Her Maine Man

by Owner

  “Poor Dad.”

  “Poor Maddie. Your mother would’ve never allowed me to take you from the island. You’re the Bain legacy. The island’s next generation.”

  “I don’t hate the island, Dad—aside from lodge meetings and ribbon cuttings.” Maddie patted his hand to assure him. “I have a satisfying career here. Don’t beat yourself up.”

  “I’m having an affair,” he blurted out, withdrawing his hand.

  Her jaw hung open, not sure she’d heard what she’d heard. Barb dictated the rules of Bain decorum. She doubted infidelity was permitted.

  If her father left, Maddie was leaving too. Barb would have to stay here for good or allow the island to become uninhabited by a Bain for the first time in history. Barb was big on tradition, but not usually when she was the one who had to buckle to it.

  Maddie looked up, dumbly. “An affair with who?”

  Bain Island was a small island, populated by several hundred people. Rumors would’ve rolled like the waves if the mayor, who was married to a Bain, was diddling someone near and dear who wasn’t his wife. Not to mention some stouthearted person would’ve called to tell Barb, out of spite if not out of loyalty to the grande dame of the island.

  “No one you know,” he said softly.

  “I know everyone on the island.”

  “Another island. Rose Island. I met Grace there years ago. We, I-I was lonely.”

  She nodded. He would’ve had to be super-inhuman if he weren’t lonesome. Her mother spent years away from the island pursuing happiness and success in her legal career. Success that obviously had nothing to do with the Bains or Bain Island.

  “But you’re always here,” she insisted. “Here on the phone or the fax taking care of island business or VIP business. And me.” She stabbed her chest. “Taking care of me.”

  Maddie smiled up at the only man she’d ever loved. Her father was the standard by which she measured all men. So far, none matched up. She knew she’d have to lower the bar. Settle for a runner-up instead of a champion.

  He smiled back at her. “Your mother and I are divorced. Have been for years, but no one is to know. Especially not the islanders. It would break with tradition and cause scandal.”

  Her parents were divorced and she hadn’t even known it. Her mouth went dry. She was surprised she didn’t feel more emotion.

  “In the settlement,” he said, “I got joint custody of you and the governorship of the island. She got her law practice and a life away from here.”

  “You stayed because of me.” She felt sad for him.

  “At first. But I grew to love the island, the people, and the way of life. Then I met Grace. For the past fifteen years, we’ve managed to meet one weekend a year. We both have family obligations we felt compelled not to entangle the other in.”

  She held up her hand for him to stop. “You don’t have to spell it out for me. That’s your personal life, Dad.” One she preferred not to hear about. Regardless how entitled he was or how undeserving of him Barb was, they were still her parents.

  “I have to explain.”

  “No, you don’t.” Maddie had no idea why they were having this discussion. The strain of having her mother in the house these past weeks, full time, for the first time in over twenty years, must be getting to him.

  “Please, allow me to explain.”

  His tone sounded grim. She gave in with a nod.

  “My annual meeting with Grace is this coming weekend. We try not to communicate other than that. No phone. No emails. No problems. Pure escapism once a year. We—”

  She held up a hand to cut him off. “This is way more information than I need to hear.”

  He cracked his knuckles, something he only did when he was nervous. She suspected there was more to come. She bopped her Nikes up and down on the Persian-carpeted floor.

  “I have a favor to ask,” he said.

  “Sure. Anything.” And she meant it. She’d die for him if he asked, but of course, being her father, he’d never ask. Her mother, she had her doubts about. Barb might.

  “Someone has to go to Rose Island and tell Grace that I can’t make it this year.” His eyes searched hers.

  Understanding struck like a Nor’easter.

  “You want me to go?” Her eyebrows must’ve hit her scalp. They felt stuck somewhere in her hairline.

  “I tried to phone Grace, but there’s no answer. She might already be on her way. I can’t trust anyone else. There’s enough embarrassment right now with the pending lawsuit concerning the consultant Barbra and I recommended to the Board of Selectmen. Please, Maddie.”

