He narrowed his eyes. “I’ll decide what’s easiest for me.” He slid into the stern and quickly started the outboard. A moment later they bumped gently into the wharf pilings and Brent helped her quickly onto the dock.
“I’ll drive you home.” He stood beside her, his mouth very close to her ear. Her pulse quickened once again at the deep timbre of his voice, and she berated herself for her reaction. It must be a function of her fatigue, she thought. There was no reason why a man’s voice should make her heart race. Certainly, if she were going to react to anyone’s voice, it would be Cabot’s.
“There’s no need,” she said quickly. “It’s light enough. I can walk.”
But he hadn’t heard, or had chosen to ignore her words. He walked ahead of her, his powerfully muscled legs carrying him rapidly up the ramp to the truck. She followed wearily, wondering where he found his energy after being awake all night. He was holding the door open for her when she reached the truck, and she let him hand her up without objecting, secretly grateful that she didn’t have to walk up the long hill to the cottage.
“I’m afraid I wasn’t very good company on the ride back,” she apologized as he climbed up beside her. “I was almost asleep.”
He started the truck. “You were exhausted. You needed the rest. I’ve told you before, I don’t hold etiquette in very high regard. Actually, it’s kind of refreshing to be with a woman who doesn’t chatter all the time.”
She wondered if she was supposed to laugh. “At least you can get some sleep yourself now,” she offered lamely.
He shook his head. “Not for a while. Sun’s up and I’m hauling today.”
“You mean you’re going right back out in the boat again? Now?”
He nodded, grinning. “It won’t be the first time I’ve been up all night.”
She looked away. She assumed he was referring to his relationship with Tracy Lawton. They had undoubtedly been lovers. Perhaps they had spent days at a time together on his boat. Not that it mattered to her, she told herself angrily.
He turned into the long Hollingsworth driveway. “I’m glad you told Martha you’d stick around for a while,” he said quietly. “She really needs you right now.”
She looked at him. “I don’t think Martha needs me. It’s obvious that a lot of people here love her.”
“You’re wrong. She does need you. She desperately needs a friend who isn’t one of her family’s hirelings, someone who cares about her as a human being.”
She swallowed. “You have to understand about the Hollingsworths. They don’t live in the same world as other people. The rich have different customs, different traditions.”
“Their children still have feelings.”
“But they’re used to it. Cabot told me once—”
“Cabot?” He glanced at her, frowning. “Is your fiancé’s family like the Hollingsworths?”
“Well, not exactly. The Wilder money is much older . . . Her voice died as his frown deepened.
“So tell me about this world you’re going to marry into, Allison. Are your children going to go for months at a time without seeing their parents? Are they going to be brought up by nannies and tutors?”
“No!” Allison said hotly. “I’m going to raise my children by myself!” She realized, with a little shock of alarm, that she had never discussed the raising of children with Cabot. She had just assumed that she would spend her time caring for them once they were born. But the thought gnawed at her. Was there some truth hidden in Brent’s words? Would being married to Cabot Wilder force her to forgo an intimate relationship with her own children? She shivered as they pulled up in front of the massive Hollingsworth cottage.
“Thanks for everything.” She turned stiffly to Brent and tried to smile.
He was watching her closely. “You’re more than welcome.”
She found the door handle and pulled it. To her chagrin, she couldn’t make it move.
“Sometimes it sticks,” Brent said. He leaned across her and hit the handle with the heel of his hand. “Try it now.” He didn’t move away from her, apparently waiting to see if she could open it by herself. His chest was just inches from hers. Allison pulled at the handle with moist hands and finally felt the door click open.
“There!” she said with forced brightness. “Thanks.”
“Any time.” Brent straightened. “Actually, I’m not sure you are welcome, though. It was an awful temptation to sit there and watch you struggle. You make a beautiful prisoner.”
Her eyes widened as she felt his glance roaming slowly over her slender body. Nervously, she gave the door a hard push and it swung wide.
“Sorry.” He grinned. But she could tell he wasn’t sorry at all.
