Wild Tropics: Christmas Key Book Two

by Stephanie Taylor

  She sets the timepiece back in the box and pulls out a stack of black-and-white photos, faded polaroids, and concert ticket stubs. There’s a photo of Grandpa Vito and Grandma Louisa on their wedding day, the gold wedding ring visible on Vito’s left hand. The polaroids are of a young, tanned Jake playing and riding his bike in front of his stucco house in Miami with his brother. There’s a high school dance photo tucked into the pile that shows Jake with thick, wavy hair and shiny black shoes, looking sharp in a white tuxedo while his blonde date places her manicured hand protectively on his lapel. The girl is pretty: tall, with toned legs and a shiny, mint-green prom dress. She looks like the kind of girl who would have been Jake’s first love. Holly shuffles the photos, smiling at the ticket stubs from Green Day, the Beastie Boys, and (inexplicably) Goo Goo Dolls concerts.

  Holly arranges the keepsakes just the way she found them and sets them back into the box, closing the lid.

  In the kitchen she quietly opens and closes cupboards, mentally cataloguing the half-eaten box of Raisin Bran, the unopened bag of Doritos, and the collection of mismatched drinking glasses on one shelf. Holly hates herself for being in Jake’s house uninvited, but Leanna’s tone made it clear that her visitation rights to the set could easily be revoked if she didn’t make her Thanksgiving dinner snafu right by digging up some usable information on Jake. Which she still hasn’t done.

  In the living room is a stack of newspapers and magazines. Holly pulls her phone out of her purse and spreads the copies of Sports Illustrated and Popular Science across the coffee table. She snaps a picture before putting the pile back together. She’s always been amused by Jake’s wide interests, and she flips through an issue of Popular Science, noting that he’s folded over the corner of a page with an article about robots.

  For good measure, Holly circles back and takes a picture of the John Grisham book on Jake’s nightstand, and another of the Christmas card photo of his sister’s kids on the front of his refrigerator. There’s so much more to Jake than this small collection of cute nieces and nephews, reading material, and pantry items, but there’s no way she’s going to tell Leanna anything that’s truly important about Jake. Nothing about this mission feels right to her, and she tries to squash the feeling in the pit of her stomach that’s been nagging her since she stepped through his door.

  Leanna latches on to Holly’s elbow the second she steps onto the sand. “What did you get?” she hisses, guiding her away from the cast and crew.

  Holly stumbles as she tries to keep up with Leanna. “I didn’t really…”

  “I need to give Bridget something she can use to connect with him.” They duck behind a tent and Leanna holds out a hand for Holly’s phone. “Did you get pictures?”

  “I got a couple, but I don’t think there’s anything interesting. He’s a pretty boring guy.”

  Leanna snorts. “Boring? We’ve got some footage of him and Bridget down by the water the other night that didn’t seem boring at all, if you know what I mean.”

  Holly knows what she means. Memories of a steamy summer slow dance she shared with Jake at the water’s edge outside the Ho Ho Hideaway flood her mind. And then the guilty reminder that she’s semi-almost-completely attached to River follows closely on the heels of the first memory. Why does she care so much about Jake and Bridget? She doesn’t—she can’t. Holly squares her shoulders, ready to give Leanna something she can cut her teeth on.

  “Okay, he’s not completely boring, but there are no skeletons in the closet, so to speak. He reads stuff like John Grisham, he likes cereal, and his favorite movie is Scarface.”

  Leanna is listening intently.

  “He likes to walk around the house shirtless after work, and he snores when it gets too hot in the bedroom. He hates to balance his checkbook, and he loves to chew on the ice at the bottom of his drink.” These random details are tumbling out of her mouth before she even realizes that she’s giving bits and pieces of Jake away.

  “Ice…I can use that,” Leanna says. She rests her long fingertips against her lips. “And the rest of it is good, too. How about other weird things—quirks or eccentricities?”

