Sisters of Spirit, Pure Romance Set

by Nancy Radke

  The dock was high enough to walk under easily. Sure enough, the south side had a sturdy ladder attached to it, allowing access to a more sandy area of beach.

  Jennel grumbled to herself as she neared the base.

  Resentment was growing. If she’d have known about things—the generator, the ladder, the tide—she’d have acted differently. Tiredness made her overly sensitive and the newness of her surroundings had hindered her normal reactions. She wasn’t at her best, but under these circumstances, nobody would have been. She didn’t blame him for her ignorance. But he didn’t have to rub it in.

  He was a big man, much heavier than she—although she doubted any of it was fat—but maybe, just maybe, he’d fall through those rotten veranda boards. That might take him down a notch.

  A crooked grin lit her face as she realized that she’d probably be the first one to fall through the boards, considering the way she’d just skated across them.

  Rolling her things together and bundling them into her robe, she tied the belt and looped it over one arm. Even then, she couldn’t get her hands free enough to grab the ladder rungs. It was almost impossible to climb with her arms full.

  “Toss your things.” He was standing at the top, staring down at her.

  “But...” The bundle would be hard to throw.

  “Come on,” he commanded impatiently. She threw them, hard, but they fell short and he had to come down a couple of rungs to catch her second try.

  “Ready for the light?” she asked when his face didn’t appear at the top again.

  “Don’t throw that!” He seemed astounded she had even considered doing so. “If nothing else, carry it up in your teeth.”

  Oh great. It was big and metal. Not normally what you carried in your mouth. Somehow Jennel got a clamp on it and hung on, jaws protesting as she climbed, her temper building with each step upward.

  Almost at the top, she had to stop and take it out. Her lips quivered with strain as resentment flared.

  “Here, I’ll take it.” His large hand plucked it out of her fingers. He sounded disgusted with having her anywhere around. Tough luck! If she hadn’t needed the ride tomorrow...

  Jennel pulled herself up, then nearly toppled backward in fright as a wet tongue swiped across her face. Again she had forgotten the Newfoundland and hadn’t seen its black form in the darkness.

  “Get that dog out of my way!” she yelled, taut emotions exploding at last.

  “Keep your shirt on.” His voice was heavy with disapproval. “Come’ere, Brutus.”

  Leaving her things piled on the dock, he walked down the ramp to his boat, the big dog following at his side. He called back, casually, as if the information mattered little, “You’ve only got one shoe there.”

  Zachery had taken her flashlight, so she could not see anything except a forlorn heap of white garments dumped on the decking. She was going to have to go back and search for her shoe when what she desperately wanted to do was yell at him. Or have a good cry.

  What was he doing with her light?

  Jennel plunked herself down on the dock, tired from the trip and from the overwhelming pressure of responsibility to transform the ramshackle old house into a success. Her fledgling business depended upon it for her survival.

  Most of all she was tired of that man who wasn’t hungry or tired and who acted as though he barely tolerated her presence. Him, she could do without... after she was once again in contact with Mr. Brekley.

  Her braid had come unpinned and was hanging down her back like a long pigtail. She tried to coil it around her head again, but couldn’t make it stay. Brutus wandered back, tail wagging, and she gave up the effort and hugged him around the neck, comforting herself as well as making the enormous dog happy.

  “I’m sorry, Brutus,” she murmured softly as she stroked her fingers across his jet black coat, clean and thick and silky soft. “I like dogs, really, and you are a pleasant chap. You scared me, that’s all.” She would apologize to the dog, but never to the master.

  She watched him rapidly unload boxes of things out of his boat. She didn’t go near to help. He acted so competent, let him do all himself.

  Anyway, she wanted her light back so she could find her shoe.

  Brutus left as Zachery came back up onto the main dock and rejoined her. He had a huge flashlight in his hand with a beam strong enough to make hers resemble a match-glow. Moving to the ladder, he flashed the light around, revealing her shoe lying on the sand a few feet from the bottom. Before she could move he was down and up again. “Here’s your shoe...and your light,” he spoke, his pleasantly deep voice brisk as he pulled her small flashlight out of his pocket.

