And now it was done. He looked at his watch. She’d arrive on Dewees soon. He didn’t want to be late to pick up Heather at the ferry. God, he’d missed her. The more time they spent together, the more he discovered they had in common. Music, art, humor, quiet times, dawns, sunsets, being outdoors. They were like two sides of one coin.
He loved her. He didn’t question that. She was his best friend. She cared about his day, lifted his spirits when he was down, and celebrated his accomplishments. And she was always so grateful for anything he did, great or small, to show her how much he loved her, which let him know that she loved him, too.
Her loving him made him want to be a better man. To be worthy of her. He looked again at the tree house. He had to admit, it was nothing short of spectacular.
A knock on the front door of the main house drew his attention. He hurried through the rooms and swung wide the door. A small blond woman wearing a crisp white shirt with DEWEES ISLAND embroidered on the pocket smiled warmly at him.
“Judy!” Bo said with surprise. Judy Fairchild was the island’s manager. She oversaw just about everything that happened on the small island, especially construction. She looked perky and cute and was easy to work with, but looks could be deceiving. She was sweet, but she was also as smart as a whip. Nothing slipped past her, whether it was about construction, sewers, or wildlife. The woman was a walking encyclopedia. She mixed it up with the guys, but always knew when to bring down the hammer. And he respected her for it. She was likely coming to take another look at the tree house, make certain it didn’t violate any island codes. Luckily, Bo had been careful and precise.
Judy walked into the house and looked around, no doubt making sure he was keeping everything tidy. She felt a personal responsibility to the owners to check their property when they were out of town. Especially when work was being done.
“I expect you want another look at the tree house?”
“Actually, not this time,” Judy said. “There’s something else I’d like to discuss with you, if you have a minute.”
“Why, sure, of course.” He glanced at the clock, but saw he still had a good forty-five minutes before the ferry arrived.
Judy went to sit in one of the dozen chairs positioned around the long wood table. The dining room had large windows that offered tremendous views of the small lake outside. Bo spent most nights sitting on the screened deck just outside, staring at the birds as the sun set. Naturally, the sight always made him think of Heather.
He brought two glasses of water to the table and took a seat beside Judy. They exchanged a few words about the tree house. She checked on the schedule for equipment and trash removal by barge. Then she leaned forward and folded her hands on the table.
“You know everyone on Dewees thinks very highly of you.”
Bo’s brows rose. “Thank you.”
“You’re the number one request we get whenever a homeowner needs work done. That’s impressive. We have a select list of names, and unless it’s an emergency, most homeowners say they’ll wait for you.”
“I’m grateful for the opportunity,” he replied modestly.
“You’re good,” Judy continued. “And dependable, honest. And you’re the best carpenter I’ve ever worked with.”
“You make me blush.”
She laughed. “I’m not blowing smoke,” she said with a wry grin. “It’s just the simple truth. So . . .” She punctuated her statement by spreading her palms out on the table. “There’s an opening for the island maintenance manager. It’s a full-time job with full benefits. And it includes the caretaker’s cottage. You’d be working directly under me. The board discussed it, and the decision was unanimous. We’d like to offer the position to you.”
Myriad emotions rushed through Bo at this unexpected offer—surprise, but also pride, excitement, uncertainty.
His face eased into a grin. “I’m honored. Thank you.”
Judy’s eyes sparkled with pleasure. She reached into her bag and pulled out an envelope. She set it on the table. “This is the formal offer. Read it. Think about it. Then call me.” She put her fingertips on the envelope and slid it across the table to him.
With that Judy stood up. Bo jumped to his feet, almost tipping over his chair. He walked her to the door. Judy turned and offered her hand. When he took it, she gave it a firm shake and looked him square in the eyes.
“Bo. I hope you say yes.”
