Wild Tropics: Christmas Key Book Two

by Stephanie Taylor

  “Nah, not really.” Ryan squints at the six competitors who are still in the game. “They know we all stay in a separate crew area, and that there are some people there who edit and do computer work all day and night. For all they know, you’re an editor coming up for air.” He shrugs and keeps rolling the cord.

  “Huh.” Holly shoves her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “Well, I’m trying not to call attention to myself when I come over here.”

  “Put this on.” Ryan sets his spool on the sand and pulls the timer he’s wearing on a cord around his neck off over his head. He puts it over Holly’s head, but it gets stuck on the brim of her hat and they laugh, trying to free her cap from the cord. “There.” Ryan steps back and looks at her. “Oh, and maybe this.” He pulls a pad of paper and a pen from his back pocket and gives it to her.

  “Do I look official now?”

  Ryan’s eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. “Pretty much. Just pass that stuff off to me before you leave, okay?” He runs a hand through his loose, glossy hair.

  A layer of gray clouds is rolling in off the water, and with it comes a cooler-than-usual breeze. Holly shivers as she walks into the fray, watching as two crew members rig up a light so they can keep shooting even when the sun disappears later that evening.

  “Hi, Holly,” Leanna says, approaching her. “Nice stopwatch.” She points at the timer from Ryan. “If you start looking too official, we might put you to work.”

  “I wouldn’t mind. Right now, this is way more fun than being mayor.”

  “I heard the scuttlebutt about the cigar shop owner wanting to run against you—ouch.” Leanna winces sympathetically. “Is it getting ugly?”

  “Not too ugly.” Holly pulls a quick, unconvincing smile. “He’s the one who was opposed to you guys coming in the first place.”

  “Right—the guy who spoke up at the meeting when we visited last summer. I remember.”

  “Anyhow, it’ll work itself out; things always do.” Holly glances at Jake as he drops and starts doing push-ups in the sand. “But it’s important for me to know how things are going here, and to make sure you guys have everything you need to make your stay here comfort—”

  As Holly is speaking, the flame-haired female contestant races between her and Leanna, ducking and rolling in the sand like a martial artist escaping from a dangerous opponent. “Whoa!” Holly jumps back, startled. “What’s everyone working out for?”

  “The competition tonight involves some hand-to-hand combat.”

  “Combat?”

  “It’s gentle—don’t worry. We’re still talking family-friendly television here, you know.”

  “What do you win if you beat everyone else to a pulp?” Holly’s eyes scan the beach and land on Bridget; she’s wearing white yoga pants that hug her smooth curves, and a sky blue t-shirt with an orange sun on the back. Bridget lunges into warrior pose and gazes intently in Jake’s direction.

  “It’s a Hunger Games-style battle to grab all the food they can. We’re taking them to a drop spot in that jungly area on the west side of the island so they can fight for apples and ears of corn. I think there might be a couple of bags of rice, and maybe some beef jerky.”

  “Intense.” Holly notices the way Bridget’s ribs poke through her thin cotton shirt. And Jake—who is normally muscled and definitely more bulky than lean—appears drawn and narrow. His kneecaps protrude sharply from under his ragged khaki cargo shorts, and his backside looks flatter, leaving his shorts saggy and oversized.

  “Yeah, it’s intense. But at this point in the show, the audience wants to be able to root for their favorite competitor, and the harder we make them work, the more the audience invests in them.”

  “Right. They make an investment,” Holly parrots back, nodding as she watches the stretching and kickboxing and yoga posing. “But all this working out is for corn and and apples?”

  “Part of that is intentional,” Leanna says in a near-whisper, guiding Holly toward the former “pleasure tent.” They step inside, and Holly sees that the table has been cleared out, leaving a desk covered with messy piles of paper and an open laptop. Boxes and bins litter the tent. “We keep them hungry so we can keep them on task,” Leanna explains. “But there’s something sexy about having your final competitors looking lean and angular as they frolic in skimpy clothes. That’s a ratings boost, too.”

  “So…ratings,” Holly says, biting her lower lip. “Everything is always for the ratings, not the people?”

