It's a Wonderful Wife (17 page)

Which he proved by capturing her hand again as he caught up with her at the door.

“Cadi, wait,” Joanne called out. “You forgot your hat.”

Cadi slipped free and ran back and took the hat from Joanne, then walked over and plopped it down on Abby's head, only to laugh when it covered the cherub's eyes. “She'll grow into it,” she told Mandy. She then turned to Joanne and shrugged. “I figure what's the fun of having a perfect haircut if I'm going to keep it covered up. Thank you for giving me back the sun,” she added softly, squeezing Joanne's arm on her way past.

Cadi then grabbed Jesse's hand before he could grab hers. “Come on, you desperate rascal, you, let's go home and I'll make you a nice huge salad for supper,” she drawled, leading him outside to a final round of sighs, several gasps, and at least one excited applause.

•   •   •

The little missus
may have recovered from her shock quickly enough, and even managed to bring him up to speed with some of the stories she'd been telling, but Jesse could feel the tension in her grip as she all but dragged him down the parking lot.

“I can explain,” she repeated.

He gave her hand a squeeze. “You don't have to. I just came from Whistler's Landing.” He turned to her when she stopped walking. “Stanley hasn't called you yet?” he asked, only to realize that was a dumb question, considering she was still
here
.

She dropped her gaze to his chest. “My phone died yesterday afternoon and it's back on the island, charging.”

He started them walking again. “Your ex-fiancé must be going crazy with worry that you're not answering,” he said, making sure not to sound as pleased by that notion as he felt.

She pulled him to a stop again. “Why?”

Jesse looked back to see the women spilling out of the salon and started them off again. “Because Stanley found his brother tied to his office chair this afternoon,” he said, deciding not to mention Aaron's condition at the time as he used his grip to keep her walking when she tried to stop again. “Apparently Ryan Stapleton didn't care for his house design and sent Aaron with the message that if Stanley
and you
aren't standing in his office in New York in one week with a house he does like, he's burning Aaron's restaurant and sending his men to . . . fetch you.”

Jesse looked over when she didn't respond and bit back a curse when he saw how pale she was. He led her to the side of the parking lot entrance and set down the tote bag, then pulled her into his arms. “It's going to be okay, Cadi,” he murmured, pressing her head to his shoulder. “Stanley and Aaron are going to disappear, and I'm going to stay right here with you until Stapleton is no longer a threat.” He leaned away to smile down at her. “You have no idea how relieved I was to discover you've been hiding out on Hundred Acre these last two weeks instead of driving all over New England with your cat.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

She lowered her gaze to his throat, a bit of color returning to her cheeks. “Why do . . . What's it to you that I'm not driving . . . Why should you care?”

He tucked her against him again with a chuckle. “Because even slow-witted bears dream of being heroes.” He snorted. “Even in absentia, apparently.”

It took him a moment to realize she wasn't responding again, a bit longer to notice she'd gone rigid, and definitely too long to decide she was scared. Of Stapleton? Or of him?

Hell, was she afraid he was going to kick her off his island?

Or was she worried about staying on it
with him
?

“Hey,” he said, ducking to look her in the eyes, “you know me well enough by now to realize I'm not the kind of guy who would take advantage of a woman or expect anything in return.” He immediately let her step away when she apparently needed physical proof of his claim, leaving him to wonder what she was thinking as she picked up the tote and strode off down the road.

“Did you come back early because you heard some woman was going around Castle Cove pretending to be Mrs. Sinclair?” she asked when he fell in step beside her.

“No, I cut my trip short because I missed my island.”
And you,
he silently added.

“So you just found out what I've been doing?”

“About an hour ago,” he said, nodding when she looked over at him. “When I went to the docks, Oren gave me a repaired wheel from a garden cart, saying I might as well take it with me. I thought it went to a piece of Corey Acton's equipment, but Oren said my wife had brought it with her from the island this morning.”

She looked at the road ahead. “And you didn't set him straight?”