She smoothed her skirt down over her legs. For some reason she felt unable to move.
“As a matter of fact,” he continued, shifting toward her slightly, “if you weren’t engaged, I believe I’d kiss you again right now.”
“Another island custom?” she said tightly.
“Not this time, I’m afraid. Just a darned good idea.” He lifted his hand toward her face.
Her tiny gasp was less surprise at his action than shock at her overpowering physical awareness that she wanted him to kiss her.
He stroked her cheek and cupped the nape of her neck, the subtle pressure of his fingers bringing her face close to his. His mouth grazed hers with an exquisite tenderness; the pressure of his lips drove a wedge of desire deep into her body. Her arms rose involuntarily, her hands trembling in the air beside his shoulders. Then, suddenly, she understood what she was doing.
She wrenched violently away from him. He gave her a bewildered frown as his hand dropped onto the seat between them.
She slid quickly toward the open cab door, aware that her lips were still burning with his kiss. Her breath was coming in tiny, pinched gasps. As she jumped to the ground, his eyes met hers in a glance that thoroughly unnerved her. Nervously, she smoothed her skirt and tucked a loose lock of hair behind her left ear. It was all she could do to speak.
“Thanks again,” she said.
“No problem.”
Standing on the ground, only her head and shoulders were above the seat of the cab. She could no longer see his face clearly. It was both a relief and a visceral loss. She reached to close the truck door.
“Wait a minute.” Brent turned off the engine and slid across the seat to the passenger side so that he was sitting directly above her. He reached down to hand her something, a small, bright object that glittered in his big palm. It was a gold barrette, gently bowed and etched with a delicate pattern of climbing roses.
“It’s lovely!” She reached to touch it, then drew back. “But it’s not mine, Brent.”
“It is now. I saw it in the hospital gift shop and I knew it was made for you.”
She looked up at him. “You shouldn’t have bought it. It must have cost a lot of money.”
“Take it,” he said in a low voice. “Wear it—right there.” He grazed her hair above her right ear. His hand was gentle, caressing. She shook her head. “I can’t accept it.” She felt his frown.
“It’s yours. It was made for your hair. If you won’t take it now, then I’ll save it for later.” He curled his fingers over it and moved back into the driver’s seat. Allison watched him start the ignition. He glanced at her, but it took her several seconds to realize he was waiting for her to shut the door.
“I appreciate the thought, Brent.” She was strangely reluctant to close the door and be left alone with the big house. “It was very kind of you.”
“Kind has nothing to do with it, Allison. Like I said, it was made for your hair. When you change your mind about accepting it, let me know.”
“I don’t see how I ever could.” She fumbled for the right words to express her inner turmoil. “It just wouldn’t be right . . . under the circumstances.”
“Meaning Cabot?”
She nodded.
“I’m looking forward to meeti
ng him. He must be one hell of a guy to keep you so loyal when you have so many doubts.”
She swallowed. “Doubts?”
“About your feelings for him. The fact that you don’t love him.”
“I do love him!” she flared, suddenly furious. “I’m engaged to marry him, aren’t I? And besides, it’s none of your business what my feelings are for Cabot! You have no right to interfere—to come on like some authority on the subject!”
She started to slam the truck door, but he reached across and held it open with his powerful arm.
“You go ahead and play these games if you want, Allison. The only person you’re hurting is yourself.”
“I’m not hurting anybody! Least of all me!” She was choking on her anger; she saw him shift off the seat and out of the truck through a blur of hot tears.
“Take it easy.” He took her shoulders and turned her so that her back was against the truck fender and he was blocking her path to the house. “You’re in no condition to be left alone right now, are you?”
She started to move away from him, but his hands tightened like a vise on her upper arms, and she knew she had no strength to match his. Abruptly, he lifted her, scooping one arm under her legs and the other behind her back.
“Put me down!” she screamed.
But he paid no attention. He marched around the cottage to a back entrance and pushed it open with his shoulder. “Glad Gran keeps this door unlocked,” he muttered.
