Island Summer Love

by Amy Belding Brown

  “There’s just a handful of families that live here year-round,” said Martha. “They’re mostly fishermen. The rest of the houses on the island are summer places, like ours.” She gestured expansively as she drove along the narrow dirt road. “There’s the general store. It has everything anybody needs, or so they claim. Actually, it’s the island social spot. The post office is in there, too, tucked away in the back corner. So is the only telephone on the island.”

  “Only telephone? You mean there isn’t one at your parents’ cottage?”

  Martha shook her head. “No. My folks like it that way. When they come to Maine, they want to get away from everything except the sun and the sea.”

  So she wouldn’t be able to call Cabot every day. Allison swallowed a pang of disappointment and looked out at the dark green building. A gas pump stood out front, and two dilapidated benches were propped on either side of the screen door. A rusted oil barrel stood near the corner of the building. The long window was dirty and grease-spotted. Through it, she could make out a human shape moving in the semidarkness. Two young boys dashed around the corner of the building; their faces were smudged and their overalls were torn at the knees.

  “It doesn’t look very prosperous,” Allison murmured.

  “I don’t suppose it is. But I don’t think it bothers people here. The islanders don’t seem to care too much about style or anything.”

  Don’t care, or can’t afford it? Allison wondered. She studied the small group of lobster boats in the little harbor. It was a very picturesque setting; it had probably been photographed hundreds of times. But these weren’t props on a movie set; they were the tools of real working men and women, who farmed the sea for a living. She wondered what it would be like to actually live in the village year-round. The houses looked shabby and run-down. Poverty must be a way of life for these people, she thought, as natural to them as luxury was to Martha. For a fleeting moment she almost felt ashamed to be sitting in such an expensive car. But then she shook off the sensation and brought herself up straight in her seat.

  “Look out!” She jabbed Martha, who was craning her neck to look at something out in the harbor.

  Martha swerved the car just in time to narrowly avoid hitting a tall, blond man who was walking down the middle of the road. She screeched to a stop, the car’s wheels halting only inches from a deep ditch.

  “Oh God! That was Brent Connors! I’m never going to live this down!” Martha threw a desperate glance at Allison, jerked open her door and scrambled out of the car. Allison got out, too, intrigued by the scenario of the nervous Martha Hollingsworth facing an angry villager.

  The man had turned to face them and put down the large metal bucket he was carrying. He was standing with his arms folded across his chest, his legs braced apart as if he were about to repel an attacker. Dressed in blue jeans, a white T-shirt, and knee-length, muddy boots, he looked to be about thirty. His rugged face was chiseled into a hard scowl under the thick, tousled blond hair. Allison found herself staring at his firmly muscled arms and legs, then blushing as she realized that he was steadily returning her gaze.

  Chapter Two

  “Oh, Brent, I’m so sorry!” Martha rushed up to the blond man, waving her hands helplessly in the air. “I didn’t see you! If Allison hadn’t said anything, I might have hit you! Oh God, are you all right?”

  Brent cocked his head to one side and looked down at Martha as if he were watching a clucking chicken.

  “So you’ve come back to terrorize the island again,” he said in a deep voice. “What happened, did they kick you out of France?”

  Allison saw that he was trying not to smile. Martha apologized again, still swinging her arms, as if flapping them in the crystalline air could erase the events of the last few moments. Brent seemed to be enjoying her distress; the hidden smile crept into the corners of his mouth and lifted them toward his cheeks in a wide grin.

  He unfolded his arms and reached to place a hand on Martha’s shoulder. “Who’s your friend, Martha? She doesn’t look like the weekend airheads you usually bring up here.”

  “Brent, don’t be nasty!” Martha turned and waved her hand at Allison. “This is Allison Curtis. She’s vacationing with me until the middle of July. Allison, come over here and meet Brent.”

  Allison walked over to Martha, who beamed at her eagerly.

  “This is Brent Connors, Allison, the number-one lobsterman on the island. He’s also Abel and Isabel’s favorite grandson.”

  Allison looked up at Brent, trying to meet his penetrating gaze with composed poise.

