Summer at the Shore (Seashell Bay Book 2)

by V. K. Sykes

  Morgan put down the bag and started to reach for them.

  Ryan grasped her hand. “Let me get them.”

  Her flushed face went even rosier before he let her hand go.

  Ryan lifted the metal crutches and both suitcases out of the cart and set them down. The suitcases had straps to tie them together for wheeling, so he started working on that. “Didn’t you tell her there’s a washer and dryer at the B&B?” he joked.

  She rolled her eyes. “You think this is a lot of clothes? You should see the walk-in closet in her apartment. It’s like a whole freaking floor of Neiman Marcus. I wanted to move in.”

  “She must be doing great at that marketing firm then.”

  “I get the impression she’s something of a star,” Morgan said, slinging the garment bag over her shoulder.

  “Couldn’t happen to a nicer person.”

  Morgan nodded, going kind of solemn again. “She’s worked hard for her success. And you know how much she’s already had to overcome in life.”

  Holly had lost both her parents and her husband, Drew Tyler, an army helicopter pilot. Drew had been killed along with a group of SEALs and Rangers when a Taliban RPG took out his chopper’s tail rotor late in the Afghanistan war. That tragedy had hit Ryan hard too. He’d grieved both for Holly and for the family of a Ranger buddy he’d fought alongside.

  “Yeah, I know,” he said quietly. He realized again how lucky he was to have survived the war, coming home to his family and friends.

  To Morgan.

  “Let’s load up and get home,” she said as she placed the garment bag on Holly’s lap and grasped the handles of the wheelchair. “I think we could probably all use a drink.”

  “A drink will do a better job than crummy pain pills,” Holly said. “Damn the doctor’s orders.”

  “Roger that, ladies.” Ryan tucked the crutches under one arm and hauled the heavy suitcases with the other, leading the pack down the dock to Morgan’s truck.

  An hour and a half later, Morgan was happy to be finally alone with Holly. After wolfing down two of Sabrina’s blueberry-cranberry muffins, Ryan had headed off to paddle over to Long Island to have a beer with a fellow kayak enthusiast. Sabrina had stayed longer to chat before going off to her room for a power nap. Holly was still nursing the last of her double Glenlivet as Morgan put on a pot of coffee.

  “Ryan looks so amazing,” Holly said, parked by the kitchen table. “He’s been ripped and gorgeous forever, but honestly I’ve never seen him look so . . .” She shook her head, as if words failed her. “Happy,” she finally settled on.

  Morgan pulled a pair of mugs out of the cupboard. “It’s because this time he feels like he’s actually a part of this place, not just a visitor to the island. I think it’s made a big difference.”

  Holly slapped a hand to her chest. “Don’t tell me that our international man of mystery actually told you that. He who never speaks a word of emotion?”

  Well, that part hadn’t changed all that much, although he’d allowed Morgan a few peeks into how he felt about life.

  “It’s more just a feeling I get,” she said vaguely. “And he’s been so great around here. So committed. Not just with the repairs either. Like I said, it was Ryan’s idea to offer deep-discount deals for the rest of the summer.” She scrunched up her nose at her friend. “Which I’m sure you would have told me if I’d thought to ask, you being a marketing guru and all.”

  “Maybe I could have come up with something like that. I just wish I’d known more about how rough things were here at the B&B before yesterday,” Holly said.

  “I know I should have been more forthcoming,” Morgan admitted.

  Holly tilted her head, her auburn hair falling in perfect waves around her shoulders. “But you’re obviously getting more optimistic now.”

  “What choice do I have?” Morgan said in a light tone. “The damn thing refuses to die and let me get back to my real life.”

  “You’ll figure it out,” Holly said, smiling. “You always do. Nothing ever stops you.”

  “Yeah, well, better keep your fingers and toes crossed. Sabrina’s counting on me, and I’m feeling the weight a little more every day.” Morgan poured the coffee and brought the mugs over to the table before going back to fetch cream and spoons.

