"Let's go on deck," Jane's mother said, dragging her daughter outside. They leaned on the stern rail, watching the crowd milling on Steamboat Wharf. Gwendolyn was anxiously scanning the faces below. "What time is it?" she demanded to know.
"Five more minutes," Jane said idly.
"Well, that's it, then. He's not coming."
"Who?"
"Bing Andrews. Before you go biting off my head," she said quickly, "he called me in San Francisco and said he might be on the island today, in which case he'd stop in to say good-bye. Probably we've missed one another."
"Mother — that ship has sailed," Jane said morosely. "Get over it." Jane went back to perusing the crowd and was surprised to see a big black dog that she knew well cruising back and forth on the sidelines, checking out the crowd.
"Look!" she cried to her mother. "It's Buster! I can't believe he still wanders this far from home; no wonder he keeps getting arrested." She called his name, yoo-hooing and here-boying to get his attention.
Buster saw her and began barking his Baskerville bark, prompting Gwendolyn to say, "Hush, Jane! Stop encouraging him!"
But it was too late. The dog was making a beeline up the cargo ramp and past the attendant.
Jane said, "Oh shit, here he comes!" and took off to intercept him and put him back on shore.
She raced past her father and down the top flight of stairs, got lost, backtracked, and found her way to the lower flight of stairs that led to the hold. She had one hand on the rail at the head of the stairs when she saw him at the bottom, on his way up.
Mac McKenzie. He was in khakis and a denim shirt, his standard uniform, and he looked as surprised to see her as she was to see him.
"Oh! I was looking for Buster," she said.
"I've sent him back."
"Oh. Well, good. That solves that problem."
"And leaves one other."
"How to find a seat when you're the last one on the ferry?"
"How to get you off this boat before it leaves the dock." They were moving toward one another on the stairs now; Jane down, Mac up. She had no idea why her body was behaving the way it was; she herself was still at the top of the stairs, keeping her emotional distance from this man who'd caused her so much pain.
She watched herself say, "You have about ninety seconds. And as we know, you're not a fast talker."
"I love you."
"I ... my parents are on board. All my things are on board."
"I love you."
"I can't just walk off this boat, Mac. I can't. Not anymore."
He was on the step below hers, his eyes on a level with hers. She looked into them and saw bottomless depths of love and resolve, and it took her breath away. He caught her in his arms and brought his mouth over hers in a kiss that both Janes — the Jane at the top of the stairs and the Jane that he held close — knew was a pledge of commitment. For life.
"Then I'll carry you off," he said when he let her go, "and make it easy for you."
He lifted her effortlessly and carried her down the steps, through the cargo hold, and over the ramp. Jane heard laughter, and then whistling, and finally loud cheering. For a man who rarely left the island, Mac McKenzie seemed to know everyone who worked on the ferry landing. She was too light-headed to remember much of what followed, but she did remember the ramp being raised out of the way, and the great diesel engines of the Uncatena being revved up for departure.
And the look on her mother's face as she stood on the afterdeck, watching Mac lower Jane to her feet.
Jane waved and cupped her hands into a megaphone as the black and white ferry began backing away from the dock. "I'm sorry you had to come all this way!" she yelled up to her astonished mother. "I'll call you! Or you can call me at —"
"My place," Mac said, slipping his arm around her waist. "At Mac's," she yelled, "and we'll talk all about it. And tell Dad I'm glad he came! Truly! And tell him that I'm —"
"Getting married," Mac murmured, kissing her temple. Jane turned back to him. "Yes," she said, her eyes shining. "I love you very much."
She called out to her mother, who was rapidly passing out of earshot. "And tell him I'm getting married!" she screamed, waving madly. "Not to Bing! I love you, Mother!"
The last, the very last, image Jane had of the scene was of her father, Wall Street Journal still in hand, coming out and peering over his half-glasses at the upstart daughter who he insisted ever after must've got switched at birth.
