The Men of Thorne Island (20 page)

Despite feeling absolutely miserable, Nick knew the answer without even thinking about it.

Hell, no.

T
HE MANAGER
of the Cleveland Browns called Sara on her cell phone Monday afternoon as she waited for the building-code inspectors to finish their tour of the Cozy Cove, which had been going on for three hours. Winkie had dropped off the inspectors, picked up Ben, Candy and Carl Junior, and headed back to Put-in-Bay.

“Yes, sir,” Sara said into her phone. “I certainly do know what this call is about.”

“We’re on our way now to meet up with that boat captain you told us would bring us to the island. I assume Dexter is there.”

Yes, yes! He’s been here for years waiting for you. Where else would he be today?
“He’s here. We’ll see you soon.”

She ended the call and hurried to the other end of the hall to tell Nick.

He turned off his computer, stood up and took a
deep breath. “Operation Dexter is under way,” he said.

She crossed her fingers for good luck and watched him head toward the stairs. When he’d left the inn, she let the forced smile fade from her lips. “Oh, Dad,” she said to herself. “If only things were as simple as you make them sound.”

Her last conversation with her father kept replaying in her mind. “I don’t know, Sarabelle,” he’d said that morning in the kitchen. “If I were you, I’d forget all about going back to Florida and I’d set my cap for Nick. He’s made of stern stuff, and he’s smart, too. I’ve grown to like that young man while I’ve been here.”

She’d only grinned at him over the rim of her coffee cup. “I’ll be sure and let him know how you feel, Dad.”

He’d fielded her grin with unexpected seriousness. “You’d do better to let him know how
you
feel.”

“There’s nothing between us, Dad,” she’d lied.

Now, as she closed the door to Nick’s room and walked down the hall to pack her bags, she wished she’d told her father the truth. “It wouldn’t make any difference,” she said to the empty hallway. “I’m out of money, out of time and out of arguments. And there just isn’t any elastic left in my heart.”

N
ICK WATCHED
a couple of innings of the baseball game to give Winkie time to bring the Browns execs across the lake. When he heard the sputter of the boat engine, he walked to the television and turned off the power. Dexter stared first at Nick’s hand, which had just interfered with his Monday afternoon, and then at the blank screen where he’d been watching the top
of the seventh at Jacob’s Field. “What’d you do that for?”

“Because you’re done watching baseball for today,” Nick said.

Dexter sat up straight and wrapped his big hands around his knees. “Don’t tell me Brody has called another meeting?”

“No. I did. Did you hear Winkie’s boat?”

“Yeah, but I figured if it was a grocery order, you guys could handle it. The game was on.”

“It’s not a grocery order. I want you to come with me.”

Grumbling, Dexter stood up from his well-worn leather love seat and ambled toward the door.

“Aren’t you going to put some shoes on?” Nick asked.

“What kind of a meeting on Thorne Island requires shoes?”

Nick tossed a pair of size-thirteen sneakers at Dex. “This one.”

T
HEY REACHED
the side of the inn and stopped when voices floated out to them from an open parlor window. “Maybe you’d better look inside and prepare yourself,” Nick suggested. “I have this picture in my head of you putting on the same goofy expression you have when you see a photo of Tyra Banks.”

Dexter grinned. “Heck, there’s nobody in the world who affects me like she does.” He leaned forward and peeked inside. He stared a few seconds and then spun around and slammed his back against the outside wall. “Do you know who those men are?” he managed to gasp.

“I ought to. I invited them. That’s the general man
ager and the owner of the new Cleveland Browns. I thought you’d recognize them from the fan posters on your walls.”

“I don’t have any fan posters.”

“It’s a joke, Dex.” Nick rolled his eyes. “Jeez, why doesn’t anybody ever get my jokes?”

Dexter pushed himself away from the wall. “What are they doing here?”

“They came to see you, of course.” When he read the look of total confusion on Dexter’s face, he added, “No joke. They came quite readily, I must admit. Even risked a ride on Winkie’s tub.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. For the thrill of it.” Sensing another attempt at a joke had failed, Nick added more seriously, “Look Dex, I don’t know what they’re going to say to you. But I have a hunch they might be going to make you an offer you can’t possibly refuse.”

