It's a Wonderful Wife (15 page)

Jesse felt his heart start pounding again, only this time with excitement when he realized where better to rebuild a model than on the very island where the house would be sitting—hence the reason for hauling campfire wood to the bluff.

No, that didn't make sense. Since he doubted a finished model would fit out through the camper door, Cadi would have needed to set up a weatherproof workstation, and his camper pad was the only place open and flat enough to pitch a large tent.

“I'll settle up with you now,” Jesse said, pulling eight fifty-dollar bills from his wallet and holding them out to the boy, “and we'll both let on to my wife that I thought I was paying you for the firewood. But can you at least tell me if she's been able to use the generator to run the lights and well pump?”

“Oh, yes,” Paul said, stuffing the money in his pocket without bothering to count it. “I was working the afternoon she came in the store with Mr. Dean and I heard her ask him if there was someone she could hire to take her out to Hundred Acre.” His chest puffed out again. “I spoke up and said my dad had to go get some equipment he'd left behind and that I could call and ask if he'd go that afternoon.” He rolled his eyes. “It's a good thing he showed up at the pier with his smaller work barge, because Dad said Mrs. Sinclair had a lot of camping equipment and boxes and stuff she wanted to take, even though he explained the camper was all set up and ready to go. He told me she even brought your cat.” The boy scrunched up his nose. “He said it didn't like the ride over and threw up. But even though I've only caught glimpses of Wiggles these last two weeks, she seems pretty happy now that she's got free run of the island. Anyway, Dad showed Mrs. Sinclair how to start the generator and told her to call him if it acted up or if she needed anything, including a ride back to the mainland.”

“And did she call?” Jesse asked.

Paul nodded. “The next morning. But that must be the day she bought the skiff,” he said, glancing down the dock, “because the only other time she called was to ask if he knew anyone who'd be willing to do some odd jobs for her.” He grinned. “And Dad told her I would.”

“Well, Mr. Acton,” Jesse said, once again extending his hand, “I not only appreciate your helping out my wife while I was gone, but for keeping her surprise a secret. You'll be hearing from me when I need more work done.”

“You call me anytime,” Paul said, giving Jesse another enthusiastic handshake. “Mrs. Sinclair's got my number. And like I told her, I'm free whenever I'm not scheduled to work for Mr. Dean,” he added before turning and sprinting up the dock.

“I forgot to mention,” Oren said, watching the boy run up the ramp, “that the one exception to my Fender Cove warning would be Corey Acton.” His eyes crinkled with silent laughter. “But then, Corey's usually quick to point out that he lives only three telephone poles inside the town line. At least his son was smart enough to marry a Castle Cove girl. Corrine made sure Jeffrey bought a house a full ten telephone poles on the
correct
side of the town line, and even managed to talk him into selling his lobster boat and going to work for his daddy.”

“Do Jeffrey and Corrine have any children besides Paul?” Jesse asked.

Oren chuckled. “A set of triplets—identical
girls
. They'd be . . . oh, twelve or thirteen now, I figure. They was the reason Corrine managed to persuade Jeffrey to give up lobstering.” He sobered and shook his head. “Not that construction work is any less dangerous.”

“Well, Mr. Hatch,” Jesse said with a nod. “I appreciate your also keeping an eye on my wife, and for letting her tie up at the dock whenever she comes to town.”

Oren frowned in confusion, then suddenly grinned. “Your missus insisted her skiff deserved a slip of its own. But when she tried to pay me and I told her what it cost,” he continued with a chuckle as he started up the dock, “she said to just go ahead and add it to your bill.”

Jesse boarded his cruiser and set his overnight bag inside the cabin, then hopped back out. But then he hesitated, and instead of following Oren, he walked down to Cadi's boat. He knelt and unhooked the fuel line from both the motor and the small gas tank, then tossed it onto the deck of his cruiser on his way by as he finally followed Oren to his office. He got his key and then headed into the heart of town on foot, figuring all he had to do was stop any woman wearing a hat and ask if she had seen Mrs. Sinclair today, and if so, could she kindly tell him where.

Jesse suddenly realized he was smiling, the freighter that had been sitting on his chest all afternoon having completely vanished. And this time it was anticipation making his heart race as he pictured the welcome home he was about to receive from the
little missus
.

