That Summer Place: Island TimeOld ThingsPrivate Paradise

by Susan Wiggs

  “Better?” he asked, taking the bandanna from her and awkwardly wiping her cheeks.

  She swallowed, but the lump in her throat was still there. “Oh, Mitch,” she said, leaning against him, feeling his arms go around her. “You probably won’t believe this, but this is the best day I’ve had in a very long time. And it’s all because of you.”

  “Hey,” he said hastily, “you were the one who forced me to go kayaking.”

  “But you’re the reason I’m here in the first place.” She bit her lip to keep from confessing everything to him, about losing her job after working so hard, but it all seemed so overwhelming. She didn’t know what had brought on the tears. It was the contrast, she supposed, between the glistening perfection of the day and the shabby mess her life had become.

  Poor Mitch. She wanted to explain, but she couldn’t really explain it to herself. She wasn’t even certain she wanted to. So she simply settled against the remarkably comforting wall of his chest and let go.

  Seven

  The clink of glass and the liquid gurgle in the throat of a wine bottle were the only sounds in the dining room of Rainshadow Lodge that night. For the past three nights the local gourmet shop had provided the evening meal, a gangly teenager in an old station wagon delivering the meal neatly arranged in paper cartons. As he had the previous two nights, Mitch laid everything out on the charmingly mismatched antique dinnerware. Then he poured the wine, a vintage Burgundy he’d brought along from his private cellar in Seattle.

  And then he waited. And waited.

  His stomach growled. And his mind wandered. He couldn’t stop thinking about Rosie. God, had he ever given in to his emotions so completely? If he had, he didn’t remember. She’d simply collapsed against him as if the weight of the world pressed on her shoulders.

  And finally, when she’d been able to get a grip, she’d confessed that the day with him had been the best she’d had in a long time.

  It made him nervous as hell. Mitch had never been anyone’s best day before.

  He wasn’t comfortable with big sweeping displays of emotion. After Rosie’s declaration, he’d held her awkwardly for a while, then set her away from him. “I’m glad you like your work,” he’d said, wincing even now at how lame that had sounded. “Look, it’s been a long day. Why don’t we go back?”

  She’d nodded and moved away from him. “All right. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lose it on you. I’ve been under a bit of strain lately.”

  She’d been quiet on the way back, and he’d sensed that same stillness in her, that absorption, as if she were no mere observer of the world around her but right in the middle of it. He’d wondered if she knew there was something special about that. Probably not. If it came easy, it didn’t seem special.

  A quiet tread on the stairs alerted him. He set down the wine bottle and watched her come into the dining room. Freshly bathed, her hair in damp strands down her back, she exuded a soft femininity that made him ache. Barefoot, she wore the red dress and a tentative smile.

  “Hi there,” he said, holding out her chair. “You hungry?”

  “Starved.” As he scooted in her chair for her, he had a swift powerful urge to move his hands to her shoulders, to skim them over her golden brown skin and feel its warmth.

  But he didn’t. It had been powerful enough holding her today, confusing enough. He was better off keeping his distance.

  He took a seat across from her and passed her the pasta salad. “Thanks,” she said, sampling it. “This is really good.”

  “We’re lucky to have a decent deli on the island. Here, try the rosemary chicken.”

  She took a bite, smiled appreciatively and said, “I take it you don’t like to cook.”

  “I’ve been known to grill the occasional steak, but that’s pretty much it. The local seafood restaurant is supposed to be good. We’ll have to try it sometime.”

  “I’m a great cook,” she said. “I’ll fix dinner for you one night.”

  “Deal,” he said, lifting his wineglass and tilting it toward her.

  Just when he was starting to feel comfortable around her once again, she set down her fork, leaned across the table and said, “Mitch, about this afternoon—”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he cut in.

  The little gold cross spun on its chain as she leaned earnestly toward him. “I wasn’t worried. I just wanted you to know that even though I get passionate about my job, I’m very professional. You have my word on that.”

