Animal Prints: Sweet Small Town Contemporary Romance (Michigan Moonlight Book 1) (5 page)

“Will you get certified someday?”

“Soon. I have to assist at three more surgeries before I can add it to my license.” She caught his appraising look and added, “Eye surgery for dogs is a big deal in the vet world.”

He looked over her physical features again, his eye trained to detect detail. “How old are you?” He asked abruptly.

“Twenty-eight.” She flicked her eyes to his quickly and gave him a saucy look. “You?”

“Thirty-two. You seem young to be so advanced in your career.”

“I fast-tracked college a bit. I knew what I wanted and went after it.” She put her bowl back on the table.
 

“So now you want a successful animal rescue center and what else?”
 

She gave him an enigmatic smile. “Well, you’re nearly my age, and you’ve already finished one career! So what do
you
want, Ian?”

“Several things.” He paused, edging a little closer to her. “Like I want to see you again after tonight.”

“Yeah?” She leaned away from him to study his face. What was she looking for there? He kept his gaze steady on hers and waited. She seemed to hesitate like she was making a decision. “You’ll certainly see me tomorrow. I assume you’re coming to breakfast,” she said at last and stood, breaking the tension.

“Right.” His eyes traveled up the length of her bare leg, not quite ready to let the moment go. “I’ll catch the first ferry back to the mainland in the morning. When is that?” He forced himself to focus on her face and pretended to ignore the sexy body right in front of him.

“Nine, but I’m not leaving until the five-thirty.” She walked over to lock the door to the screened porch. “You’re welcome to stay and look around the island. I’ll probably take a kayak out early before the waves come up. Do you kayak?”

“I canoed in summer camp about twenty years ago. Does that count?” An invitation to stay longer would certainly work in his favor, but maybe it was best not to push.

“Not exactly, but it’s not hard.” She put the last of the dishes on the tray.
 

At least something’s not hard,
he thought, looking at her bend over like that. The situation was so not smart, considering his objective. “I don’t know. I should probably get out of your way.” He scrambled to his feet to stand beside her and put his hand on her arm. “Colette, I want to thank you for giving me a place to stay tonight. Not many women would trust a strange man.” He couldn’t resist sliding his hand over the muscles of her upper arm.

“I have a habit of taking in homeless creatures.” She glanced down to where he touched her, then back at his face. “Although most of them aren’t as…” His light kiss on her lips stopped the rest of her words. He wanted more from the kiss, a lot more, and was considering taking it when a warm, furry pressure on his leg forced him to take a step back. Romeo had worked his way between them. Colette’s hand dropped to stroke the dog’s head. “Sorry. He’s a little jealous.”

“Can’t blame him for that.”
 

“I think I better say goodnight.” Colette picked up the tray and headed for the kitchen, quickly putting distance between them.
 

“Can I help you finish cleaning up?” He asked to hold her in the room for a little longer so he could gauge her emotions. She was nervous now, skittish, a bit like a frightened animal.

“No, I’ve got it.” She reached the kitchen door and backed against it. “Just bank the fire, would you?”

“Sure. Good night.”

“Good night, Ian.”
 

Chapter Three

Colette woke early when a slight glow tinged the eastern sky, but the birds were still silent. She pulled a light sweatshirt over her tank top. Her legs were cold in the thin flannel pants as she opened the door to the small porch off her room and slipped out to wait for the sun. She dropped into a simple yoga pose to wake her muscles.

In a moment, her blood flowed, warming her limbs in the chilly morning air while she looked toward the lake. She loved the island. It was beautiful, but it was the absolute peace that always amazed her. No sounds of traffic, no hum of tires on pavement, no voices—nothing. Just quiet. The rest of the world might as well not exist. She’d felt that way here since she was a little girl. She assumed warrior pose as the tip of the sun came up over the edge of the lake.

Holding the pose, Colette spotted Ian crouched below her near the tree line of the beach with his camera slung around his neck. He, too, waited for the sun. When a quarter of the sun cleared the lake, he raised the Canon to his face and began snapping pictures. Some toward the ball of pink fire, others up and down the shoreline.
 

As the light increased, he made adjustments on his camera, but continued to shoot. He moved along the shoreline taking pictures of the glistening rocks and the tips of the pine trees as the sun brightened their branches. He worked quickly and methodically with the ease of a professional. After taking his time on a shot of a birch branch, he turned to walk along the shore.
 

The sharp snap of the dog door made him look up toward the cottage. Romeo charged at him. For a second, Colette couldn’t tell if Romeo was playing or being defensive. Ian grabbed a stick from the beach and hurled it toward the water. Romeo diverted his attention to the stick, chased it down, and returned it to Ian. In a move that shocked her, Romeo nuzzled Ian’s hand. The greyhound rarely warmed up to anyone, but here he was, seeking attention from a near stranger despite his interference in their kiss last night.

She couldn’t blame the dog; getting attention from Ian seemed like a fine idea. Last night, it wouldn’t have taken much to get more, but common sense and self-preservation had stopped her. She’d quickly backed away when she thought she couldn’t trust herself to keep a safe distance anymore.
 

“Good morning,” he called when he spotted her watching him, his deep voice cutting through the still air. “I didn’t know you were up.”

“Hi.” She pushed open one of the hinged screens and leaned over where he stood on the beach below her porch. “Did you get some nice pictures?”
 

“I think so.” He switched the camera off and then met her eyes, flashing her a genuine smile. “Did you sleep well?”

