by Karen Foley
“Well, thanks for your help,” she said politely, and indicated the trailhead that led back to the road. “I’m going to head back up.”
He fell into step beside her, putting one hand beneath her elbow as the terrain grew steep. “You wouldn’t want to fall,” he said in explanation as she looked at him in surprise. “Not with that camera. Of course, I could carry it for you.”
Even with the strap around her neck, Maggie kept one hand on the lens to prevent it from swinging. The result was that her balance was a little off. She considered him for a moment. He seemed sincere enough, and he had helped her. After a moment, she removed the strap from around her neck and handed the camera to him.
“If you’re sure you don’t mind...”
“I’m sure.” He positioned the strap over his body, steadied the lens in one hand and indicated she should precede him up the trail. “After you.”
Maggie clambered gracelessly up the steep path, acutely conscious of the man behind her. Was he checking out her butt? Could he even see her butt? Honestly, it was so dark she had trouble seeing the path. As they climbed higher, the pine trees around them grew thicker, and soon they were in dense woods and visibility was close to zero.
“Hold up a minute,” he called from behind her.
Maggie paused and glanced over her shoulder. He was closer than she realized, and while her breathing was already labored from exertion, he wasn’t even winded.
“Here, let me go first.” Without waiting for her response, he stepped past her on the narrow path. “Take my hand.”
Maggie was grateful for the darkness that hid her surprise and masked the flush of heat in her face and neck. Reaching out, she felt her hand warmly enclosed in his larger one.
“We’ll take it nice and slow,” he said, and Maggie could hear the smile in his voice.
As they made their way up the steep trail, she found herself grateful for his assistance. She stumbled twice and would have fallen if not for his steadying hand. By the time they reached the top, she was out of breath and her calves were cramping with effort.
“Are you okay?” he asked, releasing her hand.
They were in the parking lot, where at least a dozen cars were parked. Several tourists drifted toward them from the bridge.
Maggie dragged in a deep breath and nodded. “Yes, just a little winded.”
Which was an understatement. She could barely catch her breath, and it had nothing to do with her recent exertions. For the first time, she had a good look at the stranger’s face. A light pole near the visitor’s center cast intriguing shadows over his features as he carefully removed her camera and handed it back to her. Maggie knew she was staring, but couldn’t help herself. The guy was seriously hot. She guessed him to be in his early thirties, and he had the kind of open-faced friendliness that was hard, if not impossible, to resist. Strong, white teeth. A dent in one lean cheek that begged to be touched. A clean, square jawline. A mouth made for kissing.
Whoa. Where had that come from?
Maggie took an instinctive step backward, still staring at him. Yep. He was gorgeous, and she realized she wasn’t immune to his good looks or the masculine interest reflected in his eyes. She could feel the tug of attraction like the insidious pull of an undertow, and there was a part of her that wanted to go with it, to let the current sweep her away.
“Well, thanks again,” she said quickly, and turned toward her car.
“You’re welcome.” Instead of turning away, he walked across the parking lot beside her. “My rig’s right over here,” he said in explanation, when she cast him a questioning glance.
His rig was a dark Land Rover, an older model with four doors and a hard top. A large cargo box was secured to the roof, but Maggie could just as easily envision a kayak or a surfboard there instead. The guy oozed outdoor adventure. Through the rear windows of the vehicle, Maggie could see the back was packed with boxes and she found her curiosity piqued in spite of herself.
“Looks like you’re going on a trip,” she commented.
“Actually, my trip ends here. I just drove cross-country from Florida.”
“Oh, wow. That’s impressive.” Maggie wasn’t exaggerating. Her own drive from Chicago to Washington State had been long and exhausting. She couldn’t imagine driving all the way from Florida. But she could picture him clearly in a pair of brightly colored board shorts, effortlessly riding a surfboard through turquoise waves. His body would be tanned and supremely fit, and the water would cause his skin to gleam....
Maggie gave herself a mental shake. She didn’t know the first thing about this guy, and yet she couldn’t prevent her imagination from conjuring up sexy images of him. They were next to her car, and Maggie bent to shake a small pebble out of her shoe, holding the camera steady with one hand. As she balanced on one foot, her stranger put a hand beneath her arm to steady her. She was acutely conscious of the warmth and strength of his fingers, and for a brief instant, imagined what it would be like to have a guy like him in her life; to know she could rely on him for anything, and that he would always be there to lend his support, like he was doing right now.
In the next instant, she dismissed the idea. Sure, he made her feel feminine and safe, but she didn’t know the first thing about him. There was no reason for her to think he was the kind of guy who had staying power, or that he was even available. Besides, she wasn’t in the market for a boyfriend, especially not one who had just moved to Whidbey Island. Not when she would return to Chicago in just three weeks.
Replacing her shoe, she stood upright, but he didn’t immediately release her arm, and Maggie found herself swaying toward him. Was it her imagination, or did he apply a subtle pressure? Glancing at his face, she saw him staring at her mouth, and the expression in his eyes was so sexy that Maggie found herself momentarily transfixed.
