Barefoot Season (22 page)

“Hi, everyone,” Carly said as she and Michelle walked into the small conference room. “As you can see, our brave warrior has returned. You all know Michelle Sanderson owns the inn.”

Michelle shot her a warning look that promised retribution for the “brave warrior” comment. Not the least bit worried, Carly gave a wink back.

“You remember Chelsea from high school. She owns Scoop and Stretch. It’s the local Pilates and yoga studio. Yvette has the bakery. Ariel runs the Mansion on the Hill. Kim owns the flower shop there and Becky has Island Chic in town. Normally Boston Flemming, the textile artist, joins us, but she just had a baby.”

Carly stayed close to Michelle as she made introductions. For all her teasing, she was aware that her boss was still dealing with a lot of issues. Her hip was the least of it. Too many things sent her back into combat, including loud noises. Meeting several new people was stressful for anyone. For Michelle, it seemed more difficult than ever.

So Carly stayed close. She handled the introductions, made the small talk and guided her friend to an empty chair before settling in the one next to it.

Yvette, their unofficial leader, started the meeting with a question about the summer tourism season.

“I’m ordering more inventory,” Becky said. “Business is up.”

She was a pretty redhead who dressed like a model in the pages of
Vogue.
Beside her Carly always felt a little frumpy and out of step. Becky could do more with a scarf than most women could with an entire wardrobe.

“There are more weddings planned on the island this summer,” Kim announced. “There were twenty last summer and this summer there are thirty-six. I’ve hired two college students to help.”

Conversation shifted to the new traffic signal by the bridge to the organic restaurant’s fight with the zoning commission. They wanted the right to keep a pig to eat their consumable garbage.

Michelle listened, sipped coffee and nibbled on one of the brownies Yvette had brought. After twenty minutes, she leaned toward Carly.

“Thanks,” she murmured.

Carly wasn’t sure if she was being thanked for bringing her or for sticking close, but it didn’t matter. Either would do.

Twenty

M
ichelle parked in front of Jared’s house and made her way to the back door. Her hip was feeling better. Less sore, less stiff. Her therapy sessions were starting to make a difference. If only there were the same kind of workout for her head. One where she could sweat her way out of nightmares and flashbacks. Lift weights and stop jumping at every loud noise. She wasn’t a fan of pain but feeling emotionally on the edge was worse. Now that she didn’t have the constant ache to distract her, she was more aware of her mental hiccups.

She went up the ramp to the door and let herself inside. Jared stood in the kitchen, filling a cooler with ice and beer.

She hadn’t seen him since the night he’d come to her room to check on her. Typical guy, she thought, eyeing him. Get her all riled up and then disappear. Although technically she’d been the one avoiding him, but passing on blame was easier than accepting it.

“Hey,” he said, glancing at her. “You’re walking better.”

“Yeah. I’m healing.”

He wore a faded T-shirt over worn jeans. The man needed to go shopping, she thought, even as she appreciated how the fabric of his shirt clung to his shoulders and chest. Damn, he looked good. All strong and capable. Even better, he wasn’t much of a talker. In her mind, conversation was highly overrated.

She was aware of him, aware of what she’d been thinking just a few nights before. Too bad she couldn’t simply walk over and kiss him. Well, she could, but she doubted she would get the response she wanted. He’d made it clear he was running some kind of halfway house and she was merely the most current resident. He wasn’t looking to get laid. Talk about sad.

“I’m going out on my boat,” he said. “It’s calm and the sunset will be nice. Want to come?”

She looked out the window. The clouds had faded, leaving behind blue skies. This time of year the days were long. Even if Jared didn’t want to have his way with her, he was still good company. Being with him was safe—she didn’t have to think before she spoke. She wasn’t sure why she felt that way—or maybe she was. The fact that she was nothing more than a mercy case meant she was free to be herself. An argument could be made for sexual disinterest. She didn’t have to like it, but she could take advantage of it.

“Sure,” she said impulsively.

“I’m going to get some sandwiches for dinner. While I do that, you can change.”

She glanced down at her black trousers and the knit shirt she’d pulled on that morning. Not exactly clothes for boating.

“I need ten minutes,” she told him.

“Meet you back here.”

She hurried to her bedroom. Most of her clothes and personal things were still in boxes in storage at the inn. She hadn’t bothered to pull out much. She didn’t have room for her books or pictures, and the clothes were at least a size too big.

She weighed about twenty pounds less than she had when she’d first left Blackberry Island. She’d lost about seven pounds during boot camp. A regular exercise program had a way of doing that to a girl. The next eight had come off after she’d been shot. Since coming home she would guess she’d taken off another five. Most of the time she simply wasn’t that interested in food. She would rather drink than eat.

A problem she was going to have to deal with at some point, she told herself. Just not today.

She stripped off her work clothes and applied sunscreen to her pale skin, then pulled open drawers to figure out what to wear.

There weren’t a lot of choices. She settled on a pair of jeans, athletic shoes and a tank top. On her way out the door, she grabbed a chambray shirt because it would be cooler on the water.

Jared was back and waiting for her in the kitchen.

“You eat a lot of sandwiches,” she said, taking the bag as he picked up the cooler of beer.

