by Hope Ramsay
“What happened?” she asked, leaning forward with a light in her eyes that suggested she’d never heard this story before.
“Jamie and Harry Bauman happened to be sailing their small boat on a port tack that took them behind the wake of my daddy’s fishing boat. Jamie was crewing, in the front of the boat, and when he saw me fall, he dived in and hauled me up before I had a chance to sink or even to take on any water. When they hailed Daddy, he hadn’t even realized I was missing.”
As he spoke, Jenna’s gaze widened, and her mouth fell open. “Oh. My. God. They saved your life.”
Gooseflesh puckered along Jenna’s arms, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Synchronicity, indeed. “So, it’s Harry who feels the connection,” she whispered.
Her teacher would say that Harry’s connection to Jude had created a powerful eddy in the cosmos. An eddy that she’d unconsciously picked up that day she’d first arrived and had seen Jude out in Bonney Rose.
That was why she’d suddenly decided to ask him, and him alone, for sailing lessons.
She studied Jude, the too-long, coarse, curly hair, the jut of his cheekbones, and amber eyes that didn’t belong in a face with skin so dark. The unmistakable thrum of sexual desire vibrated in her core. He was a magnet to her iron, his pull irresistible.
And no wonder. Her father had saved his life.
“So,” he said, his sensual mouth with that plump, kissable lower lip twitching, “are you going to use this information against me?”
He wasn’t going to give up thinking she was some kind of spy, was he? “No,” she said firmly. “And if you want to know why I wanted sailing lessons, it’s because my father, who I never knew, was a sailor.”
He cocked his head. “Why didn’t you say that earlier?”
She shrugged. “Because I’m a private person. So let’s just say that we traded personal stories today, okay?”
“Sure. Whatever you say.”
She wanted him. She wanted to invite him back to the cottage. Enjoy an afternoon. Tell him the truth—all of it.
But she didn’t dare do that. He was too close to Harry. She would have to think this through before doing anything stupid or rash. Especially now, as she was starting to uncover the secrets her mother had kept from her.
She needed to play for time.
“Um,” she said, losing her words like a teenager on a first date, “I should go. I have things to do.”
“Of course you do. Reporting back to whoever sent you?”
She shook her head. “I’m not a corporate spy, okay? When can we schedule another lesson?”
He shook his head. “I should say no, but I’m happy to take Santee Resort’s money.”
She didn’t argue. “When?”
“Probably not until Tuesday at the earliest. But I’ll give you a call. The bay won’t be fit to sail tomorrow.”
They stood up. He waved good-bye to Annie, and they headed out through the restaurant’s door. The rain came down in torrents, and the wind gusted, tossing their hair around their heads. “Can I drive you back to Rose Cottage?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No. It’s not far. And I need to think.”
He cocked his head and moved a little closer, invading her space, making it hard to be rational. “About what?”
His body heat enveloped her, and she had a deep, strong urge to fall into him, to find shelter from the storm. But she resisted.
“I need to think about you,” she murmured.
One of his eyebrows arched. “Of course you do. You think I’m going to be easy to sway or compromise or whatever,” he said on a puff of air right before he moved in.
He came at her slowly, just as a wind gust swept in, sending cold mist at them. She could have avoided him. She could have put her hands on his chest and pushed back.
But she didn’t. She waited for his arrival, anticipation blossoming like one of Ashley’s roses. His kiss was gentle. A brush of warm lips like an invitation. Her core melted, and she might even have given up a small, breathy moan. She took a step closer, brought her right hand up around his neck, her cold fingers on his hot nape. She opened her mouth.
And he plundered like a pirate. The polite kiss disappeared, and suddenly she got the full, knee-buckling force of Jude St. Pierre. He ravished her mouth. There was no other word for what he did.
And damned if she didn’t want to arch her back and let him ravish the rest of her. A tide of longing swept through her, washing away all caution and all sense.
