by Meg Tilly
Samson approached the car, smelled something near the back, then batted the trunk with his enormous paw before following the scent around to the driver’s side of the car. There, the dog sniffed some more and let out a loud, sharp woof.
There was a shriek from the car. A head with some sort of strange headdress appeared at the window, face drained of all color, eyes wide, mouth a round O. He caught only a flash, and then there was another shriek and the head disappeared. The car rocked slightly from some sort of vigorous movement inside. From the high pitch of the shriek, Luke was able to ascertain that the owner of the oddly garbed head was definitely female.
* * *
• • •
MAGGIE LAY AS flat as she could on the floor of the car. It was an impossible task, because the gearshift was poking into her ribs. When she had been rummaging for clothes in the trunk, she should have thrown the groceries far away from the car. The smell of the food must have attracted the bear.
“Please go away. Please go away,” she prayed.
Now the bear was banging on the door! Oh dear . . . oh dear. It wasn’t going to go away. Wait! Maggie had an idea. The creature must be hungry: better it feast on her groceries than on her. She pushed off the center console—her ribs thanked her—and, keeping low, she fumbled under the dashboard until she felt the trunk-release button. Ahh . . . She could hear the trunk fly open.
“Whaaa?!”
The bear had said whaaa?! That didn’t make sense. Bears don’t talk.
She must have seen incorrectly. It was a person, not a bear! A person who could help.
Maggie slowly rose and peeked out the window. A tall, fierce warrior of a man was standing outside her car. He looked grouchy as hell. Strong, too, like he could snap a person’s neck with his bare hands. But the weird thing was, Maggie instantly knew deep down to her core that she was safe with this man. Felt as if he were a trusted friend she’d known in a previous life. She didn’t know why she had that feeling, but it didn’t matter. She was safe. She was no longer alone. She wasn’t going to be eaten by a bear, because if anyone could beat off a wild bear, it was this man.
* * *
• • •
THE CAR DOOR burst open, and a woman tumbled out. Recognition flashed through him. It was the woman who had been weeping on the ferry. Although she had changed her outfit and was wearing a most peculiar ensemble. What he had thought was a headdress appeared, on closer inspection, to be a flannel pajama top with a sock-monkey print. One sleeve was loose and flopping around her face. She was also wearing a fuzzy pink bathrobe and a pair of red woolen long johns that were wrapped several times around her neck and shoulders.
“Oh, thank goodness!” She seemed excited, talking fast and loud, but underneath was a lazy trace of silk and whiskey in her voice that his body apparently found arousing. “You have no idea how relieved I am to see you.”
What are you doing? he chastised his stirring nether regions. The poor woman is clearly unhinged. Weeping violently, and now this? She needs your compassion, not an erection.
“I thought you were a bear!” she continued, oblivious to the battle he was waging below the belt. “A bear. Can you imagine?” She was waving her arms around like a bird trying to take flight. “That’s why I opened the trunk. I have groceries, you see, and—”
Samson chose this opportunity to amble around the car and rise onto his hindquarters to nudge her face with his wet nose.
She emitted a squawk that would raise the dead. “AAAAHHH! Bear! B-b-b-bear!”
The next thing Luke knew, she had catapulted into the air, as though shot out of a cannon, and landed in his arms. Clinging to him for dear life, her body nestled against his chest as if she belonged there. Even through her layers of apparel, he found himself aware of the soft, womanly curves hidden beneath all the fabric.
She smelled good, a mix of tea, fresh-cut grass, and honeysuckle. His cock went from partially to fully erect. This was not good. Not good at all.
“Ma’am,” he growled, his tone sharper than was called for. “Ma’am. I’m going to ask you to climb down.”
“There’s a bear,” she whimpered, her face turned toward his chest, her eyes squeezed shut.
“That’s not a bear. It’s a dog.” Her added weight was causing his thigh to ache rather badly.
“It’s not a dog!” Her voice was getting shriller. “It’s too big for a dog!”
“Ma’am, there are no bears on Solace.”