“Fantastic. I always do up here.” There was something about the intimate way he asked that made her squirm inside.

“I can see why. It’s like the rest of the world doesn’t exist. I’ve never known such quiet.”

She controlled the gasp threatening to escape her when his words echoed her thoughts from earlier. Clearing her throat, she asked, “What can I get you for breakfast?”

“Whatever you’re having. I’ll come help. I was going to make some coffee earlier, but I couldn’t figure out the….” He gestured with his hands to show the shape of the machine.

“Percolator,” she said.

“Yeah, I’m only familiar with the Mr. Coffee variety.”
 

“Meet me in the kitchen. I’ll teach you the fine art of the percolator.” She pulled the screen shut and slipped back into her room. After dressing, she ran a brush through her hair, braided it rapidly, and secured the end with a red band to keep it back for kayaking later.
 

Maybe she could convince Ian to go with her; he hadn’t seemed totally averse to the idea last night. He could take more photographs while they paddled the circumference of the island. That might be a way to sell the idea to him without just saying she wanted his company.

When she entered the kitchen a few minutes later, the percolator lay in pieces on the kitchen table. Ian had the coffee in his hands, but stood there mystified by the machine.

“I don’t get it. Does the coffee go in here?” He pointed to the perforated lid of the coffee chamber.

“Uh-huh.” Colette filled the urn with water at the sink and returned to the table.

“How does the water go through the coffee?”

“The water boils in the pot, rises through this tube,” she held out part of the machine toward him, “goes over the ground coffee, and filters back into the pot. It’s very simple.”

“Right.” He nodded slowly as she assembled the percolator and set it over a burner on the large stove. “Oh! There’s a stove involved!”

“Yes,” she laughed at his surprise, “you just have to make sure the water doesn’t circulate through the grounds more than once. It can get bitter then.”

“What if that accidentally happens?” He studied the machine doubtfully.

“You take my grandmother’s advice and add cognac. Even if it tastes bitter, no one cares.” Colette took eggs and butter from the refrigerator while she talked.

“I think I would have liked your grandmother. How long ago did she pass away?”

“Almost five years. Grandpa died suddenly. Heart attack while he was working in his garden. She was never herself after that. She died a few months later—of a broken heart I think.” She pulled a copper skillet from its peg on the wall. “Even after sixty years of marriage. Makes you think that some people are fated to be together.” She was sure of it in the case of her grandparents. She could add her parents and even her sister and brother-in-law’s happy marriage to the will of fate. But herself…

“I don’t know if I believe in fate.” He leaned against the counter, studying her closely. Although his camera wasn’t in his hand, Colette felt like he was mentally adjusting settings to bring her into focus, to understand her.

“Really? You don’t think that anything in your life was meant to happen?”

“I think most things happened because I was lucky and others because I was stupid,” he said almost as a challenge, despite the smile on his face.

“Could have been fate.”
Maybe fate’s what stranded Ian on this island yesterday,
she thought. “Never underestimate the power of fate or a good breakfast. How do you like your eggs?” A pad of butter melted in the heating pan.

“Over hard.”

“We call that flipped, squished, and fried around here.” She cracked four eggs into the skillet with only the slightest flick of her wrist as the eggs met the edge of the pan. “You make the toast and get the OJ out of the fridge.”

“Yes, ma’am. You ever thought of opening a restaurant?”

“That’s my sister’s territory.”

“You said she owned a business, but didn’t say what kind.” He put four slices of bread into the toaster.

“A bakery, and a café called Hemingway’s Haunt in downtown Petoskey.”

“You didn’t want to join her?”

“I like to cook, but I’m no professional. While I was out in the barns and in the clinic with Dad, she was in the kitchen experimenting. She went to culinary school, came home, and opened the café.” She flipped the eggs and pressed the spatula down on the yolk. “I get free croissants whenever I want them. That’s good enough for me.”

“Sounds like a great deal.” He poured orange juice into glasses. “Almost as good as the one I’m getting this morning.” When he returned the juice to the refrigerator, he found a jar of homemade raspberry preserves. “Out of curiosity, how does a cottage on a remote island have such a well-stocked kitchen?”

“Did I mention we like food in my family?”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t explain how you have fresh eggs.” Ian retrieved the toast and settled down at the scarred oak table.

“Good neighbors. The MacLeans down the shore get supplies for us when they know we’re coming. The island works on a sort of barter system.”

“You supply veterinarian services, they give you fresh eggs?”
 

“Something like that.”
She slid the eggs out of the skillet onto two plates and brought them to the table. The percolator made a distinct gurgling sound and the room filled with the scent of freshly brewed coffee. Colette poured two cups of the dark liquid and took a seat at the table opposite him. “Cream or sugar?”

“No, thanks, I need it straight.” He slathered preserves on a piece of crisp, browned toast.

“Didn’t you sleep well?” She picked up a forkful of eggs.

“I started running through some of the images I shot yesterday along the shore and before I knew it, it was two in the morning. Since I wanted to see the sunrise, I didn’t sleep much.”

“I’m sorry. I was sleeping like a baby.” Colette put down her fork to take a sip of coffee. “Do you often work at night?”

“Yeah, it’s a habit I acquired in the army.” He avoided her eyes by looking down at his plate. She had the impression there was more to it than habit, but she didn’t want to pry. Despite the lack of sleep, Ian’s face covered in dark stubble this morning gave him an untamed, sexy look. He wore his recently washed clothes with a faded green sweatshirt. Somehow, the green sharpened the color of his gray eyes.