My Kind of You (A Trillium Bay Novel Book 1)

by Tracy Brogan

  “I’m a consultant.” Ryan knew that answer usually stopped the conversation cold. No one ever really wanted to know what a consultant did, and he wasn’t at liberty to explain it anyway since his father’s company, Taggert Property Management, usually worked confidentially behind the scenes with their investors and clients. Time for Ryan to change the subject. “Do you know much about the island?” he asked.

  “You bet she does. She grew up there,” Chloe answered, standing up and walking into a beam of fading sunlight to take another picture of herself.

  Ryan looked back at Emily, feeling the surprise that must have been registering on his face. “You grew up there?”

  She nodded. “Born and raised.”

  “Really? Wow. I assumed native islanders were like four-leaf clovers, you know? Everybody says they’ve seen one but no one really has.”

  Emily chuckled. “Well, I’ve never seen a four-leaf clover either, but I do know lots of people who grew up on the island.”

  “That’s very cool. What was it like?” Ryan grew up in Sacramento, with sunshine year-round and every convenience nearby. He could not imagine living someplace so remote.

  “Probably a lot like growing up in any small town. Close neighbors, lots of gossip, lots of people to turn to when you need help. Lots of people telling you how to live your life. The usual stuff.”

  He still couldn’t imagine it. “What about in the winter? Were you trapped? It’s got to be like The Shining with all the snow.”

  This time Emily laughed right out loud, sincere and unguarded. And sexy. He started pacing again.

  “We had pretty much everything we needed,” Emily said. “Plus we weren’t really trapped. Other than about a month right in the middle of winter where there’s too much ice for the ferries to run but the lake isn’t frozen enough to snowmobile over, we could almost always get to the mainland if we wanted to.”

  He stopped pacing to stare at her. “Snowmobile? Over Lake Huron?”

  “There’s an ice bridge,” Chloe said, stepping toward him. “My mom’s told me all about it.”

  Ryan turned to the kid. She was cute, a younger version of her mother, and he was pretty sure she had a gummy bear in each cheek. “Oh yeah? What’s she told you?”

  “She told me that her boyfriend could make it from the island all the way over to the McDonald’s in Manitou in six minutes flat. But one time when my grandpa was young, he tried to go over the ice when it wasn’t solid enough and his snowmobile went in the water and sank right to the bottom.”

  Ryan turned back to Emily. “He did? Was that your dad?”

  She nodded but seemed wholly unconcerned. “Yes, that was my dad, but he’s so cheap he went right back out onto the ice the next day with some ropes and some hooks and tried to pull the thing back up.”

  Ryan chuckled, relieved that the story hadn’t turned tragic. “Did he manage?”

  “No, but he got his name in a few local papers for being fool enough to try.” She shook her head as she spoke, making the red-gold strands of her hair shimmy a bit. The industrial florescent lighting in this airport lobby was universally unflattering, yet somehow her hair still shimmered like something from a shampoo commercial. He wondered how it would look in the sunshine. Probably pretty good. Probably look pretty good spread out on a pillow, too. That thought caught him right in the throat and choked him. He coughed and picked up his cup from the folding table to take a gulp of water. “Dry pretzel,” he explained. “What were you saying?”

  “I was saying that now my father is the chief of police on the island and stops people from doing foolish things like that,” Emily answered.

  “Chief of police, huh? Impressive.”

  “I guess.” Her expression was enigmatic, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out there was something left unsaid. Not that it was any of his business, and not that he had any chance to ask her about it because a car horn honked outside.

  “That’s our ride, Chloe,” Emily said. “Grab your stuff and let’s go.”

  Chapter 2

  “I promise, Gigi,” Emily said into the phone as she watched the last boat leave the ferry dock—without them on it. “The plane broke down, the taxi was late, and we just missed the boat by five stinking minutes. If I could swim to the island with all our luggage, I would do it. We will be there first thing in the morning.”

  She should have known they were going to miss the boat. On the list of all the things that could go wrong, missing the boat was most certainly on there. Now she was going to have to spend money on a hotel room for the night and find Chloe some real food. Those cheese crackers and gummy bears had left her daughter with a stomachache and a bad attitude.

