by May Williams
“Sounds like you’ve had experience with that,” Mrs. Connelly said. “Collie, don’t you have some calls to make?”
“Right.” Colette still held the phone in her hand. At the reminder, she hit send for the Mitford cottage and listened to the phone ring. If someone had answered, she probably wouldn’t have been able to formulate a sentence. She was too busy listening to Ian and Mrs. Connelly’s conversation.
“Yes, ma’am. I did two tours in Iraq. Having someone at home who cares matters more than anything to the troops.” Semper lay down at Ian’s feet, resting his shaggy red head on Ian’s shoe.
“No answer at the Mitford’s,” Colette managed to say. “Maybe the Maclean’s?”
“Whole clan’s here this weekend,” Mrs. Connelly explained. “They won’t have any room.”
“Room for what?” Ian asked.
“You.” Colette gave him a smile as she broke the news, pointing the phone at him. “The last ferry of the day left while you were chasing Semper.”
“I thought there was another one at seven?” Ian checked his watch.
“Not until next week. June’s early in the season this far north.”
“I’ll get a hotel room then.”
“No hotels or inns on the island.”
“What?”
“Give me a minute. I’ll make a few more calls.” Colette dialed the private charter service that ran people to the mainland, but they were booked for the evening. Next she tried the Radissons. Their nine grandchildren were visiting for the weekend. Colette had seen those kids in action. She couldn’t subject a man kind enough to chase Semper to their antics.
“I’ll figure something out. Please don’t fuss over me.” Ian caught her in between phone calls, laying a hand on her arm briefly. A little ripple passed through her. Excitement? Nerves? She tamped down on the giggle rising up in her throat and stepped away from him. She didn’t meet his eyes. While the shadows lengthened, she dialed two more residents; her calls picked up by answering machines.
Mrs. Connelly climbed out of her chair. She seemed reluctant to go like she was watching an entertaining show, but she tucked the Yorkie back into the carrier and took Semper’s leash from Ian. “I’ll take my troublemaker home. Semper doesn’t need any shots. I was trying to wear him out by bringing him with me. Guess it worked.” Mrs. Connelly tossed a leg over the bicycle’s seat. “Thanks again for catching Semper. Collie will find you a place for the night. Oh, and I suggest lye soap on your legs. I think it works best. Thanks, Collie,” Mrs. Connelly called over her shoulder and rode up the slope.
“Lye soap?” Ian turned to Colette with one eyebrow raised.
“Yeah, you may have gone through some poison ivy over there.” She pointed at the trail veering into the woods while dialing her last hope of a room for Ian without taking him in herself. “Did you see any?”
“I was busy watching the dog. I didn’t pay attention.” Ian looked down at his legs. “Why is it when anyone even suggests poison ivy I feel itchy? Does lye soap work?”
“Any strong soap will help prevent it from spreading. One second.” Colette held up her hand as Mrs. Pritchard answered, happy for the distraction so she wouldn’t continue to stare at Ian’s tanned muscles. After a brief conversation, Collie clicked the phone shut and gave Ian a small, troubled smile. The Pritchard’s cottage had a major plumbing problem.
“Guess you’re staying with me for the night,” she sighed.
The thought made her a bit nervous but more for what her family might say than any danger Ian posed. He chased down a renegade dog and served his country. Twice. He had to be a good guy, she assured herself, because he sure didn’t seem like a bad guy in any way. Of course, her instincts generally sucked when it came to men and former soldiers tended to have issues. Still, there was something appealing about this one, which was fairly rare in her experience.
“Everyone on the island is either out of touch or out of room.” She waited for his reaction. His eyes widened for a brief second, and she wondered if he felt a little thrill at the thought like she did.
“I’m sorry…I don’t want to….” he said. Maybe he was just being polite, but it was a little disappointing. Still, she soldiered on.
