Catching Serenity (4 page)

Clinton slapped
one hand on his knee and stubbed out his cigarette. “You’re right. My back end’s fallen asleep in this chair one time too many. The beach sounds like a good idea.”

“
Do you have any swim trunks?”

He
half-laughed. “I said I’d go to the beach, but don’t think I’m exposing this lily white chest to anyone much less the sun. Bad enough I’ll be showing these peg legs of mine, but I have
some
pride left. I’ll get my exercise walking up and down by the water.” He paused and his eyes softened. “We could build a sand castle like we used to, and I can twirl you under my arm, and say, ‘Dance, Princess Serenity, dance…’ Remember that?”

S
he’d never forget their special little sing-song. “You must be thinking of Prudence. That settles it then. Sunday afternoon, we have a date to go to the beach and supper. Be ready at two-thirty.”

When Clinton reached for the cigarettes, he caught the look on her face and dropped his hand.
“Hope your meeting goes well, and you get your first paying client.”

Serenity swallowed the lump lodged in her throat.
“Thanks. I’ll see you soon.”

“
Come back again tomorrow.” Although muffled, his words floated to her as she retrieved her purse and walked through the living room.

“
I’ll try,” she murmured, closing the front door behind her.

The day was beautiful
with the salty ocean breeze wafting in from the Atlantic as Serenity walked on a quiet side street near the waterfront, drinking it in like a visit with an old, dear friend. How she’d missed the sound of ocean waves lapping on the beach, the sight of palm trees swaying in the breeze and the caws of the seagulls.

T
he bright pink coffee cup hand-painted on the front window of Martha’s Cup & Such beckoned to her and the bell on the door jingled as she stepped inside, announcing her arrival. Glasses clinked, silverware clattered and the low, steady hum of the kitchen staff and customers’ conversations filled the popular coffee shop. She breathed in the familiar smells.

Yes, she was
home
.

“
Serenity McClaren?”

She turned
back toward the cashier’s counter located just inside the front door. Two men stood to one side, but which one had called her by name? One was short, balding, middle-aged and rotund. The other was tall, broad-shouldered, chestnut-haired and impossibly attractive. And played Frisbee on the beach with a dog named Freud.

Pasting on a tentative smile, she moved toward them.

This should be interesting
.

~
CHAPTER 4~

The shorter man stepped forward.
“Serenity, right? I thought that was you.”

Serenity
smiled as he pumped her hand a couple of times. “Yes, and you...”

“
Art Masmer. Your dad and I used to play trombone together in the Salvation Army Band. I’d heard you’d moved back to town. Sure is good to see you. Too many young folks move away and never come back. Your dad must be tickled to death to have you home again.”

Glancing over
Art’s shoulder, Serenity caught the amusement in the younger man’s expression. No doubt this was her first client. For his part, Dr. Ross appeared to be enjoying this scenario. She gave him a slight nod—one she hoped appeared polite and professional—and returned her attention to Art.

“
I hope your family’s doing well,” she said. Try as she might, she couldn’t place him. She didn’t know what else to say and prayed Art had a family or she’d be backpedaling fast. Judging by his wide smile, she’d made an appropriate comment.

“
They sure are. Our oldest, Susie, married Mark Blanchard a couple of years ago, and they just gave Nell and me our first grandson. Wyatt’s five months old already. Here, let me show you a photo.” Pulling out his wallet, Art flipped it open and pointed to a photo of a chubby-cheeked, bright-eyed baby. He beamed when Serenity expressed her congratulations. “Tell Clinton I hope he’s planning on playing in the Fourth of July band this year. We could use another trombone.” Saying good-bye, he waved to someone in the back of the restaurant and departed.

Stepping forward, her client offered his hand.
“I couldn’t interrupt a proud grandfather moment. I’m Jackson Ross. It’s nice to meet you, Serenity.”

“
Likewise.” Eyes the color of rich brown velvet met hers and his grip was firm. Dressed in the same light blue polo he’d worn at the shore—khakis rumpled a bit below the knees, no socks and deck shoes, basic Croisette Shores casual chic—this man would fit in perfectly fine with the locals. His hair looked slightly windblown, which only added to his rugged appeal.

“
Our friend Charlie left out a few important things when he told me about you.”

Even though it sounded like a
questionable pickup line, the sincerity in Jackson’s tone suggested flattery and nothing more. This man was the polar opposite of what she’d envisioned. Stereotyping never led to anything good, after all.

