That Summer Place (24 page)

“One last tour. Maybe the far side of the cove. Remember, it’s the one we missed the day it rained.”

He glanced over his shoulder, flashing her a grin that made her want to beach the kayak and attack him immediately.

“I remember that day,” he said.

And as they paddled into the cove, she started thinking more about Seattle. Maybe, just maybe—

“Hey, Rosie. What do you think that is?”

Mitch pointed his paddle toward an outcropping of rock where the water was shallow, the tide pools crammed with starfish, mussels and urchins. A group of untidy nests made of plant fibers hid in the marsh reeds at the shore.

“Madre de Dios,”
she said under her breath. “I can’t believe you found this.”

“Found what? What’d I find?”

“It’s the breeding place of the sandhill crane,” she said. “Most biologists go their whole lives without seeing them in the wild.”

“Cool. Are you going to take some pictures?”

She already had her camera out. “The world population of this animal is only 27,000,” she said, fascinated. “This is their nesting ground.”

“Damn, Rosie. Are we good or what?”

When they made love that night, Rosie was as ripe and eager as ever, yet she talked less.

“Are you thinking about tomorrow?” he asked, kissing her temple as she snuggled up against his shoulder.

“Yes.”

“We knew the month had to end.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Rosie, I’ve been thinking…”

“Yes?”

“I want to ask you something.”

She stiffened, stopped breathing. He couldn’t see her face and suddenly wished he could. God, did she think he was about to propose marriage?

“It’s about your job offers.”

“What about them?”

“Have you decided yet?”

“I’m not sure.”

And for some reason Mitch stopped there. He didn’t want to push, to probe, to force something to happen that wasn’t ready to happen. It just wasn’t his way. And apparently it wasn’t Rosie’s way, either, for she sighed sweetly and drifted off to sleep without saying another word.

“We’d better hurry if we want to make the five-twenty-five ferry,” Mitch said, loading the last of their bags onto the boat.

“I’m ready,” Rosie said. She looked lovely and slightly nervous as she patted her thigh, motioning for the dogs to follow her down the dock.

“I hope I won’t have any trouble hiring a mechanic to fix my car,” she said.

“It’s fixed. I had it done right after you got here.”

She smiled, though melancholy tinged her smile. Once the dogs were aboard, she helped him cast off. Slowly the boat pulled away from the dock.

Rosie stood in the cockpit, facing back toward the house. Mitch put the engine on idle and went to her, arms circling her from behind, burying his face in her hair.

“Look at the house,” she said. “Like something out of a storybook.”

She was right; the old Victorian summer place gleamed on the green knoll, the white scrollwork porch railings brilliant in the afternoon sun.

“Rosie,” he said, turning her in his arms, “something special happened there for us. Something I don’t want to end.”

“Mitch—”

“Wait, let me finish. I’ve been thinking about this a lot. I don’t want to stop seeing you.”

The edges of her smile trembled. “Do you know how badly I’ve been wanting to hear that?”

“Do you know how scared I’ve been to say it?”

She smiled and touched his cheek, then dropped her hand. “I have to finish that paperwork.”

“I thought all the paperwork was done and we’re clear to start the marina.”

“Um…I have more work to do.” She ducked her head quickly.

Mitch felt an odd twinge of foreboding. She was acting strange. As if she was hiding something. “Rosie?”

“We’d better get going.” Her smile looked edgy. “You have to get to the ferry in time.”

“Yeah. Ferries are the only thing that are on time around here.” He grinned, mounting the ladder to the bridge. “I guess I don’t mind so much. I could get used to island time.”

She ducked into the salon without answering and picked up the thick file containing the study. Only after he pulled out into the channel did Mitch realize she hadn’t given him an answer.

The ferry landing at Eastsound was a shock to the system. After a month in the heart of nowhere, Rosie was unprepared for the blare of horns and boom boxes, the reek of exhaust and baking pavement, the smells of fast food that greeted her as she parked the Volkswagen in the ferry line. She wished she could simply roll up the windows and disappear, but it wasn’t possible. Mitch was waiting.

While she’d gone to get her car and park in line, he had gone over her final assessment. By now, he’d know the truth.

“Don’t be a coward, Rosalinda,” she said to herself, rolling down the car windows so the dogs wouldn’t be too hot. “Go and face the music.”