HEATHER HAD NEVER been on a ferry before. She waited at the Dewees Marina on Isle of Palms with six or seven other men and women until the captain signaled it was time to board. Most of the others knew the drill. They gathered their parcels, children, and dogs, most of them dragging carts filled with groceries, luggage, and purchases made in town. There were no shops of any kind on Dewees and these folks were prepared. Heather towed her small suitcase behind her down the well-worn wooden dock. Bo had been doing carpentry for several of the houses on the island. He still had another week’s worth of work lined up after today. When he’d called to invite her to visit, she’d wondered if he’d heard the dejection in her voice. She didn’t want to tell him about Natalie’s visit on the phone or in a text. She felt at a loss about what she would do come September. The one person she wanted to talk to about it was Bo. With him she could open up and let her true feelings flow, good and bad, and not worry about being judged.
So she’d packed a bag and was on her way to a small island a ferry’s ride away. She couldn’t stay longer than a night, as she had to get back to painting her shorebirds with the September deadline looming. But for today, she was on vacation.
The captain stepped off the boat, waved his arm, and called, “All aboard!” Heather joined the queue of people, kids, and pets. Once on the boat she secured her luggage and signed in with the steward. The atmosphere was friendly. Everyone seemed to know one another. She heard exclamations of “Welcome back!” and “My, look how much you’ve grown!” directed at the children. There were plenty of seats in the airy space below, but she didn’t want any of the friendly chatter directed toward her, so she climbed up to the top deck. Here only two other older girls sat shoulder to shoulder, ignoring the view and tapping their phones. The sun shone on her face and the morning air was ripe with the scents of salty sea and fish. Once everyone was seated, the captain started the big engines; they churned the water as the ferry slowly backed out of the dock, rocking gently. They slowly motored out of the no-wake zone. Heather leaned against the metal railing and played tourist, gawking at the scenery. On the right were huge houses with long docks, each with boats at moor. She looked at them, wondering who lived there, what they were like. Pelicans roosted on the jute-covered pilings. On the left was Isle of Palms Marina, which housed boats ranging from huge yachts to fifteen-footers to Jet Skis.
Once they were on the open water, the captain opened up the throttle and they sped through the Intracoastal Waterway. White-capped waves created wide wakes that rippled far across the expanse of blue water. Heather grabbed her hat and smiled, despite the melancholy that persisted. On either side of the ferry was a panoramic view of lush green landscape, wide blue water with snaking creeks that meandered through acres of sea grass, and everywhere were birds—flocked on shorelines, flying overhead, wading in creeks. Heather let go of her self-doubt and guilt at taking a bit of time off and simply enjoyed the luxury of time cruising the water. Yet she still felt her fingers twitch for a piece of charcoal to sketch the birds she was observing.
One simply had to see the lowcountry by water, she decided. It was the best way to experience the magnificence of the landscape and the wildlife. But it was more than that. During the journey across the water, she felt all the stress and anguish that she’d been holding in since Natalie’s visit slide away, and she opened up her frame of mind. She spotted a pair of buoyant dolphins chasing the boat’s wake, as though to punctuate her realization.
Fifteen minutes later she spied the white beaches of Dewees Island and, closer, the island’s dock. The c
aptain reduced speed and neatly maneuvered the ferry into the dock. The moment he cut the engines, the passengers rose en masse, grabbed their carts, bid farewell to friends, and disembarked.
She stepped off the boat and right away heard Bo calling her name. A jolt of excitement and anticipation coursed through her. Searching the small group of people waiting, she spotted the one man taller than the rest, his long, lanky form clad in faded brown shorts and a T-shirt. He lifted his arm in a wave, and she noticed he was carrying a dozen yellow roses. Her heart did a flip as she waved back, then made her way up the ramp, dragging her small overnight case.
It had been only two weeks since they’d been together, but it felt like much longer. Her attraction for him redoubled as she took in his handsome features and sky-blue eyes. Absence did indeed make the heart grow fonder, she thought.
He swooped in to wrap her in a hug. “I thought you’d never get here,” he murmured as he held her close.
Tears threatened. “I missed you. I have so much to tell you.”
