Larissa Learns to Breathe (9 page)

“I can't believe you even attempted that path,” he scolded. “Larissa, you can't
swim
. From now on, you don't go anywhere near the beach unless I'm with you. And you start swim lessons the day after Thanksgiving.”

She was silent in his arms. He pressed the pedal to the floor, pushing the cart to its limits, hating the trembling that wracked her body. He knew several ways to get her warmed up and he was going to try every single one of them.

“But I'm going back to New York,” she said slowly.

“Hell no, you aren't. You didn't show up to resign, and tomorrow's a holiday, and Rafe's still expecting you on the job Friday. You can't leave him in the lurch now, not with twenty-six guests arriving next week.”

“But my employees all hate me.”

“Sweetheart, you're going to have to work a lot harder than that to turn them all against you. Besides, you've got all day tomorrow to make things right. If you can't ask for a fresh start on Thanksgiving, then when?”

They'd arrived at his cabin. Tommy didn't do much of a parking job, and Bluebell jumped off the back of the cart and took off after a tern that had been pecking near her water dish.

“Guess she's forgotten we're best friends,” Larissa said ruefully, disentangling herself from Tommy's lap and jumping lightly down.

“You've still got me,” Tommy said, catching her hand and pulling her back to him. “I may not be a hero, but I'm a hard worker and I'm willing to put in extra shifts.”

“On the job experience?” Larissa asked, raising one eyebrow mischievously.

“Try me,” he growled, and took her home.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The first annual staff Thanksgiving was a roaring success, but hardly an uneventful one. Small disasters punctuated the festivities, starting with a pumpkin pie spilling out of its crust in the industrial oven and setting off the fire alarms before dawn. One of the guys working on the pool house fell off a ladder around noon and had to be stitched up by Dr. Thwaite. And somehow Bluebell managed to get into Larissa's cosmetic case and ate half a tube of tinted moisturizer, so that when they were ready to leave for Thanksgiving dinner, she was lying on her bed and moaning.

“Is there a vet on the island?” Larissa asked, bending down to stroke Bluebell's silky ears. The dog rolled her eyes mournfully in Larissa's direction and sighed. “Or should we ask Dr. Thwaite to look at her?”

Tommy snorted. “If I took that dog to see the doc every time she ate something she wasn't supposed to, she'd never have time to see any other patients.”

He escorted her to the golf cart, helping Larissa into the passenger seat. She'd worn a pair of burgundy heels that were only slightly more conservative than the strappy gold sandals from two nights ago, but he knew she was nervous about meeting everyone. She'd fussed at the mirror for nearly an hour, trying to straighten her hair, before finally giving up and pulling it into an up-do that spilled corkscrew curls across her brow. He decided not to tell her it was even sexier that way. Let her keep believing that high-necked knit dress—the one that hugged every curve and swirled around her knees as she walked—looked as conservative as she intended. That way, he could ogle her all he wanted and she'd never know.

He'd kept her to himself for the last twenty-four hours. There'd been a few frozen pizzas in the freezer, a bowl full of fresh fruit, and a bottle of wine he'd been saving, so they were in no danger of perishing. They'd emerged from the cabin only once, when the moon rose over the ocean and they took a trip down to the stargazing hut to count the stars sparkling like diamonds spilled across the sky.

“Your place ought to be ready by tomorrow afternoon,” he said casually as they pulled into the circular drive. People were arriving in twos and threes, dressed up for the first time Tommy could remember.

“That'll be nice,” Larissa said primly, not looking at him.

She was shy with him at odd and unexpected moments. Not, for instance, when he woke to find her sprawled across his chest. Or when her crazy curls fell against his forehead as she bent to kiss him.

But when he came upon her sneaking Bluebell a treat from the jar on the counter, she'd blushed. And when he'd pulled her things from the dryer, she received the stack of folded clothes speechlessly, as though he'd given her the Dead Sea scrolls. He was getting the feeling that everyday pleasures had been in short supply in her life.