Mitch stood at the dock where his yellow-and-white seaplane was docked. The pilot waited in the cockpit, sipping a Mountain Dew and fiddling with his radio. When Mitch heard her coming, he looked up, and she could tell by the expression on his face that he’d finished reading the assessment.

“Nice of you to clue me in, Rosie,” he said, his voice harsh with fury.

“Mitch—”

“I don’t suppose you could have let me know sooner that you were going to recommend against building the marina.”

“I didn’t make up my mind for sure until yesterday.”

“Oh, that’s right. You work on island time. You do things when you feel like it.”

She felt her cheeks redden. He had every right to be mad, but he was pushing her. “Mitch, in all honesty, I thought—right up until yesterday—that your plans to build probably wouldn’t have a significant impact on the wildlife. But then, when we found the nesting grounds yesterday, I knew I couldn’t risk it.”

“Jesus, Rosie! If you ruin this project, you’re gambling away the survival of the islanders. Jobs, tourist dollars—”

“If you destroy the wilderness, no one will want to go to the island, anyway.”

“I don’t want to destroy anything, damn it. I want to
build
something. You saw the plans. You know I’ll be careful. We’ll make every effort to minimize the impact on the environment. We’ll make it work.”

She forced herself to look at him, the man who owned her heart and her hopes, and felt both of them shatter. Determined not to cry, she swallowed hard and said, “Some things are just incompatible, Mitch. No matter how hard you try to make it work.”

Then she turned and walked away, not looking back even though it took every ounce of strength she possessed.

“I
t’s not the end of the world, you know,” Miss Lovejoy said, handing Mitch a stack of mail.

He looked up from his desk, blinking at the slanting light of the October sun. Sunshine was rare in October, but Indian summer had decided to visit Seattle. He had an urge to loosen his tie, unbutton the collar of his shirt, abandon work for the rest of the day.

“What’s not the end of the world?” he asked distractedly, annoyed by his own thoughts. He wasn’t the same person he’d been before going to Rainshadow Lodge. Instead of being focused on business, he experienced strange urges—like the desire to do something frivolous, to go out to lunch and never come back. Or visit the salmon ladder at the waterfront aquarium. Or go parasailing over Elliot Bay. Or get a Chihuahua puppy.

“This registered letter. I had to sign for it. It’s postmarked Spruce Island.”

He tried to pretend he was cool and calm as he picked it up. The return address indicated that the mail was from the group of investors who’d contracted for the marina. “Great,” Mitch muttered. “They’re probably suing me for failing to get clearance for the marina.” He felt no particular alarm at the prospect. Lately, matters of business just didn’t have the importance they used to. Rosie had stolen that from him—along with his heart.

He scanned the letter and his eyes widened. “I’ll be damned.”

“What? Good news?”

“They’ve dedicated their efforts to another project that’s going to net them a lot more jobs than the marina.”

“Really? What’s that?”

“They’re starting up kayak tours for whale watching, something they won’t need a marina for.” He turned over the glossy tri-fold brochure that accompanied the letter. The brochure featured gorgeous views of the island, including a shot of Rainshadow Lodge. Curiously, there was a small animal in the photo; it suspiciously resembled a Chihuahua. “That’s funny,” he said.

“What?”

“One of the photos just looked familiar for a minute.” His gaze dropped to the credit line at the bottom of the brochure.
This project is funded in part by the Underwater Biosphere Foundation.

“Are you feeling all right, Mr. Rutherford?” his secretary asked.

“Just a weird coincidence. The new enterprise is coming about thanks to an organization that offered to hire Dr. Galvez.”

“That’s no coincidence. She works for them.” Miss Lovejoy sent him an innocent look. “Didn’t you know?”

His throat went dry; he hurried to the watercooler to get a cup of water. “No. I didn’t know. I thought she took the job in San Diego.”

“You might want to thank her in person. If she hadn’t proposed the whale-watching venture, they probably would have sued the pants off you.” Miss Lovejoy checked her watch. “If you hurry, you can catch her on the four-forty ferry. She lives in a bungalow on Bainbridge Island now.”

“How the hell do you know all this?”

“If I have to explain everything, you’ll miss that ferry.”

He was already halfway out the door. In the reception area, he paused to steal the fresh flower arrangement from Miss Lovejoy’s desk and dashed out of the office. In the elevator he took off his tie and suit coat, knowing it would be a fast hike to the ferry. The commuter ferry across the sound from Seattle docked several blocks from his office. He ran the whole way, knowing for the first time in weeks that he was doing something right.