  “Quirks?” Holly pretends to ponder the question. She desperately wants to stop giving Leanna info about her ex-boyfriend, but the vision of dry vegan protein loaves drowned in a grayish vegetable gravy instead of a juicy turkey for the cast and crew snaps her back to reality. She needs to hold up her end of the bargain so Leanna will smooth that over for her—or she at least needs to pretend to hold up her end of the bargain. “Well, I don’t know if you’d consider this quirky, but he does like to visit this lady named Lola whenever he’s in Miami—she lives in Little Havana,” Holly says, warming up to the idea of embellishment.

  “Okay. Go on.”

  “She’s a psychic or something—maybe a card-reader. He won’t talk about it, but he swears she’s helped him make some of his biggest life choices.”

  “So he’s into metaphysical things. I didn’t see that coming,” Leanna says as she stares off into the distance.

  “Oh, and he loves the Bee Gees. And the Carpenters.” She’s hesitant to stretch it too far. “Really any 70s music.” In truth, Jake despises the music that reminds him “of being a kid in the backseat of a station wagon, listening to AM radio and getting carsick.” In his book, that means anything from before about 1985.

  “The Carpenters,” Leanna says, puckering her lips. “Okay. If you say so. From the things you’re telling me, he sounds more…I don’t know—”

  “Quirky?” Holly offers.

  “Yeah, I guess he’s more quirky than I thought.”

  “Quirky is his middle name!” Holly gives Leanna a big, sunny grin. “Plus, he always plays the same numbers in the lottery, he can’t go to bed without tapping on his nightstand three times, and he thinks it’s bad luck when the Yankees win, so he won’t leave the house the next day just in case something falls on his head.”

  “So he’s superstitious?”

  “Oh, very. A real odd duck, that one.” Holly isn’t sure why this need to throw a protective forcefield around Jake is so strong, but she’s going with her gut here.

  “Okay,” Leanna says. “This is good info—thank you.” She starts to walk across the sand, assuming that Holly is going to follow. “They’re over there in that little patch of forest—it’s where we let the competitors hold their tribal council meetings.”

  “Ah,” Holly says, as if she has any clue what a tribal council meeting is. She imagines it vaguely resembles the island’s village council meetings—only the participants are clad in loincloths and warpaint instead of cardigans and BenGay. “What time is dinner?”

  “We’ve got the table set up over there.” Leanna points at a long dining room table covered with a pumpkin-colored tablecloth that’s rippling in the breeze. Centerpieces and silver dome-covered dishes anchor the fabric so that it won’t blow away. “All we need is the food, so you tell us what time we’re looking at and we’ll make it work.”

  Holly consults her watch, keeping one eye on the area where the tribal council meeting is taking place. “When I left the kitchen it looked like things were in full-swing. It’s almost eleven now, so how about if we aim for three?”

  “Sure.” Leanna pulls out her phone and starts texting.

  “We can bring everything out here, but where are the contestants going to think it all came from? I thought we were promoting the illusion of a deserted island.”

  Leanna sends her message and waves a hand through the air. “They’re so hungry they probably won’t even ask. Most of them have only had rice for the past four days, so they might be hallucinating by this point anyway.”

  Holly’s heart sinks. After four days of rice, a succulent slice of juicy turkey smothered in rich gravy would have hit the spot for these people. But even though he might be starving now, after it’s all said and done, Holly knows Jake will be at least mildly amused by the fates of Godiva, Trixie, Prince, and the rest of the turke
ys.

  “Got it. Buckhunter and I will bring it all over, but I’ll text you first—we can meet you where I parked today,” Holly says, pointing into the distance. “And then we can help you carry it in. They’ve seen both of us before, so that should be fine, right?”

  “That works,” Leanna says, motioning to the cameraman who’s setting up near the dinner table. “I’ll wait to hear from you.” Holly takes her in from head to toe: hair wavy and un-styled, feet bare in the sand, the ever-present waist pack slung over her narrow hips. Less than a month on Christmas Key and she’s already morphed into an island girl. “Oh,” Leanna turns back, sun glinting off the lenses of her shades, “thanks again for the info!” She gives Holly a thumbs-up.