  “I’m starving, Mom. Totally legit starving this time. And I’ve only got eighteen percent battery left on my phone. If I don’t get a charge soon, my world goes black.”

  If Chloe’s world went black, so would Emily’s. She’d been on the bad side of a dead battery before, and it was not pretty.

  “Food. Charge. Sleep. I’m on it.” Emily was trying to put a bright spin on things, but she was just as hungry and tired as Chloe must be. Still, she was the grown-up. Mostly. She needed to be the one to hold it together.

  Ryan stood next to them, staring after the boat as if it had personally betrayed him. “I don’t think I’m going to like it here,” he muttered.

  “There’s a motel right there. That’s where I’m headed. Come on, Chloe. Grab your suitcases.” Emily reached for hers.

  “Here, I got them.” Ryan managed to hoist several of their bags over his shoulder and offered his rolling bag to Chloe. “Lead the way.”

  Emily hesitated. She was more than capable of carrying her own bags. She’d been a single mother since Chloe was five years old, and realistically much longer than that since her ex-husband had never been much help to begin with. She’d learned to do things by herself. She prided herself on it, but tonight, she was tired, and there was nothing wrong with letting someone carry your bags once in a while. “You’d make an excellent pack mule,” she said to Ryan.

  “Are you saying I’m an ass?” he whispered, and Emily bit back a chuckle.

  The three of them crossed the parking lot and walked into the dark, wood-paneled lobby of a generic motel that looked like virtually every other motel in Michlimac City. Paneled walls covered with cheap oil paintings of ducks and geese and views of Petoskey Bridge. At the check-in desk, a gum-chewing, plaid-shirted young woman greeted them with a friendly smile, and Emily was happy to discover this place had everything they needed. Cheap rooms, a bar that served food for another thirty minutes . . . and free Wi-Fi. Perfect. That was pretty much all she required. Ryan got a room, too, and soon they were making their way down the narrow, dimly lit hallway. The carpet had a camouflage pattern, and the walls were papered with scenes of a forest with deer and bears and bunnies wandering around.

  “After we drop off these suitcases, Chloe and I are getting something to eat. Feel free to join us, if you’d like. I owe you dinner since you split open that vending machine for us,” Emily said.

  “Thanks, I’d like that, but I have a dozen phone calls to make first. If I miss you, I’ll just see you on the ferry in the morning.” Ryan readjusted that overstuffed computer bag on his shoulder.

  She felt a twinge of disappointment at his answer. Heaven knew she wanted this day to be over and she was very much looking forward to her lumpy hotel bed, but traveling with Ryan Taggert, the Man in the Nice Suit, had made their misadventure a little more exhilarating. A little more memorable. Subtly flirtatious conversation in the fading light of the cab while Chloe snoozed in the other seat had stirred up in Emily a lovely case of the tingles. A mild case. A very mild case, because she wasn’t interested in Ryan, of course, but it was always nice to stretch those charm muscles once in a while. She wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye to that, but apparently he was.

  Okay then. If he didn’t care, then she didn’t care.

  “All
right. We’re taking the very first boat in the morning, so if we don’t happen to see you again . . . well, it’s been interesting.”

  He laughed, and she noticed how impeccably straight his teeth were. Someone had an excellent orthodontist. And a personal trainer. He was in good shape. She felt a second twinge of disappointment but tried to chalk it up to nothing more than fatigue and a misplaced sense of connection from having survived that airport debacle together. Surely that’s all it was.

  Ryan nodded. “Yes, very interesting. Thanks for helping me. If it wasn’t for you, I’d probably still be sitting at that airport.”

  “Mom, can I have the key? We’re here.” Chloe pointed at the brass number on the brown wooden door, then took the key from Emily’s outstretched hand. She hauled a couple of suitcases through the opening, dragging them into the room. “See you around, Ryan. Don’t forget to try some moose tracks fudge. It’s the best. Hope we see you over on the island.” She waved and was gone, the door clicking shut behind her. Ryan had stopped walking when Emily stopped, and now they stood awkwardly in the hall, a florescent yellow light buzzing overhead.