Mac took Jane in his arms and kissed her — more hooting, more cheering — long and hard. "If you hadn't let me carry you off, I would've died," he said in a shaky, joyous voice.
Jane reached into the big flap pocket of her sundress and brought out a small white ticket.
"Round trip," she said with a wicked, provocative smile.
Epilogue
"Nervous?"
"What do you think?" Mac said, opening his arms to her.
Jane crawled into the macrame hammock alongside him and let him engulf her in a warm summer's grasp. "I think you never should've told my dad last Christmas that he didn't know a jacknife from his elbow."
"Yeah," Mac said reflectively. "In retrospect, I should've been more diplomatic. Especially since I was a guest in his mansion."
"His part of the mansion," Jane corrected, nipping his shoulder. "It's only a condo."
"A condo that includes the ballroom."
"They entertain a lot. Anyway, Mother tells me he's been boning up on all things green, just to show you. Be prepared for a lively discussion on crop rotation when they arrive tonight."
"Did Gwen tell you she was subscribing to Parents magazine? With grandchildren coming at her from all sides, she's decided she'd better do a little boning up herself," Mac said, slipping his hand under Jane's blouse and idly circling her belly.
"Oh boy. Maybe we'd better move the guest room from the house to Lilac Cottage."
"What? And wreck your serenity? Where would you paint?"
"I haven't done a watercolor since March. Who has time? With the business starting to take off — look, I've been thinking, Mac." She sat up and swung one leg over his stomach, straddling him. "Let's move the office to the cottage, and add a little shop. I can sell my watercolors there instead of at a gallery, and of course we'd have wreaths and dried flowers and seasonal arrangements. I'll move my studio upstairs. And the small room can be a nursery," she said, giving him a little bounce with her buttocks.
Mac groaned under her weight and said, "Why bother running this past me? You do what you want anyway."
She smiled and leaned over to kiss him. "I do not."
He took a moment to savor her tongue before he said, "You're a radical in petticoats. You made me buy a computer."
"I talked you into buying a computer. Besides, you don't have to use it; I'm the one who keeps the books."
"I have a son who's a wizard at it and another wizard of indeterminate sex on the way. I damn well better learn to speak their language. I have no choice."
"You're such a fraud, McKenzie. I have to drag you away from that thing after supper. It's just a good thing I can still make you a better offer. Like last night."
A remembrance of the night before passed over Mac's face, filling it with a depth of emotion that made her own heart swell.
"Is it enough for you?" he asked softly. "What we have?"
"My God, Mac," she whispered, bending over him. "It's life itself."
She gave him a kiss of pure, humble gratitude, for making her existence whole.
"Hey, you two! Cut that out! It's embarrassin'." Uncle Easy was approaching them from the lane that led out to the road, the lane that Bing had granted Mac an easement over, in writing, just the month before. Uncle Easy had his cane with him for his walk, but he didn't seem to need it except as a pointer to scold them with.
Jane hopped out of the hammock and Mac laughed and sat up and said, "You're just jealous, you old rake. Besides, you had your chance."
"At her, or at th
e hammock?" Uncle Easy said with an irrepressible leer. "All things considered, I'd rather take on the hammock. I could probably get in and out of that with a lot less chance of killing myself."
"Uncle Easy!" Jane said, blushing all over.
"Ah, yes," her husband murmured in her ear. "This is going to be one interesting dinner party."
"I heard that, Mac McKenzie," Uncle Easy said, though clearly he could not have. He went up to his nephew and gave him a friendly elbow in the ribs. "They thought when you eloped that they got stuck with the son-in-law from hell. Wait till they find out you come with a matching set of relations."
Then he turned to Jane and bowed to her as low as his stiff old frame would let him. "Never fear, madam," he said. "I shall be on me best behavior t'night."
From behind his back he brought out his other arm and presented Jane with a newly cut, pale pink rose. It was a smallish blossom, camellia-like, with its rounded petals opened to show yellow stamens within. "Happy Anniversary," he said shyly.
