I slowed the truck to turn onto the grassy path leading to my boat.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her. I’d recognize those legs anywhere. I wasn’t sure if it was the lips, the blond hair, or that attitude of hers I wanted to break. I’d always wanted to break. Fuck.
She was the kind of girl who thought she was too good for the island. The kind that only cruised with champagne in her hand, and nothing was ever good enough. But she might just be the sexiest woman I’d ever known.
When had Sierra Emory got back in town? And why was she here this summer? And why the fuck was she leaning over the bridge?
In the meantime, Cole was probably revving the boat impatiently and already a few beers ahead. We had a full day of fishing ahead of us.
My cousin sat on the bow with a goofy grin and a beer in hand. “Let’s go, man. Where in the hell have you been? I’ve been sitting out here thinkin’ you weren’t going to show.”
“You know I’m not going to bail on you.” I smiled and popped the top of my first beer. “I had a lot of shit to get done today. I’m ready now.”
I loaded the cooler, a box of tackle, and a bag of sandwiches I had picked up from the Seaside Café into the toolbox at the stern of the boat.
She still didn’t have a name. I knew it was bad luck not to name my boat, but I wasn’t superstitious. For now, she was nameless, but I trusted her. I had handpicked every limb of her frame and driven every nail into her seams. My father had tried to help, but I’d refused the free pair of hands when I had them.
I felt the back of my throat clutch at the thought.
“Can you believe it’s already the Fourth? Man, this summer is flying by.” I positioned myself behind the steering wheel. “I have to report to fucking camp soon.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. I loved this place, as much as I loved football. And right now, I didn’t know which one I needed more.
“Hey, did you know Sierra Emory was on the island?” I asked.
Cole shook his head. “No. Hadn’t heard that.”
I didn’t want to make a fucking big deal about it. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Yeah, we better steer clear of the cape today. It’ll be full of those damn ski boats, scaring off the fish,” Cole agreed.
Cole loosened the sailor’s knots and tossed the ropes up on the dock. With one hard shove, we started drifting in the creek, and I cranked the engine. The creek was alive with jumping mullets. I steered us under the bridge and headed east.
2
Sierra
From the small peak at the top of the bridge, the island didn’t look like much. In fact, it really wasn’t much at all. It never had been. No coffee shops. No yoga classes. There wasn’t even a gym. I didn’t know how I was going to manage the rest of the summer here.
It always felt like time travel when I came home. Home. It was a weird word to associate with this place.
I might as well have jumped in a time machine. I gripped the bridge’s railing. Damn, this island was hot. I shielded my eyes from the reflection and tried to focus on the two fading figures laughing and sipping from koozies.
The island wasn’t more than two miles wide and five miles long. When I was a kid I’d known every square inch of it. That seemed like a million years ago now. Exploring this place was the last thing I wanted to do anymore. That girl no longer existed.
I shouldn’t be here. Leave it to Aunt Lindy to pass her estate to me in the heat of the summer.
The boat was on the horizon now. I probably had known those guys in my past life. There’d been a time when I’d known all the island guys. They wore T-shirts, deck shoes and most of them walked around with a cigarette.
Sweat trickled down my neck, and I piled my hair on my head, hoping a breeze would find me. I had wandered a little farther than I’d planned. My mission had been to jog to the store and pick up some ice for the cooler, but once I’d reached the market, I’d kept running. Maybe I was trying to outrun the heat or just outrun this feeling that I was going crazy.
I didn’t know if I could handle opening one more drawer only to find it was stuffed to the top with moth balls.
I turned from the bridge and wondered why I had ventured this far without a car. I still had to stop by the store and walk home with a bag of ice. The ice maker was broken and nowhere among the piles of Tupperware and casserole dishes had I found any ice trays.
