Wild Tropics: Christmas Key Book Two

by Stephanie Taylor

  Wild Tropics

  Christmas Key Book Two

  Stephanie Taylor

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  About the Author

  Also by Stephanie Taylor

  Copyright © 2017 by Stephanie Taylor

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  For Kelcey and the years we spent learning to love Florida and all of its quirks. (And for the years you’ve loved me and all of MY quirks…)

  “The world is before you and you need not take it or leave it as it was when you came in.”

  —James Baldwin

  Chapter 1

  The triplets have replaced the usual Christmas door swag on the front of Tinsel & Tidings Gifts with a garland of glittery black spiders and miniature light-up pumpkins for Halloween. They’ve unscrewed the lights on the ever-present holiday decor, and carefully switched the clear bulbs for orange ones. A scarecrow is parked on a hay bale near the front door of the shop, arms outstretched, face frozen in a blank, cheerful grin.

  Gwen, Gen, and Glen sit on a bench in front of their store with matching cans of Diet Coke in hand as they watch the golf carts crawl down Main Street in the middle of a smothering heatwave. All morning long, islanders have driven past them slowly, fanning themselves and sipping water as they try to stir up a breeze by putting the gas pedals of their carts to the floor. Some have stopped to buy ice cream or cold drinks at Tinsel & Tidings, but most have kept moving, fearing that a trip into the air-conditioned shop will make it impossible to head back out into the hot weather and get back to their own cool houses.

  “No costumes, ladies?” Holly Baxter calls out as she comes to a stop in front of the store. She sets the park brake on her hot pink golf cart and peels the backs of her sweaty thighs off the seat.

  “We have witch hats and little capes, but honey, it’s way too hot to wear black right now,” Gen says, tipping back her can of soda as she takes a long drink.

  “This heat obviously hasn’t ruined your festive mood, Mayor!” Glen says, shielding her light blue eyes with one hand as she takes in Holly’s costume from head to toe. “You look adorable,” Glen proclaims, smiling at the younger woman. “If I had legs like yours, I’d be gallivanting around in a tiny piece of fabric myself.”

  Holly glances down at the purposely-torn leopard print fabric she’s wrapped and pinned around her torso. The hem is frayed and split like fringe, and beneath the fabric that ends at the tops of her thighs is a pair of stretchy black shorts. She has a choker made of shells tied at her throat, and a pink and yellow frangipani flower from her own yard tucked behind one ear. Her light brown hair is loose around her shoulders, and her freckles are uncovered by make-up.

  “Well, if I’m going to be Jane of the Jungle, then I’d better dress the part, right?” Holly smiles at the women. “Hey, anyone want to sell me a Diet Coke?”

  “Help yourself,” Gwen pipes up, waving a hand lazily at the door of their general store. “It’s too hot to get up.”

  “Should I leave a dollar on the front counter?” Holly’s been sweating profusely all morning as she makes last minute arrangements for the arrival of the crew from Wild Tropics, a reality show that’s about to start filming on Christmas Key, and a Diet Coke sounds amazing.

  “Consider it a trick-or-treat prize for wearing the best costume we’ve seen today.” Gwen winks at her.

  “You’ve seen others?” Holly looks out at Main Street, but all of the golf carts are parked and unattended. When she turns back to the triplets, all three women have busied themselves with their cans of soda, identical eyebrows raised innocently. “What?” Holly frowns.

  Glen clears her throat. “Officer Zavaroni is wearing a costume.”

  “Kind of,” Gen adds.

  Holly looks at her watch. “I’m curious to find out exactly what that means, but I really need to grab my Diet Coke and get over to the B&B.”

  A blast of arctic air engulfs Holly as she pulls open the front door of Tinsel & Tidings. The air-conditioned store is empty. She walks down a deserted aisle toward the glowing refrigerated case at the back. Holly slides open the glass doors and reaches for the familiar silver can of soda and a visible cloud of cold air puffs out from the tall refrigerated unit. She cracks open the can and chugs the carbonated drink thirstily.