  “Your professionalism has never been in question,” he said, and that was true. She had startled him, yes. She wasn’t what he’d expected. But all the work she’d done so far reassured him that she was a pro. He grinned. “Your passion is just sort of a bonus.”

  She leaned back and let out a sigh, as if she’d been holding her breath. The cross settled in the shadow of her cleavage. It was driving him crazy.

  “I’m glad you feel that way. I was afraid you’d think I was being overly dramatic.”

  “I can handle drama,” he lied.

  “Good. When you come from a family the size of mine, you learn how to grab center stage pretty quickly. Other wise you’re in danger of disappearing.”

  He looked across the table at her, taking in her voluptuous figure, vivid coloring and gorgeous smile. “I doubt you’ll ever go unnoticed, Rosie.”

  They ate in companionable silence for a while. Then, over sips of wine, they discussed the agenda for the following day. “I think we should go snorkeling,” Rosie said.

  “What will we be looking for?”

  “We’ll know when we find it.”

  Mitch hadn’t been snorkeling since he was a kid and his folks had packed him off to summer camp in Kauai. The water was cold up here, but then he remembered watching her swim today. “Okay,” he said. “How about dinner out tomorrow night?”

  Her trademark smile flashed, then disappeared like heat lightning. “Um, maybe not. I didn’t bring much with me. I don’t think I have anything to wear.”

  “That dress is fine.”

  “A man would say so. But it’s not a going-out-to-dinner dress.”

  “You can get something in town. There’s a couple of shops and boutiques.”

  For most women he knew, the idea of shopping perked them right up. Rosie kept her gaze fixed down on her plate. “I’m not really into shopping.” She pushed her wineglass away.

  Mitch had a bad feeling about the moment. Damn it. This was why he didn’t complicate his life with relationships. It was like walking on thin ice. You never knew when you were going to fall in a hole.

  “Rosie, what is it? Really.”

  She drummed her fingers on the table. Still, she evaded his eyes. “I’m having a bit of a cash-flow problem.”

  Ah. At last something Mitch could comprehend. He had never experienced it firsthand, but when it came to dealing with money, he was in his element. “How much of a problem?” he asked.

  “The advance on my contract went to paying off my credit cards. The bank hasn’t called yet to say I’m overdrawn, but I think I’m getting close.”

  “Can’t you tell based on your last statement?”

  She burst out laughing. “That’s a good one.”

  “Did I say something funny?”

  Relaxing back against her chair, she sipped her wine. “I know you’re not going to like this, but I don’t balance my checkbook.”

  She said it in a rush and then held up her napkin like a shield. At first Mitch thought she was kidding, but she wasn’t, not in the least.

  “You don’t balance your checkbook.”

  “Nope. Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize to me. It’s your life. But damn, Rosie. Don’t you feel a little irresponsible?”

  “Sometimes I do. But I always make excuses when the time comes to deal with finances. I keep telling myself one day I’ll get on track, but I never do.”

  “I can help,” he heard himself say. He wanted to kick himself the moment the w
ords were out, but the look on her face made the pledge worthwhile.

  “Really, Mitch? I mean, it’s asking a lot…”

  “Don’t worry. After dinner, you go get your checkbook and whatever statements you have. We’ll drink some port and get it all sorted out.”

  “You might need something stronger when you see the state of my banking.”

  He laughed. “How bad can it be?”

  “You have nine cents in this account,” Mitch said an hour later.

  Rosie folded her hands carefully on the top of the table. He shouldn’t look sexy to her just now, but perversely he did. With his hair mussed from running his hand through it, horn-rimmed glasses perched just so and his sleeves rolled back to the elbows, he looked so sinfully attractive that she almost forgave him for figuring out she was only worth nine cents.

  “You’re sure of that,” she said tentatively.

  “I double- and triple-checked. Based on the statements you managed to find, and assuming you recorded all your transactions, I think it’s a pretty reliable figure.”

