Her Maine Man

by Owner

  The man might not have been much of a sailor, but he sure got high points for smelling great.

  Chapter Three

  Once away from the dock, Maddie glanced back. The wind had picked up, and gloomy clouds scudded across the darkening sky. The stranger drifted off in the westerly direction.

  Just as well. She strode ahead, her Nikes kicking up dust and stones on the unpaved road. She had to concentrate on her own problem and forget about his. A ‘Please, help me’ from him, and she’d have been falling all over herself to search out his destination instead of worrying about her own.

  Up ahead she spied the gray-weathered, wooden building her father had mentioned, The General Store.

  A gray-weathered old man called out from his rocking chair, “How do.” A money cat, the tri-colored combination some considered lucky, snoozed near his feet.

  “Hi.” She dropped her knapsack and bent to pet the furry animal. “Nice Calico.” It purred warm thanks. “What’s her name?”

  “Gingah,” he drawled. Maddie got the impression the old-timer exaggerated his Maine accent for visitors and tourists.

  She cooed Ginger’s name and tickled her under her chin. The cat purred louder. “Are you the storekeeper?” she asked him, glancing up.

  “Ayuh.”

  “I need a few groceries to see me overnight and a ride out to the Gull Cottage rental.”

  “That would be the Culver place.” He stopped rocking. “There’s a couple usually stays up there this time of year.”

  She paused. On small islands everyone knew everybody else’s business. What to say? The less the better.

  “I’m a friend of theirs. My name’s Maddie.” She stood up and held out her hand.

  “Orrin.” He took her hand in his gnarled, browned one, giving it a hearty shake before he eased out of his wooden rocker. “We best be gettin’ to it then. I have deliveries to make out Gull Cottage way.”

  Ginger scampered across the floorboards and under the porch, her social duties done. Maddie respected that.

  She followed Orrin inside the muggy building, where an overhead fan moved dust and heat around. The store had a bit of everything, hardware, housewares, groceries. Picking up a metal tote, she made her rounds, curious about the woman she was about to meet.

  Grace fascinated her, in an odd sort of way, now that she’d adjusted to her existence. But for slight alterations in circumstance, she might’ve been Maddie’s stepmother.

  With a shiver she shrugged off the disloyal notion, almost feeling her mother’s blue-eyed pierce of displeasure. Quickly, she honed in on picking out healthy foods. “Is the fruit fresh?” She picked up an apple and sniffed its tart aroma.

  “Uncrated yesterday. Blueberries are grown local by Alicia Hornsbee.”

  Maddie took two apples, the blueberries and whatever salad vegetables he had on hand. Cheese, nuts, hummus, a loaf of fresh-baked rye bread, granola cereal. In no time, the metal handle on the basket bit into her arm.

  “Your friends, the older couple, usually eat at the Lobster Shanty on Saturday night. Owner drives out for them when they call. Island’s lobster is fresh.” He flashed her a yellow-toothed grin.

  Smartass, she wanted to say, but she still needed the ride. She changed the subject. “Have there been storm or hurricane warnings? The wind’s been blustering all afternoon and the sky’s overcast.”

  Orrin squinted his rheumy blue eyes toward a hazy window sorely in need of Windex. “Rain blowin’ in is all.” He started ringing up her purchases.

  “Tack on what I owe for the ride.”

  “Ayuh.”

  Once her order was bagged and the bill settled, Orrin loaded a few boxes into his truck. Before they left, he flipped the Open sign on the grimy store window to Closed.

  “Have a few stops to make along the way,” he reminded her once the battered pickup sputtered to a start.

  “How far is the cottage?” she asked, merely making conversation. The entire island was only about four miles by nine miles in size. How long could it take?

  “Apiece,” he said.

  Apiece later—thirty minutes along a stony, bumpy lane at fifteen miles an hour—they pulled up to Alicia Hornsbee’s, the blueberry grower’s place. Her home was a small white Victorian with green-trimmed bay windows, flanked by birch trees that bent in the blowing wind.

  Maddie checked the darkening gray sky. The impending rain Orrin had forecasted seemed to be closing in.

