Summer Island Sisters

by Ciara Knight

  “Original. Really. I hate the ocean and I understood that cliché.” Dustin looked to Trevor, smiling as he stood with the ladies on the other side of the road. It looked happier on their side. “As you said, I’m a businessman, and that means I know when to work with someone and when to fight them. I achieved what I wanted to here today. The stop order has been lifted.”

  “What did I get? That dilapidated building remains an eyesore, and it’s blocking my future. I need that land.”

  Dustin took in a deep breath and knew in that moment he had to choose to either continue placating Rhonda or to tell her the truth that she didn’t have a prayer to legally beat Trace. “The land isn’t mine to give.”

  Rhonda turned all shades of angry and thrust her arms down at her sides. “You can get it for me, though. I won’t let you give up. We’re in this together. We’ll fight her with delays until the town forces the place to be demolished. It’s what you want, right? Our project to move forward, a beautiful area for your guests and me to enjoy?”

  “Yes. No.” Dustin didn’t want to hurt the woman who’d tried to help, even if she was misguided and ruthless. He guessed the poor woman had always wanted to be a member of the Trace friend group but was never invited so she lashed out and had never stopped, despite thirty-plus years.

  “Which is it?”

  “As I said, it isn’t mine to give. And it never will be. I won’t play dirty to push a person from their home. I’m sorry.”

  Rhonda spun in a dust storm of salty air and curses. “Coward.” She was madder than he’d ever seen a woman. And he’d made plenty mad in his past.

  “I have money and time invested in this. I won’t let you give up.”

  “I’ll reimburse you for the T-shirt printing.” Not that he’d ever wanted the darn shirts in the first place.

  “You owe me more than that.” Rhonda stormed off.

  He knew that wouldn’t be the last he’d hear from her. But for now, he decided it was time to face Trevor and the women and the fact that he’d be working with the one woman he knew he’d want to throw in the ocean within the first five minutes.

  After two horn honks, a shout from a Team Trace supporter, and heatstroke, Dustin managed to cross the street, tugging his arms out of his coat. Sweat pooled at his lower back. His heart beat in his temples.

  “Don’t make me regret this.” Kat shoved a legal-sized envelope into his chest. “Documents to sign off for you.”

  Trace already clutched an envelope of her own to her stomach as if to keep from hurling her breakfast at the thought of working with him. “Looks like we’re going to be a team,” she said with a sagging, politically correct smile.

  “Guess so.” Dustin shifted between his Italian leather shoes.

  “Get changed and meet at my house.” Trace’s smile turned to military straight-lined lips.

  “Your house? Why there?” Dustin had no desire to run into Rhonda again today. He was scared she’d throw him over the retaining wall into the canal.

  “You didn’t think we’d start with the hotel,” Trace huffed. She whirled on Kat, who didn’t even flinch. The woman was stronger than a president in a political debate. “I told you he’ll never work with me. What were you thinking?”

  Kat looked between them before she pulled another sheet out of her burgundy designer briefcase. “I figured that would be an issue for you both.”

  Trace glanced over the itemized schedule. “Mornings at the hotel and afternoons at my house?”

  “Yes.” Kat gave a curt nod.

  “Why not the other way around?” He knew Rhonda would be doing her morning walk and didn’t want to run into her when he didn’t have to.

  “Because there isn’t shade at the hotel to work under in the afternoons. There’s plenty of shade near Trace’s place.”

  “Looks like Kat thought of everything.” Jewels held tight to Trevor with a look of relief soothing the tension around her crow’s feet.

  “I’ll go change, grab my ladder and tools, and then we can start on the sagging roof of the porch since it’s a hazard.”

  “No. We’ll start with the support beams. That’s the bigger issue.”

  Kat slid another piece of paper from her briefcase and handed a copy to each. “You’ll start by clearing everything out of the first room you’ll be working on at the hotel and the house. After that, you’ll work systematically down this list. You’ll see where permits need to be filed and when inspections must be completed.”

