Bolted: Promise Harbor Wedding, Book 2

by Meg Benjamin

  “It’s an ancient village. Fourteenth or fifteenth century.”

  “And the people who lived here built the wall?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe. It’s not entirely clear if the wall was part of the settlement or if it came later. Some of the caves around here were used for root cellars, and they may have been used for other purposes earlier than…”

  “Got it!” she cried, and Hank staggered backward as the pressure on his foot was suddenly released.

  “Whoa.” She jumped to her feet, grabbing him by the arms to keep him from collapsing entirely.

  “It’s all right. I’m all right. Thank you.” He started to step back again as she let go, but when he put his weight on the foot that had just been freed, the sudden surge of agony sent him to his knees. He repeated most of his extensive collection of obscenities before looking up to see her watching him with a faintly quizzical expression.

  “I gather it hurts.”

  He nodded, drawing in a deep breath.

  “Let me see. You might have broken it.” She bent down to look at his foot, as if she could see the bone structure through his shoe. Maybe she had X-ray vision.

  Hank shook his head. “I don’t think so. I think it’s just bruised. Or maybe sprained. Anyway, I don’t think I can put much weight on it.” He glanced at the ladder. The extremely short ladder that he sometimes avoided altogether, jumping down into the excavation without bothering to climb. All of a sudden it looked way too tall.

  The girl followed his glance. Then she looked back at him, forehead furrowed.

  “It’s okay,” Hank soothed. “I can make it.” He started to push himself up again, trying not to put any weight on his foot. He didn’t seem to be making much progress overall.

  The girl wiped her hands on her gauzy green skirt, leaving a couple of dirty streaks. “All right, here’s what we’ll do. You start up the ladder first and I’ll come along behind you. I should be able to push you up in front of me so you won’t have to use your bad foot.”

  Hank considered the relative positions of their bodies in the particular maneuver she was suggesting. Could be interesting. On the other hand, given the very real possibility that he’d fall off the ladder and land on her, copping a feel was probably not high on either of their lists at the moment. He sighed. “Okay. Let’s try it.”

  He put a hand on her shoulder so that she could help him to the bottom of the ladder, then rested his good foot on the lowest rung. “Ready?”

  “Oh yeah.” She grinned up at him.

  He started to turn away, then turned back. “Wait, one question. What’s your name?”

  She paused for a moment, as if she had to think about it. “Greta Brewster.” She stuck out a hand. “And you are?”

  He shook her hand. “Hank Mitchell. Thanks for getting me out of the hole.”

  She grinned again. Very nice grin. Gave her a sort of pixie look with her short hair, now somewhat mussed from the whole foot-freeing business.

  “I haven’t gotten you all the way out yet,” she said. “Thank me when we get the top of the hole.”

  “Right.” He sighed, turning back to the ladder again. He figured there were worse things than having a strange woman’s hands on his ass.

  Chapter Three

  Greta wasn’t sure why she felt so cheerful all of a sudden. She’d just boosted a complete stranger out of a hole by pushing his ass up a ladder. Not exactly how she’d expected to spend her afternoon, but really a lot better than hanging around the harbor, dodging her mother and listening to everybody sneer about her brother and his former fiancée.

  And for once it looked like following her impulses had worked out—after all, she’d just rescued somebody.

  Now the rescuee, one Hank Mitchell, sat on a pile of dirt at the top of the hole, catching his breath. He’d pretty much pulled himself out by hand while she pushed from behind, and he looked beat. He also looked fairly hot, even in his disheveled state. Sandy hair, green eyes, well-developed chest and arms, probably from digging that sizable hole she’d pulled him out of. Those muscles had come in very handy when it came to pulling himself up from the excavation.

  Along with her own efforts, of course. Seldom had she encountered a situation in which having both hands on a man’s ass was an entirely altruistic activity. But fun though the afternoon had been, it was probably time to wrap it up. “Do you have a car here?”

  He nodded slowly, gesturing toward a clearing at the side. “A truck. Over there. I’m not sure I can drive it, though.” He glanced down at his injured foot.

