“No, you probably won’t.”
Zoe sighed. She was stuck with Mr. Attitude whether she liked it or not. That is, if he took the job. She might have snapped away her opportunity. She offered her best contrite smile. “I don’t suppose I can get a do-over?”
“I don’t believe in do-overs.”
“Oh.” So much for that.
“But I will sweep your chimney. Gonna have to go to the Vineyard for supplies, though.”
“Oh, that’s fine.” Relief made her far more agreeable than she should be. “Buy whatever you need.”
“I take cash or check. No credit.”
“No problem. Give me a working fireplace and I’ll pay you in solid gold bars if that’s what you want.” In the back of her mind she knew she should be getting more information before agreeing to his terms. Like how much he charged, for example. But the promise of a warm bed trumped good business. Besides, if he were the only handyman on the island, which was entirely possible, given the lack of full-time population, then she didn’t have a whole lot of negotiation room anyway. “Anything to avoid shivering through the night.”
His eyes swept the length of her and Zoe found herself wondering just how she would define the term anything. It had been a long time since a man looked at her like she was a woman. At least not without a hidden agenda.
“Cash or check will suffice.”
So much for being looked at like a woman. “Right.” The deflated sensation in the pit of her stomach was not disappointment. Not that kind anyway.
Unsure what to do next, especially with the embarrassment creeping along her skin, she toed the welcome mat and brushed the bangs off her frames. “Well then,” she said, clearing her throat. “I’ll set up things when you’re done.” A graceful exit, this was not.
Worse, he continued to stare at her. Hot and hard. Like he was trying to read under her skin. It made her insides all jumpy.
“I’ll…” Her voice caught again. “I’ll let you get back to what you were doing…”
“Where are you going?”
The question came abruptly, sounding more like a command, and froze her just as she was about to step off the porch. “Um, home?” she offered.
“Not if you want your chimney cleaned. Told you, we have to go to the Vineyard for supplies.”
“We?” How on earth did she factor in?
“I don’t carry a line of credit at the Vineyard store.”
“So?” She still wasn’t sure what that had to do with her going to the Vineyard or anywhere else with him.
“So,” he said, pushing away from the door, “someone’s got to pay for your supplies.”
Which was why, a half hour later, Zoe found herself ducking the spray as they cruised across the sound in Jake’s powerboat. On a good day, the ride took forty-five minutes. It might as well have lasted for eternity since her companion was a stone-faced statue. For the first few minutes, she tried to engage him in conversation, but after the third consecutive one-word answer, she gave up, settling instead for stealing glances at his silent profile.
She had to admit the man knew how to handle a boat. Yet again, she found her attention drawn to his hands and to the way the wheel glided effortlessly under his fingers. He was less steering the boat than commanding it to do his bidding.
Commanding. At the hardware store, she’d thought of him compelling. Now she had a second word to describe him.
There was something else about him, too. A quality she couldn’t name. Originally, she’d have said prickly, but studying him now, the word didn’t quite fit. Oh, he was prickly—okay, he was unfriendly—but her gut told her something about the prickliness didn’t ring true. Why she thought that she couldn’t say, but her gut said there was more to Jake Meyers than met the eye.
And we all know how well your gut works, right, Zoe? She cringed, remembering how certain she’d been about Paul. The way she’d defended him to everybody. You don’t know him like I do. He needs me. Paul had needed her all right. Needed her money.
Across the water, Zoe spied the shores of Martha’s Vineyard closing in. Come three weeks from now, part-time residents and vacationers would jam both the waterways and the tiny island’s streets. At the moment, however, the island belonged to the year-round residents, leaving the bay quiet and half-full. Jake steered his boat around West Chop and toward Vineyard Haven. About ten yards out, he slowed the engine, engulfing the day in even greater silence as they glided toward an empty slip.
Finally, a chance to do something besides sit with her thoughts. Scrambling forward, she grabbed the rope, and soon as they were close enough, stepped onto the dock. It’d been a while since she’d done any kind of boating, but the lessons came back quickly enough as she deftly tied them off. She then moved starboard, and repeated the task. When finished, she looked up to see Jake studying her handiwork. The glasses obscured part of his expression but she could see he was surprised. The knowledge caused a bubble of pride in her chest. She waited while Jake secured the rest of the boat, thinking, as he moved around, that for a man with a bad leg he carried himself with a great deal of grace. Then again, was she really surprised?
“Store’s about a mile up, on Main Street,” he said, when he joined her on the pier.
Zoe looked across the parking lot to the tree-lined street. A handful of cars drove by, turning right and disappearing. “I take it we’re walking,” she said, glad she had thought to wear comfortable shoes today.
“Unless you’ve got a better idea.”
Unfortunately, she didn’t.
Jake had already taken off through the parking lot and she had to scramble to catch up. A difficult task, given he had a foot of height on her and she had to take two steps to match one of his.
“Hey!” she called out. “How about we slow it down a bit?” If she had to walk, fine, but she wasn’t going to sprint the entire way.
He stopped and if she were a betting woman, she’d say the sag in his shoulders was caused by frustration. There went any points she might have scored back at the dock. “Some of us have shorter legs,” she pointed out, in case he’d missed the obvious.
