In a bellowing voice while checking her over with careful hands, Easton asked, “Are you alright?”
“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” She wriggled under him. “More importantly, how are you? You’re the one who put himself in harm’s way.”
“Not a mark on me. But I need to secure that area where the tree came in with some tarps or the whole place could flood by the time the hurricane passes.”
He looked back over his shoulder, mentally planning and strategizing what needed to happen.
She chewed on her lip, eyes trailing to the damage. With a vigorous shake of her head, she pressed up. “I’ll help.”
A snort escaped him before he thought better of it. He appreciated her resilience, her willingness to pitch in and help out. But being knocked around by hurricane-force winds and soaking to the bone? Not an option. “Like hell. Be still and try to stay calm for your sake and for our baby. I don’t want you doing anything until you’ve been checked over.”
Her spine went straight and rigid. “I’m careful.”
His jaw went tight and he couldn’t resist snapping. “Careful? Like when you tried to run out into a hurricane?”
Her eyes filled with tears, and she pressed a hand to her mouth. “You’re right. I wasn’t thinking. Oh God, how could I have been so reckless?”
His anger dimmed in the face of her tears, and heaven knew, he didn’t want to upset her more.
He clasped her fingers, trying to soothe her. “And that’s why, for the baby’s sake, I’m sure you’ll sit over there and watch Ginger Snap and Cinnamon. We can argue until we’re both soaked or you can let me get to work.”
She nodded, a mixture of annoyance and defeat in the thin line her lips formed. But she didn’t argue. Instead, she grabbed the quilt from the floor and walked slowly to the deer, hands extended.
Easton heard her talk to the deer. Reassuring them everything would be alright. She sat in the hay next to them, eyes fixed on the fawn.
Easton moved quickly to the small office, grabbing a tarp from the supply closet. Scouring the shelves, he located nails and a hammer from behind a stack of toilet paper.
Knowing that he didn’t have much time to make an effective barrier, his limbs sang to life. He hammered a tarp wall, reminding himself the entire time that he needed to make sure Portia stayed safe. He wouldn’t have her catching her death out here.
With the help of a ladder and some rope, he got to work, using the grommets on the tarp to stretch it in some places and using nails to secure it in others. In a few places, he nailed the thing to the fallen tree, but in the end, he did a decent job protecting them from the rain.
The blue tarp wall wasn’t going to win him any construction awards, but as he stepped back to survey his handiwork, he knew it’d do its job. Nothing more, nothing less.
Putting away his tools, Easton found a clean T-shirt in the barn office. He toweled off his head and walked back to the stall where he’d left Portia and the deer. He stopped in his tracks.
Like some woodland fairy, Portia was wrapped in a quilt, fast asleep. Her head cradled by her arm, which rested on Ginger Snap’s rump with Cinnamon curled between them.
She’d been wiped out. That much was clear.
But something else gnawed at his consciousness as he looked at the strange scene in front of him.
For the last several years, he’d been convinced that because Terri and Xander had joined the efforts of the refuge and set up shop here that he’d been at the core of a family. He’d been more convinced after Terri passed away, leaving Easton to help with baby Rose.
He was happy here, sure. He’d enjoyed the rewards and benefits of a family without any of the investment or risk. That’d been his role.
But as he stared at Portia, watched her sleep nestled up next to a deer, he began to realize that wasn’t the role he wanted. He’d been playing it safe for too long, keeping his relationships light and easy until he’d reached this point where he didn’t even know how to have a deep and meaningful one. All that was about to change, however. Because Easton didn’t want a sideline role anymore. He wanted something lasting, with the strong, sweetly fierce woman in front of him.
This Peter Pan wannabe was ready to leave Neverland. To follow his Wendy.
He didn’t just care about Portia. He loved her.
Marrying her wasn’t about the baby. It was about building a life with her, forever. And he’d sabotaged his proposal by not recognizing her most vulnerable of insecurities. He’d made her feel like an obligation rather than a precious treasure.
No wonder she’d tried to storm out of here.
He’d minced his words, convinced her that their circumstance as parents were the reason he’d wanted to pursue a relationship with her.
That formulation had been completely wrong. He loved her enthusiasm for logic and how that balanced her artistic soul. Easton loved the way they balanced each other. His love for her coursed through his veins. He didn’t know why he hadn’t recognized it before.
He loved her. Not for her secretarial skills. Not as a valuable employee. He loved Portia for all that she was—sacrificing, kind, artsy and wildly sexy. All of her.
Now he had to persuade her to say yes.
* * *
So after a crash in the barn and another five hours trapped in said barn, Portia had weathered her first Category 3 hurricane. Now, in the strangely bright morning sun, she sat on a kitchen barstool watching the cleanup effort through an open window, cooled by a fan running off a generator. She should have gone to the doctor by now, but that had been rescheduled due to the storm.
Both Easton and Xander refused to let her help. The ER scare and the stress of the storm had them both convinced she needed to rest. To stay away from any form of physical labor.