  As she walks back outside, a wall of heat hits Holly in the face like the open palm of a hand. She inhales sharply. “You’re right: it is too hot to move today,” she says to the triplets, the Diet Coke in her hand already half-empty.

  Glen picks up a folded section of the Miami Herald and fans herself. “You got your bathing suit on under that costume? If you can get away from the B&B for a while, a nice dip in the ocean might do you some good.”

  “Yep. Always.” Holly plucks the strap of her swimsuit from under the fabric of her costume and stretches it like a rubber band as proof.

  “This wouldn’t be Christmas Key if the mayor didn’t wear her swimsuit to work!” Glen says with a laugh.

  “You know, that’s not a bad tagline,” Holly says. “Mind if I use it?”

  “It’s all yours, love,” Glen assures her. “I’ve got plenty more where that came from. After forty years of marriage to an ad man, I can come up with a slogan for pretty much anything.”

  “Remember that time little Benny had lice when your boys were kids?” Gwen asks her sister, slapping her bare thigh playfully.

  “If it looks like rice, it might be lice!” the three of them sing-song in unison.

  “I’m not sure I actually made that one up…” Glen chuckles, remembering. She holds out a hand, the gold bracelets on her arm clinking together. “But if you need a good jingle, you know where to find me, Mayor.”

  “You three are the best,” Holly says. “Thanks for the soda, ladies. Happy Halloween!”

  The women smile and wave as she hops back into the golf cart and releases the park brake.

  Gwen turns to her sisters. “Do you think Jane of the Jungle will find her Tarzan?”

  “Hard to say.” Gen tips her head to one side, watching as Holly zips down Main Street toward the dock, where she’ll do a walk-through to see that everything looks sharp for the reality show crew’s arrival that night. “It’s a jungle out there.”

  Glen reaches over and swats her sister on the knee with her folded-up newspaper, rolling her eyes good-naturedly.

  “Oooooh, sugar, I think someone is messing with you!” Bonnie Lane says, waving a manicured hand at her boss as she enters the back office of the B&B. She looks Holly up and down, admiring her costume.

  “I’m scared to ask,” Holly says, pulling the sweaty hair from the back of her neck and twisting it into a low bun. She gra
bs a rubber band from the drawer of her desk and wraps it around her hair.

  “Haven’t you seen Jake yet?”

  Holly sighs and falls into her chair, grateful for the air-conditioning. “Not yet. Wait, who are you supposed to be?” She pushes back from the desk and eyeballs her assistant. Bonnie’s red hair is in perfect sausage curls, pinned close to her scalp on the sides and teased into what looks like a nosegay above her forehead. She’s drawn on her lips in a sharp, glossy-red Cupid’s bow, and her brows are perfectly filled in.

  “You like?” Bonnie touches one palm gently to her heavily sprayed coif. “I’m Lucille Ball.”

  “Wow, you look amazing!” Holly says, admiring the way Bonnie has perfectly captured the comedienne at the height of her 1950s glamour. “You just put my shredded leopard-print bed sheet to shame.”

  “Nah, you look like a million bucks, girl,” Bonnie says, waving a hand at Holly to dismiss her self-criticism. “Oh! Sugar! Look out the window!” she cries excitedly, shifting gears in the blink of an eye. “Look who’s out there trying to hunt you down, Jane of the Jungle.”

  Holly stands and walks to the window: there’s Jake, standing at the curb, one foot propped up on the edge of his police golf cart. His profile is turned to Holly as he makes conversation with Cap Duncan.

  “Yeah, it’s Jake. So?” She rests both hands on her hips, watching as his strong shoulders ripple beneath the thin white fabric of his t-shirt.

  “You oughtta go out and say hi, hon,” Bonnie urges. “I’ll grab the phones.”

