Gansett Island Boxed Set Books 1-16 (Gansett Island Series)

by Marie Force

  “That’s okay.”

  “Are you sure? We don’t have to go today. Another day or two won’t matter.”

  “Yes, it will,” Laura said. “I need to get this over with. I can’t think about it anymore.”

  “Do you get seasick?”

  “I never have before. What about you?”

  “Doesn’t usually bother me.”

  “Okay then. We’re going.” She folded her hands in her lap and stared out the window, a million miles away.

  As the week had progressed, she’d become more and more tense and withdrawn as her date with Justin drew nearer. She’d slept in his arms every night since the first night they spent together, driving him crazy with her nearness, her scent and her overwhelming allure. He couldn’t wait until they were able to take their relationship to the next level. They had to get through today, or so he told himself. A sense of foreboding had sharpened with every passing day, ramping Owen’s anxiety to previously unheard of levels.

  Laura’s anxiety was also palpable. Her hands were so tightly linked in her lap that her knuckles had turned white. Owen reached over to rest his hand on top of hers.

  She turned one of her hands up to press her palm to his.

  They sat like that for a long time, until the ferry coming from the mainland appeared out of the mist, bobbing and rolling in the furious surf. He felt her hand begin to tremble under his. His heart hurt to know she was scared of taking the ferry but so determined to keep the appointment with her estranged husband that she was putting on a brave façade.

  “Baby, why don’t we wait? There’s no need to—”

  “I can’t wait, Owen. I need to get this over with. Please.”

  He could deny her nothing when she sounded so undone. “Okay.”

  They watched the unloading of the arriving ferry, the passengers walking on watery legs as they disembarked—more than a few of them looking green around the gills. The ferry crew took fire hoses to the boat, probably to clean up the puke. Fabulous.

  One of the employees rapped on the driver’s side window.

  Owen rolled it down.

  “Rough ride today,” the young man said. “We’re issuing vouchers to anyone who wants to go another time.”

  “We have an appointment we need to keep,” Owen said.

  The kid shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said and moved on to the next car.

  In the rear-view mirror, Owen watched several cars drive away from the line. Even though his better judgment was telling him to do the same, Owen followed the hand signals of the ferry staff and backed the car onto the boat. With the car settled on the lower deck, he followed Laura upstairs. They had their pick of the benches and picnic tables. Laura dropped her overnight bag on one of the benches.

  Owen sat next to her. She had worn a black leather coat over a black turtleneck sweater and jeans tucked into boots. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a bun that made her look classy and sexy and untouchable. If he hadn’t known her so well, that aura of refined class would’ve been off-putting to him.

  Women who looked like her usually weren’t interested in guys who played a guitar for a living or called an old van home. For the first time in his adult life, Owen wished he’d made different choices. He wished he’d been able to go to college and pursue a “real” career, so he would be the kind of man who deserved a woman like her.

  The thought filled Owen with an overwhelming sense of insecurity. He’d never experienced anything quite like it. Imagining the suit-clad lawyer she’d married, Owen realized he’d never measure up to that. Not in this or any other lifetime. So what was she even doing with him? What did he have to offer her?

  His stomach began to hurt as he imagined her seeing her fancy, successful husband and realizing she’d made a huge mistake replacing him with a guy who barely remembered to comb his hair most days.

  The blare of the ferry’s horn, signifying imminent departure, jarred Owen out of the increasingly disturbing thoughts.

  “What’s wrong?” Laura asked, tuned into him as always.

  “Nothing.”

  “That’s not true. Your whole body is rigid, which is very unlike you.”

  “I lied,” he said with a smile. “I do get seasick.”

  Her eyes went wide and her mouth fell open. “You do? Oh my God, Owen! You should’ve told me!”

  He rested a finger on her sweet lips. “I’m kidding.”

  “Oh, good,” she said, clearly relieved.

  The ferry cleared the breakwater and took a precarious dip and roll that drew a gasp from Laura. She looked up at him with barely concealed fear marking her gorgeous face.

