Turnagain Love (Sisters of Spirit #1)

by Nancy Radke

  Her New England accent and pinned up hair made her a carbon copy of the New York socialite who had married an associate of his. It hadn’t lasted, of course, Tony was as much of an outdoors man as he was. In less than two years Tony’s “helpless” wife had filed for divorce, taking all of Tony’s assets before running home to mama.

  Shifting his weight, he looked at her as if she were a space alien. “So then, how did you get here?”

  Jennel resented his question. He didn’t own this place, so what made him so suspicious? She certainly hadn’t dropped from the sky.

  “I hired Mr. Brekley to ferry me across from Friday Harbor, and now I’m stuck. No phone, no nothing. I need to get in touch with him.” She brushed back the few hairs that had come loose from her braid and now drifted irritatingly across her face.

  The tall stranger rumpled his short hair. His voice stressed both wonder and disbelief. “Clyde left you here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Odd. He knew what it was like. He knew no one but me was coming.” Pausing he glanced at her and her supplies again, then demanded, “Didn’t he say anything?”

  “No,” she replied, now equally puzzled. Clyde Brekley had helped unload her gear and hurriedly taken off, barely pausing to say goodbye. He hadn’t said one word about the old house or warned her about the shape it was in...even after she told him her plans to live in it while fixing it up.

  If he knew the conditions here, and let her go in, not warned and unprepared, maybe he wasn’t the one to help her after all. If nothing else, he had a warped sense of humor that couldn’t be counted on. Plus, if he knew this man was coming, he should have said something.

  “That’s funny. That’s not like Clyde at all.” The man looked down at the new deck, shaking his head as if totally mystified. “Are you sure...?”

  “Of course I’m sure.”

  “It wasn’t someone else?”

  “It better not have been. I wrote the check out in his name.”

  “This is really strange. I passed Clyde on the way here; even talked to him on the radio. He didn’t mention you.”

  “He didn’t?”

  “No.”

  By now she was as puzzled as he. “He didn’t mention you, either. Who are you?” she demanded.

  His hair, the color of dark walnut, was somewhat rumpled by the breeze, but it only added to his attraction. He answered with a proud lift to the carriage of his head. “Zachery Waylan.”

  He said his name as if it might mean something. Maybe he was well known on the West Coast, but she had never heard of him.

  “Who are you?” Gruffly, he threw the question back at her.

  “Jennel Foster.” Even to her own ears, she realized she had said her name as proudly as he had his. She didn’t think she’d done it intentionally, but...

  The salty breeze was getting stronger, further ruffling Zachery Waylan’s hair; while Jennel was getting colder, hungrier and more than a little tired. “Could you give me a lift back?” she asked.

  “Sure,” he agreed, adding with a bland smile, “But it’s too late to go anywhere tonight. No one travels these waters in the dark. Too many rocks just below the surface. Even with charts and radar, it’s risky.”

  “I understand.”

  “I could take you off...tomorrow?” His eyebrow flicked up as he spoke, making the sentence into a question.

  “Thank you,” she said, wary of the implied meaning. “Tomorrow will be fine.” He nodded, yet his eyes still lingered on her, making her body grow warm against the chilling air. Had she misread him at first? Was he dangerous? Or would he allow her to keep her distance...if she wanted to?

  There was a dynamic, far-seeing vision to his eyes, a hint of high intellect in his broad forehead. A man going places. He acted as if he knew it.

  Confusion romped its way though her. She didn’t plan to spend the night with him, even if his darkly lit eyes and mobile mouth were inviting...and made her want to search out the fiber of this man and get to know him better. She found herself wanting to know him better and quickly clamped a lid on her feelings.

  The cruiser was lovely; it was large enough to sleep six, but she would stay in the old house. Sleeping on a boat with another person was too intimate, amid the cozy atmosphere created by a boat’s close quarters. She would be wise to forego its comforts.

  Jennel half-smiled at the argument taking place within her mind. Amorous advances she had handled before, although usually she did not have to argue with herself about it.

