Confessions of a Girl-Next-Door (8 page)

“Yes, it was.” Nate nodded at the selection of lures. “What are you fishing for this morning?”

“Anything that will take the bait.” The older man laughed then. “I haven’t had too much luck trolling off the little islands just outside the bay.”

“Perch are biting off the marina’s dock. Your best bet is minnows.” Nate sold them for a couple dollars per dozen in the shop. “Tell the kid working the counter that I said to give you a complimentary bucketful.”

The way Nate saw it, it was a small price to pay for the fact the storm had taken out
the resort’s cable television. He made a note to himself to tell anyone who worked the desk that minnows were on the house for the rest of the day.

Ernie thanked him. Nate started on his way. As he passed his cottage, he thought he saw movement through the kitchen window. He pulled the truck to a stop and headed up the steps, bracing himself a moment before pulling open the door. He wasn’t sure what to say.
Good morning
would be appropriate. But for some reason asking if she’d slept well seemed a little too personal.

Then again, that kiss had been nothing if not personal.

He scrubbed a hand over his face at the memory, felt the stubble. He hardly looked his best. He didn’t want to care. But he did. God help him. He did.

It turned out there was no need for divine intervention. The person standing in his kitchen was Hank. The other man was hunched over the counter helping himself to a bowl of cold cereal.

“Mornin’,” he mumbled around a mouthful of fortified flakes.

“Hey.” Nate glanced past him. The television was on but the living room was empty.

“She’s not up yet,” Hank said, doing a lousy job of hiding his amusement.

Nate ignored him. “I checked on your plane.”

That got his attention. “How’d she fare?”

“No worse for the wear. Good thing we beached and tethered her, though. A couple of the boats that were moored in the shallows got tossed about quite a bit. One is going to need a new prop.”

“Good thing,” Hank repeated, his complexion a little pale. He set the now-empty bowl in the sink. “And thanks for the place to stay last night. You’re not a bad host, Matthews, even if we never did get around to that poker game.”

Nate laughed. “No problem.”

Hank hitched a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the stairs. “So, what are you going to do about your other guest?”

“What do you mean?”

“The lady needs a place to stay,” Hank reminded him. As if Nate needed reminding on that score.

“I’ll find her something on the island.”

“Sure about that?” Hank scratched his scruffy chin. He had a good decade on Nate. Right now, he was acting as if he were his
father. “You said last night most places were full up. Kind of scolded the girl, as I recall, for coming without advance notice.”

“I’m sure there’s something she can rent.” Especially given Holly’s unlimited budget. With that kind of cash to flash around, even the exclusive private summer residences that dotted the bay’s eastern shore would likely be open to renters. Since Hank seemed to be waiting for greater reassurance, Nate added, “I’ll drive her around later, see what’s available.”

“As long as you’re sure she won’t wind up down at the campground.”

“The campground.” Nate snorted out a laugh. The Holly he’d known as a child would have been fine in a pup tent, roasting marshmallows over an open fire and swapping ghost stories. They’d done just that her second summer on the island. In separate tents pitched outside the cottage her grandmother rented. This Holly? She would be carried off by the mosquitoes that sometimes were mistaken for Michigan’s state bird.

He laid a hand over his heart. “I promise, I won’t allow her to wind up at the campground.”

“Okay.” Hank nodded. “I’ll be heading out
in a bit. I’ve got a couple fares scheduled for later this morning. You tell her she can call me if need be. I’ll come back for her in a flash.”

“I’m sure she won’t be needing your services.”

“Just see that you tell her.” The other man was all business now. Nate would have found Hank’s edict annoying if he didn’t also appreciate that he was looking out for Holly.

That made two of them.

“I will.”

Holly woke to the far-off squawk of seagulls, the sound of gently lapping waves and the smell of freshly brewed coffee. The storm was long gone, and from the sunshine peeking through the curtains, it was but a distant memory at this point.

She stretched on the mattress and smiled sleepily as she regarded the outdated, overhead light fixture. Overall, she’d slept well, deep and dreamless. It was peaceful here, and so quiet.