  “It’s okay.” Owen put an arm around her and drew her in close to him. “They wouldn’t have gone if it wasn’t safe. Just remember that.”

  “Gotcha.”

  The ferry slammed through the waves as it hugged the coast of the island. Once they cleared the bluffs at the north end, however, the seas got measurably larger without the protection of the island.

  Laura moaned with dismay.

  Shit, Owen thought. We never should’ve done this. The ferry crested a huge wave and sunk like a stone into a valley between waves. Across the way from them, a mother held a barf bag for her heaving child. Her gaze met Owen’s, her fear palpable. Owen smiled at her, trying to reassure her as best he could.

  The pounding went on for what felt like forever. While he’d never gotten seasick before, Owen’s stomach was seriously unhappy with this ride.

  Laura let out a whimper, and he released his hold on her so he could see her face. Tears filled her eyes, and her complexion had gone beyond pale to pasty.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I think I’m going to be sick,” she whispered.

  Owen released her. “Hold on to the bench.” He got up and weaved his way to the case bolted to the wall that held barf bags and grabbed a couple before working his way back to her. In the short time it took him to get the bags, she had gone from ghostly to green.

  She took a bag from him and bent at the waist, trying to breathe through the nausea.

  As he rubbed a hand over her back, Owen glanced outside, hoping for signs of the mainland, but all he saw was mist and dark clouds and stormy seas. A glance at his watch told him they still had twenty minutes to go. Christ, had an hour ever passed so slowly?

  “How’re you doing, Princess?”

  She shook her head and gave up the fight, heaving into the bag.

  The same feeling of helplessness he’d experienced when she’d battled morning sickness assailed him. He did what he could for her, holding her shoulders as she retched. When she was done, he took the bag and handed her a new one, wishing he’d listened to his better judgment and insisted they postpone this trip.

  He bobbed and weaved his way to the trashcan and bought a bottle of water from the concession stand, which wasn’t doing much business in light of the high seas. Wetting a napkin, he handed it to Laura.

  She wiped her mouth and face.

  “Do you feel better now?”

  She shook her head.

  “Do you think you could take a drink?”

  “I’d be afraid to.”

  “We’re almost there.” Owen still couldn’t see land, but surely any minute now. . .

  The child across the way had exhausted herself and slept with her head in her mother’s lap. The mom’s face was pale and pinched as she fought her own battle with nausea. At one of the picnic tables, two young men were asleep with their heads cushioned on their arms, oblivious to the rough seas.

  Must be nice, Owen thought, as Laura got sick again.

  Dry heaves wracked her body, and Owen held her through it. Finally, a hint of the mainland appeared in the distance. “I can see the coast,” he said. “Any minute now.”

  “Good,” she whispered weakly, her head resting against his shoulder.

  The pounding of the surf was relentless until the instant the ferry cleared the protection of the breakwater in
Point Judith. Owen released a deep breath he hadn’t realized he was holding as the water suddenly calmed and the ferry steamed smoothly into port.

  An announcement summoned car owners to the lower deck to prepare to disembark.

  “Do you think you can walk, honey?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.” She attempted to stand but her legs wobbled under her.

  He hefted their bags to his shoulder and scooped her up.

  “We’ve really got to stop meeting like this,” Laura said as she let her head fall against his chest.

  “Never,” he said, kissing her clammy forehead. He hoped she bounced back in time for the meeting with Justin.

  Owen walked down the metal stairs, deposited her in the front seat of the car and seat-belted her in.

  She was asleep before they drove off the boat.

  As they passed through the parking lot, Owen noticed Joe Cantrell’s mother Carolina talking to Seamus O’Grady outside the terminal where they sold tickets. A sign posted in the window of the ferry office declared all boats cancelled for the rest of the day. They’d gotten “lucky” to catch the last boat off the island. Owen’s rumbling stomach contested the luck factor.

  He pulled up next to them and opened the window. “No more boats, huh? Probably a good call.”

