Over the years he’d gone to Sandusky for various appointments. He’d always come back to Thorne Island the same day, but not because he was scared. He returned to the island because he liked it here. No other reason. Sara was wrong about him. Satisfied with himself, Nick picked up his cup and went back into the kitchen to have a bowl of Frosted Flakes and a cherry Pop-Tart.
A half hour later, when he climbed the stairs to go back to his room, he couldn’t resist a look at the other end of the hallway. Sara’s door was half-open. He walked toward it, stopping just beyond the bathroom when he heard her voice. It sounded different this morning. She wasn’t talking to herself like she had the night before. This time she was speaking to someone. Who the hell could it be? Ryan? Dex? Nick tried to imagine a liaison between Sara and either of his two friends. “Nah,” he said, shaking his head. “It’d never happen.”
Then, in an instant of unanticipated relief, Nick realized he was listening to a one-sided conversation. Sara was talking on the phone. He knew he should walk away. She had a right to her privacy like everyone else. But he flattened his back against the wall and inched toward her room and the sound of her voice.
SARA BLEW a stubborn strand of hair off her forehead and tapped a pencil on the case of her new laptop computer. She’d called her office and spoken to the receptionist and the night cleaning lady, who was just leaving. Now if she could just connect with Candy! Why was it taking so long for her assistant to pick up? She’d promised to be on time the week Sara was away, and it was now eight thirty-five.
Ten rings. Sara was reaching for the end button on her cell phone when a breathless voice came from the small speaker grid. She returned the phone to her ear.
“H-hello! I mean, good morning. Miss Crawford’s office. Candy Applebaum speaking. May I help you?”
“Candy? It’s me.”
“Oh, Sara, how are you? I miss you.”
“I’m fine. I miss you, too. How are you getting along with the boss?”
“Oh, great. Mr. Bosch has birds, too. Did you know? We’ve been swapping budgie stories.”
“Great.” Sara couldn’t help smiling. “Candy, I have something to tell you. If there aren’t any major problems, I’m planning to stay here a while longer.”
“You must be having a good time. I just knew you would. Maybe I’ll go to Cleveland myself sometime.”
“It’s not really Cleveland. I’m on an island—”
Candy’s voice rose to an excited pitch. “Oh, you won’t believe what’s been going on this week!”
Sara froze. “What?”
“Mr. Papalardo was so grateful for the way you handled his tax return—you know, getting it in on time—”
“He should be grateful,” Sara interjected.
“Well, anyway, he’s called up every day this week to ask what kind of pizza you want delivered—free! I told him to load it up with everything, but heavy on the anchovies. I said you loved anchovies.”
Sara smiled into the phone. “Candy, I hate anchovies.”
“I know, but you’re not here.”
“True. So you’ve had pizza every day?”
“Yeah, and I’ve gained four pounds. I look grotesque.”
Sara muffled her laughter. Grotesque was hardly the word she’d use to describe rail-thin Candy Applebaum, even after she’d consumed three loaded pizzas. “Tell you what, Candy, today tell Mr. Papalardo that all I want is a tossed salad with low-fat Italian dressing.”
There was a long pause before Candy chirped back, “He’d never believe that. You’ve had me call him every day to tell him how much you loved the pizza.”
Sara laughed out loud. “Candy, I really do miss you.” And it was true. “Take down this phone number. It’s my new cell phone.” She recited the numbers. “Call me anytime if you have questions. I don’t want Mr. Bosch to get upset. And tell him I have business in Ohio that’s keeping me longer than I expected, but that I’m checking in regularly.”
“Business? Aren’t you having any fun at all?” Candy sounded genuinely distressed at the possibility.
If you only knew, Sara thought. I’m having the time of my life. I’m bringing beauty to what was drab and life to what was dying. And meeting one of the biggest challenges of my life by doing it all in spite of a bunch of cantankerous, obstinate men. And one mysterious, argumentative, incredibly sexy man who pushes buttons I never knew I had.
