7

 

Cara’s embarrassment followed her all the way across the beach, dogging her every step. She pressed her hands to her cheeks. Still warm. Of all the things to admit to a man she barely knew, she had to tell him that? He’d coaxed out the answer as if he hadn’t even been trying.

She stepped barefoot through the sand until the ocean waves touched her toes. The crashing surf lulled her mind, calming her senses, and easing her strain. In this environment, it was hard to remain on edge. It was also difficult to imagine someone wanted to kill her.

She breathed in the salty air and looked to the sky. Pink, coral and charcoal gray clouds decorated the horizon. She closed her eyes, soaking in the warmth. Oh, how she wished this was a vacation she could enjoy.

“If you’d like to see farther out into the ocean, you can climb the watchtower.” Gage’s voice broke through her thoughts.

“What kind of beach house has a watchtower?” She shielded her eyes from the glaring sun and looked past him. A tall steel structure stood to the left and behind the house. It looked like some sort of old fashioned fire tower. “Yours does. Of course.” Her stomach somersaulted at the idea of climbing to those heights.

Gage lifted his arms out wide, and his cane dangled in the air. “All this used to be a Coast Guard station.”

Aside from the two story house, a few other separate buildings sat along the sand. One looked to be a double car garage, the other structure matched the house with its wooden shingles, but Cara couldn’t tell what Gage used it for. Wooden sidewalks ran a maze between the buildings and the watchtower, while a ramshackle pier jetted out to the right, with only thick pilings remaining.

“Where’s the other pier? The one we tied the boat to?” Cara tried to gain her bearings.

“Behind the house. That old pier you’re looking at was destroyed during Hurricane Isabel, along with a couple of other houses on the island.”

She eyed Gage’s house. It looked as if it could withstand a beating. “Yours survived.”

“That it did.”

“Aren’t you afraid nature will claim it one day? It’s quite a risk for such an investment.” An errant wave caught her by surprise, soaking her pant legs. She scurried up the beach, stepping on hoards of shells. Pain radiated through her tender feet, and she tiptoed to a safer spot.

“Shoes are a good idea out here.” He indicated his hefty work boots. “And, to answer your question, I’m not afraid of losing the house. Nothing in this world is permanent anyway.” A shadow crossed his features as if his remark held a deeper meaning.

Cara studied Gage as he looked out toward the sea. She may not know much about him, but she did know the look of someone with a lot going on inside. “You speak as if you’ve lost something, or someone important.”

He tore his gaze from the ocean, and pierced her with a glare. “Haven’t we all?”

“I suppose. By the time you get to be our age—”

“Our age?” He scoffed. “What are you? Twenty-five?”

“I’m twenty-seven, if you must know.” Oh, drat. He’d done it again. He maneuvered information out of her without even trying. And, her age at that. What was next? Her weight?

“I’m thirty-three and a good deal more experienced than you.”

Was he referring to experience with losing people, or other kinds of experiences? She hoped she didn’t start to blush again. She cleared her throat and swiped away loose strands of hair. “What’s your point?”

“Don’t try and figure me out.”

“So, you’re older and wiser. I can’t understand what you’ve been through? Is that right?”

He stepped so close she had to look up to keep eye contact. “That’s right,” he whispered.

Aware of his large masculine presence taking up her personal space, Cara wanted to move back but refused to let him intimidate her. Instead, she poked him in the chest. “I may not know where you come from or where you’ve been, but I do know one thing. You, Mr. McKenna, are a bully.”

His lips parted, his eyes widened. Then, he had the nerve to laugh.

“I don’t see what’s so funny.” She stomped past him, regretting the action as hard-edged sea shells dug into her feet.

“I give you a place to sleep, cook breakfast for you, and offer you protection. That makes me a bully?” He called after her.

She stopped mid-stride, turned and glared at him. “You didn’t offer anything. Jonas coerced you into allowing me to come here. You cooked breakfast for yourself, and as far as giving me a place to sleep”—a nudge of conscience told her to stop talking, but she didn’t want to—”that military style bedroom is about as warm and inviting as you are. The mattress is so hard I’d rather sleep on the floor.”

Gage narrowed his eyes, shifted his weight to his right leg, and planted the cane into the sand. “That can be arranged.” He crossed his arms.

“You big, overbearing…” She crossed her arms too, mimicking his stance. “I want off of this island and away from you.”

“That also can be arranged.”

“Then what are you waiting for? Call Jonas. Have him come and get me.” She tapped her foot in the sand.

“No can do. He’s in Columbia. Besides, I wouldn’t put him in danger because you’re having a tantrum.”

She sucked in an offended breath. “I am not…oh, never mind.” She turned and strode toward one of the outbuildings. Perhaps she had gone a little too far, but a tantrum? This man was infuriating.

“Where are you going?” Gage grumbled.

A bright flash of light caught her eye, and she searched the marshland beyond Foley Creek. The blinding light appeared again, this time she pointed toward it. “What’s—”

Before she could finish her sentence, a harsh blow knocked the wind from her lungs, stealing her words and her breath. She catapulted forward. Her head snapped back and pain radiated along her spine. She slammed into the sand with such force she welcomed the darkness overcoming her.