A gust of cold air hit me as I pushed open the door to the market. Immediately, the smell of turpentine, fishing tackle, and candy bars hit my nose. It was such an odd combination to my senses. The hardwood floors had been worn from years of fishermen and islanders waiting in line at the counter for their handwritten receipts. As far as I knew, this was the last place in the world that didn’t electronically print receipts.
I smiled at the old timers huddled in the corner near the magazine rack. They tipped their hats and refocused their attention on the smooth pieces of wood they were whittling. Their rocking chairs gently rolled on curly-cued pieces of new wood shavings.
I hauled the ice to the counter and paid. The clerk handed me the ice receipt, but before I could make my way out of the door, I bumped into a woman rushing through it. Bright nail polish flashed on her toes, on display in her fluorescent flip-flops. Her earrings, obviously shells, matched a print on her T-shirt. Her arm jangled with bracelets reaching almost up to her elbow. The woman let out a shrill cry that could be heard from the other side of the street.
“Sierra Emory! Little Sierra Emory.”
I nodded meekly and smiled. Who in the hell was this woman?
“Well, shoot! I’ve been meaning to come down and say hi. I was so sorry to hear about your aunt. But tickled you’re going to be moving in.”
“Oh I-I’m not…”
She cut me off.
“That house is gorgeous. Prettiest one on the island. I’ve always said that. Always.”
“Thank you.” I nodded, but wasn’t sure what I was agreeing to. I had already decided that as soon as I sorted through Aunt Lindy’s things, I was selling the house. I couldn’t hold on to it and live in another state.
“Why don’t you join my husband and me tonight for some island-style cookin’?”
“Oh no, no. I couldn’t impose on you like that.”
I wasn’t sure which was the more embarrassing route—to admit I didn’t know who she was, or the fact that it was the Fourth of July and I had absolutely zero plans.
“You need to go ahead and learn this right now. I do not accept a no. Your aunt knew that. So just plan on being at our house at seven o’clock. It is the Fourth, and we know how to do it up right. Henry got some clams today and we’ve got a plan for them. You’ll love it.”
I knew how to pick my battles, and it looked like I had already lost this one.
“Sure, ok. Thank you for inviting me.”
“Oh, I’m so excited. I’ll see you tonight.”
“Oh, wait. I don’t know where you live,” I blurted out. Maybe she would get the hint I had no idea who she was.
“Honey, just drive toward Shell Point, and when you hear the music, you’ll know you’re close to Shirley Lane. Henry named the street after me.” She flashed a big smile, and turned to avoid bumping into a fisherman loaded down with a bag of bait and a fishing pole.
I watched as the woman climbed into a car and drove away. I gripped the bag of ice I had just purchased and faced the heat.
At least I had her name. And something to do tonight that didn’t involve going through old magazines and packing up clothes for Good Will.
3
Sierra
I sifted through my suitcase in search of two articles of clothing that would complement each other, and make the best impression on the island locals. I tossed a turquoise T-shirt on the floor.
I hadn’t thought about red, white, and blue. I had no idea what to wear to a clam dinner. Probably just some shorts and a top. But nothing looked right. Why was the closest mall two ho
urs away?
I was surprised I cared so much. Surprised that it mattered to me what these people thought. People I had ignored and pretended didn’t exist for years.
But here I was faced with looking them in the eye tonight. They knew I had missed my aunt’s funeral. They knew I was locked up in this big house cleaning out closets and tearing through drawers.
They knew I was from here. That I used to be a little girl with long pigtails that ran barefoot across the shores of the sound. But I wasn’t that little girl any longer.
I had driven over that bridge when I was eighteen, never wanting to look back. I didn’t want the island to define me.
I looked at my reflection in the mirror one last time and turned off the light, realizing that no matter how hard I’d tried, the island had left an imprint on me I could never escape.
***
A few minutes later I turned my car onto Shirley Lane.
I wasn’t completely sure it was the right place. The front porch light wasn’t on.
I scanned the front yard that Shirley described earlier at the store. I huffed. No one around here liked to give addresses or phone numbers. I was going to have to ring the bell and find out where Shirley lived.
