Without another word, her driver hit the gas and made a hard right turn, sending Liza crashing against his side. She’d never been hit by a truck before but imagined the sensation would be similar. As the wind whipped through her hair and hot breath filled her left ear, she prayed whatever hut they’d put her name on wasn’t far away.
Where did this writer get off being a woman?
Kendall was supposed to drive to the pier, find the writer guy, and take him back to Ray’s. The last thing he’d expected to find was a woman—especially a beautiful one who looked as out of place sitting on that bench as a prairie dog would popping up through a manhole in Manhattan. In the weeks since Ray had shared this foolish idea, Kendall had toyed with a plan to intimidate the writer into backing out. A plan that was now dead in the water.
In the eight years since he’d returned from the service, Kendall had never given two thoughts to the size of the golf carts he drove every day. With Liza Teller pressed along his side, he might as well have been driving a little red wagon. The frilly blue dress fluttered in the wind, revealing enough skin above her knees to be more than a little distracting.
Maybe Francine was right. He’d been living like a hermit for far too long.
Not that women never showed up on Haven Island, but Kendall rarely paid them much attention. The majority were either newlyweds or moms hoping for some peace and quiet while their husbands entertained the kids in the sand. The locals were all married, and on the rare occasion single women stepped off the ferry, Kendall made a point to keep his distance.
No sense in starting something that was always guaranteed to end.
“You know, most people wouldn’t do this,” she said, raising her voice to be heard above the wind.
Kendall looked over, but her eyes remained on the path. “Do what? Ride in a golf cart?” He’d had the misfortune of riding in a New York City cab. There was no way this cart was more dangerous than that.
She turned his way, one brow arched high. “Step onto a remote island and get into a cart with a stranger the size of an NFL linebacker. You could kill me, and I wouldn’t even know the name of the man who’d turned me into fish food.”
He considered listing the myriad ways he could kill her, but feared she’d leap out of the cart and run back to the pier. Then he’d have to explain to Ray why the ghostwriter had changed her mind before she’d even met her subject. A conversation that was bound to go poorly.
Instead, he shared his name, hoping the info would allay her fears and they could go back to riding in silence.
“Kendall James. And I haven’t killed anybody in nearly a decade.” A true statement, but one he had no intention of elaborating on.
With annoyance in her smoky voice, she said, “Is that a joke?”
He met her dark-blue eyes. “Nope.”
“Right.” She faced forward again. “I feel much better now.”
As he’d hoped, the conversation died, though he continued to assess his passenger. A blush emphasized her high cheekbones, and she held her chin in a regal way, like a queen out for a ride to visit the peasants.
They cleared the trees, running headlong into the wind off the salt marsh. Loose curls whipped across her face, forcing his passenger to release her hold on the chrome post. And because Kendall was too busy looking at her to watch the road, he had to make a hard left turn at the last second.
Physics took over. In a matter of seconds, her scream cut through the air as her body was nearly flung from the cart. Kendall caught her in time, pulling her tight against his side and clamping his arm around her shoulders to keep her there.
“Hold on!” he yelled as he made a hairpin right before pulling the cart to a stop in a small patch of grass beside the trail.
Hair still covering her face, the writer’s body remained rigid beneath his touch as they sat in silence for several seconds. As if to remind them that they weren’t alone, Amos barked, snapping his owner back to reality.
Shrugging off Kendall’s arm, his passenger cleared the hair from her eyes and stepped out of the cart.
“Who taught you how to drive this thing?”
Did she really think there was a golf-cart driving school?
“Get back in. It’s getting dark and Ray is waiting.”
Hugging her purse and what looked like some kind of briefcase to her chest, she shook her head. “I’m not going through that again. I’ll wait here until you send someone else.”
She’d been the one to let go. How was that his fault?
“There is no one else.” Not technically true, but Kendall couldn’t leave her standing out here while he hunted up Francine or Larimore. Bruce could show up at any minute, and then she’d really be running back to the ferry. “Get in.”