They fell back into step, albeit at a slightly slower pace. Zoe entertained herself by studying the clapboard houses and brick sidewalk. About a hundred yards in, she lost interest and decided to give conversation another shot. “I’ve never been to this section of the Vineyard. Do you make the trip often?”
“Often enough.”
“Downside of island living, I suppose. I should have thought about that before moving to one.” She’d only been thinking of getting away. “On the other hand, now I know why my mother didn’t make repairs. Too much trouble getting building supplies.”
“Most people manage.”
“Most people aren’t sequestered in an Atlanta townhome. My mother hasn’t come north since she remarried. The house was always more my father’s anyway. He was the one who planned on using it every summer. At least he did, before he got sick. I forgot about the place myself until my divorce. Then I bought the place from her and—”
Dear God, she was babbling. Worse than babbling, she was oversharing. “Have you lived on the island long?”
“Long enough.”
Not surprisingly, Jake did the opposite and under shared. She plowed on, not willing to return to silence. “Growing up, my dad called Naushatucket an undiscovered paradise. Of course, I only cared about the beach, but now I can see what he meant. A person can really escape from it all there, can’t he?”
“Used to, anyway.”
A pointed hint. They stepped off the curb and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jake grimace. “Leg bothering you?” The question came out before she could stop herself.
“No.”
A lie if ever she heard one. It was obvious from the way his mouth pulled in a tight line every time he stepped off his right foot. She stared at him, silently calling him on it, until he could no longer ignore her.
“Hip,” he said. “And it always both
ers me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why? It’s not your hip.”
No, but he was in obvious pain, and that made her feel bad. “Look, you don’t need to do the chimney today if…”
Wrong thing to say. Sunglasses or no sunglasses, she could feel the heat of his stare bearing down on her. “You asked me to clean your chimney today—I’ll clean the damn thing today.”
With that, he picked up his pace as if proving a point. “I’ll live with the pain.”
Jake’s hip throbbed so much he had to clench his jaw from the pain. A doctor would probably tell him he was being a stubborn fool. That he was making himself suffer needlessly. Of course, Jake would debate that last word. Needlessly. He was pretty damn certain his suffering was justified. Though he did feel a little bad for dragging the Bird Whisperer along.
Speaking of which… He felt her cast another look in his direction, setting his nerves on edge. Since his discharge he’d gotten all kinds of looks. The discreet. The openly gaping. The disgustingly compassionate. All of them with some sort of awe, as if he were a freaking hero.
Little Miss Bird-Whisperer’s looks, though… God, but he could feel her pale blue eyes scanning his profile. His skin prickled with the awareness. Without turning, he could picture them wide and curious. Like she was trying to see inside him or something. It irritated the hell out of him. What had made him say yes to her job offer in the first place?
He had bills to pay, that was what. And hanging around the house did nothing but make his thoughts loud, and they were loud enough this morning as it was. A project was exactly what he needed to drown them out for a little while.
The morning overcast had finally burned off, allowing the sun to take hold and warm the air. Jake felt the sweat starting to trickle down the back of his neck. Zoe had peeled off her grey sweatshirt. Jake tried not to notice her bright orange T-shirt or how it fit a little too snugly over her breasts. He was trying not to pay attention to her at all—a desire she seemed intent on disrupting at every opportunity.
“How much farther ’til we get to the store?” she asked.
“Couple blocks.” Normally the walk didn’t take that long; this morning it was taking forever. He blamed his impossible-to-ignore companion.
“Mind if we stop at that coffee shop on the corner first? I don’t know about you, but I could use a cold drink. I’ll even pa—”
The words were barely out of her mouth when she stumbled over a dip in the sidewalk. Jake reacted automatically, reaching out with a hand to grab her arm, and caught her as she fell forward. It was a mistake. Catching her meant looking in her direction. Suddenly he had an up-close view of what he’d been trying to ignore. He saw freckles kissing the bridge of a windblown nose and strands of black hair wisping over surprised eyes. A long-dormant awareness, unbidden and unwanted, began stirring somewhere deep inside him.
Quickly, he let go. “You can get your drink if you want. I’ll meet you at the hardware store,” he said, shoving his hands in his jeans pockets.
To hell with his no-credit policy. Next time he’d make this trip alone and bill her.
Unlike the store in Pitcher’s Hole, this particular store was large and well-stocked. Jake used the place whenever he had a large or unusual job. He liked it because they left him alone and he could therefore avoid small talk, something his companion apparently thrived on. As soon as they walked in the door, she’d sought out a clerk and was currently engrossed in a conversation about outdoor lighting. At least it was supposed to be about lighting. He hadn’t thought that a terribly amusing topic, and they seemed to be chuckling a little too heartily. Somewhere in between laughs, he caught the word dachshund.
“I was telling Javier how Reynaldo seems determined to hang out in your yard,” Zoe said when he approached. “He thinks Rey’s chasing chipmunks.”
“My cousin had a dachshund,” the clerk said. “They’re big hunters.”
“What’s wrong with the chipmunks in his yard?” Jake grumbled.