“They’re easy, and if I change my mind, they’ll keep a couple of days.”

“You need a wife.”

“Had one.”

“Okay, you need another one.”

“Not likely.”

She followed him out to his truck, then stared at the cab and wondered how she was going to get inside. Her truck was small and she could just slide right in. Jared’s was higher, with a rear seat. She couldn’t step up high enough, and if she used the running board, she would be angled wrong.

He walked around the passenger side and took the sandwiches from her. After tossing the bag into the back, he grabbed her around the waist, lifted her and set her down in the seat.

“All right?” he asked.

She nodded. No way was she going to admit that she was all tingly from where he’d touched her. Talk about having it bad. Apparently her hip wasn’t the only thing that was healing. It was time to get a shower massage installed and take care of business herself.

They drove to the Sunset Marina. She wasn’t sure what to expect—if they would go out on one of his big charter boats. Instead, he led her to a thirty-foot cabin Bayliner. She groaned when she saw the name.

“Tell me you bought her used,” she said.

“I did.” He followed her gaze. “What?”

“
Daisy?
Your boat’s name is
Daisy?
Let me guess. You believe it’s bad luck to change a boat’s name.”

“No. I just haven’t bothered. It’s only a name.”

“
Daisy?
I hate daisies.”

“Who hates a flower?”

“Me.”

“You don’t complain like most women, but you’re a whole lot more crabby.”

“Part of my charm,” she told him.

“Keep telling yourself that.”

He took the sandwich bag from her and set it on top of the cooler, then reached for her hand.

She braced herself for the impact of warm fingers on hers, then told herself to snap out of it. She wasn’t some prepubescent girl on a first date. She was a mature woman. So what if Jared turned her on? She could handle it.

What she couldn’t handle was the dock.

The wooden structure moved with the lapping of the water, as did the boat. There were two steps up from the dock, then she had to swing her leg over and step down at the same time. She eyed the unexpected obstacle course and shook her head.

“I don’t think I can do that.”

Jared followed her gaze. “I don’t think you can, either. Hang on, kid.”

He reached for her. One second she was standing, feeling the pull in her hip as she braced herself against the motion. The next he’d swept her up in his arms.

He released her gently, letting her slide to her feet. When she was standing, she reached out an arm to punch him in the stomach. Hard. Only he grabbed her fist before she could make contact.

Humor brightened his eyes. “You’re welcome.”

“Give a girl a little warning before you manhandle her.”

“How are you going to get off the boat?”

She ignored that and him, limped to a bench seat and sat down. After popping the top off a beer, she swallowed half the contents, then glared at him.

“And you liked it when I lifted you into the truck.”

“I tolerated it. There’s a difference.”

Jared chuckled.

It only took him about three minutes to get the boat ready. Then he cast off and they were heading out of the marina.

Michelle did her best to ignore him. She turned her face into the wind and closed her eyes. Sea air and warm sun combined to relax her. She set the beer in a holder and reached up to unfasten her braid. There would be plenty of tangles later, but for now she wanted to feel free—as if she’d escaped whatever it was that bound her in place.

Jared took them out onto the Sound. When they were miles from shore, he cut the engine and let them drift.

“Keep an eye out,” he told her. “We’re not in the shipping lanes, but there are plenty of pleasure craft around. We don’t want a close encounter.”

“Who says I’m speaking to you?”

“You’re not the type to hold a grudge.”

“How do you know?”

“Am I wrong?”

“No. Well, not against you.” Carly was another matter.

He handed her a sandwich, took a beer for himself and settled on the bench seat opposite.

She unwrapped her dinner and took a bite. “You could learn to cook,” she said when she’d chewed and swallowed.

“I could but I won’t.”

“Typical guy.”

“Do you cook?”

“Some. More than you.”

“Low bar.”

She looked at him from under her lashes. “Are you seeing someone?”

“Asking about my love life?”

“If you have one.”

He sipped his beer. “I’m between entanglements.”

“Because your ex broke your heart?”

“No. That was a long time ago. Neither of us knew what we were getting into. She hated everything about the island and then she started hating me. It’s hard to move a business based in the ocean to Nebraska. Neither of us was willing to compromise. I hear she’s married to a guy who sells insurance and they have a couple of kids. I’m sure she’s happier with him.”

She noticed he hadn’t answered her question. Was he seeing someone? “Between entanglements” didn’t mean there wasn’t something casual going on. She told herself it wasn’t important, but she was still curious.

They ate as the boat drifted in the current. A few cranes flew overhead. Michelle eyed them, not trusting them to keep their distance.

“How’s the inn?” he asked. “Booked for the holiday weekend?”

“Every room. It’s a happy time.”

He chuckled. “We’re busy, too. Charters on all the boats. Sunset cruises tomorrow and Saturday night. Hope it doesn’t rain.”

“It’s not supposed to.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

They finished their sandwiches in silence. Michelle shifted in her seat so she could support her left leg and stared up at the sky.

The sun was still visible, but drifting toward the horizon. Cranes circled lazily over the water. She found herself more intrigued than hostile toward them. Probably the fact that she’d eaten, she thought. Or the beer. Either way she was feeling more mellow.