The stubborn woman took a step back. “Give me directions and I’ll walk.”
Ray would kick his ass if Kendall obeyed that order. Instead, he turned to the back seat. “Come on, Amos. Up front.”
The dog hopped over the seat, filling the vacant spot.
“Good boy,” his owner said before returning his attention to the pain-in-the-ass writer. “Now you can sit in the back. Put the bags between your feet, and hold on to this bar.” Kendall tapped the chrome handrail that ran along the top of the seat.
Accepting this new arrangement, she followed his suggestion, securing the bags between her ankles and locking a death grip on the bar. “Okay, I’m ready. But if you throw me out again, I’m not getting back in.”
He hadn’t thrown her out at all. “Fair enough.”
Kendall stepped on the gas, grateful to have her out of his line of sight. Now he could concentrate on reaching their destination without thinking about pale thighs, honey-gold curls, and whether her skin would feel as soft as it looked.
Chapter 2
Liza’s hair must have looked as if she’d used Aqua Net in a wind tunnel. During their race down narrow dirt paths, she’d spotted a sign that said SPEED LIMIT 17 MPH. If the cart had a speedometer, she couldn’t see it past the behemoth in the driver’s seat, but Liza felt confident in saying he had not obeyed the limit.
Holding on tightly, she took in the constantly changing scenery along the way. Dense woods for one stretch. Marshland for another. Palmettos and pines arched over the path and then fell away to reveal wetlands as far as the eye could see. Slender birds of white and gray and muted blue stood among the reeds, fishing for their suppers and enjoying the waning light.
In the city, birds flitted here and there, dodging imminent peril, but these creatures appeared completely confident in their surroundings. Not a ruffled feather to be found, as if they felt secure in the knowledge that no threats lurked around the corner. In fact, there were no corners. Just nature, in all its curves and colors and endless splendor.
Whatever she’d expected from this trip, an immediate sense of peace had not been on the list. Though she’d feel more at peace once this mad dash ended.
Blessedly, Kendall slowed and eased the cart down a narrow drive on their left. From the corner of her eye, Liza spotted the white tail of a deer darting off through the trees and hoped she’d get a better glimpse another time. Dead limbs leaned against sturdier trunks as the cart traveled deeper into the forest, until a set of stairs appeared straight ahead.
The one or two buildings she’d spotted along the way had been built high off the ground, which made sense in this part of the world. Storm surge must come in high during bad weather. This house was built the same way, but she hadn’t been prepared for the sheer size of it.
Hut had clearly been the wrong assumption for where she’d be spending her time. Nestled in the trees stood a beautiful buttery-yellow home with dark wood shutters and a wraparound porch right out of Southern Living. Two stories soared above the pillared foundation, wide and gabled and seemingly plucked from some affluent suburban neighborhood.
Busy staring at the impressive home, Liza hadn’t realized they’d come to a stop.
When Kendall climbed
out and stepped around to retrieve her suitcases, she found herself staring into the furry face of his sidekick. To her surprise, the dog appeared to be smiling. Liza smiled back—a sure sign that this unpredictable island possessed some sort of magical powers. When the dog licked her face, she returned to her senses.
“There will be no licking,” she admonished. The pooch continued to smile, unaffected by the scolding. “That cute face might work on other people, but not me, buddy. As they say where I come from, fuhgeddaboudit.”
Amos barked, whether in protest or agreement, she couldn’t say, and leaped from the vehicle to follow his master up the wooden stairs. Once again, Kendall didn’t invite her to follow. The man seriously lacked people skills.
“How many people live here?” Liza asked when she caught up.
“Just Ray since Daphne died.” He conveyed this information with no more emotion than if he were giving a weather report.
“Was Daphne his wife?”
“His parrot.”
She couldn’t have heard him right. “His what?”
“Parrot.” Kendall reached the porch landing and set the suitcases on their wheels. “You know. A bird.”