  As childish as it sounded, she wanted to stick her fingers in her ears. She was a sucker for helping people, which came in handy in her profession as a physical therapist. But wasn’t so useful when combined with her weakness for the word please. Why did he have to add the damn please?

  He went on. “I can’t call over to Rose Island and merely leave word that I’m not coming. I need you to disclose my reasons, otherwise Grace will worry.” He smiled, lovingly, with his dark eyes as well as with his mouth at the mention of this Grace woman’s name.

  “Maybe you should go.” Maddie crossed and uncrossed her legs. “Who better to see to Barb’s needs than me? I’m a health care worker.” But she knew the answer to that. Her mother wouldn’t accept her help.

  “This morning, your mother asked for my support with the legalities pertaining to her accident. I committed to staying here. Right now, she needs a man to lean on, Maddie. I’m that man. As she pointed out over breakfast, in the eyes of the islanders, I’m still her husband. How would it look if I took a holiday while she’s infirm?”

  “It might only take a few hours.”

  “Or overnight if Grace arrives on the last ferry. I can’t risk it.”

  “I don’t think I should get involved in your affair, I mean affairs.” Maddie clung to the arm of the chair. “Barb isn’t all that fond of me. If something goes wrong and gossip leaks out, you she might forgive. I’m another story.”

  Chapter Two

  Feeling like a pet owner boarding out beloved Fido, Jon parked his Jag in the lot near the ferryboat landing. He wished he had the portable dust cover he’d been meaning to buy for just such car emergencies.

  He locked the door, patted its gray, simonized fender lovingly and walked away, laptop in hand. He refused to look back when a rusty, red Jeep spun into the parking lot kicking up enough dust to choke a herd of elephants, let alone one mere Jaguar. His muscles flinched beneath the shoulder strap of his leather overnight bag.

  Tension had built on Interstate 95 with the steady stream of weekend traffic. It looked like more stress ahead as he strode toward the boat’s rickety boarding ramp. A few cars, apparently headed for other island ports that allowed autos, rattled onboard the double-decked, paint-chipped ferry.

  He took a seat on the warped wooden bench of the superior deck, well away from the couple feeding the squawking seagulls from a paper sack.

  None too soon, the ferryboat pilot blew a whistle, the gulls screamed, and the last boat for Rose Island steered away from the landing with all the speed of a last place racehorse. Jon let out a long breath, suspicious of the boat staying afloat any longer than he could.

  Once underway, two things lifted his spirits. An ocean breeze that cut through the midday sun and heat. And a blonde, portside.

  Standing at the rail, wisps of hair escaping a lone braid trickling down her statuesque neck stood the woman of his dreams. His dreams for a livelier voyage, anyway.

  A ferryboat romance. Now that gave him some salty ideas. He wondered if there was a mile-out club, sort of a spin off from the mile-high club. Jon tucked his laptop under his overnighter, to protect the computer from any ocean spray, before he sauntered over to the railing. His legs rolled beneath him with the motion of the boat, making his gut pitch.

  “Nice day.” He looked up at the sky that had been blue and sunny a moment ago. Suddenly dark clouds swooped in
.

  She turned and smiled at him, but that wasn’t what knocked his infrastructure into next week. Neither was the dip the boat and his knees took. The woman had violet eyes. He’d never seen eyes that color before.

  But there was something else, something deeper than purple. Something he was unaccustomed to in the women he pursued. Intelligence gleamed in the woman’s violet-colored eyes. He was on watery ground here. For some unknown reason, he didn’t get on well with brainy females.

  He tried to back off, but her eyes wouldn’t let him. They compelled him to stay put, causing him to feel boyish and awkward and out of control. Something he disliked feeling around women. He preferred to be the power behind his relationships, however fleeting they may be.

  “Sometimes she turns on you,” she said as the wind whipped a wet breeze against him.

  He hoped she meant the weather and not the siren-of-ferry-wrecked-executives that she appeared to be. He was nailed to the deck, unable to escape her and not sure he wanted to. He blinked his eyes and licked at his lips, tasting the salt from the spray. It soured his stomach.

