by Nancy Radke
“More?”
“Yes, please.” She was eating more than normal, but was probably burning it up in nervous energy. “Just half,” she requested as he tipped the pan. Although hungry, she felt compelled to get back to work on her elevations. She wanted them complete and absolutely perfect to send back to the Van Chattans.
“What’s the name of your company?” he asked, finishing the soup. He sank back against the cushions, his rugged physique resting with a casual fluid movement that reminded Jennel of Brutus. Both moved with a deceptively easy and lazy-looking grace that masked the power within.
“Jennel’s Interiors. Not very original, but the people I’ve done homes for remember me by my first name and recommend me to people that way. It seemed important to maintain that link.”
He nodded agreement. “You’re right. It was too bad you couldn’t have avoided the mess here. Try to check out your next job more carefully.”
“Inside and out!” If she still had a business.
“Upstairs and down,” he added. “I have a lawyer do all that for me. In the building trade, there are so many people who renege on their promises, you have to be protected.”
“I’m finding that out.”
He shoved the few remaining crackers back into the wrapper and folded the end shut, then simply sat and stared at the crinkled paper. “This whole affair’s been a foul-up from the start. I’m sorry I tore into you like I did. I don’t usually go off the deep end like that.”
His unexpected apology threw her, and she stammered, “That’s okay. It upset us both.”
“Me, especially. My professional pride received a sharp blow when you rejected my interiors, and I overreacted. I figured my own designs were near perfect. Then you came along and challenged that.” He grinned ruefully.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Best thing ever happened to me. It still seems impossible that you can whip out ideas in a few hours that make mine look second rate; designs I need days to produce, sweating over them. It’s quite a blow.”
Slightly embarrassed from his praise, she said, “I did it for Mrs. Van Chattan.”
“I know...and so effortlessly too.”
He fiddled intently with the cracker paper, folding and refolding the end. “I was thinking, if you wanted to, we could, uh, you might consider, uh...”
“Yes?” It was the first time Jennel had seen him obviously uncomfortable. She leaned forward, bringing herself closer to him.
He flicked a crumb off the table, then looked around his bowl as if searching for more. “Uh, coming to work for me?”
“What?”
“Designing the interiors on my houses.”
She looked down at him incredulously, and he lifted his eyes, glancing sideways at her, assessing her reaction cautiously before continuing. “You can think about it. You did a super job on this house. I’d like your input on at least three others I’m struggling with.”
Finding her mouth open, she closed it, but still didn’t speak. His totally unexpected about-face had stunned her. Then her heart began a joyous jig, thumping merrily at the prospect. His offer meant she could stay here on the island with Zack. She continued to stare at him, not believing what she’d heard.
He fiddled with the paper. “You’d need to move to Seattle, if that wouldn’t be too much to ask. I guess, uh, you could always commute...just long enough to meet my clients, and uh, then mail your designs out, although I’d rather—”
“Wait a minute,” she pleaded. It was time to get things straight. “You want me to work for you?”
His gaze bore directly into hers now, and his voice firmed. “That’s right. Join my company. I need someone with your talent.”
Finished with her soup, she tapped the spoon against the bowl in time with her racing thoughts. His offer was tempting, extremely tempting. Working for him, she’d get to see him daily, especially if she moved to Seattle after this job. And she would have guaranteed work, no clients skipping out on her. It meant security. It meant a chance to penetrate his reserve and see if the emotions were all on her side, or if he felt something for her too. It also meant taking orders from someone else. Did she want to give up her hard-won independence and go to work for him?
“I...I don’t know—”
“Take your time. I guess I sort of surprised you, but I’ve been mulling it over ever since I saw your work.”
“It’s...just...not what I expected.”
“No?”
“No.” Having a separate contract gave her an advantage on this job: she could contradict him with impunity. But the one who wrote the paycheck gave the orders. What changes might occur in their relationship if she worked for him?
“What kind of limitations, restrictions, would you impose? Would I design all the interiors? Or just parts?”
Screwing up the cracker paper, he dropped it in the garbage and opened the door. “I hadn’t thought that far. We could draw up a contract. Get everything in writing.”
“I’ll consider it. By the time I’ve finished working on this place, I should be able to give you an answer.”
He paused, halfway out the door.
“That’ll be soon then. You’re almost finished here. There’s nothing else for you to do.” He left, walking up the stairs.
Finished? She’d hardly started. Was his offer merely “cover” for another attempt to get her to leave the island?
“Jennel!” His low, urgent call brought her stumbling hastily up to the open deck to see what was wrong. “Look!”
Chapter Eleven
Zack pointed toward the open water. As Jennel turned to gaze outward, a large black and white whale breached, flinging itself out of the sea and falling back with a loud splash. Nearby the water was rippling, then two...no, three others surfaced to blow and slip back out of sight. Behind them came another by itself. Five in all, maybe more. In the patchy fog it was hard to tell. They did not reappear, disappearing as silently as they had come.
“Those are killer whales, aren’t they?” she whispered in awe.
