Turnagain Love (Sisters of Spirit #1)

by Nancy Radke

  Either way—whether Mr. Van Chattan approved or disapproved—she was off the island. And she didn’t want to go. Aside from Zack being such a bear at times, the place was delightful. Sadly she went down to the boat and put her things away.

  Brutus was tied up, his pleading eyes following her movements, his low whine begging her to set him free. Zack had probably secured him so he wouldn’t get hit by the tree. After what had just happened, he probably wished she was on a short leash, too!

  “Nice, Brutus. It might be all right to let you go now, but if I make any more bonehead errors, your master will throw me in the water and hold me under.” The thought made her smile as she petted the friendly animal, which was as large as she. All Zack needed was time to recover. During the next few days, if she could manage to stay, there must not be any more accidents. Extra care. Extra alertness. He’d soon forget the near tragedy of today. Hopefully! Gathering up clean clothes and shampoo, she hurried back to the house. The saw was still buzzing away like an angry hornet when she went inside. Jennel hummed as she showered.

  Leaving her hair loose to dry, she started dinner. Although she hadn’t known about cast iron pans, she did know how to turn simple ingredients into a feast, if she so desired.

  If her drawings didn’t impress him, maybe her cooking would.

  Forty minutes later, with a stew cooking, Jennel searched for another rag to wash off the table. She had used hers on the stove and it was now beyond salvaging. Remembering that Zack had one on the boat, she strolled down to get it.

  Brutus thumped his tail hopefully, his dark velvet eyes mournful, but again she refused to free him.

  “I’m not doing anything to get me into any more hot water with your master,” she said, stroking the dog’s massive head and gently scratching behind his ears. “I’ve already blotted my copybook as far as he’s concerned.”

  The trouble was, her admiration for Zack was growing steadily while his opinion of her had to be quickly disintegrating. He probably felt she was as irresponsible as a school child. He had said she was the most idiotic woman he’d ever met. That wasn’t exactly a compliment one worked hard to get.

  She was enjoying her stay on his boat, playing chess with him, even arguing with him, since he listened as he argued, using logic rather than emotion. Her mother argued emotionally; no one could win with her because she could only see one side— her own.

  Zack stayed rational, even when he was shouting at her. Also, he cooled off quickly; much faster than her father ever had. Zack was stubborn, but then so was she, so she didn’t fault him for it. He was a top-notch architect, very resourceful, with a rugged efficiency that served them well out here.

  And a very, very attractive man.

  She stopped petting Brutus and sighed. Zack was attractive, even when he was yelling at her. All worked up, furiously angry or frustrated, nothing detracted from the power of his personality.

  The attraction was even more pronounced when he was being considerate of her needs—pointing out the workings of the boat’s head, bandaging her feet, playing chess, or removing the worst of the debris from her hair.

  Her hair. She threaded her fingers into its dark mass. He seemed fascinated with its long coil; both mornings watching her in silence as she braided it around her head. Did it bother him? Most men liked long hair but there were a few who didn’t. It’d be just her luck to fall for a man who preferred short blonde hair. It was a good thing she wasn’t falling for Zack.

  She wasn’t, was she? Was she?

  Watch it, girl. He can’t stand you. And you know you can’t stand the bossy type.

  Grimly, she clamped down on her wayward emotions, strictly adjuring her heart to stay aloof. Had her warning come too late? There was nothing she could do if that had happened except try to keep from getting further involved. Picking up a washcloth, her flashlight and jacket, she walked back.

  The saw was silent. Had he finished already? There had been a lot of tree there. Pushing open the door, she stepped inside, humming happily to herself as she envisioned a pleasant evening with him. Just the two of them—together. It would be a good time to get to know more about him.

  Zack stood at the sink with the water running, his big frame bent over almost double, his pants leg dark and wet.

  She frowned, puzzled, at the sight. He was in such an awkward position. Why? Her stomach felt sick at the sight of the dotted trail of fresh blood across the floor. Zack’s blood.

  Chapter Eight

  Blood on the kitchen floor!