  “Still, she might be worth the risk.” He tore his eyes from her seductive ones before slipping any deeper into her purple waters.

  “Is this your first time?” she asked.

  His first time had been sixteen years ago in the backseat of his old Mustang.

  “My first time on a ferry, and my first time in Maine.” And last, he hoped, as the suddenly rough waters teetered his equilibrium.

  Her eyes took in his khaki chinos and short-sleeved button-down shirt. “You here on business?”

  Usually, he felt comfortable in business casual wear, right down to his leather topsider shoes. Today he felt like he needed deep-sea diving gear to stand next to the tantalizing woman.

  “Business as usual.” He gripped the tarnished brass railing for support. He wondered if ferries ever sank and wished he’d found time to take those swim lessons at the Y last year. “Are you an islander?”

  Or the goddess myth his mind told him she was.

  “I’m not from Rose Island. But I live year-round on a neighboring island. I’m here on business of a sort, too.”

  He glanced down at her white T-shirt, noting the lace bra peeking through the cotton material. She filled out the lace nicely, abundantly. She had on a short navy skirt that showed off her long, tan legs. And ended in the clunkiest sneakers he’d ever set eyes on. The woman took business casual to a new level.

  “Maybe we can get together for dinner while we’re here.”

  Now why did he go and ask her out? As soon as this boat docked, he was heading for higher ground. And away from the wicked sea urchin, who resembled a Carrara marble statue he’d seen in a museum all too well.

  But the woman smelled better than cold stone.

  He was standing too close. He could taste her citrusy perfume. Feel it seduce him.

  “I doubt I’ll have the time.” The sea witch bedazzled him with a violet sparkle, making him want to beg her to reconsider.

  He bit his tongue instead to shut up. For all of a minute.

  “Are you staying long?” Long enough to drown a few men would be his estimation. Or maybe dredge them against the reefs until they shouted for mercy.

  “Overnight. And you?”

  “I don’t have any choice.” He shrugged. “I hit heavy traffic in Massachusetts and barely made the last ferry.” The idea of spending the night in the same house with his mother’s mystery man knotted his gut. Bile rose in his throat.

  She nodded knowingly. “You’d rather leave as soon as you close your business deal.”

  But she didn’t have a clue. The length of his stay relied on whether his mother’s lover had him locked up afterward or took it on the chin. Jon’s fist, that was.

  “Maybe you can bail me out.” He swiped at his suddenly too warm brow before digging into his pants pocket.

  On a second thought, he might require real bail. He wondered if he could arrange with her to post his bail, if needed. Nah. The less said about such intentions the better.

  “I’m always glad to help someone out.” She tilted her head. The glint in her eyes appeared genuine.

  “I’m looking for this location.” He rifled through his wallet for the directions to meet the man who’d taken advantage of his mother. His sister, Sarah, had handed him the instructions at the last minute. As if she had to add anymore intrigue to the already weird-enough scenario.

  “Sorry, I can’t help.” The sexy water wench waved him off. “This is my first trip out to Rose Island.”

  More than likely she’d already turned the male population of her home island into shark bait and was expanding her shores.

  He let go of his wallet. His palms felt sweaty.

  “Hope your sort-of business deal works out.” Jon was sort-of sincere.

  “Good luck with yours, too.” She smiled her sexy siren mouth and looked out at the murky waters.

  ****

  Maddie found the man beside her on the ferry most curious. Dress savvy, he ranked up there right next to her father, but GQ was where any resemblance ended.

  Her father was athletic from swimming and playing golf, and he was witty. The stranger was, well, a bit doughy around the middle and un-amusing. Especially now, standing there speechless, gripping the rail with white knuckles, and holding on as if it were his lifeline.

  Maddie had a habit of measuring all men against her Dad. Had even worked out a point system. So far, no man ranked above a fifty. This man was still in the single digits.

  A gust of wind whipped over them. She studied the blustery clouds overhead. Looked as if rain was brewing. “Where are you from?” she asked.