So here she sat on a stool in the kitchen looking out the window. And looking. And looking. Just as she’d been stuck in the barn unable to act. Sure, she’d slept. But even when she was awake, Easton wouldn’t talk to her or let her exert herself in any way, physically or emotionally. As if her emotions weren’t already in a turmoil regardless. Thank goodness one of the volunteers was a nurse and had checked her out or she would be in an overrun ER right now. And Portia had to admit to a massive sense of relief that Easton and their baby were okay.
And thank heaven there were no casualties, human or animal. All damage had been structural, which could be repaired with time.
She propped her chin on her elbow. She felt like a true Floridian now, down to a leveled house. Her small white cabana hadn’t been a match for Elliot’s relentless winds and storm surge. The majority of her belongings were probably floating to a distant shore, displaced.
Like she felt. Out of sorts.
At least not everything had been lost. Some photo albums and sketchbooks she’d tucked away in her closet remained. Some clothes, too. But there was so much damage.
Every line of sight and perspective revealed more destruction. Debris littered the lawn, pieces of people’s lives from yards away. A Jet Ski, pieces of a dock, even a window air-conditioning unit. She could barely see the presence of light green grass.
She’d been through snowstorms before, when traveling with her parents, but there was a crystallized beauty after a blizzard. People holed up with hot cocoa in front of the fire. This kind of destruction and loss after the hurricane humbled her. Made her feel small and fragile. Made her question her need not to rely on anyone.
But so did being confined to the main house while other people worked to make the place habitable again. Volunteers picked up debris, moving branches and pieces of buildings with military precision. Or, she thought, a laugh pushing at her lips, with ant-like precision—moving things so much larger than the human body.
Maureen kept Portia company, pouring her a glass of water. Maureen’s red curls f
ell in her face, making her look wild. “Anything else for you, love?”
Picking up the orange-tinted glass, Portia shook her head. “Not unless you can sneak me outside so I can be useful to somebody.”
Maureen put a hand on Portia’s shoulder, shaking her head. “Everyone just wants to make sure you are okay. And you are being useful. Honestly. Taking care of yourself is useful to all of us. We care about you, you know.”
Portia had grown to appreciate her friend’s blunt honesty. She simply nodded.
From across the kitchen counter, Portia’s phone rang, vibrating like mad.
Maureen glanced at the caller ID. “It’s your brother. I’ll leave you to it.” She gave Portia a side hug before disappearing into the house, her footfalls echoing until they were silent.
She slid over to answer the phone, steadying herself.
“I’ve been so worried about you,” Marshall said by way of greeting.
Portia traced the ridge of the glass with a light fingertip, staring nowhere in particular. “Well, hello to you, too.”
“I feel like when one sibling goes through a crazy hurricane unexpectedly, hello falls a bit short. Are you okay?”
Was she okay? Again, she didn’t know how to answer that.
“Of course I am. I’m not going to lie, Marshmallow. The hurricane was the most intense thing I’ve ever witnessed. But I am okay. Everything here is just fine.”
“You just...” Marshall trailed off. “You just don’t sound like yourself. I can come see you, take a job in Key Largo and help you out.”
The words knifed Portia in the chest.
“Absolutely not.” Portia took a sip of her water, deciding not to tell him about her destroyed cabana. He didn’t need to be worried by that. Hell, that would send him on a plane within the hour.
She pressed on. “Finish school and then kick butt. That’s what would make me happiest.”
He paused, sighing. “Fine. But I’m coming to see you this weekend.”
She stuttered. “That’s really un—”
He interrupted her. “No, it is necessary.”
“Okay,” she found herself saying. “Yes, please. I would like to see you. I, um, need to see you. I’ve missed you.”
“I miss you, too. See you soon, sis. Love you.”
Portia looked back outside at the chaos. “Love you, too.”
He hung up, leaving Portia to her swirling thoughts about letting others into her life, accepting help and comfort. She couldn’t hide from the truth. She needed other people as much as they needed her.
The realization settled inside her with a depth that went beyond just the physical implications of a hurricane, and made her question all the times she’d pushed offers of help away. She’d denied people the chance to give back the way she gave to others.
And why?
To protect herself from rejection? To give herself control over her world after a tumultuous childhood? Maybe. Probably. The whys didn’t matter so much. What mattered was changing, becoming less rigid in her views and broadening her scope, letting love into her life as well as giving it.
She saw Easton from a distance. She would know his walk, his stance anywhere, even if he wore a tuxedo rather than his regular cargo pants, boots and T-shirt. Or nothing at all. Her heart squeezed with emotion.
She couldn’t hide from the truth anymore. She’d fallen totally and irrevocably in love with him. Chances were, she’d loved him for a very long time and hadn’t allowed herself to admit it to herself because her feelings weren’t logical.
Love wasn’t logical. It wasn’t based on looks. Or a checklist. Or criteria. Feelings couldn’t be stacked into a neat, orderly pile. Her emotions were messy and tangled and to hell with independence.
Her soul hurt so much because she loved him, completely and irrationally. Her feelings didn’t make sense and they weren’t supposed to. This was about leading with her heart rather than her brain. She’d worked so hard not to be like her mother, Portia had missed the whole point. Her mother hadn’t really loved anyone but herself. All of her mother’s relationships were based on—checklists and criteria. Portia may not have looked like her mother, but in a sad way, she’d fallen into the same trap.
