by J. S. Marlo
Rowan’s phone sat on the cottage’s kitchen counter, and his grandmother had answered all his calls. That she’d ignored the landlady made no sense. Another inconsistency to figure out. “So you canceled her lease?”
“She’d signed a monthly lease, Mr. Arnarsson. At the beginning of each month, she was supposed to pay for the next month. First week of May, she paid for June, but when she failed to make a payment at the beginning of June, she broke the lease. A new tenant is moving in on July first. That’s the way it works.”
“Rowan returned to Canada on May fourteenth. She never had a chance to pay you.”
“If she’s gone, that solves the problem, doesn’t it?” She slapped her hands down her sides. “You have till the thirtieth to get what’s left of her belongings out of here, or it’ll all go to the next tenant. I already made an inventory of all the furniture and appliances. Everything is accounted for and marked with a red sticker. Any questions?”
Yes, but none that you can answer. “No.”
“Good. Don’t forget to clean, or she’ll lose her deposit. You can drop the key when you’re done.”
The landlady exited the apartment before he could think of another objection. Frustrated by Rowan’s aberrant behavior, he reached inside his pocket for his phone. The woman he knew and loved would never have left without telling her landlady. Not caring much about the long-distance charges that would apply, he dialed her parents’ phone number at the ranch, but as he was about to press the last digit, his finger stilled over the keypad.
It was too late to stop the new tenant from moving in. Asking her why she’d dropped the lease was a moot question that would lead to the letter she’d written, and when asking about the letter, he wanted to be able to look her in the eye. This entire conversation would be better served in person. As soon as the volcano stopped misbehaving, he’d fly to Canada.
As he returned his cell phone to his pocket, it rang. For a brief moment, hope surged that it might be Ro, only to be dashed at the sight of his grandmother’s number.
“Amma? I have a question for you.” This wasn’t a conversation he’d planned on having on the phone, but he’d be foolish not to take advantage of her call.
“I was going to invite you over for dinner. The timing is perfect. We can talk when you arrive.”
“Amma—” Since Rowan’s departure, she’d smothered him with affection, suffocating him. He wanted to decline, but she was lonely, and he didn’t want to hurt the feelings of the woman who’d raised him. “I’ll be there shortly.”
***
Rowan searched the shed for the roll of mesh screen she remembered seeing somewhere in there while she’d fetched the hammer.
“What did you do with it, Bill?” Earlier in the morning, the handyman had removed a ladder from the shed and carried it to the house. Maybe he’d seen the hole in the attic window and taken the roll with him. “There it is.” She found it hidden from view behind a wheelbarrow.
Hoping there was enough mesh left to repair the window, she picked up the thin roll from the floor before fetching a stapler and a box of staples from a shelf.
“What were you thinking?” a deep voice roared.
Startled by Bill’s outburst, she lost her grip on the box. It fell and split open. To her dismay, staples scattered all over the floor. Whatever warranted his outrage had better be worth the mess in the shed. She spun around. Standing on the grass, arms crossed over his chest, he glared at her through the doorway.
The tone he used and the look he was giving her got her hackles up. She advanced toward him. “I hope you were not talking to me?”
“What were you doing on the roof?” The sun reflected the fury in his dark brown eyes, highlighting the contours of his irises and the rounded edge of one contact lens. “You want to end up dead like Mattie?”
A blabbermouth had obviously told him about her near-accident. “I appreciate your concern, but—”
“Don’t ever dare climb on that roof alone again.”
The order murmured in a low, threatening voice loosened her tongue and inflamed her words. “You have no right to speak to me like that. I suggest you apologize.”
He gripped her wrist, digging thick fingers into her tender skin. “I have every right, young lady. You know better than to do something that foolish and dangerous.”
Pain seared up her arm. “Let. Go. Of. Me. Now.”
Without breaking eye contact, he released his grip and took a step back. “I’m sorry. I was out of line. I’ll go install the new gutters.”
Rattled by his peculiar behavior, she waited for him to walk away before turning her back to the door. Only then did she exhale the long breath she’d been holding.
If not for the red smudges around her wrist or the staples she swept off the floor, she might have been able to convince herself she’d dreamed the strange encounter. Whatever he’d eaten for breakfast, he’d better avoid it in the future, or she’d serve him a pink slip for dessert.
***
The small white car parked in front of his grandmother’s cottage dampened Bjorn’s mood another notch. If the spoiled brat had invited herself for dinner, he would go on a diet.
A thick layer of gray ashes covered the front veranda, a gift from the disruptive volcano, and a delicious aroma wafted through the screen door. Sweeping the floor with the straw broom wedged between the doorframe and the window was a waste of time. The air was saturated with ashes, and to keep them out, he closed the front door after stepping inside.
“Amma? It’s me.”
“In the kitchen.” The answer to her location was mixed with chortles that hadn’t flown from his grandmother’s mouth.
As he entered the kitchen, his stomach grumbled. The smell emanating from the pot teased his nose, but the presence of the spoiled brat stirring the contents with a wooden spatula curbed his appetite.