“What?” She looked up at him, and even in the dark, he could see moisture clinging to her lashes.
He gentled his voice. “It’s my dog. Samson.”
Samson looked up at Luke and cocked his head.
“Lie down, boy.”
The large wolfhound lowered himself to the ground with a soft groan.
“Ma’am. If you could open your eyes.”
She peeked over his arm.
“See? It’s a dog. He’s lying down. He won’t hurt you.”
“He’s so enormous,” she said, her arms still wrapped tight around his neck.
It felt nice to hold her. Felt right somehow. He hadn’t realized, until that very moment, how much he had missed human touch.
However, his thigh was throbbing quite violently, and if he didn’t put her down soon, they would both crash to the ground.
“Yes, now, if you could just get down. Please?” It wasn’t so dark that he missed the stain of color that raced across her face.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she said, scrambling out of his arms. “Thank you for your . . . um . . . forbearance. I didn’t mean to . . .” She took a deep breath and let it out. “Hi,” she said, sticking out her hand. “I’m Mag—”
It was then that apparently she noticed the pink arm of her bathrobe. Her horrified gaze traveled up her arm to the red long johns wrapped around her shoulders. Her hand shot up to her head. “Oh no,” she moaned, ripping the pajama top from her head. “Ha ha . . .” She laughed nervously. “How embarrassing!”
But Luke didn’t, couldn’t reassure her. The unexpected sight of her glorious, thick waves of auburn hair tumbling over her shoulders had momentarily decimated his verbal capabilities.
Seven
MAGGIE WOKE TO the sound of the screen door slamming, followed by footsteps. Where was she? She squinted blearily around the room, at the whitewashed walls and polished pine floors with cozy area rugs. The bed was very comfy with its fluffy white duvet. Was she on her honeymoon? Don’t remember the wedding, she thought, a yawn overtaking her. Brett must be in the bathroom.
“Maggie?” she heard her sister call. My sister? And then reality landed with a thump. She wasn’t on her honeymoon. There would be no honeymoon. She was at the Rosemary & Time cottage on Solace Island.
“Maaaggieee? Where are you?”
“I’m in here,” Maggie croaked, rising on her elbow.
Eve burst into the room, dragging a humongous suitcase, her ebony hair swirling around her and a big smile on her face. “Maggs, you weren’t supposed to take the smaller room, you kook. I wanted you to have the big one.”
“Too late now,” Maggie said, rubbing her eyes. “The big room’s yours. I’m already settled in.”
“All right, if I must.” Eve briefly laid the back of her wrist against her forehead, but the grin on her face ruined the self-sacrificing effect. Maggie watched her sister stride across the room. “Time to rise and shine, little sister,” Eve said, pulling back the crisp white curtains and throwing open the window.
Sunshine flooded the room. Eve stuck her head out the window and inhaled deeply. “Smell that air, Maggie. So fresh and clean. Don’t you just love it?”
“Mm-hm,” Maggie murmured noncommittally. She squinted at the clock on the dresser. “What time is it?”
“It’s time,” Eve replied, scooping a pair of jeans and a blouse out of M
aggie’s suitcase and tossing them to her, “to go to the Saturday market. Why do you have this metal”—Eve held the Fitzstein metal sculpture up and squinted at it—“thingy in your suitcase?”
Maggie glanced over, enjoying the little surge of satisfaction she felt. “Because it’s mine,” Maggie said. “Can you put it on the dresser? I want it to be the first thing I see when I wake up.”
Eve walked over and plunked the sculpture down.
“Speaking of . . .” Maggie yawned, stretched, and then flopped back down and pulled the hand-stitched Belgian duvet up over her shoulders. “We don’t need to go to the market. I already got some groceries.” She yawned again and shut her eyes. “Bacon, eggs, bread for toast . . .” She snuggled down, nice and cozy; her pillow was still warm. “Fresh coffee beans, too. Weird name: Jacobin. Tastes good, though.” She could feel slumber descending upon her. “Nice to see you . . . Just gonna . . . sleep a little . . .”
