Sea of Love: A Bayberry Island Novel

by Susan Donovan

  “Oh.” She felt herself blush.

  Ash nodded at her duffel. “You brought a sweater though, right? It might get chilly in the wind. If not, I have lots of sweatshirts in the cabin.”

  “I think I’ve got it covered.” She rose up to her toes to kiss him again. “You know, I’ve done this a few times.”

  “Kissed a captain?”

  She laughed. “No. Well, a few, maybe. What I meant was I’ve done my share of day sails.”

  “Of course you have.” Ash guided her toward a bench near the helm. “You’re a daughter of the island. I bet you’ve sailed since you were knee-high to a pelican.”

  “Something like that.” Rowan took a seat and watched Ash busy himself around the deck. His boat was gorgeous. She’d seen a few of these classic beauties come and go over the years, but this would be her first time aboard one. “Your grandfather had excellent taste in sailboats,” she said.

  Ash was bent over a line he’d just neatly coiled and set in place, and he looked over his shoulder and grinned. “He did.”

  “And what do you have excellent taste in, Ashton Louis Wallace the third?”

  “Women.”

  “We have a winner!”

  He laughed as he straightened. “Would you like to take the helm or get the fenders?”

  She didn’t miss what that question implied. Though she’d never been behind the wheel of this boat and had no idea how his new engine would handle leaving the slip, he still trusted her enough to give her the choice. “I’ll get the fenders.”

  Rowan stood and passed through the causeway again, stepping onto the dock. She watched Ash turn the key and wait for the sound of the engine. It started like a dream, and he gave her the thumbs-up. Rowan untied the spring lines from the dock cleat, and with the last dock line in hand, she hopped aboard and shoved the bow away with her foot. Immediately, she retrieved the fenders from where they draped over the edge of the boat and stored them on deck. She went back to the bench.

  “Once we get under way, I’d love it if you joined me here.” Ash winked at her and concentrated on taking the boat out into open water. When he cut the engine not five minutes later, he asked if she’d like to help trim the sails. Of course she said yes, and for the next few minutes they worked together to get the sloop in position to take advantage of a pleasant, steady southwesterly wind.

  “She’s so smooth,” Rowan said, leaning back on her hands and gazing up at the perfect tension in the main and jib sails. The boat had very clean lines, and she’d noticed right away that the fiberglass deck was in pristine condition, which was really saying a lot for a boat that he’d told her was nearly sixty years old.

  “I’m glad you like her, Rowan.”

  She turned to respond and . . . oh. The vision took her breath away. This was an extremely happy man. He was set against the blue-green sea and baby blue sky. Ash’s face was gentle and open as the breeze ruffled his hair, and though she couldn’t see his eyes from behind his polarized Oakley sunglasses, she knew they were sparkling.

  Rowan took a leisurely inventory of Ash. Every inch of his big body was relaxed. His feet were widely spaced and perfectly balanced. His hands caressed the wheel the way they caressed her body, the long muscles of his forearms rippling as he moved. This was a dance Ash enjoyed immensely and one he knew well. Which struck her as a little strange—how could a man so comfortable and at ease on his beloved sailboat let her run out of gas?

  She supposed everyone was entitled to a bad day every now and again.

  Ash wiggled his fingers for her to join him at the helm, and she squeezed her body behind the wheel, her bottom pressed into the tops of his thighs. Ash wrapped his arms around her while he steered, dropping his lips to the side of her neck.

  “Thank you for coming out today.”

  Rowan sighed with pleasure. “Thank you for asking me. Do you bring a lot of people on board?”

  “Nope.”

  He moved his lips up until she felt his breath on her ear. He nibbled on her earlobe, and Rowan squeezed her thighs together. Well, of course she did! It had been nothing but thigh-clenching every day this week! She giggled to herself.

  “The only people who were ever on board with me were my Grandfather Louis and Brian. That’s it.”

  Rowan leaned the back of her head against his chest and looked out to sea. There were a few sailboats dotting the horizon and the afternoon ferry was chugging its way to the public dock, but for the most part, it felt as if they were alone in the world. “Nanette never asked to come along with you on a sail?”