  “Nine cents.” She took a gulp of her port. After the wine was done, they’d switched to an interesting bottle of Whidbey Island Port. She wasn’t sure she liked it yet, but it made the nine cents go down a little easier. “I suppose, based on my record keeping, that’s about all I deserve,” she said with a self-deprecating smile. She had endured hard times in the past many times, but she’d always landed on her feet. Why did this time scare her? Was it because, pushing thirty, she really was a grown-up now? Was it because she had depended too much on luck in the past and now it seemed to be running out?

  He rifled through the stack of old mail she’d brought down with the bank statements. She’d shoved it all in a box when she’d moved. “So what about your other bank accounts? Are they in this shape, too?”

  Rosie couldn’t help herself. She laughed again. “Are you ready for a shock?”

  He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Shoot.”

  “I don’t have any other bank accounts. That’s it.”

  He idly tapped the buttons of his calculator. “Very funny, Professor.”

  “I’m not kidding, Mitch.”

  Very slowly he put the glasses back on. A single curl of hair hung down over the middle of his brow, making her think of the Beach Boys songs the Anglos used to listen to on their car radios when she was small.

  “Are you saying this is the only money you have in the world?” He started toying with a pencil, rolling it between his palms.

  “Practically. I have a pension fund started with UW, but since I only taught there two years, it doesn’t amount to much. And I can’t touch it until I’m retired. Or if I do, I have to pay it all back if I ever try to get a teaching job again—Oh.” She clapped her hand over her mouth.

  Too late. The pencil in Mitch’s hands snapped in two. “Wait a minute. Back up here. I thought you were a professor at UW.”

  “I was. That was no lie, Mitch.”

  “But you’re not anymore?”

  She wanted to look away from him, from those blue Anglo eyes, from that controlled cleanly chiseled face. But she made herself confront his question. She’d never enjoyed lying and was terrible at it. “I was downsized. I think that’s what they called it. My department just didn’t get the funding to keep untenured staff.” She forced a smile. “So you see, spotting Miss Lovejoy’s ad was a godsend. I had to give up my apartment, anyway.”

  He set down the broken pieces of the pencil. “I don’t get it. You’re saying you have nine cents in the bank, no job and no home.”

  “You’ve summed it up pretty well,” she said, wondering if he was being knowingly cruel about this. “And don’t forget the car.”

  “Oh, that’s right. You’ve got a car that won’t run.” She thought she detected sarcasm embedded in his disbelief. Then he startled her by adding, “In spite of all that, you’re just about the happiest most well-adjusted person I’ve ever met.”

  “Except for the financial part.”

  “Yeah, except that. I don’t get it, Rosie. Why aren’t you in panic mode?”

  She propped her elbows on the table and cradled her chin thoughtfully. “Would panicking change my situation any?”

  “No, but—”

  “Then why should I panic?”

  He stared at her for a long moment. She felt like an exotic animal in a zoo, something he’d never seen before. He didn’t quite know what to make of her.

  “I just think panic would be in order in your situation. Or at least a certain level of stress.”

  “Something will work out for me, you’ll see.”

  “How can you be so relaxed about all this?” He swept the papers and checkbook register into a pile.

  “Mitch, look. I grew up the daughter of apple farmers. I have five brothers and sisters. You think I didn’t go through lean years when I was growing up? Blight, fungus, fire—they all happened. Some years were too good, and we produced so many apples their market value sank. So I guess I learned right from the cradle that it does no good to panic about money. I’m thankful for my health, my education, my family, my dogs.” She sent an affectionate smile at the two Chihuahuas curled on the afghan she’d spread on the parlor couch.

  “But suppose the day comes when you can’t afford dog food?” he demanded. “I know they don’t eat much, but they have to eat something.”

  “What do you suggest I do?” she shot back. “Ask you for a raise?”

  “You might start by deciding to care a little bit about money.”

  “Oh, right. So I can be as happy and well-adjusted as you, Mitch Rutherford?”