“Oh, no, you don’t!” Eve grabbed Maggie’s covers and yanked them off. “Sleeping too much is a sign that you’re sliding into depression—”
“I’m not sliding into depression,” Maggie mumbled, fumbling for the duvet, trying to pull it back up.
Eve had a firm grip on it.
“Come on, Eve. I didn’t sleep la—”
“It’s not going to happen,” Eve replied adamantly. “Not on my watch. That little two-faced, cheating weasel isn’t worth one more precious second of your life. We have three glorious weeks here and we are going to savor this time together. Create memories. Not squander them moping in bed.”
She hoisted Maggie to a sitting position, then crouched so their faces were level, fierce determination on her own that softened to something else. She gently smoothed Maggie’s hair out of her eyes.
“I love you, honey,” she said, wrapping her arms around her sister and kissing the top of her head. “And I’m going to do my damnedest to see you happy again.”
It sounded like a vow, and when Eve put her mind to something, nothing and nobody was going to change her course. She was a lot like their dad, in that respect.
So Maggie got up.
* * *
• • •
THE SATURDAY MARKET was apparently a big deal. A multitude of stalls with everything a person could want: fresh-baked goods; local farmers selling beautiful, fresh organic produce; cheese makers; and stalls with unique clothing, handcrafted jewelry, adorable handbags made of repurposed tweed suit jackets, and more.
The place was hopping.
“Where did all these people come from?” Maggie asked as they made their way through the crowd.
“All over,” Eve said. “The Saturday market is famous. People take the ferry from Seattle and from the surrounding smaller islands. Some locals. A lot of tourists. Pretty much everybody comes to Saturday market. Umm . . . yum! Taste this.”
“I’m not hungr—” Maggie started to say, but as she opened her mouth, Eve popped a bite of carrot cake in.
It was the best bite of carrot cake she had ever tasted. It was moist, delicious, with plump raisins and not too sweet. Cream-cheese icing was slathered on top. She could taste fresh butter, vanilla, and icing sugar as well. And salt? Yes, that was there, just barely.
“Wow,” Maggie breathed, for the whole combination somehow managed to blend together on the tongue and strike a perfect balance. “Um . . . maybe I am hungry,” she said, which made both of them laugh.
“Here you go.” Eve broke her slice of cake in two. “Isn’t it the best thing ever?” she said, handing the larger piece to Maggie.
It didn’t take long for both pieces to disappear.
“So,” Eve said, licking the last of the frosting off her fingers. “Back to last night. You had fog, no phone service, and no GPS. That’s crazy! How did you manage to find the cottage? It’s kind of off the beaten track.”
Maggie felt her face heat up. “It was pretty challenging, but . . .”
“Oooh . . .” Eve had turned to admire a display of cream-colored mugs. The interiors were robin’s-egg blue. On the creamy exterior were a couple of small birds, hand-painted black silhouettes sitting on a twig. “I love these!” Eve cooed.
This was not the first stall where Eve had found something she loved. The reusable cloth bag Eve had shoved into Maggie’s hand as they exited the car was officially full.
“I’m sorry, Maggie,” Eve said, handing her purchase to the vendor to be wrapped. “You were saying?”
Maggie shrugged. “Oh, some grouch happened by and begrudgingly pointed me in the right direction. I was only a couple driveways off. I’d have found it fine without the fog.” She didn’t mention that the grouch had been handsome as sin, or that she’d been wearing her fuzzy pink bathrobe and a pajama top on her head like a hat. Nor did she say anything about how she had leaped uninvited into his reluctant arms—or that his arms and chest had seared themselves into her memory. He had smelled of clean sweat, night air, and ocean breeze with a tinge of spice. A part of her had wanted to stay there, her face buried in his chest, taking in his scent, listening to the steady thump of his heart.
Sleep last night had been impossible. She kept being bombarded with alternate waves of mortification and arousal.
“Poor you,” Eve said with a sympathetic laugh. “Too bad he wasn’t a hottie.” She plopped her wallet into her purse and somehow managed to create space for her paper-wrapped mugs in Maggie’s tote bag.
