This time it was Cheyenne who ran away.
“I have to go,” she said, pushing against Jake’s chest. Surprisingly, he released her and stood back.
“What are you afraid of, Cheyenne?” His question struck a nerve.
Myself. She hurried away, leaving him standing by the dock rail alone. She knew if she let Jake close, if they had a relationship, it would devastate her when he ended it. And how could he not? His life was on the stage, and even though he protested now, she knew he would eventually go back to that. He was still composing; he still loved music. It wasn’t something anyone with his talent could truly walk away from. And she didn’t belong in that world, a place of glamour and parties and hob-knobbing with the rich and famous.
Cheyenne had never considered herself inferior to anyone. In fact, that had been the one thing to keep her going in the darkest days after her mother had left. She had told herself and her sister over and over again that it was their mother who had a problem. They were not the unworthy ones. That attitude had made it possible to do the impossible at the time—to become an adult when she was still a child in order to keep them from being separated and going into the system.
So why did she feel she wasn’t good enough for Jake? Because he was actually Joseph Donovan, she reminded herself as she readied for bed. She knew he’d had affairs with glamorous women. She had frequently seen the photos in the tabloids; in fact, she had often issued press releases written by the senior Donovan disputing any stories and liaisons that had been printed.
She crawled into bed without checking her phone or email. Her mind was in turmoil over a situation she hadn’t wanted in the beginning and now she was being swept into the storm. If only Sebastian had sent someone else to collect Jake, if only she hadn’t kissed him that first time, if only her brain would quit wondering what it would be like to make love with him.
She eventually fell asleep, dreaming of belonging to someone and living a life of happily ever after.
* * *
Cheyenne looked blurrily at the readout on her phone.
Be outside in an hour. Dress casual.
Well, he isn’t giving up. She dragged herself to the shower. A smile curved her lips as she stood under the spray. He isn’t giving up.
She dressed in navy Bermuda shorts and a red and white crop top, pulled her hair back in a ponytail and applied light make up. She wished she had tennis shoes, but her deck shoes would have to do. Honestly, if she ended up spending the rest of the month here, she had to get more clothes. Jake no longer evaded her, but he certainly hadn’t consented to returning to Chicago, which meant she was here for the duration.
Feeling slightly guilty, she fired off a quick email to Donovan, telling him she had information and would get back to him as soon as she could. It wasn’t exactly a lie, but she had come to the conclusion that this really wasn’t her fight. Jake was an adult, certainly capable of deciding his life. His uncle needed to understand that, but it wasn’t her place to tell him so. After what Jake had told her about his mother, she was leaning more heavily in his favor, even though she was employed by the opposition.
She hurried down the stairs, grabbed a bottle of water and a French pastry from the breakfast tray, and left all thoughts of Chicago behind as she closed the door.
The heat assaulted her; the sun already bounced off the light colored walls of the buildings. She did have her sunglasses, which she hastily donned, but she could have used a hat.
Jake stood at the bottom of the steps. He wore ragged cutoffs, a tee with the sleeves torn off and tennis shoes with a hole in one toe. His ball cap was turned backwards, his mirrored sunglasses reflecting the bright light.
“You’ve only been here two months,” she said as she joined him and they started down the boardwalk. “How is it your clothes look like they survived every natural disaster known to man?”
He laughed and she was glad to see he harbored no ill feelings for her having run out on him last night. “You can actually buy clothes this way.”
“The question is, why would you want to?”
“You need a hat,” he said instead. He grabbed her hand and led her into a souvenir shop.
She took a step toward the wide brimmed sun hats but he pulled her the opposite way.
“You’ll need something that stays on your head.” He grabbed one from the shelf. It had a fish coming out of water with a huge hook in its mouth. Embroidered in hot pink on the black material was “hook’er”.
“Seriously?” she choked out but had to laugh when he turned back around and she saw the front of his hat. “Chick bait” was scrawled next to a can of worms.
“Is there anything that doesn’t have to do with fish and sex?” she asked.