  “Returning for a moment to the subject of your hottie handyman,” Holly said, “I’ll tell you something else that hasn’t changed—the way the dude has looked at you ever since the festival social last summer. And from what I saw in his eyes from the moment he caught a glimpse of you pushing me off the boat, he still wants to do you, girlfriend. Like, big-time.”

  “I guess you’re feeling better, since the interrogation is now commencing,” Morgan said drily.

  Holly laughed. “You bet. Am I to assume that nothing’s happened yet on that score? You’re not keeping secrets, are you?”

  “Oh, he’s made a couple of moves,” she said, trying to sound casual. “But I made it clear that I wasn’t summer-fling material. You know that’s not me.”

  “It must have been tempting though. He’s so freaking sexy. Hard not to get a little hormonal when he’s around.”

  No kidding. “Ryan’s always been a great guy.” Morgan exhaled a sigh. “But he’s a soldier, Holly. You and I feel the same way about getting involved with a guy like that.”

  Holly had made it crystal clear on more than one occasion that, if she ever married again, it couldn’t be to a man who carried a gun for a living.

  Her friend’s smile faded, and she looked thoughtful. “Are you sure Ryan’s committed to that kind of life? He did leave the army after all. Maybe the next step will be to get completely out of dangerous jobs.”

  “He told me it’s all he knows how to do. I can’t just hold my breath waiting for the possibility that he might give it up. Anyway, all that’s academic. If Ryan wants anything from me other than our friendship, it’s some sex for the summer. That’s it.”

  “Well, a lot of women would be more than happy to take Ryan on any terms,” Holly said. “But if sleeping with him isn’t right for you, I’m sure he fully respects that.”

  “He does. But it doesn’t mean it isn’t crazy hard being around him every day, looking but not touching. I tell myself at least twice a day that I’m certifiably insane not to take advantage of what’s clearly there.” Morgan paused a moment, thinking. “And it’s not just a physical thing for me. I’m finally feeling like I know Ryan, and I like what I’m learning. A lot.”

  “Except for the soldier slash mercenary part, huh?”

  Before Morgan could say yes, a loud knock sounded on the front door. She got up and hurried down the hallway to see Micah waiting on the other side of the screen door.

  She opened it, smiling up at the six-foot-four deputy sheriff. “What brings you to my humble establishment, Deputy? Am I flouting some municipal bylaw? Or are you looking for Ryan? He’s over on Long Island, meeting a buddy.”

  As if I didn’t know exactly what brought you here today, my friend.

  Micah pushed his sunglasses up onto the top of his head. “Actually, I just heard that Holly was going to be here for a while to recuperate. I wanted to drop over and let her know that I’ll be happy to help with anything she needs.”

  “That’s nice,” Morgan said, backing out of the way so he could get his brawny self inside. “She’s very tired though.”

  “I only planned to stay a minute anyway. Got a ton of paperwork to take care of back at the station,” he said with a sardonic smile.

  “One can only imagine,” Morgan said, playing along. “Criminals are proliferating on this island at an appalling rate.”

  “I’ll say. Can you believe Boone Cleary’s oldest boy tagged the side of the fire hall last night?”

  “Oh, no,” Morgan said, clapping a hand to her cheek. “Graffiti in Seashell Bay? You’d better stomp on that before everything goes to hell in a handbasket around here.”

  Actually, the only crime on the
island was an occasional drunk and disorderly charge, usually involving some visitor from the mainland. Once in a blue moon, one of the locals teetered on the edge of more serious trouble, but Morgan knew Micah always did his best to pull whoever was screwing up back from the brink.

  Micah laughed. “Don’t worry. I had him down there all day scrubbing it off. And after the lecture Boone gave him, I almost felt sorry for the kid.”

  “Is that Deputy Lancaster I hear giving you a hard time?” Holly shouted from the kitchen. “Tell him to get his sorry ass over here and say hi to me.”

  Something seemed to spark in Micah’s dark gaze when he heard Holly’s voice. Morgan had to smother a grin.

  “None other.” Morgan led him to the kitchen, where Micah got down on one knee beside Holly’s wheelchair, wrapping his muscular, tanned arms around her for a squeeze. Her willowy figure was practically swallowed up in his embrace.

