Sweet Talkin' Scoundrel (3 page)

I stepped back, reminding myself why I’d just transported the wide eyed angel to Wildthorne.

Kinley held out her arms and watched the sleeves drip off the ends of her hands. The sight of the droopy sleeves made her laugh. I wasn’t sure what it was about her laugh, but it wasn’t like any other I’d ever heard. It was like a damn elixir, a tonic to wash away anything ugly in the world, leaving behind only the cool stuff, the stuff that kept you putting your feet on the floor in the morning.

Kinley pushed the sleeves back so that she could use her hands to push back the caramel colored strands of hair blowing around her face. She scanned the massive clearing. Her gaze landed on the one thing that stood out in the island landscape. “Whose helicopter is that?”

The decade old Eurocopter had lost most of its shiny white paint. The red stripes that’d stretched around its belly like a belt were long gone. The helicopter looked sad and lonely, but for me, it was a reminder of some of the best times in my life. “It’s just an old relic that hasn’t been fired up in a long time.”

I grabbed her bags and looked at her. “Are ya ready, Rabbit?”

Kinley rolled her eyes at the nickname but this time put up no argument. As insane as it sounded, the nickname had already become important to me.

I led Kinley toward the sandy path that would eventually lead to the front door and to her new job. And I wondered just how the hell I was going to live with myself for bringing her here. Knowing that Becky was sure to adore her new tutor helped relieve some of the guilt. If only Becky’s education was the real reason behind Kinley’s being hired.

Chapter 3

Kinley

As we neared
an area on the island that looked less wild and more like a place inhabited by humans, my stomach slowly started to unknot itself. The bundle of nerves that had made their home in my gut the moment I woke up this morning didn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave. The more than a little scary plane ride and the pilot that went with it hadn’t helped. I wasn’t completely sure what it was about Dax that put me in somewhat of a twist, and not necessarily a bad twist, but I was sure I’d get over it soon enough. One thing was certain, other than Rebecca Underwood, he had no big love or respect for the people living on the island. I wasn’t sure if I was imagining it or if my bad case of nerves was just making me see things that weren’t there, but he seemed inexplicably uneasy about leaving me on the island. I brushed it off as my own concern that I wouldn’t be the right person for Rebecca’s tutor, something that made me uneasy as well.

I was determined to shake loose the tension and make a good impression. I took some slow, deep breaths. The scent of coastal air and lush greenery filled my lungs. It was easy to understand how Wildthorne Island got its rather gothic name. The surrounding landscape, a tangled myriad of vines and green glossy shrubs and ferns that looked as if they’d been taken right out of a prehistoric forest, grew without a plan or direction. And standing tall and picturesque in the low growing foliage were massive trees whose thorn covered trunks made them easy to recognize as silk-floss trees.

Once again, I found myself having to take exaggerated steps to keep up with my long-legged tour guide who, even carrying my two bags, kept up a brisk pace. Not that I minded the view from behind too much. He was that kind of guy—appealing from every darn angle. And of course he seemed well aware that he had no
bad
sides.

As flustered as he’d made me when I first met him in King’s Beach, he’d made up for his terrible teasing with his comforting and reassuring words on the plane. Amusing as it seemed, he wasn’t the kind of guy I would trust with my heart, but by the end of the flight, where he proved to be a capable and confident pilot, I had learned to trust him with my life.

I hurried to catch up to Dax. “I would never have expected to see silk-floss trees out here in the middle of the north Pacific. I know they thrive best in places like South America. This cold, clammy climate hardly seems ideal and yet they are massive and obviously thriving.”

“In early spring this island is covered in pink and white blossoms. It’s an awesome sight from the sky. The trees were brought here by the original owners. The wife had insisted on it even though she was told they would never grow. Guess she proved them wrong. Some of the trees are more than sixty years old.” He looked over at me. “You know your trees.”

“The thorns on their trunks make them easy to recognize.”

We reached a part of the trail that passed through two large ferns. Dax used his hands and my bags to part the frilly branches and motioned me through with his head. I stepped through the leafy gate, and it was like stepping into another time and place. Chaotic, wild jungle growth was replaced by a well-manicured lawn and neatly trimmed boxwoods. The only reminder of the untamed landscape we’d just passed through was one tall silk-floss tree growing on the left side of a wraparound porch.

The facade of the manor was made of white brick, and the windows were trimmed with thick, navy blue paint. There were multi-paned windows running along both the top and bottom floors, interrupted only by a massive double mahogany front door on the first floor and a small ornate balcony on the second.

Almost the moment we stepped onto the oyster shell pathway leading to the marble front steps, the front door swung open. I hoped it would be Rebecca, but a tall, thin man, with dark hair and fair skin that looked as if it rarely saw the light of day, walked out. He stood erect with impressively perfect posture and his black jeans had been ironed with a pleat down the front. There wasn’t even a hint of beard stubble on his chin, even though it was well past five o’clock.

I glanced over at Dax. In faded jeans and Pterodactyl airlines t-shirt, a shirt that looked as if it had seen more flights than the pilot himself, he stood in stark contrast to the impeccably groomed man walking toward us. There was plenty of black stubble on Dax’s jaw, a jaw that seemed much tighter than it had just moments before. He stopped and didn’t seem inclined to go any farther.