“Right. Orcas. They’re meat eaters.” His voice was also lowered, as in deference to the stately creatures. “They’re not dangerous, not to people. They got a bad ‘rep’ and a poor nickname is all. They’re very friendly.” His mellow voice resumed its normal volume, and she did likewise.
“They’re so beautiful. I saw two gray whales—a mother and calf—while I was out on the island yesterday.”
“You did? You’re lucky. It’s rare to see them in these waters. Usually they come through only if they’re having problems.”
“Oh, I hope not. I wish you could’ve been there.” As she said the words, Jennel realized how much she meant them. To have seen the gray whales by herself was thrilling, but not nearly as thrilling as if Zack had been with her. The shared glimpse of the Orcas had shown her that. Somehow it made the experience ten times richer.
She would have liked to have shared with him the tiny hummingbird that viewed her scarf as a flower. Dreamily, she recalled their meals together, the game of chess, even those moments they patched each other up. Everything seemed more fun, more...more intense when he was with her.
Was it this way with her mother? Did she miss being able to do things with her husband while he was away? Was this part of the joy of loving and being married to a man?
What would it be like, married to Zack? The thought, unbidden, startled her as it leaped to the front of her mind. Once there, it was impossible to dislodge. How long had it been forming, silently, to gain the strength it possessed?
Would Zack be kind and thoughtful? Or would he turn into an autocratic husband, demanding she do as he dictated? How did anyone know, before an agreement, if the other party would live up to their end of the bargain?
They didn’t. Yet, if she took the job he offered, she could stay here on the island, with him, and get to know him better.
They both stood silent for a moment, looking out into the drifting fog. Then
, “Want to walk around the island?” Zack asked.
“Yes...no.” She changed her mind reluctantly. “I’d better finish my elevations.”
“Those can wait. You need a break. It should help you think, it always does me.”
“But I must get them done.” The urgency of her work was lost on him. Should she tell him how serious it was? That without this job, her business failed? And would the information help her, or serve as another example of what he viewed as her ineptitude?
“You need exercise or you’ll stiffen right up again. Don’t you want to go?”
Although he lounged beside her, his hand on the rail, she saw his body tense in anticipation, like a runner waiting for the start. He wanted to go. Very much.
The outing sounded like fun, but her critical conscience demanded the work be finished first. Work must always be finished before any fun was allowed. She realized the thought was a legacy from her father and immediately overrode it.
Whether her business made it or not, she wanted these moments with Zack. Precious moments that she collected like rare art treasures, to store in the album of her mind. “Yes, really, I’d love to, but what about your knee?”
At her acceptance, he relaxed, the relief slight but obvious to Jennel. “Best thing for it—a little movement anyway. I don’t plan any mountain climbing. Just an easy stroll around the island. Nothing strenuous. We should be up to that.”
He changed into a black warm-up suit with light blue piping, the knitted cotton accenting his tall muscularity. Jennel pulled out their windbreakers and handed his to him.
“There’s a minus tide, it’s way out,” Zack said, shrugging into his jacket. “Looks like we’ll be able to keep to the beach most of the way.” They both wore canvas tennis shoes, so dampness was not a problem.
The ramp from the float to the dock was steeply slanted, and they had to use the nailed-on cleats to make their way up. They took along a joyful Brutus, planning to circle the island clockwise.
“Have you been around before?” Jennel inquired, excited by the opportunity to enjoy this with him.
“Yes, but only in the boat. It’s not a very big island. It’s shaped like a footprint. We’re starting at the base of the little toe. Around on the other side, there’s a large shallow cove where the arch of the foot would be. The heel end is a vertical cliff—no beach at all.”
With Zack favoring his knee, they walked slowly, pausing to look at a myriad of intertidal marine life: sand hoppers, snails, barnacles, and scurrying crabs.
As they rounded the rocky “toes” and came along to the arch side of the footprint, the going became more difficult. Seaweed covered the rocks making the footing slippery while providing protection and moisture for the Dungeness and rock crabs. Sea birds, swarming over the area, flew off at their approach, then wheeled back to land behind them.
The resident bald eagle was perched high on a snag overlooking the sea, its huge nest nearby. As they watched, it took off with a few flaps, then it spread out its enormous wings horizontally in effortless flight. It soared from sight into the lifting fog; a remote being, the symbol of freedom.
Freedom. That was what Jennel had struggled for all her life. She had successfully detached herself from her father’s control—why was she wanting to put herself back under anyone’s authority, even if that someone was Zack? To work for him instead of maintaining the separate identity of her own company? The idea had grown more and more appealing to her as the desire to stay independent grew weaker and weaker. If the Van Chattans accepted her work, she could stay independent and stay on the island. A big “if.” If they didn’t, would Zack still want to hire her?
As they started along the east side of the island, Jennel asked him to tell her more about his company.
“I started it several years ago, just after I got out of college.”
“By yourself?”
“No. I worked summers for a construction company, and enticed their best carpenter to come in as a partner to head up the crews for the building stages. Between us, we were able to pick the men we wanted. If we saw someone doing good work, we offered him a job with us when he was finished.”