Before I had even stepped one toe in the driveway, I heard a raucous sing-along drowning out the lyrics of the music. I followed the sounds, walking around the side of the house to discover a yard lit by tiki torches. It was crowded with barefoot people. There was a huge open flame pit dominated by a three-foot tall steaming pot.
Oh God. Half the island was here. I debated whether to join the crowd or retreat to the car. This isn’t what I thought Shirley meant by dinner. I wasn’t ready for this.
Shirley emerged from behind the singing masses.
“Oh, Sierra. Finally. We’ve been waiting for you.” The hostess trapped me in a bear hug. “I want to re-introduce you properly to the island. Come on. Come on.”
“I-uh.” She tugged on me and I had no choice but to follow.
“Henry! Come over here. Leave that fire to the boys. I want you to meet the Sierra Emory I was telling you about. Lindy’s niece.”
A tall, white-haired man with weathered skin and kind eyes handed off a long stick he was using to stoke the fire and walked toward us.
“Shirls, who do we have here?”
“Hi.” I extended my hand. “Thanks for having me tonight.”
I handed Shirley a gallon of ice cream. It was the only thing I could think of to bring at the last minute.
Shirley’s armful of bracelets shook as she took the treat. “Aww, you shouldn’t have. That is so sweet. Henry, isn’t this sweet?” She handed the ice cream to her husband. “I couldn’t believe it when I ran into you today. You want something to drink?”
“Sounds good.” I nodded. Alcohol might be the only way to survived this.
“The tide’s coming in and we don’t have much beach here, so we had to move the coolers to the boats to make room for the fire pit. We’ll just walk down there and get you something.” Shirley extended an arm and waved in the direction of the steaming pot.
After leading me across a grassy lawn and making introductions to the corn hole players, Shirley guided me down a path to the narrow sandy beach.
Shirley squealed and stopped the tour in front of a solid-built woman, who looked to be about forty. Her sunglasses were perched on top of her head, and she had a beer in one hand.
“Jojo, you remember Sierra Emory don’t you?”
“Nice to see you again. How’s it going at Lindy’s?” Jojo asked.
Jojo had worked at the post office when I was growing up. My aunt would stop by every afternoon and they talked. I never paid attention. For the first time I wished I had. I had absolutely nothing to say to this woman.
“It’s good.” I smiled. “Busy.”
Shirley tugged on me. “Everyone’s glad you’re here.”
“Yes, it is nice to have a little social activity for once this summer.”
Jojo laughed. “Now that you know Shirley Lane, your social life will never be dull again.” She took a sip of beer. “Shirley, don’t you think there are a few more people we could introduce her to?”
I thought I caught a conspiratorial wink exchanged between the island women.
“Yep. Yep. I’m headed to get her some drinks right now.” She turned toward me, leading me away from Jojo and to the boats pulled ashore.
Three skiffs dotted the ebbing beach beyond the fire pit. The sterns were lapped by incoming waves, and the bows were pulled high onto the shore.
“Sierra, I’m right behind you. I forgot to tell Henry where to stash the ice cream. Help yourself to whatever you’d like.” She pointed to the boat lineup. “I’ll be right back.” Turning on her heels, she scampered off to find Henry.
Why were all of the drinks on the boat? This was ridiculous. I continued the search for drinks. I wondered if there was anything other than beer. Just one drink and I was out of here.
“Blake, catch!” A deep voice called out from the farthest boat just as I was knocked to the ground by a figure running backward. All I could make out were outstretched arms and an airborne can of Bud Light.
“Score!” the receiver yelled, holding his beer can in the air and flashing a smile after his twenty-yard reception.
“Hey! Not so fast with your victory dance, quarterback.” I fumed from the sand.
An islander spun around, casting a shadow across my face.
“Let me help you up. I’m really sorry.” He extended a hand.