Which had him wondering . . .

Since Cadi seemed quite fond of helping herself to his name—along with his camper and island and apparently also his wallet—maybe he should just go ahead and marry her for real.

TWELVE

“You're not at all like I was expecting,” the bubbly, twentysomething hairdresser said as she pumped up the chair Cadi was sitting in.

Cadi looked down at herself—specifically at the hat she was holding on her lap, since the rest of her was hidden under a salon cape. “What were you expecting?”

“Well, for starters, you dress like a Mainer.”

Amazed at how quickly this particular little fib had taken on a life of its own, Cadi used the mirror to smile at Joanne standing behind her. “That's because
rustic chic
is all the rage in the Big Apple right now. So I guess you're dressed like a New Yorker.”

“Living forty miles past the end of nowhere doesn't mean we can't keep up with the latest fashions,” Joanne said with a laugh. But then she sighed. “Although getting any woman over forty in this town to try a new hairstyle is like pulling teeth. Even the younger women are reluctant to get a few highlights.” She shot Cadi a smug smile. “Until recently. Now all of a sudden everyone wants perms and color. You're really here for a cut?” she asked, running her fingers through Cadi's hair. “I would think you'd only let—” Her eyes widened. “You're a natural blonde. And these curls didn't come from a bottle, either.”

Cadi shrugged. “What can I say? My mother contributed the curls, but the blonde hair and delicate skin are compliments of my Scandinavian father.”

“Delicate skin?” Joanne repeated, frowning at her in the mirror.

Cadi lifted her hand. “I think I was born wearing a hat.”

“That's why you're always wearing one? Instead of for style, you're afraid to sunburn?”

Cadi also frowned. “It's either buy sunscreen by the case and walk around feeling like a greased pig or carry my own shade.”

“You can't be wearing that hat all the time, because you're already well on your way to a beautiful tan. My God, with a little effort you could be a bronzed goddess. No, seriously,” Joanne added, moving around the chair when Cadi turned to gape at her. “I have several clients with delicate skin, but I also have several natural blondes who are a deep, rich brown by the end of the summer. So long as they don't overdo it until they build up a good base tan,” she clarified. “Tell me, do you have to use unscented laundry detergent?”

“No, I usually just buy— I leave that sort of thing up to our housekeeper,” Cadi said, catching herself in the nick of time. She tucked her hair behind one ear and studied her face to see she
was
tanned—only to realize she hadn't really looked in a mirror for almost two weeks! And now that she thought about it, she rarely wore her hat out on Hundred Acre, usually just plopping it on her head once she got to town.

“And do you have to use hypoallergenic makeup?”

“Um, no. But I don't wear makeup very often. Mostly just when I attend social and business functions with Jesse,” she quickly amended.

Joanne nodded. “Then in my professional opinion, your skin isn't at all delicate.”

“But even in winter my father couldn't stay outside twenty minutes without turning as red as a beet”—which her parents had reminded her on a daily basis right up through her teens.

“Then curly hair isn't the only thing you inherited from your mother,” Joanne said as she reached for a spray bottle. “Looks to me like you also got her skin.”

Undecided if she was dismayed to have spent her whole life hiding from the sun or excited by the idea that she no longer had to, Cadi caught Joanne's wrist just as the woman started spraying her hair with water. “You really think I could get a nice tan?”

“You are tanned.” Joanne set the bottle on the counter, then grasped Cadi's hand and slid down the cuff of her long-sleeved blouse. “See? You've got a faint line already. And I bet if you look under—oh, you're not wearing a wedding ring.”

Fully prepared for this little fib, since Joanne wasn't the first person to notice that Mrs. Sinclair was missing some important jewelry, Cadi gently pulled her hand free with a laugh. “I took it off because I've been digging in the dirt out on the island. My diamond used to belong to Jesse's mother, and I'd never forgive myself if anything happened to it.”

Joanne picked up the bottle and started spraying again. “Malinda told me she only got a short glimpse of your husband, and then only from a distance, but what she did see nearly had her drooling.” The hairdresser rolled her eyes at the mirror. “But Mal just turned sixteen, and any male old enough to shave usually makes her drool.”