How sad was that? Tragic actually.
Hopefully she wasn’t too late to change things and build a future with Easton and their baby. A future built on love.
As Easton drew nearer, he caught her stare through the window. In his arms, he carried stacks of her artwork. He raised them above his head, a smile forming on his face.
But not on hers. She knew this gesture was a kind of peace offering, and oh how she wanted to accept it. But sadness blanketed her, pulling her heart into a plummet.
Because as deeply, completely and passionately as she loved him, she now understood her own self-worth.
She’d always wanted to be independent. Well, this was her test. She owed it to herself and to her child to stand up for herself. As soon as the cleanup was completed, she would demand the fullhearted commitment from Easton they all deserved.
* * *
A week later, fading sunlight washed the bruised but recovering refuge in orange hues. As Easton scanned the outside patio tables, he could barely believe that a week ago, the place had been torn apart by Hurricane Elliot.
The substantial damage to the barn and clinic had been repaired. Both Xander and Easton spared no expense, contracting the quickest, best construction companies in southwest Florida to bring the structures back up to tip-top shape.
As he looked around the gala fund-raiser tonight, he could see all of that hastened hard work paying off. Manicured grass, well-maintained buildings. Normalcy.
Which was exactly what he needed to show the collection of celebrities, politicians and socialites that bustled from table to table with champagne glasses in hand.
A snazzy pianist set up on a pop-up wooden dance floor, string lights winking on overhead, creating an illusion of stars brought down to earth. The pianist’s notes mingled with the jazz singer whose sultry alto voice spit out lyrics from crooners of another more elegant age.
The brothers had agreed this event would be black-tie and impressive. They needed to be out in public view to fully demonstrate their success as an organization for the reopening of the refuge. So the Lourdes brothers had pooled their connections, hired a decorator and thrown a major event together in five days’ time. Impressive, even for them.
As he watched the black-tie affair unfold in his backyard, Easton felt proud of the roots he’d laid down here. The roots he hoped to add to tonight.
The Serenade to Starlight signified the official reopening of the wildlife refuge. This event allowed them to renew their presence in the public eye, something completely essential for maintaining their facilities and the care of the animals.
The whole place seemed to twinkle in cool silver lights and accent pieces. The guest list consisted of A-list types from Miami, South Florida and the Keys. A few prominent West Coast starlets had flown in as well, lured by the promise of positive press coverage for their philanthropic efforts. Of course, the brothers made sure the volunteers could attend, too. The refuge depended on their time, effort and grit. They deserved to enjoy this evening.
Still, a moment of pride and joy turned to apprehension as Easton scanned the crowd, zipping past the women in cocktail dresses. Skipping over the heads of the politicians with cigars and whiskeys on the rocks. He spotted Maureen facilitating media coverage. Xander shaking hands with one of their big donors.
There was only one person is this crowd of people he really wanted to see, however. And that was Portia.
Since the storm, they hadn’t had a moment alone. Despite living in the mansion together—under the same roof—she’d kept her distance. Their conversations had been short, quiet. A
n air of pensive distraction painted her face and actions all week, but he’d wanted to give her time to collect her thoughts and recover from the storm.
Some time where he wasn’t pressuring her about marriage.
And she’d retreated totally.
A lesser man, one not dedicated to wooing the love of his life, might have turned tail and given up. But Easton had never been that kind of man. His bones didn’t allow him to quit. He knew when to use his theatrical, eccentric, romantic heart. He’d laid down a plan to win her over. Moreover, he’d determined a way to prove how important she was to him.
Then, he spied her through the crowd.
His heart hammered, breath catching in his throat.
Portia rested a slender hand on one of the cocktail tables set up by the massive pool. Her hair was piled on her head, but not in her normal ponytail. Instead, her hazelnut hair was swept into an Audrey Hepburn bun. A slinky peach ball gown clung to her curves, suggesting her natural grace.
Damn. She was sexy.
She moved and the peach-colored dress shimmered in the lights as she leaned to talk to her brother, Marshall, who’d decided to visit for a week. That was another reason Easton had wanted to give Portia space. He knew she needed to spend time with her brother.
But tonight, it was Easton’s turn. And he had to get to her.
His brother clapped him on the shoulder, a small glass of bourbon neat in his opposite hand. Easton’s open stare at Portia interrupted, he turned to face his brother.
Xander winked at him, understanding what was going on.
Jessie flanked Xander, a vision in glittering silver sequins. She absently straightened Don’s bow tie as she spoke. “You boys have completely outdone yourselves.”
Sipping his bourbon before answering, Xander nodded. “We just wanted to express our appreciation for the hard work of the volunteers.”
“We wouldn’t be here without all of you,” Easton added, his eyes watching the governor. A few feet away, the man paused. He stooped down, a smile on his wide, tanned face as he took a bright pink carnation that Rose offered him. She clapped when the governor stuck the flower behind his ear. Rose waved goodbye to the official when Maureen scooped her up, heading toward her husband.
His Secretary's Little Secret Page 15