  Despite the fact that she’s only just come in from the unbearable heat, Holly makes a beeline for the front door of the B&B. She reaches Jake as Cap waves and crosses the street to open up his cigar shop.

  “Happy Halloween, stranger,” Holly says. Her tone is light, but she’s guarded; things with Jake are still very much touch and go after their tumultuous summer.

  “Right back at you,” Jake says, turning to face her. There’s a wicked grin on his handsome face, and his cheekbones are sharp beneath dancing eyes.

  It’s then that Holly sees the front of his t-shirt: he’s taken a pair of scissors to the sleeves and cut the hem off the bottom of the shirt raggedly. On the front are block letters that he’s clearly drawn on with a Sharpie.

  “‘Me Tarzan?’” Holly reads, folding her arms across her chest and nodding at his shirt. “Seriously?”

  Jake shrugs helplessly. “How was I supposed to know you’d turn my old sheet into a…what is that? A dress?”

  “That is a ridiculous costume,” Holly declares, ignoring him. “It’s not even really a costume at all.” A flood of stubborn defiance washes over her and she takes a deep breath, mentally putting the brakes on before she lets Jake get the best of her.

  “Hey,” he says conspiratorially, taking a step toward her. “Remember that one time—before you slashed my sheets to pieces—when they were still on your bed and we—”

  She knows exactly the one time he’s talking about, and her face burns at the memory.

  “Well, aren’t you two adorable,” Iris Cafferkey coos in her Irish accent as she walks up the sidewalk, pausing behind Jake. She’s got an iced coffee from Mistletoe Morning Brew in one hand. “I saw your t-shirt earlier, Jake, but now it makes sense. Did you two kids plan this?”

  “Yes,” Jake says firmly at the same time that Holly gives an emphatic “NO.”

  Iris looks back and forth between them, trying to gauge their responses. “Anyway, cute idea. Hey, do you like my costume?” Iris steps back and holds her iced coffee out to the side so they can admire the white lab coat and stethoscope she’s wearing. “I borrowed them from the good doctor, but she made me promise not to operate on anyone or give out any prescriptions.”

  “You look great, Iris,” Holly says. “I’d trust you to shoot a little Botox into my forehead, or to put my baby toe in a cast.”

  “I don’t think we put baby toes in casts, love. But I’d surely tape it up for you. And you aren’t in need of the Botox yet, lass.”

  “Well, I’d still trust you. And ‘Dr. Cafferkey’ has a nice ring to it,” Holly says.

  “Thanks for that. I’ll see you both tonight, right? Are we still meeting at the Ho Ho at eight?”

  “That’s the word on the streets,” Jake says.

  “Then that’s where I’ll be.” Iris winks at them and heads west on Main Street, white doctor’s coat flapping behind her.

  A bead of sweat runs down Holly’s temple and into her right ear. She puts one foot out in front, resting her weight on the heel of her flip flop as she examines the bright orange polish on her toes. “So, anyway…” she says, glancing around to make sure they’re really alone. “Let’s not talk anymore about the mileage we put on your sheets, huh?”

  Jake gives her a lopsided grin, both dimples showing, and slides onto the seat of his golf cart. “Tarzan is going to get out of here now so you can get back to prepping for the reality show.” He twists the key on the dash of his cart to turn it on, his innocent smile turning into a joking leer. “But you know where to find me if you feel like taking a swing on my vine later.”

  Holly rolls her eyes as he drives away.

  Back inside, Bonnie is standing at the dry erase board that covers most of one wall in the B&B’s office, a marker in hand as she consults the list of things to do in November. “So, what did Officer Cutie-pants have to say?”

  “He played dumb,” Holly says, flopping down in the chair again and holding her arms out to her sides so the air conditioning can dry the perspiration that’s making her costume stick to her body. “He’s been weird lately,” she confesses, putting her arms down.

  “Men are always weird, sugar.” Bonnie reaches up to add a few items to the list in her neat handwriting.