“I wouldn’t say I’m not having any fun,” Sara answered cautiously. “Candy, I have to tell you, I met this—”
“Oh, sorry, Sara,” Candy whispered. “Mr. Bosch is coming into the office. Can I call you back?”
“Sure. It wasn’t important. I’ll talk to you later.” Sara ended the call and went to her wardrobe to get socks and sneakers. By the time she’d laced her shoes, her common sense was in gear once more. Are you nuts, Crawford? she asked herself. What in the world were you going to tell Candy? That you’ve met a man whose sensitivity and manners are strictly in the debit column, but that you can’t stop thinking about him, anyway?
Relieved that she hadn’t blurted out the details of a situation she didn’t understand herself, Sara headed down the hall to the bathroom. Just as she reached the door, it swung open and Nick Bass stood on the threshold. He leaned against the door frame, crossed his arms and gave her a huge grin. “Good morning, Crawford,” he said. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
“I suppose,” she said. “Despite being wet and soggy.”
“True, but I’ve decided not to sue you for that loose porch board, so that should put a little sunshine in your life.”
“You’re all heart, Bass.” She looked away from the teasing glint in his eyes. She certainly didn’t need to find anything attractive about Nick this morning. “So, you done in there?” she asked, returning her gaze to his face since there didn’t seem to be a safe place to settle it.
He scratched the side of his head as if pondering her question. “I don’t know. All that great reading material and soft, fuzzy places to put my feet, I’m tempted to stay all day.”
“Well, forget it because you can’t.” She tried to shoulder her way past him, but it was like trying to knock a granite statue off its base.
He squared his shoulders, filling the entrance. “So, who were you talking to in your room, Sara? You have company in there?”
“Certainly not! I was simply letting my assistant know she could reach me on my cell phone. Unlike some people, I don’t entertain in my bedroom.” He squirmed just slightly at her implied accusation. “Besides, what were you doing listening to my conversation?”
“Were you trying to keep it private?”
“Of course.”
“Then from now on, shut your door. We’re the only two people who live in this palace. What affects you affects me.” He jerked his thumb at the interior of the redecorated bathroom. “What you change affects me.” He pointed to the supplies filling the hall. “Who you hire affects me. In fact, every damn thing you’re doing affects the hell out of me. You can’t blame me for listening in to see what other tricks you’ve got up your sleeve.”
This man could have goaded Mother Teresa into a boxing ring. And yet, the more he annoyed her, the more Sara’s other instincts raced into overdrive. His hair was still sleep-tousled and just needed a trail of fingers to smooth it into submission. His T-shirt fit his chest like a second skin, and his mouth… Even while he delivered his lecture of self-defense, his lips twitched in amusement. Sara knew only two ways to wipe a smug expression off a person’s mouth. One was to slug it off, and the other…well, she couldn’t let herself think about that one.
“Fine,” she said. “You’ve made your point. I’ll keep my door closed when I’m on the phone from now on.”
He stepped aside and with a gallant sweep of his arm, invited her to enter the bathroom.
“Thank you,” she said, and walked past him.
Nick headed down the hall, but before Sara closed the bathroom door, he called back to her. “Tell Candy to
lay off the pizza. And by the way, the night before last—I slept alone.”
RYAN ENTERED the front door of the commissary, wiped moist soil from his hands and took the beer Nick offered him. “What’s up?” he asked.
“We’re all here,” Brody said. “What’s the big emergency?”
Dexter took a long swallow of diet soda and leaned against the refrigerator. “Talk fast, okay? ESPN is running a special on the history of the Cy Young Award, and it starts in fifteen minutes.”
“And I’ve got work to do in the vineyard,” Ryan said. “This morning’s rain made the soil perfect for adding more fertilizer. The roots will soak it right in.”
Brody pointed his cell phone at each man. “And I’ve got to call in an order to Winkie or we’ll all starve to death.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Nick said impatiently. “You’re all busy as little beavers, I can tell. But believe me, when you hear what I have to say, you’ll understand why you had to give up a few minutes of precious time to listen.”