  “What happened?” Jennel plunged forward, stomach churning, a fearful dread scything through her muscles, weakening her legs.

  “It’s okay! Okay! It’s not as bad as it looks.” His voice remained steady, reassuring, offsetting his strained features.

  Whatever he claimed, it looked horrible--his right pants’ leg appeared soaked from the knee down, the material torn and ragged.

  Her head whirling, Jennel stopped to steady herself. The thought of Zack getting hurt upset her a lot more than had the falling tree.

  Her heart was tripping over itself, the beat so rapid and hard she could almost feel it outside her blouse. “You’d better take those off so we can see how bad it is.”

  For once he did as she asked, unbuckling his belt to slip his jeans over the gash. Grabbing a chair, she thrust it behind him and he sat down. He explained what happened as he extended his leg carefully before him. “Someone had driven a spike into the tree. When I hit it with the saw, it bounced sideways and nicked me.”

  The jagged gash cut at an angle, above and across the kneecap. If it had gone any deeper...! Resolutely she took a deep breath to make the room stop swaying. It wouldn’t help him any if she passed out.

  The sight of blood had never bothered her, except for one time when her mother had cut her hand with a sharp knife. Why Zack’s injury should be so upsetting, she didn’t consider in depth, but the thought of how close he’d come to losing his leg horrified her.

  He glanced at the small bundle she unconsciously clutched to her breast. “What’s that?”

  She had forgotten about it. Blinking back tears, she looked down at her coat and flashlight and... “A clean dishtowel and a rag to wash the table.”

  “Perfect. Tear off a section of that towel—”

  “But...shouldn’t we put some antiseptic on first?”

  “Later. There’s some in the first aid box in the boat.”

  “That black stuff you used on me?”

  “Right. We’ll clean this up and eat. That stew smells good, and I’m hungry.” His voice was calm, the volume strong and steady. Actually, he’d been a lot more shook up after he’d just missed dropping the tree on her.

  The blood wasn’t flowing very fast, but enough was still seeping out of the wide gash to put her off food.

  This time she was the one who had boiled a pan of water to make coffee. In a repeat of their first night, the water was used to bathe his knee with a torn piece of towel.

  “Scrub harder. It’s dirty,” Zack said.

  Jennel tried, but couldn’t make herself scrub hard enough, so he did it himself while she set the table and put on the stew.

  The towel made an effective—if bulky—bandage. “Will you need stitches?” she asked, holding the towel while he secured it with a piece of duct tape.

  “Maybe. It’s not a deep cut, but the teeth took out such wide strips of skin, it’s going to be hard to heal.”

  A sickening vision rose before her, and she regretted her ability to have full visual recall combined with a vivid imagination. “Why weren’t you more careful? If it had cut any deeper—”

  “Or if the chain had been running at full speed,” he added, nodding his head. “It was slowing down when it hit me. The instant I hit the spike I took my finger off the switch.”

  Again she shuddered and had to steady herself. “Why are you cutting the trees down? Why don’t you hire a qualified tree remover?”

  “I’ve cut
down lots of trees.”

  “But you’re an architect.”

  “My dad’s a lumberjack. He taught me.”

  “I see.”

  “I enjoy making them fall just where I want.”

  “But it’s so dangerous!” she protested.

  “So is driving down the freeway. Now stop nagging. I can’t stand a nagging woman.” Firming his lips, he folded his arms across his chest.

  Nagging! That wasn’t what she was doing. Why couldn’t men accept common- sense suggestions from women? Especially when it was for their own good.

  “You would’ve been here all alone, cutting those trees, if I wasn’t here,” she said.

  “Safer for you.”

  “Not for you.”

  “For my peace of mind,” he countered.

  “You shouldn’t cut trees without someone around.”

  “You sound like my mom.”

  “She’s right, you know. Tree cutting is dangerous.”

  “I know. I know.” He sounded exasperated, and she changed the subject.

  “What do people do if they have an emergency way out here?”

  He shrugged. “Radio for help. If nothing else there’ll be an emergency unit at the Whidbey Naval Station—they’d send a helicopter.”

