The Heart of a Hero (2 page)

Zoe stared at the answer she just typed. Probably not the answer Invisible wanted to hear. After all, she was
Zoe of ‘Ask Zoe,’ the woman with all the answers on love and life. If only they knew. What was that old saying? Those who can’t, write advice columns? She pressed Delete, erasing her bitter words from the screen if not from her heart.

Normally she didn’t have a problem coming up with the kind of advice her readers wanted to hear, but tonight the answers wouldn’t come.

Who was she kidding? The answers hadn’t come for weeks. Not since Paul made a mockery out of every answer she ever gave.

Reynaldo barked. Zoe gave a smile and scooped him onto the sofa. “Good old Reynaldo. You’ll always want me, right? We’ll muddle through, you, me and the occasional stray bird.”

It had taken thirty minutes, but the swallow finally flew the coop, disappearing while she was busy relocating Reynaldo to an upstairs bedroom. She swore the creature timed its exit specifically to spite her.

Now clean and tired, she lay wrapped in a fleece throw trying to keep the evening chill at bay. She’d forgotten how chilly island nights could be during the late spring. Come next month, heat and humidity would make the sea breeze a welcome visitor, but tonight the chill clung to the last of the crisp air with typical New England stubbornness. There was a fireplace, but her neighbor’s comment had left her reluctant to build one. Bad enough she’d imagined his “told you so” when the bird flew away. She didn’t
need to prove him right with a chimney fire, too. Until she had the chimney cleaned, the fleece and Reynaldo would have to do. She pulled the blanket a little higher.

Meanwhile her secondary heating source was having trouble settling down, insisting instead on walking up and down the length of her body like a stubby-legged cat. The restlessness meant one of two things—either food or a bathroom break—and since he’d emptied his food dish twenty minutes ago…

She groaned. “All right, let’s go.”

Outside, the night was gray but for the porch light next door. Zoe stood under her own burnt-out light and watched the moths flitting toward the beam. Despite being the only source of light, there was a somberness to her neighbor’s house. Maybe it was the lack of color on its gray, weathered shingles or the memory of its owner’s unsmiling face. The memory of bright emerald eyes came floating back.

At the bottom of the steps, Reynaldo sniffed the grass uninterestedly before trotting to the fence dividing the properties.

“That’s far enough,” she said, calling the dachshund back. After three years together, she liked to believe her little rescue dog would respond to her voice. Wishful thinking, but she liked deluding herself. Why not? She excelled at it, didn’t she?

“We said we’d stay in our own yard, remember? How about we try and keep our promise?”

Suddenly the sound of a back door opening breached the quiet. Zoe’s insides stilled. Through a gap in the posts, she spied a crop of sun-bleached hair and a somber profile. Funny, only a moment before she’d been thinking his yard dark. Illuminated by the white cone of his porch light, he looked brighter than bright in the gray. Zoe swore she could see the flash of his green eyes as he stared out into the night. In his hand, he held an amber bottle.

Curious, Zoe watched as he drank his beer and studied whatever it was he saw in his backyard. Or was he searching? Though really too far away for her to truly see, he seemed to be focused on a point far past his property line.

After a minute, he raised the bottle one last time and turned back inside. With the flick of a switch, the light disappeared, leaving Zoe and Reynaldo alone in the darkness.

She definitely had to clean the chimney. Waking up to a foggy, gray morning, it took Zoe less than a second to make the decision. Granted, she’d probably only need the fireplace for a week or so, until the summer heat arrived, but that was one week too long to do without. Shivering under the covers in flannel pj’s and a sweatshirt was not how she wanted to spend her nights. Especially since Reynaldo insisted on making a predawn bathroom trip every morning.

“I swear, you have a bladder the size of a pea,” she said to him.