  “I’m sorry about your foot, Holly. What rotten luck.” He got back on his feet and gazed down at her. “But you look fantastic, as always. And happy. Those pain meds must be something good.”

  Holly gave him the beautiful, sweet smile that was the envy of every girl on the island, especially since it attracted men like flies to honey.

  “You are such a smart-ass, Deputy Lancaster,” Holly said.

  He snorted. “Yeah, that’s me. Always kidding around.”

  If there was anyone on the island who wasn’t a kidder, it was Micah, and everyone knew it too. He was a total good guy, but he took life very seriously.

  “Coffee, Micah?” Morgan asked.

  “I’d better not, thanks. I’m sure you two have a lot to talk about and didn’t need me barging in here.” He focused his dark, intent gaze on Holly. “Holly, I just wanted to let you know that if there’s anything you need—anything at all that I can do to help out—you just have to call.”

  Morgan had an idea of something practical Micah might do to help but wasn’t sure she should be dredging up ways for him to spend more time with Holly. Still, when she looked at the obvious sincerity in his eyes, she couldn’t hold back. “I can think of one way you could help, Micah.”

  “Name it.”

  “She won’t be able to get around on crutches very well, so I intend to take her for some walks in her wheelchair. I could use a hand with that if you have some time.”

  “Hold on,” Holly said, shaking her head at Morgan. “I don’t want you struggling to push me up the hills around here. You could lose your grip.” Her chocolate-brown eyes took on a mischievous glint. “And I’d go barreling out of control down the hill and fly right into the bay.”

  “Oh, like I’d ever let that happen,” Morgan said indignantly.

  Micah waved a hand to cut them off. “Say no more. It’ll be my pleasure to take you for some walks, Holly.”

  Holly smiled. “That’s settled, then.”

  “How about tomorrow afternoon?” Micah said.

  Holly blinked, looking a little startled. “Um, okay, if you’re off duty then.”

  “I’m not, but I’m not chained to my cruiser.” He tapped the small radio unit attached to his shoulder.

  “So, Ryan’s over on Long?” he asked.

  “Kayaked over. Dude must be aiming for the Olympic team,” Morgan said.

  Micah shook his head. “Man, he really loves that little thing, doesn’t he? I can’t see the attraction myself. I’ll take my big powerboat any day.”

  “Ryan says paddling keeps him in shape both physically and mentally,” Morgan said. “I get what he means too. He’s been giving me a few lessons, and I love it.”

  And looking at his gorgeous, half-naked self isn’t too hard to take either.

  Unfortunately, she wouldn’t be enjoying that particular benefit for much longer.

  Chapter 16

  Ryan stared at the ceiling, cursing the fact that he couldn’t sleep despite the long paddle this afternoon. After dinner with the ladies, he’d also gone for a walk along the beach to stretch his muscles before heading upstairs to his room to read until he dozed off.

  That had been more than three hours ago, and his mind continued to twist and roll like a giant roller coaster. It was almost August, and Labor Day wouldn’t be long in coming. Decisions would have to be made soon enough—decisions keeping him awake tonight.

  Like, what the hell was he going to do with the rest of his life?

  At nearly two in the morning, the big old house rested silently about him. The only sound Ryan heard was the faint, rhythmic hiss of the ocean waves as they broke on the beach below the inn and slapped against the pilings of the dock. The noise should have propelled him toward sleep, but so far it hadn’t. Frustrated, Ryan threw off the light quilt and slid out of bed. He’d slip downstairs, grab a glass of ice water, then come back and read some more in the cushioned rocking chair. Maybe that would finally do the trick.

  He didn’t bother to put anything on over his T-shirt and boxers. No one was up now because he’d have heard—the walls of the old house could barely stop a whisper. As he opened his door, he looked at Morgan’s directly across the hall. She’d moved into that room so Holly could have her bedroom in the annex.

  And yeah, he’d already fantasized about softly opening Morgan’s door and slipping into bed with her.