"The new rose!" she cried. "So it did open overnight!"
"Told you it would," Uncle Easy said. "It's a goodish warm day."
She accepted the flower from him and kissed him on his lined and withered cheek, then sipped the intense and spicy fragrance of the rose the way she would a superbly aged wine.
Mac, who'd put his arm around her as he studied the fruit of their labor together, leaned over and took a sniff himself. "Hmm. Definitely essence of aphrodisiac," he said, moving from the rose to her mouth and kissing her in an interested way.
"You two. Honest to Pete. Keep this up and I'm gonna hafta go to Doris's house instead," the old man muttered, shaking his head.
"Don't be silly," Jane said, slipping the rose through an eyelet in the ruffle of her blouse. "Doris would never let you browbeat her the way we do."
"I'm getting out of here," Mac said, covering his head with his hands comically and ducking away. "Yell if you need anything. I think I'll take the tractor over to fill in this one pothole I happened to see —"
"Mac," Jane yelled after him. "You just put on clean clothes ...."
Uncle Easy chuckled and, using his cane now, eased himself slowly into a high-backed wooden Adirondack chair close by. "He's a good kid," he said contentedly. "Always was."
Jane sighed and climbed back into the hammock. After a day of frantic, picky preparations — the guest room was bursting with flowers — she needed the break. All in all, she felt pretty proud of what she and Mac had accomplished together there. She hoped her parents would be able to see the evidence of their year of labor. Lilac Cottage was as charming as ever, a Christmas card come true, especially in December, with a thousand white lights strung around the hollies.
The farmhouse, always picture perfect, now had the finishing touches that made it a home: people. Jerry had come to stay several times — including three weeks in the past summer when his mother was on her honeymoon — and hadn't broken a single bone. Uncle Easy, on the other hand, had broken his wrist in April (pulling out dandelions) and came to convalesce with them. One week led to another, and now he was part of their lives. But he was getting restless; soon he'd be headed back to what he called his bachelor's pad.
Yes: a nearly perfect year. She bent over her blouse to take a whiff of the rose again, thinking that she had no earthly right to ask for more; and yet ....
Just the one little thing, she prayed meekly. Just to know that it worked out for them.
She'd thought about them all winter long, as she and Mac had sat curled up in front of the fire; thought about what an overflow of happiness she had, enough to pass around to everyone, like a gardener who grows too many tomatoes. It worked for Bing: He took one look at Mac and her and turned around and married his senior development officer. Now they traveled all over the world together, a perfect match.
Couldn't it work for Ben and Judith?
She lay in the hammock, half asleep, listening to the lazy buzz of insects, and the sweet songs of the finches in the trees overhead, and the distant sounds of Mac and his beloved John Deere. She must have drowsed off, or thought she had, because when she awoke she saw, or thought she saw, Ben and Judith together.
She was in a kind of flowing, iridescent white, and he was in something neutral, a Nantucket shade of gray. Even from a distance Jane could see her long, blue-black hair, curled and unmanageable. She was taller than he was, but his physique was perfectly suited for sailing: broad across the shoulders, and short bowed legs. They seemed to waver in the noonday heat, like a mirage, and then they were gone.
Jane bolted up from the hammock and cried, "Uncle Easy! Did you see that?"
The old man rolled his head lazily in her direction, and winked.
He drew a circle that shut me out—
Heretic, rebel, a thing to flout.
But love and I had the wit to win:
We drew a circle that took him in.
—Edwin Markham (1852—1940),
"Outwitted"
More for your Nook by Antoinette Stockenberg
(Select a book title to visit the Nook Book Store and purchase a copy.)
Available for your Nook April 2012.
A Month at the Shore
" An addictive, captivating story of love, family and trust."
