by Amy Olle
“I love sleepovers. Can we share secrets and have a pillow fight?”
“No.” Her legs tangled in the blankets and she kicked to free them.
Noah feigned a gasp of horror. “You aren’t going to disobey that woman, are you?”
“No, but—”
“Don’t be reckless with your health. I can stay.”
Her cheeks flushed an attractive shade of pink. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
He didn’t bother trying to hide his roguish smile when he handed her a clean T-shirt from his truck. “Here, put this on.”
“Where’s my shirt?”
“Covered in paint.” He lifted a plastic bag off the floor. “You have nothing to worry about. I’ll be good, I promise.”
She took his shirt and rose on unsteady legs. “Have you been good a day in your life?”
He didn’t bother to repress his smug smile. “That’s debatable, but give me some credit. You’re infirm. It wouldn’t even be a challenge.”
“You’re not the one I’m worried about.” She clutched the T-shirt and shot him a pointed look. “Do you mind?”
Noah turned his back to her. “Afraid you can’t keep your hands off me?”
“You know how irresistible you are.” Her voice sounded muffled through the fabric. “It’s disgusting.”
“First I’m the best you ever had and now I’m irresistible. Be careful, you’re going to inflate my ego.”
“You can turn around,” she said. “I can’t change the facts, and I can’t let you set foot in my house while I’m weakened by a head trauma.”
A witty rejoinder died on his lips when she rubbed her forehead and sank onto the bed. She’d gone pale again, and her face was drawn and pinched.
“All right, fine. I’ll call you,” he said.
Exhaustion clouded her features. “What?”
“Every three to four hours, I’ll call and wake you up.”
“You don’t have to—”
“It’s that or I’m staying.”
She acquiesced with a weak smile that sidled up next to his heart.
They left the hospital as nightfall descended and rolled along the country roads back to the island. In the passenger’s seat, Mina dozed, and over the sound of her soft snores, Noah thought he heard her stomach growl.
He phoned the pub and placed an order for takeout. When he parked in front of Lucky’s and killed the engine, Mina stirred.
He brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers.
Her eyes fluttered open.
“Meat or no meat?” he said.
Her nose crinkled adorably. “No meat.”
“I’ll be right back.”
She murmured something unintelligible.
“Rest, a chuisle. I won’t be long.”
She still slept when he returned, and he drove the rest of the way to her house in silence. He helped her from the car and, his hand pressed to the small of her back, walked with her across the lawn to the carriage house.
At the door, he took the keys from her shaking hands and let them inside. Mina shuffled toward the couch while Noah rummaged through the kitchen for plates and utensils. He gathered everything along with the takeout and followed Mina.
He eased onto the couch next to her and pushed the magazines and paperbacks aside to make room for her dinner on the coffee table. “Do you think you can eat?”
She cracked open one eye.
Noah wrestled with the takeout carton and slid a heap of fully loaded nachos onto a plate.
Her stomach released a deep grumble and she moaned. “Oh, no. You bought nachos.”
Noah paused, another scoop suspended above the plate. “You don’t like nachos?”
“I love them.” She fought her way to a sitting position on the overstuffed sofa.
Noah smiled, pleased with himself. “Okay, here’s the deal. If you don’t answer in four rings or less, I’m coming over.”
“Yes, sir.” She managed a mock salute.
Noah frowned. “Test me, and watch what happens.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” she said around a mouthful of chip and beans.
“Good girl.” He stood. “Call me if you need anything at all.”
She nodded her agreement. Wrapped in a pile of blankets, her makeup mostly worn away, she appeared young and vulnerable. She rubbed her eyes with her knuckles, and a sudden, fierce surge of protectiveness rose from somewhere deep in his chest.
Unable to push words past the lump in his throat, he silently left the carriage house.
A ringing clanged around inside her head and dragged Mina through the haze of fog back to the surface of consciousness. The shrill refrain cycled through her dulled awareness several times before she recognized the noise as her cell phone’s ringtone.
“Hello.”
“Dreaming of me?”
The pounding ache in her head pulled a groan from her. “I’m concussed, not hallucinating.”
Noah’s deep rumble of laughter lured her further from sleep.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“Two o’clock. How many fingers am I holding up?”
“One?”
“So close. Five.”
She snuggled deeper into her quilted cotton bedspread.
“Did I tell you how much I like your choice of paint color?” His voice carried through the phone and reached inside her, feathering out to touch all those dark, hidden places.
“It took me forever to match it.” She wanted to sit beside him, tell him all about the house and her plans, but her head thumped, and all she could manage was a deep sigh.
“You did good.”
“Thanks.”
“Too bad you suck at painting.”
“I suck at ladders. It’s yet to be seen if I can paint.”
“Good night, Mina.”
“Good night, Noah.”
“Hello?” Dryness seared her throat.
“What are you wearing?”
“Pajamas.”
“What color are they?”
“Black leather with lace.”
“I’ll be over in five minutes.”
Mina chuckled, which hurt her head. She moaned.
“Head hurt?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I set your meds on the nightstand. Take two now.”