Well, the island ought to take care of that. He just prayed she'd stick around long enough to find out.

Suddenly, she stiffened next to him. “Can you stop the car please?” she asked breathlessly. He didn't even have time to point out that it was a cart—and that he'd slowed to around three miles per hour as they waited in the line to park—before she jumped out and started jogging across the cobbled lane.

Up ahead, he saw the reason why. The three young women from the housekeeping staff—the ones who'd lost the battle at the dessert table the other night—were standing near the manor's front doors, talking to Amelia. Like everyone else, they were dressed up for the occasion, laughing together as late afternoon faded toward evening and delicious aromas wafted from the dining room.

Tommy hesitated, wondering if he should go to Larissa's side. He could see her fear in her body language, how hard this was for her, how much she wanted to turn around and come back. But he stayed put, knowing that she had to do this alone.

The little group made room for her. Amelia leaned in to kiss her cheek. He could tell Larissa was blushing even from far away, and he'd wager she was about to twist the handle right off her purse, but she held her ground. The young women listened intently for a few moments, and then there was a lot of nodding and smiling and then hugging and laughing.

“Well, I'll be,” Tommy said to himself.

Island magic.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

It was nearly midnight when Tommy yawned extravagantly and turned over his tiles. “I think I'm out,” he said. “This is the worst Scrabble hand in history.”

Larissa laughed. Tommy had somehow managed to snag a Q, an X, and a Z.

“That's another ten thousand dollars you owe me,” Amelia said, making a note on her iPad. “At this rate you'll never be able to work off your debt.”

There was laughter around the game table. Most of the staff had said their good nights, but a handful of people lingered in the bar, talking quietly and playing board games. Larissa and Tommy had helped with the cleanup, working off a little of the delicious feast, and now they were enjoying a glass of cognac. It may have been the first Thanksgiving Larissa had ever spent with these people, but she found herself hoping it would become a tradition.

“Shall we get going? Big day tomorrow,” Tommy said, offering her his hand.

Once they were out of earshot, she squeezed his arm playfully. “That was the fakest yawn I ever saw.”

Tommy shrugged, grinning. “Well, I thought ‘excuse us while we race back to my bed' was a little too much information. Got to preserve a little mystery.”

He put his arm around her and they walked out into the star-spun night. Larissa snuggled close against Tommy. Winter had come to the island, bringing not just cool evenings, but kinship and hope for the future as well as holiday cheer. She had a staff who were willing to work hard for her, and a boss who'd forgiven her, sight unseen. Somehow, she hadn't managed to sabotage this chance, despite all of her mistakes. That was a mystery right there, though not the one Tommy was referring to.

That was all right with her. Cupid Island could keep its secrets.

“Do we need to walk Bluebell when we get back?” she asked, sighing contentedly.

“A dog smart enough to save a life can damn well walk herself,” Tommy murmured.

“She's going to get jealous,” Larissa teased.

Tommy stopped and turned Larissa around to face him. His eyes sparkled merrily in the moonlight. “There's enough of me to go around,” he said, bending down for a kiss. “Besides, you smell a lot better.”

Larissa kissed back for all she was worth, knowing she had more than enough to be thankful for: new job. New life. New love.

And a new best friend.

The End

***

Did you enjoy LARISSA LEARNS TO BREATHE?

Check out more books by Ruby Laska:

The Xquisite Series:

Xquisite

Xtraordinary (June, 2015)

Xtreme (August, 2015)

The Boomtown Boys Series:

Black Gold

Black Heat

Black Flame

Black Ember

The Cupid Island Series:

Larissa Learns to Breathe

Mandy Makes Her Mark

Plain Jane's Birthday Wish

Standalone Novels:

Mountain Song

Heartbreak, Tennessee

A Man for the Summer

Mine 'til Monday

Along for the Ride

Snow Creek Novella:

Miss Bonny's Buried Treasure

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…or keep reading to enjoy an excerpt from
BLACK GOLD—
the first book in Ruby's Dakota Oilman series
.