  Jennel smiled into the darkness. His little act of kindness—done at the precise psychological moment when she needed it most—helped snatch her back from the ragged edge.

  Zachery didn’t have to retrieve her shoe, but he had. It had been an easy enough job for him, but in her present emotional condition the small task had seemed enormous...the proverbial last straw. Her resentment fell away as if it had never existed. “Thanks.”

  “It’s okay,” he replied with a smile. “Sorry I snapped at you, earlier. Clyde’s leaving you here threw me. I hadn’t counted on company.”

  “Neither had I.” A quick grin flashed across her face and she felt her eyes become animated once more as the tiredness eased its zombie-like grip upon her brain.

  Maybe he was a nice guy after all. She wasn’t normally one to nourish ill will.

  Her spirits and her chin lifted—a small lift, but it reversed the downward plunge of her spirits. Jennel felt ready again for the challenge of this job. “I’d best get the rest of my things inside.”

  She re-coiled her hair and this time the braid stayed. Piling her clothes on top of the last box, she carried it all in one trip. He needed three trips for his boxes of stuff, hauling it all into the kitchen and placing them beside hers.

  His were full of groceries, neatly packed. Plus, some bottles of propane, one of which he hooked up to the gas line. Was he planning to stay awhile, too? If so, why?

  Who was he? He seemed at home on the island, prepared for its way of life. With the urgent matter of survival out of the way, it was time to find out.

  “Mr...what was your last name? I forgot.” “Waylan, but folks call me Zack.” Moving with the sure grace of one accustomed to the task, he turned on the stove, lit it, then filled a kettle with water.

  She watched the water gush from the faucet for a moment before realizing what was happening. “I couldn’t get any water out of there,” she said in amazement.

  Placing the kettle over the flame, he replied, “Electric pump.”

  “But you said there was no water on the island.”

  “There’s a tank to catch rainwater. That’s all. It’s clean enough. I’m surprised Clyde didn’t tell you.”

  “He didn’t tell me anything.”

  Now that he understood the full extent of Clyde’s misdeeds, Zack shook his head, puzzled. His voice softened in sympathy. “I don’t know what got into him. Usually he tells everybody everything.” He would have a good talk with Clyde next time they met and ask him what the devil he thought he was doing. If Zack had not been able to make it to Turnagain Island today, Jennel would have had a tough time. Despite his dislike of “High Society” women, he would not want her left stranded without water.

  “Maybe he had a lot on his mind,” she suggested.

  “I don’t think so. He had plenty of time to chat with me when we met.” He took off his coat, laying it over the back of a chair, then picked up a cast iron fry pan and started heating it.

  She had been right, Jennel decided; his shoulders were broad, effectively filling out his steel-gray wool sweater. Very impressive. She ran her eyes over his slim hips and waistline and nodded. He’d pass her inspection any day.

  As he began to unload his boxes, she asked: “Do you have a telephone in there?”

  He didn’t bother to glance aro
und. “No.

  There’s a VHF radio on my boat. I’ll start laying phone cables tomorrow. That’s one of the first things I hook up; telephone and electricity. Almost impossible to get along without ‘em, if you’re used to them. How d’you like your steak?”

  “Steak? Well-done, thank you.”

  “Okay.” He laid two good-sized slabs of red meat on the pan. They started to sizzle, the aroma making Jennel’s mouth water. If he was supplying the steak, she could supply the salad. Going over to her own groceries, she began to pull out items needing refrigeration. “The telephone line and the electricity. You have to lay them under the water?”

  “Yes.”

  “They’ll sure make things easier here,” she remarked pleasantly, setting aside the lettuce, tomatoes and hunting for a bowl. Again she felt a lift to her spirits. Things were definitely looking up.

  Perhaps he was a little late getting things hooked up for her; that would explain why no one had mentioned the conditions here. He was certainly a welcome addition to the island. With his organized, take-charge ways, he’d have the place ready for her to begin work in no time.