“You mean they’re recruiting losers now?”

Nick wasn’t falling for Dexter’s sympathy bid. “Apparently. But there’s one sure way to find out.”

Nick half pushed, half pulled Dexter to the front door of the Cozy Cove. But once the big man stepped into the parlor, an immediate display of manly rituals took over and confidence bloomed in every feature of his face.

The general manager, who’d worked with Dexter during his playing days, punched Dex on the shoulder, though it looked like it was all he could do not to hug his former teammate. “So this is where you’ve been hiding, you big ox,” the man said.

The owner of the new Cleveland Browns faked a punch to Dexter’s abdomen. “It’s about time we
tracked you down, Sweet. You’ve been harder to find than a pigskin in a pen of hogs.”

Virtually ignored in a room filled with scrapbook reminiscences and fiercely pumping testosterone, Nick backed into the lobby. “Good luck, old buddy,” he whispered. He headed for the stairs and the comfort of his keyboard. God, he needed Sara right now. Part of him resented the hell out of her since she was responsible for all the changes on Thorne Island. But the part of him that he’d nearly forgotten about, the part that had helped an old lady who was being cheated out of her retirement by a big corporation—that part realized the men of Thorne Island owed Sara a debt of gratitude.

But of course the biggest part of him, the chunk that missed Sara almost every minute of the day, involved the crazy interaction of every nerve, every sense, every emotion he’d kept buried for more than six years. That part just wanted to hold her and feel her next to him and believe that she wasn’t going away.

He stopped at the entrance to a guest room at the top of the stairs. Before Sara arrived, all the doors to the rooms on the second floor were kept closed. There was no reason to ever look inside any of them. Now the doors were open, beckoning a visitor to enjoy the cheerful atmosphere of polished wood furniture, yellow and blue walls, bright fabrics and slowly turning brass ceiling fans.

Nick entered the room and crossed to the window. The freshly painted white shutters were open, the dainty floral curtains tied back with velvet cord. Sara liked the windows that way, open to let in the sun
shine. He looked over the vineyard and spotted her strolling among the grapevines.

Giving them a last, loving dose of Sara-care, he figured. Baby-talking them into warming up to Ryan, coaxing them to thrive in spite of her absence. In a little over twenty-four hours she would be gone. Unless he did something to stop her.

Every time Nick walked across the yard or climbed the stairs, he was reminded of the hardest battle he’d ever fought in his life, the prize he’d figured was the most worth winning of any that would ever come his way—the ability to walk again. Now he wasn’t so sure. Now he figured keeping Sara on Thorne Island was the prize he’d been born to win.

N
ICK ACCEPTED
Brody’s offer to split a frozen pizza and once again discovered that Brody wasn’t much of a cook. The man didn’t even wait for the cheese to melt on top of the pizza before taking it out of the oven. He wasn’t much of a gourmet, either. He gobbled down the lukewarm pie and declared it fit for a king. But that was Brody—the new and improved, slightly more optimistic Brody. And since Nick didn’t feel much like eating anyway, the state of the pizza didn’t really matter.

There were two reasons for Brody’s emerging good humor. He had opened the door to communication with his son, and despite a softening of his attitude toward Sara, he would soon be saying farewell to the woman who’d upset his life. Never mind that if Sara Crawford hadn’t shown up on Thorne Island, Junior probably wouldn’t have come either.

Ironically Brody’s good fortune was Nick’s reason for despair.

At dusk Nick left Brody’s and walked around the back of the inn, thinking he might find Sara in the kitchen. He didn’t, but the porch light was on, prompting him to go toward the vineyard. He saw her next to the press house at the point where rows of thick, twisting trunks began their orderly march up and down the gentle slopes of Thorne Island. She was
a silvery statue in the last gray light of day. Nick walked toward her with the clearest of intentions, but with a dubious arsenal of words to accomplish it.

Sara stood with her arms folded across her chest. She didn’t hear Nick approach, or if she did, she didn’t respond.

Nick thought about calling her name, but decided against it. If he was going to sneak up on her one last time, he would risk her anger to satisfy his desire to feel the softness of her skin first. Stepping behind her, he slid his hands along her arms and clasped her fingers with his. She breathed a contented sigh and leaned against him. It was not the reaction he’d expected, but it was the one he relished.