Her breathing hitched.
In that instant, she knew he was going to kiss her, and she was going to let him. Call her crazy, but she wanted to know what his mouth would feel like on hers. The likelihood that she would ever see him again was slim to none. What harm could there be in a simple kiss? Besides, if it wasn’t for him, she might still be trapped on that damned rock.
As if sensing her willingness, he bent his head fractionally, until their lips were almost touching.
“I’d really like to kiss you,” he breathed.
In answer, Maggie pressed her mouth against his. The instant their lips met, heat flared between them. He bracketed her face in his hands, angling her head and fastening his mouth over hers in a soft, moist fusing that robbed her legs of strength and had her leaning helplessly into him. The guy knew how to kiss, and Maggie found herself welcoming the hot, sweet slide of his tongue against hers. Heat bloomed low in her abdomen and her blood sang in her ears. Without conscious thought, she pressed closer, seeking more of the intimate caress. The camera dug into her ribs, and she was unprepared when he released her and stepped abruptly away.
They stood staring at each other for several long seconds, their breathing uneven, until he turned away and scrubbed a hand over his face. Maggie’s entire body throbbed with awareness, and when she traced her tongue experimentally over her lips, she could taste him there. Shaken, she cleared her throat and strove for a conversational tone, as if she hadn’t just come within seconds of tearing his clothes off.
“So, what brings you to Whidbey Island?”
He whirled around and gave her a bemused look, as if he couldn’t quite believe she was making small talk after that incredibly hot kiss. Maggie blinked at him and smiled politely. She’d been close enough to him to feel the muscles that layered his body. The guy had an incredible physique, and she felt sure that whatever had brought him to Whidbey Island involved doing something that provided a physical challenge. Based on the gear he had packed in his Land Rover, he planned on staying in the area f
or a while. Suddenly, the prospect of spending three weeks on Whidbey Island didn’t seem quite so bad.
“My job,” he finally replied. “I report for duty tomorrow morning at the naval air station.”
Any lingering warmth from their shared kiss was doused by a cold wash of reality. Maggie was momentarily at a loss for words. She definitely hadn’t seen that one coming.
“You’re in the military?” Her voice sounded high and breathless.
“You bet.”
An airman. Or a sailor. It didn’t matter which; one was as bad as the other. Maggie almost sagged in disappointment, even as a small, inner voice mocked her. What had she thought? That she could meet some sexy stranger on a dark beach, fall madly in love and live happily ever after? He was in the military.
She should have known he was too good to be true. After all, her own father, a navy supply officer, had walked away from her mother when he’d learned she was pregnant with twins. And just to make sure Maggie hadn’t missed the memo the first time around, the universe had sent her a second smack down. Ten years ago, the young navy officer she’d been engaged to had inexplicably dumped her in order to marry another woman.
Maggie took an involuntary step backward, putting a safe distance between them. She needed to turn and walk away. Away from him. Away from temptation. And she needed to do it now, before he did.
Because she knew from bitter experience that the one thing military guys were good at was leaving.
2
“SO, YOU’RE SURE you don’t mind doing this?”
Maggie stood on the wide, covered veranda of the spacious Victorian where she had grown up, and gave her twin brother, Eric, a tolerant look. “Would I have come all the way from Chicago if I minded?”
Her brother ran his fingers through his hair in a distracted manner, causing it to stand on end. “I just know how much you hate Whidbey Island. But I wouldn’t have asked you to come back if it wasn’t important. Danielle and I really need this vacation.”
“I know that. And I don’t hate Whidbey Island,” Maggie said cautiously. “I just outgrew it.”
“It’s been ten years, Maggie.” Eric’s expression was sympathetic. “I’ll bet nobody even remembers what happened back then. Besides, none if it was your fault.”
Maggie squinted, even though she stood well in the shade of the porch. There was no way she wanted to talk about what had happened all those years ago. For her, the memories were still too fresh.
Too humiliating.
Ignoring his words, she looked past Eric to where her sister-in-law, Danielle, sat waiting for him in the car. “Look, you’d better go if you’re going to catch your flight. Please don’t worry about a thing. The house will be fine, and I’ll have Carly to help me with the shop.”
“And you’re sure you can manage the festival?”
The annual arts-and-crafts festival in Coupeville was one of the biggest events of the summer months, drawing tourists from all over the greater northwest. Maggie’s mother had created an exclusive line of sea-glass jewelry more than twenty years ago, and what had begun as a hobby and a way to make a little extra money had grown into a lucrative family business. Maggie had grown up helping her mom run a tent at the festival every summer until she’d turned eighteen, and knew she would have no problem running a tent for her brother. Both Eric and his wife were talented artists who had taken the line of sea-glass jewelry to a whole new level. They frequently traveled to South America and Europe to collect their sea glass, although Eric had found some of his rarest pieces of glass right on the nearby beaches of Puget Sound. In addition to their small shop, Village Sea Glass, in downtown Coupeville, they had a thriving online business, and their work had been featured in numerous upscale magazines.