  “I hear it’s bad out there,” Seamus said.

  “One of the roughest rides I’ve ever had.” He gestured to Laura asleep in the passenger seat. “Poor Laura got sick.”

  “That’s the worst,” Carolina said. “Hope she feels better.”

  “Thanks. We’re off to Providence. See you later.” Owen used Laura’s GPS to direct the car to “home,” hoping that was her father’s house and not the home she’d briefly shared with Justin, pulled out of the parking lot and headed for Providence.

  His stomach took another sickening dip when he thought about what was waiting for them there.

  “You really had to cancel the boats right when I wanted to go?” Carolina asked Seamus.

  “Sorry, Miz Cantrell. But you heard what Owen said. This last trip was bad. Tisn’t safe, I’m afraid.”

  As she had every time she’d been around the man her son had hired to run the business while he was in Ohio, Carolina decided she could listen to Seamus O’Grady recite the phone book and never get tired of his lyrical Irish accent. If she were being truthful, she could also look at him for hours and never get tired of the rich auburn hair, devilish green eyes and mischievous grin that made her girlish heart stand up and take notice.

  Too bad, she thought as she had before, I’m old enough to be his mother. Figures the one man who’d caught her attention since her beloved Pete died had to be roughly the same age as her son.

  “Well, that puts me in a heck of a bind.” She was terribly disappointed to have to wait another day to get to the island. “I guess I’ll have to find a place to stay for the night.”

  “Balderdash!” Seamus said. “You’ll stay at the house, of course.”

  Joe had turned his Shelter Harbor house over to Seamus to use when he was on the mainland.

  “I couldn’t impose on you,” Carolina said.

  “Don’t be silly. It’s your son’s house, and there’s plenty of room. I won’t hear any objections. What would Joe say if he hears I didn’t take good care of his mama?”

  Carolina rolled her eyes when she wanted to laugh like a schoolgirl. “You’re so full of it, O’Grady.”

  “So you’ll come and stay?” he asked. “No arguments?”

  Since the closest decent hotel was more than twenty miles away, Carolina said, “Sure, why not?”

  “Excellent,” he said with a smile. “I’ll grab us some fixings for dinner while you make yourself comfortable at the house.”

  “Don’t go to any trouble on my account.”

  He bowed gallantly before her. “No trouble a’tall. Thanks to this nasty weather, I find myself with the rest of the day off. Perfect kind of day to whip up an Irish stew that’ll make your mouth water.”

  Damned if her mouth didn’t water just thinking about it.

  “You’ve got a key?” he asked.

  Carolina nodded.

  “Okay, I’ll see you there shortly.”

  “See you there.” As Carolina returned to her car, she experienced a strange prickling sensation on the back of her neck. She ventured a glance over her shoulder and found Seamus watching her rather intently. Now what the devil was that all about?

  Seamus told himself to breathe—in through the mouth, out through the nose. Damned if there wasn’t something so incredibly sexy about Joe Cantrell’s mama. Everything about her appealed to him, from the long blonde hair she wore in a braid down her back to the endless legs that filled out a pair of faded jeans to perfection. And then there were the grayish blue eyes that looked at him with feminine appreciation. Yes, he’d noticed that.

  Seamus had been thunderstruck by her from the very beginning, not that he’d ever admit that to anyone. The first time she’d stopped in to “check up on him” as she’d teasingly said—more than a year ago now—Seamus had been so tongue tied, he’d imagined her reporting back to Joe that he’d hired a complete idiot to run their family business. Seamus had waited for days to hear he was fired, but that call hadn’t come.

  Lusting after the boss’s mother would surely lead to a termination phone call if Joe ever caught on to Seamus’s fascination with her. Seamus liked this job. It was the best job he’d ever had, so he would do well to remember that and keep his eyes—and his hands—to himself while the entirely too appealing Carolina Cantrell was residing under his—or well, Joe’s—roof.