  Greta frowned. He had a point. Working the accelerator and brake would be a bitch. “How far away is your house?”

  “About five miles. I’ve got an apartment in Tompkins Corners.”

  She tried to remember if she’d ever heard of someplace called Tompkins Corners before. She was pretty sure she hadn’t. “I could give you a ride over there if you think your truck will be okay here.”

  He shrugged. “Probably. Not too many people come walking through these woods.” He gave her a questioning look.

  “I was on my way to the shore,” she said quickly. Of course, she had been going in exactly the wrong direction if that were the case, but she figured he didn’t need to know that.

  “Lucky for me you took a detour.”

  “Right.” In reality, she had no idea why she’d pulled off the road when she did. Maybe it was the allure of all those Danger signs. Just one more confirmation of her lack of common sense. Although this time, that lack had been a good thing, at least for someone else.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to take you to the emergency room in Promise Harbor?” she asked. “Shouldn’t you at least get your foot checked to make sure it isn’t broken?”

  He shook his head. “I’m pretty sure it’s not broken. Putting some ice on it should be enough.”

  “Okay, then. Tompkins Corners it is.” She pushed herself to her feet again, brushing leaves and twigs off the ruffled skirt. At least when she went back home she could get rid of the dress and change into something that didn’t make her feel like a refugee from a stately homes tour.

  She reached a hand in his direction, helping him stumble to his feet again. Or to his foot, since only one seemed to be working at the moment.

  He balanced uneasily, resting a hand on her shoulder. “If you don’t mind my asking, why are you wearing that dress?”

  “I don’t mind your asking,” she said. “I was a bridesmaid. This is my outfit. My car’s over here.” She wasn’t sure why she didn’t feel like explaining any more. Maybe she just didn’t want to get into the details of the Wedding That Wasn’t. It would be hard enough to explain it to the people who’d actually been there.

  They worked their way through the forest at the edge of the parking lot, Hank Mitchell hopping along with her as his anchor. It was almost too bad no one had seen them. She’d be willing to bet the sight would have been memorable. Eventually, she got him settled in the passenger seat. “Where to?”

  “Turn left at the end of the road. Tompkins Corners is about five miles down the highway.”

  “I’ve never heard of Tompkins Corners. Is it very big?”

  He shrugged. “A few houses. A hotel and general store. I’m not sure how many people live there all told—probably a few more farmhouses back in the hills.”

  They drove in silence for a while. She couldn’t tell if he was naturally quiet or if he was still in pain from his foot. As she turned onto the highway she glanced his way. His eyes were closed, his head resting on the back of the seat.

  Okay, probably pain.

  A few minutes later, she pulled up in front of the only building in Tompkins Corners that looked like it might be a hotel, a two-story wood structure that extended along the town’s only stretch of sidewalk. The walls were badly in need of a paint job, but Greta thought the building had once been white. A broad front porch extended across the front with a row of wooden rockers. “Hank? Is this it?” />
  His eyes opened. Then he glanced out the window. “Oh yeah. This is Casa Dubrovnik.”

  Greta blinked. “Casa Dubrovnik? That’s what the place is called?”

  He shook his head. “Officially, it’s the Hotel Grand. Unofficially, it’s Casa Dubrovnik. Or it is to me, anyway.” He opened the door, slowly extending his injured foot toward the drive.

  “Hold on. Let me help.” She hurried around to his side, leaning down so that he could rest a hand on her shoulder again. Thanks to her stupid flounced neckline, he probably had a great view of her cleavage, but then he’d also had a great view when she’d been freeing his foot. By now he’d probably seen enough to make an informed guess about the size of her boobs and to confirm for himself that they were all hers.

  He clamped one hand on her shoulder, hopping along beside her again toward the door of the building. Now that they were closer she could see the faded Hotel Grand sign at one side of the door. A little farther down there was another sign that said Tompkins Corners Grocery over a second door.

  She raised an eyebrow. “Is this two separate businesses?”