Oh God, was Jesse in town? Because not only was he supposed to be gone at least another week, but Cadi was counting on a backlog of work waiting for him in New York to buy her another one or two. “Malinda from the grocery store? Isn't she Oren Hatch's granddaughter? When did she see Jesse?”

“Mal's also my second cousin,” Joanne said with a nod. “Or maybe my first cousin once removed—I can never remember. Anyway, Mal told me she saw him the night the two of you camped in the parking lot a few weeks back. She said he has really broad shoulders, a strong sculpted jaw, and the most beautiful blue eyes she's ever seen.”

“All that from a short glimpse from a distance?” Cadi said dryly to hide her relief.

Joanne set down the spray bottle and picked up a comb and scissors. “No, the girl ran straight home that night and Googled
Jesse Sinclair
. And based on the pictures she found, Mal said he's even dreamier in a tuxedo.”

Cadi went back to being alarmed at the realization that she'd never thought about anyone doing an Internet search. So just how was she supposed to explain the lack of information on
Mrs.
Jesse Sinclair? Good Lord, this little charade could very well explode in her face and she really could find herself in jail for trespassing. And probably also larceny, since she'd been opening accounts in Jesse's name all over town. Well, unless an understanding judge bought her defense that she intended to pay them off just as soon as she could use her checkbook again.

Heck, if she'd known how much disappearing would cost, she would have taken a lot more money out of the bank. Forget day-to-day living expenses; what with all the camping equipment she'd bought and that poor excuse of a boat, she'd spent almost three thousand dollars already! And that wasn't counting the two hundred she'd already paid Paul or the four hundred she owed him for last week.

“I know what Malinda means,” Cadi said, making sure she sounded dreamy. “Jesse was wearing a tuxedo the first time I saw him.”

Joanne's smile turned sheepish. “I, ah, did a little Googling myself. My God, you're married to a handsome man. And you live in a
palace
.” But then she frowned. “Only I didn't see any pictures of you.” Her face suddenly darkened as she began combing Cadi's hair. “In fact, there were a lot of pictures of your husband with . . . other women,” she added softly.

Cadi laughed, making Joanne look at the mirror in surprise. “The competition was fierce,” she drawled, “and I thought I was going to have to beat some of them off with a stick, but I'm the one Jesse comes home to every night.” She sighed dramatically. “Except when he's gone on one of his extended business trips. Most of those pictures are several years old, Joanne. Heck, you know stuff stays on the Internet forever.”

“But I didn't even see pictures of your wedding. I bet it was elegant,” Joanne went on, sounding a bit dreamy herself. “What was your dress like? How many bridesmaids did you have? Were you married at . . . What's the name of your estate? Roses-something?”

“It's called Rosebriar, named after Jesse's grandmother Rose. As for my wedding, I wore two pair of long johns under a heavy sweater and down-filled parka, and my bridesmaids and groomsmen were penguins.” Cadi smiled at Joanne's look of surprise. “We'd been dating only a few months when Jesse surprised me with a trip to Antarctica this past January, since that's when it's summer down there. And while we were standing at the South Pole, the big sap got down on one knee and proposed, and two days later we got married standing on a glacier,” Cadi told her, actually
feeling
dreamy. But hey, this was her lie to embellish, wasn't it? “That's why you didn't find any photos; it was just the two of us, a minister Jesse had secretly brought along on the tour ship, and a colony of penguins. Which, come to think of it, were the only ones dressed in formal wear.”

“That is so romantic,” Joanne whispered once she'd stopped gaping.

“Yes.” Cadi sighed past the sudden lump in her throat. Lord, she hoped a for-real Mr. Right was out there somewhere, waiting for her to come find him.

“Well,” Joanne said, “if your husband isn't wearing
his
ring when he comes in town, I'm afraid you might have to dig out that stick again.” She began snipping the ends off Cadi's curls. “You should have been here last summer when word spread that a handsome,
young
, and obviously rich man was out looking at Hundred Acre Isle. By the time the real estate broker brought him back to shore, I swear every unmarried female in Castle Cove between the ages of sixteen and fifty was out on the pier, holding fishing poles.” She stopped cutting, arching a brow with a cheeky smile. “And trust me, it wasn't mackerel they were trying to catch.”