  The rumble of Ash’s laughter vibrated against Rowan’s back. “She asked. I said no. She didn’t know how to sail.”

  “And you didn’t want to teach her?”

  “Not particularly. Her idea of getting back to nature was driving her convertible Audi with the top down in the summer—”

  “Which sounds perfectly lovely.”

  “—in heels, with the air-conditioning cranked and a cheetah-print scarf around her head.”

  “Ah.”

  “So you’re it, sweetheart.”

  Rowan felt a tremble move through her body. It was the sound of those words—you’re it, sweetheart. Of course she knew what he meant, that she was the only person to come aboard except for his grandfather and his best friend, but she wanted the words to have a deeper meaning. Right then, Rowan realized she wanted to be his woman. She wanted to be it for him, the woman he’d always wanted and the one he couldn’t live without.

  “Tell me, why did your grandfather decide to call his sloop the Provenance? There’s always a story behind a boat’s name.”

  “And this is no exception.” Ash made a small adjustment to the wheel and leaned forward to adjust the jib sheet, all while maintaining contact with Rowan’s body. “I told you that he owned an architectural preservation firm, right?”

  She nodded, feeling her hair rub against his shirt.

  “Well, the term provenance refers to a chain of ownership, or custody of a structure. Sometimes the history of a house adds to its value. For example, a house owned by Mark Twain would be more valuable than a house owned by Mabel Twain, his sister.”

  “He didn’t have a sister named Mabel, and anyway, her name would have been Mabel Clemens, because Mark Twain’s real name was—”

  “I was just making sure you were paying attention.”

  Rowan laughed. “You like tweaking me, don’t you?”

  He chuckled. “I love tweaking you. I can’t remember what my life was like before I had you to tweak.”

  She smiled, snuggling against him. “I’m sure tweaking yourself gets old after a while.”

  He laughed harder this time, then leaned down to kiss her cheek.

  “So you were telling me about the name.”

  “Right.” Ash straightened behind Rowan, pulling her in tighter with one hand. “Grandfather Louis often had to do research to prove provenance on a building. So when he bought this boat in 1986 from an old buddy of his, he chose the name because it had special meaning. It was linked to his friend, his work . . . and to me.”

  “You?”

  “Yes.” Ash brushed a hand up and down her arm as he steered with the other. “I’d been living with him for only a couple years at that point, and he was my legal guardian. He told me the boat would be mine one day, and that its ‘value’ would be greater because of its provenance within the Wallace family.”

  Rowan froze. She had to blink back tears. At that moment she understood why he’d brought her aboard: This was all he had left of his own history. How strange it must be for him on the island. Ash couldn’t swing a dead cat on Bayberry without smacking up against Flynn history. But all he had was a boat. By sharing the Provenance, he was sharing his world with her.

  “Thank you for showing her to me,” she said, her voice so low she wasn’t sure he could hear. “Do you hope to have children one day? Someone to pass the Provenance on to?”

  When a full ten seconds w
ent by without an answer, Rowan assumed her voice had been too soft to have been heard above the sea and wind. It was probably for the best.

  “I would love to have children someday. How about you?”

  “I would.”

  They let the subject drop.

  About an hour later, a decent gust of wind allowed them to take the boat to a good twenty-degree heel, both of them hooting at the joy of cutting fast through the water, Rowan’s back against the lifeline as she skimmed just above the waves, sea misting her body from head to toe. There were few things more exciting in life, Rowan knew. A little later, on their way back to the island in calm wind, they shared a bottle of wine and a picnic basket Ash admitted Imelda had helped him prepare.

  “There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”

  Rowan’s hand froze, leaving a piece of crusty bread smeared with Brie hovering an inch from her mouth. The tone of his voice sent a chill through her. He suddenly sounded so . . . businesslike. “All right.” She popped the bread into her mouth and chewed, telling herself she was being paranoid again. Ash was wonderful. He was sweet and loving and generous. She didn’t know what she was so afraid of, since she’d be happy to talk about whatever he wished.