Like he had done with her. “I see.”
“Now we have several crews, each specializing in certain jobs. We subcontract the plumbing and electricity, but do the rest ourselves. More efficient that way. With me doing the designing and my partner the building, we contract the entire job, from start to finish.”
“So you don’t actually do the building yourself?” she queried, taking his offered hand to scale a particularly large rock. She liked the feel of his hand in hers, liked it even more when he retained his hold as they walked.
“Some of it. I like to stay close to what I’ve created. It makes me a better architect when I have to translate my ideas into structure. The building codes keep me from getting impractical.”
“I liked your designs for this place.”
“Thank you. Do you realize they get hurricane force winds across these waters ever so often? Architects have to avoid designing roofs that act like sails.”
“It’s beautiful country.”
“When you can see it. This fog isn’t letting you see Mount Baker today.”
“I saw it yesterday, while I was out sketching. Right here in fact. But it looks different now.”
“Tide’s out.”
“You can say that again!” The cove had been transformed by the minus tide into a broad tidal flat stretching far out into the channel, exposing the shallow sea bottom to scores of hungry gulls and terns, along with the investigative curiosity of Brutus.
Delighted by the remarkable change, Jennel skipped along a few steps. “I was up above here, painting,” she exclaimed. “I saw the gray whales just out beyond the cove, but this was all covered with water— deep water, I thought.”
“When the tide’s in, it’s deep enough you’d be swimming. We’ll have to keep alert and not get caught.”
“Surely it doesn’t come in that fast?”
“Fast enough. Remember, the beach is almost flat. When the water rises, there’s nothing to stop it. Today’s tide should reach almost eight feet.”
“No wonder they made the ramp between the float and the dock so long.” She gazed at the flat expanse. “Can we walk out? It looks dry enough.”
“It is. Just keep your eyes open, that’s all.”
“Look! A jellyfish. And another one!”
He laughed, seeming to shrug off her enthusiasm, but soon became caught up in it, pointing out his finds. They walked carefully, finding starfish and sea cucumbers among the exposed rocks. Some were lucky enough to be left in the tidal pools that dotted the flats. Others were stuck on whatever rock they’d attached to.
Looking at some oysters, Jennel decided it would be fun to collect a batch for dinner. She mentioned it to Zack, but he vetoed it.
“The idea was to go for a walk. No shopping allowed.”
She bristled at his statement. Who put him in charge? If she’d been alone, she’d have collected oysters and had fun doing it. Then she realized she didn’t have a bucket or anything to gather them in, and her temper simmered down. “The birds aren’t wasting any time.”
“No. This is banquet time for them.”
“With the dishes all uncovered.”
“Yes. Poor things,” Zack commented, turning over a rock to look beneath it, then returning it to protect the tiny creatures underneath. “They’re out of their element when the tide drops this low. Reminds me of you, Boston.” His expressive voice lingered on the nickname, almost turning it into a word of endearment.
She looked up from where she was examining a purple starfish. Not only was she getting used to being called “Boston,” she was beginning to like it.
“What do you mean? I’m a good designer. You admitted my elevations and designs were good.”
“They’re better than good, they’re great— but I wasn’t referring to that.”
Her
mind did a joyful dance over the first part of his statement, but was wary of the second. “To what, then?” she challenged.
“Nothing. I was thinking out loud.”
Jennel refused to drop the subject. She thought she knew what he was referring to. It was the same old “Jennel is incapable” story. “How am I out of my element?”
“I was wondering what would happen if I ever dared let you run my boat.”
“We have boats and an ocean at Boston. I’ve been sailing in Cape Cod Bay—”
“Did the boat capsize?” he quipped with a smile.
She laughed. “No, nothing happened. I had a very pleasant outing. And I didn’t sink the boat, so why wonder if I—”
“There’s other things.” He placed his broad hands on his hips and grinned idly at her, his manner odd enough that she didn’t know whether he was serious or teasing. “My crew is delayed—”
“Happens all the time!” she defended herself blithely.
“The fog comes in—”
“Spring fog!” she scoffed.
“Not that common in these islands. We have the misunderstanding with the Van Chattan’s—”
“None of that’s my fault.”
“I guess not,” he admitted reluctantly, “but things sure do have a way of happening when you’re around. I’ve never known Clyde to have so much trouble with his boat. Usually he has things running like clockwork.”
Oops! Now that was her fault! “Yes, Clyde’s been having a lot of trouble,” she conceded.
“But I guess even you wouldn’t have the power to jinx his boat. Still, maybe I’m out of my mind to ask you to work for me. You made me careless with the chain saw.”
Jennel stared at him in astonishment. Where had that reasoning come from? “How could...? I wasn’t anywhere near you!” she exploded. “What makes you think I’m responsible?” Confused, she adopted his stance, hands on hips, head back, feet wide apart.
“You are.” The mobile mouth clamped shut over his accusation, and his hazel eyes bore steadily into her. He appeared more frustrated than angry, making her even more confused.