by Marie Force
Must be nice, Owen thought as Laura got sick again.
Dry heaves racked her body, and Owen held her through it. Finally, a hint of the mainland appeared in the distance. “I can see the coast,” he said. “Any minute now.”
“Good,” she whispered weakly, her head resting against his shoulder.
The pounding of the surf was relentless until the instant the ferry cleared the protection of the breakwater in Point Judith. Owen released a deep breath he hadn’t realized he was holding as the water suddenly calmed and the ferry steamed smoothly into port.
An announcement summoned car owners to the lower deck to prepare to disembark.
“Do you think you can walk, honey?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” She attempted to stand, but her legs wobbled under her.
He hefted her bag to his shoulder and scooped her up.
“We’ve really got to stop meeting like this,” Laura said as she let her head fall against his chest.
“Never,” he said, kissing her clammy forehead. He hoped she bounced back in time for the meeting with Justin.
Owen walked down the metal stairs, deposited her in the front seat of the car and buckled her in.
She was asleep before they drove off the boat.
As they passed through the parking lot, Owen noticed Joe Cantrell’s mother Carolina talking to Seamus O’Grady outside the terminal where they sold tickets. A sign posted in the window of the ferry office declared all boats canceled for the rest of the day. They’d gotten “lucky” to catch the last boat off the island. Owen’s rumbling stomach contested the luck factor.
He pulled up next to them and opened the window. “No more boats, huh? Probably a good call.”
“I hear it’s bad out there,” Seamus said.
“One of the roughest rides I’ve ever had.” He gestured to Laura asleep in the passenger seat. “Poor Laura got sick.”
“That’s the worst,” Carolina said. “Hope she feels better.”
“Thanks. We’re off to Providence. See you later.” Owen used Laura’s GPS to direct the car to “home,” hoping that was her father’s house and not the home she’d briefly shared with Justin, pulled out of the parking lot and headed for Providence.
His stomach took another sickening dip when he thought about what awaited them there.
“You really had to cancel the boats right when I wanted to go?” Carolina asked Seamus.
“Sorry, Miz Cantrell. But you heard what Owen said. This last trip was bad. ’Tisn’t safe, I’m afraid.”
As she had every time she’d been around the man her son had hired to run the business while he was in Ohio, Carolina decided she could listen to Seamus O’Grady recite the phone book and never get tired of his lyrical Irish accent. If she were being truthful, she could also look at him for hours and never get enough of the rich auburn hair, devilish green eyes and mischievous grin that made her girlish heart stand up and take notice.
Too bad, she thought as she had before, I’m old enough to be his mother. Figures the one man who’d caught her attention since her beloved Pete died had to be roughly the same age as her son.
“Well, that puts me in a heck of a bind.” She was terribly disappointed to postpone her trip to the island. “I guess I’ll have to find a place to stay for the night.”
“Balderdash!” Seamus said. “You’ll stay at the house, of course.”
Joe had turned his Shelter Harbor home over to Seamus to use when he was on the mainland.
“I couldn’t impose on you,” Carolina said.
“Don’t be silly. It’s your son’s house, and there’s plenty of room. I won’t hear any objections. What would Joe say if he finds out I didn’t take good care of his mama?”
Carolina rolled her eyes when she wanted to laugh like a schoolgirl. “You’re so full of it, O’Grady.”
“So you’ll come and stay?” he asked. “No arguments?”
Since the closest decent hotel was more than twenty miles away, Carolina said, “Sure, why not?”
“Excellent,” he said with a smile. “I’ll grab us some fixings for dinner while you make yourself comfortable at the house.”
“Don’t go to any trouble on my account.”
He bowed gallantly before her. “No trouble a’tall. Thanks to this nasty weather, I find myself with the rest of the day off. Perfect kind of day to whip up an Irish stew that’ll make your mouth water.”
Damned if her mouth didn’t water just thinking about it.
“You’ve got a key?” he asked.
Carolina nodded.
“Okay, I’ll see you there shortly.”
“See you there.” As Carolina returned to her car, she experienced a strange prickling sensation on the back of her neck. She ventured a glance over her shoulder and found Seamus watching her rather intently. Now what the devil was that all about?
Seamus told himself to breathe—in through the nose, out through the mouth. Damned if there wasn’t something so incredibly sexy about Joe Cantrell’s mum. Everything about her appealed to him, from the long blonde hair she wore in a braid down her back to the endless legs that filled out a pair of faded jeans to perfection. And then there were the grayish blue eyes that looked at him with feminine appreciation. Yes, he’d noticed that.
Seamus had been thunderstruck by her from the very beginning, not that he’d ever admit that to anyone. The first time she’d stopped in to “check up on him,” as she’d teasingly said—more than a year ago now—Seamus had been so tongue-tied, he’d imagined her reporting back to Joe that he’d hired a complete idiot to run their family business. Seamus had waited for days to hear he was fired, but that call hadn’t come.
Lusting after the boss’s mother would surely lead to a termination phone call if Joe ever caught on to Seamus’s fascination with her. Seamus liked this job. It was the best job he’d ever had, so he would do well to remember that and keep his eyes—and his hands—to himself while the entirely too appealing Carolina Cantrell was residing under his—or, well, Joe’s—roof.
