Haven Creek

by Rochelle Alers

  “How long did it take you to complete this?” Nate asked.

  “Once I got the surveyor’s report it took a little more than a month.”

  “Is that all?”

  Morgan chuckled. “There were days I’d work sixteen hours just to finish it. I usually create a regular rendering on the computer, but for a project of this scope, I felt a three-dimensional representation would be a lot more visually interesting and realistic.”

  Nate remembered the set of toy soldiers he’d set up on an imaginary battlefield when he was a child, in imitation of the Revolutionary War and Civil War reenactments that were held during the island-wide Memorial Day celebrations. “What are these?” he asked, pointing to two buildings near a formal rose garden.

  “Kara wants to turn the plantation house into a museum.” She touched the larger of the two buildings. “This one will be Angels Landing Inn. It will have conference rooms, a restaurant with room for sixty guests, and twelve double-occupancy suites. The other will house a museum shop that will be restricted to local artisans. They will be able to exhibit and sell their handicrafts.”

  “Won’t the restaurant compete with Jack’s?”

  “No. I’ve spoken to Otis and Miss Vina and they’ve agreed to let their daughters run it.”

  “You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”

  Morgan smiled, her dimples deepening. “I can’t take the credit, Nate. After all, this is Kara’s vision.”

  “It may be her vision, but it’s your genius that will make it come alive.”

  “I’m hardly a genius, Nate.”

  “There’s no need for you to be self-deprecating. You’re much too good for someone else to exploit your talent. So claim your genius, Mo.”

  Extending her hand palm up, she then made a fist. “I just claimed it.”

  “That’s more like it.” Nate paused, staring at a large grassy area some distance from the proposed inn. “Do you have any plans for the land next to the new buildings?”

  “Kara still hasn’t decided whether she wants to put in a nine-hole golf course. I’m certain it will act as a perk for conference attendees wishing to unwind. I suggested building the course to halt developers looking to buy land for condos, country clubs, and private golf courses here on Cavanaugh Island, as they’ve done on Hilton Head and Jekyll Island and many of the other Sea Islands.”

  Leaning back on the stool, Nate slowly let out his breath. “I heard talk about them offering folks a great deal of money to sell out.”

  “They prey on us like locusts. It’s gotten so bad that there’s talk about putting a referendum on the ballots in all three towns in the upcoming election to restrict developers from soliciting Cavanaugh Island residents.”

  Nate met Morgan’s eyes. He held his breath when she appeared to come closer, although she hadn’t moved. She lowered her gaze, peering up at him through long, thick lashes. “Do you think it’ll pass?” he asked.

  “If it gets on the ballot I know it’ll pass here in the Cove and probably in the Creek.”

  “What about the Landing?”

  “One never knows about the folks in the Landing,” she replied.

  Morgan blinked, shattering Nate’s entrancement. He wondered if she looked at all men the way she looked at him. Did she realize how seductive she was? Morgan was the total package: intelligence, incredible beauty, a flawless complexion, a dimpled smile, and a drop-dead gorgeous body.

  “No lie,” he said halfheartedly. “The folks who live there were always out of step with those in the other towns. What’s going to be my involvement with your project?” he asked, changing the topic of conversation.

  Morgan stood up, retrieved a stack of photographs off her desk, and handed them to him. “As we discussed, you will be responsible for re-creating the slave village. That means the cabins and the outbuildings, including the blacksmith shop, the winnowing barns, and the furniture for each cabin. As you can see, some of the original structures are dilapidated, but intact enough for you to get an idea of what they looked like inside. You will also be constructing another eight cabins.”

  A slight frown furrowed Nate’s forehead. “I’m going to have to use distressed wood for the new cabins to get the same weatherworn effect as the ones that are still standing.”

  It was Morgan’s turn to frown. “Will that pose a problem for you?”

