Runaway Summer: Polwenna Bay 1

by Ruth Saberton

  Then he was striding back towards The Ship, leaping the steps two at a time, and leaving Summer watching. Every cell in her body was screaming at her to run after him, grab his arm and demand that he explain to her why he had let her down just when she’d needed him the most. Yes, she had walked away but when she’d tried to come back, pouring her heart out in the longest and most tearstained letter she’d ever written in her life, Jake hadn’t wanted to know. He’d completely ignored her. A pregnancy scare did that to a young guy, she guessed, although she would never have thought this of Jake. He’d always been so honourable, a gentleman in the truest sense of the word.

  As it had turned out, she’d never really known him at all…

  Defeated, she turned back towards her cottage. Although her head was thudding and her face throbbing from its earlier encounter with the kitchen island, Summer couldn’t help wondering why neither of these things hurt nearly as much as the expression of disinterest on Jake’s handsome face.

  Hate wasn’t the opposite of love after all, she reflected sadly. No, hate would imply that there was still some emotion left, albeit a sad shadow of the powerful passion that had gone before. Meeting Jake today had shown her only too clearly that the emotional counter to love wasn’t hatred at all: it was total and utter indifference.

  Her heart heavy, Summer swallowed back the words she wished she could have said and headed back to her empty cottage.

  Chapter 8

  Jake was still shaking when he handed Kelly the money for his pint. Seeing Summer had been the last thing he’d expected. One minute he was all fired up to yank his hot-headed sister back from the brink of yet another potential disaster, and the next he was face to face with the woman he’d spent years trying to forget.

  Well, that was a bloody waste of time, he thought bitterly as he tipped his head back and necked his drink until the cold lager was way below the ridge of the glass. The minute those big green eyes behind the shades had met his, Jake had been whizzed straight back in time as though in a particularly trippy episode of Doctor Who. The sunglasses hadn’t fooled him for a second. Summer might have been thinner and had her thick ebony ringlets cropped into a dark halo, but Jake would have known her anywhere. Thank God he’d managed to hold it together long enough so that she didn’t notice just how shocked he’d been to see her.

  And, even worse, how much desire for her still flamed through him.

  Horrified by this realisation, Jake downed his pint and held the glass out for a refill. Thank goodness it was dark enough in The Ship that nobody could see the heat flooding his face, and so noisy with the chatting drinkers and live music that the crashing of his heart was muffled. As Kelly poured him another pint, Jake took a deep breath and attempted to regain his composure. His reaction was ridiculous. Summer had been a teenage fling; they’d been little more than kids. It hadn’t meant anything – or at least, it hadn’t meant anything real. They were both adults now, he reminded himself as he passed a crumpled fiver over the bar and curled his hand around the cool glass. The kids they’d once been were long gone, just like the feelings they’d once had. It was just the surprise of seeing her again that was making him feel like this, that was all. No man expected to turn a corner and walk straight into his past. No wonder he needed a drink.

  Past or present, the fact remained that Summer Penhalligan was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever laid eyes on. With her silky dark hair, slim body blessed with lush curves, and lips like peony buds, she was every bit as stunning in real life as the magazines and billboards she graced so regularly portrayed. Jake hadn’t intentionally followed Summer’s career, but it was pretty hard not to when it seemed that she was everywhere. Even on his travels, her image had been in all the media – and it had been worse when he’d returned home. Her high-profile engagement to Justin Anderson had caused a ripple of excitement throughout Polwenna Bay and Jake had caught people looking at him sympathetically on more than one occasion.