  His presence and self-assured movements gave Jennel a feeling of security. All her fears had fled. He treated her with an easy, almost offhand manner, as if he’d recognized her earlier fears down on the shore and was going out of his way to assure her he was harmless.

  He glanced her way as he turned the steaks for the first time. “My crews would balk at not having enough electricity to run all their equipment. This generator isn’t large enough—”

  “Your crews?” A sudden suspicion that he wasn’t going to leave once he put in the power sent a wave of puzzlement through her. She looked at all the food in his boxes.

  “What crews?” she demanded warily, moving closer to his imposing figure. “Who are you, anyway? I mean...what do you do, exactly?”

  He put some French fries under the broiler, answering with pride, “I’m an architect and a builder. I specialize in homes that compliment the environment. What d’you do?”

  “I’m an interior decorator. I specialize in restoring old homes. That’s what I’m doing here. I’ve come to fix this place up.” She said the last with an emphatic nod of her head as she gestured toward the decrepit rooms around them. That should impress him.

  Impressed or not, it got his attention. “What?” His first verbal explosion, down on the dock, was nothing compared to this. His total bearing altered, transformed from a companionable host to an incredulous adversary...as if her words had thrown a switch and reversed his nature. Had she said something wrong? Or had he misunderstood?

  Smiling brightly, Jennel tried to clear it up. “I said, I’m an interior decorator.”

  “I heard that.”

  “I’m here to make this house livable.”

  “That’s impossible!” he bellowed, shaking his head like an outraged bear. “This is my house.”

  “Yours?” she asked, her dark brows arching upward.

  “Yes, mine.”

  Maybe she was the one who had things wrong. Was she on the wrong island? “I... I thought it belonged to the Van Chattans.”

  “It does.”

  “Oh! Well then—”

  “I’m here to remodel this house,” he countered, pointing the meat fork at himself, then wagging the tines up and down at her as he added, “Not you. That’s what I meant.”

  Jennel exploded in her own way. “How could you?” she challenged, confused by his claim. “I’ve got a contract for this place!”

  Scowling fiercely, he pronged the steaks and flipped them with a snap, making the hot grease sizzle. “Is this your idea of a joke?”

  Her temper flared and she met his angry stare with a defiant one of her own. Setting her mouth, she declared, “No. I agreed to do a job on this house and I’m going to do it. Just lay your power lines, thank you, then be off so I can get started.”

  He straightened, hazel eyes challenging as he rapped out the rest of his devastating information. “You still don’t understand, do you, Boston? Mr. Van Chattan hired me— not you—to turn this derelict into a home.”

  Chapter Three

  Jennel sat down hard on the old kitchen chair, her hands gripping the table edge for support. A swirl of blackness came and went, leaving her faint and shaken. Signing the contract with Mrs. Van Chattan had assured a new beginning for Jennel’s fledgling business. She had moved here, making major changes in her life.

  The contract was a sure thing. Signed and sealed. “What...what are you talking about?” she asked, as soon as she could speak.

  “I was hired to re-do this place. By John...Mr. Van Chattan, himself.”

  Her mind refused to accept his words. No one had ever mentioned Zachery Waylan. Not her client, nor her granddaughter, whom Jennel had met for a day’s shopping. “When?”

  “Last summer. As soon as he decided to buy it. What on earth ever gave you the idea...?” His brow lowered as he scowled at her, a tenacious line forming his mouth. “Who hired you?”

  It wouldn’t be pleasant to make an enemy of him, and yet Jennel couldn’t see any way to avoid it. They were two dogs after the same bone.

  She felt like a terrier facing a mastiff. Not very big, but determined. “His wife. She hired me.”

  “Huh?” It was as if someone had unexpectedly swiped his bone. For the first time, she saw a measure of uncertainty enter his eyes, wiping away his air of absolute self- assurance. It gave her a small amount of satisfaction. He jerked his head towards her, his puzzlement now matching hers. “Mrs. Van Chattan?”