Mina found the prescription bottle next to a glass of water. She fumbled with the cap, dumped some pills on the end table, and popped two in her mouth. The water soothed her throat, and she took several greedy gulps before returning the glass to the nightstand. She fell back.
“Close your eyes.” Noah’s low voice wrapped around her. “Are they closed?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Talk to you soon. Sweet dreams.”
“Good morning, sunshine. Congratulations, you’re still alive.”
Mina groaned.
“How are you feeling?”
“Are you sure I’m not dead?”
“Time to take your meds.”
She fumbled for the pill bottle but knocked it over instead. The plastic bottle rolled across the table and dropped to the wood floor with a sharp clatter. She collapsed on the pillows with another moan.
“Are you okay?” The touch of concern in his voice went a long way toward easing the misery from her body.
“I’m okay.”
“Did you take your medicine?”
“In a minute.”
“I’m coming over.”
A curse slipped out. “I’m up,” she lied. “Geez. Nurse Ratched was a pansy-ass compared to you.” She lay back and listened to the comforting sound of his soft laughter.
“What are you doing today?” he asked.
“What time is it?”
“Ten a.m.”
The aching in her head unsettled her stomach. “I think I might stay in bed.”
“I think that’s a brilliant idea.”
“What about you?”
“Work. I’m around if you need
anything at all. Call my cell. And Mina?”
“Yeah?”
“Stay off the damn ladder.”
Chapter Twelve
Mina took Noah’s advice and stayed off the ladder. She attempted something far more perilous instead. A visit with her mother.
The trip to the emergency room, inclusive of an ambulance escort, would come with a hefty price tag. All the heftier due to her unemployed, and thus uninsured, status. So she swallowed her tattered pride and prepared to ask her mom for a loan.
The petite, beautiful Vivian Powers Winslow Thornton was prone to temper tantrums and shouting matches, and collected diamond jewelry, vacation homes, and ex-husbands.
In many ways, Mina was Vivian’s polar opposite.
Vivian’s husband, Jake, joined them for lunch on the patio by the pool. Vivian dressed in white slacks and a gauzy tunic cinched at her tiny waist with a chain belt. The day was warm, and the sun dominated a cerulean sky full of puffy white clouds, though a crispness on the air foretold summer’s end.
“Why don’t you stay here while we’re in Martinique?” The gold bangles on Vivian’s wrist jangled as she gestured to the mansion behind her.
“I have a house, Mom.”
Vivian sighed. “Honestly, Wilhelmina. You sleep in a barn.”
“It’s not a barn anymore,” Mina said. “You should come see it.”
Vivian scoffed and sipped her wine.
“We’d like that,” Jake said, his brown eyes soft and warm. “When we get back next month.”
Mina lobbed a grateful smile at her stepdad.
A serene, easygoing man, Jake was the perfect crosswind to Hurricane Vivian.
“Guess what?” Mina endeavored to change the subject. “Emily is coming to visit.”
Mina’s cousin, Emily, was the daughter of Vivian’s sister. Born a few months apart, Mina and Emily had become steadfast friends as children during Audrey and Emily’s short visits. But by the time the girls reached their teens, the visits had stopped.
Over the years, they’d stayed in touch with sporadic emails and texts, and so Mina had been thrilled when she’d received word from Emily that she planned a visit.
Vivian’s dainty features pulled into a frown. “Oh? Too bad we’ll be away when she’s here.”
“She’s flying in today. We’re having dinner later. You’re welcome to join us.”
Vivian frowned into her glass. “Unfortunately, we can’t. We need to finish packing.”
Lunch progressed with more awkward conversation, including one reference to Mina’s foolish quest with “that house” and two remarks about her weight.
Mina wanted to tell Vivian not to bother with her put-downs, as such criticisms played on an incessant loop inside her head. Instead, the pounding inside her skull gave way to nausea, and rather than make a request for money, she only wanted to get home to her pain meds.
Soon, she stood at the front door, making her good-byes.
“Where’s the BMW?” Vivian asked as Mina descended the front steps.
Mina cringed inwardly. “I sold it.”
“Why?”
“I needed the money,” Mina said, unable to think up a lie through the haze of her headache.
Vivian’s eyes narrowed. “For that house?”
“Yes.”
“Honestly, Wilhelmina, that house is more trouble than it’s worth.”
To think, Mina had once thought the renovation would make her mother happy. The house was the focal point of the Winslow family legacy, which Vivian had adored being a part of before Mina’s father had died.
“Bye, Mom. Have a safe trip.”
Mina hurried to her red pickup. She spotted movement at the neighbors’ house and slowed her footsteps. Two men hauled a floral sofa through the front door and stumbled across the front lawn to drop it on the curb with a careless plunk.
A crack of sound jerked Mina’s attention to the side lawn, where another man heaved large hunks of broken wood into a truck-sized dumpster and retreated into the house.
With a couple of quick glances over her shoulder, she sidled closer. She rose up on her tiptoes to peek inside the dumpster but didn’t quite have the height. She put one foot on the wheel well, grabbed ahold of the dumpster’s edge with her good arm, and hoisted herself up.
