to hunger, but he couldn’t dispute the truth. Had it not been for Heather Anderson’s quiet loveliness and refinement, he would have vacated the rarified atmosphere of The Devon Rose in a heartbeat, no matter how loudly his stomach protested.
“The question wasn’t that hard, J.C.”
At Marci’s wry prompt, he pulled himself back to the present. “I was hungry. And the tea place is next door to my cottage. Anyway, it’s nice here. Quiet.”
“Good. Maybe you’ll sleep better.”
“I slept okay in Chicago.”
“Hey, you don’t have to pretend with me. I’m your sister, okay? I know you’ve been through hell this past month. So rest. Relax. Think. And move on.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“I know.” Her words came out scratchy, and she cleared her throat. “Pray some more to that God of yours. Maybe He’ll come through for you if you keep bending His ear.”
“I intend to. And He’s your God, too, Marci. I wish you and Nathan would give Him a chance.”
“You don’t need to worry about me. I can take care of myself. As for Nathan…he’s a lost cause. Do you still write to him every week?”
“Yes.”
“I doubt he even reads the letters.”
“Maybe not. But he gets them. And knows I’m thinking about him.”
“Talk about a wasted life.” Disgust laced her words.
“It’s not too late for him to turn things around.” J.C. tried to sound optimistic as he stared at the ceiling, but in truth, his hope was dimming. His younger brother’s bitterness hadn’t abated one iota since the day eight years ago when he’d been sentenced to a decade behind bars for armed robbery.
“Give it up, J.C. All those trips you made down to Pontiac…What good did they do? Most of the time he wouldn’t even talk to you. He doesn’t like cops.”
“I was his brother first, Marci. And I have to try.”
“Yeah. I know.” Her words grew softer. “Too bad you were saddled with two reprobates for siblings.”
There was a hint of humor in her voice, but J.C. knew how she’d struggled with self-image. And hated that deep inside, for reasons he’d never been able to fathom, she might continue to feel less than worthy. “I don’t think of you that way, Marci. And neither does anyone else. You’ve done great.” Then he lightened his tone, knowing praise made her uncomfortable. “I’m impressed with that big word, by the way. Reprobate, huh? All that schooling you’re getting must be paying off.”
“Very funny.”
A knock sounded at his door, and he swung his legs to the floor. “Someone’s come calling, kiddo. Gotta run.”
“Okay, bro. Take care and don’t be a stranger.”
As the line went dead, J.C. stood and slipped his cell phone into his pocket. Smoothing down the back of his hair with one hand, he opened the door with the other.
“You must be Justin. Or J.C., as I’m told you prefer to be called. You’re just the way Heather described you. Welcome to Nantucket. I’m Edith Shaw, and this is my husband, Chester.” An older woman with short, silvery-gray hair stuck out her hand.
As J.C. returned her firm clasp and leaned forward to grasp her husband’s fingers, he gave his landlords a quick once-over.
Edith’s blue eyes sparked with interest, radiating energy. Although she wore black slacks and a simple short-sleeved blue blouse, J.C. sensed there was a mischievous streak beneath her conservative attire.
Pink-cheeked Chester, on the other hand, struck him as an aw-shucks kind of guy, content to let his lively wife run the show. He wore grass-stained overalls, suggesting he was a gardener, and a shock of gray hair fell over his forehead. Someone had tried to tame his ornery cowlick, but it had refused to be subdued.
“I’m happy to meet you both.” J.C. smiled and gestured toward the inside of the cottage. “This place is perfect. And thank you for the pumpkin bread, Mrs. Shaw.”
She waved his thanks aside. “Plenty more where that came from. And it’s Edith and Chester. I was going to invite you to dinner, but I understand you’ve already eaten next door.”
J.C. nodded, admiring her investigative skills. “That’s right.”
“Well, Heather does a fine job. But—” she sized him up “—it’s not a lot of food for a full-grown man. You’d be welcome to join us. I guarantee my beef stew will stick to your ribs.”
After consuming the tea goodies, a burger and fries, and the last of Edith’s pumpkin bread, there was no way he could eat another meal. “To be honest, I also paid a visit to Arno’s.”
Chester chuckled. “I’m with you. I like Heather’s food just fine, but it’s not enough to keep a bird alive.”
“Now, Chester,” Edith chided. “Heather’s a wonderful cook and a great hostess. I’m sure she made you feel welcome, didn’t she?”
Her keen look took him off guard. As did the odd undertone, which he couldn’t identify. “Yes. She was very hospitable.”
She gave him a satisfied smile. “Well, then, I’ll bring you out a plate of stew later, and you can put it in the fridge for tomorrow night. And anytime you need anything, you let us know. We’re just a holler away.”
As she marched across the lawn to her back door, Chester following a step behind, J.C. regarded the stately clapboard house where he’d had tea earlier. Only the roof and parts of the second floor were visible through the trees.
So the tearoom owner had described him to Edith. Interesting. And intriguing. What had she said? he wondered.
More to the point, however, why should he care?
Looking back toward the Shaw house, he found Edith observing him, her pleased smile still in place. With a wave, she disappeared inside.
Planting his fists on his hips, he studied her closed door. What was that all about?
But considering the glint in her eyes, maybe he didn’t want to know.
Chapter Three
“Now that’s what I call a breakfast.” J.C. sat back in the booth and dropped his napkin beside his plate. “And the price was right. What’s the name of this place again?”
“Downyflake. Or, as the locals call it, The Flake.” Burke signaled to the waitress. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. You look like you could use a few good meals.”
That was true. But until yesterday, his appetite had been nonexistent. “I’ve been eating well since I’ve been here. Must be the salt air. And it’s been good for you, too. You look younger than when you left Chicago.”
Three
