Chapter 7
The whir of the helicopter's rotor blades woke her abruptly the next morning. For a moment she thought it was still night-time and that the unfamiliar noise was somehow connected with the storm, but then she became conscious of the muted sunbeams filtering through the curtained French doors. She slipped from her bed and padded across the floor to investigate.
The helicopter was hovering over the level section of the lawn just in front of the place where it began to slope toward the beach.
"Why, it's landing here!" she exclaimed out loud to herself in surprise. Quickly she ran to the closet and pulled on jeans and a shirt. She briefly raked her hairbrush through her hair and brushed her teeth. There was barely time for lipstick, and then she skipped downstairs two steps at a time. She couldn't imagine what had brought a helicopter to St. Albans, unless it was some sort of emergency. Her throat contracted. If anything had happened to the aunts...
The rotors were slowing to a stop just as she stepped out on the downstairs veranda. A long-legged figure with black curly hair thrust the helicopter door open and climbed out. He closed the door behind him and turned toward her, smiling.
"Stephen!" she exclaimed. There was no mistaking who it was.
"You've certainly managed to hide yourself away very effectively," he observed, striding toward her with long steps. His eyes held the bright gleam of possession in their dazzling blue depths.
"How did you find me?" Paige was thunderstruck to see him here.
"It wasn't easy," he said. He stood looking down at her, devouring her with his eyes. "How have you been?"
"What are you doing here?"
"Aren't you going to invite me in? We both seem to be asking questions, and no one's answering them." He grinned down at her.
"I didn't know you were coming," she said helplessly, sensing that he had stopped just short of kissing her. Before he seized the opportunity, she turned quickly to go inside the Manse.
"It's not as though I could telephone," he pointed out as he followed her, taking in the spacious study, the books carefully dusted by Paige, the brass doorknobs now restored to their former shine.
Paige took a deep breath and turned to face him. "Didn't you get my letter?" she asked him.
"Of course. That's why I'm here. You can't possibly think I'd let you go so easily. What kind of way was that to tell me it's all over, anyway?"
She wasn't prepared to give an explanation. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again.
Stephen shook his head. "I'm still asking questions, and no one's answering them. I'm not leaving here until you talk about this with me."
"Stephen, I—"
"I haven't eaten anything this morning, and you know I hate to fly on an empty stomach. The least you could do is offer me coffee."
Paige had never liked Stephen's bossiness, but it looked as though she'd never get rid of him unless she could convince him that it was over between them. She sighed and said, "Follow me. I suppose I can find some bacon and eggs."
Stephen sat at the kitchen table, watching as she scrambled the eggs.
"Quite a place your aunts have here," he remarked cheerfully.
"The island has been in my family for generations," she told him.
"It's a godforsaken place," he said. "I'll bet the mosquitoes are terrible. I can't imagine why anyone would want to live here."
Paige shot him a long look and decided he meant it. She shrugged off the remark. It wasn't worth her time to tell him how much the island and its beauty meant to her. Stephen had never appreciated aesthetic things. To him, life was a race to the finish line, never mind smelling the roses along the way.
The bacon sizzled in the pan, filling the kitchen with its aroma. "Where'd you learn to fly a helicopter?" she asked, changing the subject.
"In the Air Force. Search-and-rescue, which is exactly what this is. I had to see you, Paige. What happened between us?"
Paige set the eggs and bacon down in front of him and poured them each a cup of coffee. Exactly nothing, she thought to herself, thinking of the overpowering physical attraction she felt for Chad. Nothing like it had ever affected her when she was with Stephen.
She sat down across from him and let her eyes meet his. She was looking at an undeniably attractive man, but he meant nothing to her at all. Her heart lifted. She'd made the right choice when she'd informed Stephen they were through. And now it looked as though she would have to justify it.
But not yet. She heard the familiar stomp of feet at the back door, and before she could call out to him, Chad threw the door open. He stopped in his tracks and stared at Stephen.