“Me, too,” he said, and kissed her. Then, stepping back, he grinned and said, “Later.” He took her bag and extended his arm. “Your chariot awaits.”
Bo led her to one in a long row of golf carts parked along the dock’s walkway. Cars were not allowed on the environmentally concerned island, so everyone got around by golf cart, bicycle, or on foot. He lifted her suitcase into the back and smiled with eagerness, like a boy about to show off his favorite secret place.
“Do you come to the island during the rest of the year?” she asked as he fired up the cart.
“Yeah,” he replied as he looked over his shoulder, backing out of the space. “I’ve been doing work for the homeowners here for more than five years. I come back and forth a lot, but every once in a while I get a bigger project that keeps me on the island for a couple of weeks, like the tree house.” He swung around, his eyes gleaming. “I can’t wait to show it to you.”
“It’s done?”
“Yep. I’m pretty proud of it.” His eyes sparkled before he put on his sunglasses.
As they pulled away from the parking area, Heather looked at all the carts. “Now I know why you’re so familiar with golf carts,” she teased as she put her own sunglasses on.
Bo acted as Heather’s guide to Dewees, pointing out the nature center and post office as they drove away from the dock. They bumped along crushed-shell roads under the lofty shade of trees. Heather was enchanted by the wild green landscape. Everywhere she looked there was something else to see. On one side of the road creeks meandered through lush cordgrass where egrets and a great blue heron were wading. Beyond was a glimmering lagoon where a large alligator sat sunning on a floating dock. Butterflies fluttered in the shrubs and songbirds darted from tree to tree. She felt she was in some sort of sanctuary. A safe haven not only for the wildlife, but for humans, too. Dewees made Isle of Palms look about as coastal as Charlotte.
Then, in a moment of clarity, she realized what was so different. Why she immediately felt so comfortable and at ease on Dewees—she didn’t see any other people.
“Bo, where is everyone?”
“They’re here. Somewhere. There aren’t many people on Dewees. It’s a private island, and the people who come here like seclusion. That’s why you don’t see houses from the road. They’re all set far back in the trees. You’re meant to feel like you’re alone. And the community is committed to the environment. You saw that there are no stores or restaurants of any kind.”
“Yes. But isn’t that difficult? To get food, or go out to dinner or a movie?”
“It’s a different way of life. People here know how to make it work. It takes a bit of planning. And there’s the ferry—it goes back and forth on the hour. But for folks who live here, it’s worth the effort. Dewees has its own pump and treated drinking water system and a state-of-the-art waste facility. Best of all, more than ninety percent of the island will remain wild.”
Heather looked around at the great expanse of water, trees, and sky and felt at home. “I didn’t know such a place existed.”
Bo took her on a loop around the island, continuing to point out sights as they drove, then turned into a driveway half hidden from the road by a thicket of trees. A tall, dark wood house loomed, large but discreetly nestled in the trees.
“This is where I’m staying,” he told her. He drove the cart up the wooden ramp to park under the raised house.
“It’s gorgeous,” she said, stepping out.
“You ain’t seen nothing yet.” He grabbed the suitcase from the back of the cart and stretched out his hand. “Come on.”
The inside of the house, like the outside, was decorated in a cool palette of browns and grays. The furniture was wooden, modern, and sparse. There were a few paintings, modern as well, and very good. Clearly the owner wanted to create the sense of camping in the woods. She could see Bo living in such a place. It was a lot like him—spare, simple, hidden depths. They moved quickly through the house. It seemed Bo had his own agenda he was eager to get to. He led her to the screened porch. “This is it,” he said excitedly, opening the screen door.
Heather gasped. Connected to the main house by a walkway was a small, tidy turret hidden in the trees. It was both fanciful and solid. Something out of a storybook she’d read as a child. This incredible creation, she knew, revealed the heart and soul of Bo Stanton. Art, form, imagination—it had it all. She could picture him sitting on this porch for hours, staring at the trees, studying the depths and shadows, waiting to see the shape of the house emerge in his imagination.