“I’ve got some soap at my family’s cottage that’ll remove the oils and prevent the poison ivy. Don’t start scratching. You’ll spread the oils around. It’ll just take me a minute to pack up.” Colette stowed most of her gear into two bags and set them on the edge of her site. “I moved your camera into the shade.” Colette pointed to the sunshade overhead. “It looks expensive.”
“About ten grand,” he answered, although he seemed distracted.
“Yikes,” she turned to him. “I’m more the fifty buck camera type. I guess you are a professional photographer.”
“Of a sort.” His eyes were sharply fixed on her face, but his manner hesitant. “Camping’s permitted on the island, right? I’ve slept outside plenty in the army. Won’t hurt me to do it again.”
“I would never sleep knowing you were outside lying on the hard ground and getting eaten by mosquitoes. You’re coming home with me,” she declared a little too adamantly. A moment of awkward silence followed.
“I don’t want to inconvenience you.” Was he trying to get away from her or just being polite? He appeared to be wavering while she finished packing her gear.
“Look, you can sleep outside under the stars with whatever you’ve got in that bag. Tent?” She glanced doubtfully at his backpack.
He slowly shook his head.
“Or,” she continued, “you can stay in one of my spare rooms. It comes with dinner and some strong soap to get rid of the poison ivy.” She zipped up a case containing the animal vaccines and other medications. “Plus, you’ll be doing me a favor by staying. I’ll feel guilty you missed the ferry chasing Semper when you didn’t need to.”
“Didn’t need to? He was running away.”
“It’s an island. Where was he going to go?”
“Hadn’t thought about that.” He laughed at himself and his mood lightened. “Guess I was pretty silly.”
“No, just nice.” Colette slung the case over her shoulder. “We’ll drop these other bags at the dock and walk to the cottage.”
After stowing her gear in the shed by the dock, she led Ian down a trail through tall pine trees where every step was cushioned by layers of soft needles. They skirted the shoreline on the east end of the island. Occasionally, the trees cleared to reveal rocky cliff faces and the water below. Romeo ran ahead of them through the woods, returning periodically for Colette’s approval.
Ian stopped several times to take pictures. “Amazing views,” he mumbled before clicking again. “Do you mind if I wander around later with my camera?”
“No, we’re used to tourists and their cameras.”
“I’ll bet.” After an extra moment looking through the lens, he turned back to her. “I thought the island belonged to the government. How do you and the other residents have property here?”
“The government owns it now, but when it became a National Recreation Area about twenty years ago, families with cottages on the island got to keep them. Our place is just down this trail.” She waited for him where a narrow path cut off from the main trail.
“Peterson’s Paradise,” he read the small wooden sign before taking a picture of it.
“My great-grandfather’s sense of humor. It’s not paradise, but it’s close.” They rounded the last bend where the thick canopy of trees hushed all sound, and the cottage emerged from the trees and rocks. The structure built from stone quarried on the island long ago stood on a cliff overlooking the water. The exterior was weathered, but Colette loved how the house always glowed with life. “We come here on holidays and several weekends a year. My sister got married right there.” She pointed to the beach alongside the house and turned to watch his expression. His face showed what she always felt when seeing the cottage: sheer amazement at the beauty of the place. He
studied it for a minute then raised his camera to capture the scene.
“Can you sell it?” He asked while still taking pictures.
“You interested in buying it?”
“Wish I could, but seriously, can you?”
“To the federal government only. That’s the agreement, but we’d never sell.”
“Never?” He twisted to look at her.
“No way. Selling the cottage would be like selling my heritage, all the memories of my family.”
“Most people don’t think like that,” he commented as they walked side by side toward the cottage on the narrow path, their shoulders brushing together.
“Tell me about it. I’ve had an investment company trying to buy the land I live on near Petoskey for several months. They don’t get that we’re not selling no matter what the offer.”