  “I mean weirder than usual. For the past week or two he’s been flirting with me like he has amnesia. Or like he wants to pretend we never broke up and River never came to Christmas Key.”

  “He’s probably feeling a little frisky. You let him follow you home that one time at the beginning of the summer, but that was ages ago. And unless you think he’s used his handcuffs on some other woman since then, I’d guess he’s just got an itch that needs some scratchin’, doll.”

  “But who? What are his options around here?” Holly’s face is incredulous.

  “Exactly my point, sugar. There aren’t many options for companionship on this island when it comes to people your age.” Bonnie wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. “You and Jake really only have each other.”

  “We did only have each other…until River showed up.”

  Bonnie sets the dry erase marker on the metal ledge under the white board and rushes to Holly’s side. “Holly Jean, are you having second thoughts?” she asks, her voice breathy and disbelieving.

  “About River?”

  “I don’t know how you could have second thoughts about a hunk like River. No, I mean about Jake—are you re-thinking the whole breakup?”

  Holly shrugs and examines her cuticles. “I don’t know. Not the whole breakup, but maybe the us-sleeping-together-whenever-we-want part.”

  “Okay, well, I see two options here. Not that you’re asking, but I think you either let the Tarzan and Jane thing happen, or you get River on the phone and let him know you’re ready for a visit. Immediately.”

  “Oh, Bon. It’s not that urgent. I don’t know…it’s probably stress. And this weather.” Holly glances at the watch on her wrist. “It’s almost eleven. I’m supposed to meet the supply boat to make sure we have all the food we need for this week. Do you have that list we made up?”

  “I’ve got it—just give me two shakes of a tail feather, and it’ll be in your hot little hands,” Bonnie promises, sitting down in front of her laptop and punching a few buttons. The printer’s electronic innards click and clack on the table near the door as she runs off a copy of the list of supplies they’re expecting to arrive at the dock in ten minutes.

  Holly takes a min
ute to log into her own computer and scan her emails. Last minute details from Wayne Coates at NBC: boat delivering everyone at the dock around five or six. Eight crew members. Lots of equipment. Got it. An email from a college friend of Holly’s who wants to book a room in January. Mark as unread; respond later. Message from Coco regarding the reality show she heard about through their lawyer: does Holly have a ballpark figure for how much the network is shelling out for room and board, and an idea of how long they’ll be staying? Holly frowns at the screen. She hasn’t heard from her mother directly in the past couple of months, and this email is a reminder that the friction between them has ratcheted up a notch from merely sour and unpleasant to blistering and hostile.

  Without Holly even noticing, Bonnie gets up from her chair and fetches the list from the tray of the printer. “Here you go, boss,” she says, handing over the paper. “Whoa, that face!” Bonnie points at her, laughing. “You look like Coco just walked into the room.” Holly levels a serious gaze at Bonnie, waiting until the laughter stops. “Oh,” Bonnie says, sobering. The giggles trail off. “You got an email from her, didn’t you?”

  Holly nods and consults the list of supplies.

  “Well, it’s hotter than the hinges on the gates of hell today, innit?” Bonnie asks, fanning herself with a manicured hand as she tries to change the subject. “Honey?”

  “Yeah, it’s a scorcher,” Holly says, but she’s still distracted by the paper in her hands. “Looks like we forgot to add toilet paper to this list.”

  Bonnie grabs a pencil from the cup on her desk and picks up her own copy of the supply list. “I’ll check the toiletries closet, and if we’re running low, I’ll put a call out and see if we can scrounge up a few rolls from around the island to hold us over until the boat comes again on Monday.”

  “Right. Okay, that should work.” Holly pushes her mother, the oppressive heat, and Jake’s ridiculous Halloween costume from her mind so she can refocus on the task at hand. “And I’ll get everything sorted out and delivered to where it belongs. We’ve got food going in our fridge here, some going over to the Jingle Bell Bistro for extra storage, and the wine and spirits we pitched in on for Jack Frosty’s are going into Buckhunter’s storage.”