  In contact again with another human, she felt more in control. Jennel hadn’t been a sheltered child, but she had always lived in an urban setting. The island’s emptiness had shaken her. That was all.

  She still had a job to do. Now she had the means to do it. If she could get water and propane from Zachery, she wouldn’t have to leave. She could ask Clyde to bring her a radio or cell phone along with a list of potential carpenters, or she could rent a boat. Then she wouldn’t have to depend upon the not-so-dependable Mr. Brekley. In addition, she wouldn’t feel so isolated.

  “You came well-equipped,” Zachery observed with a questioning uplift of his thick brows; but before she could answer, she felt his hazel eyes swept down her long legs to her ankles.

  “Yes.” She wanted to believe he was referring to her supplies. But, in his eyes she saw the look of aroused male interest and again felt her heartbeat quicken in response. He was near enough she could smell a hint of after-shave, adding its spice to the scent of the pines, the wind, and the salty spray. Altogether, an exciting combination.

  “A man wouldn’t go hungry,” he commented, his amused tone implying he had registered her reaction.

  She refused to see any double meaning and replied, “Quite right. But I didn’t bring any water.”

  “I did. Lots of these islands don’t have water. This one does.”

  “It does? Where?” He ignored her astonished question.

  “This is private property here, you know. The whole island; even if it does look abandoned right now.”

  “Oh, I know,” she was quick to assure him. If she hadn’t known before she came, the “No Trespassing” signs decorating the dock would have told her. “It’s all right. I have a key to the house and—”

  “A key?” he thundered, rounding on her so sharply she took a hasty step backwards. “Where did you get...? Why the stranded sailor routine?”

  “I was stranded. I couldn’t get off or get any messages out,” she snapped. He sounded just like her father, dressing her down like a lowly seaman. Then remembering that she was begging help from him, she added a little more graciously, “I’m awfully glad you spotted my signal.”

  Zachery glanced around at the upper dock with its untidy pile of boxes and torn wrappers; frowned, and then stunned her by asking, “What signal?”

  “Why, the one over there...on the shore.” Jennel pointed at the tiny bundles.

  “Oh, that?” Blinking, he peered through the dusk at the three circles of white, now barely visible, and shook his head. “I didn’t see that; the dock was in the way.”

  Icy strands of doubt again wove their tenuous way through Jennel’s body, shortening her breath and stiffening her backbone. She could feel the prickling tightness around the tiny hairs at the back of her neck, the gathering tension in her abdomen.

  If he hadn’t seen her signal, then what was he doing here?

  Chapter Two

  “Where are you from, Mrs. Fostah?”

  “Foster. With an “r.” And it’s ‘Miss!’” She paused, intrigued at how slickly he had elicited her marital status. He wore a watch but no ring, same as she.

  Married or not? A lot of married men didn’t wear a ring. How did a woman tell unless she asked, outright—like Clyde had asked her? “I’m from Boston. Why?”

  “That explains the accent,” he commented dryly, a slight grin tilting up a corner of his lips.

  “I don’t have an accent. You do.” Yet even as she said the wor
ds, Jennel regretted them. She was mentally as well as physically exhausted from her long journey to this small island in the San Juans, but that was no excuse for being rude.

  He shrugged, unperturbed. “All what you’re used to. What’re you doing here?”

  “Looking over the house. What about you?”

  “This trip? Laying the telephone and power cables.” Her apprehension lifted immediately at the information. This sharp-looking man was here to help her, not do her harm.

  The name of his boat was the Cheryl C. Sudden inspiration hit her, and she remarked, “Cheryl. That’s a pretty name. Your wife’s?”

  “No. My mother’s. I’m not married, either.” He smiled as he said it, his half- closed eyes telling her he had given the information deliberately.

  She smiled back, experiencing a sudden happiness, plus a sharpening of interest in this attractive stranger. Now that she knew equal personal information about him, they could continue where it was dry. A few drops of rain had given the strong March sea breeze an even sharper bite.