He looked at her with mock surprise. “This entire island is supported by fishing.”
“And the sex?” she questioned without thinking.
He wiggled his brows as he plucked another hat from a lower shelf. “How do you think they make the next generation of fishermen?” He started to put the white hat on her head, then reached behind her and pulled her pony tail out through the hole in the back.
“What does this one say?” She tried to pull it off but he caught her hand and held it tight. She noticed he had replaced his bandage with a brace that wrapped around his wrist and palm, leaving his fingers free. She momentarily forgot about the hat as she studied his hand, assuring herself the swelling had gone down.
He kept hold of her as he gave the cashier some money.
“Fitting.” The man nodded toward her hat as he handed Jake his change. “And not just because of the festival.”
Cheyenne pulled her hand free and sought a mirror. She wasn’t leaving this store with a derogatory saying on her hat. It took her a minute to read the word backward, then she smiled as Jake came up behind her. “Mermaid” was stenciled in emerald green, arching around a picture of the aforesaid, her long blonde hair barely covering lush breasts.
He smiled at her reflection in the mirror and she mentally took back her earlier thoughts about wishing Donovan hadn’t given her this assignment. At the moment, there was nowhere else she would rather be.
The street had become more crowded during their time in the store and Jake grabbed her hand to keep them together. “We’re heading for the pier,” he said, as they wove in and out of the crowds.
“The festival has already started?” There weren’t as many people clogging the streets as on Magnificent Mile for the Christmas parade, but for a small village, it seemed overwhelming.
“The official kickoff is at sunset, which is why we need to hustle.” He quickened his pace and she easily kept up with his long stride. At the pier, they veered off the boardwalk onto one of the floating docks, lined with boats on both sides. This particular dock jutted the farthest out into the harbor, and they walked almost to the end where a boat was tied in the last slip.
“Sorry for the delay, McNally,” Jake said as he hopped aboard, then turned to help her. Instead of giving her a hand, he circled her waist and lifted her across. She grabbed his upper arms in reflex. He was muscular but not bulky and his skin was warm beneath her fingers. She reluctantly let go when her feet hit the deck but grabbed him again when her shoes slipped on the wet surface.
He kept one hand circled about her upper arm. “Take off the shoes,” he said, helping her to maintain her balance as she pulled one then the other off and dropped them on the deck.
He then turned to introduce her to the other man. “McNally, this is Cheyenne Tucker, a friend. Thought she might like to see what we’re up to.” To her he added, “McNally is the unofficial harbormaster.”
McNally, a barrel chested man with a red beard and bright blue eyes, grinned at her as he tugged the front of his hat. “Welcome aboard, Miss. You both sit back there while I get us under way.”
Cheyenne moved in the direction he indicated, sitting down on a cushion bench along the back of the boat. McNally climbed the few steps to an area where he apparently captained the boat and Jake slipped the tether free of the cleat.
“Are you okay?” he asked as he sat beside her, toeing off his own shoes and kicking them aside. “You don’t get seasick, do you?” He tilted his head to look at her with a frown.
“Of course not,” she instantly replied, hoping it was true. She had taken the Chicago River cruises, and once a coastline boat tour on Lake Michigan but both were different from going out to sea, if that was where they were heading.
As though reading her thoughts, he said, “We’re not going beyond the harbor buoys.” He pointed to a spot in front of them and Cheyenne could see orange balls bobbing on the water’s surface. He pulled a box between his feet to rummage through, then handed her a stack of numbered oil cloth flags with riveted holes on two corners.
“Our job is to give each boat a number if they want to be in the flotilla tonight. I’ll cut lengths of rope and you can thread them through the holes. They’ll tie these to their main sail mast so we know they registered.”
“What exactly is a flotilla?” she asked as they worked. Occasionally his warm shoulder bumped hers and butterflies kicked up in her stomach. At least she told herself that, as she didn’t want to get seasick in front of him.