Ryan chewed on his lower lip. “You’re beginning to worry me, Nick.”
“I know, and maybe you should be worried. Here’s the story. Our new landlady—”
Brody’s fist came down on his counter. “Damn it! I should have known that interfering female was behind this meeting!”
Nick cleared his throat and continued, “Our landlady is determined to fix up the Cozy Cove and all of Thorne Island.”
“What the hell for?” Brody demanded. “She’s not staying, is she?”
“She’s staying another week for sure. Maybe longer. She’s got it into her head that she can turn the island into some kind of summer resort.”
Brody moaned and put his head in his hands. “Damn!”
“You mean we’re going to have people swarming all over the place?” Dexter asked.
Ryan grimaced. “How many people? Can she do this?”
“Of course she can!” Brody thundered. “That woman’s got a mean streak in her.”
Nick put a hand up to silence Brody, as if anything could. “Yes, Ryan, she can do anything she wants. The island’s hers, every tree, bush and grape.”
“She’s out to ruin us,” Brody said, a note of bitter finality to his words.
“No, I don’t think she is,” Nick countered. “She’s made it clear that none of us has to leave. But there may come a time when guests start arriving at the Cozy Cove.”
Hope flickered in Dexter’s dark eyes. “But it might not happen for a long time?”
“That remains to be seen. The immediate situation we have to face is that Sara has contracted people to come to the island and make repairs to the inn. They arrive tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow!” A chorus of shouts filled the little room.
“That’s right. Painters, carpenters, an electrician—along with supplies Sara ordered on the mainland.”
“I can’t believe this is happening,” Dexter said. “What if one of them recognizes me? What’ll I say?”
Nick walked over and patted him on the shoulder. “You’ll say, ‘Hi, how ya doing. The name’s Dexter Sweet.’ And you’ll be proud of it.”
Dexter shook his head as if he didn’t believe a word of it.
“I don’t want any people around here,” Ryan said. “I can trust you guys. And I’d just decided that maybe I could trust Sara. Now she brings a whole slew of strangers to the island.”
“Don’t borrow trouble, Ry,” Nick said. “Not everybody in the world is out to frame you.”
Brody pounded his fist on the countertop again. “Will you listen to yourself, Nick? You’re siding with this woman and her half-baked scheme to turn our island into a Club Med! I don’t blame these boys for getting upset. I’m mad as hell myself!”
“So what else is new? You’re always mad.” Nick walked to the door to get away from the grumbling so he could think. There had to be some way—apart from tarring and feathering their landlady—to deal with the situation. The subtle beginnings of a solution came to him, and he concentrated on making the details take shape. Getting this bunch of men to go for it might be as hard as getting them to vote for the abolishment of fishing on Thorne Island, but it was the only way out he could think of. At least it would buy them some time.
He turned around and faced his friends. “I’ve got an idea,” he said.
“Well, spit it out,” Brody demanded.
“We could offer to do the work ourselves.”
Three incredulous stares met his declaration. And one dropped jaw—Brody’s.
“Now just think about it for a minute,” Nick urged calmly. “If we do the work, there won’t be any reason to bring outsiders to the island. Our generosity will take the wind right out of Sara’s sails, and might score some points in our favor.”
The first spark of encouragement came with a slight nodding of Ryan’s head. “Yeah, that’s true,” he said. “I could do a lot of the carpentry. I’ve had enough experience around stables repairing rotted and cribbed wood.”
“Sure you have,” Nick said. “Fixing up the porch and the eaves would be a snap for you.”
“Well, heck,” Dexter said, “anybody can paint. I’m sure I could do that.”
Brody grunted his disagreement. “That’s just great. I’ll have Winkie bring me a video camera so I can record your impersonations of Martha Stewart. It’ll make for a good laugh. What about the roof and electrical work? Which one of you do-gooders is qualified for that?”
Nick raised his hand. “Actually, Bro, I know a little about this fixup stuff. My mother lived in an old mansion in Akron, remember? I was a kid with nothing to do but watch the repairmen and learn.” He let a sly grin curl half his mouth. “And as for the electrical work, that’s right up your alley, friend.”