  Standing in the rain made no sense, with her freezing while he stayed snug and warm in his windbreaker and heavy sweater. Turning toward the house, she offered him some information as she started up the ramp. “I’m staying here for a few months to—”

  “A few months? That’s impossible!” he exploded, immediately stopping her by his reaction. His eyes narrowed in anger as he viewed her down his long straight nose; but before he could demand an explanation, she spoke quickly and decisively, cutting him short as she rubbed her cold hands together vigorously.

  “I’m ‘legit.’ I have a key and permission...” She interrupted herself with a violent shiver as she saw his face harden with resolve...and with something else that made her feel the cold even more. He did not look like a man who had much tolerance for anyone who got in his way.

  His touch of arrogance, even though more felt than seen, was enough to stiffen her resistance. It was the same determined hardness her father showed whenever she had balked at his orders, and she was not about to give in and answer Zachery Waylan’s suspicious questions until she reached a more comfortable place to talk.

  She was in the right. She was the one who had priority claim here.

  “We can talk later,” she announced decisively. “Right now I’m freezing. I’m going to get my things inside before they’re soaked.”

  Jennel stalked up the ramp before he could demand more explanations, realizing with the first step that she hadn’t done herself any good on the barnacle-covered rocks. Her feet were not only cold; they hurt!

  Grabbing her largest box, she carried it up the steep trail to the house. Her rescuer followed, picking up three of the remaining four, carrying them without apparent effort.

  Jennel grimaced to herself. Zack possessed strong arms and powerful legs and an inward certainty of his own ability—a masculine combination that attracted her physically and emotionally. Even when she didn’t want attention, her unspoken interest somehow subtly encouraged his type to pursue her further. It looked as if it was about to happen again, and Jennel didn’t need that complication right now.

  She had dated several men who were ruggedly virile. It had always ended in a fight for her survival as an individual and her escape from their overly protective personalities.

  Zachery looked as if he fit the mold perfectly. All commands and orders. No give and take. Just like her father. It had been a struggle to break away from his strict dictates. She had done it while he was at home, not taking the coward’s way out and waiting until he was off at sea.

  Once free, she had not dared to tell him about her financial troubles, avoiding his help; for in accepting it, she’d have to give up her dearly-won freedom...which included the freedom to fail, as well as to succeed.

  She could hear Zack’s footsteps behind her, confident and steady, as he climbed the steep path. She wouldn’t ask for his help either. She wasn’t about to give him any hold over her.

  He possessed an aura of self-assurance that almost every successful man carried about him—a man of leadership and vision; used to making decisions. Such men liked strong lines, thick carpets and lots of wood. She could design a room for them blindfolded.

  “What happened here?” he asked, when she stopped at her luggage to get her coat. Her bags lay open, clothes scattered every which way, for in her haste to get a signal made, she’d not taken the time to re-fold them.

  “Nothing.” It was none of his business.

  “But it looks like someone ransacked your things.”

  “I did. I used white clothes for my signal,” she explained, embarrassed, as she searched through the box for her flashlight. The new batteries gave a bright light as she flicked it on.

  “I still don’t see what the flap was,” he said, using the amazed tone men use when a woman has just done what to them seems illogical. “All you had to do was start the generator. And the canoe in the basement is in good condition. As long as you had a key, you were in fine shape.”

  Jennel stopped gathering her clothes to stare at him. Canoe? Generator?

  “I’ll go start it up,” he announced, casually plucking the flashlight from her chilled fingers. “It’s around back in a little shed. There’s plenty of fuel. Are you a...a relative of the Van Chattans?” The last sentence was thrown back in after-thought as he rounded the corner of the house.

  “No!”

  Why hadn’t she thought to look around more thoroughly? No wonder she had puzzled him; jumping up and down and hollering for help when she hadn’t needed it. For that matter, why hadn’t Clyde mentioned a generator and a canoe?

