She tucked her hand beneath her cheek. She didn’t even know the man. Why did he make her feel so safe? The boat rescue was only part of it. He reminded her of Simon—before the PTSD had taken control of Simon’s mind—steady, strong, loyal, lethal.
Lethal? Where had that come from?
Simon had always insisted he held a boring government job developing security systems, but she’d never believed him because he traveled a lot and never discussed his work or coworkers—except that one she met, Max Duvall, who’d been as mysterious as Simon. Maybe she’d let her imagination carry her away, but she’d had a hard time believing Simon was a pencil-pushing civil servant.
Maybe if he had been, the PTSD wouldn’t have destroyed him.
And Jase? Was he more than he appeared to be?
Right now he was her pretend-fiancé—and that was good enough. But shouldn’t even a pretend-fiancé know that his pretend-fiancée was pregnant?
* * *
SHE WOKE UP the next morning to the sound of a saw. She shoved her feet into a pair of fuzzy slippers and scuffed across the floor to the front rooms. She peeked through the curtains at Jase sawing wood, the old fence torn down and lying in a heap.
He had shed his flannel, and his muscles bunched and flexed beneath his white T-shirt as he worked. As if sensing her scrutiny, he looked up from the fence.
No good pretending she hadn’t been staring. She raised her hand and he waved back.
Tucking her robe around her body, she opened the front door and stepped onto the porch. “How long have you been at it?”
“About an hour. Did I wake you?”
“No. You’ve made a lot of progress. Do you want some breakfast?”
“Isn’t this a bed-and-breakfast?”
“Yeah.”
“Then I’d like some breakfast.”
She put a hand on her hip. “It’s not like you’re a regular guest.”
“That’s right. I’m your fiancé.” He picked up his saw and started attacking the next piece of wood.
She let the door slam behind her as she stepped back into the house. Brushing her hands together, she made a beeline for the kitchen. Her mom had been a great cook, but she hadn’t inherited that cooking gene. If she ever got this place back on its feet, she planned to hire a chef to cook the meals for the guests.
But she had a guest now, and he had to be hungry after working for an hour on the fence.
She rustled up enough ingredients for an omelet and made some toast to go with it. She put the kettle on for tea but Jase had mentioned relying on a cup of coffee to get him going in the morning. She hadn’t drunk much coffee even when she wasn’t pregnant and she didn’t want to pump the baby full of caffeine, so she didn’t even have any instant coffee to offer him.
She poked her head out the front door. “I don’t have any coffee. I can run into town and get you a cup at Logan’s Coffee.”
He reached for the top of a post and held up a white cup with a sleeve wrapped around it. “Beat you to it. I told you I needed a shot of caffeine in the morning to give me a jump start. Do you think I could’ve accomplished all this without it?”
“Impressive. Are you ready for breakfast?”
“You don’t have to call me twice.” Holding his cup in one hand, he stepped over a pile of debris and met her on the porch.
“Let me wash my hands and I’ll be right with you.”
She set the table as the water ran in the bathroom and then Jase emerged, buttoning up a different flannel from the one he wore yesterday.
She circled a finger in front of him. “Do you think a flannel shirt is the state shirt of Washington or something?”
He laughed and tugged on the collar. “If it is, it’s for a good reason. It’s chilly up here, and I have a feeling it’s going to get worse with that storm on the way.”
“It’s supposed to be a monster.” She sat down and broke off a corner of toast. She’d passed the stage in her pregnancy for queasiness, but hadn’t yet broken the habit of nibbling on dry toast.
“Where are you from, Jase? I detect a little bit of a New England accent.”
“Really?” He selected a piece of toast from the plate as if he was picking out a new car. Then he spread a pat of butter across the surface in slow motion.
“Yeah, really. Are you from the Northeast?”
He shrugged. “Connecticut.”
“And what did you do in Connecticut before your stint as a marine?
“I taught high school history for a year before enlisting and went back to that when I got out before I decided I needed to write down my experiences.”
“Were they bad?”
“What? Who?” He crunched into the toast.
“Your experiences.” She swirled the tea bag in the hot water, watching the ripples spread across the surface. “Did you have bad experiences during the war?”
“It was war, but it wasn’t all bad and my book is mostly about that part—the not-bad part.” He took a pull from his coffee cup. “How about your...stepfather? Did he talk about it much?”
“He was in Vietnam. I think it affected him deeply. He suffered from depression.”
“Is that why he...?”
“Killed himself?” She took a quick slurp of tea, burning her tongue in the process. “I’m sure that contributed to it. My mom was his lifeline, so when he lost her he felt as if he’d lost everything, even his will to live.”
He shook his head. “That’s either a great love, or that’s obsession.”
“They are different, aren’t they?”
“Definitely.” He picked a mushroom out of his omelet and pushed it to the side of his plate. “Have you ever had either one?”
A smile curved her lip as she resisted laying a hand on her tummy. “Yeah. How about you?”