  “No. But if you’re going to restore the plantation to its original state, then everything should look as it did then. And that means tearing down the old cabins and putting up new ones. It will probably be more cost-effective, too, because instead of building a structure from the ground up I can purchase them as prefabs. That’s what I did with the barn. It came with engineered blueprints and calculations as well as a full lumber package—but not the concrete, nails, and roofing. I also had to purchase the windows, doors, fireplace, furnishings, fixtures, insulation, and utilities. Working alone took three times as long as it would have if I’d had a couple of assistants.”

  “How about cost?”

  His entire face lit up as he gave her a Cheshire cat grin. “I don’t think I spent more than one fifteen for everything.”

  Morgan blinked, then gave him a long, penetrating look. “I don’t believe it. You spent one hundred fifteen thousand for a new house with more than two thousand square feet of living space?”

  He nodded. “Living and working space. Shaw Woodworking will occupy the first floor. I ordered the package without the horse stalls to give us more working area. The final cost would’ve been a lot more if I’d paid for labor.”

  “Are you saying you’d put up the cabins by yourself?”

  Nate recognized an expression of concern cross Morgan’s features. “No. Building sixteen cabins and furniture for each is a herculean feat. And there are also the outbuildings. I’d have to work with at least two other carpenters.”

  She nodded. “I’ll subcontract with you and it will be your responsibility to hire the people you want to supervise. Your crew will be the only one that will not report to the project manager.” Opening a drawer under the drafting table, Morgan took out a pad and wrote down a figure. “This is my offer.” He was hard pressed not to smile. Morgan was offering him a great deal more money than he anticipated. “I’ve factored in cost overruns for each line in the budget, so if you’re going to need more money, please let me know.”

  This time Nate did smile. “It looks good, Mo.”

  Her eyebrows lifted a fraction. “Are you sure?”

  “Quite sure.”

  She exhaled an audible sigh. “If that’s the case, then I’ll have David draw up a contract for you to go over with your attorney. The agreement will be between Nathaniel Shaw and the Angels Landing Plantation Preservation Foundation, and you’ll receive a one-quarter advance once the contract is executed. By the way, do you have a middle name?”

  “It’s Phillip.”

  Nate was going to tell Morgan that the agreement should be between Shaw Woodworking, Inc., and the preservation foundation, but quickly changed his mind because he didn’t want to commingle funds from two different enterprises. He realized his cautiousness came from not completely trusting Odessa.

  When she’d first come to the Creek to care for his mother he’d overheard her asking their neighbor if there were any well-off single men on the island. He later learned she’d grown up dirt poor after her father was stabbed to death in a dice game. After that she swore she would never wear secondhand clothes or eat grits for breakfast, lunch, and dinner ever again.

  Lucas wasn’t wealthy but he had always earned a good living crafting custom-made furniture. Nate’s suspicions about Odessa were confirmed when some of her relatives who’d come to the Creek for her wedding had whispered she’d always been a gold digger. He’d never interfered when it came to his father and stepmother’s relationship, but Nate didn’t intend for Odessa to inherit the monies he’d set aside for his niece and nephew’s college education.

  Morgan
extended her hand. “It’s nice to have you on board, Nathaniel Phillip Shaw.” He took her cool fingers, cradling them to his chest. “What are you doing?” she asked.

  She tried extricating her hand as he tightened his hold. “Let me warm you up.”

  “I’m not cold,” she countered. “In fact, I’m quite warm.”

  Nate pressed his thumb to her wrist. Her pulse was beating in double time. “Are you afraid of me?” The query was out before he could censor himself.

  A full minute passed before Morgan said, “Why would I be afraid of you, Nate?”

  He dropped her hand. “I don’t know what it is, but I feel like you’re not always comfortable around me.”

  She let out a nervous laugh. “You’re imagining things. I’m here with you alone. If I was uncomfortable I never would’ve asked you to become involved with this project.”

  He attempted to conceal a mischievous grin, deciding to challenge her claim that she was comfortable with him. “Come have supper with me. I’d planned to eat at Jack’s, but if you want to go someplace a little more upscale, then I’ll go home and change.”