  “I see.”

  “I’ll check it out and inform the Van Chattans.”

  “That might be a good idea.”

  “With you around, I’d better,” he mumbled, more of an aside to himself than a conscious statement to her; but she heard it plainly and took offense.

  “What kind of remark is that?” she demanded, ultra-sensitive to any hint of criticism from him.

  He looked up, dropping his hands into his lap. “A true one. You’ve been nothing but trouble since you arrived. I don’t believe in jinxes, but lady, you sure could make me—easily!” He tried to pull his jeans back on, but the towel was too bulky. The one side stopped at his hips. He tugged futilely at it. “Even this!”

  Of all the unreasonable... “Don’t blame that on me!”

  “Well...no.” He conceded her point, but still looked upset.

  “We aren’t expecting company, you can leave your pants down while you eat. Your boxer shorts are quite presentable.”

  “Oh, sure!” He frowned down at his bare legs, plainly ill at ease in his half- dressed state. “I enjoy coming to the table like this.”

  His legs were well-muscled, slightly hairy—not bow-legged or skinny. Nothing wrong with them from Jennel’s viewpoint, and she’d seen lots of legs in her art classes, men and women. “They’re good, sturdy legs.”

  He cocked an eyebrow in acknowledgment. “What if I said that to you?” he asked. “Would you feel any more comfortable?”

  “That’s different!” she yelped.

  “Is it now?” he challenged blandly, but a tiny twinkle in his eyes gave him away. He was enjoying the exchange and wasn’t past saying something to keep it going.

  The eternal difference between male and female was too established a fact for her to argue about. “Yes, it is! I’m not sure how this got started, but if it makes you feel any better, tie my jacket around your waist.” She fetched it from across the room, thrusting it out to him while maintaining her distance. “Here.”

  “Thanks.” He slung the jacket into place like an apron, tied it by its arms and hob- bled over to the table. After emptying the bowl of water, she joined him.

  He was hungry, and their little discussion had helped settle her nausea and arouse her appetite, so both turned their attention to the delicious-smelling food.

  Jennel had prepared enough stew for four, planning to fix leftovers tomorrow, but he cleaned out the pot, along with several slices of bread, making her hastily revise her estimate of how much it took to fill a working man his size.

  “That was excellent,” he praised her, and she responded with a warm smile, then went cool as he spoiled it by dryly adding, “I see you can do something right.”

  Her answer was indignant. “I can when I know what I’m doing. Or if someone takes the trouble to warn me first—usually,” she amended, remembering the way she had scrambled his plans.

  Jumping to her feet, she gathered up the few dishes and took them to the sink. “Leave those,” he urged impatiently. “Let’s get back to the boat while there’s plenty of light.”

  “Sure,” she said, surprised, as a pleasant glow again stirred in her. Maybe Zack wasn’t such a “neat freak” after all. Her father would never have left such a mess behind, injury or not.

  Dumping the plates with a clatter, she quickly ran water over them as he started to hobble across the kitchen. Stove off, water off, lights out—she closed the door as they left, remembering just in time to step carefully across the veranda. Zack had thrown some baking soda over the section where they walked, so it wasn’t quite as slick, but the boards were still weak.

  “Bring the saw, will you?” he asked. “I’ll need to re-sharpen the teeth.”

  It was sitting at the head of the trail next to a tree, and she picked it up and carried it awkwardly along, holding it to one side to keep the claw-like teeth from rubbing against her leg.

  As anxious as a mother bird, she hovered closely as he toddled down the steep trail, hampered by his jeans. He had to take extra steps to keep from bending his knee, and extra care stepping from the float up into the boat. He even accepted her help at that point.

  Brutus met them with a whine and a lunge. Without the chain stopping him, he’d have knocked his master flat, and Zack had to balance on the edge of the boat until Jennel shortened the chain by wrapping it around a cleat.

  “Down boy. Good dog!” his master praised him, all the while edging out of the eager animal’s reach and closer to the cabin door. “Let him go after I’m inside, will you?”