And if Maggie did have any reservations, Carly Bates was there to help her. Carly helped Eric run his shop, and was a well-known glass artist on Whidbey Island. She’d been attending the annual arts festival for longer than Maggie had been alive.
Now she resisted rolling her eyes at her brother and gave him a cheerful smile instead.
“I’ll be fine. You and Danielle go and have fun...it may be the last vacation you have for a long time.”
Eric’s wife was six months’ pregnant with twins, and they’d decided to take a long-anticipated trip to Hawaii to visit her parents while she could still travel. Normally, Maggie and Eric’s mother would step in and run the jewelry shop that Eric owned in downtown Coupeville, as well as help out at the festival. But this year she had opted to spend the summer in California with her boyfriend. At forty-eight years old, Valerie Copeland was finally enjoying life away from Whidbey Island. Maggie was happy for her. How could either she or Eric ask her to sacrifice anything else for them? It was the only reason that Maggie had agreed to come back to Whidbey Island—so her mother wouldn’t have to.
Eric gave her a grateful smile. “Thanks, sis, you’re the best. You have my number if you need to reach me.”
“I’ll be fine, now go!”
Eric bounded down the porch steps and then stopped halfway down the walk and turned, smacking a hand to his head. “Geez, I almost forgot!”
Maggie waited expectantly.
Her brother actually looked embarrassed. “There’s a new tenant moving into the cottage, but I haven’t had a chance to clean the place up after the last guy left.”
Their mother had inherited the gracious Victorian overlooking the waters of Penn Cove when Eric and Maggie were twelve years old. Their grandparents had once operated a bed-and-breakfast out of the house, and had rented the small cottage on the property to vacationing families. After they had passed away, Valerie Copeland had turned the Victorian back into a private home and had opted to rent the cottage on a long-term basis, mostly to struggling artists. The small house had a stunning view of the water, and Valerie had added heat for the winter and a deck on the back for enjoyment in the warmer months. As a teenager, Maggie had watched numerous artists transfer in and out of the cottage, and she knew the drill.
“It’s fine,” she assured her brother. “I’ll give the place a good cleaning. When is the new tenant due to arrive?”
“Not for a couple of weeks,” Eric said quickly.
Unbidden, an image of the guy from the previous night flashed through Maggie’s head. She’d lain awake for most of the night thinking about him, replaying their kiss over and over again in her head. Realistically, she knew the likelihood of seeing him again before she returned to Chicago was slim to none. The naval air station was located about fifteen miles from the small community of Rocks Village, in the town of Oak Harbor. She’d have to drive completely around Penn Cove and then head to the northern end of the island in order to reach the base. Even then, he probably didn’t live in the town of Oak Harbor, but on the air base itself, behind the guarded gates and barbed wire fences, making the chances of another encounter even more unlikely. She told herself that it was for the best.
With a mental shake, she dragged her thoughts away from the stranger. They only ever rented the cottage to artists, and Maggie wondered briefly what medium the new tenant might specialize in. Hopefully not moose droppings, like the artist who had stayed in the cottage the year Maggie had turned sixteen. “Okay, I’ve got it covered,” she assured her brother. “Now go, before you miss your flight!”
Eric sprinted toward the car. He blew Maggie a quick kiss as he climbed behind the wheel. “Thanks, Maggie. You’re the best!”
Maggie watched the car until it disappeared down the long gravel drive. Closing the door, she leaned against it and stared around her at the familiar rooms where she’d spent her childhood. By all accounts, it had been a good childhood, even without a father to complete their family. Valerie had been an artist and a single mom, but had always put her two small children first. And during the times when she had been working, Maggie’s gr
andparents had cared for them, ensuring both she and Eric were spoiled rotten. So why did coming home fill her with such anxiety?
* * *
JACK CALLAHAN DREW his Land Rover to a stop on the side of the narrow road and double-checked the address he’d scribbled on a piece of paper, before glancing again at the mailbox. This was it, and if he’d had any doubts, they were squelched by the small Cottage for Rent sign that had been pushed into the ground beside the mailbox. Thrusting the Land Rover into Drive, he turned down the gravel road. Dense trees pressed in on both sides of the long road, but through the foliage he caught shimmering glimpses of water.
The private drive was long, winding its way through the trees until they suddenly fell away to reveal a large Victorian house with a wraparound porch. A center turret dominated the roofline and Jack was certain it provided unobstructed views of Penn Cove. Parking the Land Rover, he took the porch steps two at a time and knocked on the door, but there was no answer. Walking to the end of the porch, he surveyed the property, with its lush gardens and gravel walkways. There was no sign of life, but he could hear the faint strains of music coming from somewhere toward the back of the house.
Leaving the porch, Jack followed a narrow path through the yard until he came to a guesthouse perched on a small knoll. The cottage was quaint without being fussy, and a stone chimney on one end gave it some substance. The roof overhung the door and windows, which all stood wide open. Music came from inside, and now he could hear a woman’s voice singing along, completely out of tune.