  Trace scanned the list. “Where will we put all the stuff when we clear it out? It’s going to get ruined if furniture and stuff are left outside.”

  Wind pointed to the starred item at the bottom.

  “You’ll store it all in the hotel rooms you’re not actively working in.” Wind laughed. “Leave it to Kat. She’s got everything categorized and organized.”

  Trace glanced over the paper at Dustin as if to confirm that he agreed to it. “That means we’ll have to carry all the stuff from her house through the woods to the hotel. That’s a lot of unnecessary work. We should get a storage bin delivered or put a tarp over everything.”

  “A tarp? Sure.” She shoved the extra papers in her envelope, and her eyes went wide and wild. “Let’s throw all my father’s belongings out into the elements and forget about them like we should forget about the history of the hotel.” She narrowed her gaze at him as if to pinpoint the best place to strike him down. “Don’t think you’re going to cut corners while I’m involved. I won’t allow you to break laws, twist truths, and disregard all that’s important to save a little cash and hard labor.” Her small pointer finger jabbed him in the chest. “You’ve got just as much—if not more—to lose as I do.”

  “Or I could just sell the hotel and be done with all this,” he blurted.

  Trace’s expression turned from combative to content. Her long, dark eyelashes framing her ocean blue eyes fluttered. The corners of her mouth jerked upward into a bone-chilling angle. “You can’t run from this fight. No one wants that hotel. You’ll never be able to sell it unless you fix it up. The only way you’re going to get it fixed up is by doing what I say. And I say we’re following Kat’s list and doing things right.” She turned on her heels and marched away with a sway of her hips, bounce of her hair, and stomp of desperation.

  That woman was passionate. A fighter for all. All except the ones she couldn’t even see needed her dedication instead of her disdain. And he wanted to know why Trace Latimer hated him. Why, since the day they met, he could sense a connection with her yet they were still on opposing sides.

  Chapter Eleven

  The searing heat of the afternoon sun boiled the air into steam inside Trace’s childhood home. She’d forgotten what it was like living with no air conditioning.

  “You sure you don’t want our help?” Wind asked, despite backstepping toward the doorway.

  Kat adjusted her suit jacket. How the woman still looked put together in this heat was beyond Trace’s comprehension. “I’ll come back after my meeting at my parents’ house to check to make sure you and Dustin haven’t murdered each other.”

  Jewels stuck out her hand like they were twelve. “Sisters unite.”

  Everyone eyed the invitation of childhood bonding, but no one moved except the frog that croaked in the corner and hopped around after flies.

  Trace rolled her eyes, but deep down she wanted this moment. The moment where they all bound together to face anything in life. A childhood promise to put each other first before parents or boys or life. She shot her arm out and covered Jewels’s hand. “Sisters unite.”

  Kat’s heels clicked against the old hardwood floor. Her hand covered Trace’s with strength and comfort. She always knew these women would have her back, but would they feel the same if they knew the truth of her actions in Brazil?

  The frog ribbited its agreement.

  Wind laughed and glided across the floor with her long dress fluttering behind. “Sisters unite.”

&n
bsp; They all giggled like schoolgirls in a simple time when the only worries they had were when to swim or sleep.

  “I’ll be around if you need me.” Jewels led the gaggle of women out of the house, leaving Trace standing in the center of the one main room eyeing the clutter.

  Before she could face the work, she slid from her pocket the envelope she’d retrieved from her hiding place in the guest room of Jewels’s place and opened the desk drawer. At least here, Houdini couldn’t steal it to show the world. That little rascal loved drama.

  She popped open the hidden compartment. To her surprise, inside sat a wrapped box with a note.

  Trace picked it up and slid the envelope into its spot before closing the hiding place up. The note only said To Trace in her father’s scribble. She brushed the words with her fingers, imagining him sitting at his desk writing this to her.

  She pulled the tape, already surrendering from the humidity, free and slid the box from the paper. Inside she found a copy of Anne of Green Gables. Not any copy. The one from her childhood. The one she’d received on her eleventh birthday from her dad.