Palming her coffee mug, she returned to her list. Charles and her mother weren’t kidding when they said they’d ignored the property the past couple years. Since Rey had her awake, she decided to make a list of home repairs she needed to tackle. Clearly, Rey needed a dog run, if for no other reason than to keep him out of their green-eyed neighbor’s yard. The memory of his laser-sharp gaze sent a tremor down her spine, where it pooled in uncomfortable warmth at the base.

Definitely, a dog run. And a new light for the back door so she wouldn’t have to stand in the dark while Rey relieved himself. Those repairs she could do herself. But the chimney… Sadly, chimney sweeping was out of her purview.

“Guess that means I need to find a handyman, Rey. Think this island has one?” Pitcher’s Hole was more a fishing hole than a town, though she had noticed a small hardware store near where the ferry docked. “I imagine that’s as good a place as any to start asking around. If nothing else, maybe we can find a portable heater for the bedroom.” If the dated electrical system could handle the extra voltage.

Getting dressed had never been a big production for her. Less so now that she had no one to impress. A quick brush of her hair, a splash of water on her face and she was done. As she adjusted her glasses, she
stared at the reflection in the mirror. Unimpressive blue eyes and hair badly needing a trim stared back. No wonder Paul had only wanted her money. Maybe if she’d spent a little more time, worn a little lipstick…

Zoe shook the thought from her head. She could play what-if ’til the cows came home—Paul would still be out of her life.

Besides, this summer was supposed to be about healing, not bemoaning her new—and no doubt permanent—single status. Better to focus on tasks at hand.

The kitchen was conspicuously empty when she came downstairs. “Rey?”

Barking sounded from outside. Looking to the screen door, she saw the latch had failed to catch. Another item for the to-do list, along with the dog run.

“The size of a pea,” she said, stepping outside. “I swear, Rey, the size of a pea.”

Reynaldo didn’t respond. In fact, much to her dismay, he was nowhere in sight.

Oh, please let him be sniffing around the side bushes and not exploring next door.
It was way too early in the morning to face those laser beam eyes.

“You again!”

Zoe groaned. No such luck.

There wasn’t a trace of a smile on her neighbor’s face as he held up a very contrite Reynaldo.

Zoe was pretty sure her own face mirrored the dog’s. “Sorry. He snuck out while I was in the other room.”

“Seems to happen a lot.”

Twice. It had happened twice. “He doesn’t usually wander far from home. For some reason he has an affinity to your backyard.” She forced a smile. “Must be something over there he finds appealing.”

Though for the life of her, she didn’t know what.

Without so much as cracking a glimmer of a smile, her neighbor—whose name she still didn’t know—thrust Reynaldo in her direction. “There’s an invention called a leash. I suggest you buy one.”

I suggest you buy one.
Zoe fought the urge to smirk. At least one of them should try to act civilly. “I’m installing a dog run today.”

If he appreciated the gesture, it didn’t show on his face. He simply grunted what sounded like an acknowledgment before turning away.

Distracted by the bird and other things yesterday, she’d missed it, but her neighbor had a limp. He clearly favored his right leg. Between this and the scars… Whatever had happened to him, was it the reason for the prickliness? she wondered. Because so far the man had been a six-foot roll of barbed wire, sharp and impossible to approach. With any luck,
once she installed the dog run and had Reynaldo back in check, she wouldn’t have to cross his thorny path again.

N
AUSHATUCKET
I
SLAND
wasn’t a major Cape Cod island. That title belonged to its larger sisters, Nantucket and Martha’s Vineyard. Only a handful of its population lived there year-round. Most were like Zoe: transient residents who wanted a summer at the islands but without the big island crowds. As a little girl, Zoe had spent a summer here with her parents when her father was in remission. Back then Pitcher’s Hole consisted of a fish market, an ice-cream shop and the ferry station. It didn’t consist of much more now, though there were a few additional stores, including the hardware store she had seen yesterday. She headed there first, hoping the staff might know of someone on the island who did repair work. If not, she’d have to bring in someone from New Bedford or one of the other big islands, a cost she wasn’t keen on absorbing.

