Siren's Call (3 page)

Pushing back a cap that barely covered a fall of shoulder-length silvery hair, the old man spat a wad of phlegm over the edge of the boat. His expression was one of amusement. “Tessa,” he yelled back, nodding toward the island. “She eats up the help and spits them out. Can’t keep a handyman to save her life.”

Ah, right. Now he understood why the old man had been so willing to ferry him across the bay. Clad in a pair of jeans coupled with a short-sleeved knit shirt and heavy boots, he most likely looked like he needed a job. Failing to correct the notion, he signaled his understanding. “Is she hard to work for?”

The skipper sucked his lower lip against his bottom teeth, then spat again. “That’s saying a mouthful.” He flashed a grin, showing more of his gums than teeth. “I reckon you’re about the fifth or maybe sixth man I’ve taken across in the last few months.”

Kenneth grimaced at the idea of nursing on a wad of tobacco. Disgusting habit, worse than his own addiction to nicotine. At least he tried to be polite about his smokes. “That’s a lot of men,” he yelled back. The mental picture of a sour old fishwife was beginning to take shape. The woman sounded like a shrew from hell, impossible to please.

The old sea dog guided the skiff up beside a small dock reigning over a rocky shoal; more than a little creaky and none too well cared for. Battered by the elements, it clearly wouldn’t survive many more storms. “Tessa’s a real ballbuster,” he spat, throttling the Evinrude into blissful silence. “No man can satisfy her, no matter how hard he works.” He briefly scrubbed a hand across his silvery whiskers. “Nobody lasts more than a week—maybe two—before they head back to the mainland. No man has managed to stand up to her yet.”

“You’re still around.”

“Gwen—that’s her sister—pays me to bring over the supplies and do a little tinkering with the lighthouse radio system. Past that . . .” He shook his head. “I’m too damn old to put up with any woman’s lashing tongue.”

Kenneth nodded his understanding. That made sense. “So Tessa never leaves the island?”

The skipper stood up and expertly looped a rope around one pillar to keep the skiff from drifting. Unloading a few items onto the dock, the old man climbed out of the boat. “The Lonikes have always kept to themselves, minded their own business. Tessa’s sisters are nice enough, I suppose, seeing as they work in town. I like ’em both. As for Tessa, she’s best left to herself.”

Kenneth began to rethink the day’s journey. Perhaps hitching a ride to the island wasn’t such a wise notion after all. “Maybe I’d better stay here,” he ventured.

The old salt snorted. “Tucking your tail between your legs?”

Those were fighting words. And one thing Kenneth had already decided in this life was that he wasn’t backing away from anything ever again. He’d folded like a wet paper sack once. A second time wouldn’t be acceptable. Besides, it wasn’t like he actually wanted the damn job. He’d simply find the woman, and thank her.

Simple enough.

Fighting to keep his balance, which wasn’t half as assured as the skipper’s, Kenneth scrambled onto the dock. Though the ride hadn’t taken more than ten minutes, he felt better having his feet closer to solid land.

He eyed the sign prominently nailed to a post. NO TRESPASSING. The locals clearly respected the privacy of people living off the mainland and their desire for peace and solitude. As an uninvited guest, he had to wonder how soon it would be before the island’s reclusive owner sent him packing.
Too late to second-guess my decision now
.

“What’s she like?” he asked, wanting to keep the conversation going just a moment longer.

The skipper shrugged. “She’s as stubborn and ornery as a jackass. She won’t listen to anyone and does what she damn well wants when she wants to. As for answering to a man . . . not anytime soon. You can take her, or leave her.” A chuckle slipped between his chaw-stained lips. “Most of ’em leave.”

“Got a feeling I’ll be leaving soon,” Kenneth muttered under his breath. Pushing his sunglasses up onto his head, he surveyed the island stretched out in front of him. A strange sense of familiarity crept in, seeping up from the darker corners of his mind.

The fine hairs on the back of his neck rose. His lungs seemed to freeze, holding on to the oxygen. Bit by bit, a sense of recognition began to return. Even though the sky held nary a cloud, he fancied he heard the rumble of thunder preceding a rain redoubling its angry assault on the earth. He vaguely recalled the wind kicking up, slashing at his bare skin. The chill was painful, penetrating all the way to the bone . . .