“Boats from Lockabee and other nearby islands sail and motor over, forming an armada across the harbor and around the island. The boats string lights all over, tie closely together stem to stern, and basically party. From what I hear, it’s quite the event, and with little moon, the lights should be spectacular.”
Cheyenne fell silent, watching Jake as he worked. His feet were lean and brown as was the rest of his body that she could see. Thinking about his body is not what you should be doing, she chastised herself. Instead, she thought how Jake had made himself part of this small community. He knew the residents and was friendly and helpful, not at all reserved and stand-offish as he had been in Chicago. As the boat bounced across the water to the first boat in the area, she wondered what it would be like to belong somewhere. They had moved around a lot growing up because whenever her mom couldn’t pay the rent, they would get evicted and she would simply pile them in the old car and roll down the road to another small town where she could get a room, or until they ran out of gas.
Shaking off old memories, she concentrated on the task before her. One by one, McNally sidled up to the boats and Jake passed over the flags, collecting a small registration fee he said would help offset the cost of fireworks that would be shot off from a barge Sunday evening.
“Better put on some sunscreen,” McNally said at one point, tossing her a tub of lotion. “You must be a tourist with that pale skin.”
Jake grinned and offered to do her legs. She ignored his comment, but stood and lifted her foot to the bench beside him, rubbing the cream up her calf and over her thigh. She heard a groan and wondered at the pained expression on his face before he got up and headed down to the galley for water. He came back with three bottles, passed one to McNally and rubbed one across his brow as he sat beside her again.
“Drink,” he said as he opened her bottle and gave it to her. “Regardless of the water all around us, it’s easy to get dehydrated in the sun.”
Every time she thought they were done, another boat appeared, tossing an anchor into the shallow harbor. The boats were all sizes from small two sail cutters to larger yachts and pontoons. Everyone was friendly, offering them drinks as they floated by. It would seem this was the summer party not to be missed. The sun beat down, the temperature rose and Cheyenne found herself sweating. She wiped an arm across her brow.
As they headed back to the pier, Jake went up and spoke softly to the man at the wheel. He came back to where she sat, hands on hips, and grinned at her. “Can you swim?”
“Of course I can swim.”
“Very well?” His smile was growing and she suddenly had a suspicion of what he was up to.
She glanced toward the pier and the sandy beach which lay to the side. Colorful umbrellas and beach towels dotted the surface and people were everywhere. That was her mistake, for the minute her back was turned, Jake caught her beneath the arms and legs and stepped onto the cushioned seat. She grabbed him around the neck.
“Don’t you dare!” She squealed just before McNally cut the motor and Jake jumped.
Water rushed over her and she came up sputtering. Jake reached for her but she knocked his arm aside and cupped her hands, pushing a wave of water over his face. Before he could catch her, she pushed him under. If he wanted to play, she could hold her own.
He grabbed her leg and pulled her under with him, tugging her close until every inch of her felt every inch of him. He locked his lips to hers and shared his breath and for endless moments they floated in the crystal clear water. When they surfaced, McNally was leaning over the back of the boat.
“Thought maybe the sharks got you,” he said.
Cheyenne swiveled her head in all directions, panic causing her heart to skip a beat.
She paddled a few strokes to the boat where she grabbed a hand rail. Jake swam up beside her. “There are no sharks this close,” he said. “Dolphins, maybe.”
She pushed her drooping hat back from her forehead and tried to glare but the water actually felt good. It had cooled her off but now the thought of Jake’s kiss only heated her back up.
McNally took her hand and pulled her out of the water. Just as Jake pulled himself up, she turned and pushed him back in.
“You have ruined almost all my clothes,” she started, but he only laughed.
“I’ll buy you more,” he said, treading water. “And maybe a bikini.”
The idea of him seeing her in a swim suit, much less a bikini, had water droplets sizzling off her overheated skin. “You are certifiable.”
“All the more reason for you to stay very close to me.” He lowered his voice. “You wouldn’t want me to do something disgraceful to the Donovan name.” He back-paddled a few strokes, his gaze still intent on her. “That means you have to swim to shore with me.”
