Tides of Hope: It's Never Too Late For Second Chances (A Nantucket Island Romance Book 1)

by Dawn Tomasko

  To keep things moving along, Sara walked up the back steps. "The back porch seemed solid to me."

  His intelligent eyes quickly scanned the structure and he nodded. "You have a good eye. Yeah, it looks good, much newer than the front. Can we go in?"

  Gabriel Donovan's speech didn't hold the distinctive accent islanders possessed, which made him a mainlander, like her. When he opened the screen door, she slid past him, painfully scraping her back along the jamb to avoid brushing up against him.

  "Excuse me."

  His black hair curled at the ends, and laugh lines edged eyes an unusual shade of indigo. The deep timbre of his voice rumbled in his chest. Again, her body reacted. Heat pooled low in her belly, and she prayed she wore a bra with padding. Gabriel Donovan was good-looking by any woman's standards. Not a matter of opinion, really, but mere fact. But strength and self-reliance were matters of pride. She could control herself, and since her goals did not include a man, she worked to dismiss the issue.

  In the kitchen, she leaned on the counter, hands behind her back. The chipped Formica surface dug into the soft skin of her palms. The bite of it kept her focused. Donovan opened cabinets to check the doors and hardware, then moved to duck his head under the sink. She used the opportunity to scan his body. Everywhere she saw muscle stacked on muscle and her mouth went dry. Long, strong legs, trim waist, bulky biceps. He crawled backed out, sat back on his heels, to jot more notes into the phone.

  "Have to replace the setup under here, the sink and faucet, too. When I take it apart, it'll crumble. I'm surprised it didn't flood before now. As a matter of fact, now that you'll be using it regularly, the pressure might make you run into trouble. Call me right away if that happens, okay?"

  "Sure."

  After he had stood, he handed her a business card. "May I?” he gestured, and she nodded so he could move freely about the house. "Can I see the mechanical room? The electric panel and water heater will be there."

  "There’s a louvered door to the left of the laundry area."

  A few minutes later he returned to the living room. Sweat broke out on her upper lip so she reached up to swipe her thumb over it. The inside temperature was both cold and damp, yet heat enveloped her. Should she build a fire or take a cold shower? Off balance, nearly ready to jump out of her skin, she wanted him out of the house. Now. The size of it seemed to shrink with him in it.

  "The heat is electric. Expensive, and from what I understand, there are some firewood suppliers on the island. If you stay through winter, you might consider stocking up to cut down on the electric costs. A fireplace insert would be more efficient. Now, for the water heater. This rust line along the bottom means it's an older model. I didn't see a maintenance tag. No doubt there's a leak. If it’s not replaced now, one morning you'll wake up to no hot water and a flood. Water issues come up quick once a house opens after a long period of disuse. I'll call Charlotte today and work on getting one. Now if it's okay, I'll go upstairs, check the rooms and attic. What type of access is there?"

  Sara cleared her throat, left her hand over it. "There's a set of pull down stairs outside the spare bedroom, across the hall is a master bedroom and a full bath.” His booted feet stomped up the staircase. Sara squeezed her eyes shut. Arms crossed, she paced the living room as his footsteps made the floorboards creak above her head. Finally, a chill settled over her. The wet hems of her rolled-up slacks clung to her legs, and the salt on her legs tightened on her drying skin. After he left, she would start a fire.

  When Charlotte told her there would be a workman here, she pictured an Islander, rough around the edges, all too happy to keep his distance. Sara hadn't counted on this. On him.

  Gabriel's easy smile and unexpected grace made her stomach quiver. Confidence poured off him. Donovan was a man comfortable in his skin. Worse, whenever his dark eyes rested on her, a tug of attraction slid through her. Did she imagine an answering pull from him? Was she alone in this ferocious, sudden attraction? If so, only one word applied. Pathetic.

  When Donovan left, at last, he promised to call before he came to start work on the house. Take your time, she wanted to say. All the time in the world! Sara watched from the front door as he swung his truck around. As he raised his hand in farewell, she slammed the door shut. Admittedly rude, but the message should be clear, mostly to herself.