“Oh, Bo,” she said with a soft sigh. “It’s like a dream I once had come true.”
He slipped his arm over her shoulders and looked at the house with pride. “I had a lot of help,” he replied with typical modesty, kissing Heather softly on the tip of her nose. “Let me give you the tour.”
They traversed the walkway together, and Heather was relieved to find it as sturdy and strong as any deck. Once inside the octagonal walls of the tree house she felt like a hobbit. An intricately carved desk stood in the middle surrounded by bookshelves and windows. A single rope light hung from the wall over the desk. It was the fantasy room of one’s own.
“I’d put a bed in here,” Bo said.
“No,” Heather said on a breath. “I’d paint in here.”
After the tour they returned to the main house and made their way to the master bedroom, planning to change into their swimwear. It was another magnificent room. The tall windows had wooden shades, all lowered to steep the room in tea-colored light. The ceiling was dramatically pitched over a large teak bed intricately carved in a design that resembled monkeys. Crisp white linens dressed the bed, which was topped with lots of large white pillows. It was a room meant for relaxation—sleep, talk, reading, making love.
Heather finished removing her bra and, looking up, saw Bo standing across from her. He was naked, and it was clear that he wanted her. Looking into his eyes, she slid her panties down her legs and kicked them aside. It was just the two of them. The room was shaded and cool. Their bodies were warm. She felt she was in some dream world, deep in the jungle. Without speaking Bo reached out, beckoning her. Without hesitation, she stepped into his arms.
SO MUCH FOR PLANS, Bo thought ruefully. Neither of them wanted to leave the comfort of each other’s arms and the great teak bed. He cradled Heather’s head on his shoulder and traced his fingers along her silky hair.
Their passion spent, Heather’s mood had clearly shifted. Her smile disappeared, replaced by an expression of sadness. She curled up beside him, her fingers holding tight. Bo pulled her into the crook of his arm and held her close.
“Baby, what’s the matter?” he asked.
In a broken voice, she told him about her stepmother’s visit. She left nothing out. Bo felt his anger rising, and fisted his hands when he heard Natalie’s insults. But what disturbed him the most—actually hurt his heart—was hearing the defeat in Heather’s voice.
“I couldn’t stand up to her,” she told him. “I wanted to, but I was afraid. All my words got stuck in my throat. I couldn’t push them out.”
Bo brought his finger to her lips. “It’s all right. She broadsided you. You didn’t see it coming.”
“I didn’t!” she cried with heat.
“So don’t beat yourself up. She had four hours to plan what she was going to say to you. You had ten seconds.”
Heather shuddered, releasing a long sigh. “You’re right. I didn’t think of that. I still can’t believe she drove all that way here to tell me something she could have told me on the phone. At least if she’d done that, I’d have had the pleasure of hanging up on her.”
A sigh rumbled in Bo’s chest. He met people like Natalie all the time in his line of work. Entitled, seemingly fierce. Empty shells, he thought. All their energy went to buying more things. Any creative kernel they had was buried in all that stuff. So when they saw someone like Heather—all heart and passion and vision—they felt threatened. In their hearts, the Natalies of the world knew they couldn’t compete with the Heathers of the world. They were not even in the same league. So they attacked.
He held Heather tighter. “I imagine she wanted to be sure she got her way. When your father left, she saw her opening. She figured she had to come meet you face-to-face for that.”
“Maybe,” Heather agreed, playing with the hairs on his chest. “But I hate that she could make me squirm. I thought I’d gotten past that.” Her voice wavered. “To tell you the truth, I think what hurt the most was that there was some truth in what Natalie said. After all, I am a grown woman living with my father.” She paused and her voice hushed. “It always hurts the most when it is true.”
She was consoled by his gentle squeeze. “She doesn’t want me to live with them—no, what was the phrase she used? ‘You’re not the easiest person to live with.’ That was more than insulting. It was so hurtful.”
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