“I’m so glad you came.” Her hands whitened with flour, his grandmother pulled a chair for him. “I’m giving Fridrika cooking lessons. She’s very talented, you know.”
A blush reddened the teenager’s pale complexion. With her long blonde hair and enormous breasts, the granddaughter of his grandmother’s best friend resembled an inflated calendar girl.
Ignoring the chair, he leaned his shoulder against the door of the refrigerator. “I’m sure she is.” A little lie couldn’t hurt. “Amma, when I called from the cave, you answered Rowan’s cell phone. Why didn’t you answer when her landlady called?”
“I…” Standing between the sink and the table, his grandmother nervously wiped her hands on her apron. “I didn’t recognize the number. Answering would have been a breach of privacy.”
“I see.” Despite the reasonable explanation, an uncanny feeling curled Bjorn’s guts.
“Why don’t you sit and relax?” A silver thread of hair escaped the mesh she wore over her head when she cooked or baked. “Dinner is almost ready.”
He’d accepted the invitation thinking his grandmother was alone. In a twisted way, Fridrika’s presence gave him the perfect excuse to leave. “It smells great, Amma, but I can’t stay. Enjoy dinner with Fridrika. I’m sure you two will have plenty to talk about.”
“But—we were looking forward to your company.”
In normal times, his grandmother’s teary eyes would have swayed him but not tonight.
“Sorry, Amma.” He crouched down so he was the same height as his grandmother and gave her a hug. “I promise to stop by this weekend.”
***
Pleased to find the attic room empty and discover she wouldn’t have to deal with another grumpy man, Rowan set out to cut a new screen for the window and stapled it to the frame. Given the choice, she’d rather repair windows all day than clean the excrement in the closet. “Whatever caused it isn’t getting away with it.”
Once the window was fixed, she emptied the closet and carried Stone’s sullied clothes into the laundry room.
“Let me take care of the clothes, Miss Rowan,”
Gail said by way of greeting.
Happy to comply, she dumped the load on the floor and slapped her hands together. “Something sneaked inside the Starfish and made a mess.”
“Mr. S. told us about the bats during breakfast.” Without delay, Gail began sorting the clothes. “And how he shooed them out the window last night.”
“He did?” During the night, Stone had conveniently forgotten to tell her all about the bats.
“Mr. S. is lucky he didn’t get scratched or bitten.” Seemingly unfazed, Gail threw the whites into the washing machine. “They can transmit rabies, you know.”
Rowan had encountered many bats over the years and was very much aware of the health risk they posed. To prevent another similar accident, and a potential lawsuit, she had to eliminate the danger. “I should call an exterminator.”
“No need.” With a twist of the wrist, Gail set the wash cycle to heavy. “After hearing about them, Bill checked under the roof. He found a vent he’d forgotten to block after he replaced the shingles. He was mad at himself for missing it.”
“No kidding.” The presence of the bats didn’t excuse Bill’s behavior, however. He should have known better than to vent his fury on her. “Did he fix it?”
“Yes.” Gail’s kind smile soothed Rowan’s temper. “The bats are gone, and they didn’t make any damage.”
“Good.” One problem solved, one left to tackle. “A new family will be arriving shortly. Could you please take care of them while I clean the closet?”
“Sure. I’ll even fold the laundry for Mr. S. He’s such a charming man.”
“Charming?” The adjective might describe Stone’s twin brother, if he had one, but it didn’t describe her attic guest. “Whatever you say.”
***
Rowan knelt in the small attic closet, and the top of her head grazed the low ceiling. While she trusted Bill’s work on the outside vent, she wanted to check the inside for damage caused by the bats. There was a small gap between the ceiling and the back wall where some guano had dried out.
“If that’s the hole, those bats had to squeeze pretty tight to get out of there.” With a flashlight, she inspected every inch of the closet but didn’t find any other openings.
“See anything?”
The question jolted her, and she banged the back of her head against the doorframe. “Ouch!”
“Don’t injure yourself, O’Reilly.”
Men took turns scaring her while she worked and then blamed her for getting hurt. Something’s wrong with this picture. “I’m fine, Stone. Thanks for ask—” The acerbic remark burned her tongue. “Sorry, Mr. Stone.”
Gulping down her embarrassment, she peeked over her shoulder to gauge his reaction. Seated on the bed, he gazed at her with an enigmatic smile on his lips and a glint in his eyes.
“Skip the mister. Did you discover how the bats got in there?”
“They sneaked in through an outside vent, flew inside the walls, and ended up in your closet through a small gap.”
“Let me see.” Muscles twitched on his face as he left the bed to crouch down beside her.
She flashed her light in the corner, exposing the entry point. “Bill closed the vent. Once I patch the hole, you shouldn’t have to worry about bats anymore.”
His head swayed sideways. “You should rip the wall and check for damage.”
“There’s—” The rebuff died on her lips before she made a fool of herself again. From the vent, Bill wouldn’t have been able to inspect that far into the wall. “You’re right. It may take a day or two. The Jensens left this morning, and the Oyster is vacant. I’ll move your—”
“No swapping rooms, O’Reilly. Just fix the problem while I write.”