-- Romance Reviews Today
Laura Shore has fled her humble past on Cape Cod and made a name for herself on the opposite coast. But when she returns and joins forces with her two siblings to try to save Shore Gardens, the failing family nursery, she finds that she hasn't left the past behind at all. Kendall Barclay, the town's rich son and her childhood knight in shining armor, lives there still, and his hold over Laura is as strong as ever. Like a true knight, he's attentive, courteous, and ready to help -- until a murder is uncovered that threatens the family, the nursery, and Laura's deepening relationship with him.
Select here to read the prologue of A Month at the Shore.
Beyond Midnight
"Full of charm and wit, Stockenberg's latest is truly enthralling."
--Publishers Weekly
In 1692, Salem, Massachusetts was the setting for the infamous persecution of innocents accused of witchcraft. Three centuries later, little has changed. Helen Evett, widowed mother of two and owner of a prestigious preschool in town, finds her family, her fortunes, and her life's work threatened —all because she feels driven to protect the sweet three-year-old daughter of a man who knows everything about finance but not so much about fathering.
Select here to read two sample chapters of Beyond Midnight.
Emily's Ghost
RITA Award Winner
"Booksellers' recommended read."
--Publishers Weekly
A showdown between a U.S. Senator (with a house on Martha's Vineyard) who believes in ghosts and a reporter who doesn't. What could possibly go wrong?
Select here to read four sample chapters of Emily's Ghost.
Embers
"A deft blend of mystery and romance … sure to win more kudos"
--Publishers Weekly
To Meg Hazard, it seemed like a good idea at the time: squeezing her extended family into the back rooms of their rambling Victorian home and converting the rest of the house into a Bed and Breakfast in the coastal town of Bar Harbor, Maine. Paying guests are most welcome, but the arrival of a Chicago cop on medical leave turns out to be both good news and bad news for Meg and the Inn Between.
Select here to read two sample chapters of Embers.
A Charmed Place
"Buy this book! A truly fantastic read!"
--Suzanne Barr, Gulf Coast Woman
USA TODAY bestselling author Antoinette Stockenberg delivers an original and wonderfully romantic story of two people -- college lovers separated for twenty years -- who have the chance to be happy together at last. But family, friends, an ex-husband, a teenaged daughter and an unsolved murder seem destined to keep the lovers star-crossed, until Dan takes up residence in the Cape Cod lightho
use, with Maddie's rose-covered cottage just a short walk away ...
Select here to read a sample chapter of A Charmed Place.
Keepsake
Wonderful, witty, humorous writing
--The Romance Reader
KEEPSAKE ... a postcard-perfect town in Connecticut. When stonemason Quinn Leary returns after seventeen years, he has one desire: to prove his father's innocence of a terrible crime committed when Quinn and Olivia Bennett, town princess, were high-school rivals. Class doesn't matter now but family loyalties do, and they're fierce enough to threaten the newfound passion between two equals.
Safe Harbor
"Complex … fast-moving …humorous … tender"
--Publishers Weekly
SAFE HARBOR. That's what Martha's Vineyard has always been for Holly Anderson, folk artist, dreamer and eternal optimist. If she could just afford to buy the house and barn she's renting, fall in love, marry the guy and then have children as sweet as her nieces, life would be pretty much perfect.
Poor Holly. She has so much to learn.
Time After Time
"As hilarious as it is heart-tugging ... a rollicking great read."
--I'll Take Romance
In Gilded-Age Newport, an upstairs-downstairs romance between a well-born son and a humble maid is cut short of marriage. A hundred years later, the descendants of that ill-fated union seem destined to repeat history. Or not.
About the Author
USA Today bestselling novelist Antoinette Stockenberg grew up wanting be a cowgirl and have her own horse (her great-grandfather bred horses for the carriage trade back in the old country), but the geography just didn't work out: there weren't many ranches in Chicago. Her other, more doable dream was to write books, and after stints as secretary, programmer, teacher, grad student, boatyard hand, office manager and magazine writer (in that order), she achieved that goal, writing over a dozen novels, several of them with paranormal elements. One of them is the RITA award-winning EMILY'S GHOST.
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