“Yes, I know what a parrot is.” She simply hadn’t expected one to be talked about like a spouse or roommate. “This is a large house for one man, with or without a parrot. Does he entertain guests?”
“Not until you.” Kendall’s tone carried a distinct note of disapproval.
“Mr.James,” she said, “is there a reason you don’t like me?” He’d been nice enough until finding out who she was.
Dark brows drew tight over a perfectly triangular nose. “I don’t know you well enough not to like you. I just don’t like the reason you’re here.”
Liza was there to write a man’s memoir. Why would anyone disapprove of a man telling his life story? Before she could ask that very question, Kendall carried her suitcases into the house, holding the door for the dog but not for her.
The man needed a serious lesson in manners. She rolled her eyes as she let herself in, contemplating possible reasons Kendall would oppose this project. Maybe Mr. Wallis wasn’t healthy enough. He was in his early nineties, after all. Liza never imagined she’d be interviewing her subject from his deathbed.
Or maybe he was relatively healthy but had lived a difficult life, and the younger man didn’t want him reliving a traumatic past. If that were the case, Liza wouldn’t feel comfortable moving ahead with this endeavor, either.
“There’s my guest of honor,” exclaimed a slender man shuffling around Kendall to reach her. A sagging, round face smiled from beneath a dapper fedora. A sport jacket of vertical stripes in black and gray contrasted with white trousers that tapered above a pair of bright-purple tennis shoes.
Ray Wallis looked like a flamboyant, shell-less turtle. In a hat.
“I thought maybe you’d missed the ferry,” he said with great concern, pulling her farther into the house. “Or Kendall had scared you away.” Squeezing Liza’s hands, he asked, “Was he nice to you?”
Ray Wallis was definitely not on his deathbed. “No, he wasn’t,” she replied, honesty winning over tact.
Flashing the kindest smile she’d ever seen, Ray leaned in close to whisper, “That’s just Kendall. You’ll get used to him.”
Liza doubted that but refrained from saying so. Just to verify her assumption, she said, “You are Mr. Wallis?”
Light-blue eyes scanned her features. “I am. And you look exactly as I’d imagined.”
Since her picture appeared on the website Vanessa had insisted she establish, Liza had assumed he’d looked her up. Apparently not. Maybe he was one of those people who liked to be surprised.
“You have a lovely house,” she said, setting her purse and laptop bag on the floor near her feet.
“Thank you, my dear. I’ll give you the full tour after dinner, but first we need to get you settled in.” Ray turned to Kendall, who lingered near the expansive island centered in the contemporary white kitchen. “Show Ms. Teller to her room while I set the table. And don’t go far. The clams will be ready any minute, and I expect you to eat with us.”
That’s what smelled so familiar. Liza loved clams but couldn’t remember the last time she’d had them. Living on a budget didn’t allow for meals out, especially in New York City, and her cooking skills were not at the clam-dish level.
Since reaching her room would provide an opportunity to brush her hair and shake off the harrowing ride to get there, she retrieved her bags and willingly followed Kendall through the living room to a sweeping wooden staircase that did a full turn on its way to the second floor. The landing at the top was open to the living area, and a row of windows provided breathtaking views in every direction.
No wonder the houses sat up so high. If Liza weren’t seeing the wonders of this island with her own two eyes, she would have never believed that a place this untouched existed. At least not in the US.
“You’re down here,” Kendall called when she lagged behind.
Following the path he’d taken, Liza was surprised to find herself in front of a screen door much like the one at the main entrance. She stepped through it to find a small replica of the kitchen downstairs as well as a cozy living room nearly as large as her entire apartment back home.
Confused, Liza lingered on the threshold, wondering if she’d made a wrong turn. Afraid she’d rudely invaded someone else’s space, she retraced her steps, hoping to track down the man with her luggage.
“Where are you going?” Kendall asked.
Liza spun as if caught in the act of breaking and entering. “I thought I was in the wrong place.”
“No. This is your apartment.”