  He knocked on the door and called, “How do,” before leaving Alicia’s mail order package on the wooden Adirondack chair that took up most of the space on the narrow porch.

  “She must be out in the back pickin’ berries,” he remarked putting the pickup in gear, and they chugged back the way they came.

  Maddie chatted on about the health benefits of blueberries and the yummy taste of homemade berry jam and muffins.

  Orrin ayuh-ed his agreements before falling silent to concentrate on his steering. They were edging along a narrow, shoreline road.

  “Great view of the bay,” she muttered as waves crashed amongst the jagged rocks.

  A rush of wind swayed the vehicle. She held her breath and clamped her lips. The last thing the storekeeper needed was any distractions. She hoped he’d heard of all-terrain tires.

  She wondered if the stranger from the ferryboat had caught a better ride than hers. Maybe she shouldn’t have ditched him so soon. Aside from handsome, he’d looked capable, once he got his land legs back. He was probably discussing business at this minute, instead of getting an extended tour of the island.

  After a fifteen minute, knuckle-clenching ride along the cliff, a blackened, cedar shake cottage with reddish, paint-chipped shutters came into sight.

  “Gull house?” she asked in a rush.

  “Nope. Trey Ferbor’s.” With a creak, Orrin opened the door to his truck. While he unloaded a box of supplies, a tall, lanky man with a shaved head came out the unpainted door.

  “Saw you coming.” The gangly man had a deep but quiet voice. He lifted another, larger box from the bed of the pickup.

  “How’s the paintin’ goin’?” Orrin asked.

  Not well from the looks of the outside of the place, she thought.

  “Hello,” she called, hopping down from the truck to stretch her legs.

  “Come in.” He headed indoors with his delivery carton in his thin arms.

  She followed the men inside. The room was spacious. Skylights let cloudy daylight filter in from above. Every wall was hung with paintings, while every available floor space propped up even more canvases.

  Oils of the sky and sea in varying shades of sunny blues to ominous grays were scattered amongst pictures of scraggly spruce trees and cozy coves. Osprey soared and loons perched. Seals and whales swam.

  “Wow.” She let out a low whistle. Apparently, Trey’s painting had nothing to do with paint cans and rollers.

  “Hope you’re wowing the quality and not the quantity.” Trey shuffled his feet.

  “Oh, they’re beautiful.” Well, most of them were. She nodded to the shy man, who didn’t look convinced. “Are they for sale?”

  He smiled back.

  Trey served iced lemonade and blueberry biscuits before sending them on their way. She toted a canvas under her arm of the only painting he could part with, which was one the dumbest looking loons she’d ever seen and fitted her mood after he’d charged her a hundred dollars for it. In cash. He didn’t take checks.

  Maddie glanced into the back of Orrin’s truck. Only two more boxes to deliver.

  Each in turn going to different parties at opposite ends of the island. They bounced along a paved road that led to an unpaved lane and eventually to a driveway where he dropped off meds for an elderly couple. Afterwards, they jostled along a coastline road to deliver a parcel post and groceries to a young couple who designed websites and jewelry.

  Dusk set in. There was no longer any sky, just clouds. The wind gusted like cranky, old man Denky when
wound up at the town meeting back home on Bain Island.

  “Is it much farther?” she asked for the dozenth time.

  “Apiece,” Orrin answered yet again, then fell into silence.

  She pondered what to talk about with Grace after their initial meeting. Nothing came to mind.

  Except for the man from the boat and his dinner invitation. He’d been fairly easy to talk to and easier yet to look at. Her mind drifted to after dinner and no talk. The notion wasn’t in the least bit offensive. Actually, a slight bit arousing, even without a moonlight swim. She sighed. She was obviously lonely and horny, and no one on Bain Island floated her water wings. Too bad Pennsylvania was so far away.

  “We’re he-ah.” Orrin finally pulled up to Gull Cottage. An inviting golden glow gleamed through the diamond-paned windows. Grace must’ve arrived.

  Maddie tussled the wind to keep the pickup door open long enough to get herself and her bags out of the vehicle. Orrin volunteered to safe-keep her painting until she left the island. Once she was out the door, he backed the truck up and shone the headlights onto the steps. Maddie trudged forward despite a windy shove back and waved him off as soon as she hit the porch.