  “How do you do?” She extended her hand, intensely aware of his square jaw and wide mouth.

  “Allison Curtis.” He took her hand, wrapping it firmly in his large palm. “I guess I have you to thank for saving my skin just now.”

  Allison forced a smile. “There’s so much beautiful scenery, it’s hard to keep your eyes on the road,” she said, quickly withdrawing her hand.

  “That’s right!” said Martha.

  Brent turned to her, a twinkle in his blue eyes. “You weren’t watching the scenery. Unless I miss my guess, you were jabbering about your latest escapade.”

  “I was not!” Martha cringed under his skeptical frown. “Okay, I wasn’t paying attention, and I’m really sorry.” She fluttered her hands. “Look, I’ll treat you to dinner at my place tomorrow night. Will that help?”

  “It’s a deal. As long as you don’t do the cooking.” He grinned, and Allison felt a strange, responsive lurch inside her chest.

  Martha drew herself up. “I’ve been taking lessons, Brent. I’m much better than I was two summers ago.”

  Brent’s doubtful glance slid toward Allison. “Can she cook?”

  “Allison’s a great cook!” Martha beamed.

  “Fair enough,” Brent said. “I’ll take my chances. But it better be good.”

  Allison felt herself bristle; she opened her mouth to speak, but a sharp jab from Martha’s elbow silenced her.

  “It’ll be great,” declared Martha. “Just come at six, and I promise you that by the time you’re done eating, you’ll be in raptures!”

  Allison sighed inwardly. Since Martha was obviously determined to impress this man, she would do what she could to help. She sent her most brilliant smile in Brent’s direction, and then colored in embarrassment when he winked at her. Before she could recover her dignity, he had picked up his pail, turned his back, and was walking away from them with long strides.

  “You like him,” Allison said when they were safely back in the car. “Is he another one of your conquests?”

  Martha shrugged. “Everyone likes Brent. But he isn’t anyone’s conquest, unfortunately. He’s not the type to let himself get wrapped around one woman’s finger. He’s too independent.”

  “Are you saying he’s a womanizer?”

  Martha grinned. “Maybe ‘confirmed bachelor’ is a better way to put it.”

  Despite her disclaimer, it was obvious that Martha had a crush on Brent. She had chosen well for once, thought Allison, remembering the way Brent’s rugged masculinity had instantly affected her. She almost envied her friend’s freedom. She mentally pulled herself up short. She had no right to think such thoughts. Not only was Brent a complete stranger, but she was engaged to be married!

  Allison watched Martha closely as they continued on the dirt road that wound along the shoreline. Her friend was uncharacteristically quiet, her face still flushed from the encounter with Brent Connors. She wanted to ask Martha point-blank about her feelings for Brent. But her friend seemed so tense and withdrawn that Allison was afraid her question might provoke another accident.

  Martha finally slowed the Porsche and turned left up a narrow, winding road. They climbed through thick stands of pine trees and emerged finally in a broad clearing dominated by a huge cedar-shingled house that overlooked the water. The structure had obviously been designed by a professional architect; it blended perfectly with the surrounding forest
and the broad sweep of lawn that overlooked the ocean. A wooden balcony circled the second floor, and the roof was dotted with skylights. The overall impression was one of elegant simplicity.

  Martha pulled up in front of a low breezeway that jutted from the side of the building.

  “Welcome to the cottage,” she said, turning off the engine.

  “Cottage?” Allison gaped at the enormous building. “This looks more like a mansion.”

  “I admit, it’s not exactly cozy.” Martha got out of the car and opened the trunk with a twist of her key. “But it’s very pleasant, once you get used to it.” She marched into the breezeway and unlocked an elegantly carved door. “Come on in. I’ll give you the grand tour. But don’t expect to know your way around right away. It’ll take a few days.”

  Allison followed her friend through the door and into a wood-paneled foyer that opened directly into a large, sunlit living room.

  “This is the family room,” Martha said. “We practically live here. I don’t honestly know why Mama insisted on having so many other rooms built downstairs. We never use them.”