He stumbled over a tree root and nearly fell. Instinctively, she put out a hand to help him. Under her fingers, the firm muscles of his biceps contracted. When he tilted his face toward hers, a strange expression flitted across his features before a self-deprecating grin curved up the corners of his mouth. “Guess my legs are worn out from chasing Semper.”
“Too bad it was a pointless chase,” she teased him.
“Considering where I’m at right now, I wouldn’t say that.”
Chapter Two
Colette chopped cilantro and dropped it in the food processor. One quick pulse, a dash of salt, and a drizzle of olive oil and the spicy flavor of salsa filled the kitchen. The sharpness of the salsa was the perfect complement for the white fish now under the broiler. A spinach salad and a loaf of crusty bread would give her and her surprise houseguest an excellent dinner.
Romeo streaked past the kitchen window in pursuit of a rabbit. Watching him run and play was always warming. When he’d come to her a year ago near starvation and with a broken leg, she’d almost put him down. It was the part of being a vet she hated. But after one look into his brown eyes, she couldn’t. She’d done surgery on his leg and put him on a nutrient rich diet. Three months later, he could walk. At the end of six months, he could fetch a ball. Now, he was her constant companion.
She opened the kitchen door to call the dog. “Romeo, dinner time.” He emerged from the edge of the tree-line, racing toward the cottage on his long limbs. Another long-limbed being ambled out of the shade behind him.
“Do I get dinner, too?” His expensive camera was slung over his shoulder and he held another small gadget in his right hand. He wore her brother-in-law’s sweats while his clothes were in the washer, eradicating the last vestiges of poison ivy. The pants were a tad too short for him though, emphasizing his tall, athletic build.
“Sure, but you have to uncork the wine. I’m terrible at it.” Colette backed through the kitchen door. Once inside, she kept her back to Ian while opening Romeo’s canned food and pouring it into his bowl. As she fed the dog and finished preparing dinner, she all in all felt rather feminine. Having a man here was like playing house with a handsome and—she snuck a look at his left hand—available man. “The wine’s in the fridge if you want to get it.”
“Michigan wine?” Ian studied the label of the bottle before opening it with the corkscrew.
“Don’t tell me you’re a wine snob,” she teased. “Even my French-born grandmother drank Michigan wine.”
“French grandmother? I guess that explains your name.” He poured the white wine into goblets she’d put out on the counter, bringing her one where she stood, slicing bread.
“Thanks. She was a war bride.” Colette put down the knife. “My grandfather liked to tell the story that he had to promise her there was wine in America before she’d come. I guess the news of prohibition’s repeal hadn’t reached France.”
“To your grandmother.” Ian laughed, and then tapped his glass to hers. At that, they drank. She took a sip, peeking at him over the rim of her glass, and gulped down an extra swallow to match his pace. “How can I help with dinner?”
“Take the salads and bread to the back deck through the great room. I’ll be out with the fish in just a minute.” She gestured to a tray loaded with plates and silverware. Ian took her wine glass and put it with his, along with the bottle on the tray. With the flare of a professional waiter, he hoisted the tray to his shoulder and disappeared through the swinging kitchen door.
A few minutes later when she arrived with the main course on the screened deck, the table was set and he’d collected a few pillar candles. He shook the last of the flame out of a match after lighting them when she put their entrees down.
“Nice,” she commented, taking her seat. She noticed his camera sat on a table not far away.
“I worked in a French dinner restaurant during college.” He took the opposite chair. Under the table his knees bumped into hers, sending shivers up her body. “I can’t cook, but I know how to prepare a table.”
“That must be a useful skill when you invite a woman to your place.”
“Yeah, right up until I put an overcooked egg on the plate.” He picked up a piece of flaky, white fish with his fork. “I see you know how to cook, though.”
“French grandmother, remember?” She loaded salsa on her fish before lifting it to her mouth. They lapsed into silence as they ate at the candlelit table. The cool waters of Lake Superior lapping against the lake shore and the fading light of the day made a perfect romantic setting. She started to relax, despite the attractive man at her table and the semblance of a date—things that usually made her nervous. Romeo shoved the porch door open and sprawled at Colette’s feet as if reassuring her.