"Paige, I was going to ask if you knew there was a helicopter illegally parked on your front lawn, but—"
"It's all right, Chad," Paige said quickly. Introductions had to be made, so she got them over with as rapidly as she could. "Stephen McCall, this is Chad Smith."
The two men took each other's measure, Chad flicking his eyes over Stephen's trim blue jumpsuit. Stephen took a bit longer with his assessment of Chad, and Paige could see why. Today, knowing that he was going to paint the upstairs hall, Chad had donned old jeans that were almost worn through at the seat and with the raveled legs cut off at two different lengths. They were spotted with various-colored paint stains and were possibly the most disreputable pair of pants that Paige had ever seen. He also wore a T-shirt that had once been white but was now similarly spotted and torn on the sleeve where Chad had brushed against a protruding nail. To top it off, he wore a sailor hat that might have once belonged to the Ancient Mariner, so tattered it had become. He had turned the brim down low to protect his hair from the paint.
Some explanation seemed necessary. "Stephen just—er—dropped in to say hello," she said, trying to make light of his presence.
Chad raised his eyebrows to acknowledge her attempt at wit, but Stephen seemed not to notice it. "Nice to meet you," Stephen said quickly, seriously. While the two men were shaking hands, Paige saw the light dawn in Chad's eyes. He was connecting Stephen with the letters. If she hadn't been watching for it, she'd never have caught the brief shadow that passed over Chad's face.
It seemed like a good idea to dispense with Chad immediately so that she could better deal with Stephen. "Chad's going to paint the upstairs hall today," she announced brightly to Stephen. "He's my aunts' handyman."
Chad slid her a look out of the corners of his eyes. "That's right," he said in a slow drawl. Paige stared at him. Picking up on her astonishment, he turned toward her and touched his hand to the brim of his hat. "I'll get started on that hall right away, ma'am, soon as I bring the ladder."
Paige stifled a grin. She might have known that Chad would pull something like this! With a respectful bob of his head, Chad turned and unceremoniously clumped down the porch stairs.
"Seems like a nice fellow," observed Stephen a bit uncertainly.
"Oh, yes," agreed Paige, hoping Chad was still within earshot. "He's been a great help to my aunts."
"I'm sure I've never met him before, but there's something so familiar about him." Stephen looked puzzled. Then he shrugged. "Well, I see a lot of people in a lot of places. I suppose he just reminds me of someone. Anyway, I want to talk about us. Paige—"
They were interrupted by a clattering on the porch. It was Chad with the ladder, and he fumbled with the door until Stephen, barely concealing his irritation at another interruption, got up to hold it open. Chad trekked into the kitchen. "Thanks," he called back to Stephen, turning slightly. Whether it was by accident or design, Paige never knew, but the end of the ladder swung around and dashed Stephen's plate, still half-filled with scrambled eggs, to the floor.
"Oh, sorry," said Chad, a befuddled expression sliding over his face.
Paige glared at him. If he chose to act the fool, that was one thing, but now she'd have to clean up this mess.
"That's all right, Chad," she said, struggling to keep her tone even. She didn't know whether to laugh or erupt in an
ger.
"I'll get to the painting now," he said, and he tramped through the downstairs hall and up the stairs, whistling in that irritating way of his.
Paige scooped the eggs into a dustpan and dumped them into the garbage. "I'll scramble more eggs," she said.
"No," said Stephen. "I want to talk with you." He stood beside her; now he grasped her by the upper arms and turned her to face him.
She wouldn't look at him at first, not until he tilted her face up.
"Your letter surprised me," he told her. "I thought we were going to move in together."
Paige pulled away from him. "I'm not ready for that—it goes against everything I've ever believed."
"You're not thinking clearly. You need to reconsider. We might decide on getting married later, Paige. We'll leave our options open."
He'd told her when they first met that he'd already lived with four other women but that they'd moved on when he was reluctant to take the relationship to the next level. A serial boyfriend, that was Stephen McCall. He wanted the perks of a loving woman in his life yet none of the responsibility.