  ****

  When Jon wandered away from the ferryboat, he wasn’t sure if he’d had seasickness or been unnerved by the woman who was a cross between an enchantress and a nurse.

  Once his legs steadied, he’d lucked out. Wanda, at the ferryboat ticket window with a great grin and a hairy mole near her eyebrow, lived not too far from Gull Cottage.

  “I can give you a lift,” she offered.

  Jon thanked her, but asked after a restaurant and a rental car. He’d rather sleep in the back seat of a compact than spend the night in the same cottage with his mother’s lover.

  “Sorry. There’s not an auto for rent anywhere on Rose Island.” Wanda, the ticket seller, shook her blonde ponytail. “There’s a restaurant and my shift is over. I can drop you at either place.” He chose the cottage.

  She smelled like fresh air and flowers, not salty or fishy like the ocean breeze or tart and sultry like the blonde on the boat. He felt momentarily consoled.

  “What’s with this wind?” he asked once they were on their way. Blusters had been pushing him around since he landed.

  “Hard to tell. It might turn into a rainstorm or it might blow over.”

  With a nod, he gave up on talk of the weather. He had other worries. The nameless married man. Had he shown up yet? Wanda seemed to be the woman in the know about ferry landings.

  “I’m supposed to do some brainstorming with a business associate.” He avoided sharing the intimate details of his mother’s life. The islander probably knew too much about it anyway. “No phones or distractions. That sort of logic.” He flashed her his most engaging grin, the one that usually got him his way around females.

  But not this female. Her eyebrow twitched, causing the hair sticking from her beauty mark to quiver. Not sure if that meant doubt or disbelief, he pushed on. “I was wondering if he’d arrived yet. Any visitors dock earlier today or yesterday?”

  “Not off the ferry.” She smiled, then clamped her pink-glossed lips shut.

  She didn’t look too willing to offer up any more information unless he begged after it. Just what he needed. Another blonde who knew what she was about, like the one he’d met coming over on the ferryboat. That made him zero-for-two on island women. Maybe he should switch to brunettes.

  He sweetened his tone. “How about by private boat?”

  “Not that I’ve seen or heard.” She smiled wide, her mouth luscious and knowledgeable and ungiving.

  “Thanks.” He gave up on charming anything out of her. A large bug whapped the windshield and he turned away.

  Later, when he looked ahead again, he wished he hadn’t. On sighting the cottage, one word came to mind. Rustic.

  Wood frame, gable roof, stone chimney. All in the same drab shade of charcoal gray. A few yellow posies pushed up earth near the front porch, adding a bit of color to the dismal, empty-looking scene.

  She couldn’t come back for him until the next morning. Looked like he could forget eating at the island’s only restaurant and sleeping on the bench near the ticket office. He was stuck here. Wanda waved and drove off without as much as a backward glance in her rearview.

  Jon hugged his laptop close and climbed the two porch steps. The diamond-shaped windowpanes had a quaint appeal. The splintered, wooden door didn’t.

  The inside hinted of mildew and disinfectant, and looked as dull as the outside. Black and gray and brown set the tone. Monochromatic was good, he supposed. No diversions from work.

  None. Not even the mysterious man, and that rankled him more with every passing minute. First, the guy shows up every year for the past fifteen to meet his mother and not marry her. And now, he doesn’t show up at all.

  Jon plopped his overnighter next to the door and flipped on the light switch. A dim bulb in the floor lamp flickered on. He headed toward the bleak, brown sofa and the bleached, driftwood coffee table to set up his laptop. Once he settled onto the lumpy cushions, he began entering the latest updates on the VIP account into his computer. What a moneymaker that baby had been, right from the first day he’d opened his doors for business. He blew a kiss at the file and went back to work.

  Engrossed, he didn’t notice the daylight fade until his back protested from crunching over his keyboard and his stomach growled.

  He hoped this guy, who still hadn’t arrived, was in charge of supplying the groceries and would get here soon. He could use a good steak smothered with fried onions or a juicy burger loaded down with cheese and special sauces.