  He shook his head. “The sisters own the general store too. There’s an entrance from the hotel inside.”

  “The sisters?” She frowned. “You mean like nuns?”

  Hank Mitchell grinned for probably the first time since she’d pulled his foot free from the rock wall. “No. Absolutely not. No nuns here.”

  Nice grin. Worth the wait.

  The front door swung open suddenly and a small cyclone came barreling through. “Hank. For heaven’s sake, what happened? How badly are you hurt? Should we send for a doctor? Alice, Alice, come here, Hank’s been hurt!”

  The cyclone stopped talking long enough for Greta to get a good look. She was maybe five foot two or so, with hair the color of tar. Whatever dye she’d been using shouldn’t have been allowed on the market in Greta’s opinion, considering the color of the clumps of curls around her ears. Her rounded body was compressed into a long, gypsy-style skirt in a sort of purple paisley with a white peasant blouse. A purple pashmina drifted down off her shoulder. Greta checked for hoop earrings, but apparently the woman hadn’t gone quite that far into character. “Alice,” she yelled again as she pushed the door open.

  Inside, the place looked more like a hotel. A very old-fashioned hotel that hadn’t been renovated in the past fifty years. A front desk was tucked into an alcove with a row of empty mailboxes behind it. A slightly mangy couch and even mangier easy chair were placed in the front of the room beside the window. The wood floor looked clean and the Persian carpet in front of the desk looked ready to be retired. Another large, dark room opened off to the side, and a flight of stairs curved off to the upper story in the corner.

  “Alice!” the small woman yelled a third time.

  “Nadia, I’m okay,” Hank soothed. “I hurt my foot, but it’s not serious. I’m pretty sure.”

  “You should still see a doctor.” The small woman, Nadia, nodded her black curls decisively. “It might be more serious than you think.”

  “It might be, but I doubt it. There’s no need to call Alice.”

  “Now, Hank, you don’t—”

  “What the hell is going on now?” The voice seemed to cut through their conversation like a chain saw.

  The woman who stepped toward the front desk looked as if she’d made a conscious effort to be as great a contrast to Nadia as possible. Her blue jeans were so faded they looked like the ones that cost several hundred dollars in Boston, although Greta was betting they hadn’t looked that way when new. Her blue plaid flannel shirt was rolled up at the elbows, probably because it was a size too big for her bony shoulders. If her gray hair had ever been close to any kind of dye, the dye had apparently lost the battle.

  She narrowed her eyes, studying the three people standing in front of her. “So? What’s the matter with the bone digger here?”

  “And a good afternoon to you too, Alice.” Hank sighed. “I hurt my foot, but it’s not a big deal. Everybody can go back to doing whatever they were doing before.”

  “Humph,” Alice grunted. She turned her sharp black gaze on Greta. “What the hell are you dressed up for?”

  “Wedding. Bridesmaid.” Greta figured Alice might appreciate brevity.

  Alice gave her a slightly evil grin. “Jesus. What did you do to the bride?”

  Nadia turned loose of Hank and stepped forward. “Hank needs a doctor, Alice. We need to call over to Merton. Maybe even Promise Harbor.”

  Alice raised a gray eyebrow in Hank’s direction. “You need a doctor, Mitchell?”

  He shook his head. “I just need to get off my feet.”

  “You can’t take his word for it. He’s just like you—doesn’t want anybody to make a fuss. Well, let me tell you, sometimes a fuss is necessary. He might be badly hurt and all you’re thinking about is convenience.” Nadia propped her fists on her hips, her pashmina sliding to her elbow.

  “If I was thinking about convenience, I’d have stayed back in the kitchen. Where, incidentally, you should be if we’re going to have any dinner to serve.” Alice’s chin rose as her eyes flashed dangerously.

  Nadia gave a slight huff. “I’ll have dinner on the table, don’t you worry about that. When have I not had dinner on the table?”

  Alice’s smile turned slightly sour. “Well, there was last Tuesday, for starters.”

  “Last Tuesday, we had a wonderful dinner. The macaroni salad was delicious.”