It lasted until he moved back, like a retreating wave. She expected him to come at her again, but he didn’t. “There,” he whispered right before he turned and walked away. “Why don’t you think about that?”
Chapter Ten
Jenna was soaked to the bone by the time she reached Rose Cottage. She drew herself a hot bath and spent a long time in the soaking tub, thinking.
Thinking was not the same as meditating. When she meditated, she worked—sometimes too hard—to let her thoughts go and live in the moment. Meditating was often exhausting, probably because she was better at thinking than meditating.
But this time, thinking was enough to make her feel crazy inside. When she wasn’t thinking about that scorching kiss Jude St. Pierre had laid on her, she was thinking about how he mistrusted her. And overarching all of that was her family problem. She didn’t know how to handle family problems. For most of her life it had just been Mom and her. And until today, Jenna had always thought that her mother had been honest with her.
Now everything Mom had said about Jenna’s father was thrown into question. As Jenna thought about it, Mom had said very little about him over the years. Her mother had been happy to let Jenna draw her own conclusions. Once Jenna had gotten over her fantasies of Dad as superhero, she’d come to accept that her father, whoever the bastard was, just didn’t care. And she’d built a solid shell around that empty place inside of her.
Mom had never done one thing to stop her from that heart-hardening exercise. In fact, by word and deed, her mother had taught her the value of being self-reliant and having a heart made of tempered steel.
She’d thought she understood her own life story. But now, suddenly, she felt as if she’d missed half of it.
Mom had been here on Jonquil Island the day she’d met her father, on the day he’d lost his pants. What had Harry called her mother? That Terri girl. As if Mom was the villain of the story.
How could she be a villain if she’d only hooked up with her father for a few nights? It seemed unlikely. Did Harry’s comments mean there had been something more between her parents?
More troubling was the fact that Jamie Bauman had perished at the age of twenty-two under mysterious circumstances. Louella had even suggested suicide. Why would he commit suicide? Had Mom broken his heart? Or was there something else she didn’t know?
Jenna got out of the tub, feeling exhausted and jumpy as she dressed in a pair of well-worn sweats. The occasional rumble of thunder over the bay put her on edge as she picked up her phone and called Milo on his private line. Milo was always available, even on Sunday afternoons.
“Jenna, it’s good to hear from you. Are the arrangements I made for your stay on Jonquil Island acceptable?”
“Yes.”
“And how’s it going?”
Milo’s English accent never failed to intimidate her. He’d come to America as a young man, but the accent had stuck. And now he sounded faintly imperial or something.
She liked Milo, really. He was mostly harmless and kind of sweet and old-fashioned. But the man was also like a bulldog, focused and relentless when it came to guarding her well-being.
“Things are not going all that well,” she said on a long sigh.
“Oh? Did Harry and Patricia slam the door in your face?”
“No. They don’t know who I am yet. That’s not the problem.”
“Oh?” There was a world of censure in that one word. Milo had made it clear that he was not f
ully on board with her plan to visit Jonquil Island incognito. And he had a point. Lying had a karmic consequence, but in this instance, she was willing to incur the debt. Milo, on the other hand, had urged her to approach her uncle in an “aboveboard” manner. Milo had a quaint way of putting things sometimes. But, she had insisted on doing this her way, and he’d capitulated after a lot of grumbling and grumping.
In the end, though, he’d not only booked her into Rose Cottage, but he’d secured a fake driver’s license and credit card in her assumed name. When Milo put his mind to something, he always took care of every small detail. It was astonishing what money and Milo’s expertise could buy.
“My plan is working,” she said, somewhat defensively. “But I’ve learned some troubling things.”
“About Harry and Patricia?”
“Patsy. They call her Patsy.”
“Patsy?”
“That’s what Patricia goes by. She’s a member of a quilting club that meets weekly at the B and B. She’s also a devout church lady. She’s pretty impressive, actually.”