Chapter Seven
When O’Reilly returned to his room, a tool belt buckled around her waist and sheets of plastic folded under her arm, the hunting scene Avery had been writing on his computer vanished from his mind. “Where’s Bill?”
“Why?” She laid the plastic on the hardwood floor in front of and inside the closet. “You need him?”
No, but he figured that she might. “Isn’t that his job?”
She lifted her chin, and her eyes darkened as she looked at him. “No, and don’t tempt me to shrink his job description into zilch.” The edge in her voice didn’t bode well for the reserved handyman that Avery had seen planting in the garden. “I’ll do my best not to bother you.”
Intrigued by this facet of her personality, he abandoned his desk to go sit on the bed, from which he enjoyed a good view of the closet. The muscles in her shoulders tightened, and her back stiffened every time she yanked a plank out and threw it behind her on the plastic sheet.
“Do you know what you’re doing?”
A grumbly “Yes” echoed in the closet.
“Shouldn’t you be wearing gloves?”
“Gloves make me clumsy. Are you watching me?”
If she turned around, she’d be able to answer her own question. Rachel had possessed the same feisty attitude—attitude he wished to convey to his heroine. “You sure you’re qualified?”
She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Are you doubting my abilities?”
In his experience, giving an honest answer to a double-edged question led to disaster. “I didn’t picture you as a Jill-of-all-trades.”
“It doesn’t sound…” With her hiking boot, she kicked a piece of wood, displaying the cuff of a purple sock that didn’t match the green one peeking at the edge of her other boot. “…like a compliment.”
Genuine laughter rumbled through his chest. “Do you ever wear two identical socks?”
“No. Never. Don’t you have important work to do on your computer?”
Yes, but the more he talked to her, the more she brought his heroine to life. “Where did you learn trade skills?” The exaggerated sigh she heaved in response didn’t deter him. “Humor me, would you?” The information he gathered might prove useful to create his female character’s fictional background.
“I grew up on an old ranch watching my mother fix everything. For my tenth birthday, she gave me a pink tool kit and showed me how—” A laborious groan rose from the closet, quickly followed by something hitting the floor with a thud. “How to use it.”
Her mother sounded like a great role model. “Do you still have the kit?”
“No. The ranch burned down two years ago, and everything in it turned to ash—” The hammer clunked on the floor. “Spike up, girl, and be careful.”
Fascinated by the colorful expression, he considered borrowing it. Coming from the mouth of his heroine, it would add spunk to her character. “Do you often talk to yourself?”
“Yes.” Debris was mounted around her. “Freckle liked to hear the sound of my voice.”
“Who’s Freckle?”
“My horse. He—” Dust flew out of the closet, and she gave an audible sneeze. “He got sick while I was in Iceland, and Mom had to put him down.”
Despite the slight foreign accent, he’d taken her for a country girl, not a foreigner. “Are you from Iceland?”
“No.” The sharp monosyllable resounded like a gunshot. “I grew up in Southern Alberta in the shadow of the Rockies, but I went to university in Iceland for two years.” The extended stay explained the charming accent she’d adopted. “Graduated in the spring. In geology. Is the inquisition over?”
An adventurous country girl would be a good background for his heroine. “No. What’s a geology graduate doing running a bed-and-breakfast on Prince Edward Island?”
“I needed a change of scenery.”
The excuse hit too close for comfort. “Why here?”
“I inherited Buccaneer from Aunt Mattie. She—”
When she didn’t finish her sentence, he worried. “O’Reilly? Are you okay in there?”
“I found something hidden behind the wall.”
She crawled out of the closet, an envelope clutched to her chest.
***
From the singl
e bed, Stone watched her with unconcealed curiosity.
“Are you going to share your discovery or not?” He patted the mattress beside him, but Rowan declined the invitation with a shake of the head. Unlike her, the quilt was clean, so she plopped on the floor near his feet instead.
Time had yellowed the envelope in her hand. She ripped the top and peered inside. At the sight of the pictures from long ago, she expelled a shaky breath.
Stone’s warm breath caressed her ear as he leaned over her shoulder. “Do you know them?”
“Yes.” She pulled the pictures out and held them up. In the first one, a teenage boy stood near a girl with long chestnut hair. “My father. He had a gray eye and a brown eye.” Same as my brother.
To her surprise, Stone slid to the floor beside her. “There are indentations in the paper. Flip it over.”
She heeded the suggestion. Someone with lousy handwriting had scribbled CHAD AND MATTIE on the back. “And I guess this is Aunt Mattie.” The siblings shared little resemblance. “I never had the chance to meet her.”
“Rowan? Are you in the attic?”
The pictures slipped from her fingers. “Chris?” Last evening had come to an abrupt end after she fell into the ocean while fishing for her sandals. To add insult to injury, she’d soaked the passenger seat of his fancy car. Upon seeing his horrified expression, she’d expected him to dump her on sight, but he’d been too much of a gentleman to add rejection on top of her wretched appearance. “I’ll be down in a minute.” She scrambled to gather the pictures while Stone struggled to stand up.
Steps grew louder in the staircase. She tucked the envelope in the back pocket of her cargo shorts as Chris appeared in the doorway.