by Noelle Fox
Derek still didn’t like him.
Grace turned. Her pretty face contorted into a look of combined shock and distaste. “Connor Reed? What are you doing here?”
Derek grinned and rocked back and forth on his heels, wanting to laugh out loud. That settled it. He was going to like this daughter of his.
Bringing her here had been a good idea after all.
Chapter 3
Grace stood there, mouth hanging open. There was no way that Connor Reed was standing in front of her. No way. Three thousand miles from home, and the only person she wanted to avoid in the world, nay, the universe, was grinning at her like he’d won the lottery. He was still incredibly handsome, face boyish, short dark hair standing straight up, a slight cleft in his chin, gray eyes mischievous with the conviction that he was the Sexiest Man Alive.
Okay, maybe that was unfair. She used to be friends with him, drawn to his kindness as well as his swagger.
Then that happened. Or rather, it didn’t.
Just please let him be about to tell her he’d had a great time here on Polaris Island, but, gee, unfortunately he was leaving that very afternoon.
“I work here.”
She didn’t try to hide her dismay. He worked there. Which meant he’d be around the entire two weeks of her vacation, and she’d have to worry the whole time about avoiding him.
Alternate plan: Tell him to go away and stay there.
That could work.
Gradually Grace became aware of James and Derek looking at her curiously, James blinking, Derek with a weirdly triumphant smile. She could probably fake a little more politeness for their sakes anyway.
“Sorry, I just arrived and want to get settled in. Maybe one of you…” She turned to Derek and James to make it clear Connor wasn’t in the running. “…could point me to my room? I’m looking forward to peace and quiet while I’m here. And privacy.”
This last added in case “peace and quiet” weren’t enough to get the message across that she wasn’t here for a reunion. She and Connor had worked together one summer on an organic farm near Lafayette, Colorado, not far from his hometown of Denver.
“I can show you.” Clueless as usual, Connor was still all smiles. It wouldn’t even enter his head that Grace would be anything but thrilled at the oh-so-special chance to spend time with him.
“I’ve got this.” Derek shouldered his way between her and Connor, holding her suitcase. “This way.”
Yay Derek. She followed him, giving Connor nothing more than a curt nod as she passed.
To which of course he replied by laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Grace Cooper, go figure. I’ll stop by later. We need to catch up.”
Grace ignored him. They’d did not need to catch up. That night in his room seven years ago had brought nothing but humiliation. A lifetime supply! And her the lucky winner.
Attempting to put Connor behind her, literally and figuratively, she concentrated on the scenery as they walked. Polaris Island was beautiful, twin mountains separated by a wide valley, the little town of Aurora nestled here in a sheltered cove along a rocky strip of coast that embraced the harbor.
The ferry landing where they stood was on the northern edge of the cove. Ahead of her, half a mile away, following the curve of the coast, stood Northern Lights Retreat’s main lodge, a pretty pale wooden building with varying levels, roof lines and windows that made it both rustic and elegant. Behind the lodge ran what looked like the main street of Aurora. Farther along the coastline, a sprinkling of cottages, one of which would be hers for the next two weeks. Further on, opposite the ferry landing across the wide expanse of water, a low yellow building with what she could barely make out as a line of kayaks or canoes in front of it. After that? Trees and ocean.
She’d certainly achieved her goal of getting away from it all.
“This way, Grace.”
While the rest of the passengers boarded a shuttle for the short ride from the ferry dock to the resort, James led them to a souped-up golf cart—she’d read online that no cars were allowed on the island. By now, Grace figured her father must have had a lot more money than her mother made it sound like he did, or had earned it after Mom left him. Also clear—he’d blown a lot of it on this place in order for these people to treat Grace like visiting royalty. If they thought she’d be equally loaded and equally willing to spend big money here on future visits, they’d soon find out that was yet another way the Grace-apple had fallen far, far away from the Dick-tree.
