Chapter Ten

 

 

Rick asked no questions when Chris stopped by his small house in a quiet nook of the island. He handed Chris the keys to the brown Flying Island Freight truck and took the keys to the Blue Isle Construction truck with only a raised eyebrow as a comment. Neither one of the men owned any other vehicle, and they had shared the two trucks informally for the past several years. On a small island like St. Thomas, there was no need for an additional personal vehicle.

Chris drove directly to East Pointe and left the brown truck in the driveway. It was surprisingly ugly in the elegant driveway of the estate. Normally, he would have grimly reflected on the decadence of owners like this. Today, he didn’t care. His mind was on finding Whitney and repairing the hurricane damage before it swept away his company.

He rang the doorbell by the kitchen door and waited, but no one came. Chris took a step back and turned, walking the curved sidewalk around toward the beach side. As soon as he came around the corner of the house, he stopped. She was right there for the taking.

He stood still for a moment, just looking at her. She didn’t see him yet. It would only be seconds before she turned around. She wore shorts that revealed shapely long legs. He could tell she was barefoot. The thought of being able to touch all that skin nearly undid his resolve to control himself and play his hand coolly. Her short-sleeved slim-fitting shirt teased him by barely skimming over breasts that would fit just right in his hands. The light breeze coming off the sparkling blue water tossed her brown hair a little. It played across her shoulders and her back.

The moment she started to turn and noticed him, he felt the shock of her glance race down his back. She stood still as if she were waiting for him to make a move. He already had made a move by coming over, and there was nothing slowing down his long strides as he closed the distance between them in seconds. He crossed the lawn, never taking his eyes off her. He stepped onto the bright sand and almost stumbled in his heavy construction boots. She waited for him, not moving a muscle.

She locked eyes with him as he came up, lips parted. He felt a connection with her before he even pulled her into his arms. Undeniable. His lips came slowly to hers, their eyes wide open and searching each other’s until they were too close. She closed her eyes first, but her lips said she was wide awake and welcoming.

Before all his restraint was completely gone, he pulled back for a second so he could speak.

“I want to help you,” he began, “with your construction problems.”

Whitney’s eyes clouded and her forehead wrinkled. She pressed her lips together and looked pained. Chris thought for a moment that she was going to cry, but her expression quickly changed. The look of fierceness he had seen in her before took over her face and her jaw set in what looked like gritty resignation.

“There’s no helping anything,” she said. “My contractors closed up shop for the holidays.” She bit her lip and looked away from him out at the blue sea that deepened in the late day light. “Poor Taylor. Her wedding—” Whitney broke off her sentence because she turned back and saw that Chris was grinning. No, he was smirking.

“How is this funny?” she demanded. She looked angry enough to pick him up and toss him into the ocean.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just that I finally figured out that you’re not getting married.”

“Married? Me?”

“To Taylor. I thought for the last three days that you were marrying a guy named Taylor East. You even said ‘I love you’ on the phone.”

Whitney huffed out a sigh. “Girls say that to their friends. Good friends anyway.”

“I know,” he said. “I was just a little confused.”

“A lot confused,” Whitney said. She paused. “So that’s what happened last night. You thought I took a call from my fiancé while I was out with you.”

She laughed out loud. Her green eyes sparkled in the sunlight and he wondered how he could resist her or anything she asked of him.

Her look darkened quickly, though. “No one is getting married here,” she said. “Look at this place.”

Chris turned and looked at the whole scene. He knew exactly what he was going to see and the guilt stabbed him a little as he pulled Whitney closer to him.

“The wedding is off,” she said sadly.

“It doesn’t have to be,” Chris said, unable to keep his hands off her face as he caressed her and spoke gently. “I can help you.”

“How?”

“My dad owns a construction company in Maine. Believe me, I know a thing or two about building. I grew up working for him.”

“But why would you—” she began.

“Just say yes,” Chris said. “Maybe it’s a good excuse to spend more time with you.”

Whitney turned to look at the yard that was still a mess, the pavilion that still looked shattered by the storm, and the gazebo that was still totally out of the question for wedding guests. Only the trees and natural debris had been cleared away.

“Is there any chance of getting it fixed up in time?”

“With the right motivation, I can work like a machine.”

“But your trading business—”

“Closed until after New Year’s. I’m giving my guys some time off.”

“So, you’re…”

“All yours.”

****

Whitney couldn’t believe what she was hearing for the second time that day. Her earlier phone call to Blue Isle where the message on the machine announced their closure for the next two weeks left her stunned and speechless. Closed. No work. No hurricane repair. No dream wedding for Taylor.