“Apartment?”
“You’ve got everything you need, though we weren’t sure what kind of food to get. You can make a trip back over to Isle of Palms tomorrow if Francine got the wrong stuff.”
“Francine?” The information was coming too fast for her to keep up.
“You’ll meet her.” Kendall pointed to a door at the opposite end of the living room. “You have your own entrance, and I’ll get your cart repaired and parked downstairs sometime tomorrow. There’s a map taped to the windshield, so you can find your way around. Not that there’s much to find.” Indicating the door to her right, he added, “The bedroom and bath are back there. Your suitcase is on the bed. Read the recycle info on the side of the fridge, keep the showers short, and put the emergency number that’s on the wall in your phone, so you can reach me, if necessary. Any questions?”
Blinking, she struggled to process the flurry of instructions. “I guess not.”
“Then I’ll see you downstairs.”
Eyes down, he stomped past her like a charging pine, in both scent and size, leaving Liza alone and befuddled. Rooted to the spot, she took in her surroundings. The leather sofa. The cheerful curtains. The gleaming hardwood floors. She’d expected to have a small room with a bed and maybe a desk to work. But then nothing so far had been as she’d expected.
“An entire apartment all to myself. Huh. What will they throw at me next?”
“Did you know that woman wasn’t a man?” Kendall would have appreciated a little warning.
“That was evident the moment she walked in,” Ray replied, ladling clams and sauce into a large serving bowl. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if you failed to notice.”
Kendall was a hermit. He wasn’t dead. “I mean, did you know when you hired her?”
Tipping his hat back, the old man flashed a mischievous grin. “Yes, I did.”
“You could have told me before I went to the dock looking for a dude in loafers and dark-rimmed glasses.”
“That’s a stereotypical assumption on your part. I never said she was a man, and you never asked.” Lifting a stack of empty bowls, he nodded toward the clams. “Carry that to the table for me, please.”
Without hesitation, Kendall completed the task and then crossed to the fridge for a beer. Oth
er than the fact that he couldn’t intimidate her out of writing the book, at least not the way he’d planned, why the writer’s gender bothered him, he didn’t know. There was just something about her. The way she’d appeared scared and uncertain when he’d first found her on the bench but then called him to task for his curt behavior. A combination of innocence that brought out his protective side and a toughness that said she didn’t need his protection at all.
“Did she like the apartment?” Ray asked, dragging Kendall back to the present.
“Seemed to.”
Not that he’d stuck around long enough to find out. Being near Liza Teller made his palms sweat, and that hadn’t happened since he’d asked Mira Dobrowski to the senior prom.
“Good. I want her to be comfortable.” Ray set the last bowl in place. “She’s a pretty thing, isn’t she?”
Pretty didn’t begin to cover it. “I guess so.” Kendall kept his eyes on his beer bottle. “But you need to be more worried about whether she can write. Why don’t you send her home and call this whole thing off.”
Ray rolled his eyes. “We’ve been over this enough now. I’m telling my story, and that’s that.”
“How much detail are you going to give? What if the wrong people see it?”
“The wrong people died years ago.”
He could not be so naive. “That doesn’t mean the threat is gone.”
With endless patience, Ray patted Kendall’s cheek on his way to the kitchen. “You’re just like your father. You worry too much.”
Being cautious had saved Kendall’s ass on more than one occasion. And whether Ray liked it or not, he was the closest thing to family that Kendall had left on this island. Other than Amos.
“Just leave out some details,” he urged. “What could it hurt?”
“Don’t worry.” The older man withdrew napkins from a drawer. “Names will be changed to protect the guilty.”
Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and both men turned to watch the new houseguest glide gracefully across the living room. Hair tamed and smile in place, she looked like a goddess in a frilly blue dress and shiny white tennis shoes. Kendall’s chest tightened as his palms dampened once again. He’d clearly lost his mind, because all he wanted to do was sweep her into his arms and march right back up the stairs.
Ask me to Stay Page 2