“He’s pretty attached to you,” Ian observed after a few bites.
“Romeo’s my first rescue animal. I think we have a special bond, although I’d probably say that about most of my animals,” she confessed.
“Is rescuing animals part of being a veterinarian?”
“For me it is. I’m attempting to get a rescue center off the ground on that piece of property I was telling you about. So far, I have three other dogs, two horses, a donkey,” she grinned, “and a turkey buzzard.”
“A buzzard?”
“Broken wing.” Colette buttered a piece of bread. “I’m trying to find a wild animal rehab place for him, but for now Iago’s mine.”
“Iago?”
“I name the rescue animals after Shakespearean characters. I figure I’ll never run out of ideas that way. Like the namesake, Iago’s been a challenge.”
“What does he do?”
She winced a little. “To start with, his favorite meal is road kill.”
“Do you go out scraping up his dinner?” He stopped eating and leaned toward her.
“Sometimes. My friends and neighbors know I have him and when they see something fresh….” She lifted her hands up.
“People bring you road kill?”
“Yeah. It’s very nice of them, but I find really shocking things on my back steps. Sorry, I shouldn’t discuss this during dinner.” This was definitely not appropriate dinner conversation with a sexy houseguest whose gray eyes sparkled like the first stars of the evening. She should find a different topic, but he seemed interested.
“No, it’s all right.” To prove it, he put a piece of fish in his mouth. “Aside from his food issues, what else does he do?”
“Buzzards live in communities so he’s lonely. Fortunately, he has taken a liking to one of the horses who is…” She searched for the word. “…tolerating him.”
“What’s the horse’s name?” he questioned.
“Hippolyta. Why?”
“That’s a relief. I was afraid her name might be Desdemona.”
“No,” she laughed, imagining how funny this must sound to a stranger. “Her companion is named Theseus though.”
“So the donkey’s name would be….”
“Bottom, of course.”
“Right,” he said. “You must have plenty of land to have this collection of animals.”
“It was my grandparent’
s farm and orchard.”
“And Petoskey’s right on Lake Michigan, isn’t it?”
She nodded. “We have lake frontage, which is why the investment company wants it, I suppose. It is beautiful, but in a different way than here.”
“We?” He picked up on the single word.
“My sister, brother, and I own the property jointly. I live in the old farmhouse and have the barns and outbuildings for my animals. My sister and her husband built a house on part of the land a few years ago.”
“What about your brother?”
“Still in grad school. He’s the baby of the family.”
“They’re not willing to sell either? No one wants to move to a warmer climate?”
“Look around.” She gestured out to where the lake met the shoreline. “We have a place so far north you can see the Northern Lights when it’s dark. We’re cold weather people.” She took a sip of her wine. “Besides, my sister owns a business in Petoskey, and her husband is the high school principal. They aren’t going anywhere.”
“I take it you told the investment company this.”
“Yeah, but they’re persistent. The offer gets a little better each time.”
“But not enough to tempt you?” Ian questioned.
She paused, taking another drink. Why was he so interested? “We’re not selling,” she said, “so the amount doesn’t matter.”
That seemed to silence him, unfortunately, so they ate for a few minutes before Colette found a way to pass the conversation back to him. “Have I seen your photographs anywhere?”
“Maybe. I’ve freelanced some. In the process, the AP has picked up a couple pictures along with some bigger magazines.”
“Do you photograph people, events, or nature?”
“People and nature. I’m done with events.”
“Why?” Journalism would seem the best way to make a living and that meant events. “You must have been good, for the AP to pick up your work.”
He grimaced. “I was a field photographer for the army in Iraq during the early years of the Gulf War, and then a second tour more recently. I’ve photographed enough events to last a lifetime.”