“What are you doing? Where are you taking me?” Allison was suddenly frightened.
“I’m putting you to bed.” He moved rapidly through the labyrinthine house to the stairs. “You’re exhausted.”
“Stop it! Let me go!” But she had no energy to fight him. She stopped struggling and let him carry her up the stairs and deposit her on her bed. She knew he was right. Waves of fatigue were coursing through her, weakening her resistance.
He sat beside her, straddling her with his arms.
She blinked up at him. “I really do love Cabot,” she murmured.
He stared at her, his eyes a dark, piercing blue. “I know you think you do,” he said softly. He sighed and stood up, raking his hand through his blond hair. “Have it your way. For now, anyway. Get some sleep. I’ll see you later.”
He closed the bedroom door as he left, and Allison heard his footsteps on the stairs a moment later. She turned on her side and stared out the window. The sky was a deep, rich blue; sunlight poured through the sheer curtains. She heard the pickup start, and thought about Brent going back out on the Blue Lady. She thought of his mouth on hers, and a tremor went through her body. How long would he have to work hauling lobster traps out of the ocean today? She knew he was exhausted, too.
An image came unbidden to her mind, of him beside her on the bed, asleep. She shook it away angrily, but it persisted. She saw his firmly muscled body beside her, the handsome profile, relaxed in sleep. No matter what she did, she couldn’t blot out the image. What in the world was she going to do when Cabot came?
She sighed and rolled away from the window. Instantly her eyes widened and she sat up. There, on the night table right beside her bed, was the gold barrette. Brent must have placed it there before he left. She touched it gingerly, as if to be certain it was real, and then picked it up. It was as if Brent knew that she still had a little girl’s love for decorative barrettes. It touched her deeply; the gift was, oddly, more poignant than any of the expensive jewels Cabot had given her. Was it because she knew Brent’s money was so much harder to come by? Or was there some other, deeper reason?
She examined the barrette carefully. It was clearly not a child’s barrette. The etching was exquisite, a delicate scroll of climbing roses riding the barrette’s broad curve. It was precisely the kind of thing she would have admired in a shop window but would never have had the nerve to buy. And it was certainly not fashionable enough for Cabot to even consider purchasing it for her. She relaxed back onto the bed and held it up to the light. The gold glinted and winked, shining with quiet beauty. She felt weary, but strangely at peace. Still holding the barrette, she closed her eyes and slept.
Chapter Seven
Allison slept deeply and peacefully for the rest of the morning, and when she woke at noon, the gold barrette was still in her hand. She sat up, blinking in the bright room, trying to recall the events of the night before. Her only clear memory was Brent’s kiss.
She changed into jeans and a flowered blouse, brushed her hair and put the barrette in it without thinking before she went down to the kitchen. She felt weird, being alone in the big house without Martha. Rummaging nervously through the cupboards and refrigerator, she found sandwich materials, and was just biting into a salami and cheese sandwich when the doorbell rang.
She found Isabel standing in the breezeway, smiling brightly.
“Good morning!” Isabel handed her a jar of creamy liquid. “Thought you might like some fish chowder for lunch.”
“Thank you!” Allison beamed back at the older woman. “Please come in. I was just getting a bite to eat. Will you join me?”
Isabel shook her head. “I’ve already eaten. But I’ll join you for a cup of tea.”
“Great!” Allison led her into the kitchen. “I feel sort of strange playing hostess here. You probably know this house better than I do.”
Isabel laughed merrily. “It is pretty familiar.”
A short time later Isabel was seated at the big trestle table, sipping a cup of hot tea, while Allison sat across from her, savoring delicious spoonfuls of fish chowder.
“I’m so glad you’re going to be staying for a while,” Isabel said. “Abel and I want you to come and stay with us until Martha gets back. This is an awful big house to live in all by yourself.” She took another sip of tea. “Young people, especially, need company.”
“Oh, I couldn’t!”
Isabel laughed. “Brent warned me you’d be stubborn. But you have to remember, this isn’t the city. We still know how to be neighborly up here.”