The man reached us. He was much younger than I’d expected. Something about the way he dressed and moved had made him seem older. His skin was truly pale, but it seemed that was more from lack of sun than any illness. He raised a judgmental brow at the oversized sweatshirt. I quickly removed it. Instantly, the cool air chilled me.

“Brought you your mail order bride.” Dax’s cold tone and odd, unexpected words pulled my gaze his direction, but he refused to look at me.

The man’s dark brows knitted together in a scowl. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Anywhere but here sounds good.” Dax placed my bags on the ground. I handed him his sweatshirt as he turned to leave. His dark lashes and the brim of his hat veiled his eyes as he seemed to make a point of avoiding eye contact with me. I had no idea what was going on or why the sudden change in Dax’s demeanor, but as he walked away, I felt this unexplained tug as if he was holding an invisible tether that stretched between us. It was the oddest sensation I’d ever felt, and I couldn’t shake it.

My feet turned and moved forward before I even realized I was following him.

“Dax,” I called.

He stopped and for a moment I was sure he wouldn’t turn back around. When he did, something happened that I hadn’t expected or prepared for. Our gazes locked and that tug I’d felt as I watched him walk away grew stronger. “Thank you.” They were the only words I could utter. My heart was racing fast enough to make my head feel light, and I couldn’t understand any of it.

“Take care of yourself, Rabbit. I’ll see you soon.”

I nodded and stayed a few seconds longer to watch him disappear through the ferns. I was hyperaware of the dark eyes watching me from behind. I took a deep, steadying breath and turned back to him. My odd exchange with Dax, an interaction I couldn’t even explain myself, had left the man behind me looking even more stern than before.

I decided to switch on what my mom referred to as my innate charm. Although I’d always questioned just how innate it could be if I had to actually think about turning it on. I stuck out my hand. “Hello, I’m Kinley Kennedy.” My
charm
fell flat on its face when he refused to shake my hand. He even went so far as to tuck his well manicured hands behind his back.

“I’m Marcus Underwood,” he said with polished politeness. His face was handsome in the classical sense, straight nose and square jaw. But there was something entirely lacking in his eyes. They were void of sparkle, like the glint of light I’d caught more than once in Dax’s eyes.  “My mother is waiting inside with some refreshments. I’m sure you’re tired from your trip.”

“I am. Thank you.” His formal vocabulary and manners and the stately manor behind him really did make me feel as if I’d just been transported back to an earlier century.

I waited for him to pick up the bags, but he turned around and headed back toward the house. Possibly not the manners of an earlier time.

I picked up my belongings and followed. He’d left the front door ajar and used his foot to push it open before standing in front of it to let me pass by. Without looking directly at him, I got the feeling I was being scrutinized. I suddenly became extra self-conscious. After a long day of travel, I didn’t need a mirror to know I looked disheveled. I hoped my new employer would take that into consideration.

I stepped into the cavernous entryway. The house was decorated in what I would call sparse elegance. There weren’t a lot of fixtures, but the ones that were there looked expensive and as if someone had taken painstaking care to place them in precisely the right location. The entryway itself was mostly white marble with the palest veins of pink running through it. A chandelier that spanned half the plaster ceiling hung over us like a giant glittering bird. Sconces with candles that looked well used lined the walls of the entryway. Dax had mentioned the use of candles at night to save energy.

“Leave the bags here and I’ll have our housekeeper take them up to your room.” Marcus spoke clearly and with hardly an intonation. A breeze ushered inside, pushing the front door open farther. Marcus stopped it with his shoe and pushed it shut without touching it. “My mother is in the sitting room with coffee and pastries. I know she’s anxious to meet you.” He walked briskly past. I took that as my invitation to follow.

We walked along a narrow hallway that was lined with sea landscapes done in oil, and while I wasn’t an art expert, they looked original and valuable. On the right, an opened doorway revealed a formal dining room that had ceiling to floor windows running along one side, allowing a stunning view of the ocean. The artwork and furniture inside the room looked old and antique as if it had been purchased from a museum. To add to the museum look, sitting in a glass case between two windows, was a well constructed model of the U.S.S. Constitution. The one thing that was starkly apparent as we walked along a second corridor was that the house was immaculate, or hospital clean as my mom liked to joke when we traded in our tents for an actual motel room with four walls and a ceiling. It looked as if the walls and floors were scrubbed daily and dust was a completely foreign entity.

The sweet smell of cinnamon made my mouth water as we stepped into a large room with a light blue sofa and chairs, again, placed methodically around a round coffee table. Oddly enough, one of the chairs was covered in plastic. I glanced around but saw no evidence of a dog or cat. The house was far too sterile looking to keep a pet, unfortunately. A big bouncing dog or fussy little cat might have added a touch of normalcy to the place.

“Mother, Kinley Kennedy is here,” Marcus announced me so formally I felt as if I was stepping into a room for a regency era ball. Mrs. Underwood was in her mid to late fifties and she had the same rather severe expression as her son. Her blonde hair was combed back from her face, highlighting a flawless complexion and high cheek bones. Her only concession to makeup was a dark pink lipstick that stood out boldly from her fair skin. They were living on an island but both the Underwoods looked as if they’d never stepped outside in the sun.