  “Oceanaire, my foundation, has been looking for a home for its headquarters and a location for a new research and education center. When we get back, there will be some people waiting. They want to look around, and I was hoping you might come along, give them a local’s perspective on what makes Bayberry Island so unique.”

  Rowan frowned, wiping bread crumbs off her hands. “Huh.” She took a sip of wine, stalling, trying to identify why, exactly, this news bothered her the way it did. Then it occurred to her. “So you came to Bayberry looking for a site for your foundation? But you never mentioned anything about that to me. I thought you were towed in because your boat—”

  “Rowan.” Ash took one of her hands in both of his and leaned forward until she looked at him. “I really didn’t come here with Oceanaire in mind. Nat put the bug in my ear at the clambake, and ever since, I’ve been trying to figure out a way to make it work. The thing is, I think our project might be perfect for the land along the cove, the land the developers wanted for the resort.”

  Rowan’s eyes popped wide. “For real?”

  He nodded.

  “So . . . wait. You think your foundation might want to buy up all the property along Haven Cove? Including my family’s land?”

  “It is a possibility. That’s what my friends are here to find out. I wasn’t sure I should tell you this yet because I’d hate for you to be disappointed if things don’t work out, but I decided you should know before we pulled in.”

  “But . . .” Rowan stood, staring down at Ash’s upturned face. “Have you talked to Mona about it?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Because . . . wow. This might actually be something she’d agree to. I mean, it sounds like it would have much less effect on the environment and wouldn’t cause the crowding problems the resort would. And if my mother ever did agree to sell—”

  “We’re just at the beginning stages.”

  Rowan couldn’t help it. She squealed. She jumped up and down on the deck; then she threw herself into Ash’s arms, nearly knocking him over. Rowan began kissing his face—his lips, chin, cheeks, brow, eyelids. She couldn’t stop herself from thinking that if Mona agreed to sell, Rowan would be free.

  It was well past one thirty when they returned to the marine yard. Rowan was floating in a sea of emotions, everything from languid happiness to excitement and anticipation. By then she’d learned much more about the institute and agreed that the pairing of Bayberry and Oceanaire felt almost like it was meant to be.

  Just as they reached the boardwalk at Main Street, Ash stopped walking. “Hey, Rowan?” He placed a finger under her chin and tipped her face toward his. He kissed her sweetly.

  “Thank you,” she said. “You’ve completely spoiled me today.”

  Ash nodded, suddenly more serious. “Do you trust me?”

  Very slowly, Rowan pulled away. She nodded, because she did. He’d never given her any reason not to trust him. But she had a feeling she wouldn’t like what he said next.

  “I . . .” Ash stopped, looked away, and rubbed his fingers along his brow. She’d never seen him like this. Suddenly, he looked down into her eyes with nothing less than certainty. “Do you know how much you mean to me?”

  Rowan glanced around. Hundreds of tourists were wandering about. A reggae band was setting up on the public dock. A group of businesspeople had gathered outside the municipal building, and she had a feeling they were Ash’s friends from Oceanaire. Why hadn’t they had this conversation on the boat, where they had the luxury of privacy? “I . . . no. How do you feel about me?”

  Ash cradled her face in his hands. “I am crazy in love with you, Rowan. That is the truth.”

  The world began to spin around her and her heart pounded. Had this funny, lonely, beautiful man just told her that he loved her? “I’m crazy in love with you, too.”

  “Keep that in mind and everything will be okay.” He kissed her again, harder this time, then smiled. “All right. Let’s do this.” Ash took Rowan by the hand and they went to meet his friends. She was in a daze as she shook hands with everyone, and two minutes later she realized she remembered not one of their names.

  Ashton Louis Wallace III loved her.

  Chapter Nineteen

  When Kathryn Hilsom staggered into the municipal building’s public meeting room, Mona was startled by her appearance. She remembered the young woman as cool and smooth and impeccably groomed. But today the poor girl’s blouse was stained and unevenly buttoned, her complexion was blotchy, and her hair was . . . well, Mona had no words for the state of her hair. Thank goodness Polly was at her side.