Allison found herself grinning back at Isabel, infected by her contagious warmth. “Thanks, but I’d feel like I was imposing.”
“Nonsense! I insist!” Isabel reached across the table and patted Allison’s hand. “It’s all settled. In fact, I’ve already made up the guest bed with fresh sheets, so you mustn’t make me feel like I’ve wasted my time.”
Allison hesitated. She was drawn to Isabel’s warmth and generosity, and she had to admit she didn’t like the idea of spending nights alone in the Hollingsworth cottage.
“I won’t take no for an answer,” Isabel warned, eyeing Allison sternly over the rim of her cup.
“All right,” Allison grinned, “if you’re sure I’m not imposing. I’ll bring my things down after supper.”
“Heavens no! You’re having supper with us! I’ve already got it stewing on the back of the stove. Abel will be up with his truck for your things in a couple of hours. In the meantime, I want to show you around the island.”
Allison felt slightly dazed by Isabel’s radiant smile. She smiled back uncertainly.
A half hour later she was sitting beside Isabel in an old Ford sedan, gazing out the window at the breathtaking island vistas.
“One hundred years ago the village was much bigger,” explained Isabel. “There was a thriving fishing fleet here. The island was pretty self-sufficient. A lot of these trees have grown up since. There were at least a dozen saltwater farms on the island.” She waved her hand at the tree-covered hills. “It’s all changed now. Not one farm left. When I was growing up, it was already going downhill.” She shook her head sadly. A wisp of white hair feathered her ear.
“What’s that?” asked Allison, sitting forward and pointing to a square building with a cupola that stood on a hill. It was shaded by tall maples and surrounded by a field of uncut grass that rippled in the breeze.
Isabel smiled. “It’s the old schoolhouse. Or was. It’s been closed since the last teacher left the island almost
twenty years ago. Abel and I both went there to school. And Elizabeth, too.”
“Elizabeth?”
“Brent’s mother. She went to high school on the mainland, of course. There’s never been a high school here. And then she went on to college in Orono, where she met Phil. They live in Portland.”
Allison glanced at Isabel. It had never occurred to her to wonder about Brent’s parents. She had just assumed they lived on Harper’s Island, too.
Isabel caught her glance and smiled. “Brent’s something of a throwback, I guess. He used to spend summers up here as a boy, and he followed Abel everywhere. He always said he wanted to be a lobsterman when he grew up, but we never took it too seriously. It’s a typical boy’s dream.” She laughed. “But even back then he always meant exactly what he said. We shouldn’t have been surprised, I guess, when he quit that law firm in Augusta and bought the old Jenks place. He was headed for a partnership, and his parents were fit to be tied, but there’s no stopping Brent once his mind’s made up.”
“Brent’s a lawyer?”
“Oh, yes. He was good at it, too. Has a mind like a whip, that boy. But he’s always had his heart set on lobstering. He’s a born fisherman. Seems to know exactly where to lay his traps.”
“I would think it would be a lonely kind of life.”
“Well, in a way, I suppose it is. But it seems to suit Brent quite well. And it’s just wonderful for us to have him here. You have no idea how much help he’s been to us.” She tilted her head toward Allison. “I don’t mind telling you, I was scared, though, when he took up with Tracy Lawton last winter. She was always trying to talk him into going to Boston or New York and buying a condominium. ‘Where the action was,’ she said.” Isabel screwed her face into a grimace. “I’d never say it to Brent, of course, but the day she left, I felt like throwing a party.”
Allison looked down at her hands where they were twisted in her lap; the big diamond glinted up at her. “I’ve heard you mention her before,” she said slowly. “What was she like?”
“Tracy?” Isabel frowned thoughtfully. “Well, she was beautiful, that was certain. Long dark hair, and the darkest eyes I ever saw. And she was real smart, you could tell that from the way she talked. But . . .” She shook her head. “I could never quite understand what Brent saw in her. She was way too sophisticated. Kind of a snob, too, if you want my private opinion.”
Island Summer Love Page 7