Mrs. Underwood was wearing an almost formal looking pantsuit with a simple gold chain around her neck. I glanced down at my own attire and felt as if I’d just fallen off a passing cargo boat. Suddenly, my jeans and sweater seemed like a terrible choice of wardrobe for first impressions.

She stood from the sofa. “I’m Mrs. Underwood but you may call me Katherine.” Unlike her son, Mrs. Underwood had no aversion to shaking hands. In fact, she held on to mine for longer than a normal handshake. She brazenly surveyed me from head to toe as if she were buying a car or a horse. “You are even prettier than your pictures. Isn’t she Marcus?”

Marcus nodded, and added a rather unenthusiastic ‘very pretty’. Rather than sitting in the big chair directly behind him, he traveled across the rug to the opposite chair and sat gently down on the plastic.

“Come sit next to me, Kinley, and tell us about yourself. Rebecca will be down shortly. I insisted she finish reading two chapters in her book before joining us. I think you’ll find she’s a very bright girl, but she’s highly distractible. If you can keep her focused, half your battle will be won.” Katherine was definitely friendlier and more lively than her son. I was relieved. After the unexplained coldness between Marcus and Dax, coupled with all of Marcus’s quirky mannerisms, I worried that I’d somehow ended up working for the Addams family.

A stout woman with chalky gray hair and a white housekeeper uniform bustled into the room with a smile that made her cheeks look as if they were holding oranges. She was carrying a tray with a coffee pot and two cups. “I’ll bring yours right out, sir,” she said quickly to Marcus as she walked past him.

“Janice, this is Kinley. She will be Rebecca’s new teacher.”

Janice nodded politely. “Nice to meet you. I’ve brought both cream and sugar because I wasn’t sure how you take your coffee.”

I sat forward. “Black is fine. Thank you so much. The pastries look wonderful.” I had a hard time drawing my hungry gaze away from the plate of baked goods sitting on the end of the coffee table.

Katherine quickly moved the plate in front of me. “Please, eat as many as you like, but be aware that we’ll be serving dinner in an hour.” It was like a backhanded compliment only this time it was a delightful offer of pastries with a reminder not to enjoy them too much. And something told me Katherine was the kind of woman who expected you to eat all your vegetables and finish every crumb on the plate. Still, I hadn’t eaten for at least five hours and I was starved. I picked up the smallest pastry on the plate, an apple Danish with strands of creamy white glaze. It tasted as if heaven had landed in my mouth.

I glanced around as I chewed as politely and slowly as I could for being ravenous. It seemed both mother and son were watching me. I swallowed and stuck the remainder of the pastry in my napkin, deciding to save it for later, when I was alone in my room.

The jovial, energetic Janice returned before any more conversation could take place. This time she was wearing plastic gloves, like the kind that surgeons wear. She had a tray and a cup that was wrapped completely in cellophane. She stopped at Marcus’s chair.

“Shall I have Janice warm up your coffee, Kinley?” Mrs. Underwood asked loudly, even though I was sitting right next to her.

“No, it’s fine.” It seemed she wanted more than anything to pull my attention away from Marcus, but my curious gaze was glued his direction. Janice waited patiently as Marcus picked up the cup, unwrapped it and tossed the used plastic wrap back on the tray. Steam spiraled up from the cup as he brought it to his mouth. His eyes landed on me, and it seemed he’d momentarily forgotten that they had a visitor. He turned his face away, almost as if embarrassed. I turned back to Katherine. She looked slightly disgruntled that I’d witnessed the cup unveiling.

I gave her a warm smile, trying to let her know that I understood completely. It didn’t take any huge skills or knowledge to deduce that Marcus was a germophobe, a person with an extreme fear of germs. It suddenly made me like him more. It made him more pliable, more real. It had to be a struggle and a horrible burden to live with, and I was determined not to notice any of his unusual behavior.

I placed my coffee and pastry filled napkin on the tray. “I noticed you have a replica of the U.S.S Constitution in the dining room.”

Behind me the heavy plastic crackled, and, from the corner of my eye, I saw Marcus sit forward. I faced him.

“You recognized it from the hallway?” Marcus asked with more enthusiasm than I thought him capable of.

“Old Ironsides is a fairly recognizable ship. But I confess, I have more expertise than most. Although, it wasn’t planned expertise. It was sort of forced upon me by my dad. He has quite an obsession with warships.” A short laugh shot from my mouth before I could cover it with my hand. Something told me this was a house where you covered your mouth when you laughed.

I turned my attention completely to Marcus because the topic had lit up his face. “We passed by the room quickly, but at some point, I’d love to take a closer look. It looked quite impressive. A lot like the real thing.”

The thick plastic squeaked with movement as Marcus sat even closer to the edge of the chair. His reaction was almost kidlike as if he was ten and a friend was telling him about his Pokémon collection. “Have you seen the real ship?” It seemed the mention of warships had cracked through an otherwise steely exterior. It seemed I’d found a small chink in his armor.