With more than a little relief, Kenneth released the breath he’d been holding. For once the cells in his shortcircuited brain were beginning to spark, the soggy mass of gray matter finally assuming coherent shape.

The presence is here
. He definitely felt it.
Her.

Relief mingled with a tinge of anxiety. Most of the memories were still a blur, the details yet to be clarified. Despite the signs warning strangers away, he hoped Tessa Lonike would give him a few minutes of her time. All he wanted was information, enough to fill in the blanks. Once his need was satisfied, it would be time to close the door on the past and move on.

The skipper gave him a hard poke. “You going to stand there all day?” he demanded irritably. “I ain’t got all day to be foolin’ around here.”

Jarred out of his thoughts, Kenneth refocused on the matter at hand. The skipper thought he was here to work. Best to get a move on and get going. “Just tell me what to do.” Being agreeable was the best way to get along with people, especially strangers. The small community was a tight- knit one, where everybody knew everyone else’s business. The best way for an outsider to gain acceptance was simply to go with the flow.

The old man made a sound just this side of a deep hack before spitting a wad of phlegm into the water. “You’ll have a better chance of getting on Tessa’s good side if you make yourself useful.” He pointed to one of the parcels he’d unloaded onto the dock. “She’s waitin’ on a new motor for the swamp cooler. The sooner you get it in, the happier she will be.”

Kenneth picked up the part, tucking it under one arm. “Can do.”

“Just go on around back,” the old man continued, pointing out a path leading toward the house. “I’ll finish unloading the supplies. Once you’re done there, we’ll carry it all up to the house. I’d like to be home for supper before sundown, so get a move on.”

Kenneth blew out his cheeks in a sigh. “Whatever you say, boss.”

The trail leading from the dock to the house was made up of half-buried stepping-stones zigzagging over soil eroded from continual assault of water driven by furious winds. One wrong step would twist an ankle, or worse, break a bone. The walkway could clearly use improvements.

Leaving the rocky path behind, Kenneth stepped onto an overgrown lawn. Up close the place wasn’t as picturesque as it appeared from a distance. Grass curled around his ankles, thick and squishy underfoot from recent rains. The thick, loamy scent of pine nettles and decaying leaves from trees clustered around the house filled his nostrils. They needed to be clipped and thinned, as did the low hedges edging both sides of the house. The house also needed a lot of work. The roof had lost more than its share of shingles to high winds. The white paint covering its walls had faded, cracking and slowly peeling away. Plywood nailed over a broken corner window lent the house a sad, neglected air.

It looked picture- perfect when viewed from a distance. However, the fairy-tale allure faded as perspective changed. The enchantment had long ago faded away.

“Needs a lot of work,” Kenneth muttered under his breath. Despite the neglect, he recognized a lot of potential in the property. The house clearly had a solid foundation. Why the owner had let the place go when repairs would be so easy to make was beyond him.

He eyed the house, making a mental note here and there. “It could be fixed up.” A new roof and a fresh coat of paint would go a long way toward restoring it to its former glory.

Closer now, the sound of angry voices drifted around the corner of the house.

Kenneth cocked his head, straining to hear the words. Though he couldn’t make out the gist of the conversation, he clearly recognized the anger filling two female voices. An argument was under way and getting louder by the moment. Neither one of the participants was happy.

Feeling a little bit like an intruder, Kenneth tightened his hold on the motor. By the sounds of things, the girls were going at it tooth and nail. They probably wouldn’t welcome any interruptions, especially from a stranger who’d invited himself onto the property.

Maybe I should go while the going’s good
. . . .

Despite the thought, his feet had other ideas. He’d come here for a reason, to settle his mind. Leave now and he’d just be back to that first frustrating square.

Walking with more confidence than he felt, Kenneth skirted the side of the house, skimming between the hedge and wall. He emerged into an overgrown backyard.

His gaze settled on two women standing beside the remains of a derelict swamp cooler. Someone had taken off the panels and gutted it, scattering the parts without much thought toward reassembly. Perched on a base constructed of cinder blocks and plywood, the old air conditioner looked ready to topple at any given moment.