  “The people are the ratings,” Leanna counters, frowning. “They’re what keep us on the air.”

  “No—not those people,” Holly clarifies. “I mean the people who are here, on the beach, smacking each other around for a piece of beef jerky.” Her words come out with a bite, so she softens her tone before going on. “I guess I just worry about those people, too.”

  “They’re okay, Holly. You need to let go and trust that we know what we’re doing here.” Leanna sets her phone on the desk and shuffles through some loose paper. “Everyone on this set is an adult, and they’re not here under false pretenses.” Holly wants to object, but as she opens her mouth, a soccer ball rolls in through the open flap of the tent and stops at her feet. “Think of it like a one-night stand: you go into it hoping to have a good time, but you know there’s just as good a chance that you’ll wake up the next day a little hungover and filled with regret. You don’t always win, but it doesn’t stop you from playing.”

  Holly reaches down to pick up the soccer ball, but before she can touch it, a dark figure fills the opening of the tent and she stands up again. It’s Jake, one hand on his hip, panting slightly.

  “Hey,” Holly says automatically. She’s torn between reaching down for the ball and reaching out to him to make sure he’s still the Jake she’s always known. His eyes look bigger than usual, and a rough layer of whiskers covers his tanned face, but other than that and the obvious weight he’s lost, he looks essentially the same.

  Jake stands in the doorway, and there’s a moment of awkwardness as he looks at Leanna before responding. “Hi,” he says finally.

  “You all ready for tonight?” Leanna asks him. She pops the top on a cooler next to the desk and pulls out a can of Diet Coke. Jake eyes the cold soda in her hand as he nods. “We’ll leave here as soon as we get the shot we need of you guys before tonight’s competition.” Jake nods again, and his eyes move back to Holly. “Holly’s just visiting us to see how things are going—things are good here, right, Jake?” Leanna prompts.

  He moves into the tent cautiously. The combination of his lean physique and his watchful eyes remind Holly of a panther. He continues surveying his ex-girlfriend carefully as he reaches for the soccer ball.

  “I don’t suppose anyone would know if I slipped you a Diet Coke, would they?” Leanna asks rhetorically, handing the can of soda to Jake. “Go ahead. Drink. The kick of caffeine will do you good.”

  Holly stands there, serving as one angle of this odd triangle inside the tent. Jake takes the can from Leanna and pauses, obviously considering whether or not he should drink it.

  “Go on,” Leanna says, waving it away.

  “So, the jungled side of the island,” Holly says, clearing her throat. “That’s where I live. And it’s where the Ho Ho Hideaway is. What if one of the contestants goes too far in the dark and ends up on my doorstep?”

  “Won’t happen.” Leanna shakes her head, gathering up papers from the desk and straightening them. We have crew members stationed at the outer edges of the area we’ve chosen, and we already asked the owner of the Ho Ho Hideaway if he’d shut down for the competition and turn off all the lights. And your house is way past the perimeter we’ve set up, but it would be much appreciated if you felt like keeping the lights off.”

  The image of a darkened Ho Ho Hideaway flickers through her mind; Joe had probably agreed to shut down the bar and take a night off without much convincing, but Holly isn’t sure she feels like sitting around in the dark a
ll evening. If all else fails, she’ll just pack a bag and head over to Bonnie or Fiona’s.

  Jake cracks the tab on the can of Diet Coke and tips his head all the way back, pouring the cold soda down his throat thirstily. Holly watches as his Adam’s apple bobs with each swallow, and it isn’t until Leanna taps the edge of her pile of papers against the desk loudly that she realizes she’s staring at him.

  “So, Jake—” Holly starts.

  “Is about to finish that soda and get back out there,” Leanna interrupts. “He’s got food on the line tonight, and I think the camera crew is about ready to set up our shot.”

  Jake hands Leanna the empty can and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Even his fingers look knobby to Holly, and she shoots him a look of sympathy as he ducks under the flap of the tent. Leanna has already turned her attention to the phone she’s picked up from her desk, so she’s not watching as Jake pauses on the threshold of the tent and turns his head over one shoulder, catching Holly’s eye. He gives her a weak smile and holds up a hand, fingers splayed. It’s a simple greeting and an even simpler good-bye, but Holly knows it’s his way of saying that he’s okay.