“
I could say the same. For one thing, you have a furry companion named Freud.”

He
smiled. “Freud belongs to Doc Rasmussen. I’m staying in Doc’s cottage while he’s on an extended European vacation. And Freud takes
me
for a daily run, not the other way around.”

“
I could see that, but you seem to be getting along famously.” She returned his smile.

“
Yeah, we’re buds. He’s a fun companion, but he’s a real sofa hog.”

Clearing a nearby table, Lucinda Miller called over her shoulder for them to seat themselves at any available table. Open from early morning until late afternoon seven days a week, Martha’s Cup & Such was the daily hub for gossip among the locals. Tourists occupied tables and packages from local shops rested on the floor beside them. A young couple with two small children looked tuckered out and sunburned, and four older ladies shared an animated discussion.

“
Shall we?” Jackson gestured for her to go first, and Serenity led the way toward a small corner table. The heels of her sandals clacked on the black and white tile floor, but thankfully the sound was absorbed by the bustle of activity. A group of men hushed their conversation as she passed by their table. Many of the same waitresses from when her dad used to bring her to Martha’s on Sunday mornings moved around the coffee shop wearing black and pink uniforms with white aprons tied around their waists. The outfits hadn’t changed much, and the women moved a bit slower, many of them now grandmothers.

When
Jackson pulled out her chair and waited until she was settled, the entire patronage seemed as if in slow motion. Serenity could almost hear the whispered approval floating about the shop, but perhaps it was her overactive imagination. Since she’d come back to town, she’d glimpsed expressions ranging from pity to borderline suspicious. Hanging her purse on the back of her chair, she overheard old Earl Watkins mumble something about how nice it was to see her in the company of a real gentleman. She tucked a strand of hair behind one ear, as if that simple gesture might dismiss her sudden case of nerves.

J
ackson took the seat across the table. “Tell me about the name Serenity. There’s bound to be an interesting story behind it.”

Those warm eyes, heightened by the blue of his shirt, would make her cr
ave chocolate something fierce even though she rarely indulged. At least his question was an easy one and seemed a safe topic. Getting to know her client would be a good thing before they discussed business. She’d prayed about this first meeting ever since Charlie arranged it a few days ago, asking the Lord to help her say the right things, act appropriately and not scare off the good doctor with her lack of experience.

“
My mom and Dad were quasi-hippies and loved anything promoting peace and unity,” she said. “He grew up in Newport, Rhode Island and she was raised in Connecticut. They shared a blanket on the lawn of the Newport Jazz Festival when they were both in their mid-twenties. To hear them tell it, they found a kindred spirit in each other and fell in love between sets by Grover Washington, Jr. and Thelonious Monk.”

He grinned.
“I was right. Interesting story and romantic for quasi-hippies. Care to guess how I got
my
name? It might not be as interesting as yours, but it’s kind of fun.”

“
Then, by all means,” she said, relaxing a little more. His raised brow invited her to play along. “Okay...your parents are fans of artist Jackson Pollock?” He shook his head. “Andrew Jackson?” Another shake. “Reggie Jackson?”

“
All very good guesses,” he said. “According to urban legend, Mom and Dad couldn’t agree on my first name. My dad was a golf buddy with one of the surgeons at the hospital where I was born. Dad had stepped out of the room for a couple of minutes. Mom was holding me and she hadn’t met the doctor before. He introduced himself and said, ‘So, this is Jack’s son?’ Mom misunderstood and thought he said ‘Jackson,’ liked it, and the name stuck.”

S
erenity smiled. “I never would have guessed. Cute story.” With his personable manner, Jackson would relate well to children. To anyone, really, although that anecdote was more telling than he probably realized. Words like
golf buddy
paired with
surgeon
implied his family was one of means. No big surprise there since she’d thought that very thing when she’d first spied him on the beach.

“
So, did you grow up here or in New England?” he asked. “Your accent sounds southern.”

“
My dad took a job with the fire department here three months after my parents met. Croisette Shores reminds him a lot of Newport and Mama was always fascinated with the ocean.” Her gaze traveled upward to meet Jackson’s again. “She said the waves always comforted her and made her feel at one with the earth, at peace with herself and her world. She was a lover of economic awareness and environmental causes. It was her passion, and she poured her heart and soul into it.”