"Stephen, it's not for me. You're asking for more than I can give." She turned and walked through the hall and into the study, prepared to tell him goodbye and usher him out of the house.
Stephen followed and took her into his arms again. "I'm not leaving yet. Don't pass this up, Paige. Come back to New York with me. Now."
She wrenched away. "Sorry, but no thanks," she said with what she hoped was cold finality.
"So what is it you want—a ring on your finger and a certificate that says you're Mrs. Stephen McCall?"
"Leave me alone. Go back to New York and find someone else!"
Silence hung heavy in the air.
"Do you mean that? Really?"
Paige studied him. There was no other possible answer. "Yes, I mean it," she whispered.
Stephen shook his head. "Paige, think about this carefully. I'm staying here until tomorrow morning, like it or not."
"Stephen, you can't!" She was shocked to see the bold determination in his eyes.
"I won't force you to agree to anything. But I'm not leaving until tomorrow. There must be plenty of room in this old place. If you won't let me sleep in a bed, I'll spread a blanket on the veranda." He stalked over to the couch and sat down, folding his arms over his chest as if to emphasize his immovability.
"Stephen—"
"'Scuse me, ma'am, but what part of the hall did you want painted first? The section at the head of the stairs? Or should I start at Aunt Sophie's room?"
Paige whirled to see a subservient Chad Smith grinning at her like a sly jack-o'-lantern. Despite the problem of Stephen's stubborn presence on the couch, she almost burst out laughing.
"Paint the hall outside Aunt Sophie's room first," she ordered, playing the role assigned to her with as much dignity as she could muster.
"Yes, ma'am," he said, touching the brim of his hat and winking broadly before shuffling away.
Stephen was scowling. Paige eyed him with exasperation, aware that Chad could probably hear every word that was said and not caring if he did.
"I'm not leaving," said Stephen. "I'll give you twenty-four hours. Then, if you still won't get in that helicopter with me, I'll go. In which case, you'll never see me again unless our paths cross at work."
Paige let out an exasperated sigh. "What do you mean to do? Camp out here in the study?"
"I won't make a nuisance of myself. Go on doing what you usually do. I'll explore the island to keep busy." Stephen stood up, shot her a too-confident smile, and walked swiftly out the door and toward the beach.
Paige closed her eyes and leaned against a nearby bookcase. Even though it was early morning, she felt unbelievably weary. Then she roused herself and stumbled upstairs. Sewing would keep her mind off the presence of Stephen.
When she reached the upstairs hall, Chad was climbing down from the ladder, which was blocking the door to her room.
"Is your boyfriend leaving?" he asked. He was looking at her with the respect of a man who had been forced by circumstances to acknowledge the fact that she was attractive to other men.
"He's not my boyfriend."
"He seems to think so."
Paige shrugged in exasperation. "I wrote him and told him it was over."
"And I mailed the letter, didn't I?" Chad's eyes bored into her.
"Yes, of course. Would you mind moving that ladder aside?"
"At least I did something to help you out," said Chad, almost bitterly.
"That's more than I can say for this morning. You acted like a country bumpkin."
"Who knows? Maybe I am." Despite his light tone, Chad's eyes held a challenge. She felt as though he was mocking her for not knowing his true identity.
"I have sewing to do. Please let me in my room."
Without a word, Chad slid the ladder aside. She immediately went to the veranda to check the helicopter on the lawn. There was no sign of Stephen near it or anywhere else within sight.
As she slip-stitched fringe along the edges of the curtains she was making, she found herself becoming more and more depressed. What if Stephen refused to leave even after she again told him that their relationship was over? She could ask Chad to force him to leave, but asking for Chad's help in such a situation would be demeaning. And she could hardly imagine a scenario where Chad threw Stephen into his helicopter and ordered him off the island. Such a scene would be ludicrous to say the least.