  He let out a huff of aggravation and went into the office to get his jacket and keys. “I’m leaving for the day,” he told the woman who was working the phones.

  “See you in the morning,” she said.

  As he was driving to the grocery store, Seamus tried to figure out why, out of all the women he’d known, his boss’s mother was the one who got to him. Why was she the one who turned him into a babbling idiot every time she showed up, usually out of the blue with no warning to prepare him?

  All his legendary charm deserted him when Carolina Cantrell gave him the challenging look that let him know she wasn’t buying what he was selling. Most women went stupid and giddy when he turned on his legendary Irish charm. Not Carolina. Oh no. She’d had his number from the first time they met, and there was nothing Seamus loved more than a good challenge.

  “Joe would kill you for even thinking about her this way,” Seamus muttered. Had he made a huge mistake inviting her to stay at the house? How would he hide his huge crush from her when they were staying in close quarters for the night? “Keep thinking about how Joe would dismember you if you so much as look at his mother, you stupid bloke.”

  He bought what he needed to make the stew and his grandmother’s soda bread along with a couple of bottles of wine and some candles—just in case they lost power. It wouldn’t do to be unprepared for such an event, or so he told himself.

  By the time he got to the house where Carolina’s Jeep was parked in the driveway, Seamus was more nervous than a schoolboy before his first date. “Keep a handle on yourself, my man,” Seamus said as he got out of the company truck and headed into the house.

  The wind whipping through the trees made an eerie sound, and the rain was coming down in earnest now. He stepped into the mudroom, kicked off his boots and hung up his coat to dry. Grasping the bags of groceries, he stepped into the kitchen and got right to work on the stew. He popped open a beer and took several swallows, hoping to calm his nerves. His hands were so shaky he nearly lobbed off a fingertip while slicing a carrot.

  “Frickin’ insanity, I tell you,” he muttered. “Just cook the food and stop acting like a dunderheaded nitwit.”

  “Do you always talk to yourself in the kitchen?” Carolina asked.

  Seamus looked up quickly and found her leaning against the doorframe, holding a glass of wine. Her hair had b
een released from the braid and framed her face like wispy angel hair. A searing pain in his finger forced his gaze back to the cutting board, which was now covered in blood. Frickin’ fabulous!

  “Shit,” he said as he headed for the sink to run the cut under cold water, praying it wasn’t deep enough to require a hospital visit. He didn’t want to waste any of his precious time with the lovely Carolina getting stitches.

  “Let me see,” she said, appearing at his side. With the bump of her hip against his, she shifted him to the side in a move that turned him on so completely he nearly swallowed his tongue.

  She took hold of his hand and gave the cut a thorough examination.

  The feel of her soft skin against his had him mesmerized, wishing the interlude would never end.

  Sadly, she quickly completed her exam and held his finger under the cold water for another minute before releasing his hand. “I’m sure Joe has a first aid kit somewhere.”

  Seamus cleared his throat and batted his way through the cobwebs that had formed in his brain. While only a minute had passed, he felt as if he’d been under her spell for far longer than that. “Under the bathroom sink,” he said.

  “Be right back.”

  He watched her walk away because the sight of her fine rear in those faded jeans was a thing of beauty. The instant she was out of sight, Seamus released an unsteady breath and took a long look around the kitchen, as if he’d never before seen the modern appliances, intricate tile work and butcher block countertop. His entire world had been turned upside down in the scope of a minute, the first time Carolina Cantrell officially touched him.

  She returned with the first aid kit and directed him, with a hand to his arm, to take a seat on one of the bar stools. The heat of her hand branded the skin of his arm, leaving him forever marked by the sensation of her touch.

  All at once, it became vitally important to Seamus that she not touch him again. “It’s okay,” he said. “I can put a bandage on it.”

  “Oh, please, let me. It’s my fault it happened in the first place. I startled you.”

  Taking his silence as consent, she took hold of his hand and dabbed at the cut on the pad of his index finger with antibiotic ointment that stung like a bastard.