“She quilts? Really?” The incredulity in his voice underscored the fact that Milo had never lived anywhere except London and New York.
“Yes, and she’s also a little bit of a snob. So it’s a good thing she doesn’t know who I am.”
“So, what disturbing things are troubling you?”
“Do you know anything about how my father died?”
“You’ve asked me this before. All I can tell you is that he perished in a sailing accident on Moonlight Bay. Beyond that I have no details. As you know, your father died well before I became your grandfather’s attorney. I never knew your father, and aside from the pride your grandfather took in displaying your father’s sailing trophies, your grandfather rarely spoke about his son. I fear he never quite got over Jamie’s death.”
“I talked to someone who suggested that his death might be suspicious.”
“Suspicious how?”
“A murder? A suicide?” She said the words, and her chest tightened. She didn’t believe Louella Pender.
“Really? That is disturbing. Jenna, did you go to Jonquil Island to discover the truth about your father or to meet your aunt and uncle?”
“Maybe a little of both,” she said. “And that’s just it. Today I found out that Mom met Jamie here on Jonquil Island. I didn’t know that. Mom always let me believe that they met in Boston when she was going to BU and he was at Harvard. And now, suddenly…” Her voice wavered and faded out.
“What is it, dear?” Milo’s voice sounded deeply concerned.
“I don’t know. Mom always loved daffodils, you know? She wanted them at her funeral. And now I’m wondering why. Was it because she met him here on Jonquil Island, where the daffodils are a tourist attraction? Was it because Jamie meant more to her than just a one-night stand? I mean, she always gave me the impression that my father was not in the picture because she chose to live that way. Or maybe because he didn’t care. But…”
“I can’t help you. I never spoke with Jamie or your mother. But, if you’d like, I can check the firm’s files and correspondence for you. My predecessor, Brian Hughes, kept copious notes about everything he did for your father. Let me see what I can find out.”
“Thank you, Milo. I would appreciate that.”
“Of course. But, Jenna dear, you should keep your focus on the living, not the dead. Remember that you’re there to connect with your aunt and uncle, not to dig up your parents’ sordid past.”
Was it sordid? God, she hoped not. Especially after learning today that her father had saved a life. It was funny, really, now that she thought about it. She’d always wanted a father who was a hero, and it looked as if Jamie Bauman fit that bill, regardless of how he might have died.
And just like that, the little girl inside her wanted more than that. She wanted to discover that Mom and Dad had loved each other.
Later in the day, Jude was beginning to regret his decision to kiss Jenna Fairchild. That kiss had only made him want her, and until he knew what kind of game she was playing, he needed to stay as far away from her as possible. And yet she was on his mind as he padded down the sandy path between Old Granny’s cabin, where he’d been living for the last five years, and Daddy’s place, a one-story house with a cinder-block foundation and indoor plumbing that had been built on the St. Pierre family land back in the 1920s. At one time, the St. Pierre house had been one of the finer homes in the area.
But today Jude’s home place resembled the much older cabins that surrounded it. The siding had gone so long without paint that it had weathered to gray. The windows needed reglazing, rust had attacked the screens on the porch, and the foundation leaned a little to the left. Jude took the porch steps two at a time, carrying several grocery sacks. The rain had slacked off, and the wind had changed direction. The tropical depression was moving on up north, but its winds would be with them all day tomorrow, making sailing or fishing out of the question.
He let himself into the house and found Daddy sitting at the old enameled kitchen table with a half-full bottle of Wild Turkey at his elbow. Jude dropped his groceries on the table. “I’m going to start some coffee and fry up some steaks. I don’t want to hear that you’re not hungry. And then, after supper, we need to talk.”
“About what?”
“About your drinking, to start with. Then we need to talk about Barrier Island Charters and how I’m a grown man and it’s about time that you hand the business off to me.”
“I ain’t got nothing to say to you on either account. I’m tired of those conversations.”
Jude snatched the bottle from the table.