  It was bad enough to be dumped by your childhood sweetheart, Jake reflected wryly, but worse again when she went on to become a household name lusted after by guys the length and breadth of the UK. Add to this her Premiership footballer fiancé and more column inches than Nelson, and his humiliation was complete. Australia hadn’t been far enough…

  This was not helping. There was no question about it: even though he hadn’t seen her for years, Jake had struggled to put Summer out of his mind. If he didn’t get a firm hold on himself fast then he’d be well on his way to slipping back into being the boy he’d once been, which was bloody ridiculous. There’d been a hell of a lot of water under the bridge since then – and plenty of women, too. After spending most of his teenage years with Summer, Jake hadn’t seen any reason to hold back once she’d gone. Living in a tourist hotspot and working with boats had meant that there was no shortage of bikini-clad girls wanting to hang out with him and enjoy a holiday romance. He’d be busy at the marina, often bare-chested and in shorts and deck shoes, and eventually a girl would catch his eye and smile. If she took his fancy then Jake would smile back, strike up a conversation and maybe offer to take her out on his boat. Some wine, a sunset, a secluded cove and that was pretty much it: the failsafe way to enjoy some fun without all the complications that inevitably came with a relationship. A two-week turnover of willing partners had suited Jake just fine; he’d quickly realised that being able to take his pick of pretty holidaymakers was a major perk of his job. Before the season was over, Jake had reinvented himself as a player and, like the majority of young guys who lived at the Bay, had made the most of every sunny second.

  Over the years women had come and gone – some faster than others, but even so short-term flings had remained pretty much the pattern of Jake’s life. Fast-forward to the ripe old age of thirty and the novelty of this had definitely worn off. Maybe he was getting old, or maybe Mo’s caustic comment about him fast becoming the Cornish version of Shirley Valentine’s Costas had hit home harder than his sister had realised, but Jake no longer felt the need to prove that he was as much a player as the Penhalligan brothers or Teddy St Milton from the hotel. He’d calmed down a lot recently, give or take a few adventures on his travels and the odd drunken dalliance with Ella St Milton.

  Talking of Ella St Milton, there she was at the far end of the bar, chatting to Cashley and tossing her blonde hair about in that rather obvious way that women had when trying desperately to catch another man’s attention. Sensing Jake looking in her direction, Ella laughed even more loudly. Jake winced. She was undoubtedly attractive, and her worked-out body certainly knew exactly what it was doing when it twined itself around his like a python, but there was something about Ella that always set him on edge, rather like nails being scraped down a chalkboard. Ella’s gaze slid from Ashley to Jake, and her pink tongue flickered over her sharp white teeth. Jake looked away quickly. Jesus, the last thing he needed right now was Ella on a mission to jump his bones. Apart from the fact that she was harder to banish than Japanese knotweed, the finances of the Tremaines’ marina business were precariously balanced – and there was no way Jake wanted to risk upsetting the wealthy newcomer Cashley, who seemed to think he was in with a chance with Ella. From what Jake could gather, Mo had already done a good job at riling their biggest customer.

  Stressing about the business worked wonders for taking his mind off most things, that was for sure. Maybe it would do the same for thoughts of his ex? Jake turned his attention back to his drink, and this time over half the pint disappeared. But it was pointless: neither booze nor stress made much difference to how he was feeling right now. Something in his chest still clenched tight whenever he thought of Summer Penhalligan.

  Oh well. At least he’d had good taste when he was eighteen. Glancing across the pub, Jake saw Danny slumped in his usual position at the far end of the bar, practically under the stairs and with his chin resting in his hand. Things could always be worse, Jake thought. I could have picked Tara Woods rather than Summer. It was on
e thing to have to face the ex who’d smashed your heart and all but flushed the pieces down the loo, and another again to have to fight that person to see the child you adored. Danny was proof indeed that Jake had nothing to worry about by comparison. Wounded pride was tough enough to deal with, but a wounded body and mind were something else entirely. Taking the remains of his pint with him, Jake turned his back on Ella and began to wind his way through the press of drinkers, towards his brother.

  “Hey, Jake!” The call from across the room caught his attention; Issie was waving at him, her silver rings and nose stud glittering in the fairy lights.

  Jake waved back, hugely relieved that his little sister was sitting in the window seat rather than out causing chaos somewhere. One sister on a mission to create havoc was enough for any man; two would no doubt have driven him back up the cliff path to Seaspray and into hiding. The men who ended up with the Tremaine girls would deserve medals and would probably need full body armour if they were to stand an earthly chance of surviving any arguments, Jake concluded. He was now miming a drinking action at his sister, who shook her head and pointed at her full glass.