“I told you, I was relieved.” He guided her up onto the sidewalk when he spotted a truck heading toward them, then took hold of her hand again and kept walking. “I'd texted you several times while I was overseas but didn't find out why you never answered until this afternoon, when Stanley told me you'd changed phones a couple of weeks ago. But it wasn't until his partner came running down to the pier to tell us she'd found Aaron tied to a chair in the office that I learned why Stanley was refusing to give me your new number.”

“He told you what was going on with Ryan Stapleton?”

“I got most of the story from listening to the conversation between him and Aaron, and Stanley filled in the blanks when I confronted him and suggested he let me worry about keeping you safe while he dealt with Stapleton.”

She gave him a quick glance before staring ahead again, but it was long enough for him to see what she thought of that idea. “So you also believe I have the brains of a chipmunk.”

He stopped walking. “Excuse me?”

She shrugged her hand free and continued down the sidewalk.

“Hey, you can't take my being worried as an insult,” he said, rushing to catch up. “I thought you were hiding from a loan shark who has the hots for you by aimlessly driving around with your cat and staying in a tent. How was I to know you were sleeping in a big cozy camper with electricity and running water?” He angled closer and gently bumped her arm, hoping to lighten the mood. “And running all over Castle Cove starting fashion trends.”

She picked up her pace. “For your information, I haven't so much as set foot in your camper. And I only run the generator long enough to fill my water jug.”

“What? Why aren't you using the camper?”

“Because I
like
sleeping in a tent with my cat.” He heard her take a calming breath. “Wiggles and I will be packed up and gone on the morning tide.”

He pulled her to a stop just as they reached the pier parking lot, then clasped her shoulders to hold her facing him. “I don't think you have the brains of a chipmunk, Cadi. In fact, it was the intelligence sparkling in your eyes that first caught my attention back in February. I made that offer to Stanley because I was worried you'd spent the last two weeks disillusioned and lonely and . . . scared.” He flashed her an arrogant grin. “And because I'd read somewhere that the quickest way to get a girl's attention is to ride to her rescue.”

It wasn't exactly intelligence sparkling in those big baby blues at the moment, but rather confusion. “Why?”

Honest to God, his niece and nephew said
why
less often. “Why what?”

“Why would you want to get my attention?” He felt her stiffen. “You said you're not the kind of guy who expects something in return.”

Now he was confused. But only until he realized she was comparing him to Stapleton. “I'm not,” he said quietly.

“Then give me one good reason you're willing to let me continue hiding out here as your wife if you're not expecting me to return the favor by rebuilding your models.”

Jesse dropped his hands and stepped away before he could act on his urge to give her a shake, pretty sure being mercenary was on par with being a lech. “For the same reason I sent you the flowers: to let you know that unlike the man you were engaged to for two years, I
am
interested in you romantically.”

Her jaw momentarily slackened, just before it snapped shut and she strode off. “So instead of brainless, I'm a
naive
chipmunk,” Jesse heard her mutter as he followed.

“Naw,” he drawled, his anger giving way in light of hers. Well, and because Miss Glace in a snit was a glorious thing to see. “I'm thinking you're more of . . . an otter.” That didn't score him any points, if the scowl she shot him over her shoulder was any indication. “Hey, river otters are beautiful and playful and
smart
.”
And they have great senses of humor,
he silently added.

He'd actually intended to go with
ferret
, since besides being infamous snoops with the attention span of . . . well, ferrets, the fearless little creatures were cute and cuddly and really quite clever. And just like Cadi had figured out how to hide in plain sight, the ferret he'd given Ben's long-lost son, Mike, for his sixteenth birthday was a master escape artist.

Unlike Hank's gecko, apparently.

Hell, Sam had called Willa a little brown partridge—though not to her face—when he'd first laid eyes on her battling Tidewater's bag-eating elevator.

But figuring Cadi might take being likened to what was basically a glorified rat as less than flattering, he'd gone with otter. Because, hey—he'd rather she believed he was a jerk instead of a mercenary, since he was pretty sure women considered jerks redeemable. And anyway, he preferred her angry over her being scared.