His brown eyes darkened to black as he stared past her. “I thought I did.”
“I’ve been there, too.” She sighed and picked up her fork, aiming it at his plate. “You don’t like mushrooms?”
“No.”
“Sorry. I should’ve asked.”
He brushed off her apology with a wave of his fork. “No problem. This is a good omelet with all the other stuff in it.”
“What’s up after the fence?”
“Thought I’d start clearing some of the weeds in the front and maybe do some repairs on that deck.”
“I’ve got a guy lined up for the gardening, but I’d love to have that deck back online. My parents loved sitting out there in front of a fire and watching the bay.”
“I can see why. It’s a great spot.” He shook his empty coffee cup. “Do you think our ruse was enough to get you off Lou’s radar for now?”
“Maybe. Again, I apologize for the drastic measures. I just wanted to let her know that I wasn’t alone, that I had someone...on my side.”
“I am on your side, Nina.”
“Why, Jase?” She planted her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her folded hands. “Why have you been so helpful to a total stranger?”
He cocked his head. “I think it’s just the circumstances. I was there when your boat sprang a leak, and I was there again when you ran into your evil stepsister and her creepy companion. I’m not here completely out of the goodness of my heart. This is the perfect place for me to set up shop for a little while.”
“Are you saying if I didn’t have this B and B, you’d have let me sink in the bay?”
“I wouldn’t have let anyone sink in that bay—including Lou and Kip.”
“I’m just teasing. You have some natural protective instincts, just like...”
“Your stepfather?”
Her stepfather’s only protective instincts had been toward his wife, but Simon had wanted to save everyone. Until he couldn’t
save himself.
“Yeah, my stepfather was pretty protective.”
“Maybe it’s a military thing.”
“Yeah, a military thing.”
“Are you going to be working around the B and B, or do you have other plans for the day?”
“I’d like to head across the bay today like I was trying to do yesterday, to get some supplies.”
“Are you going to take the ferry?”
“I am.”
“Are you going to be able to haul back everything that you need?”
“Not as much as I could with a boat, but I’ll manage. The mainland provides carts for the islanders, especially now with the storm on its way.”
“Do you want me to come along?”
“When do you write?”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “I’ll do some writing tonight.”
“I can go it alone.” She pushed back from the table and grabbed their empty plates. “You have your work cut out for you here.”
“Do you need a ride to the ferry dock?”
“I was just going to drive and park, unless you think you need the truck for something.”
“I might need it, if that’s okay.”
“Sure, I’m sorry I didn’t think of it.”
“That’s not why I offered to drive you.” He plucked the keys from the hook on the cabinet. “Never mind. It’s a good enough reason.”
There it was again. He’d been looking out for her. She might as well accept it and go with the flow.
When Jase pulled up in front of the dock, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. “You could use a few things for the yard unless your gardener had it covered, that is, if you have room in your cart.”
She took the slip of paper from his fingers and dropped it into her purse. “I’m sure Brian’s going to need supplies and tools for the yard. He’s not really a gardener, just a dropout from U-dub, and there will be plenty of room on the cart. People do this all the time. Not everyone has a boat, believe it or not.”
“I’d hate to be stuck on an island and dependent on the ferry to get off and on.”
“Lots of people do it, but Mom and Dad always had a boat.” She popped the door handle before Jase had a chance to hop out and get her door. He’d really go overboard if he knew she was pregnant.
Not that she minded his attentions, but if she planned to embark on single motherhood, she’d better get used to managing on her own.
He sat in the idling truck until she boarded the ferry and turned to wave. As the ferry chugged across the bay, she kept her eyes on the truck until it turned into a toy.
He’d watched her across the water, and she’d watched him. What was this connection they had? She didn’t know whether to feel relieved or nervous that it didn’t seem to be all one-sided.
The ferry cut through the bay, heading toward Newport. It was the closest thing Break Island had to a big city. It did have a big-box store, and that’s all she needed for now.
As she walked down the gangplank, her tennis shoes squeaking on the metal, she nodded to a couple of Break Island locals waiting in line for the ferry back.
She snagged a taxi and bypassed Newport’s tourist shops on the way to the working area of the city.
The driver eyed her in the rearview mirror. “On a supply run from one of the islands to get ready for the storm?”
“Break.”
“That’s a pretty one. My mother likes that bird sanctuary.”
“Are you a local?”
“Naw. Came out here from Portland to get away from it all. You know?”
“I do know.” As the big-box store came into view, she pulled some cash from her purse. “Your mom’s here, too?”
“She just visits once in a while, but Break Island’s her favorite because of that sanctuary.”
She wished the entire island was a sanctuary. “You can just drop me in front.”
“I’d offer to wait, but you’re probably going to need one of the vans to get all your stuff back to the ferry.”
“Yeah, I’ll call in when I’m done shopping.” She paid the driver and whipped out her membership card for the store as she marched up to the entrance. She grabbed a cart and maneuvered up and down the aisles, with a mind toward feeding a guest.