  Alice’s smile disappeared altogether. “The macaroni salad was from Stop and Shop, and there was barely enough of it to feed Hyacinth, let alone the rest of us. If you’d spend less time working on that damn computer—”

  “That damn computer brings in more cash—”

  They were standing close together now, their voices dropping to snarls. Greta had the feeling this particular discussion had been run through before. Probably several times. Hank shifted beside her, grimacing.

  “You got a room here somewhere, Ace?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “Upstairs to the left.”

  “Then let’s get you up there.” She braced his shoulder against hers, sliding her arm across his back, and turned him toward the stairs at the side. “I don’t suppose there’s an elevator?”

  He shook his head. “You’re kidding, right?”

  Behind them, the argument was beginning to pick up steam. “It’s damn foolishness,” Alice declared.

  “You just think that because you don’t—”

  “Come on.” Greta moved toward the stairs, waiting until Hank had his hand on the banister, and then started to climb.

  It took them around five minutes, all told, to go up the short flight of stairs to the landing, then turn to go up the next short flight to the second floor. By the time they got to the top, Hank was panting.

  Greta glanced up at his face. He might have turned slightly pale. “You okay?”

  He nodded. “Sure. It’s the door on the end on this side.”

  The narrow hall had three doors on each side. Hank did the same supported hop to the end, then fumbled in his pocket until he pulled out a key. “Sorry about the state of the room. I wasn’t expecting company.” He pushed the door open and hopped inside.

  Greta blinked. She’d been expecting a cubbyhole, but the room was surprisingly large. Late afternoon sunshine streamed through a bay window onto the papers and journals piled in front of the couch. A couple of rocks were placed on the coffee table, apparently for inspection, and some desiccated plants were tucked into jars on the windowsill. On the other hand, the bed in the far alcove was made, and she didn’t see any dirty underwear.

  Hank sank into the easy chair opposite the couch, extending his foot in front of him with a groan.

  She glanced around the room again. There was a door on the far wall, probably the bathroom. At least he didn’t have to share it with other, apparently nonexistent, tenants. “Got aspirin?”

  He nodded. “In the bathr
oom.”

  “Got anything stronger?”

  His eyebrows went up.

  She grimaced. “I’m talking painkillers here. I’m not sure aspirin is going to be enough to deal with that foot.”

  He sighed, shaking his head. “Aspirin is it.”

  The bathroom was Spartan, but at least it had a shower. There was a leather Dopp kit on top of the toilet. Greta picked through it gingerly, hoping she’d find the aspirin before she found anything really embarrassing, assuming Hank owned anything in that category.

  She found the aspirin bottle and then filled a glass with water.

  Hank was still as she’d left him, eyes closed, head back against the chair. The shadows picked out his finely sculpted cheekbones and the squarish lines of his jaw.

  She placed the aspirin and water on the coffee table next to the rocks, then knelt in front of him. “Okay, Ace, we should probably take your boot off now. Do you want painkillers before, after or during?”

  “How about all of the above,” he mumbled. His jaw flexed tight.

  Greta placed two aspirin and the glass in his hand, then bent to his feet, unlacing the battered work boot.

  Hank managed to stay quiet until she pulled the boot off his heel. Then he moaned. “Ah, shit.”

  “Okay,” she said hurriedly, “the worst’s over.” I hope.

  She carefully pulled down the heavy sock, revealing a bright red foot with bruises beginning to appear on the sides. She sucked in a breath, managing not to comment on just how bad it looked.

  Hank pushed himself up in his chair, staring down at the swollen surface that showed signs of darkening to purple. “Well, that sucks.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want a doctor?”

  He nodded. “I’m pretty sure it’s not broken. And I’m pretty sure I don’t have enough energy to get back in your car to drive to Promise Harbor.”

  “Okay. Do you want something to drink? I’m assuming the people downstairs might have something you could use.”

  “Nadia will have something. Alice will charge for it. Tell them to put it on my bill.” He sank back in his chair.

  “Are they sisters?”