His gaze shifted, refocusing his attention. Two women, two fiery redheads, were squared off against each other. The fur was flying, fast and energetically furious. By the look of things, neither was backing down.

Kenneth dragged in a breath. Talk about timing. He’d blundered straight into a hornet’s nest.

He grimaced.
It’s my own fault if I get stung
.

 

 

Tessa Lonike’s eyes narrowed as she caught sight of the stranger. If she hadn’t been so damn spitting mad at Gwen, she might even have welcomed his arrival. He carried the much-needed motor for the swamp cooler, back-ordered for more than a month. She’d been waiting all day for Lucky to show up with supplies. What she hadn’t counted on seeing was a total stranger.

A twinge of suspicion rose. “You know him?” she demanded peevishly.

Gwen followed Tessa’s gaze and shook her head. “No, but I hope to.” Pasting on a grin, she lifted a hand in the air. “Over here,” she called, motioning for the stranger to join them.

Screwdriver in hand, Tessa waved the tool toward her sister. “Don’t lie.”

Realizing the jig was up, Gwen pled out. “I put another ad in the paper,” she admitted sheepishly. “I was beginning to think no one was going to show.”

Shooting a glare toward the man, Tessa frowned. Gwen was determined to step all over her authority as the eldest. “I’ve told you before I don’t want strangers here. I can handle this place myself.”

“No, you can’t.” Gwen’s hand shot out, delivering a sharp jab to Tessa’s chest. “Now, be nice and hope he wants to work.”

Grumbling under her breath, Tessa rubbed her aching boob. This was the last thing she wanted to deal with today. Her to-do list was already too long. “I have no intention of being nice.” Hot and sweaty from wrangling with the swamp cooler, she didn’t feel like kissing ass.

Gwen ignored her. Quirking a brow, she gave the approaching man an appreciative twice-over. “He’s got potential.”

Eyes rolling skyward, Tessa huffed. That was Gwen. Hot for anything in a pair of tight jeans.

Folding her arms across her chest, she narrowed her gaze toward the oncoming man. He stood well over six feet, most of it long, endless legs. Lean and buff to the max, he appeared to have a strong physique. Broad shoulders ruled over a rippling abdomen and narrow hips. His short-sleeved work shirt revealed biceps well defined from heavy lifting. Though faded, his jeans were clean, fitting him like a second skin. His confident stride ate up the ground.

As the distance separating them narrowed, Tessa got a clearer look at his face. His features reminded her of the rough- hewn statues of ancient athletes: subtly, oddly imperfect yet nevertheless appealing. He wore his brown hair short and spiky, a style complementing the shape of his face. A pair of stylish sunglasses obscured his eyes, adding to his bad-boy vibe. A Harley was probably waiting for him back on the mainland.

There was something familiar about the man, something that made her inner antennae perk up and hum. When she’d first glanced at him, heat had risen in her core, as if she’d been plunged straight into a pot of boiling water. Without intending for it to happen, her interest in the stranger had definitely been piqued.

Tightening her grip on her screwdriver, she immediately tamped down her attraction. Oh, this was so not the kind of man to be paying attention to. He had a rough appearance, one suggesting he was most comfortable hanging out with the guys, drinking tons of beer, and slapping chicks on the ass.

Tessa mentally gritted her teeth and stiffened her spine.
You ain’t staying on, dude
.

The approaching stranger offered a smile. “Afternoon, ladies.” He lifted the motor. “I believe you’ve been waiting on this.”

Gwen beamed. “Yes, we are.” She offered her hand. “Thanks for coming out with Lucky, Mr.—”

“Randall,” he said, accepting her gesture. “Kenneth Randall.”

His name flew over Tessa’s head. She really didn’t care who he was. Her attention was focused on the precious motor.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Gwen Lonike.” Her sister made a vague gesture. “And the shrew standing beside me is Tessa.”

Tessa pulled a face.
Bitch.

He offered his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Ignoring him, Tessa reached for her motor. “I’ll take that.”

“All yours.” He handed it over.

She nodded. “Thanks for bringing in the parts.”

He shrugged. “No problem.”

Gwen pounced. “This is the third one you’ve ordered. You shorted out the other two, brand-new.”