  “Moose tracks, huh?” he said.

  “Rocky road is my favorite, but it’s fudge, so you know, it’s all pretty good.”

  “Right. Fudge.” He seemed distracted for a second but then said, “Listen, maybe we could connect while we’re over there? You know, maybe you could give me a behind-the-scenes tour?”

  His suggestion seemed innocent enough. She couldn’t tell if he was hinting at anything other than what was on the surface, but either way, she felt a little better. Even if this was the proverbial I’ll give you a call sometime, at least he was making an attempt. Pride was a funny thing. Even though she didn’t really care if she saw him on the island, she at least wanted him to make the effort.

  “Yeah, sure. Text me your number.”

  He set down the other bags he was carrying, and they both pulled out their phones. “What’s yours?” he asked, thumbs poised and at the ready.

  She told him, and they said goodnight, hesitating just long enough for it to feel awkward again, and then he turned and continued down the hall while Emily quickly entered her room. Once inside, she leaned against the solid wooden door, feeling stupidly girlish about having just given a man her number, or maybe those flutters in her stomach were just from hunger. Yes, that was probably it. Just hunger.

  “What’s up with you?” Chloe asked. She was already lying on the bed, and her stuff was strewn all over the room. How had she made such a mess in the ninety seconds Emily had been out in the hall? It was a real gift that girl had.

  “Nothing is up with me. I’m just tired and starving. Let’s get something to eat before it’s too late.”

  “I think he’s cute, too.”

  “What?”

  “Ryan. He’s a hottie. I mean, for an old guy. You should totally hang out with him while we’re on the island.”

  Emily pushed herself away from the door and kicked off her high heels. They’d been a terrible decision and her feet were killing her, but she’d expected to arrive on the island today and wanted to look nice. And successful. Mostly she wanted to look successful, because as far as her family was concerned, that’s what she was. A successful businesswoman, and it wasn’t that she wanted to be dishonest, she just didn’t want to add penniless moocher to her résumé. If anyone discovered her current state of money troubles, there’d be whispers, and then there’d be roars. Some people would want to rescue her, while others would enjoy seeing her fail. She just didn’t need any of that right now.

  She didn’t need Ryan Taggert, the Good Looking Guy in the Nice Suit, either. Even if he was interested, he’d just be a messy complication to her already messy life. Plus, he’d told her he lived in Sacramento, which was too far from San Antonio to be workable anyway. Said the cart as it looked back at the horse.

  “Ryan seems very nice, Chloe, but this trip is about family and work. That’s all.”

  “I wouldn’t mind, you know.”

  “Wouldn’t mind what?” Emily pulled the ends of her top out from the waistband of her skirt and crossed over to the bathroom.

  “If you were dating somebody. I mean, it seems kind of like you should be dating people. You haven’t had a boyfriend in forever, and I’m going to start dating people eventually, and then what will you have to do?”

  Emily looked over at her daughter, her sweet daughter with the sleepy eyes, curled up on a bed and looking very much like the little girl Emily saw her as. But Chloe was right. She was twelve, and in a handful of years she’d be dating. Heck, she’d be driving. And then, really, what was Emily going to do?

  Chapter 3

  The first thing Emily noticed as she got off the ferry at Wenniway Island and walked with Chloe down the short dock to Main Street of Trillium Bay was the wonderfully familiar aroma of fudge, lilacs . . . and horse manure. An earthy-sweet mixture that sent her mind scampering right back to childhood summers. Their last two visits had been in December, just fast trips back for Christmas, and long after all the flowers had wilted away and many of the horses had been moved back to the mainland for their long winter’s nap. She hadn’t noticed the absence of the smell then, but now it filled her nose, triggering a flood of memories, both happy and sad. She pushed the sad ones aside for now. No sense in dwelling.

  The next thing Emily noticed was Dmitri Krushnic in his beekeeper’s hat talking to a man on a horse. This in and of itself was not that unusual because she’d known Dmitri Krushnic since she was a little girl and he always wore his beekeeping hat, even when he was nowhere near his bees. Seeing a man on a horse wasn’t that odd either. Cars had been banned on Wenniway Island since 1891, so horses, bikes, and good old-fashioned walking were the general modes of transportation. What was slightly askew about this scene, however, was that the man on the horse appeared to be wearing nothing but a very tiny loincloth and a very large Native American headdress.