The young man shrugged. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Not in his yard, that’s where. “Got what I need,” he said to Zoe.
The look she gave the clerk was apologetic, as if he were the one holding up the process. “Thanks for the suggestion,” she said, smiling. “But I’ll go with the single spotlight. Javier recommended I get a double one to better keep an eye on Reynaldo, but that might shine a little too brightly into your backyard.”
She turned her smile on him, and Jake could practically see the sarcasm behind her expression.
Suddenly they were interrupted by a pair of men in maintenance uniforms. Jake was about to tell them to find another clerk when he realized they weren’t there for hardware supplies. Their faces were pale and somber. “É Ernesto,” they said. “Está morto.”
Morto. Dead. His body began to shake. There were more words. Accident. Car. Bits and pieces of an explanation that drifted to him from far away, like words whispered in a tunnel. Black closed in him, eating away reality.
Get out. Take cover.
No, no, that wasn’t right. Get to fresh air. He needed fresh air.
Miles away he saw a doorway. And light. Light meant safety. There. Go there. His thoughts were thick and muddled as he staggered toward it, faintly aware of a bell ringing as he lunged toward the parking lot. The sea breeze burnt his lungs as he gulped one ragged breath after another. He made his way across the parking lot, toward the Dumpster across the street. He gripped the front bar, squeezing as tightly as his hands would allow. Stutteringly, his mind began listing his surroundings. Garbage. Blue Dumpster. Gray gravel. He tried to remind himself he wasn’t in that place anymore.
“Jake? Jake?”
A voice, soft and gentle, beckoned from the side of the confusion. He squeezed the Dumpster bar tighter, breathing in the stench of garbage, letting the pungency bring him back.
“Jake?” Suddenly the voice was closer and he felt a hand on his shoulder. The touch was tender, soothing. It promised comfort. Peace.
Somehow he managed to turn his head in the voice’s direction.
“Are you all right? Did something happen?” Zoe was asking.
The sympathy in her pale blue eyes did more than any grounding technique. Reality crashed back, reminding him where he was and why.
Humiliation swept over him. “I’m fine,” he said, pushing off both from the bar and her touch. “I needed some fresh air is all.”
“In front of a garbage Dumpster?” She forced herself back into his line of vision. “Was it those two guys? I don’t speak Spanish, but…”
“Portuguese. They were speaking Portuguese, not Spanish.”
“All right, I don’t speak Portuguese, either. Still, I could tell the news wasn’t good. The look on Javier’s face didn’t look good.”
“A car accident killed their friend.”
Her hand flew to her lips. “My God. That’s terrible. Did you know—?”
“No.” His skin was clammy and cold. No, he didn’t know the man, but he knew the loss. God, but he knew the loss. I just needed air,” he lied again. “Stomach’s bothering me.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” His reply was rougher than necessary, but he didn’t care. He could still feel the memory of Zoe’s hand on his shoulder. That the sensation remained made his heart race, and not in a good way. He didn’t deserve to feel anything, least of all comfort. “Let’s just go back and ring up the supplies.”
“The manager already is. He’s going to load up his truck and drive us back to the dock.”
Good. The sooner they got back, the sooner he could lose himself in work, which meant the sooner he could bury his thoughts.
Along with the sensation of Zoe’s touch, still lingering on his skin.
What on earth had she witnessed?
One moment they were buying supplies, the next Jake was bolting for the door. Common sense told her to leave well enough alone. She had enough on he
r plate putting the pieces of her life back together without getting involved in someone else’s problems. Only she’d never been very good at leaving anything alone. Not when someone might need her.
Besides, Jake hadn’t said a word since they’d left the hardware store and the continual silence ate at her.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked when they’d finished transferring the supplies from Jake’s boat to the back of his truck.
“Talk about what?”
“What happened back on the Vineyard? In the parking lot?”
“I told you—I needed fresh air.”
“Right, and I’m tall enough to play professional basketball.” She didn’t buy his excuse for a second. Something had upset him—terrified him, nearly—and she was pretty sure it had to do with the conversation they’d overheard. “Were you in a car accident?”
The laugh he gave her was part amused, part mocking. “No,” he replied, climbing into the driver’s seat.
But he had been in some kind of accident. Those scars and that limp didn’t appear by magic. Taking a page from his book, she stared straight ahead, pretending to watch the road rise over the bluff. “I only ask because sometimes hearing bad news can trigger—”
“Will you leave it alone?” The sharpness in his voice made her jump. “I wanted some air so I went outside. End of story. Now, for God’s sake, would you let the subject drop?”
“I’m simply—”
He whipped around. “I said drop it!”
Suddenly Zoe understood. There, in the confines of his pickup, she saw what he hid beneath the layers of inapproachability.
Pain.
Not physical pain, like his hip. No, this kind of pain ran deeper and stronger. It was the kind of pain medicine couldn’t help. The kind that ripped a man’s insides apart.
Zoe’s own insides hurt for him. “I’m sorry,” she replied, meaning far more than her earlier intrusion.
She watched as he dragged a shaky hand across the back of his neck. Maybe it was her tone, or the fact that she’d apologized, but some of the edge left his voice. “I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”
The Heart of a Hero Page 3