  “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

  Agitated, she got up from the table and paced, arms folded beneath her breasts. “You have all the money in the world,” she said. “If you keep going at this rate, you’ll have all the money in the next world, as well. You can buy anything you want. Go anywhere, do anything. And what do you do? You work. And when you’re through doing that, you work some more. It’s all you do, Mitch. Is that any way to live your life?”

  His face darkened a shade, but he didn’t move. “I’m building things. Employing people. I wouldn’t exactly say I’m wasting my life.”

  “Not in that way, no,” she admitted. She knew she should stop, but it was too late. Her mouth had gone on way ahead of her common sense. “But there’s something else people need, Mitch. An inner life.” She stopped pacing and stood in front of him, studying him. Something about him broke her heart. He was as mesmerizing as the sun. As strong as a tree. Yet there, in the very center of him, she sensed something tender and vulnerable. Something she wanted to cherish.

  Not him, reason told her. Don’t fall for him. He’s all wrong.

  “I look at you, Mitch,” she said, “and I see someone who’s empty. Missing something, I guess.”

  “Then your eyesight isn’t so good, because I’m doing just fine.”

  “Are you? I don’t mean to insult you, but to tell you that you shouldn’t keep everything all on the surface.”

  “And how do you know I do that?”

  “I just…know. I see how smart you are about money and business. How organized, how efficient. But when you look back on the day you had today, what was the most important moment?” She held up her hand to keep him from speaking. “Don’t think about your answer. Just tell me what the most important moment was.”

  “Holding you in my arms,” he blurted.

  Eight

  Mitch couldn’t believe he’d just admitted it.

  Neither, apparently, could Rosie. Her cheeks flamed in the prettiest blush he’d ever seen. “That wasn’t the answer I expected.”

  He moved quickly to cover his gaffe. “You have to admit,” he said with a laugh, “you’re a lot less scary than a killer whale.”

  “That’s a relief,” she said. “It’s something I worry about.”

  “Finally you admit to worrying.”<
br />
  She folded her hands, twisting her fingers together. “Mitch, I’m sorry about what I said earlier. I was way out of line. It’s not my place to criticize the choices you’ve made. Bad habit of mine, and for all I know, I was totally wrong.” She hesitated, took a seat again at the long split maple table. “So was I?”

  “Were you what?”

  “Wrong about you. For all I know, you have a house with a white picket fence and you’re a deacon in church and do volunteer work every week.”

  “What if I said all that’s true?”

  She smiled wickedly. He was getting to enjoy her smile way too much. “Is it?”

  “No.”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  “And you think this is something I should want?”

  “Maybe not specifically. But a person needs connections other than business connections, Mitch.”

  “What for?”

  “Because without them, you’re…no different from that laptop computer.” She gestured at the slim Thinkpad on the table.

  “My computer’s very happy.”

  “Mitch…”

  “Okay, I know what you mean. But I didn’t hire you to psychoanalyze me. You’re supposed to be doing environmental studies.”

  “Well, I came here to do that.” She gestured at the stack of envelopes and papers. “Instead, I’m getting a financial makeover I didn’t ask for.”

  “So that makes us even. We’ve both butted in where we don’t belong.” He took out a fresh pencil. “Do me a favor, Rosie. Let me show you some ways to keep track of your money. It’s pretty simple, and you’ll feel better about everything.”

  She eyed him skeptically. “Is that a guarantee, Mr. Rutherford?”

  “It is, Dr. Galvez.”

  “Fine. On one condition.”

  He nodded, absurdly grateful that she’d let him duck away from his comment about holding her in his arms. “Name it.”

  “You have to let me teach you something I’m good at.”

  “Yeah? And what’s that?”

  “I’m not going to tell you. You’ll just have to trust me.” She tucked her knees under her and planted her elbows on the table, leaning toward him. “Now, Mr. Wizard, show me how I can get my finances in order.”