  “Pennsylvania.” He braced himself against the gust. “The Philadelphia area.”

  The air currents tossed his hair around. He had great hair. She’d have to give him points for that. Thick, dark, with a precision cut. Windblown and damp, he looked less uptight, less all-businessman. He appeared more playful, boyish even.

  She searched her memory for history lessons about familiar sights. “The Philly area would entail the Liberty Bell, Betsy Ross’s house, and cheese steaks.”

  “Cheese steaks are one of my staples.” He laughed, deep and likeable. “The sights are great, too. I took the Historic Mile tour in high school for the first time.” His mouth softened as he recalled his younger days.

  He had a charming mouth when he relaxed. Nice teeth. Lips that looked firm, but gentle. Quite kissable, she’d venture. In good conscience, she couldn’t give him kissing points unless she’d had a sample or two.

  “We went to Penobscot to the Marine Museum on our class trip,” she offered. “Ship captains and shipbuilding. Nautical stuff.”

  Her school recollections didn’t seem to comfort him. His brown eyes darkened. Tight crinkles strained at the corners.

  “Sounds seaworthy.” He nodded, his eyes grim.

  He didn’t look any too seaworthy. For a while his potential had been on the upsweep, providing he was willing to ferry to Bain Island to date. She wasn’t ruling him out though. He had other, more temporary, but quite as desirable possibilities.

  For one, this close up and with the breeze right, he smelled good. She hadn’t smelled a man so spicy delicious since the sports medicine orthopedist at the physical therapy seminar in Bangor. That had been over a year ago.

  She nodded her head with sympathy. “I take it you’re not the seagoing type.”

  “I type.” He wriggled his long fingers. Agile. Dexterous. Perfect for off-board, onshore activities. Those hands could earn him extra points. “I do a lot of keyboarding.” He stood taller, puffed his chest out prouder.

  With a loud groan, the boat’s engine slowed. The ferry pitched along with a wave. And so did the man’s pride.

  “You’re looking a bit green around the gills. Are you all right?”

  “I’m not leading-edge when surrounded by upwardly mobile water.”

  She f
rowned, wondering what in the heck he was talking about.

  “I don’t swim,” he blurted out.

  That piece of info plummeted his points. Moved him way down on the temporary status list. Maybe to no status. Forget Rose Island, a midnight swim, the slide of wet tangled bodies in bathing suits or better yet no bathing suits. The feel of gritty sand against bare skin. Making love to the rhythm of pounding surf.

  Maddie sighed. Too bad.

  She studied the stranger. He’d gone pale. It looked like she’d have to shelve her more selfish motives in favor of the selfless kind.

  “The ferryboat has life jackets and we’re not far from shore.” She patted his strong hand. She knew it was strong by the way it gripped hers during the next swell.

  He cracked a tentative smile. Sweat beaded along his upper lip.

  “I’m a good long-distance swimmer and a lifeguard,” she assured him.

  With one eye, he gauged her size and weight, apparently to determine her capability to save his life.

  “I know both first aid and CPR,” she went on.

  “Have you actually resuscitated anyone?” His tone sounded skeptical.

  She’d never had to. She was only a physical therapist, not an emergency technician. None of her patients had ever keeled over. Actually, she’d never seen a person in cardiac arrest. She shook her head.

  That disappointed him. His eyelids took on a hopeless, hound-dog droop. His head sagged.

  She did some more hand patting and hand-holding.

  “Look.” She lifted his head from the rail and pointed. “Land ahoy.”

  Sure enough, Rose Island had come into sight. Its craggy shoreline poked through the horizon. He forced a weak smile. The crease from the railing slashed pink across his forehead, giving his ashen face a bit of color.

  In several minutes they were docked. His weakness fell away as he latched onto his laptop and Louis Vuitton bag. By the time his feet hit dry land, he perked even more. His brown eyes sparkled. His color returned, pale and untanned as that was.

  Maddie slung her nylon backpack over her shoulder and waved goodbye. Trudging off in the opposite direction, she sucked in a deep breath.