At least two inches of brown dirty water covered the floor. It sloshed around as Bo entered his bungalow and stared up at the tree that’d crashed into his living room.
Even with a chainsaw, it was going to take forever to cut that behemoth into small pieces he could haul out of the house. Then he’d have to patch the roof. It would take days for even large fans to handle the drying process, and he needed to get professionals started on that right away, or he risked black mold, which would make the place unlivable.
“Of course, this would happen,” he muttered. Things had been going entirely too well.
He lifted some debris that’d caved in from the roof. As confident as he’d pretended to be when he was with Ismay Chalmers, he didn’t think he’d be able to get even halfway through such a big project in one day. He had to make sure Honey Wellington had survived the storm before he could even start.
With a sigh, he made his way to his bedroom in rubber boots and managed to get some dry clothes from his closet before wading into the bathroom. He was willing to bet Ismay would’ve let him shower over there had she thought of it, but he knew Remy wouldn’t like that. She’d already been kind enough to him.
Besides, he liked her even more since last night, and that meant he’d be better off keeping his distance. A potential friend would ask more questions than a mere acquaintance and would also remember the things he said. If he wasn’t careful, he could easily get tripped up. Ismay was essentially off-limits. All he had to do was avoid her until Remy arrived on the island. Then there’d be no danger.
With a final scowl at the tree that had ruined his next several days, he went back outside. The sky was still dark and ominous, promising more rain. He considered tarping the roof while he had the chance but decided to check on Honey before he did that. If she was in distress, it wouldn’t help her if he got there too late.
The trees all around him dripped onto the soggy ground as he made his way down the narrow muddy path that led to her small cottage. Unlike some of the incredible vacation homes on Mariners, her place was nothing to look at. It hadn’t been one of the nicer homes on the island even when it was new—and it hadn’t been updated since. She could sell it for a lot of money now, though. Whoever bought it would most likely strip it down as far as they’d be allowed before building it back up much bigger and better. But she had no interest in selling. In recent years, her kids had been at her to do just that. They didn’t think it was safe for a woman of her age to live alone in a place that could so easily get cut off from the mainland. But she told him she’d lived on Mariners her entire married life and planned to stay until the bitter end, after which she’d be buried next to her late husband in the local cemetery.
Fortunately, although Bo saw some broken branches strewn about as he walked down her long drive, the house didn’t seem to be damaged in any way. Did she have power? It didn’t look like it—although it was difficult to tell now that the sun was up.
The wooden steps leading to the porch creaked as he climbed them.
“Ms. Wellington?” he called as he knocked.
There was no answer. He was just about to make his way to the back to see if he could rouse her there when she finally opened the door. “Bo, is that you?”
Honey had several layers of clothing on, including a bright red scarf and hat she’d knitted with flowers that had button centers.
Her tabby cat, Clementine, slipped past her feet to come out and circle his.
“Yes, it’s me,” he said, bending down to give the cat a good scratch. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t getting too cold over here.”
“The power’s been out for some time, but I’ve got an electric blanket that runs on batteries. My daughter and her husband gave it to me for Christmas last year, so I’m managing to keep warm, and Clementine snuggles right there in bed with me.”
“I’m glad you’re both okay. Do you have enough groceries?”
“Oh, yes. Plenty of groceries. I just ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for breakfast.” She lifted one arthritic hand to smooth a piece of silvery hair out of her eyes. “Probably not what I would’ve chosen if I’d had a working stove,” she admitted, “but it was tasty and filling. At least I was able to open a can of Clementine’s favorite—seafood combo.”
He straightened and peered into the house behind her. “Any leaks or other problems I should take care of while I’m here?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“And you have a flashlight?”
“I do—with a fresh set of batteries on hand. I read for hours last night.”
He breathed a sigh of relief. “Sounds like you’re doing pretty well for yourself.” He remembered Ismay’s brother. “Have you thought any more about going to visit your family this summer?”
“Not really. They keep trying to convince me, though.”
“What if I could recommend someone who would house-sit for you?” he asked. “And Clementine could come stay with me? Would that change anything?”
She pursed her lips as if she was giving the idea serious consideration. “It might. Who do you have in mind?”