After being so wrong about Rosie.

Shoving his fare at the ticket clerk, he scanned the flow of passengers moving along the walkway toward the massive triple-decker boat. He pushed through the press of commuters—women in Birkenstocks and no makeup, bringing their home-schooled kids back from a field trip in the city. Attorneys from law firms along the waterfront. Studio artists lugging art supplies. People who liked living in the heart of nowhere.

Miss Lovejoy had been wrong, he decided, standing on the bridge while the cars flowed onto the lower deck of the ferry. Rosie wasn’t on the boat.

Then he heard it.

Faintly at first, but growing sharper as it got closer. Salsa music.

He looked down at the cars driving on and saw the tangerine Volkswagen lurching aboard, disappearing into the belly of the boat. His heart thudded louder than the aggressive beat of the music as he watched her park near the front of the ferry. He couldn’t feel the steel stairs beneath his feet as he went down to find her.

He approached the car, and Freddy and Selena started yapping madly. He went to the driver’s-side window, and Rosie looked up at him.

She had just blown a bubble with her gum, and it rested weightlessly on her lips as she stared in shock. The dogs fell quiet, perhaps remembering him as the tolerant guy who let them sleep on the bed.

Very gently, his heart rising, he took the bubble gum between his thumb and forefinger and tossed it overboard. “I was wondering,” he said, bending low, “if we could find something else for you to do with your mouth.”

Before she could reply, he bent and kissed her, feeling her lips harden in protest, then soften in surrender as he pressed closer. When he drew away, her eyes stayed shut and she had a rapturous expression on her face.

But when she opened them, suspicion clouded her gaze. “What’s this about, Mitch?”

He handed her the flowers. “These are for you.”

“Thank you.” She took the flowers. “So I guess you learned about the kayaking venture.”

He grinned. “Yeah, just now. It was brilliant.”

“So you’re here because I got you out of trouble with the marina deal.”

“Yes—hell, no, Rosie.”

“Then why did you wait until today?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d stayed in Seattle?”

“Why didn’t you tell me it mattered to you?”

Frustrated, he opened the door, pulling her out of the car and pressing her against it, not caring who was watching. “Everything about you matters to me, Rosie. I’ve missed you.”

“You have?”

“Yes. And I’m sorry for going off like that when you rejected the project.”

“You are?”

“Yes. And I love you.”

“You do?”

“Yes.” He was amazed at how easy it was to say it, how true and how right it felt. “I never thought I’d feel this way about anyone, but you changed my life, Rosie. I guess that’s why I ran you off. It was different, and it scared the hell out of me.”

“It did?”

“Yes. But I discovered something even scarier.”

“What’s that?”

“Being without you. I need you, Rosie.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Oh boy.” The tears spilled over, making silvery tracks down her cheeks.

“Ah, Rosie. Please don’t cry.”

“I told myself you were wrong for me. You’re exactly the kind of guy who keeps breaking my heart.”

“Not this time. This time I’m exactly the right kind of guy. I’ve changed, Rosie. I don’t live for work anymore. Ask anyone. I went bowling Thursday night.”

She smiled as the tears continued to flow. “Ask me what my checkbook balance is. Just ask me.”

“Okay, what’s your checkbook balance?”

“It’s 1,869.54. Not counting the book of ferry tickets I just bought.”

He kissed her again, long and crushingly, and she swayed against him. It felt right, perfect, just like coming home. And then he did something he’d never in his life imagined doing. Keeping hold of her hand, he sank down on one knee. Some part of him realized that a small crowd had gathered on the passenger bridge high above them, but he didn’t care. It was time to take this step, and if the whole world saw him do it, all the better.

“Marry me, Rosie,” he said. “Please marry me.”

“I want to.” She tugged at his hand so he was standing again, looking down at her and knowing he’d never ever get tired of holding her in his arms. “I love you.”

“Then say yes. We don’t have to live in the condo. I’ll get a place on the island, anywhere you want—”

“Yes.”

Her emphatic reply brought a strange thickness to his throat. This was it, then. The big plunge. He was so ready for it he nearly burst.

“On one condition,” she said.

“Damn, Rosie, you name it.” He meant it. The moon, the stars, the world on a silver platter. He would lie down and die for her if that’s what she wanted. “Anything.”

“I want us to go away every August. Every August for the rest of our lives, I want to go with you to that summer place.”