She amended her opinion a moment later when the jarring roar of a chainsaw had her lurching out of bed. A peek out one of the windows and she found its source. Nate was
just down the beach from the cottage, holding the offending power tool in his hands and using it to slice through the thick trunk of a fallen cedar tree.

She noted other trees and branches strewn about the beach and wondered what the full impact of the storm had been on the resort. She glanced around. Hank wasn’t with him. Nor was the pilot’s seaplane visible on the beach. But Nate did have a couple of helpers, teenage boys unless Holly missed her guess. And from the looks of it, they were as impressed with his skill with the chainsaw as she was.

She decided to get dressed after a glance at the clock on the nightstand revealed it was closing in on noon. Noon! By her calculations, she’d slept nearly a dozen hours. How on earth had she managed to sleep that long? Sure, she was jet-lagged. But back home she routinely ran on four to five hours of sleep a night, and even that, lately, had been punctuated with bouts of wakefulness.

Dressed in a pair of white capris, a crisp cotton blouse the color of raspberries and the burnished silver gladiator sandals that she’d picked up after attending a fashion show in Milan, she headed downstairs. As she’d
already determined, Hank was nowhere to be found. He’d probably flown to the mainland hours ago, which meant she had no way back. At least not right now. Which meant she was at Nate’s mercy. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

In the kitchen, there was exactly one cup of coffee left in the maker. Though she preferred tea, she didn’t feel like rooting around in Nate’s cupboards to see if he had any. She poured the coffee for herself, shut off the pot and instantly felt guilty. Americans liked their coffee, or so her mother claimed. Nearly thirty years in Morenci and Olivia still eschewed tea in favor of a nice cup of Colombian. She could drink a pot by herself, all while complaining about the effects of caffeine on one’s body and complexion.

Holly decided to make a second pot. She would bring a cup out to Nate. It would be a peace offering of sorts …. A thank-you, she amended. She eyed the maker dubiously. As enamoured as she was with prospect of cooking, she didn’t have much skill in the kitchen.
Much
as in next to none. Anytime she attempted something remotely culinary her mother would remind her they had “staff” to deal with that.

Thus, Holly also had little experience when it came to small appliances, and this looked nothing like the ones she’d glimpsed in the palace kitchens. Still, it seemed simple enough. Besides, the brewing instructions were listed on the inside of the lid that opened where she had to add the water. How hard could it be? Only an idiot could screw it up.

It turned out Holly was an idiot.

One look at Nate’s face after he took the first sip and she knew it for a fact.

God bless him, the man managed to swallow what he had in his mouth rather than spit it out in sprinkler fashion. But his grimace spoke volumes.

“That’s … a little strong,” he said after a moment.

“I followed the directions,” she countered as the identical-looking young men standing on either side of Nate studied their sneakers.

“Let me guess. You used the scoop in the coffee jar as your measure.”

“Of course I did.”

“It’s double the amount.”

“How was I supposed …?” She let the question trail off and crossed her arms over her chest instead. “Real men like it strong.”

Nate blinked at that. The teens eyed one
another, their expressions all but asking, “Did she really just say that?” From what Holly knew of the American teenage boy’s vernacular, she added, “Dude.”

“I like my coffee strong,” Nate said in seeming agreement.

“Good.”

“I just prefer to have my stomach lining left intact afterward.”

Delivered as it was in that even pitch of his, with the beginnings of a smile turning up the corners of his lips, it was hard to take offense. Impossible, in fact. Holly dissolved into giggles. The boys joined in her laughter, too, but only once Nate had let out a snort of amusement. As one who appreciated loyalty, she instantly liked them.

“Sorry,” she said at last. “Truly, I wasn’t trying to poison you.”

“It’s okay.” He tossed the rest of the coffee to the ground and handed back the cup. “I appreciate the effort.”

Whether intended as a peace offering or as a thank-you, the coffee seemed to do the trick. Some of the old ease they’d had with one another returned.

Nate seemed to remember his manners. “Josh and Joey Burns, this is … Holly. She
used to come to the island a lot as a kid. She’s back now for a short visit.”