  Same worn corners and faded cover. She opened the flap and found a new message inside.

  To my dearest daughter,

  I’m sorry I’m not there for your fiftieth birthday, but I hope this book reminds you of how much I love you. The way Mathew loved Anne. A man ill-equipped at raising a daughter but who did his best and always wanted her to be free of her insecurities and find her place in the world. I’m so happy you found your place. I’m so proud of you. I hope you can forgive me for not telling you I was leaving this world, but I couldn’t interrupt your charge to make this world a better place.

  Your proud and loving father,

  Dad

  Tears fell down her cheeks. “I’m not that girl, Dad. I failed. I failed you. I failed myself. I failed Matt. I’m sorry for not being better.”

  Why had she left? She’d had an amazing childhood. Her father had given her freedom, independence, and love.

  The air hung with a haze of dust and regrets.

  Steps outside crunched branches and kicked shells, warning of someone approaching. She flipped her wrist over to see the time on the dive watch that her father had given her as a parting gift all those years ago. Crusty matter ate away at the inside, and it hadn’t kept time well for years, but she had never bought a new one.

  She shook off the memories, wiped her tears away, and focused on the task at hand. Reprimanding the rude Dustin Hawk for being late.

  Shocker.

  The front porch creaked.

  “How long does it take to put on old clothes and get over here? It’s been an hour.” Trace placed the book from her father on the bookshelf and turned to see Dustin move into sight.

  His usual flirtatious lopsided grin and attention-provoking strut turned to a crumpled old man who looked like he’d swallowed a lemon. “I had a few calls to make. You could’ve started without me,” Dustin grumbled and then plopped down in her dad’s old recliner, sending a fury of allergens up around him. He sneezed and coughed until he dropped his head to his hands and rubbed his temples.

  “What’s wrong?” Trace asked. She grabbed one of the boxes Kat had sent over and began to clear off the coffee table of her father’s Popular Mechanics and Boat magazines. An ashtray she’d made him when she was seven, despite no one smoking in the house, sat like a time portal to a past life she didn’t want to visit. With a shallow breath, she picked up the glossy, jagged, over-painted ceramic and eyed the loose change inside.

  “Put the stuff to keep in the box and toss the rest into the corner and I’ll take it to the dump.”

  “The dump?” Trace slammed the box down on the table with a thump. “You make it sound like my father’s things can be discarded like they were all junk.” She snatched a half-ripped magazine from the box and held it up at him. “What if this is important? What if I want to keep it because I like to relax with a good magazine?”

  “You going to read that later, are you?” Dustin lifted his head and a brow at her. Not just any brow. The one with the tiny scar that she imagined he’d gotten in a bar fight, but in reality he’d probably sustained the injury from a woman smacking him with her purse.

  “Yeah, why not. I love skimming through classic magazines.” Trace pushed her shoulders back. “So what?”

  “I didn’t know you enjoyed looking at naked women…”

  “What?” She held the paper away from her as far as her arms could reach. Perhaps due to her nearly fifty-year-old eyes not being able to read too close, or maybe because she couldn’t believe her father had such smut in his house. She dropped it like a spiny urchin with flaming spikes.

  Dustin laughed.

  She hated being laughed at. She’d been laughed at plenty growing up. Now that she was older, she didn’t have to take it. “Forget it. I’ll do this myself.”

  He resumed rubbing his temples. “I knew you didn’t have a sense of humor. The first day we met, I knew you were a bitter woman.”

  “Was that before or after you tripped over yourself at the sight of me at Friendship Beach?” She lifted her chin proud and high.

  He didn’t answer, which aggravated her. Instead, he rubbed his temples more.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing. Headache is all. Had it for days now.” His eyes remained closed, and she knew they’d never get any work done if he didn’t feel better. “I told you to leave. I’ve got this.”

  “Obviously you don’t.” He pointed at the magazine with one hand while the other one continued to assault his temple with man hands that would push through his skull in a minute.