  “Yes.”

  He shook his head. “What’d she do that for?”

  Jennel shrugged. He sounded as mystified as she felt. “She likes my work.”

  “No....That’s not a reason. No one hires two people to do the same job.”

  At once the logical answer came to Jennel and she was quick to say, “Maybe she didn’t know about you. That could be the reason—”

  “No—no.” He swiftly corrected her. “Not that. John checked my plans with her. He told me so. Said she had approved everything.”

  “I see.” Jennel hesitated, then admitted, “I never met him. She was visiting at a house where I was redecorating, and begged me to do this job. I really didn’t want one so far away from Boston, but—”

  “You’ve had a wasted trip. I’ve got things well in hand.”

  Looking around at the dirty rooms, Jennel commented acidly, “Really? It doesn’t look like you’ve done much of anything. For someone with nine months on the job—”

  His head snapped up, hazel eyes hard as granite. It had been the wrong thing to say; it threw him on the defensive again. “Now look, lady,” he barked. “There’s a lot I had to do before we could actually start construction: blueprints, permits, materials and the like.”

  “Permits?” Again she felt confused. This was like trying to put a puzzle together with half the pieces missing. “What for? I mean, what are you planning to do?”

  “I’ll be removing trees, remodeling this house, redecorating it, and putting in a pool and sauna.” He paused, all laughter gone from his expressive eyes. There was no give in him as he continued to drive his points home. “And I had to put in a new dock before we could start. Now tell me, Miss Boston, what exactly were you planning?”

  Shaken by the totally unexpected list of things Mr. Van Chattan wanted done, Jennel shifted on the old chair in silence.

  She stared at the cracked and worn out kitchen floor. The curled and frayed linoleum tiles would have to come up, the floor cleaned and new flooring laid.

  That job she could do. But the magnitude of the work he outlined was far beyond her expectations...and capabilities. A swimming pool and sauna? None of these things had been mentioned to her.

  Had Mrs. Van Chattan consulted her husband? Had she given any thought to what she was doing when she signed Jennel’s contract? What was going on here?

  Apprehension swept through Jennel,
cutting away at her confidence and pride. What would become of her job...and her business?

  “Well?” He glared at her, as immovable as part of the house, silently yet forcefully demanding an answer to his question.

  “I don’t know,” she stammered. “Nothing like that! I just got here—”

  “Then it’ll be real easy for you to leave.” His voice just missed being sarcastic, as if he barely refrained himself from savoring his triumph.

  “But—”

  “I’d take you out now, this minute, but I don’t have the equipment needed to travel these waters at night. Besides, I need to be here first thing in the morning when my crew arrives. You’ll have to wait ‘til one of them can take you back, but the planes leave Friday Harbor off and on all day. You’ll be on your way back to Boston in no time.”

  “I can’t...” Her voice trailed off in chaotic thought. With her apartment sublet to two single girls, she didn’t even have a home to return to. She’d left most of her things behind for them to use. They were paying extra rent for them, and Jennel had already channeled their first month’s rent into paying off one of her creditors. They had moved in three days ago. There was no way she could ask them to leave.

  Zack frowned. “What’d you mean, you can’t? Of course, you can.” Not knowing her situation, it probably seemed reasonable to him. “You haven’t even started the job yet.”

  As if to conclude the matter, he yanked the pan off the burner and flopped the steaks onto two paper plates, rescued the fries before they scorched, and dumped some beside each steak.

  Her eyes widened as she tried to think. He was pushing her to leave, and she wasn’t willing to consider it. “I’m here to do a job.”

  “I’ve spent eight months getting things lined up for this place, drawing wages that Mr. Van Chattan’s been paying. I don’t see where you’re coming from.” Grabbing knives and forks, he handed a set to her, plopped himself down opposite and started to eat.

  “I’m not sure either...anymore,” she confessed, staring at the filled plate in front of her as if it might contain some answers. Maybe while he ate, he would shut up long enough for her to seriously consider her options.