If Jase planned on doing physical labor all day and mental labor all night, he needed more than a vegetarian omelet for breakfast.
She’d gotten over her morning sickness and queasiness pretty quickly and could stomach just about anything now—except peanut butter. One sandwich early on in her pregnancy that hadn’t gone down well had turned her off peanut butter for good.
She parked her cart in the meat aisle and hunched over the refrigerated display, evaluating the different cuts of meat. Jase looked like someone who might be picky just because of that patrician air he wore around him. His actual actions couldn’t be further from a high-maintenance guy’s, but he just seemed so darned perfect.
A flash of red hair caught her attention, and she jerked her head around. Two little dark-haired kids jostled for position in front of a free-sample table—no redheads in sight.
She patted her belly. Would this little one have red hair? She couldn’t imagine anything cuter.
She continued to load her cart and changed lines twice to find the shortest one. Resigning herself to the wait, she hung on her cart and watched the stream of people in and out of the store.
Her heart jumped when her eyes locked on to a tall, broad man with red hair leaving the store.
She climbed on the edge of the cart and craned her neck for a better look. She shouted, “Simon.”
A few people threw curious glances her way, and her cheeks warmed under their scrutiny. Calling out to him didn’t make any sense, since her voice couldn’t carry that far, especially with the noise level in the big warehouse.
If that were Simon, would he even turn around if he heard her? In all the weeks she’d suspected him of stalking her in LA, he’d never once attempted to make contact with her.
That’s what frightened her. Why play games? Their breakup hadn’t been that acrimonious, not at the end anyway. What led up to it, however...
She shivered and hugged herself.
“Miss?”
She glanced over her shoulder at the anxious face of a grandmotherly type. “Yes?”
“You can move ahead now.”
She rolled her cart into the gap between her and the next cart with her heart thumping in her chest. First Lou and now Simon. Who wouldn’t show up here in Washington?
She shook her head. There were tall men in the world with red hair, even here in Washington.
She transferred several items from her cart to the conveyor belt and left the big stuff in the basket. Once she’d checked out, she rushed to the exit and scanned the crowds of people eating in the outdoor food court area. No redheads.
She blew out a breath and shoved her cart in front of her. She’d been like this in LA, too—seeing red-haired men all over the place.
She ordered a taxi van to the dock and waited for it at the edge of the parking lot. When the yellow van arrived, the driver helped her load her supplies in the back.
“Which island are you from?”
“Break.”
“Haven’t been out to that one so much.”
“It’s quiet.”
“Aren’t they all?”
“Some more than others.”
He hit the main drag, lined with T-shirt and trinket shops, and traffic slowed to a crawl. “Everyone over from the islands trying to stock up before the big storm hits.”
“Uh-huh.” Nina pressed her nose against the window, her gaze tracking back and forth along the sidewalks.
“Looking for s
omeone?”
She peeled herself off the glass and slumped back in her seat. “No.”
The driver rolled up behind a line of taxis in front of the harbor. “You need a pallet cart for this stuff?”
“Yeah, I do.” She slid open the door. “Wait here and I’ll grab one.”
She weaved through knots of people on the wharf to claim a cart. As she dug into her pocket for the five-dollar bill that would rent the cart, someone grabbed her arm.
She spun around, her jaw clenched and her hands balled up into fists.
“Whoa!” Jase held out his hands. “I wasn’t going to steal your cart.”
“Jase.” She swallowed. “You scared me.”
“Obviously.” He studied her face with his eyebrows meeting over his nose.
“What are you doing here?”
“I borrowed the Kleinschmidts’ boat.”
“Again? They’re going to have you arrested.”
“I asked them this time, and they said we could use it until yours is repaired. I figured I’d save you the hassle of lugging this stuff on a cart onto the ferry and then loading up the truck on the other side. The boat will take you practically to your doorstep.”
“Great, thanks.” She stuffed a still-trembling hand into her pocket. “The stuff’s in the taxi.”
“We’ll get the cart anyway to transport it from the taxi to the boat, since I can’t get the boat any closer to the ferry terminal.”
She let him deal with the cart and led the way to the waiting taxi.
Jase and the driver loaded up the supplies, and after paying the driver, she helped Jase steer the cart toward the slip where he’d docked the Kleinschmidts’ boat.
As she lifted a bag of fertilizer, Jase stopped her. “I’ll get that.”
“What won’t you get?” He’d grabbed every item heavier than a feather out of her arms.
“Nothing.” He flicked his fingers at her. “Go get the boat ready for departure and make sure this stuff is secure enough on the deck.”
She saluted. “Aye, aye, Captain.”
While she was mumbling about bossy men, she lifted her head to brush the hair from her face and saw the weak sun glinting off a redhead in line for the ferry.
A surge of anger thumped through her veins, and she jumped from the boat.
The Pregnancy Plot (Brothers In Arms: Retribution Book 2) Page 6