Wow, maybe she really was doing Jesse a favor by posing as his wife.

Joanne sighed and went back to combing and snipping. “But then you showed up here with him this spring, and all the push-up bras and short-shorts everyone had bought over the winter got put back in their closets.”

“Including yours?” Cadi asked, also arching a brow.

That got her a laugh. “Nope. I'm happily married to my own dream guy, thank you very much; two years as of next month.”

“So where's your ring?”

Joanne used the comb to point at a cupboard, then went back to snipping. “It gets safely tucked in my purse every morning and doesn't come back out until I go home at night. I don't imagine it's anywhere near as fancy as yours, but I cherish my diamond too much to expose it to the chemicals I use.” She stopped in mid-snip. “Please don't repeat that or I'll never sell another perm. What I use is perfectly safe for my clients, but they're not exposed to it all day long. Anyway,” she went on as she resumed snipping, “the diamond kept ripping the latex gloves I wear when I'm doing color.”

Well, since she was into this fib for a dime already, Cadi figured she might as well jump in for a dollar. “Actually, my ring is a simple gold band.” She smiled at Joanne's disbelief. “Even though we'd only known each other a few months, Jesse had quickly figured out I'm not a very showy person.”

“But you said he gave you his mother's diamond.”

She had?

Oh God, she really needed to stop coming to town. Every time she met someone new she kept right on expanding her fibs to the point she couldn't remember them two minutes later! “Ah . . . the band is inset with tiny diamonds. I don't think his parents were all that financially well off when they were first married, and—”

Cadi was saved from having to dig herself out of this particular hole when the bell over the door jingled and Sally Barnes, who owned the drugstore next door, came rushing inside.

“Mom,” Joanne said in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

Her face flushed with excitement, Sally went to one of the two hairdryers beside Joanne's workstation and sat down. “Don't let me interrupt,” she said, setting her tote on her lap. “Mary Ouellette mentioned she saw Cadi going into your salon and I thought I'd come say hi.”

“Hi, Sally,” Cadi said, waving her hat as she looked at the smiling woman from the corner of her eye, since Joanne was snipping her hair again. “Is that a new tote?”

“As a matter of fact, it is.” Sally proudly ran her hand over the plaid outside pocket of the leather bag. “And we won't tell your father I ordered it from L.L.Bean, will we?” she drawled to Joanne, rolling laughing eyes as she looked at Cadi again. “I don't want Roger having a heart attack when he inevitably checks the catalog to see how much I paid for it.” She turned slightly serious. “If a thirty-year veteran of marriage can be so bold as to give a new bride a little advice, Cadi? Always have at least one credit card of your very own, and never, ever, use your husband's card to buy anything
he
would consider frivolous.”

Joanne stopped cutting, her own laughing eyes going to Cadi's in the mirror. “Mom gave me my own credit card for a wedding present.”

“Damn right—pardon my French,” Sally said. “You work your heart out making this salon a success and deserve to buy yourself a few frivolous things.” She went back to smiling at Cadi. “And if that handsome husband of yours ever asks how much a new purse or pair of shoes costs, you tell him not nearly as much as that fancy boat of his floating down in the harbor.”

“Mother,” Joanne admonished. “Mr. Sinclair isn't going to worry about how much his wife spends on shoes.”

“No, don't stop her.” Cadi looked at Sally from the corner of her eye again. “My mother died when I was twenty, so I never really got any marriage advice from her. Can I ask what a wife's supposed to do if she doesn't have a job? I mean, even if she comes into the marriage with money of her own, how do husbands and wives divide up the household expenses?” She stifled a snort, only able to imagine what it must cost to run Rosebriar. “Does a woman keep dipping into her savings to contribute her fair share? Because if that's the case, I'm probably going to run out of money before our
fifth
anniversary.”

Come to think of it, what were her chances of finding her for-real Mr. Right if he was stuck in some office fifty weeks of the year?

Sally blinked at her, clearly nonplussed. “Ah, well . . . I guess . . .” She shrugged. “I'm afraid you're going to have to ask someone else about that, Cadi, since I've never
not
worked. Even when my children were little I kept a playpen in the back office of the drugstore. Maybe your mother-in-law can help. Does she work?”