  “It’s ironic you mention Jack’s because I was going to order a delivery from them.”

  “Jack’s delivers?”

  Throwing back her head, Morgan laughed, the low, sultry sound washing over Nate like the mist coming off the water. He stared at the graceful curve of her long neck and the silken skin on her throat, wondering what it would be like to press his mouth there. Again, his erotic thoughts returned, leaving him more shaken than he wanted when part of his anatomy reacted vigorously. He was grateful to be seated and that the drafting table concealed his growing erection.

  Nate still didn’t know what there was about Morgan that had him entertaining licentious fantasies. He’d always related to her as the youngest daughter of the Drs. Dane, who’d trailed behind her grandfather whenever he went out, several cameras slung around his neck, looking for new subjects to capture on film. When she was about eight she could be seen with her own camera, snapping pictures of flowers, butterflies, or anything that would stand still long enough for her to shoot them.

  Even though the Shaws and the Danes lived within walking distance of each other, Nate hadn’t regarded them as neighbors. It wasn’t until he and Morgan rode the same bus to high school that he realized she’d changed. She was tall—much taller than her female counterparts and many of the boys her age. She’d either style her hair in a single braid or occasionally pull it up in a ponytail. He would already be seated on the bus when she would board, and she and Francine would always sit together.

  He usually didn’t say much to her except to acknowledge her when passing in the halls. The few times he’d engaged her in conversation she was either with her older sisters or her cousin Jesse, who treated her as if she were his younger sister.

  The fact that he was four years her senior meant that she was off-limits. Nate had preferred dating girls his age or a year or two older. There was still a four-year age difference between them, but things had changed. Both were consenting adults, if either decided they wanted a relationship.

  Relationship! That single word rocked him to the core. He’d told himself he would never become involved in another relationship, but here he was contemplating one with Morgan. And he knew if they did have one it would never lead to a commitment or marriage.

  I doubt if I would ever marry a man who grew up here. Morgan’s statement came rushing back with vivid clarity. Even though he’d been away for a long time, Nate was one of those who had grown up on Cavanaugh Island. He didn’t know what it was about Cavanaugh Island boys that turned her off, but this was one time he was glad they did, because in that instant he decided he liked Morgan enough to date her—and not because she’d helped thwart Trina’s amorous advances.

  “Didn’t I tell you that you don’t get out enough?” she said teasingly. “Jack’s started delivering last year, when the locals complained they couldn’t get a seat at the restaurant because of the tourists. Otis and Miss Vina hired high school students to make deliveries to island residents. They begin the Memorial Day weekend and end Labor Day. Once the tourists leave everything goes back to normal. We don’t have to jostle for space on the sidewalks, you can always find a parking spot in the business district, and if you take the ferry then you’re not packed in like sardines. A couple of summers ago they started running two ferries instead of one between here and the mainland.” She glanced at her watch. “Jack’s is probably filled to capacity and you’ll have to wait more than an hour to be seated. Tell me what you want and I’ll add it to my order. Deliveries usually take under a half hour.”

  “You’re right, Mo.”

  “What am I right about?” Morgan asked.

  A hint of a smile softened Nate’s mouth. “Not getting out enough. Maybe you can help remedy that.”

  Her eyebrows lifted inquiringly. “How can I help you?”

  “Go out with me. Since I’ve been back the only places I go are the Charleston lumberyard and the hardware store to pick up supplies and tools.”

  “All work and no play, Nate. You know what they say about that?”

  He nodded. “I know. It will make me dull.”

  She sobered quickly. “What exactly do you have in mind?”

  “Well, I did promise Jesse I would come to the club.”

  She pushed out her lips. “And my cousin can be relentless when you promise him something.” Morgan studied him with a curious intensity that made Nate believe she was about to reject his offer. A beat passed, then she said, “Okay. I’ll go with you to the Happy Hour. I’ll let you know when I’m available.”

  Nate curbed the urge to pump his fist in triumph. He’d finally convinced her to go out with him. Maybe after spending time together he would understand what it was about Morgan that drew him to her.