  Trace eyed Dustin suspiciously, but he did look flushed. “You have any other symptoms? Is your urine dark?”

  He dropped both hands to his knees. “You say the strangest things.” He bolted up from the chair but smacked the ground hard on his knees.

  “Lightheaded by chance?” She retrieved a bottle of water with electrolytes from her cooler and handed it to him. “Here, drink this. You’re suffering from dehydration. You haven’t been drinking enough water.”

  He squinted up at her and opened his mouth as if to argue but then took the water bottle from her and unscrewed the cap. “Thanks.”

  “What?” She blinked at him, unsure she’d heard the high and mighty Dustin say something other than self-praise. “I mean, you’re welcome. Rest. I’ll get to work.” She tossed a few magazines into a pile near the opened front door, and the rest filled up a quarter of the box.

  “I’ll be fine in a minute. I said I’d help.” He pushed up but only far enough to slide his butt into the chair. “Perhaps in a few minutes.”

  “It’s fine.” Trace moved to the shelf on the wall that separated the main room from the kitchen and dusted a few conch shells that she and her father had brought home for dinner one night when she was around ten. She’d insisted on keeping the beautiful shells to decorate their home. He’d agreed. Of course, Dad had always agreed with everything she’d wanted.

  “Looks like your father had a regular bachelor pad. Did your parents divorce when you were young?”

  “No, my mother died. My father never remarried. He raised me and said I was the only thing he ever needed in his life.”

  Dustin took a long sip of his drink. “I’m sorry. It must’ve been tough growing up without a mother.”

  “Yes and no.” Trace picked up a picture of her, her dad, and all her friends at a beach picnic on a remote sand bar. “My father gave me the best life. An original childhood. Sure, I didn’t have much, but we were happy. I climbed trees, slept in the woods, swam with sharks and dolphins.”

  “That’s a good life?” Dustin asked in a you’re-insane tone. “Sharks aren’t meant to be pets or playmates. You know that, right?”

  “They’re harmless.” She streaked her finger across the pane, smearing the dust so she could see the picture more clearly. Her father was tall, handsome, dark-skinned fr
om the sun, and kept his hair shaggy and long. A true beach bum with a heart. “I loved the freedom he allowed me. There was no curfew or rules, only respect and honesty.”

  Dustin blew out a long breath and ran a hand through his dark, sweat-drenched curly hair in that James Bond exiting an ocean kind of way he’d perfected. But he wasn’t putting on a show or strutting around to be noticed at the moment. “Sounds like paradise. My family was nothing like that.”

  “How were they?” She placed the picture frame in a box and rubbed at a stain on the edge of the old conch shell.

  “Rules, regulations, reputation,” Dustin said in a commanding officer tone.

  “That sounds cold and distant.” Trace set the conch shell into the box and eyed Dustin’s red face. He looked miserable, but she wasn’t sure if it was from the heat, dehydration, or his family.

  “Cold and calculating is what my ex-girlfriend called me. And she wasn’t the first and probably not the last. That stuck with me.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because it was true. For as many years as I’d fought becoming my parents, I realized I was their clone. They were proud of me.”

  “Were? I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you’d lost your parents too.” A paper cut–sized opening made her feel a loose connection to the man sitting broken in front of her. She couldn’t allow herself to feel something for a man like this, so she averted her gaze to the old television that still had turn dials. Her father had never thrown anything out unless it was beyond repair.

  “They’re still alive and living in a mansion with servants. A nurse comes by to handle medicines for my father since his stroke, but they’re relatively healthy.” Dustin downed the rest of the beverage. “I say were because when I sold my company and moved here, they told me I was having a midlife crisis and that I shouldn’t come around until I came to my senses.”

  “Are you?” She dared another glance and found him suffering still. That thin laceration grew into a razor slice, allowing her to feel enough to want to help him, so she grabbed her neck gator, poured cold water from the cooler over it, and held it out to him. When he blinked at her as if she were handing him a barracuda, she placed it on the back of his neck. “Here. It’ll help keep you cool.”