  “What the what?” Emily muttered, reaching out to cover the unsuspecting eyes of her too-young-for-this daughter. “Chloe, don’t look.”

  “It’s too late,” Chloe said mildly. “The vision is already seared into my retinas. That’s the whitest skin I’ve ever seen.”

  “Yes, it is.” Emily nodded, dropping her hands to stare alongside her daughter.

  “It’s authentic, you idiot. We’re reenacting, and this is just how Chief Eagle Feather did it.” The exhibitionist on the horse shook his fist in Dmitri’s general direction.

  Dmitri jabbed a pointed finger back at him, accidentally poking the horse. She didn’t seem to notice. She just looked around, bored as an old gray mare who’d seen it all and just wanted to go back to her barn and eat some oats.

  “Listen, Clancy,” said Dmitri, “I’m as devoted to the history of this island as you are, and yes, those of us on the historical committee recognize and appreciate your passion for authenticity. And while we also concur that Chief Eagle Feather rode naked through the streets warning the townspeople that the British were invading, that doesn’t mean you can ride down Main Street today wearing nothing but a smile and SPF 75. There are children present.” His arms swung to the side, indicating the presence of passersby, many of whom were now scurrying away. Dmitri turned his head and spotted Emily and Chloe standing just a few feet away. Standing and staring. “Look! See? There’s a child. She’s traumatized.”

  “Oh heck no. Leave me out of this.” Chloe ducked behind her mother, and Emily bit back a smile. Good to know she was still needed for something, if only to serve as a human shield.

  “She’s fine, fellas,” Emily called out, turning and nudging Chloe toward the opposite sidewalk. “We’ll be moving along now.”

  “Peach?” Dmitri pulled off the beekeeper’s hat, exposing long, dark hair liberally streaked with gray. “Peachy-keen, is that you?”

  So much for making a quiet entrance back into town. She’d hoped to get to Gigi’s place and get settled in before the loca
ls knew she was there. Her sisters knew she was arriving today, but not an exact time, and she’d only hinted to her father that she might be dropping by sometime this summer. So much for stealth.

  “No, it’s not me. I’m someone else entirely.” She nudged Chloe a little harder with the knuckle of her index finger.

  “Ohmygosh,” Chloe whispered, “I forgot they all call you Peach.”

  “Of course it’s you, Peach. I heard you were coming, and I’d know those blue eyes and freckles anywhere.” He rushed toward them, smiling broadly and apparently forgetting, for the moment, the naked guy on the horse.

  “Speaking of freckles”—Chloe’s whisper turned to an amused murmur—“I don’t think SPF 75 is going to be strong enough for that marshmallow on the horse. I can smell him burning from here. Is he starting to puff up?”

  Dmitri reached them, his grin revealing a significant gap between his two front teeth. “And is this little niblet your daughter? It can’t be. She’s too grown up!”

  “Oh no way. Do not let them nickname me niblet!” Chloe’s amused murmur became a hostile mutter into Emily’s ear. Preteen mood swing, but Emily could hardly blame her. Niblet was probably going to stick.

  Emily smiled. “Hello, Dmitri. How are you? Good to see you. Yes, this is Chloe, my daughter.”

  “Of course, of course. So are you back for good this time? Or just here for the Lilac Festival?” He pushed a lock of sweat-dampened hair away from his forehead. Apparently things got a little hot under that beekeeper’s hat.

  “I’m not back back. I mean, I’m staying for a few months. I’m here to do some work for Gigi.”

  He put the hat back on but kept the netting pushed to the top. “Oh yes. Working on Gigi’s rental cottage. I heard something about that from the Mahoney sisters. They’re in quite a tizzy about the whole thing. All up in arms about who’s doing what to which properties. Those women buzz, buzz, buzz more than my bees do.” He turned his head. “Don’t think I can’t see you trying to ride away, Clancy,” he shouted over his shoulder. “Chief Callaghan is going to hear about this, and now his own daughter is a material witness.”