He let out a huff of aggravation and went into the office to get his jacket and keys. “I’m leaving for the day,” he told the woman who was working the phones.
“See you in the morning,” she said.
As he was driving to the grocery store, Seamus tried to figure out why, out of all the women he’d known, his boss’s mother was the one who got to him. Why was she the one who turned him into a babbling idiot every time she showed up, usually out of the blue with no warning to prepare him?
All his legendary charm deserted him when Carolina Cantrell gave him the challenging look that let him know she wasn’t buying what he was selling. Most women went stupid and giddy when he turned on his legendary Irish charm. Not Carolina. Oh no. She’d had his number from the first time they met, and there was nothing Seamus loved more than a good challenge.
“Joe would kill you for even thinking about her this way,” Seamus muttered. Had he made a huge mistake inviting her to stay at the house? How would he hide his gigantic crush from her when they were staying in close quarters for the night? “Keep thinking about how Joe would dismember you if you so much as look at his mother, you stupid bloke.”
He bought what he needed to make the stew and his grandmother’s soda bread along with a couple of bottles of wine and some candles—in case they lost power. It wouldn’t do to be unprepared for such an event, or so he told himself.
By the time he got to the house where Carolina’s Jeep was parked in the driveway, Seamus was more nervous than a schoolboy before his first date. “Keep a handle on yourself, my man,” Seamus said as he got out of the company truck and headed into the house.
The wind whipping through the trees made an eerie sound, and the rain was coming down in earnest now. He stepped into the mudroom, kicked off his boots and hung up his coat to dry. Grasping the bags of groceries, he stepped into the kitchen and got right to work on the stew. He popped open a beer and took several swallows,
hoping to calm his nerves. His hands were so shaky he nearly lopped off a fingertip while slicing a carrot.
“Frickin’ insanity, I tell you,” he muttered. “Cook the food and stop acting like a dunderheaded nitwit.”
“Do you always talk to yourself in the kitchen?” Carolina asked.
Seamus looked up quickly and found her leaning against the doorframe, holding a glass of wine. Her hair had been released from the braid and framed her face like wispy spun gold. A searing pain in his finger forced his gaze back to the cutting board, which was now covered in blood. Frickin’ fabulous!
“Shit,” he said as he headed for the sink to run the cut under cold water, praying it wasn’t deep enough to require a hospital visit. He didn’t want to waste any of his precious time with the lovely Carolina getting stitches.
“Let me see,” she said, appearing at his side. With the bump of her hip against his, she shifted him to the side in a move that turned him on so completely he nearly swallowed his tongue.
She took hold of his hand and gave the cut a thorough examination.
The feel of her soft skin against his had him mesmerized, wishing the interlude would never end.
Sadly, she quickly completed her exam and held his finger under the cold water for another minute before releasing his hand. “I’m sure Joe has a first aid kit somewhere.”
Seamus cleared his throat and batted his way through the cobwebs that had formed in his brain. While only a minute had passed, he felt as if he’d been under her spell far longer than that. “Under the bathroom sink,” he said.
“Be right back.”
He watched her walk away, because her fine rear in those faded jeans was a thing of beauty. The instant she was out of sight, Seamus released an unsteady breath and took a long look around the kitchen, as if he’d never before seen the modern appliances, intricate tile work and butcher-block countertop. His entire world had been turned upside down in the scope of a minute, the first time Carolina Cantrell officially touched him.
She returned with the first aid kit and directed him, with a hand to his arm, to take a seat on one of the barstools. The heat of her hand branded the skin of his arm, leaving him forever marked by the sensation of her touch.
All at once, it became vitally important to Seamus that she not touch him again. “It’s okay,” he said. “I can put a bandage on it.”
“Oh, please, let me. It’s my fault it happened in the first place. I startled you.”
Taking his silence as consent, she took hold of his hand and dabbed at the cut on the pad of his index finger with antibiotic ointment that stung like a bastard.
He sucked in a sharp, deep breath.
“Sorry,” she said with a wince. “I know it hurts.”
If she kissed it better, he would die on the spot. Of that much he was certain.
Her scent surrounded him, a bewitching combination of earthy spiciness and sexy woman. Seamus wanted to lean in closer for a better whiff. When her hair brushed against his face as she bent over her task, he had to bite back a groan. It took every bit of willpower he possessed not to reach for a handful of silky blonde hair and bring it to his nose.
The second she had the bandage in place, he jumped up from the barstool and managed to crack his head against hers.
“Oh God,” he said, stumbling through the words as he backpedaled away from her. “I’m so sorry. Are you hurt?”
Sending him a wry grin, she rubbed the tender spot on her forehead where his big noggin had connected with hers. “I’ll survive.” She studied him intently with eyes that seemed to see all the way through him. He certainly hoped that wasn’t the case, for he’d be truly mortified if she were to have any inkling of his thoughts about her.
“You seem rather jumpy,” she said. “Are you all right?”