  Allison noted the comfortable couches and easy chairs arranged around the room, and the massive stone fireplace opposite the wall of windows overlooking the water.

  “It’s lovely.” She wanted to curl up with a book on the big, blue chintz couch. “I thought it would be more formal, knowing your mother’s decorating tastes.”

  “Oh, Daddy insisted on the informal look.” Martha laughed. “He said it was a summer cottage and it ought to look like one.” She crossed the room to the windows. “Our boats are moored in a little cove right below us. You just follow that path.” She pointed to a trail that disappeared into the trees. “Daddy has a forty-foot yacht which he won’t allow anyone to set foot on unless he’s aboard. But there’s also a twenty-foot sailboat and a sunfish, which I’m allowed to use to my heart’s content.”

  “I have a confession to make.” Allison followed her friend to stand in front of the windows. “I’ve never been sailing before. I’ve never even been on a boat, except for the ferry we just came on. In fact, I’m kind of afraid of the water. When I was a kid, my cousin Daniel decided the best way to teach me to swim was to throw me in. I almost drowned.”

  “Well, you can’t come to Maine and stay away from the water. I’ll reeducate you.” Martha grinned and patted Allison’s arm reassuringly. “Now come and see the rest of the house.”

  She led her through a series of quiet, sunny rooms that enchanted Allison. A sense of peace and serenity pervaded the house. It seemed to be a place where worries and concerns would melt away, where the pleasant rooms seemed to be saying that things would always work out for the best.

  “It’s beautiful!” Allison marveled, peering into a large, sun-splashed solarium on the second floor. “Where do I sleep?”

  “Oh, you can choose your own bedroom,” said Martha. “Only the master bedroom is off-limits.”

  “It really doesn’t matter,” Allison said, as Martha showed her into one sky-lit bedroom after another. “They’re all so lovely—so spacious and relaxing.”

  Martha shook her head. “You have to decide. It’s a family tradition: guests choose first.”

  “Then I guess I’d like the room in the back of the house—the one that overlooks the town.” Allison felt a hunger to watch the working fishermen as they plied their boats back and forth to the island, and the room she mentioned had a clear view of the array of lobster boats in the harbor.

  “Are you sure?” Martha looked at her curiously. “That’s smaller than the others. And it’s not the one with the best view.”

  “I thought it was. The harbor’s so interesting.” She wondered suddenly, with a shock of surprise at her own thought, which lobster boat belonged to Brent Connors.

  “Then it’s yours,” Martha said. “I’ll take the one in the front of the house. I love seeing the moonlight on the open water.”

  Martha’s tour ended in the kitchen, a charming, country-style room complete with fireplace, antique hutches, and a huge trestle table with benches.

  “This is where we’ll do the deed.” Martha ran her hand over the wide wooden countertop that circled the room.

  “Deed?”

  “When Brent comes tomorrow night. Don’t tell me you forgot already! We promised him supper.”

  Allison nodded. She hadn’t forgotten the verbal banter on the road, but had assumed the invitation hadn’t been taken seriously. Would Brent really show up the next evening?

  “I thought we could have steak and mashed potatoes.” Martha turned a starry-eyed gaze on Allison. “He likes that kind of meat and potatoes fare.” She grinned. “He’s very down-to-earth.”

  “Are you sure he’ll come?”

  Martha nodded. “He’ll come, all right.”

  “You like him, don’t you?”

  “He’s a great guy. Very sexy. Unfortunately, he’s not suitable.”

  “Suitable?” Allison had trouble thinking that something like suitability mattered to Martha.

  “Oh, Allison, you might as well know the truth.” Martha flung herself into a rocking chair by the fireplace and gave Allison a desperate glance. “Two summers ago I had a terrible crush on Brent. He even took me out a few times before Mama found out and put an end to it. That’s why they sent me to Europe last year.”

  “If your mother doesn’t want you going out with Brent, why in the world is she letting you come up here this summer?”

  “I assured her I wasn’t the least bit interested in Brent anymore. And if I have anything to do with him, they’ll yank me home so fast, I won’t know what hit me.”