Brody gaped in shock. “Me? What I know about wiring you could put in a thimble and still have room for a bath.”
Nick wagged a finger at him. “You forget, Brody, that I know what you did before you started making people smell good. If I looked through your desk drawer right now, I might still be able to find the paper that certifies you as an electrician.”
Ryan and Dex both hooted at the expression on Brody’s face.
“So, do we talk to Sara about the deal or not?” Nick asked.
“She’ll never go for it,” Brody said in a last-ditch attempt to sway the vote.
“She’s an accountant, Bro. She knows she’ll save a bundle if we do the work.”
Dexter strode to the middle of the room. “If it’ll keep intruders off the island for a little while, I say we do it.”
“Me, too,” Ryan seconded.
All three men stared at Brody. “Ah, the hell with all of you,” he grumbled. “I’m not about to stand alone. Count me in, but I don’t like it. And—” he glared at Nick “—I’m not talking to her.”
“Actually, Brody, I think that will work in our favor,” Nick said. “I’ll let her know right now.” Looking at Ryan, he asked, “Is she in the vineyard?”
“Was when I left.”
Nick started to leave, but stopped at the door. “You know, this might not be so bad. When you think about it, we are in kind of a rut around here. At least a little honest labor will be a change of pace.”
“Speak for yourself,” Brody shot back. “And before you run off, let’s get this grocery list done.” He pulled a sheet of paper from under the counter and began checking off items. “Frosted Flakes all right?” he asked.
Ryan and Dexter mumbled a weak agreement.
“No!” Nick said. “They’re not all right. That’s just what I mean about being in a rut. I want something different.” The other men again stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. “What other cereals are there?” he asked.
Ryan cleared his throat. “I used to like Sugar Crisp.”
Nick snapped his fingers. “That’s it then. Sugar Crisp. Write that down, Brody. And while you’re at it, order some vegetables. I’m tired of beef and potatoes all the time.”
Brody’s shock was expressed in incomprehensible mumbles.
“Quit griping, Bro,” Nick said. “Ordering food’s the easy thing. I’ve got to find our landlady and convince her of our sincere desire to help. Now that’s a challenge!”
CHAPTER TEN
SARA REACHED into the wheelbarrow, scooped out another handful of gravel and spread it around the base of the vine at her knees. Her morning’s work in the vineyard had convinced her of one thing. The tour guide on her Napa Valley trip who’d said breaking soil by hand was an easy job had obviously never done it. Sara’s back ached from kneeling on the sloping hillside. Her wrist hurt from turning and twisting the trowel in the dirt, and her gloves were so caked with clay she doubted she’d ever get them clean. Yet all she needed to do was reach up and gently nestle a light-green cluster of baby grapes in her palm and all her efforts were worth it. Soon her vines would be thriving.
“Most people try to get rocks out of the soil, Crawford. Here you are putting them in.”
At the sound of Nick’s voice, Sara sat up with a start and stared into teasing gray eyes. “Shows what you know, Bass. The stones are for drainage. If vine roots get too much water, they rot.” Responding to his less than enthusiastic shrug, she returned to her work and asked, “Where’s Ryan? What have you done with him?”
“I don’t think I like that accusatory tone,” he answered, and took a step closer to her.
Sara slapped at his shin with the trowel.
Nick hopped back and rubbed his leg. “Ouch! What did you do that for?”
“You were about to step on my mixture. Shoes are very bad for the soil, bad for the grapes.” She glanced accusingly at his feet. “Especially shoes the size of yours.”
“Well, pardon me,” he said as he stared at Sara’s grubby bare feet. “I didn’t know you were a horticultural authority.”
“Well, I am. So are you going to answer my question?”
“I’m in so much pain, I forgot you asked one.”
She speared the trowel into the dirt and stared up at him. “What have you done with Ryan? He’s got the pruning shears and I need them.”
The Men of Thorne Island Page 11