Especially since they were about to have their first real fight of their fake marriage.

FOURTEEN

Still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he'd lost, Jesse watched from his cruiser as Cadi maneuvered her skiff into the small cove on the southwestern end of Hundred Acre in time to ride a cresting wave clean up onto the beach. Lost, hell; he'd folded like a house of cards when instead of snapping fire at him, those big baby blues had turned vulnerable. “Would an otter,” she'd quietly asked, “agree to trap itself on an isolated island with a man it barely knew?”

And just how was he supposed to counter that? Which meant either Cadi truly was unsure of him or else she knew him far better than he knew himself, because not in a million years would he have thought there was anything she could have said to make him back down.

But this
definitely
was the last time she crossed the reach in that boat. Now that he'd actually witnessed her making the treacherous commute—which she'd done only God knew how many times in the last two weeks—he was standing firm even if she started crying, since he doubted
he
would survive another crossing.

Running an unsteady hand over his face and taking his first decent breath in half an hour when he saw Cadi finally step onto solid ground, Jesse figured that instead of falling asleep dreaming of sparkling blue eyes, he was in for at least a month of nightmares. He grabbed the wheel and braced himself, then pushed on the throttle and turned the cruiser into an oncoming swell, hoping a fast ride would calm him down and clear his head enough to think of a solution they both could live with.

Having found himself following Cadi through the congested harbor, his first thought had been to let someone else be the bad guy by simply making her boat disappear and suggesting it must have been stolen—until he'd realized that for a lie to work it at least had to be
believable
. Next he'd thought about messing with the motor—until he'd pictured Cadi
rowing
to the mainland. His plan to burn the damn boat had died half-formed, however, when she'd passed the breakwater into the choppy reach and he'd gotten real busy alternating between remembering to breathe and shouting curses at Stapleton, at Stanley and Aaron Kerr, and more than a few at God.

But mostly he'd cursed himself, wondering what could have possessed him to buy an island. Because if a grown woman had him sweating bullets, how did he hope to survive a passel of sneaky teenagers constantly wanting to motor over to the mainland?

Jesse sent a silent apology to his brother for not understanding why Ben had turned into a veritable bear after receiving a letter three and a half years ago saying he should come to Maine to meet the fifteen-year-old son he hadn't known existed. Eighteen now and already in his second year at MIT, Mike was older and wiser and frighteningly smarter than all three Sinclair brothers combined, and definitely as wily as his great-grandfather.

Rounding the southern tip of Hundred Acre to be greeted by five-foot swells pushing straight in off the Gulf, Jesse shuddered at the thought of the havoc Bram and Mike would have caused had they ever gotten together. He shot up the windward shoreline while eyeing the lower bluff, only to realize the house Cadi had designed would barely be visible from the water for blending into the landscape. He pulled the throttle halfway back when he caught sight of something red at the base of the short cliff, not ten seconds later spotting Little Miss Independent approaching what must be her campsite.

Hell, she really was sleeping in a tent.

With her cat.

Seeing her stop and look in his direction, Jesse pushed the cruiser back to three-quarter throttle and turned his attention to the windswept ridge crowning the north end of the island, still undecided if he might be getting unpretentious at the expense of a truly commanding view.

How fortuitous, then, that he happened to be married to the lead designer of his house, who just happened to be camped on the exact spot where she wanted it built. Was it mere coincidence she'd chosen to hide out here? Karma? Fate? Guilt?

Had Cadi even once considered the long-term ramifications of pretending to be his wife? Because even a chipmunk would realize the position she'd put him in; in particular how he was supposed to explain what had become of Mrs. Sinclair when she went back to being Miss Glace. Hell, he could already see the cadaver dogs searching Hundred Acre for his missing wife.

Jesse shook his head as he rounded the north end of the island, willing to bet a year's salary that guilt had made Cadi immediately jump to the conclusion he was expecting something in return for letting her continue the lie. She should feel guilty, dammit, and happily rebuild his model for intending to walk away from the mess she'd made of his life.