  She sat back on her heels, breathing deeply of the moist, pine-scented air. Of all the tough luck; the first halfway interesting man to come her way in two months and she’d acted like a complete fool.

  Her sense of the ridiculous sprang alive and she chuckled at the image she must have created; dancing on the dock. A great first impression...the stranded maiden who wasn’t stranded! Although, she still needed water and propane. Those were essential.

  She should have gone with him to see where the generator was and learned how to start it.

  Who was he, this tall, capable man who swept through difficulties as if they didn’t exist? They probably didn’t—for him. He was good-looking in a rugged sort of way; the adventurous type who would accept a challenge just for the joy of overcoming it...especially when that challenge was a woman.

  He knew his way around this place, which meant he wasn’t a stranger here. Maybe he had checked the place out after agreeing to lay the utilities. By the way he talked, Mrs. Van Chattan hadn’t sent him, for that lady would surely have mentioned him.

  It was dry, but dark under the Douglas firs. Jennel had to re-pack her bags by feel. Her heart did a momentary skip when she heard a loud rustling in the bushes; then, recalling the raccoons, she yelled “Shoo!”

  Instead the rustling charged closer and a cold nose poked into her face. Just in time, she remembered the big Newfoundland and squelched the beginning of her scream into an unladylike squawk. Muttering abuse at herself, she gave the animal a friendly pat on its back as it flopped down beside her. Actually, his presence was welcome, helping her to relax. With this huge dog around, who would be afraid of the dark?

  Lights began to show as Zachery walked through the house, then the veranda was lit up with a bare bulb that revealed three small items of lacy lingerie she had over- looked.

  Quickly she threw them in, closed her bags and carried the smaller two over the slippery boards and into the house. Putting them down just past the door, she turned to retrieve the large duffel bag stuffed full of work clothes.

  Zachery had held the door open and now handed the flashlight back with a satisfied smile. “Here y’go. This floor’s filthy. You ought to put your shoes on.”

  “They’re on the beach,” she said, taking time to stretch her tired muscles. “I took them off so as not to damage them.”

  “Do
n’t forget and leave them there. Tide’ll get ’em,” he remarked offhandedly, walking away to flick on the kitchen lights.

  The tide? Oh no! With her vivid imagination leaping to the fore, Jennel lunged out the door, traversed the slimy boards in one long skid and jumped off the edge. Zachery yelled something after her but she paid no attention as she hurried down the steep trail as fast as her flashlight would let her.

  Of all the...! He was the most nonchalant person she’d ever run across. Telling her something so vitally important in a tone usually reserved for giving the time of day.

  She’d hunted all over New York for those shoes; they’d cost twice as much as what she usually paid, but were a perfect match for her suit. She wasn’t going to lose them to any tide.

  The flashlight kept her from killing her- self on the ridge of rocks, but it was hard on her feet again. She should’ve paused at the house long enough to dig her old tennis shoes out of the bottom of her duffel bag. The urgency of her mission kept her going and she picked her way recklessly over the rough terrain to her things.

  When she reached them, she stopped in disgust. The tide wasn’t coming in and the rain had stopped—so there was no cause to hurry. Muttering an exclamation of annoyance, Jennel gathered up her sandy clothes and her lovely wine-red shoes and hobbled back across the rocks, this time using her bobbing light to search out the best path.

  Away from the trees there remained enough twilight to make out Zachery, standing on the dock, totally at ease, viewing her halting progress with fascinated curiosity.

  “You kind of tend to stampede, don’t you?” he remarked, his deep voice carrying easily to her. “If you’d waited even a second, I’d have told you...the tide isn’t due to change for another hour.” He wasn’t actually laughing at her, but his expressive voice contained a thread of puzzled amusement that couldn’t be hidden.

  An hour? Was that what he had yelled at her as she ran out the door? Again she had acted impulsively. When would she ever learn?

  Clenching her teeth, she limped forward, trying to pick her way through the scattered rocks. The ridge was just ahead.