“Hey, that’s mine,” Daddy said, standing up on unsteady legs and making a sad attempt to stop Jude from pouring the contents down the kitchen drain.
“Wha’d’ya do that for?” Daddy asked.
“Because I’m tired of seeing you drunk. You need to go to rehab.”
Daddy shook his head and collapsed back into his chair. “No way you’re getting me back there again. All they do is talk, talk, talk. And I got nothing I want to say. Besides, what do you expect me to do on a rainy Sunday with no charters?”
Jude might have told him to go to church, but that would have been like the pot calling the kettle black. Jude had given up on God the winter Micah had left them. Daddy had given up on God around the same time.
So Jude said nothing. He turned his back and started putting groceries away. The only reason Daddy had groceries was because Jude went shopping for him every few days. The old man lived on hot dogs and frozen dinners mostly. But even when Jude brought steak or a covered dinner from Annie’s Kitchen, Daddy wouldn’t eat much of it.
Especially when he’d been drinking.
Daddy said not one word to him the whole time Jude put away food and prepared to fry up the steaks. Jude fully expected his father to give him the silent treatment right through supper, so when someone knocked on Daddy’s door, it was a relief.
Daddy, maybe a little more sober now after a cup of strong coffee, pushed up from the table and weaved his way to the door. “It’s probably Old Jeeter wanting to go fishing,” he said.
But it wasn’t Old Jeeter at all. Standing on the other side of the rusty screen stood a large man, easily six foot three, dressed in dark-blue khakis and a light-blue, short-sleeved clerical shirt. He stood there with that military-erect bearing as his dark eyes swept past Daddy and landed on Jude where he stood in the kitchen, which was open to the cabin’s main room.
Micah.
Emotions Jude couldn’t name, and didn’t want to show, tumbled through him, turning his insides to ice. He took a deep breath, but it hurt down deep in his chest, as if he’d bruised a rib. Right at that moment he wanted to tell his brother to get lost and never get found again.
Damn. It had been half a lifetime since his brother had abandoned the family. Micah’s gaze returned to the man hanging on to the door and listing like a sinking ship.
/> “Daddy,” Micah said, taking the old man’s arm and guiding him back to the table. Beyond the still-open door, Jude saw a navy-blue duffel bag sitting on the weathered porch.
What the hell? Did Micah intend to stay here tonight?
Resentment or some other toxic emotion he couldn’t quite name burned in his chest. He had to swallow down a rancid metallic taste. He was not happy to see his brother or that expression on Micah’s face as he realized just how drunk Daddy was.
“Well, I’m glad to see you, son,” Daddy said, tears in his eyes as she slapped Micah’s back.
“I guess you heard that I’ve been sent as the new vicar for Heavenly Rest.”
“Yeah, we heard that,” Jude said in a flat voice as he turned back toward the steaks, which were starting to sizzle in the pan.
“You’ve grown up,” Micah said.
Jude’s head suddenly throbbed, as if he’d been the one drinking Wild Turkey all afternoon. Yeah, he’d grown up, but so had Micah. And it irked him on some deep level that his big brother was still bigger than him. Well, it didn’t matter. The boy who’d idolized Micah was dead and gone now. Micah was a deserter in Jude’s book. And what the hell right did he have to come back here all dressed like some conquering hero, or some champion of God, when he’d abandoned the family?
“Yeah, well, that happens. You hungry? We probably have enough steak for three.” He didn’t add that Daddy wouldn’t eat much.
“Uh, well, I was wondering if I could stay here for a couple of days. I heard from the Heavenly Rest Altar Guild that the vicarage in town isn’t ready for me. I guess they were expecting me later in the week. They’ve got volunteers coming in to paint the place tomorrow.”
“Sure, son. I got plenty of room. It’s just me here.”
“Just you? Where does—”
“I’m living in Old Granny’s house,” Jude said. “But I bring groceries every Sunday and cook him a good meal.” Why the hell was he so defensive?