Not that he intended to let her.

He pulled back on the throttle as he approached the mooring Ken Dean's son had placed just off the beach below his campsite, bracing himself when the wake caught up with the cruiser as he fought the urge to roar. Instead of calming down, he was twice as angry. He still wasn't over watching Cadi cross the reach, and the long-term ramifications of having a fake wife were only just now dawning on
him
.

Jesse shoved down on the throttle with a curse and headed around the island again.

•   •   •

“Here's a news flash for you,” Cadi said as she spooned cat food into the colorful ceramic dish. “We no longer have the island to ourselves. Yes,” she muttered, setting the dish on the ground, “the lord of the manor missed his island so much he came back two weeks early.” She snagged a bag of Cheetos and a bottle of warm Moxie out of the tote bag, then collapsed into her canvas chair with a sigh. “I don't know what to do, Wigs. Jesse said we could stay and is even playing along with our being married, but I don't know if I can keep it up now that he's actually here. I didn't have any problem being a fake fiancée because it was Stanley, but I'm afraid Jesse is going to take his role in our little charade much too seriously.”

Not that she understood why he was willing to play the part of her husband. After looking positively thunderous when she'd accused him of expecting her to rebuild his model, did he truly think she would believe he was interested in her romantically?

“He called me an otter,” she told her pet as she wrestled the bag of Cheetos open. “To my face. Well, to my back, since I was walking away from him at the time. Am I supposed to take that as a compliment? Or was it his way of making sure I didn't start scheming to keep the title of Mrs. Sinclair permanently?” She drove her hand into the bag. “Everyone knows otters are about as sophisticated as two-year-olds.” Popping several Cheetos in her mouth, Cadi furiously chewed as she tried to decide what sort of animal best described Jesse. She'd designed a house for a carefree,
likeable
bear, but businessman Jesse was a . . .

Shark was too clichéd. Tigers were too beautiful. Hawks too majestic. Lions . . .

Heck, likening Jesse to any predator was too complimentary.

Weasel then. Or ferret. Yeah, ferrets were sneaky little rats that always seemed to have an agenda, were always sticking their wet little noses into everything, and always popping up where they shouldn't.

Okay, then; if he called her an otter again, she was coming back with ferret.

Cadi polished off half the bag of Cheetos and most of the warm soda, then walked to the top of the bluff. She spent several minutes taking in the view, then scanned her campsite below. “What do you suppose my chances are of getting Jesse to stay away from this section of the island?” she asked when Wiggles silently leapt onto the boulder beside her. “Probably not good,” she said with a sigh, “since ferrets
listen
about as well as two-year-olds.”

Cadi picked up her cell phone and solar charger off the boulder and headed back down the bluff, wanting to grab a warm fleece for her hike to the high ridge so she could call Stanley and find out exactly what was going on with Stapleton.

•   •   •

Jesse beached the small motorized raft he kept on the cruiser and stepped ashore, still unable to believe it had taken him three trips around Hundred Acre to come up with an argument Cadi couldn't possibly counter. But if by some miracle she did, he was marrying her for real first thing tomorrow and giving her his seat on Tidewater's board of directors.

He dragged the raft up across the beach above the high tide mark, then tied it to a tree, grabbed his overnight bag, and headed up the road to his camper. A bit disappointed at not finding a tent pitched on the gravel pad that meant Cadi had been building models during her stay, he opened the door and stepped into his camper, even more bummed to see she really hadn't been using it. But from the looks of the small oak branches and fallen green leaves on the ground indicating there'd been a couple of good storms since he'd been gone, she at least could have ridden them out in the camper instead of a tent. It just didn't make sense that she would borrow his name but not use any of the creature comforts that came with it.