  Determined to flush the experience from her mind, she searched boxes for the Bluetooth speaker. Once she plugged it in on her dresser, she set the playlist on shuffle. Music inspired her when she cleaned house, kept her moving and motivated.

  She dug through a bucket of cleaning supplies to tackle the bathroom. Up to now, showers took place in the tiny bath just off the kitchen, its shower stall clean but not as nice as this room.

  The bathroom occupied space between both bedrooms at the top of the stairs. Other than needing a thorough cleaning, Sara loved it. Natural light flooded in from a skylight as well as an oversized casement window. With a long metal rod, she cranked the upper window open to let in the sea breeze. Dust and dead bugs littered the screen, so she'd need a ladder at some point to clean it. The floor tile, in classic black and white, would be easy to freshen up. A pedestal sink and toilet looked new.

  Glass doors enclosed the jet tub. She couldn't wait to lie in a sea of suds, the flicker of candles on the broad ledge, a glass of wine in her hand, a sea sponge and the soft hum of the whirlpool tub. Soak away months of pent-up tension.

  Her favorite songs wailed out of her phone. She scrubbed until the room sparkled. An ache settled low in her back, but she didn't mind. Cleaning and setting up her household made her feel happy and settled, something she'd had too little of for too long.

  Despite her best efforts, busy work occupied her body, but thoughts cycled in the back of her mind. The usual stuff she obsessed over, like the split with David, problems with her daughter, and the sudden departure from her job. Only this time, much to her disgust, a new gremlin occupied space in her mind.

  Gabriel Donovan.

  Chapter Four

  "What's your impression of the house?”

  Gabe relaxed on the Silvas’ deck in their backyard. Tall arborvitaes lined the property, for both shade and privacy. Seated at a teak patio set, a bright green market umbrella overhead, they enjoyed a dinner of steak, steamers, baked potatoes and buttered ears of golden corn.

  Sadie, their chocolate lab, lay at Gary's feet. True to her nature as a complete mooch, she stared at Gary with love in her big, soulful eyes, then at his plate, and back again, in the hope a morsel of food would find its way to the deck.

  Gabe speared a bite of beef so tender it nearly melted in his mouth. "Man, this tastes great. Gary, you're a master of the grill. All right, first off, the front porch is in pretty rough shape, but you know that. The pines are in the way and I’d like to see them taken out if possible."

  "Right,” Gary agreed. "You can take them out. Sara doesn't like them, and they don't do anything for the house."

  He nodded. "Cool, she didn't mention it, but that'll make it easier to work. From what I can see, the porch is a total rebuild. Besides the outdoor issues we talked about, let's tackle the kitchen. The countertops need to go. What type of material are you interested in?"

  Charlotte waved her fork. "Use whatever material you want, Gabe."

  He pulled a steamer from its shell, dragged it through hot clam juice to dislodge any sand. Then he dipped it in silky, melted butter and popped it into his mouth. "Damn, these are good. I'd like to see Caesar stone counter tops with an under mount stainless steel sink."

  "Nice,” Gary acknowledged. He stuffed a clam in his mouth, reached for a cloth napkin to wipe butter dripping from his chin. "Plan to replace the cabinets?"

  He shook his head. "We can if the owners want new, but a good paint job should do it. They're solid and fit the style of the house. We might want to update the hardware. The undersink plumbing is totaled. What color for the countertops?"

  "Depends on what color
the cabinets will be. Let Sara make those choices.” Charlotte suggested. She handed a platter of hot corn to Gabe.

  "I could if she'd talk to me.” When they met, she couldn't wait for him to leave. Did she know how her emotions played over her face? It hadn't been much of a challenge to read them. Irritation, impatience, and interestingly, heat. Silent, Gabe frowned, spread butter over an ear of corn. "Can you pass the salt?"

  "What's wrong?” Charlotte wanted to know as she handed over the salt shaker.

  "I'm getting mixed signals from Sara.” Unable to take Sadie's big liquid eyes on him anymore, he flipped a bite of steak into the air. Expertly, her teeth snapped it up before it hit the deck.