  He suspected that was one of the things keeping him up tonight—pretty much literally—as thoughts of her took over his imagination. What would she be wearing? Flannel pajamas? A camisole and little lace panties, or an oversized T-shirt? Even in PJs, she’d be sexy as hell. He’d love to strip her naked before kissing every inch of her soft, golden skin and taking it from there. The fact that they’d have to do it all in silence would make it even more interesting.

  He turned down the hallway toward the stairs, moving carefully to avoid making any more noise than necessary on the creaky pine floorboards. When he grabbed the newel post to swing down onto the staircase, it hit him, stopping him dead.

  Smoke.

  Was it coming from outside? There were occasional tree fires on undeveloped parts of Seashell Bay. Not that a blaze in one of the island’s forested areas was welcome, but they rarely caused damage to homes or property. He hoped to God that was the origin of the odor.

  He glanced toward the window at the end of the hallway. The casement was open a couple of inches. Maybe he could smell it from there.

  He swung around, all his senses on full alert. He didn’t get far down the hallway before it became sickeningly clear that the smell was not outside. It was above him and was growing stronger. Stopping under the attic hatch, Ryan stretched up with his right arm to see if the wood was warm to the touch. Before his hand reached the surface, he saw smoke starting to squeeze through the gaps around the door.

  Fuck. Fire in the attic.

  His gut twisted at the thought of all the old wiring in the house, wiring he’d known needed to be replaced.

  The hallway smoke detector should be going off in seconds. Wisps of smoke were already filtering toward it along the ceiling. His instinct was to yank down the hatch and climb up the ladder to take a look, thinking the fire might still be containable.

  When he gingerly touched the hatch door, it was already hot. And now smoke had started to seep out in a steady stream. He was pretty sure there was no time to run down to the kitchen and race back up with the fire extinguisher. By the time he got up into the attic, smoke could be thick enough to kill people, and he couldn’t take that risk—and sure as hell not one in a wood-frame building where ten people were sleeping. The fact that there was a young woman on crutches and an elderly guest who wobbled with practically every step made any risk taking out of the question.

  The alarm started to beep.

  Get moving!

  “Fire! Fire! Everybody up and out!” Ryan yelled as he started to pound on the doors of the rooms that were occupied by guests. He gave each door a couple of sharp knocks before he reached Morgan’s at the end of the hallway. He hammered once and threw i
t open. “There’s a fire in the attic and a lot of smoke already up here. We’ve got to get everybody out right now.”

  Morgan, looking disoriented, was feeling around for her robe on the bed. “A fire? In the attic?”

  “Let’s go!” he barked.

  She rolled out of bed and shoved her feet into a pair of Crocs, in the process answering Ryan’s earlier question. She’d been sleeping in a pink sleeveless T-shirt and lacy white panties that were not much more than a scrap of fabric.

  Ryan tore his eyes away. “Can you take care of the guests? I’m going down to get Holly and Sabrina. I’ll come back up as soon as Holly’s safe.”

  “I’ve got it, Ryan. Go!” she ordered as she flung her robe on. He could tell she was scared as hell, but he didn’t have time to reassure her.

  In the hallway, the smoke was already heavy near the ceiling and sinking fast.

  Morgan rushed out and called after him. “Don’t worry about Sabrina—she can take care of herself.” She was punching numbers into her phone. “I’ll call 911, and I’ll make sure everybody up here gets outside.”

  Ryan was relieved to see she’d pulled herself together so fast. He turned and raced for the stairs. A couple of guests had now poked their heads out their doors. “Please get downstairs and outside now,” he shouted at them. “Don’t dress or try to gather up belongings. There’s no time.”

  “Don’t you have a damn fire extinguisher?” Frank Bairstow growled from the door of the room next to Ryan’s. “Get me one, and I’ll go up there and douse the damn thing!”

  “Frank, the fire department is on the way,” Morgan yelled. “Please, everyone, head downstairs as fast as you can, and stay well away from the building.”

  Ryan hesitated at the top of the stairs. He wanted to get down to Holly fast, but would Morgan be able to handle the belligerent old guy who apparently figured he could take care of the fire single-handedly?