Jesse tossed his bag onto the couch, remembering she hadn't been shy about opening accounts in his name to purchase . . . well, okay, tools. She'd bought a cart and mud boots and probably gloves, and the hat she'd given the cherub. He walked to the utilities panel by the door and started the heater to take away the coastal chill, making him wonder what Cadi was using for heat when it got chilly at night or a fog bank rolled in.

Was she really that stubborn?

I like sleeping in a tent with my cat,
she'd said. So maybe she did, and was simply trying to turn a bad situation into an adventure. Yeah. Maybe she was practicing for her real adventure by pretending Hundred Acre was one of the national parks she was so anxious to see. And he had to give her credit for finding a place where . . . What was the cat's name? Wiggles. Yeah, she'd found a place to hide where Wiggles would be able to roam free.

Jesse went to his bedroom and grabbed a jacket from the closet, then slipped it on as he headed outside, figuring he had enough daylight left to check his email and make a few calls. He started up the path to the ridge as he decided he could get away with holding hands and kissing Cadi in town, but wondered how he should go about starting a real—and preferably private—relationship with her.

Well, he supposed he should make sure she
stayed
on the island long enough for them to get to know each other better, which meant he should probably take a little walk tonight after dark and steal the fuel line off her boat again. She might get pissed, but at least she'd be pissed
here
. And all he really needed was a day or two to persuade her that he . . . what? Offering to give her all the space she wanted might be a good start, so long as she promised not to cross the reach without telling him first. Then he'd give her back the fuel to prove he trusted her, and she would see that she could trust him in return. And if he didn't mention his models again, she might even start to relax around him.

And maybe he could get her interested in wanting to hang around even longer by sharing some of his plans for Hundred Acre. He could talk to her about the deep-water dock he intended to have built, ask what she thought he should do with the high ridge and that spectacular view if the house wasn't going up there, and even ask her questions about the house itself—without using the word
model
—such as what the inside would look like.

Okay then. If he considered today their second date—they had kissed, after all—then he was actually making progress. And he'd noticed some wild rosebushes growing along the cove where Cadi had beached the skiff; maybe tonight when he stole the fuel line he'd pick a whole pocketful of rose petals and scatter them outside her tent for her to find in the morning.

No, that might creep her out, and he'd wake up to see Cadi
rowing
across the reach in that old scow loaded to the gunwales with camping gear—and her cat.

Despite it still being daylight, Jesse emerged from the trees to be greeted by a thin crescent moon hanging high over the top of the barren ridge, but stumbled to a halt when he saw Cadi sitting almost directly beneath it, leaning against a boulder and talking on her cell phone. He realized she'd spotted him when he saw her say something and end the call, then lower the phone to her lap.

She watched him the whole time he walked up the steep ledge, but it wasn't until he was almost to her that Jesse noticed her features were drawn with worry and her unusually large eyes were welling with unshed tears. Guessing it was too soon in their one-sided relationship to pull her into his arms and comfort her, he settled for sitting beside her to also use the boulder for a backrest, then stared out at the ocean in silence.

“I guess I really am naive,” she said nearly two full minutes later, her voice sounding as though she were still fighting tears. “Whenever I've watched those forensic or police shows on television, I've always assumed they kept exaggerating the . . . evilness, trying to one-up each other for ratings.” She looked over at him, her eyes troubled and still thick with moisture, and smiled sadly. “And I always felt that even if half of what they showed was real, I didn't have to worry, because it was too far away to ever affect me.” She looked down at her lap and pulled in a shuddering breath. “But it
is
real, and the evilness has found its way to Whistler's Landing—and me.”

“It can't affect what it can't find,” Jesse said quietly, finally giving in to his urge to slide an arm around her shoulders, only to take a deep breath of his own when she immediately leaned into him.

“That's pretty much what Stanley's been saying since he first sent me away.” She lifted her hand holding her phone, and let it flop back on her lap. “And what he said again tonight.”

“Did you tell him you're here with me?”

“No. He still thinks I'm driving around. He just gave me your cell number and told me basically what you did, that you'd offered to keep me safe while he dealt with Stapleton.”