  “Of course.”

  The dog kept anticipating his release and strained against the leather collar, making it impossible to unsnap. Jennel struggled for several minutes, wishing Zack had acquired a smaller pet, finally persuading the huge dog to stop squirming long enough to set him free. With a rush he took off, his nose busily investigating all that had taken place since he had last been loose.

  By the time she put the chain saw in a safe place and covered it up, Zack had changed into some wide-legged walking shorts.

  Spots of blood were coming through the towel. “Get out the first aid kit,” Zack said quietly as he sat down, “and we’ll see if we can patch this up.”

  He unwrapped the towel while she brought the kit. The blood was still flowing from the deeper gashes but the wound appeared clean of dirt and wood particles. For the first time, she could look at it without feeling faint or nauseated.

  They tried pulling the skin together with some butterfly bandages but the gashes were too wide. Zack wouldn’t bleed to death, but he would surely heal quicker with stitches. She said so, and he agreed.

  “Turn the radio on. We’ll see if Clyde can make it.” Jennel walked up the steps and flipped the switch, hearing the crackle of static. As she did this, she realized with a sinking feeling that even if they got through to Clyde, the boatman wouldn’t come unless she called.

  What a mess! If she didn’t say anything, Zack’s knee wouldn’t get medical attention. Yet if she did, he would know she’d been keeping Clyde away. How was she going to get out of this without Zack finding out what she’d pulled?

  Jennel fought back the rising feeling of panic within her. What should she do? Talk to Clyde herself, of course. “Tell me the number,” she offered brightly. “I’ll call.”

  “No, I will.” He shook his head, and inwardly she seethed at his uncompromising stubbornness.

  This time she tried adding a touch of gentle concern to her voice. “Let me, then you won’t have to walk—”

  “I don’t have to, anyway.” His voice sharpened in impatience. “Just hand me the mike.” She hesitated, but it was a hand-held, cordless model, so she shrugged in resignation, and carried it down to h
im. So much for that idea.

  Zack called and Clyde answered, his voice sounding amazingly near. After switching to an agreed-upon channel, Zack explained he’d nicked himself slightly with the chain saw and needed some stitches. Could Clyde come get him, take him to the doctor and back?

  “Sure thing. I’ll be up there right away.” Clyde responded.

  “Let me talk to him,” Jennel pleaded as Zack was going to sign off, her face pale and set with worry. If this didn’t work she’d have to admit to everything, and she would lose all she’d gained in way of concessions from him. There was no way to get around it. “Please!”

  He looked puzzled at the intensity of her request, then shrugged indifferently and handed her the microphone. “Make it quick.”

  She spoke rapidly, hoping Clyde—who had seemed reluctant to go along with her “surprise”—wouldn’t spoil her plan by saying the wrong thing.

  “Clyde, this is Jennel Foster. I’m with Zack. Please be sure to hurry. His leg won’t stop bleeding, and it does need medical attention. Thanks. Over and out.” Relief caused her to let out a deep breath— which she hadn’t realized she’d been holding—and the muscles of her face and body relaxed perceptibly.

  “What was that all about?” Zack was naturally puzzled, and she quickly assumed a look of concern.

  “I was afraid he wouldn’t think it was serious. You tend to make light of it, and it looks bad to me.”

  “No need for him to rush,” he scoffed, manfully disdainful of the pain, while pressing a large red square of blood-soaked gauze on the worst area.

  “But the sooner the stitches are put in, the better.”

  “Huh!” Zack looked helplessly around the snug cabin, unable to stand the temporary hampering of his movements. The curtains were open, and the last rays of the sun shone in the side windows with the pure golden aura that came just before sunset. It emblazoned all it touched with a radiant glow—including Jennel. To Zack, she looked as ethereal as an angel.

  His angel. The thought struck Zack from nowhere, and he dismissed it. He’d never seen a black-haired angel with violet-blue eyes. Her hair was hanging loosely at the moment and seemed to have a life of its own, just begging him to feel its silken strands.