  “Then why did you invite him for supper?” Allison sank down on the trestle bench.

  “I don’t know!” Martha wailed. “It just seemed that I had to do something! I mean, I almost ran over him!” Martha looked wistfully at Allison. “I really thought I was over him until I saw him standing there.”

  Allison shook her head in mock sympathy. “Martha, your heart’s on so many strings, how do you keep them all straight? What about Raoul? Every handsome man you meet is Mr. Right.”

  Martha’s mouth curled upward slowly and finally broke into an irrepressible grin. “I am a bit crazy, aren’t I? You’re right—I love them all.”

  “Well, one of these days you’re going to have to settle on just one.”

  Martha bounded out of her chair, all her despair having instantly evaporated. “I’m afraid you’ve already nailed the only one Mama and I could ever agree on. You see, it’s not enough just for me to decide. I have to choose someone acceptable to my parents.”

  “Is that why you always get crushes on working-class men?” Allison couldn’t suppress a grin of her own. “Are you just trying to drive your mother crazy?”

  “Well, I’ll stop as soon as you let Cabot go.”

  “Sorry. He’s hooked.” Allison playfully flashed her ring at Martha.

  Martha pushed out her lower lip in a momentary pout, then her face brightened. “I should take you down to meet Abel and Isabel right away! You haven’t been properly introduced to the island until you’ve met them!”

  Moments later Allison found herself following Martha along a well-beaten forest path that wound down the hill toward the village. Martha danced along the path, chattering about a mutual college friend who had recently become pregnant.

  “You won’t catch me having babies until I’ve had a chance to experience life.” Martha giggled. “Children only tie you down.”

  Allison smiled. One of the things she liked about her friend was her childish irresponsibility. It balanced her own quiet seriousness, and helped her to put things into perspective when she felt discouraged or confused.

  When the path opened out on a little meadow, Allison saw a small gray house and a tidy garden beyond it.

  “That’s Abel’s garden,” Martha announced. “He grows the best vegetables on the face of the earth. You won’t believe how heavenly beans can
taste until you eat some of his!” She took Allison’s hand and pulled her quickly across the yard to the back door. It opened before she had a chance to knock, and Allison found herself looking into a pair of blue eyes that seemed disquietingly familiar. As she watched Martha throw herself into the arms of the round-faced, elderly woman, she realized with a start that they were Brent Connor’s eyes, and then she remembered that this woman was his grandmother. Martha was uttering little squeals of excitement as she embraced the woman; when she finally pulled away and turned to introduce her, Allison felt uncomfortably intrusive, as if she had been eavesdropping on a pair of very dear friends.

  But the older woman shook her hand warmly.

  “Come on in and join us for supper,” she said, and held the screen door wide. “If I know Martha, you haven’t even had a chance to unpack your bags.”

  Allison laughed and followed her friend into the small kitchen, where she was greeted by the delicious aroma of baked apples emanating from the oven.

  “Abel’s out in the shed, knitting trap heads. Half his lobster traps were lost in that big storm we had last May; he’s still trying to catch up.” Isabel turned to Martha. “How nice for you to have a friend with you this summer. I hope you give us plenty of chance to get to know her.”

  “Oh, I intend to, Isabel.” Martha winked at Allison. “Especially when you make brownies.”

  Isabel laughed and led them into a small, unfinished room at the far end of the kitchen. A slender man in his early seventies was sitting on an upturned wooden crate, weaving some narrow rope together in a complicated pattern. Abel greeted them warmly, but didn’t move from his crate, nor did his fingers stop their flying motion.

  A few minutes later Isabel had put Martha to work mashing potatoes, and Allison to buttering a steaming bowl of fresh peas. When they all sat down at the worn kitchen table, Allison found herself eating with more appetite than she had had in a long time. She enjoyed listening to the teasing banter between Abel and Isabel, and followed with interest Martha’s questions about island residents. Isabel answered with a string of anecdotes about each islander, and every once in a while Abel inserted a droll comment that set them all laughing.