  "Hey, don't feed her. She's bad enough as it is. Gary feeds her continuously. I need somebody on my side,” Charlotte swatted him with her napkin. After a sip of wine, she tilted her head to the side. "Tell me about her."

  Gabe rubbed his chin. "We had a conversation about the remodel, and she knows what she's talking about, as you said. The next minute, she seems annoyed. Pissed off, more like. I'm there to do a job, but I feel like I'm in the way. Can't think of what I did wrong."

  "You didn't do anything wrong.” Charlotte replied in a soft tone, eyes soft as she laid her fork on the edge of her plate. "Don't think badly of her. Right now she's got to work through some personal stuff. A messy divorce and difficulty with her daughter have been very challenging. Please don't take it personally. We've known her forever, and she's a real sweetheart. Sara’s my best friend."

  He remembered her reactions on the beach. The way she gave him a wide berth as he moved through the house. When he'd opened the back door for her, she scraped her back on the door jamb to side step him. Her hand came up to rub the spot when she thought he wasn't watching. Had someone hurt her? Gabe didn’t know her, but the idea of anyone hurting a woman, this woman, infuriated him. The furrow between her brows over stormy violet eyes and the straight line of her mouth puzzled him.

  It also prompted an insane temptation to ease it. The underlying attraction he sensed between them couldn't be ignored. He imagined it didn't please her at all. Gabe wasn’t happy about it, either. They both had baggage, apparently. Still, there was no reason to let it get in the way of his professional life.

  "Okay. It's none of my business anyway."

  Gary offered him another ear of corn. "So, back to the house… "

  Sara loved the Atheneum. Tall columns graced the entrance of the building. The town library, built in the 1800s, was a stately Greek revival steeped in history. Settled in the heart of Town, at Number One India Street, the building boasted a treasure trove of books and other reading and research material. Outside, gardens and stone benches surrounded by a short picket fence provided pleasurable places for people to gather, read and relax.

  As Sara entered the dim coolness of the building, the scents of leather volumes and the pleasant mustiness of old paper filled her senses.

  In spite of her eagerness to dive into research, the carpenter came to mind. He'd be busy at the house today, so she left before he arrived. In fact, she spotted his truck on Madaket Road. His eyes caught hers as their vehicles passed. In her rearview mirror, his truck slowed, the brakes lights glowing. Apparently, he wanted to speak to her. In a moment she'd painfully come to regret, she punched the gas.

  Why had she done it? Because she wanted to be alone. When Charlotte offered her the cottage, it couldn't have come at a better time. But with the scope of the renovation greater than anticipated, her personal space would be at a premium.

  Worse, Gabriel and the Silvas were good friends. Now she'd have to apologize, at the least. Otherwise, she'd look like a complete ass, and she couldn't allow her longstanding friendship with Charlotte and Gary to get messy over a hired contractor as well as a friend.

  Once settled at a long table at one of the library's computers, she searched for books and information on plants indigenous to the island. After she had gained the information she wanted, she wrapped rubber bands around an impressive stack of printouts to take home. An antique grandfather clocked bonged. Three hours had passed? Stomach grumbling, she dropped the papers into a canvas rucksack and slung it over her shoulder. On foot, she headed up Broad Street for lunch at The Salty Dog, a favorite haunt.

  Alone at the table, seated in the dim light in a booth, memories of good times sprang to mind. Times with David, Brianna, Charlotte and Gary, right here in this restaurant. Today she enjoyed lunch but missed having someone to share it. Her belly might be full, but a haunting emptiness lingered in her heart.

  After she had paid the bill, she walked back to her car. One o'clock and nothing left to do. Of course, she could head back to the cottage where plenty of work awaited her. No man would keep her from her house, or she had to admit, neither would stubbornness. Gabriel Donovan would be part of the landscape for a time, and she couldn't avoid him forever.

  Chapter Five

  Gabe could only describe himself as one hell of a hot mess. All morning he cut pine branches from the massive shrubs. After loading them in the bed of his truck, Gabe cut the bigger pieces down to size and hefted those in as well. Then he wrapped a length of chain around the trunks, attached it to his trailer hitch, and dragged the roots free. After he had cut the root balls down to a manageable size, he filled in the holes.