“Of course.” Heat infused his face in a blush so fierce he was reminded of his horrible teenage years when the sound of a girl’s voice—any girl’s voice—could make him blush and go hard, all in a fraction of an instant. That hadn’t happened again since then, until the first time he met his boss’s lovely mother—and every time since then.
He got busy again with the knife, watching his digits more closely this time. “I’m fine. I need a few more minutes to get the soup on and the bread in the oven.”
“I’ll start a fire,” she said, wandering into the family room.
“Frickin’ fabulous,” he muttered again as he imagined how she’d look in firelight.
Chapter 11
Joe waited until Janey got through a week of midterm exams that had her stressed out and overwrought. When she arrived home from her last exam on Friday night, exhaustion clung to her. He met her at the door and took her coat.
“I’m going straight to bed,” she said as she gave him a quick kiss and headed for the bedroom.
The dogs circled around her legs. That she gave them only perfunctory pats on the head was a sure sign of how tired she really was.
“Baby, wait. I know you’re wiped out, but you need to eat. I made dinner. Why don’t you have something to eat before you crash?”
He watched her eye the bedroom longingly before she turned her gaze toward him and nodded in agreement.
“Right this way.” He held a chair for her at the table and served up the chicken piccata he’d made from scratch. One of the things Joe loved best about semi-retirement was having the time to try things he’d never done before, like cooking. That Janey praised his every effort as if it were fine French cuisine made it extra rewarding.
“So good,” she said of the first taste of tender chicken.
“Glad you like it.” He poured her a glass of the chocolate milk she loved and opened a beer for himself, needing some liquid courage for this conversation.
“Where did you learn to make this?”
“One of the women in my class made it for the art department potluck.”
“Did you actually ask her for the recipe?”
Joe laughed at the face she made. “I actually did.”
“I’m worried about what’s become of you since I dragged you to the heartland.”
“They’ll never recognize me on the island.”
“No, they won’t. I need to remember this if I ever need blackmail. All I’d have to do is tell my brothers about you swapping recipes with girls on campus…”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
Janey laughed. “We’ll see how you behave.”
He shot her a playful scowl. “How’d the last exam go?”
“Good, I think. I’m never really sure.”
“And yet somehow you manage to score As in every class.”
“Don’t jinx me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Joe said with a smile.
They chatted about his class, his painting, their dogs and the latest gossip from the island, including his mother’s plans to winter there.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Janey asked. “Her place out there is barely winterized.”
“I tried to tell her that, but you know how she is when she makes up her mind about something. I sent Mac over to inspect the woodstove and the roof. He said everything looks fine, and he left her a cord of wood.”
“Aww,” Janey said with a warm smile. “My big brother is the best.”
“Yes, he is. I felt better after he’d checked the place out. He also promised to keep in touch with her this winter. And you know your parents will, too.”
“Absolutely. My mom will be thrilled to have her there.” Though they were different as two women could be, Linda and Carolina had been friends as long as Mac and Joe had. “We’ll see her when we go home for Christmas.”
“Uh-huh.” As Joe twirled spaghetti around his fork, he tried to think of a way to broach the pregnancy subject. It was so unusual to feel hesitant to talk to her about anything. He loved how they talked about everything and usually held nothing back.
“Hey.” She nudged his leg with her foot. “Where’d you go?”
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Joe looked up at her, surprised to realize he’d zoned out. “Nowhere. I’m here.”
She nodded to the spaghetti he’d twirled into a tight mass around his fork. “Are you going to play with that or eat it?”
He pushed his plate away, too nervous to eat anymore. “I’m done.”
“Do you mind if I finish it?”
“Go for it.” Her increased appetite was another in a growing list of puzzle pieces Joe never would’ve put together on his own without his mother’s insight. In addition to the sleepiness and appetite gain, her breasts were bigger and more sensitive, and she was often overly emotional, all of which, according to what he’d read, were indications of pregnancy.
“What’re you thinking about?” she asked. “Is something wrong?”
“No, honey. Nothing’s wrong. Finish eating, and then we’ll talk.”
She put down her fork and pushed the plate aside. “I’m done.”
“Come here.” He held out his hand to her and guided her onto his lap.
“What’s going on, Joe? Are you mad about something? I know I’ve been a bit of a grouch during exams—”
He kissed the words right off her lips. “You haven’t been a grouch. You’ve been busy and really, really tired.”
“I know. It’s crazy. I don’t remember it being this bad last year.”
Joe took a deep breath. “Is it possible that this year might be different because you’re pregnant?” Because he was holding her so close, he felt her go rigid in his arms.
“I’m not pregnant. There’s no way I’m pregnant! We’ve been careful, and I’m on the pill.”
“And you’ve never forgotten to take it for a day or two because you were busy or preoccupied with school?”
He watched her closely as she thought back over the last few months.
Her mouth fell open and then snapped closed the instant before two big tears slid down her cheeks. “That’s all it takes?” she whispered.
“That and nonstop effort,” he said in a teasing tone.
“I can’t be pregnant, Joe. I can’t be. I have two and a half years of school left. How will I have a baby and manage school?”