Turned out Pitcher’s Hole Hardware was more a marine supply shop than an actual hardware store. Brass fittings and anchor line seemed to be the order
of the day. It was also, to Zoe’s chagrin, smaller than small, with rows so narrow only one person at a time could navigate them.

Of course, the claustrophobic space might have been tolerable had her neighbor not limped in shortly after her. By merely walking in, the man absorbed all the surrounding air, as if his six-foot frame were twice that size. Zoe, who’d been perusing the rope section, ducked deeper into the aisle. She didn’t know why, but his appearance unnerved her. She blamed the barbed-wire layers, layers she could feel from her hiding place as he approached the front counter.

“Morning, Jake,” the manager greeted.
So that was his name. Jake.
She’d pictured something far more intimidating.
Jake
was a dependable, solid name, a name you could count on.

In a way, she was surprised the manager and he were on a first-name basis. There was such a solitary air about him, she could easily imagine him never speaking to anyone.

“You called about the clamp connector?”

Case in point,
thought Zoe.

The manager took his abruptness in stride. “Your order came over on the boat yesterday. Let me get it.”

He disappeared into the back room, leaving Jake alone at the counter. Leaving the two of them alone in the store. Why she found this fact unsettling Zoe didn’t know, but she was determined to ignore both
the man and her reaction to his proximity. She returned her gaze to the rope display, attempting to calculate the length she would need for Rey’s run, but trapped in the cramped space of the store, her neighbor’s presence pulled her attention back. Try as she might she found herself stealing glances in his direction. He had, she realized, the most perfect posture she’d ever seen. No wonder he loomed large. Shoulders straight, head high—he commanded attention even in a faded flannel shirt and jeans. She supposed that explained her fascination. Curmudgeon though he might be, he was a compelling one.

The manager returned carrying a pair of packages containing items Zoe couldn’t identify. “Here you go. Already on your account so you’re all set. By the way, did Kent Mifflin contact you about the Flag Day dedication?”

“Yeah, he did.”

“Great, so…”

“Thanks for the clamp connectors.”

Zoe watched as Jake gathered his packages and limped out the door. If he noticed the store manager’s disappointed expression, his actions didn’t show it.

“You looking for something special, miss?”

The question caused her to start. So engrossed had she been in observing her neighbor walk across the street, she’d missed the manager coming to join her. Recovering, she pointed to the rope. “I need ten feet,” she said, “and a couple of swivel clips.”

“Sure thing.” Grabbing a pair of cutters, he began measuring out the length. “You moored at the dock?”

“Setting up a dog run.”
So I don’t annoy the man who just left here.
“I’m spending the summer on the island.”

“You picked a great place. Naushatucket’s a great place to unwind.”

“I know. My parents used to come summers a long time ago. I just bought their place.”

Bringing her to the other reason for her hardware store visit. “Place is a little run-down, though. I’m hoping to make some repairs while I’m here. You wouldn’t be able to recommend a handyman, would you?”

“Sure can,” the manager replied, coiling the rope between his hand and his elbow. “Best on the island. You can tell him Ira sent you. That way he’ll know you’re a resident.”

“Terrific. Do you know if he sweeps chimneys?”

“Oh, I’m sure he does. He handles just about everything else.”

The mere thought of using her fireplace warmed Zoe’s inside. With any luck she could get her chimney swept and be basking in warmth in a few days.

“Too bad I didn’t talk to you sooner,” Ira continued. “I could have introduced you before he left.”

“Left?” The warmth inside her began to fade,
replaced by a prickling sensation on the back of her neck. She had a bad feeling Ira was about to say something she didn’t want to hear.

“Yeah, he was just here. Name’s Jake Meyers.” He handed her the coiled length of rope. “You won’t find a better contractor on the islands.”

Zoe forced a smile. Her neighbor was the handyman.

Oh, yay.

It was a simple business transaction. He had a service; she needed that service. Nothing to get worked up about.

So why was she?