Bleah. She stamped out the image that jumped into her head. Couldn’t her grandmother have named the little Wiggins something else? Pretty much anything else? Or just called him Richard?
On the quick ride to her cottage, she was slightly skeeved out when Derek kept turning around and staring at her as if he was afraid she’d turned into an alien when he wasn’t looking. She didn’t get a predatory vibe at all, but still, what was that about?
These two weeks had better be relaxing…
By the time she was dropped off at her cottage, shown around and told repeatedly to call if she needed anything, Grace was ready to collapse.
And yet…what a spot! Her cottage was absolutely adorable, a bedroom with a queen bed, dresser and a small desk, a nicely furnished living room with fabulous ocean and island views, and a welcome bouquet of flowers in pinks, corals and greens. Outside, through a door in the living room, a screened-in patio with a chaise, table and chairs. No kitchen, but a corner of the living room had a coffee or tea maker with plenty of supplies for both, plus a basket of snacks, a microwave and a single burner hotplate. With a few provisions from town, she could hide away in here the whole two weeks.
Except—she stepped out onto the little patio and inhaled the pine-enhanced sea air—why would she want to? She was dying to get out on the water, see some whales, kayak, maybe learn to fish? Then there was Polaris Island itself to explore. A gold mine, caves, which she was too claustrophobic to go into but which might be fun to visit, and what must be a fantastic view from the tops of the twin mountains.
First things first. She’d spent the night two nights ago in Boston—on Dickie’s dime. Then she’d taken an early non-stop to Seattle, spent another night in Seattle, taken a flight that next morning to Ketchikan, another to Klawock and hopped the ferry here. By now she was sick of traveling. In fact, she was sick of being awake.
An hour and a half later, after a refreshing nap, she dragged herself out of bed, made a cup of coffee and drank it on the patio, half-reclining in the chaise, inhaling the clean clear air, watching gulls circle and pleasure boats of varying sizes glide on the smooth water. The temperature was perfect for her northern blood, probably mid to upper sixties. The sun, higher in the sky than it would be at this hour back home, illuminated Prince of Wales Island off in the distance. Her east-facing room would get gorgeous morning sun and warmth.
Thanks, Dad. He might have been a jerk, but he’d gotten this much right as far as she was concerned.
Coffee finished, her time-zone-confused stomach reminded her that she was hungry. At just past five o’clock, it was too early for dinner. Rather than raid the snack basket here in the cottage, she’d rather explore the town of Aurora, find something to eat there, and have her real dinner at Northern Lights’ lodge later in the evening.
She took a quick shower to wash off the day’s travel, and changed into black jeans and a teal top. Adding a silver chain, earrings and a cropped sweater would take the outfit into the dining room, which she imagined would be full of hungry trekkers and therefore not too formal.
Out of the cottage, she walked along the paved path toward town, noting the cottages were generously spaced and separated by clumps of trees and low fences for maximum privacy. Very nicely done.
She reached Aurora’s main road, Cedar Lane, which led toward the town’s shops and Northern Lights Retreat. The stores were clustered on the west side, the lodge and cottages on the east, toward the water.
Lynx Grocery was close
st, convenient if she wanted to eat a meal or two in her new home. A quick walk-through introduced her to a neat store with a remarkable selection of food, given its isolation, and, less surprisingly, a fantastic fish selection, including salmon that looked so fresh she wanted to make sushi. The store also sold flowers, alcohol and drugstore items. In the produce section, well stocked with a mix of usual and unusual items, she stopped by some unfamiliar mushrooms.
“Can I help you find anything?”
She turned at the sound of the voice, slightly accented, but not of an origin she could identify. An unsmiling man, probably in his forties, stood waiting for her answer. His eyes, the darkest and deepest she’d ever seen, seemed to hold a lifetime of stories.
Pardon her if she waxed romantic, but he struck her as deliciously mysterious.
“I’m getting acquainted with your store. I just arrived.”