  “Come and meet Jules Mathieson,” she hollered over the hubbub, gesturing to the plump woman sitting next to her on a low stool, over which an ample jeans-covered backside spilled like dough rising above the lip of a baking tin. “She’s new!”

  The Ship was always dimly lit but, even so, there was no mistaking the person with the round face and unfortunate purple hair whom Jake had last seen sprawled on the muddy harbour floor. Was his wild-child little sister really perched next to Polwenna Bay’s new vicar, or was the lager here stronger than he’d realised? Seeing Ella making a beeline for him with the single-minded determination of The Terminator when spotting Sarah Connor, Jake decided that he needed all the divine intervention he could get. Before Ella could elbow her way through a crowd of Boden-clad visitors and wind herself around him like a chest bandage, Jake was pulling out the stool next to the new vicar and hoping that he was safe for the next ten minutes.

  “Salmonella after you again?” Issie’s merry face, as freckly as a Mini Egg, beamed at him from across the table. “Don’t worry, bro, you’re safe with us. And Jules has got God on her side, so she can always throw some holy water at her or something.”

  Jules rolled her eyes at this and Jake shot Issie a warning look.

  “Just kidding,” said Issie quickly. “I love Ella really. I’m sure she’s a great person deep down.” Catching Jules’s eye she added, “Like really, really deep down. About Australia deep.”

  Ignoring his sister, Jake held his hand out to the vicar and smiled at her.

  “I’m Jake, Issie’s brother, but don’t hold that against me. We’re not all as tactless as she is – although if you saw my other sister in action just now you’re probably thinking we’re all mad and wondering what on earth you’ve done coming here.”

  As she shook his hand, Jules’s face was almost the same colour as her hair. She could hardly look him in the eye, and Jake was touched.

  “I was wondering exactly that when I was trying to chase two hundred plastic ducks and fell flat on my backside,” she told him with a giggle, looking up shyly from beneath lashes that were surprisingly long and thick. Jake was willing to bet they weren’t extensions or spidery fakes like those Ella favoured. Jules was refreshingly make-up free and dressed down in an oversized hoody and baggy jeans. All very Vicar of Dibley. Still, maybe that was a rule of lady vicars? Jake supposed that if they looked and dressed like Victoria’s Secret Angels it would be rather distracting for the congregation, although he imagined that numbers would certainly improve.

  “Falling into the mud during the duck race is a Polwenna Bay rite of passage. You’re definitely one of us now,” Jake told her warmly, and was rewarded by Jules turning an even deeper pink. Goodness, but that was some blush. She was very sweet but, not wanting St Wenn’s new incumbent to spontaneously combust, he figured he’d better give her a moment to recover.

  “That’s exactly what I said,” Issie agreed. “Sheila the Squealer’s being a pain in the bum as usual, Jake, but even she’ll give Jules a break now.”

  The vicar looked pleased at this idea. “Dear me! I’d have rolled around in the harbour weeks ago if I’d known that was all it took to win her over.”

  Issie chinked her wine glass against Jules’s pint of Pol Brew. Their new vicar was a real-ale drinker, Jake noted with approval. She’d fit in just fine.

  “You’ll get there. The kids love you and Morgan thinks you’re ‘all right’, which is praise indeed from him. Fact! Welcome to the village!”

  “Welcome to Polwenna Bay,” Jake echoed, bumping his glass against Jules’s.

  Jules beamed at them both. She had a smile that lit her entire face and sent dimples burrowing into her cheeks.

  “Thanks. I’m really looking forward to getting to know you all,” she said.

  Once they’d toasted her and the conversation had turned to Issie pointing out the various locals in the pub and delivering a very funny who’s who of the villagers, Jake reflected that Jules Mathieson could be exactly what St Wenn’s needed if it was to build the congregation and escape falling into the property-developing clutches of people like Cashley. She was young, sociable and happy to get her hands dirty (literally), and hopefully would be a very good influence on his wayward sister too. No wonder their grandmother had already been impressed with her. Maybe the Reverend Jules could even lob a prayer or two the boatyard’s way? God knew they needed all the help they could get. Even better, perhaps she could exorcise the ghost of Summer.