Brushing the sand from my legs and assessing the damage, I pulled myself up.
“Sorry?” Who in the hell knocks a girl down like that?
I realized that, other than a little wet sand stuck to my favorite shorts, I was fine. But I wasn’t about to let my cocky assailant know that. I was ready to launch into a verbal tirade on why he should have been paying more attention, when I looked up and lost my words.
I took in the muscular six two frame topped with sandy hair. I had only seen eyes that color once before. They were a grey-green I couldn’t forget. They were sexy bedroom eyes that threw every good comeback I had out the window.
“Blake?” I sputtered, finding my voice.
He threw everything out the window. Holy shit.
4
Blake
Fuck.
“Sierra.”
“What are you doing here?” she asked. Her eyes seemed to light with as much fire as I had running under my veins.
“I could ask you the same thing.”
I had plowed her down. Run her into the sand as if she were a lineman on a Sunday afternoon. She didn’t want my help dusting off the sand.
“My aunt died. I’m cleaning out her house,” she explained. She pinched her plump lips together. Those fucking lips.
“Right.” Fuck. Why was it I couldn’t think about anything except the last time I saw her?
She took me right back to high school. To college. To a time when I gave two fucks about what a girl thought.
Cole ran up behind me. “Why if it isn’t Sierra Emory.” He pulled her into a resistant hug. She looked over his shoulder at me.
“Hi. Cole.”
“It’s like a damn high school reunion around here.” He grinned. He was already drunk.
“I guess so.”
“Is this your boat, Cole?” Sierra asked.
“Nah, she’s Blake’s. He built her himself,” Cole said, as I turned up the music.
“Really? You built this?” Sierra looked surprised.
I hopped on the boat and strolled to the lineup of coolers.
I leaned back in the captain’s chair, propping my feet next to the steering wheel. “Really.”
“Sorry, my cousin’s such an ass and a bad receiver. That was a perfect throw,” Cole quipped, smiling at Sierra.
“You’re crazy.” I glared. “I caught that pass by the way. Which is pretty fucking amazing considering I’m the one who usually t
hrows it.”
“No one around here gives a shit,” Cole shot back.
I grinned. It was why I loved it. But now Sierra was here and suddenly it didn’t seem the same. She shouldn’t be here. My boat was anchored on shore, but I felt as if it were rocking with some new kind of current.
“Don’t want your head getting too big,” I egged him on.
“It was good to see you both.” Sierra stepped back. “But I think Shirley wanted me to see some other people.” I wasn’t surprised she was trying to run. Typical.
“Hey, come on. Why don’t you cruise with us?” Cole asked. “Like we used to do.” He waggled his eyebrows. “It will be like old times.”
I retrieved my legs from their propped position. “Man, I didn’t know we were planning a cruise tonight. It’s going to be crowded out there with everyone trying to drop anchor to watch the fireworks.”
I sure as fuck wasn’t going to tell Cole I cared if Sierra was out on the water with us, but I’d be damned if I would just invite her back into my island life.
Cole shot a look over his shoulder to the Shirley Lane party, and Sierra followed his gaze. Henry was parading around the corn hole players with Shirley perched on his shoulders. She was screaming all the words to the pirate tune blaring across the beach. Things at Shirley Lane were getting rowdy. Drunk rowdy.
“It’s either this or we cruise.” Cole shrugged his shoulders at me. “It’s up to you—your boat.”
“All right. Let’s pull anchor. Come on.” He made his way to the bow of the boat and started working the anchor free from the sand.
“I’m going to shove us off,” Cole offered.
Sierra hadn’t moved.
“If you don’t want to ride, just stay here, darlin’,” I called over the low rumble of the diesel engine.
I didn’t need her on my boat. I didn’t need her on my island. I wasn’t going out of my way to make her comfortable.
“I’m going.” She jogged forward and Cole helped her across the bow.
Fuck. Now what?
Sexy Bachelor Page 75