She refused to acknowledge the way her heart sank at his description of her visit as being short. What else could it be? It wasn’t as if she could stay on Heart indefinitely. She couldn’t just quit being a princess and relocate to a foreign country. Could she?

“Holly?” Nate prompted.

“Sorry. My mind wandered.” Wandered? It had taken a trip into uncharted territory. She pasted on a smile. “It’s nice to meet you both.”

“Hi,” each of the boys said, looking a little shy and adorably awkward as they accepted her outstretched hand.

“You talk funny,” Josh—or was it Joey?—said. His cheeks turned blotchy immediately after saying so. “I don’t mean funny, more like, you know, different. You have an accent of some sort.”

“Smooth,” his brother muttered half under his breath.

“I’m not from your country,” Holly said. She couldn’t help thinking they had a bit of an accent, too. American English definitely carried a different sound than British English, which she was far more used to.

The other brother spoke up then. “Has anyone ever told you that you look like someone famous?”

Holly and Nate traded glances.

“No. Whom do you mean?” she asked, keeping her expression carefully blank. This was exactly what Nate had warned her would happen, and what she wanted to avoid.

“Lady Gaga.”

“What?” Holly let out a completely unladylike snort of laughter that would have earned her mother’s censure. As it was, it had Nate’s eyebrows rising. “I can honestly say that no one has ever told me I look like the pop star.”

“Not when she’s done all up for, like, a concert or an awards show or anything,” Josh was quick to correct. “She can be pretty out there. But you kind of have the same eyes.”

“Really.” More amused than incredulous now, Holly sent a grin in Nate’s direction. “Lady Gaga. What do you think?”

He shook his head. “Sorry. I’m not seeing it.”

She turned back to the twins. “Don’t feel bad. Nate is more of a country-Western sort.

Or at least he was back when we were children.”

Garth Brooks, George Strait, Alan Jackson and a little Brooks & Dunn had been staples on his stereo. He’d known the songs by heart. He’d even taught Holly to two-step. The first time she’d gotten the movements right without his prompting, he’d swung her around in a circle and kissed her cheek before setting her down and quickly stepping away. They’d been on his parents’ deck. She’d been fourteen. He’d been … her world.

“I’ve grown into a heavy metal fan since then,” he informed her now.

Holly’s mouth gaped open a moment before she could say, “You did not.”

He merely shrugged. “My college roommate was a huge AC/DC fan. It was either learn to like screeching lyrics and wicked electric guitar riffs or sleep at the library. I chose the path of least resistance and the most shut-eye. Besides, it’s not so bad once you get used to it.”

“‘Back in Black.’” One of the boys nodded and grinned. “Totally.”

“Totally,” the other one echoed.

“Righteous,” Holly said, flipping what she thought was the sign she’d seen rock stars
use, but earning confused glances from all three of the males in her presence. She could only hope the sign she’d flashed hadn’t been offensive.

“Start loading these logs into the pickup,” Nate instructed.

The boys did as they were told. Holly asked in a lowered voice, “Did I get that wrong?”

“A finger or two. You gave us the Boy Scout salute.” Nate started to chuckle.

“Oh.” She picked a coffee ground out of the otherwise empty cup. “Heavy metal. I guess it makes sense that your tastes have changed since I was last here.”

She tried to keep her tone light, but the way Nate was looking at her made it difficult.

“We were kids then.”

“Children,” she agreed.

His gaze skimmed down. Awareness simmered between them.

“Not all of my tastes have changed,” he said.

“No?”

He glanced away. When his gaze returned to hers it was far more impassive. “I still like toasted marshmallows.”

Nate told the Burns brothers to take a break for lunch and walked with Holly back to the house, intending to do the same. He was still a little surprised that she’d come out to find him, bringing with her a cup of coffee no less. The worst cup of coffee he’d ever had, but still. It was definitely the thought that counted.

“It looks like you have a lot of work to do,” she remarked, stepping over one of the many downed branches strewn over the resort grounds.

The beach had been cleared first and the sand freshly graded. Already, families were out, lounging in chairs and watching their children build sand castles or play in the water. This was exactly why it had been the priority. When people came to an island, they expected unfettered access to the water.