“You don’t know him. I’m not yet sure he’ll be coming to the island. It’s just a possibility at this point. But I’ll let you know what he decides, and if he comes, you can meet him and see if you can trust him.”
“Sounds good.” She opened the door wider to let her cat back in. “Where do you know him from?”
“It’s Remy’s girlfriend’s brother.”
She made a face. “Is he anything like Remy?”
Bo had already known she wasn’t fond of the Windsor boys. She’d once told him they’d both been little devils while growing up. She was actually one of the few people who preferred Bastian to Remy, and it was because she caught Remy kicking the cat she had before Clementine—and when she told his parents about it, he lied and said he hadn’t done anything.
They, of course, had taken his side, and that didn’t surprise Bo in the least. Remy’s parents had a long history of shielding their children from the consequences of their behavior. And with the money and clout they had, they could smooth over almost anything. “I doubt it. If he’s like Remy’s girlfriend, however, I can almost guarantee he’ll be perfect for the job.”
“She’s that nice?”
“She’s that nice,” he confirmed.
“Then it might be a possibility.”
“Should I take your cell phone and charge it over at the big house and bring it back to you later? Might be smart to go into the night with a full battery.” He gazed up at the darkening sky. “Storm doesn’t look like it’s over quite yet.”
“No need. I’m one of the few people around here who still has a landline,” she said with a laugh.
“Okay, well, I’ll call you later, and if you don’t answer, I’ll come back to check on you,” he said.
She nodded. “You’re a good man, Bo Broussard.”
He smiled as though he didn’t know of anything that could make that statement untrue, but he was thinking, Proves how little you know.
He turned and started trudging to his house, battling a stronger wind than when he’d come just a few minutes earlier, but before he could get out of earshot, she called him back and insisted he take a jar of the blackberry jam she’d made up last summer. She was always giving him something; she had to be one of the most generous people he’d ever met.
He was thanking her when his cell phone signaled a call. He hoped it wasn’t his sister again. He dreaded seeing her number pop up.
After he pulled his cell from his pocket, he could see that it wasn’t Matilda. It was Remy Windsor, but he wasn’t any more excited to talk to his boss’s son than he was his own sister.
He lifted the jam Honey had given him in lieu of waving goodbye and set out again as he answered. “Hello?”
“Bo? It’s Remy.”
Caller ID had already established that, but polite convention was polite convention. “Good to hear from you.” Bo knew better than to reveal his true feelings. Annabelle would fire a mere caretaker—regardless of how dedicated he was to his job—if Remy demanded it. She did whatever she could to please and indulge her sons. “You must be calling to make sure your fiancée is comfortable and safe.” Except Remy could’ve called Ismay if he was merely looking for reassurance. This was about something else, and considering what Bo had overheard last night, he could easily guess what.
“I’m calling to thank you for looking out for her.”
Bo stopped walking. For a second, he thought he’d underestimated Remy—that Remy deserved more credit—but then Remy continued, “And to make sure you’re all set to stay in your own place tonight.”
There it was.
Bo pictured the tree that had destroyed most of his living room and the murky water sitting in his house, warping the hardwood floor and creeping up the walls—moving higher the longer the Sheetrock had to soak it up. Remy didn’t care about that. He hadn’t even asked about the tree or the amount of damage it’d caused, or if Bo would be able to stay warm and dry if he remained at home. He just wanted Bo to keep his distance from Ismay. Period. “Of course. No problem.”
“Do you have enough food? Batteries? All of that? If not, it might be smart to stock up while you have the chance, just in case.”
So he wouldn’t have any excuse to go back to the big house after it got dark...
Bo chuckled humorlessly to himself. As if he didn’t have enough to do today, Remy expected him to go to the store. He could’ve explained that the longer he left the cottage as it was, the worse the damage would be. But Remy didn’t care about that, either. His parents would be the ones to pay that price and saving them money had never been a consideration for him. “Good advice,” Bo said, as if he weren’t smart enough to think of that himself, and hoped he’d managed to keep his tone even so Remy couldn’t hear the facetiousness in that statement.
“Great. Just wanted to check in and make sure you’re okay.”
That was the biggest lie of all. Remy didn’t give a shit about him. Annabelle’s son was only concerned with getting what he wanted. Remy had yet to hit a limit on what he could own, so he felt he could own her. “Couldn’t be better,” Bo replied.