“Welcome to Polaris.” Still no smile, but no hostility either.
“Thanks.” She pointed to the mushrooms, yellow stemmed with an upturned grayish cap. “What are these? Not quite chanterelles. Where do they come from?”
“Winterfoot. Craterellus tubaeformis. I found them up in the valley.”
“You foraged these!” She picked up a handful. “I must try them.”
“Take them to the lodge. They’ll cook them for you.” He pulled a paper bag from under the shelves and held it out for her to drop the mushrooms into. “A gift. I insist.”
“That’s nice of you.” She smiled in pleasure. “I can’t wait to try them. What is your name?”
“Walter Wright Simpson. And you must be Grace.”
Grace gawked at him. “How did you know my name?”
“We were told you were coming.” He handed her the bag. “The way you were looking at the Winterfoots pegged you as a chef.”
“How was I looking at them?”
A brief but brilliant smile lit his face. “Like a guy at a naked woman.”
Grace cracked up. “Food porn. Thank you for these, Walter.”
“You’re welcome.” He nodded again and walked with her to the exit. She noticed he had a limp, and wondered again, about his life, and what had brought him to this little island.
“There are two things you must do while you’re here.”
“Yes?” She turned at the entrance to his store.
“Eat anything at Capricorn Bakery.” He pointed up the street.
“Excellent. I’m headed there now.”
“And take one of the overnight hikes up Eagle Mountain. The resort has an expert guide, who also happens to be a friend of mine. Connor Reed.”
“Ha!” The syllable burst out of her. Immediately she pretended to cough. “Sorry. Yes. Okay. Sure.”
He looked at her curiously.
“Thank you for the mushrooms.” Grace hoisted a hand in farewell. “I’m sure I’ll see you soon. Bye!”
She turned and hurried away before he could ask any questions or form any theories about her reaction, though the poor guy probably already thought she was slightly unbalanced. The idea of going anywhere with Connor Reed, let alone spending the night with him…
As she’d said so delicately before: Ha! She’d rather pull out her own fingernails. With pliers. Heated white-hot.
Seven years ago when they worked at Rocky Hill Organic Farm in Colorado, she and Connor had gravitated toward each other. Naturally cautious after being brought up by a woman who flung herself from passion to passion with disastrous results, Grace had enjoyed their friendship while hiding her attraction. Which she also did because pretty much every other straight woman working there that summer was competing for his attention. Something about his energy, his obvious intelligence, and his way of making whoever he was talking to feel like the most interesting person alive had gone to her head in a big way.
By the end of the summer she’d noticed that women seemed to be missing from their beds in the big farmhouse rooms pretty regularly. The name Connor was exchanged often in whispers. One night, in a stunning display of courage and stupidity, Grace had tried to become one of those women—the only one he rejected.
Yup. The guy who would and did sleep with anything that moved, anything that breathed, had looked her straight in the eye and told her no, that she wasn’t the type of woman who should ever make an offer like that.
The next night Shelley was missing from her bed. The night after that, Erica. The night after that, thank God, Grace’s shift ended and she could pack her things and go home.
She was only grateful that she hadn’t told him she was a virgin, or that she’d thought long and hard and decided she no longer wanted to be one, and that she’d picked him out because underneath the swagger she’d glimpsed a kind and gentle nature.
Her humiliation had been complete. The scars lingered. It took a long time before she could open herself up again to feeling sexual around men.
In short, he’d done a number on her.
In retrospect? Thank God she’d escaped. Her guardian angel had been looking out for her that night for sure. But she hadn’t emerged from the experience with fond feelings for Connor Reed.
Pushing the angry thoughts from her head, she crossed Hemlock Court, which led inland toward the valley, a clean residential street lined with small but well-kept homes. Next up, the Falling Star Gift shop, which looked higher quality than the usual resort tourist stuff. Its windows housed an attractive assortment of jewelry, tasteful knick-knacks, and intricately carved and colored miniature totems.