PLEASE ENJOY THIS EXCERPT OF
BLACK GOLD—BOOK 1 IN THE BOOMTOWN BOYS SERIES

By Ruby Laska

CHAPTER ONE

The girl singing on stage was nearing the end of her set. Sweat poured down her face, taking what remained of her eye makeup with it. Her cheap tank top had lost a few sequins during the performance and there was a long, ragged thread hanging from the edge of her skirt. Only her boots looked like they'd come from anywhere other than a thrift store: fire engine red with swirls of fancy stitching on the side.

Regina McCary hung on to every note, imagining that the familiar adrenaline rush might be what a natural-born predator felt as it closed in on its prey. She drained the last of her weak gin and tonic and forced down a bite of her sandwich. It wouldn't do to let hunger or dehydration slow her down, not this close to the score.

“Not bad, is she?” a familiar voice grated in her ear when the song ended. The small audience clapped enthusiastically, especially a group of drunk guys taking up most of the back of the bar around the pool tables, and Regina could barely hear him. But she'd know that voice anywhere. Her heart sank and she squeezed her eyes shut and prayed: not here, not now. Surely, he wouldn't have followed her all the way here from Nashville, not when this was supposed to be her first vacation in six years.

But when she finally opened her eyes, it was Carl Cash who had slid into the chair across the small table from her. He pushed her plate out of the way to make room to set his familiar canvas knapsack on the table.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Regina demanded.

“Following up on a hot tip. But, honey, you don't want to talk about work, do you? Not while you're on vacation.”

“How do you know I'm on vacation?”

But Regina could guess, and her heart plummeted because there was only one person who could have told Carl where she was, and the betrayal stung: Meredith Jester wasn't just her boss, she was supposedly her friend.

“I'd
have
to be your friend to do this,” Meredith had said the day she told Regina she had two choices: take a vacation, or find another job. “It would be easier to just cut you loose. Or let you work yourself to death.”

Meredith had always had a soft spot for Carl, who had worked at her talent agency before striking out on his own. Never mind that Carl had become her number one competitor. Meredith was loyal to all of her former employees. That had worked out well back when Regina had been dating him, and even better when she'd been engaged to him. Meredith had even helped plan their wedding, when she wasn't busy running her talent agency.

When Regina and Carl broke up, Regina suggested it would be a good time for Meredith to let go too. But Meredith replied that there were enough rising country music stars to keep both Cash Professional Management and the Jester Group busy, and besides, she enjoyed the competition. She and Carl continued to try to poach each other's hottest clients while trading friendly barbs and gossip about Regina.

“Okay,” Regina said, taking a deep breath. “Look. I suppose Meredith told you to come up here and keep an eye on me. But I do know how to take a break from work, Carl. I'm on vacation, nothing more.”

“In a bar,” Carl said, raising an eyebrow, “with live music.”

“There aren't a whole lot of entertainment options in Conway, North Dakota,” Regina hedged. “Haven't you noticed?”

“Which makes it seem like a very odd choice for a vacation.”

“No, wait, there's hiking—”

“Yeah, Meredith told me about that. Miles of unpaved trails with views of… nothing. Come on, Regina, there's way better hiking around Nashville. And besides, you don't even own a pair of hiking boots.”

“And there's rafting on the Little Yellow River. And there's a historic fort around here somewhere—”

“Right. Maybe Meredith fell for all of that. But I think I know you just a little better than she does.” Carl tugged the leather laces of his knapsack and reached inside, pulling out a sleek top-of-the-line laptop.

The knapsack, like so much about Carl, was part of the disguise he had cultivated. He never actually came out and
denied
the rumors that he was Johnny Cash's nephew, but he made damn sure to cover up the fact he was the one who started most of those rumors. Regina was one of the only people who knew he'd been born Carl Bettendorf from upstate New York, and gotten himself a fancy East Coast education before coming to Nashville and transforming himself.