Fortunately, Remy didn’t seem to pick up on the facetiousness of that answer, either.
“Wonderful. I’ll be there as soon as I finish my last exam.”
“Good luck,” Bo said, and Remy was gone.
Bo shook his head as he disconnected the call. Remy didn’t have to worry about him trying to move in on his fiancée. Bo wanted to stay away from Ismay. He was too hungry for the gentle sweetness she seemed to possess, probably because he’d encountered so little of it in his lifetime—and that hunger meant the storm wasn’t as much of a threat to him as she was.
While she was on Mariners, Ismay had anticipated shopping, picking out her favorite restaurants to take Remy to when he finally arrived, and spending long lazy afternoons reading on the beach—not huddling inside the house trying to outwait a storm with gale-force winds or worrying incessantly about Jack. She tried calling her brother as soon as Bo left, just to check in, but he didn’t answer, so she dialed her mother, who was—not surprisingly—equally distraught.
“I never saw this coming, never dreamed Ashleigh was so unhappy,” Betty said. “How’d I miss it?”
“I don’t know,” Ismay replied. “Have you had the chance to speak to her?”
“No. I—I haven’t been able to make myself reach out.” Her mother’s voice was thick and full of tears. “It’s all too new, and...and I’m brokenhearted.”
“Where’s Jack now?” Ismay asked.
Her mother sniffed. “Out on the farm with your father.”
“He’s not answering his phone.”
“I think he needs a break from it.”
Ismay got up off the couch, where she’d been under a blanket, to stretch her legs. “If things don’t turn around, I think he should come to Mariners.”
“Mariners!” her mother cried. “Why on earth would he go there?”
“To get away from it all.”
“But that’s clear across the country. What would he do for a living?”
“At first, nothing. He needs a chance to find himself, Mom—to determine what he wants to do with the rest of his life.”
There was a brief silence. Then she said, “I didn’t realize that hadn’t already been decided.”
Jack hadn’t told them he didn’t want to be a farmer, because he didn’t want to face their disappointment. He’d told her it was a moot point; he had a wife to support, and they were trying to have a family. He needed to stay and provide. He was now no longer under that yoke, which was the one bright spot Ismay saw in all of this.
“He has the chance to reassess,” she said to her mother, trying to state the problem as euphemistically as possible. The last thing anyone in the family needed was more grief. Ismay was just glad her father was old-school and misogynistic enough to believe only his boys could work on the farm. To him, it was man’s work, and that was the only reason she’d been able to escape Tremonton.
“There’s a lot going on,” her mother said. “I don’t want to talk about that right now.”
Ismay frowned at this response. “Okay. We can talk about it later.”
“I’d better go,” Betty said. “I’ve got a lot to do.”
Her mother hadn’t even asked how she liked Mariners, but Ismay understood that Betty was preoccupied and considered the oversight a tender mercy, to use her mother’s saying.
They said goodbye. Then she was at loose ends as to how to spend the day. Fortunately, because of the generator, she had internet service. So she went online and tried to distract herself from everything—the storm, what she’d found in Remy’s closet, and Jack’s predicament—by doing some swimsuit shopping.
She ordered a red bikini, hoping the weather would turn around and she’d soon have a nice tan to go with it, and answered some emails from past instructors and fellow students wishing her well as she left UCLA and began her career. When she hadn’t heard from Bo by three o’clock, she began to wonder if he’d had lunch. He seemed like the type to work straight through if he had a goal in mind.
She decided to make him a sandwich and take it over before the storm got any worse. If he wasn’t hungry now, he could always eat it later, and she wanted to get it to him before the rain made it any more difficult. It’d been drizzling for the past few hours, but there was an ominous feeling on the island—as if it were bracing for another onslaught, possibly worse than the last.
She made him an egg salad sandwich with a touch of honey—her mother’s secret ingredient—then put it on a paper plate and wrapped the whole thing in plastic before heading out in the same coat she’d borrowed from Annabelle the day before.
She could hear a chainsaw as she squished through the mud in her running shoes and once she’d cleared the trees, she saw Bo up on the roof wearing a bright yellow slicker. “Hey!” she yelled as she drew closer, waving to get his attention.