  “Looks like the love child of Phyllis Diller and Don King,” Polly whispered in Mona’s ear.

  She put an arm around her friend. “Have I ever told you how much I appreciate you, Polly?”

  “Uh, is that a trick question?”

  Following Kathryn was a cute, curvy girl in a pretty skirt and top and a half dozen nondescript corporate males in suits.

  The cute woman made eye contact with Mona and came over to her. “Hello, Mrs. Flynn. My name is Brenda Paulson. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for having us.”

  Mona nodded. “This is my friend Polly.”

  “Nice to meet you, too.”

  Mona glanced toward the faintly green Hilsom woman. “I take it you took the afternoon ferry?”

  “I’m afraid so. It seems Kathryn is prone to seasickness.” She smiled pleasantly. “So, is there somewhere we could sit and chat for a bit, before the rest of the landowners arrive?”

  “Sure. Let’s get this over with.” Mona led the group to a small folding table in a front corner of the room, a heavy lump of defeat sitting in her belly. A few of the suits began to set up their to-scale model of the resort, even fancier than the one Mona had seen last year. And the company’s lawyer, who’d arrived with a huge rolling briefcase, laid out contracts, all neatly indexed with color-coded tabs for signatures. The chat was a no-frills one, punctuated with Kathryn Hilsom’s frequent dashes to the ladies’ room. Mona had come prepared to accept Jessop-Riley’s most recent offer, but the figure they presented had been jacked up by another one hundred thousand, and the company was offering increases of similar proportions to all Haven Cove property owners.

  Frasier would be thrilled to sign on the dotted line.

  Early birds began to straggle in, grabbing coffee from the back and taking a seat in the groupings of metal folding chairs set up around the room. Sally came in, taking her seat toward the front. Sally knew why the meeting had been called—Mona was surrendering and everyone was finally going to get rich. But Sally couldn’t bring herself to acknowledge Mona. She suspected that once all this was over, the cash-strapped landowners who had spent the last year hating her would become
rich ex-landowners who hated her. The old Beatles song had it right: Money can’t buy you love.

  The room began to fill up. Hubie Krank and his daughter sat together near an aisle. People Mona had known her entire life wandered in and got settled. She even recognized the annual nudist retirees from the B and B and gave them a friendly wave, wondering why they would show up. Then a few tourists popped in. The talking got louder. Clearly, even those who were actual coalition members had no idea why they were there, and half of them looked downright pissed off to be called away on the Thursday afternoon of festival week.

  “This had better be good!” said Herman Suddith, who owned three forlorn and rocky acres abutting Adelena Silva’s compound. As Mona had noticed over the years, Herman was one of those people who made a lot of noise but had nothing of substance to contribute.

  Kathryn had managed to pull herself together by then. She’d smoothed her hair and fixed her blouse, though she still looked like a weary air traveler who’d been caught in turbulence. Everyone from Jessop-Riley sat behind tables at the front of the room. There was nothing to do now but wait.

  Suddenly, Polly jabbed Mona in the side with her elbow. “Who’s that? And what the hell are they bringing in here?”

  Two young men in khaki slacks and matching black polo shirts angled a large display through the front door. At first Mona assumed it was another Jessop-Riley prop, but within seconds she knew that wasn’t the case.

  “Brenda!” Kathryn’s voice was hoarse. “Tell those people we have the meeting room reserved. Go! Get them out of here! I want no delays.”

  Brenda reached the two young men and they chatted for a moment. Frowning, she returned to her seat while the men carried what looked like a second architectural model toward the front of the room. They set it down on a folding table against the wall.

  Kathryn glared at Brenda. “Who are they? What are they doing crashing our meeting?”

  Brenda shrugged. “I’m not entirely sure, Kathryn. They said they worked for an environmental foundation and they were here to give the people of Bayberry Island an alternative to the resort. They said they had the hall reserved.”