Crossing the line from her front yard to Jake’s, Zoe had to forcibly calm herself down. Which was absurd, really. So what if their last two encounters had involved more glaring than conversation? The man was a contractor, and she was a potential customer. She had every right to knock on his front door. There was absolutely no reason for her pulse to be beating so quickly.

In the daylight, the house was far less intimidating. Trimmed green grass and flowering shrubs made the gray seem less bleak, as did the farmer’s porch. The building still wasn’t bright and cheery by any stretch of the imagination, but the potential was there lurking beneath the surface. More important, the house was well maintained, which boded well for Mr. Meyers’s
skills. All she needed to do was swallow her uncharacteristic bout of nerves and hire him.

The door swung open before her fist could greet the wood. “If you’re looking for your dog, he’s not here.”

His glare burned straight through her and singed her resolve. Was it too late to back away?

“Reynaldo’s locked in the house,” she managed to squeak out. Using her glasses as a stall tactic, she repositioned the frames while she searched for her voice. “I figured he was better off staying out of your way.”

“You figured right.”

He propped himself against the door frame. For some reason, Zoe’s eyes went to the hands pressed against the molding. As a means of assessing his skill, she told herself. His long fingers curved around the lip of the molding, elegant despite the windburn and scarring. They looked like very capable hands.

Strong hands.

Quickly she looked back to his face only to find herself trapped by his hard stare. “Still trying to ‘save’ your bird? Or is today a new rescue mission?”

“Neither.” Zoe could already feel herself chafing under his scrutiny. It was as if he were trying to push her out of his yard with his eyes. “My chimney needs sweeping.”

“That so?”

“At least I think so. The house has been kind of neglected the past couple years….”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

She flashed a smirk. “Anyway, since the nights are still a little cool, I’d like to use the fireplace and I thought it wise to have the chimney cleaned out before I do. I was at the hardware store this morning—”

“I know.”

Meaning he’d noticed her. Had he seen her staring, too? Her stomach did a weird kind of somersault. Swift and sudden, the reaction left her flustered. Once again, she hid behind adjusting her glasses. “Anyway, I asked at the store about a handyman and the manager suggested you. Said you were the best on the island. I was hoping I could hire you.”

Jake drew his lips into a tight line. “Hmm.”

Not exactly the most enthusiastic response in the world. Either he didn’t need the business or—she hated the pebble of insecurity that accompanied her next thought—he didn’t want hers. “Are you available? If it’s a problem, I’ll make sure Reynaldo stays out of your way.”

“Because you’ve done such a bang-up job of that so far.”

“He’s a little worked up because it’s a new location. I assure you, I’m capable of keeping my dachshund under control.” The last comment came out sharper than necessary, but she couldn’t help it. She didn’t
appreciate his tone. In fact, now that she thought about it, she didn’t appreciate his entire attitude.

“On second thought, never mind.” Screw his skills and sexy, capable-looking hands. She didn’t need the hassle. “I’ll ask the manager to recommend someone else.”

“He won’t.”

“That so?” she replied, quoting him.

“There’s a reason Ira said I was the best contractor on the island.”

“Really? And what’s that?”

“I’m also the only one.”

In a flash, Zoe’s bravado disappeared. “The only one?”

Jake shrugged. “You might find one or two more in a couple weeks, when the summer population shows up, if you can get one of them to take a break from their vacation.”

“In a couple weeks I won’t need fires to warm the house.”

“No, you probably won’t.”

Zoe sighed. She was stuck with Mr. Attitude whether she liked it or not. That is, if he took the job. She might have snapped away her opportunity. She offered her best contrite smile. “I don’t suppose I can get a do-over?”

“I don’t believe in do-overs.”

“Oh.” So much for that.

“But I will sweep your chimney. Gonna have to go to the Vineyard for supplies, though.”

“Oh, that’s fine.” Relief made her far more agreeable than she should be. “Buy whatever you need.”