Grace shaded her eyes and peered in. If she weren’t so hungry she would definitely stop in and browse. Tomorrow, or the next rainy day.
“Hello.”
Another friendly shopkeeper had come out to greet her, this one with as open and cheerful a face as Walter’s had been dark and closed.
“Interested in seeing anything or just having a look?”
“I’m headed to the bakery, actually.”
“Don’t blame you.”
“The totems caught my eye.” She pointed, careful not to touch the spotless glass. “They’re so beautiful.”
“Thanks.” He went back inside, pulled one from its stand, came back out and handed it to her. “I carve and decorate those myself.”
“Really?” She examined the miniature, smooth and gracefully carved, the beast faces brightly and flawlessly painted. “Impressive.”
“You’re Grace, aren’t you?”
“What?” She jerked her eyes up to his, which were hazel and friendly. Something about his mannerisms made her wonder if he was gay. “Yes. How did you know?”
“Lucky guess. You can keep that one.”
“No, no. I was just look—”
“Keep it.” He grinned. “I’m Ches Kazinsky, the owner of this shop. Welcome to Polaris. Any friend of Connor’s is a friend of mine.”
Friend?
Friend?
“We worked on the same farm one summer a long time ago.” She sounded as if someone were trying to strangle her. “That was all.”
His smile turned troubled. “Okay.”
A couple stopped by the shop; the woman exclaimed excitedly over some of the necklaces.
“See you around, Grace.” Ches turned and welcomed the newcomers into his store.
Yeah, seeya. She stalked farther down the road. Clearly Ches and Walter had been taken in by Connor’s smarmy charm. At least Derek and James seemed to enjoy Connor’s company exactly as much as she didn’t.
Sensible men. Discerning.
The Aquarius Boutique, next in the row, had brightly colored skirts, tops and hats in its window. Grace didn’t spare the display much more than a glance. If she didn’t eat something soon, she was going to pass out.
One step into the Capricorn Bakery, and she nearly did, the smell was so good. Bread and chocolate and spices…mmmmmm. She inhaled shamelessly and moved toward the counter, behind which stood a grandmotherly looking woman with salt-and-pepper hair and glasses talking to a tall, pretty, slender woman
with long brown hair that looked as if she cut it about once every three years—by herself. She wore dangling beaded earrings with feathers and had sewn bells onto the hem of her long tiered skirt, which tinkled as she moved.
“Hello.” The woman behind the counter smiled and beckoned Grace forward. “I’m Nellie. Come on up. Azure and I were just chatting. She owns the boutique next door.”
“Nice.” Grace smiled at Azure, who jingled out of the way of the trays of temptation. “Mmm, everything looks so delicious.”
She was going to eat it all.
“We make everything fresh right here.”
Grace sauntered back and forth along the drool-worthy case. “Where do I even start?”
“Muffins.” Azure’s voice was low and slightly husky. “Then scones. Next trip fruit tarts and every single cookie. Then get started on the cakes. But really, anything Nellie bakes is going to be perfect.”
“Thanks for the advice.” Grace pointed. “I’ll try a blueberry muffin and a blackberry scone, one for now, one for breakfast.”
“Coming up.” Nellie opened a paper bag and plucked up a waxed square of paper to grab the pastries. “How long are you staying?”
“Two weeks. I just arrived today.”
Nellie and Azure—was that really her name?—exchanged glances. “You must be Grace.”
Grace blinked. “Why does everyone know that?”
“We have our ways.” Nellie’s grin contained a dimple. Her blue eyes twinkled. “You’re becoming a celebrity here. These are on the house.”
“No, no, I can’t keep accept—”
“Total celebrity.” Azure nodded emphatically. “First Derek told us you were coming, then Connor told us you’d arrived.”
Connor!?
Somehow Grace managed to keep back the shout.
She was getting better at this.
“What is Connor saying about me?”
Both women’s eyes swung behind her at the same time Grace heard the door open.