  “I’ll go along with whatever you want, Mo.” He’d agree to almost anything just to have her go out with him.

  Morgan could not believe what she’d agreed to do. Had she truly lost her mind? Anyone who went to the club knew that if a group of guys or women came in together they were there for guys’ or girls’ night out. If she and Nate were to go together, then they would be thought of as a couple. Going to the club as a couple would only intensify the gossip that had begun at Kara and Jeff’s wedding reception.

  “I’m going to give you my business card,” she said, her voice shaded in neutral tones as she stood up and walked to the desk. Picking up a pen, she jotted down a number on the reverse side. “I’m also including my home number. If I don’t pick up, then leave a voice mail.”

  Nate stood up. “The shop’s voice mail is working now. Please give me your cell phone and I’ll program it with my numbers.” Morgan handed him the card and her cell phone. “Are there any new dishes on Jack’s menu?” he asked.

  “No. The only change is smaller children’s portions. Other than that it’s the same.” Morgan watched him tap the screen as he programmed several numbers into her phone. “How many numbers do you have?”

  Glancing up, Nate smiled at her. “I’m giving you my cell. Also my sister’s number, because I’ve been living with her until my apartment is ready, and my dad’s cell.”

  “Haven Creek isn’t so big that I won’t be able to find you. What do you plan to do? Go MIA?”

  “No.” He handed her back the iPhone. “I didn’t bust my hump for the past five months putting up that barn to cut and run. I plan to be around for a very long time.” Nate squinted at Morgan. “I hope you weren’t thinking I was going to run out with your money. You don’t trust me, do you?” he said before she could answer.

  “Of course I trust you.”

  “I was just checking.”

  Pinpoints of heat stung her cheeks once she realized that Nate was teasing her. After all, it wasn’t her money but Kara’s. The newly married Mrs. Jeffrey Hamilton—a direct descendant of Shipley Patton, the original owner of Angels Landing—had put up more than
five million dollars to begin the restoration of the property that had been in her family since the l830s.

  Morgan didn’t know Nate well enough to have witnessed this side of his personality. When most boys were, as the older folks would say, cuttin’ the fool, he’d always been rather serious, something she’d attributed to the fact that he had lost his mother. Morgan hadn’t attended Manda Shaw’s funeral, but those who did talked about it for a long time. Lucas and Sharon had been inconsolable, while Nate hadn’t shed a tear. Miss Hester claimed someone in the family had to be strong for the rest of the Shaws.

  Three months later, gossip spread across the island like a lighted fuse attached to a stick of dynamite when Lucas married Odessa. Morgan had been too young to understand what all the talk was about when Nate’s younger brother was born. And if there was one rule in the Dane household that was enforced to the letter, it was not repeating gossip. Neither Morgan nor her sisters were permitted to talk about their friends or what they’d overheard. Just this week, when she and her sisters had joined their parents for Sunday dinner, Rachel had been abruptly silenced with a disapproving glare from her mother when she opened her mouth to repeat what she’d heard about Morgan and Nate.

  “If we’re going to work together, then we have to learn to trust each other.”

  “I do trust you, Mo. Otherwise I never would’ve given you my word about re-creating the slave village.”

  Morgan studied his face feature by feature, searching for a hint of guile. Even if the feelings she’d had for Nate resurfaced, she knew they would always take a backseat to the rebuilding of Angels Landing Plantation. Updating her wish list kept her focused.

  “As long as we understand each other, I know we’ll get along well.”

  “As long as we keep in mind it’s only business and nothing personal then we should get along famously,” Nate countered. “And that includes going to Happy Hour together,” he added.

  “I never mix business and pleasure.”

  Morgan hadn’t lied to Nate. Unfortunately, she’d discovered the wisdom of this principle when she studied abroad. She’d had an affair with her professor, and when it ended she realized she wasn’t the first female student he’d seduced. She’d wanted more and he didn’t. And for her, it’d become once bitten, twice shy.