She gasped when she saw what lay inside. Among scraps of linoleum and drywall, oak cabinetry packed the large bin. Though the wood finish appeared dated and tired, she could find no evidence of irreparable damage. With a little paint or stain, the cabinets would be lovely and functional.
The men reemerged with an elegant buffet that sent Mina’s heart racing. They staggered toward the curb.
She chased them down and, after a quick conversation with the homeowner, learned they were undergoing a massive remodel and, having no use for the old stuff, planned to throw it out. Buoyant with newly sprung enthusiasm, she secured the homeowner’s permission to take any items she wanted from the dumpster and the curb.
Adrenaline gave her strength as she hauled a kitchen cabinet across the neighbors’ lawn, which proved an awkward, cumbersome task with her gimpy wrist.
Vivian spied from the front window and soon sent her henchman, Jake, out to stop Mina’s poaching. But instead of scolding her, Jake lifted a heavy cabinet from her arms and carried it the rest of the way to his garage.
Together, they pilfered the oversized dumpster and crammed as much stuff as they could into the back of Mina’s pickup truck. The rest went into the garage for safekeeping until Mina could come back to retrieve them.
Vivian appeared at the garage door.
“Mina, honestly,” she hissed. “Have you no shame?”
Mina was so ecstatic about her good fortune she couldn’t erase the smile from her face. “No. None.”
At one time, digging through someone’s trash would have mortified Mina, too, but not now. Not when the scavenging yielded roomfuls of furniture. Free furniture. Furniture she desperately needed and at present had little to no means of buying. Even when she’d still had a job, the expense of furnishing a seven-thousand-square-foot home was daunting.
By the time she returned to the island, every muscle in her body screamed with exhaustion, and she dreamed of a warm bath before heading out to meet Emily for dinner.
She recited another silent thank you that Sam had found a way to keep the water running at the carriage house while they worked out the issue with the well.
Noah’s Colorado sat parked under the massive oak tree. A shiver rippled through her, caused by the cool north wind kicking up off the lake. At least that’s what she told herself as she escaped into the carriage house.
She flipped through the small stack of mail she’d snagged from the box. At one letter, from the accounting office, she paused. Then she tore open the envelope to read the short note informing her they’d chosen another candidate to fill the secretary position.
Her heart sank with the heavy burden of defeat. She dropped the letter into the trash and pulled a wineglass from the kitchen cupboard.
Her box of wine sat on the kitchen counter, and she twisted the nozzle, but out trickled only a thin dribble of blush-colored liquid. She rocked the box forward and backward, trying to dredge more liquid from the bottom of the box.
Her efforts produced less than half a glass. She plopped down hard on a stool at the counter and lifted the glass to her lips.
Just then, the thunder of footsteps sounded on her porch stairs, and a moment later, Noah burst into view.
His chest heaved, and his dark eyes glittered, even through the screen door.
Mina’s heart stuttered its welcome. In truth, her whole body hummed with awareness of him.
“Hey,” she said.
He only stood there, breathing hard but not speaking. His expression swirled with a puzzling mix of shock and wonder.
Her hammering heart plunged to her toes. “Oh, no. Now what’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I found something.”
“What, like, at the site?”
He nodded. “It’s big.”
Mina frowned. “Can you rent a bulldozer or something?”
“Not big, big. Important big. Huge.”
She waited. “What is it?”
Noah held out his hand. “Come,” he said. “I’ll show you.”
Chapter Thirteen
Mina hesitated.
Then placed her hand in his.
Noah’s fingers tightened around hers, and before she fully registered his warmth and the feel of his work-roughened skin, he pulled her outside, down the porch stairs, and across the side yard.
Wet dew kissed her sandal-clad feet, while overhead, bloated gray clouds blocked out the sun’s heat. Noah tugged her along, and as they stumbled across the lawn, hand-in-hand, laughter tumbled from her.
Together, they scrambled up the embankment to the site. He crossed to the clapboard storage shed. Breathless, her sides aching, Mina stood panting as he worked the lock on the doors.
She followed him inside and her pupils dilated in the dim interior. At her side, Noah crouched down, and a moment later, soft lights winked on above her head.
Three rows of tables ran the length of the room, littered with objects of varying sizes and shapes. He led her down one aisle, past a collection of clay fragments and arrowheads. Mina craned her neck to view the indeterminate other debris as they passed by.
“You found all this stuff out here?”
Still looking over her shoulder, Mina crashed into him when he drew to a stop in front of an assortment of mud-covered objects.
“This is it,” he said, his voice rough with emotion.
She looked down at the odd jumble of junk. She squinted. “Is that a shoe?”
“It is.” He laid one tanned hand atop a small wooden box.
With extreme gentleness, he tipped the box on its side. His fingers danced over the surface, questing, until a small sliver of wood slid away to reveal a hidden compartment. He inserted a finger inside the dark nook, and out popped a skeleton key.
He slipped the key into the tiny lock and twisted until the latch clicked. The hinges creaked as he raised the lid.
A gasp slipped from her as she stared at the contents. Among a handful of silver and gold coins lay an array of jeweled trinkets and hairpins.