  His stomach rumbled louder with each thought. His love of fried food stemmed from his stint as a short-order cook when he’d worked his way through college.

  With a stretch and a groan, he paced to the window. Not a soul in sight. Just swaying treetops and a shadowy, ever darkening sky.

  Too bad the woman aboard the ferry had refused his dinner invitation. About now she’d look good pulling up in a vehicle to take him away from all this. And after they dined, she’d look better yet in a bed. Any bed away from here.

  But back to reality and the guy. His mother’s friend was ticking him off. If he starved while waiting, Jon was only going to get leaner and meaner.

  Or lose his strength.

  No way was he meeting with the man on an empty stomach, feeling less than at peak performance. He bolted to the kitchen to search the cupboards. Saltines, stale. He chucked them into the gray metal trashcan. Licorice, red and hard. The package followed the orbit of the cracker box. A box of mac-and-cheese. Date expired.

  Soon, the cabinet doors and drawers stood open and empty. The only thing edible was tea. Herbal at that. Lemon soother. It would take more than lemon to soothe the anger building up in him at the creep.

  That was when he spied a box stashed in the back of a drawer. A lone rock candy lollipop. Sugar for energy. He tore off the cellophane wrapper and popped it in his mouth. Not bad. A little too sweet for his liking, but at least it was nourishment.

  He grabbed his cell phone and punched in Craig’s number. Time to complain about the no-show, check on business, find out if his sister had delivered her baby yet. But the darn phone was in roaming mode. From the looks of this place, he was in a dead zone.

  Thump.

  He turned toward the door just as a second, louder thump hit against it.

  A wild animal? Nah. The guy. He figured lobsters, turtles, and gulls didn’t thump on doors. It had to be his mother’s tardy lover. At last.

  He skidded across the plank floor of the kitchen and yanked the front door open.

  In reeled a body. Arms laden with groceries, the figure hurled itself at Jon, blindsiding him. He dropped the cell. With a loud oomph, he fell to his knees. The last place he wanted to be when he met up with the man.

  Jon plucked the lollipop from his mouth before he choked it down, and looked up. A grocery sack b
locked his view, but he recognized the long, tanned, sexy legs and the clunky sneakers.

  Chapter Four

  “That’ll kill you.” The woman Jon had met on the ferry plopped her bags onto the floor of the cottage and plucked the lollipop from him.

  “Huh?”

  “The sugar. It’s no good for you.”

  “I’ve heard of sugar busters before but this beats the cake.” Slowly, he climbed to his feet and found himself staring into her mesmerizing eyes.

  “Why are you here?” She took the words from his mouth. Only hers dripped with disappointment.

  Jon didn’t know why that bothered him.

  “Who were you expecting?” Suddenly, he was curious to know if the sort-of business friend she’d mentioned earlier on the ferry ride was a male.

  She cocked her chin and her blonde braid brushed her luscious shoulder. “Apparently I’ve been stood up.”

  “It looks as if my business deal fell through, too.” He arched his back, massaging his muscles with both hands. The blow to his kidneys hurt.

  “The weather must’ve given both our parties second thoughts.” She pointed toward the rattling windowpanes before aiming her pretty finger at him. “Why are you in my cottage?” She sounded indignant.

  Usually women were thrilled, and if not thrilled, far from horrified to find him in their—wait a minute. “This is my cottage.” He had her now.

  “Says who?”

  He moved in for the takeover. “Says me.” He pointed to his chest.

  “How typically Tarzan. Why don’t you thump your chest while you’re at it?” the violet-eyed goddess challenged.

  He felt lost at sea, an endless purple one. Holding out a hand, he introduced himself. “I’m Jon, and I’m positive this is my rental.”

  “A privilege, I’m sure.” She shook his hand, briefly, dropping it like a dead fish. “My name’s Maddie, and Orrin assured me this was my place for the weekend.”

  “Maddie.” Her name didn’t sound in the least like it belonged to a reef-bashing mermaid. “If I’m in the wrong cottage that might explain why my, uh, client isn’t.”