He
smiled. “Trust me, I know all about that. My mom was heavy into Green Peace, the Sierra Club and worked with the Peace Corps for a few years before she married Dad.” Jackson chuckled low in his throat, and it was deep and slightly husky. “In other words, if an organization had the name ‘peace’ in it, Mom was right there on the front lines.”

Jackson
’s features were strong and well-defined, his cheekbones sculpted to perfection. The blue polo barely contained those impressive muscles. This was one psychologist who took his workouts seriously. Trying not to be obvious, Serenity’s gaze strayed to his left hand. No ring, but he must have left behind a string of broken hearts in Chicago or wherever his life’s path had taken him. A man like this would attract female attention without even trying. He exuded self-confidence and an innate charm without cockiness, an anomaly in itself. Surely all the single women and their mothers in Croisette Shores must be on high alert of Jackson’s arrival in town. He’d be busy enough dodging all the passes being tossed his way. Another reason to steer clear of the man. She hadn’t been interested in dating while she lived in Atlanta and she wasn’t about to start now. Dr. Ross was her client, first and foremost. She might need to repeat that to herself a few hundred times to keep from getting distracted by his gorgeous smile and those muscles, but no way would she jeopardize her professional reputation by dating her client.

“
Serenity?”

She prayed
she hadn’t ogled the man in full view of the entire patronage of the coffee shop. Hopefully, mind reading wasn’t one of Jackson’s talents. Warmth flooded her cheeks as she slowly crossed and then uncrossed her legs under the table, one of the tricks she’d learned to control nervous mannerisms in subtle ways. In a well-timed moment, Nancy Higdon arrived to take their order.

Nancy
’s eyes met hers above the order pad poised in one hand. “Serenity McClaren, as I live and breathe!” Pocketing the pad, she gathered her in a bear hug. “Why, honey, don’t you look prettier than ever! I heard you were back in town. Bet your dad’s pleased as punch to have you home.” She turned her attention to Jackson. “And I understand
you’re
the man they’re calling Doc Jack. Welcome to Croisette Shores. I heard you were coming to take over Doc Rasmussen’s practice. Nice to meet you.” She looked from one to the other of them. “Imagine you two sitting here together, making nice.” Nancy had a hearing problem, and she’d raised her voice at least ten decibels. Evidenced by the prevalent hush in the diner, her words must have carried across Martha’s Cup & Such. Wonderful.

Thankfully, the handsome
psychologist and the friendly waitress kept the conversation flowing as if Nancy hadn’t just fired up the old gossip train. “To be fair, Nancy, I’m not exactly taking over Doc’s practice,” Jackson said. “Phil’s been a mentor for me, and we both felt it best if I moved here now and got my practice established before he officially retires.” Listening to their conversation, Serenity envied the kind of instant camaraderie where two people—those who’d never met or even talked before—formed an automatic bond and chatted away like fast friends who’d seen each other the day before. How was that possible? It didn’t take a genius to see Jackson was the type of guy to make friends easily. She’d always admired that quality.

Hearing her name
hollered from the kitchen, Nancy frowned and called over her shoulder. “I’m coming, Harold! Hold on to your britches. So,”—she turned back to them—“what can I get you two?”

“
I’ll have regular coffee, please,” Serenity said. Coffee was her one vice, and she’d missed her morning cup. “With two creamers.”

“
I’ll have the same, but no creamer. Want to share a slice of cherry cheesecake?” Jackson asked her. “I have it on reputable authority it’s very good here.”

Nancy
grinned. “Oh, it’s better than good, Doc. You two enjoy yourselves and get acquainted. I’ll get your coffee and the cheesecake’s my treat.”

Thanking Nancy, Serenity
straightened in the chair and smoothed her hand over the shiny, black tabletop. “So, are your parents still card-carrying Green Peace devotees?”

“
No, but I’m sure they support it one way or another. Are yours still jazz-loving, quasi-hippies?”

Focusing on the antique neon wall clock, Serenity wondered
why she’d continued the same conversation when they needed to discuss business matters. “Dad’s a retired fireman and slowly killing himself with cigarettes, and Mama hasn’t been seen or heard from in almost five years.” She almost gasped. What on earth possessed her to say so much to a man she’d known only a few minutes? Jackson straightened in his chair, but—to his credit—he didn’t look the other way, grunt or appear shocked. Of course, he probably heard all sorts of things in his practice and was experienced at hiding his gut reaction.