  Only she knows that he isn’t. His dark head disappears beyond the other tents lining the sand, and Holly watches the space between the canvas, hoping to catch one more glimpse of him as he goes.

  The buzz in the room is almost tangible. There hasn’t been an emergency village council meeting called since a small fire broke out at Mistletoe Morning Brew in 2013, causing a short closure and a widespread panic over the Coffee Situation, as it came to be known. The coffee conundrum of ’13 was ultimately remedied by setting up a rotating, color-coded schedule for various islanders to host morning coffee gatherings at their houses while Iris and Jimmy ordered extra coffee beans to be shipped to the Jingle Bell Bistro. It had been a beautiful showing of teamwork and cooperation, and Holly hopes for nothing less now as she’s standing before them at the podium in the B&B’s dining room on Friday morning.

  “I’d like to call to order the emergency village council meeting of December second,” she says, nodding at Heddie Lang-Mueller, who is seated—as always—at a table to the right of the podium. Heddie’s ink starts flowing as she begins jotting the meeting minutes.

  It takes longer than usual to get everyone seated and calmed, and Holly watches like an elementary school teacher waiting patiently for her pupils to gather themselves and fall silent. Maria Agnelli, short as she is, hunches over at the waist and scurries to her seat in the front row like she’s in a movie theater and might be blocking the views of the people behind her.

  “Thank you for coming on such short notice,” Holly says. “I need to ask for your help with something, and I want to preface it by saying that there is absolutely no cause to be alarmed.”

  Naturally, this causes alarm. Faces in the room are marked with concern, and mouths drop open expectantly.

  “I’m not sure how to say this, because I don’t want to misstate what I see as the issue here.” Holly pauses, looking around the room.

  “Just rip it off like a band-aid, lass,” Jimmy Cafferkey says from the crowd, one arm around his daughter Emily’s chair. Emily waves at Holly with her fingers, smiling encouragingly; Holly waves back at her. It’s not easy to admit that she’s second-guessing herself, but as she looks at the faces of the people she’s known her entire life, she realizes that there’s no better group of people to ask for help.

  “I know that we were somewhat divided on the issue of having the reality show come to the island,” Holly says, trying hard not to glance in Cap’s direction. “And I still think it will ultimately be a great thing for our exposure. That said, I have some…concerns.”

  The crowd breaks out into a loud discussion. People turn to their immediate neighbors and start talking. Some shout out in Holly’s direction; others turn to Cap and start speaking loudly. From his position standing against the wall at the side of the room, Cap smiles smugly.

  Holly lets the debate rage for about a minute, then lifts the pink marble gavel that Bonnie had given her for Christmas one year as a joke. It’s smooth and cool in her hand, and its weight carries the gravitas she needs to lead this discussion. She raps lightly on the gavel’s sound block and the heavy clicks ring out in the B&B’s dining room like a final verdict. The room goes quiet.

  “I still say those folks should be filming us—we’re the real stars of this island,” Maria Agnelli says loudly from her seat, arms folded across her ribcage. “They’ve got all manner of young, sexy people over on that beach, and visitors are going to be sorely disappointed when they show up here and find a bunch of old geezers in golf carts.”

  “Holly’s got a plan, Maria,” Joe Sacamano tempers, speaking up from the center of the room. “We all need to have some patience and wait this one out.”

  “Thanks, Joe,” Holly says, still holding the gavel in her right hand. “Anyway, as I said, I know that we have different views on what will come of the show, and at least a couple of us were pretty opposed to their filming here in the first place, but I have a more immediate concern.”

  The islanders are calm again, waiting to hear what Holly is going to say. With a shiver, Bonnie pulls her cardigan around her body. An unusual cold snap rolled over the island the night before, bringing morning temperatures in the upper forties. The crowd in front of Holly is a sea of sweatshirts, windbreakers, and brightly colored sweaters.

  “Right now I need to ask for your help with one of our own.”

  Eyes widen all over the room.