Cheyenne glanced up, gauging the distance. It couldn’t be more than fifty yards, a doable distance. “You’re serious?”
“Come on. It shouldn’t be hard for a mermaid.” She touched her hat, the one he had bought her. No one ever bought her gifts, even sensible things like hats and clothes. Since she didn’t want to lose it, she climbed onto the back of the boat and slid into the water feet first, keeping her head above water.
He set a leisurely pace and she easily kept up with him doing the breast stroke.
“When did you learn to swim?” she asked, thinking of what he had told her about his strict education.
“Oh, Uncle made sure I learned but not for pleasure. He said if I should be on some rich patron’s yacht and something went wrong, I needed to be able to save myself.”
Cheyenne was beginning to think less of the senior Donovan. “Did you learn to jump out of a plane for the same reason?”
That made him laugh. “I’m sure I would have if he had thought of it.”
Cheyenne jerked her foot up when something brushed against her but realized it was the sandy bottom as Jake stood up. She got her feet beneath her and together they waded to shore, him pulling her by the hand. No one even bothered to look their way, for which she was glad considering the way her shirt clung to her skin, her bra visible beneath the thin material.
“That was…refreshing,” she said when they stopped at the edge of the beach. “Although I probably look a sight.”
“You look,” he started but paused.
“Like a drowned cat?” She arched a brow.
“I was going to say pretty,” he started and she scoffed. “Really, you are, but I think the word I want is normal.” He straightened her hat.
She knew her gaze reflected her confusion. “What kind of a statement is that?”
“It’s hard to explain,” he said with a shrug. “You’re Cheyenne, not Miss Tucker.”
Though it sounded strange, she understood because she had seen the same changes in him. Here on Lockabee, he was Jake Smith, not the famous Joseph Donovan. And she had to admit she liked the casual, relaxed atmosphere of the small village where she didn’t have to worry that someone would see through her and discover she wasn’t as prim and proper as her job required. That she liked a good joke and a cold beer.
“Come on,” he said, shrugging off the introspection. “The sand will be hot, but if we walk in the shallows closer to the pier, there won’t be as much to worry about.”
They managed the sand in a few hops and Jake led her weaving around the people and dock ropes until they were once again at McNally’s boat.
“So you didn’t drown him,” the older man commented as he handed over their shoes.
“It was a very near thing,” she replied with a laugh. She laughed harder when Jake grabbed her and swung her out over the water again.
“We’d better go,” he said, shaking McNally’s hand. “Thanks for the escort today.”
“Anytime,” he replied then winked at Cheyenne. “You keep him in line now.”
She blushed at the thought this man considered her and Jake a couple.
“I’m starved,” Jake said as they exited the pier and moved along the boardwalk. “Let’s eat.”
She looked down at her drying but now salt-crusty clothes. “I can’t go anywhere like this. I’m beginning to itch from the salt.”
“This’ll work,” Jake said, ignoring her as he stopped at a food vendor on the corner. He dug some soggy bills out of his pocket and soon they were eating fish po’boys as they walked along. The fish was fresh and crisp and the sauce tangy on her tongue. She even ate every last crumb of the crusty roll. At least the swim today had worked off a few calories.
“Jake! Jake!” A female voice calling his name had them both turning around. Brenda Kay was heading their way and from the look on her face, in a panic.
“What’s up?”
“I need help. Mary Beth called in sick, though I’m sure she’s off somewhere with her boyfriend enjoying the festival. Bonnie’s daughter went into labor and so I’m cooking and trying to wait tables.”
“What about Lindsay?” Cheyenne asked, thinking of the one person she knew on the island.
“Are you kidding? She makes more on a single ride than I can pay for the day,” the woman said.
Jake looked at her then back at Brenda Kay. “I was going to show Cheyenne around, but give me thirty minutes to get some fresh clothes and I’ll help you out.”
Cheyenne watched in amazement as Brenda reached up with both hands on his cheeks and kissed him squarely on the mouth.