  Unusually warm for May, the hot sun beat down on his head. The heat built as he worked, sweat trickled down into his eyes. He'd left his damn baseball cap on the kitchen table back at the cottage. His mouth dry as the sand under his boots, he downed half a dozen water bottles in no time. Sawdust, pine needles and wood chips covered him from head to foot, stuck to his sweat-slicked skin, making him itch.

  Even with gloves, cuts peppered his hands, and his back ached like the devil. He should have hired a couple of kids to help.

  Add to that, his stomach growled, and Ms. Shepard hadn't responded to any of his texts. They needed to talk about the countertops, paint, fixtures. Colors needed selecting, orders needed to be placed. Nantucket didn't allow chain hardware stores. Some materials couldn't be picked up on the island, but had to be ordered and brought over on the boat. All these details took time and damned if the woman wasn't avoiding him.

  The drive-by stunt on Madaket Road this morning spiked his temper. He'd slowed down to talk, but she'd taken off like a shot. Women usually tripped over themselves to get his attention. Granted, he didn't care about that right now, he had a job to do and others in the hopper. He didn't have time to play games with the woman. What the hell was her deal?

  "Pain in the ass,” he muttered darkly. The more he stewed over it, the faster he worked, and the less care he took. After attempting to muscle a particularly bulky root too big for the truck bed, he swore. He'd have to cut it.

  A car rumbled its way down the dirt lane toward the house. He swiveled his head toward the road as her car came into sight. The lady of the house, at last. Gabe could ignore her, too, see how she liked it. Seething, he viciously hacked down with the saw, and pain seared his hand.

  "Son of a bitch!” he roared. Incredulous, Gabe dropped the tool, looked down at his left hand. A gash between his thumb and first finger gushed blood right through his new work glove. A sharp branch had torn into the flesh because he hadn't paid attention. Since he made it a priority to work safely, he grew more pissed with himself. After he had tugged off the ruined glove, he dug in his pocket for a handkerchief, once white but now covered in dirt and sweat.

  Damn it. Not sanitary, but he pressed it to the wound as blood now dripped from his hand onto his boot. Sara slammed the car door and hurried toward him.

  "Are you okay? Let me see,” she said, brisk and efficient. She peeled the cloth back, checked the wound. "That looks bad, come inside,” she directed and moved to pull him along by his left wrist.

  With his feet firmly planted in the sand, she didn't get far. "What's wrong?” Eyes filled with concern, she turned to face him.

  "Sure you have the time, Ms
. Shepard?” His free hand fisted against his thigh. "You were in such a hurry this morning when we passed each other on Madaket Road. I can clean my wound without help. Seems as if you have more pressing matters. For the life of me, I can't figure what they'd be out here in the middle of a fucking island."

  Color bloomed across her fair-skinned cheeks. He'd hit a nerve. Good. Now they could both be pissed. Uncharacteristically, he was in a fighting mood.

  "I'd like to help if you'll let me.” The sympathetic look in her eyes and gentle words took him off guard. After a momentary hesitation, he followed her into the house. All the way to the kitchen he watched the sway of her hips. She wore a light blue cotton skirt, and the long, supple skin of her legs went on forever.

  "Here,” she pulled out a chair at the kitchen table. "Have a seat.” She ducked out of the room and returned with a clear plastic storage bin.

  Gabe leaned forward to watch as she rifled through an assortment of items such as gauze, tape, bandages, disinfectant, and surgical instruments he couldn't identify. Her face hovered above the open box, close to his. The same sweet fragrance he caught on the beach emanated from her. The skin of her face looked soft and smooth and he wouldn’t have to move far to press his mouth to it. He swallowed audibly.

  Thus far, she'd run hot and cold, aloof and plugged in, rude and solicitous. Doesn't matter what she looks like, or how good she smells. Stay mad, he told himself. Wouldn't be hard since his hand burned like hell.

  Elbow on the table, he leaned his head on his good hand. "You have an impressive first aid kit.”

  One curved eyebrow arched up as she studied him. "I'm a nurse.” She gave a quick frown and shook her head. "I mean I was a nurse. Let's say I have a lot of experience with injuries. Preparation is key."