  Holly sticks her own thumb up in response, but it feels false. She may have thrown Leanna off for a little while, but she knows this business with Jake and Bridget is far from over.

  Chapter 16

  After a day of mad prep and crazed scrambling to make sure everything is hot and ready to order, Holly and Buckhunter drive the loaded-down golf cart to the set of the show. They carry twenty-four separate dishes over the sand and to the dining table on the beach, and explain to the hungry and disappointed crew members that it’s a meat-free dinner.

  By four o’clock the sun is sinking low over the water and Holly is exhausted. And sweaty. Her hair is plastered to the sides of her head, and she’s already regretted wearing jeans about eighteen different times since the day started.

  “Drop me off at the B&B,” Buckhunter says, his knee sticking out the passenger side of the golf cart as he rides along. “You run home for a quick shower. I’ll tell everyone you forgot to leave the serving spoons with the food and you had to go back.”

  “You’d lie for me?”

  “What are uncles for?”

  “I’m still trying to figure that out.”

  Buckhunter pats his niece on the knee as she drives. “Same here. Now go.”

  After a quick date with some hot water and a bar of soap, Holly puts on a floor-length dress and tops it with a denim jacket. She rolls up the sleeves and adds a few silver bangles to her wrists.

  “You think this’ll work, Pooch?” she asks Pucci, who sits on the rug near the foot of her bed. His golden head rests on outstretched front paws, and he raises one ear in response.

  Since it's Thanksgiving, Holly adds the diamond stud earrings that belonged to her grandmother, and a pair of sandals. As she swipes on light pink lip gloss, she stares at her own reflection in the bathroom mirror. There's a strange moment of uncertainty—a disconcerting unfamiliarity with the face that looks back at her. Who is this woman? If she'll walk into her ex-boyfriend's house—uninvited—and invade his personal space to save her own tail, then who is she at her very core? There's a part of her that wants to sweep the whole incident under the rug, to forgive a minor (God, she hopes it’s minor) transgression like shuffling through Jake's belongings when, in the end, she’s only trying to protect him with a few harmless lies while she figures out Leanna's end game.

  In the short term, at least, it's obvious that the producers of the show want to manufacture a romance between their two most attractive competitors, but what will that mean for Jake in the long run? If only the term "romantically savvy" applied to him, then Holly would back off and let it play out organically—but Jake’s not suave and calculating when it comes to matters of the heart, not in the least—and it hurts her to picture him being used and thrown away when they’re done with this particular plot line.

  She tosses the lip gloss into her make-up drawer and runs a hand over her smooth forehead. Things had seemed complicated with both River and Jake underfoot during the summer, but somehow they seem even more complicated now when neither of them is even within arm's reach. She shuts the drawer with her hip and runs a finger along the side of her mouth to pick up a stray dab of lip gloss.

  “Be good while I’m gone, Pooch!” she calls to her dog from the driveway as she puts the cart in reverse. Pucci stands next to his silver water dish on the stairs, pink tongue hanging over the side of his mouth expectantly as his mistress backs up over crackling leaves and shells.

  “Stay here, boy—I’ll bring you back some pine nut loaf and a side of quinoa stuffing!” Holly shouts. Pucci sits down on the top step, his head sinking onto his front paws again as he takes up his position as sentry on the front porch.

  “Honey, it all looks delicious,” Bonnie says, looping one arm through Holly’s as they enter the B&B’s dining room together. Thanksgiving dinner is spread on a table on the far side of the room, buffet-style. The table is laden with gleaming serving dishes and clean china and flatware, and the round tables are topped with cream-colored tablecloths and gold runners. In the center of each table is a cut-glass vase with a miniature palm frond and a few tropical flowers. It’s simple, but lovely.

  “Even the Tofurkey?” Holly nudges Bonnie’s arm with her elbow.

  “I don’t know what the hell a Tofurkey is made of, doll, but even that mess looks at least reasonably palatable.”