“I don’t want a hottie,” Maggie muttered, feeling slightly guilty, because last night’s guy definitely had been one.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Every girl wants a hottie.”
“Not me,” Maggie stated firmly. “I just got out of a terrible relationship with a good-looking guy, and look where that got me. No, I’m never going to allow myself to be vulnerable like that again. So if that’s part of your let’s-get-Maggie-happy scheme, you can forget about it.”
Eve snorted. “Excuse me, little sister,” she said, patting Maggie on the shoulder in the condescending way that only an elder sister could master. “I’m sorry, but Brett? He was not a hottie. Believe me. If you had ever experienced one,” Eve said with a grin, “you’d be lining up for seconds.”
Suddenly, Eve clutched Maggie’s arm. “Now, that,” she said, leaning her head toward her sister, gesturing with her chin, her voice suddenly hushed like she was in church, “is what I call a hottie!”
Maggie scanned the crowd milling around them. “Where?”
“There,” Eve said. “Right there. Straight ahead.”
Maggie laughed. “I hate to disappoint you, but I see no—”
“Are you blind? Straight ahead.” Eve grabbed Maggie’s chin and turned the direction of her gaze. “There. Right there! See? Behind all those stacks of gorgeous-looking artisan bread is an even more gorgeous-looking man.” And that’s when Maggie saw him. “You see him now, don’t you? Don’t try to wiggle out of it,” Eve said with a smirk, shaking an admonishing finger at her sister. “I’ve known you since you were a babe in diapers. You see him, and you feel that jolt as well.” Eve looked him over like he was a prize horse on the auction block. “He’s cute,” she said, tapping a finger on her lips. “I wonder if he’s married.” A group of people had paused, blocking Eve’s view, but that didn’t stop her. She stepped to the side and craned her neck to see around them. “Don’t see a ring.”
“Eve, no! I’m not—”
“I feel like some bread!” Eve said, laughing triumphantly. “Come on! He’s the perfect antidote for your depression. A get-over-Brett fling!” She grabbed Maggie’s hand with a surprisingly strong grip and dragged her toward his booth.
Eight
SHE WAS HERE.
The woman from last night. The one he had held in his arms and then sent on her way.
The minute the fog had swallowed up the red glow of her taillights, he’d had to c
all on his inner reserves to stay where he was. Every cell in his body had been urging him to chase her down, drag her out of the car, and discover what her full, luscious lips tasted like.
He hadn’t slept. Couldn’t. A steady stream of plans on how to accidentally bump into her had kept him awake. He needed to see if last night had been a freak incident caused by circumstances. He had been on an adrenaline high from the run. There had been the unexpected physical contact when she’d thrown herself into his arms. Also important to consider was the intimate privacy created by the fog, which generated the illusion that the world stopped and started with her every breath.
Maybe it was just an accidental attraction made mysterious by the night air and the bruised sorrow that seemed to surround her. Someone had hurt her deeply; that much was clear. It must have aroused his protective instincts, which had been overdeveloped with his old line of work. If he could see her again, in broad daylight, he trusted that things would be fine. He’d be able to stop thinking about her and settle back into the peaceful life he had carved out for himself over the last year and a half.
She was staying at Ethelwyn and Lavina’s cottage down the road. Ethelwyn often borrowed tools. She had his bolt cutter at present. He could drop by and pick it up, take the scenic path that swung right past the guest cottage. Maybe he’d bring Samson, too. Samson knew her scent now, so he’d probably want to say hello.
Once Luke had his plan in place, the desire for sleep made itself known, but his three a.m. alarm was going to go off in eighteen minutes. He would need to get up, remove the dough from the proofer, finish the prep, and begin the rotation of baking in his multideck oven. Not enough time for a satisfying sleep.
Yet, oddly, he didn’t feel tired as he observed her now. Watching her walk around the market, her hips swaying to music that only she could hear, he could tell his attraction to her was not a fleeting thing. No, he wasn’t exhausted at all. He felt adrenalized, invigorated. Fatigue would probably set in later tonight.
