Jamie had already learned a sour truth—a youthful divorcée was considered dangerous by some women, although her genuine friends weren’t worried.
Mrs. Kruger’s curiosity was transparent as she squinted at Brad Denning. “Is he a friend?”
“He’s from the resort. He just stopped to sample the berries.” Jamie didn’t want to say that Brad had needed to rest.
Disappointment clouded the kindly woman’s features. “What a shame. Your grandfather prized a good gab. Gabe would come to get the berries for me, and they’d sit for hours talking baseball. Speaking of which, I should go and get that jam started.”
Waving cheerily, Mrs. Kruger drove away and Jamie walked to the trailer. Brad was eating strawberries and his brow was less tense.
“We can go now, unless you’d rather hang out here,” Jamie told him.
“You don’t lock up?”
“There’s no point. It’s easy to break in and then I’d have to repair the latch.”
Brad asked to be dropped at the resort entrance, saying it was only a short distance to his brother’s apartment. Jamie didn’t push; the man had the right to decide things for himself.
Later as she snuggled onto her smooth cotton pillowcase with Marlin purring against her on the bed, Jamie’s mind wandered through the day’s events. It was annoying that she kept thinking about Zack Denning. She’d appreciate it if he would stay on his property and leave her alone, but it was a reasonable bet that she’d have another encounter with his lordship in the near future.
The man hadn’t given up. He was probably in a tactical retreat while he devised a new plot to get Granddad’s land.
CHAPTER FOUR
JAMIE YAWNED AND glanced at the lit display on the clock. 4:00 a.m. She relaxed, grateful she didn’t have to get up and rush out to the fruit stand.
Gordon Chen had originally wanted his produce picked up in a single load, but since the resort restaurants needed strawberries for their breakfast menu, it had required her getting up at an ungodly hour to coordinate everything. She’d finally told Gordon it made too long a day for her. He’d offered a compromise; he would take direct delivery of the berries from a grower she trusted, and send two of his guys midmorning for the rest. The new arrangement was beginning today.
“Mrrroow?”
In the faint light she saw Marlin stretch and yawn a few inches from her face. If he wasn’t such a lazy old guy, it might be scary to see those gleaming teeth so close to her jugular.
“I know you miss Granddad,” she murmured. He let out a feline sigh as if he’d understood. She doubted her grandfather had allowed Marlin to get on the bed, but she didn’t have the heart to banish him. He slept each night lying against her, snoring, his huge head on her shoulder.
Marlin was a typical cat—he knew a sucker when he saw one. I’m lonely, he’d practically screamed when he’d launched himself at her the day she’d arrived in Warrington, yowling for all he was worth. The man watching the house had taken care of his basic needs, but there was no substitute for affectionate company.
Petting him absently, Jamie thought about a design for a piece of cat jewelry, but wasn’t sure it would work.
Mr. Peterson had called to tell her that four of her pendants had sold that weekend and that he’d be glad to take more. It was a victory. Mr. Peterson owned the finest art studio in town and had been reluctant to carry jewelry. If she hadn’t been George Jenkins’s granddaughter, he probably wouldn’t have agreed; apparently, her persistence was paying off for both of them. She’d have to go through her stock to see what might work for him. And now that she’d have more free hours, perhaps she could concentrate on the higher-end market, which gave a better rate of return than regular tourist shops.
She drowsed another hour, then pulled away from a protesting Marlin, who settled into the pile of blankets with a sulky expression.
“Sorry,