The chainsaw was so loud and he was so focused on what he was doing that he didn’t notice her. It wasn’t until he’d finished cutting off the tree limb he’d been working on and switched off the motor that he realized he had company.
“What are you doing here?” he called down, obviously surprised.
She held up the plate with the sandwich. “I brought you something to eat.”
He didn’t seem to know what to do—whether to get down or tell her to leave it.
“I can put it inside the house, if you want,” she said, gesturing at the front door.
“No. Don’t go inside,” he said. “It’s not safe.”
She indicated the hood of his truck. “I can set it here, but you can’t leave it there for too long or it’ll get soggy in spite of the plastic.”
“I’ll eat it before then.”
“So...you are hungry?”
“A little,” he admitted, and she guessed she’d been right when she’d assumed he hadn’t taken the time to eat.
She continued to squint up at him, sheltering her eyes against the rain. “You won’t be able to finish that today, anyway. With these storm clouds moving in again, it’s already growing dark. Why not come down, eat, and get warm?”
When he glanced up at the sky, she could tell he already understood he was racing the clock. “The sooner I chop this tree up the better,” he called down.
“But is it even safe to run that thing in the rain?”
“It’s gas-powered,” he replied.
“That makes it safe?” She’d been raised on a farm, but she couldn’t remember her brothers or father using a chainsaw in such bad weather. But maybe that was just because they didn’t want to be out in it...
“You can use a gas-powered chainsaw in almost any weather,” he said. “It’s the wet shingles that are really dangerous.”
“Then get off the roof!” she cried. “I realize you want to fix your house, but it’s already wet inside. I can’t imagine it will hurt anything to wait one more day.” Lightning flashed behind her, adding an exclamation point to her words. “The weather’s about to break,” she predicted.
He wiped the moisture from his face with one hand before moving carefully so he wouldn’t lose his footing, lugging the chainsaw to the ladder.
Everything he’d been doing seemed dangerous. She was glad she’d come over and stopped him. She held her breath while she watched his harrowing descent—the ladder didn’t look entirely stable—and relaxed only after he reached the ground.
Skirting the pile of limbs he’d cut off and thrown in the same general spot, she took the sandwich over to him. “You’ve got to be wet and cold.”
“It would be nice if this weather would clear up,” he said.
Instead of handing him the sandwich like she’d planned to do, she pulled it back when he reached for it and beckoned him to follow her. “Come on. You’re not going to eat this out here in the wind and rain, and you’re not taking it into that soggy house, either.”
He started to protest, but she lifted her hand. “You just told me not to go inside because it’s dangerous,” she said.
“It’s not as dangerous for me,” he responded.
She gave him a skeptical look. “Really?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“You will if you come over to the main cottage.”
“It’s my job to take care of this place,” he said, gesturing to show he meant the entire Windsor property.
“No one can expect you to work under these conditions. And you will take care of everything—when it’s safe. Trust me, getting that tree off the bungalow isn’t worth your life.”
She started out ahead of him, hoping he’d simply fall in step with her. But when she looked back, she saw that he hadn’t moved an inch. “Aren’t you coming?”
His eyes narrowed. He didn’t trust easily. She felt like she was coaxing a skittish animal to take a piece of food from her hand—every time she came close, he backed away. But she didn’t see that he had much choice. What she was suggesting was the only thing that made sense.
“You can’t really believe the Windsors would rather you were out in this...” she said.
The quizzical expression he gave her suggested he really did believe that.
“Come on,” she said. “Don’t make me stay out in the wet and cold.”
“You should go in,” he said. “I’m fine here.”
“I’m not going back without you, so if I get struck by lightning while I’m trying to make you see reason, it’ll be your fault.”
“What?” he said, obviously surprised she’d take such a hard stand.
She felt her smile widen. There was something about this guy she liked. His prickly, stoic manner seemed to warn her not to assume they were friends, even after the camaraderie they’d shared last night. And yet...she sensed his tough shell harbored a very sensitive heart and he liked her as much as she liked him, in spite of not really wanting to. “You heard me.”
“You won’t leave...”
She set her jaw. “Nope. So...it’s your choice. I can watch you work and probably catch pneumonia out here, or you can come in and save this problem for another day.”
Only then, when she made it about her welfare, did he reluctantly follow her to the main house.