  “Hey, reasonably palatable works for me,” Holly says, waving at Fiona, her silver bracelets jingling as she does. Fiona is talking to the triplets near the buffet table. Holly spots Coco making small talk with a couple of people near a window and turns her back on her mother so that they can’t make eye contact. “Is Cap here?” she asks Bonnie in a low voice. But before Bonnie can answer, Cap himself lumbers into the dining room, shaking hands and cracking jokes with everyone he sees.

  “Holly!” he says, approaching her with Wyatt Bender at his side. “Happy Thanksgiving.” Cap offers her a hand. She hesitates briefly before accepting it. It’s Thanksgiving, and she won’t be unsettled by Cap on a day when she should be breaking bread and sharing joy with her neighbors.

  “You too,” she says, trying not to feel guarded.

  “As I say every year, this feast is one of my favorite ways to celebrate island life and my wonderful neighbors, and I thank you for coordinating it and putting it on.” His tone is jovial and sober, and he sounds entirely like the old Cap—the one who didn’t slosh around the island, pickled in gin and ready to lash out with a sharp tongue.

  “You’re welcome,” she says, giving Cap a long look before turning to Wyatt. “And Mr. Bender, how long will we be enjoying your company this year—for the whole season?”

  “Oh, you know me, Mayor, I’m just like every other snowbird in the Sunshine State. I migrate down here on October first like clockwork, feather my nest until Easter, then head back to Texas to check on my grandkids and my land. Been doing it every year since 1993, and I’ll keep doing it until the good Lord calls me home.”

  Wyatt is holding his cowboy hat over his heart earnestly. His salt-and-pepper hair is combed back with some sort of tonic that makes it look slightly wet, and his aftershave smells expensive and woodsy. The look on Bonnie’s face has gone from steely to seductive in under ninety seconds, and Holly can tell that her friend has caught a dangerous whiff of Wyatt’s cologne and pheromones. Holly reaches over and grabs Bonnie’s forearm casually to keep her from falling face-first into Wyatt.

  “Anyhow,” Cap interjects. “I wanted to let you know that all talk of politics and civil unrest is suspended for tonight. This is a holiday for all of us.”

  When Holly doesn’t answer right away, Bonnie bumps into her subtly.

  “Right. Yes. Happy Thanksgiving,” Holly says, nodding at both men as they walk away.

  “Well, I’ll be damned, sugar. Cap Duncan just acted human for the first time in six months.”

  “He was almost like the old Cap,” Holly says. “Almost—but not quite.”

  “Maybe if we steer him away from the sauce and keep him sober all night, he’ll stay civil until the pumpkin pie is served,” Bonnie says.

  “I say let’s enjoy it while it lasts.”

  “Ladies!” Fiona says, a glass of wine in each hand as she approaches. “Happy Thanksgiving. Everything smells wonderful.�
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  “Who knew you could throw a bunch of vegetables and some walnuts into a blender, slop it into a meatloaf pan, and turn it into dinner?” Holly says, taking the glass of wine that Fiona offers her.

  “I only had two hands, Bon. Let me grab you a glass of wine,” Fiona says, ready to go pour another glass.

  “No, doll, I’m fine. Listen, I forgot to mention something to Mr. Bender about his Coco Plum bush—it’s so overgrown that I can’t see around it when I try to turn onto Ivy Lane. I nearly ran smack into Heddie with my cart the other day! I’ll catch back up with you ladies in a bit.” She winks at the younger women and saunters away, holding up a hand to get Wyatt’s attention from across the room.

  “And off she goes to get a little more face-time with Mr. Oil Tycoon himself,” Fiona says, pressing her arm against Holly’s as they stand together. They watch Bonnie sidle up to Wyatt at the table they’ve set up like a mini-bar. He picks up a bottle of white wine and pours a glass for himself and one for Bonnie, smiling at her indulgently. “It’s funny how a woman with eyes for every man suddenly only has eyes for one man when October rolls around and Wyatt sails into town.”

  “Hey, can I talk to you?” Holly asks, changing the subject without warning.

  “What’s up?”

  “I think I did something crazy.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time, but lucky for you, I like crazy.” Fiona clinks her wine glass against Holly’s and takes a sip.