  “As you all know, Jake is competing on the show, and I’ve gotten wind of the fact that they’d like to, well, match him up with a fellow contestant.” Holly looks around at the faces staring back at her. “In a romantic way,” she adds. People turn to one another again, this time keeping their voices at a low whisper. “I’ve visited the set a number of times as a kind of quality control measure, and what I’ve gathered is that the producers have a hand in the outcome of the competitions and the show.”

  “Hell, I’m an old woman, and even I knew those reality shows were fake,” Maria Agnelli says with disgust.

  “I don’t think it’s all fake,” Holly backpedals, “but there are some behind-the-scenes manipulations going on to give certain contestants advantages. I’ve seen them trying to force Jake and another contestant together, and I’ve even heard them mention a televised wedding.”

  “What?” Carrie-Anne shouts from the third row. “That doesn’t sound like Jake, diving headfirst into something like this. I mean, look how long it took him to propose to you.” She gestures at Holly.

  “Right,” Holly says, clearing her throat. Her face burns. The last thing she wants is for everyone to think that she’s interfering with this because she’s jealous of Jake moving on. She’s not jealous, just worried. “Anyway, I’ve seen him up close on the set, and he definitely looks like they’re not feeding him enough. When I was there on Wednesday evening, the contestants were about to fight over some fruits and vegetables, and Jake seemed really quiet and…not himself. Not at all.”

  “Well, you would know what his real self is, doll, and if you say he’s acting funny, then I believe the man is acting funny.” Bonnie stands up, pulling her shirt down over her hips as she speaks. “I can’t stand the thought of people coming here and preying on someone’s weaknesses for entertainment’s sake,” Bonnie says, touching her wavy, red hair with one hand. “Especially when it’s one of our own.”

  “That’s my point exactly,” Holly says, diving back in. “You all know where I stand with Jake on a personal level, and his love life is certainly none of my business, but this just feels wrong. Forcing a relationship to happen to get ratings, and then potentially leaving him behind with all of the legal entanglements of a marriage that was never meant to last…” She trails off, imagining Jake’s humiliation. “We don’t agree on everything around here, but the one thing we always do well is look out for our own.” The room is as quiet as
a library. Holly’s office phone chirps in the distance, through the lobby and down the hallway, but it goes unanswered. She stares at her neighbors, conviction filling her chest. “And that means we have to pull together, make sure Wild Tropics shows Christmas Key for what it really is, and—most importantly—keep Jake from being used like a prop on the set.”

  “Here, here,” comes a voice from the side of the room. It shatters the silence, and Holly’s eyes dart over to its source like a heat-seeking missile. It’s Cap, and he’s nodding at her firmly. “All disagreements aside, we take care of each other first,” he says.

  Holly smiles, her eyes lingering on Cap. She tears her gaze away from him and looks out at her fellow islanders: Iris Cafferkey is wiping her nose with a crushed tissue; Maria Agnelli is holding her purse in her lap, clutching it with both hands; Buckhunter winks at her, arms folded over his chest.

  “Show of hands of those willing to pitch in to help with Operation Jake?”

  Every hand in the room shoots up, and within thirty seconds, small groups have started to congregate to begin organizing tactical missions and to discuss ideas. Holly sets her pink marble gavel down and steps away from the podium.

  Chapter 19

  There are five contestants left following the Hunger Games-style mission, and Jake and Bridget are two of them. Chuck Cortwell is still there with his Confederate flag tattoo, the orange-haired woman with yoga-toned arms and full sleeve tattoos is hanging on, and one of the muscular, semi-attractive guys who looked like a cross between a male model and an aspiring actor has narrowly escaped being sent home as well.

  Holly sets her binoculars on the sand in front of her and turns to Fiona. It’s Saturday morning, and they’ve spread a blanket out behind a small dune that blocks them from the cameras, cast, and crew of the show. Fiona is wearing jeans and a bubblegum pink hoodie sweatshirt with ‘Northwestern’ embroidered across the chest in thick white lettering. It’s still chilly outside, but the sky is clear and blue. They’re on their stomachs, propped up on elbows as they watch the happenings on set through matching binoculars.