  Summer. Just the thought of her was enough to make Jake reach for his drink. Seeing her again had resurrected all sorts of feelings he’d thought were as long buried as the ancient remains beneath the lichen-crusted headstones in St Wenn’s churchyard. The sound of her voice. Her lush curves. Her skin like the local honey served in all the tearooms. Her beautiful smile…

  Jake downed his pint; time for a third and, with any luck, oblivion in the bottom of a pint glass. If Summer didn’t go back to London soon he was in danger of ending up like poor bloody Danny.

  “Granny Alice is really excited you’re here,” Issie was telling Jules warmly. “Isn’t she, Jake?”

  Jake, glad to be dragged away from any more uncomfortable thoughts of Summer, nodded. He was just about to suggest that Jules came up to Seaspray for a family supper one evening when the crash of a bar stool slamming onto the floor – followed by the smashing of glass – brought any hopes of conversation to an abrupt halt.

  “You won’t take my son away from me! Do you hear me? There’s no way I’m letting that happen!” thundered a furious voice, which instantly froze all other chatter. The blues musician in the corner stopped mid chord.

  “You don’t have any say in it.” This determined reply was from a slender dark-haired woman who had her back to everyone in the room. Her voice was trembling but held a determined note as she focused her attention on the tall blond man at the far end of the bar. “Let’s be honest, Dan. You’re hardly the perfect example of a father who’s fit to have custody of a child, are you?”

  There was another loud thud as a hand was slammed onto the bar. Several more glasses toppled to the ground and glass sprinkled everywhere like deadly snow. There was a collective gasp of mingled horror and voyeuristic delight from the onlookers.

  “He’s my son!”

  “And right now you’re a self-pitying, drunken mess!” The woman’s scorn was palpable. “Just look at yourself. No court in the land would leave a child with you. You’re hardly fit to look after yourself. Deal with it, Danny. Morgan’s coming to live in Plymouth with me when I move, and there’s nothing you can do about it!”

  The woman turned and shoved her way through the crowd and out of the door. She slammed it behind her so hard that the windows rattled.

  “What are you all looking at? Well?” roared the figure at the end of the bar. He glowered across t
he room and everybody tried to pretend that they’d been preoccupied all along with their drinks or deep in their conversations, which now rippled back into full flow. The atmosphere crackled like static.

  “I’ll have another Scotch,” barked the man, thrusting a note at the cowering barmaid. “Go on! Don’t just stand there! I need a bloody drink. Now.”

  Issie drained of colour as she stared at the shattered glasses and the enraged figure that was waving his money across the bar.

  “Dan’s flipped again! He’s getting worse. Jake, you’d better go and talk to him.”

  “That’s your brother? Morgan’s dad? The soldier?” The vicar glanced from Jake and Issie to the tall man at the bar who was still demanding another drink. Her big brown eyes were warm with compassion.

  Issie nodded. “And that was his cow of an estranged wife coming in to make a scene as usual. Typical bloody Tara. She loves to do everything in public, which is the last thing Danny needs. I bet Afghanistan seemed peaceful after living with her. Go and talk to him, Jakey. He’ll listen to you.”

  Jake wasn’t so sure about this. The last time he’d tried to reason with Danny in a mood like this he’d ended up with a fractured cheekbone. Dan had been devastated once he’d sobered up, and for a couple of days had managed to stay away from the pub. A trained soldier who was bitterly frustrated by his injuries, Dan was already volatile – and when he drank, anything could light the touch paper. Jake was torn. He loved his brother and didn’t want to upset him but the last thing the family, or even Danny, needed was another ugly scene. He raked a hand through his shaggy blond curls, a gesture that he was sure he repeated far more now that he was back home than he ever had while travelling. Sharks, poisonous outback creatures and drunken Caribbean locals armed with machetes had been nothing in comparison to dealing with his own family.