“You’re a doll! Can you make it in twenty?” Then she was gone.
“Okay,” Jake drew the word out as they turned and hurried along the boardwalk. “So much for the rest of my plans.” He saw her to the door of the Inn. “I’ll call when I can get away, but it might be awhile before I see you.”
Not as long as you think. Cheyenne smiled and hurried inside.
* * *
Jake made it back to the restaurant in less than half an hour, but stopped short just inside the door. Standing beside the table to his right, Cheyenne chatted with a foursome as she took their orders. She wore a bright pink top and white shorts with a checkered apron tied around her waist. She stuck her pencil in her bun, pad in her pocket and walked to the kitchen window where she put her order on the turn-clip.
He was fascinated by yet another side of her. Gone was the proper executive assistant, although she was definitely still efficient as she bussed a table while she waited for her order. She was perfectly at ease as a waitress, and he watched as she gathered four glasses of water and took them to another table just filling up.
“You going to gawk or did you come to help?” Brenda Kay asked as she hurried by.
“Don’t complain about free help,” he countered. “Where do you want me?”
She laughed out loud. “Honey, that is such a loaded question. I’m sure your lady friend would know the answer.”
He glanced over to where Cheyenne bustled from table to table, refilling water and handing out napkins. His groin tightened and he wondered if the few kisses they had shared could indeed lead to something more. Brenda Kay’s smack to his chest, apron in hand, quickly scattered his daydreams.
For the next several hours, he had no opportunity to talk to Cheyenne as they busted their butts with tourist traffic. She gave him a quick “hey” when they met at the window putting up orders, but had no more time when someone from her section called her over.
Jake wasn’t nearly as efficient as she and Becky, the other waitress, and more than once took an order to the wrong table. No one seemed to mind, and orders were quickly replaced with correct ones, but for probably the first time in his life, he didn’t excel at a job. Surprisingly, it didn’t bother him and he grinned as his apron pocket jingled with tips as the night wore on.
There was a lull after the dinner hour ended at eight, and Brenda Kay brought out some fresh fish and chips. “Eat while you can,” she said. “We’ll get another rush after the music at the park.” They all sat down gratefully at a back table and ate without talking.
When Brenda and Becky went back to the kitchen, Jake put a hand out as Cheyenne also started to rise. “Sit for another minute.”
She did as he asked, but he noticed she looked everywhere but at him. “Hey.” He turned her to face him with a finger to her chin. “What’s up?”
“I’m sorry. Brenda asked for your help and I butted in, but she seemed so desperate.”
“Jeez, don’t apologize. You are fantastic. For me it’s been like an orchestra warming up. Everyone is playing their own little piece, nothing meshes so the notes are discordant and the beat is off. I don’t see how you keep it all straight.”
She gave him a tired smile. “The first time I ever saw you, it was at the Oriole with your uncle. I had no idea who either of you were at the time. I was your waitress and he had a terrible tantrum because the meat was not as tender as he liked. He actually got up and threw it in the trash.”
“My uncle tends to be …flamboyant.”
“That may be, but for someone working her way through school and not always knowing where her next meal would come from, it was beyond wasteful.” She blushed slightly. “I’m afraid I told him so.”
“I don’t remember that. I would think I’d remember something that impressive.”
“Well, I’m certainly glad he didn’t remember a year later when I applied for a job at the Academy. I nearly dropped through the floor when I went into his office for an interview and recognized him.”
Her statements gave him more insight into her background and personality than she probably would have liked. From the sounds of it, she came from a poor background but had managed to overcome it. She now had sophistication and polish but was severe in self-discipline and efficiency from her bun to her four-inch heels. That was how she had appeared the first time he saw her on the island. Now she enthusiastically roughhoused with him in the harbor and unabashedly waited tables in shorts and a tank. He didn’t even want to think about the kisses they had shared.
It was like she was two different people, he thought, as she left him to greet new arrivals. There were hidden depths to Cheyenne Tucker and he intended to unearth all her secrets.