Whitney had stood on the warm sand staring out at the water wondering what on earth she could possibly do. Calling Taylor’s family with the bad news was the only thing she could think of, and she was about to do just that when a slight sound made her turn around. Chris could not have looked any more handsome as he had stood on the far edge of the lawn, just looking at her.

Now, she could not believe her ears. Was he really offering to do her construction work? Could it be done in only the ten days they had left? Should she trust Chris or call Taylor right now so she could make an alternate plan for her wedding? Considering the work may not finish on time, maybe Taylor deserved the chance to decide for herself if she wanted to take a chance on it.

Whitney looked into the sincere blue eyes staring intently into hers, waiting for an answer. For whatever reason he wanted to help her, she was going to take what he had to offer. Maybe it was a risk, but right now it seemed like the best risk she could take. And her only option.

“Thank you, Chris.”

He didn’t answer her, but pulled her gently against his hard chest and stroked her hair as he held her. “It’ll be all right,” he whispered.

****

“Which is more important,” Chris asked a little while later, “the pavilion or the gazebo?”

“Both,” Whitney said.

“Agreed. Let me rephrase that. Which one do you want done first?”

Whitney looked them both over, picturing Taylor walking across the lawn with her white dress angling gracefully over her protruding belly as her family looked on happily. She could not let her friend down.

“Pavilion, I think. That’s where the ceremony itself will take place. The gazebo is important, and I think they probably want to use it for pictures, but just in case we—” she broke off and bit her lower lip again.

“No ‘just in case’ necessary,” Chris said. “We’ll get them both done.”

Something about the way he said it was reassuring. He looked, spoke, and acted like the kind of man who got things done. He just might be too good to be true. Whitney thought about the conventional Boston wisdom that would remind her that if something seemed too good to be true, it probably was.

However, Boston was very far away right now and she was here alone and facing a mountainous project. Except that she wasn’t quite alone. It would take a miracle, but something about Chris made her want to believe in miracles.

The sun was setting on the other side of the island, and dark slanted shadows disappeared into night.

Chris squeezed her shoulder. “Want to order us some dinner while I get started?” He grinned. “I work better with a full stomach.”

Whitney laughed. “So that’s why you’re helping me out. I’m going to have to feed you.”

“A man’s gotta eat, and the only things I can cook are pancakes and microwave popcorn.”

“I think I can do better than that.”

Whitney went into the house and dialed up a pizza delivery place. It wasn’t glamorous, but if she served it with some cold beer, it would make a meal. It was almost dark anyway, so they might as well enjoy a quiet dinner. They couldn’t work after dark, so they would have the whole night before them. And then what? Would he stay late? Would they…

A loud noise startled Whitney and bright light swept across the floor of the dining room. She followed the path of light and discovered the entire lawn was lit up like daylight. Whatever that loud noise was, it was powering some huge construction lights. Maybe Chris was planning to work all night. That answered her question about what they might do after dark.

Whitney went outside and headed across the illuminated lawn.

“I feel like I’m at a football game,” she said as she found Chris tentatively pulling down some damaged boards and stepping carefully beneath the unsteady pavilion. He stopped what he was doing and smiled crookedly at her.

“Wanna play cheerleader and quarterback? I’ll take you to the homecoming dance if you’ll let me copy your math homework.”

“I was never cheerleader material. And I wouldn’t let you copy my homework even if you—”

“What?”

“Never mind,” she said, grinning ear to ear. “I’m a nice girl.”

He looked her over from head to toe, drinking in every one of her curves and making her feel like a display in a shop window. “Too bad,” he said.

Too good, she thought. He seemed too good to be true. He took out a tape measure from his pocket and measured boards while he whistled. It was not hard to believe him when he said he knew what he was doing. He seemed completely in his element walking around inspecting, probing, and measuring the pavilion. Maybe this would turn out all right after all.

“Pizza will be here in a half an hour, and there’s cold beer in the fridge,” she said. “What can I do to help in the meantime?”

“Could you find paper and a pencil? I’m going to start cutting some boards, but I need you to write down some measurements first.”

“What boards? Don’t we need to go to a lumberyard or something like that?”

Chris raised his eyebrows and pointed to a tarp-covered pile next to a trailer that tall lights were mounted to. “Looks like the lumber fairy came. Must be the same fairy that dropped off these convenient lights.”

“Amazing,” Whitney said. “Where did that come from?”

“Had to be your construction company. It was here when I got here.”

A smile spread across her face. She hadn’t noticed the pile of construction supplies, but she hadn’t really looked at any of the stuff that appeared yesterday while she was out on the boat with Chris. She was leaving all that worry to Blue Isle Construction. Now she was glad that those jerks at least dropped off a mountain of materials before they left on their two-week Christmas vacation.