“I take cash or check. No credit.”

“No problem. Give me a working fireplace and I’ll pay you in solid gold bars if that’s what you want.” In the back of her mind she knew she should be getting more information before agreeing to his terms. Like how much he charged, for example. But the promise of a warm bed trumped good business. Besides, if he were the only handyman on the island, which was entirely possible, given the lack of full-time population, then she didn’t have a whole lot of negotiation room anyway. “Anything to avoid shivering through the night.”

His eyes swept the length of her and Zoe found herself wondering just how she would define the term
anything.
It had been a long time since a man looked at her like she was a woman. At least not without a hidden agenda.

“Cash or check will suffice.”

So much for being looked at like a woman. “Right.” The deflated sensation in the pit of her stomach was
not
disappointment. Not that kind anyway.

Unsure what to do next, especially with the embarrassment creeping along her skin, she toed the welcome mat and brushed the bangs off her frames. “Well then,” she said, clearing her throat. “I’ll set
up things when you’re done.” A graceful exit, this was not.

Worse, he continued to stare at her. Hot and hard. Like he was trying to read under her skin. It made her insides all jumpy.

“I’ll…” Her voice caught
again.
“I’ll let you get back to what you were doing…”

“Where are you going?”

The question came abruptly, sounding more like a command, and froze her just as she was about to step off the porch. “Um, home?” she offered.

“Not if you want your chimney cleaned. Told you, we have to go to the Vineyard for supplies.”

“We?” How on earth did she factor in?

“I don’t carry a line of credit at the Vineyard store.”

“So?” She still wasn’t sure what that had to do with her going to the Vineyard or anywhere else with him.

“So,” he said, pushing away from the door, “someone’s got to pay for your supplies.”

Which was why, a half hour later, Zoe found herself ducking the spray as they cruised across the sound in Jake’s powerboat. On a good day, the ride took forty-five minutes. It might as well have lasted for eternity since her companion was a stone-faced statue. For the first few minutes, she tried to engage him in conversation, but after the third consecutive
one-word answer, she gave up, settling instead for stealing glances at his silent profile.

She had to admit the man knew how to handle a boat. Yet again, she found her attention drawn to his hands and to the way the wheel glided effortlessly under his fingers. He was less steering the boat than commanding it to do his bidding.

Commanding.
At the hardware store, she’d thought of him compelling. Now she had a second word to describe him.

There was something else about him, too. A quality she couldn’t name. Originally, she’d have said
prickly,
but studying him now, the word didn’t quite fit. Oh, he was prickly—okay, he was unfriendly—but her gut told her something about the prickliness didn’t ring true. Why she thought that she couldn’t say, but her gut said there was more to Jake Meyers than met the eye.

And we all know how well your gut works, right, Zoe?
She cringed, remembering how certain she’d been about Paul. The way she’d defended him to everybody.
You don’t know him like I do. He needs me.
Paul had needed her all right. Needed her money.

Across the water, Zoe spied the shores of Martha’s Vineyard closing in. Come three weeks from now, part-time residents and vacationers would jam both the waterways and the tiny island’s streets. At the moment, however, the island belonged to the year-round residents, leaving the bay quiet and half-full.
Jake steered his boat around West Chop and toward Vineyard Haven. About ten yards out, he slowed the engine, engulfing the day in even greater silence as they glided toward an empty slip.

Finally, a chance to do something besides sit with her thoughts. Scrambling forward, she grabbed the rope, and soon as they were close enough, stepped onto the dock. It’d been a while since she’d done any kind of boating, but the lessons came back quickly enough as she deftly tied them off. She then moved starboard, and repeated the task. When finished, she looked up to see Jake studying her handiwork. The glasses obscured part of his expression but she could see he was surprised. The knowledge caused a bubble of pride in her chest. She waited while Jake secured the rest of the boat, thinking, as he moved around, that for a man with a bad leg he carried himself with a great deal of grace. Then again, was she really surprised?