Paige tossed her sewing aside. Chad was whistling outside her door as he painted, and his whistling had always irritated her. If only she could get off the island for a time, if only she could run the new boat. She heard Chad move the ladder outside her bedroom door, and then his whistling stopped. His footsteps retreated down the stairs. He was probably taking a lunch break. This would be as good a time as any for her to steal a time-out.
There was no sign of Chad in the kitchen, so she ate a quick lunch. She spared a brief thought for Stephen and his meal arrangements, but knowing Stephen, he'd look after himself.
She headed for the boat dock and Paige One. Once she learned how to run the new boat, she would no longer be confined to the island. She could, at the first opportunity, go alone to Brunswick to see what she could find out about Chad.
The boat rocked gently at the edge of the old dock, protected by a canvas tarpaulin. Paige leaned over and pulled the tarp aside. When she jumped aboard, her heart sank. The control panel was a mass of dials and switches and levers. Steering, she knew, was handled with a wheel much like steering wheels on automobiles. Other than that, she was totally unfamiliar with what she would have to know to get this boat started.
While she was engrossed in studying the controls, she heard a shouted greeting. She looked up and was startled, then dismayed, to see Chad walking down the path toward her.
"Looking over the new boat?" He'd abandoned his clumsy handyman image, and he had showered and changed.
"You're looking much more civilized," she commented.
Chad threw back his head and laughed. "Do you think I fooled him? I was just providing a bit of levity for the situation. The two of you were getting way too serious."
"He was getting serious, not I."
"Yes, I know," Chad replied, joining her on the boat. "It's amazing how well voices carry in high-ceilinged old houses."
He flipped a few of the control-panel switches experimentally, and Paige wished impatiently that he would go away.
"Say," Chad said suddenly, "are you up for a ride in her? I've been wanting to go over to Sea Island. The attendant at the stable there lets me exercise the horses sometimes. Do you ride?"
Surprised at the invitation, she said, "Yes, but—"
"Good, then it's settled. I'm tired of all this painting and hammering and—well, I want to do something different for a change."
Going with him would accomplish a purpose: getting away from Stephen. Besides, by watching Chad closely, she might be able
to learn how to run the boat. That was what finally decided her.
"Okay," she said. "Different is good."
"Glad to hear it," Chad said with a hint of cockiness. He began to loosen the lines that tied the Chris Craft to the dock, and Paige slid onto the passenger seat.
It looked easy, she thought to herself as the powerful inboard motor roared into action. The levers and dials weren't at all mysterious after a few minutes of observation. Chad handled the boat masterfully, easing it away from the dock and then heading around the western tip of Little St. Simons. When Paige cast a cursory glance back at the dock, she spotted Stephen, who had evidently been drawn toward the sound of the boat motor, staring after them in perplexity.
Paige recognized the tidal channel that the boat followed between St. Simons and Sea Island. She'd come this way often with Uncle John or Aunt Biz in the old days. Chad seemed practiced in his navigation of the web of small waterways that threaded through the marshes. She ventured a glance at him, and he favored her with a grin. Their unspoken conspiracy against Stephen, although entered into for two entirely different reasons, formed a bond between them.
The boat slowly twined its way along the narrow blue channel of water between the wide swathes of grass on either side, with Sea Island on one side and St. Simons on the other. Beyond the marsh grew luxuriant plant life nurtured by the semi-tropical climate. The gentle climate alone was enough to make the Golden Isles a favorite haven for tourists, many of whom returned later to take up residence. The wealthier ones lived in mansions, some of them unique.
But today, approaching by boat, they weren't going to see the big homes and beautifully landscaped lawns and gardens of St. Simons. Chad ran the boat up to a small dock that wasn't in much better repair than the one at St. Albans and jumped out to secure the lines to the cleats.
"I've never been here before," she said.
"We're about to change that," Chad said. "Let's go."
The Beach Bachelors Boxset (Three Complete Contemporary Romance Novels in One) (The Beach Bachelors Series) Page 27