Encouraged, he pulled her close to his chest and studied her profile. “Is that a smile I see? And should I hope you were thinking about me?”

She dropped her head back to his shoulder. “It was a smile,” she said, “but it wasn’t for you. The Cozy Cove passed all inspections today. We need another bathroom, but the inspector said he’d let it slide for a while under the grandfather rule.”

“Congratulations, Madam Innkeeper. You should be proud of yourself.”

“I’m proud of all of us,” she said.

“So when can we expect our first visitors?”

“Since I hear that note of dread in your voice, I know the answer will make you happy. Not until after the grapes ripen. About four months, I think. Plus, I need to find someone to handle guest relations—someone civil, accommodating and perhaps even cheerful.”

He repeated the qualifications with exaggerated
thoughtfulness. “Civil, accommodating and cheerful. I’ll need a dictionary to understand those words.”

She chuckled softly. “And to think you once accused me of changing things around here. There’s the proof that I haven’t accomplished much as far as you’re concerned.”

He turned her in his arms. “Here’s the proof that you have.” He captured her mouth in a slow, building kiss.

She melted against him and breathed her own life into the joining of their mouths. Until she realized it was not what they should be doing. She flattened her palms on his chest and pushed him away. “No, Nick. We can’t do this.”

“I think we do it better than any two people on the planet.”

She frowned. “And you don’t see that as a problem?”

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “No. I see it as a gift.”

She stepped away from him and faced the vineyard again. “Unfortunately I can’t take any gifts with me when I leave tomorrow.”

“There you go, Crawford. Spoiling the moment.” He reached for her hand and twined her fingers through his. “Let’s take a walk and look at these miraculous grapes of yours.”

She fell into step beside him even though she argued that it would be dark soon. “We won’t see much of anything.”

“That’s all right. I don’t really care about looking at grapes, anyway. I just suggested it because when you’re in the vineyard, you tend to forget how ticked off you are at me.”

They moved down one row of vines as rays of the golden-rose dusk spilled over broad grape leaves and trunk spurs supported by Sara’s carefully mended guide wires. Somewhere, tucked into their protective leafy houses, Sara’s grapes grew, coaxed by her gentle touch and unflagging determination.

“So what are we going to do about this problem we have?” Nick finally said.

S
ARA PRESSED
her fingers against her lips to hold in a groan of frustration. What answers was he looking for? What solution could there be for a man who wouldn’t leave and a woman who couldn’t stay? There wasn’t one. Time had run out for her and Nick.

She disentangled her hand from his and stared up at him. His eyes, the color of cinders, were unreadable. Did he feel some of the hurt she experienced? “There’s no problem, Nick. I stopped thinking of you that way in the press house on Friday,” she said.

“Oh, no,” he countered. “You can’t dismiss me so easily.”

She started walking.

He followed. “A minute ago you kissed me as if I
was
a problem.”

“Not a problem. A mistake. One I was bidding a long-overdue farewell.”

He stepped in front of her and flattened his hand against his chest. “That hurts, Sara. Really hurts.”

His little-boy innocence wasn’t going to work this time. “Look, Nick, what exactly do you want from me? For that matter, what do any of you want from me? I’m leaving. You’ll have your precious island all to yourselves again. As I see it, you’ve only benefited from my being here. Brody’s talking to his son. Dex
ter’s going to join the Browns organization. Ryan’s in love. And that’s not even taking into account that you men no longer live in squalor!”

Nick’s eyes widened in a reasonable imitation of shock. “Squalor? Just because we didn’t live with tablecloths and throw rugs doesn’t mean we lived in squalor.”

“Whatever.” She tried to walk around him, but he prevented her from getting away.

“And what about me?” he challenged. “Sure, all those good things have happened for the other guys, but once you go away, what will I be left with?”

“Status quo, Nick. What you’ve always wanted. Total and complete noninterference.”

He grabbed her arms, locking her in front of him. “That’s not what I want anymore. Now I want you to interfere. Any time you want.”

Sara closed her eyes, blocking out the familiar gleam in his eyes. When she opened them again, she met his gaze head-on. “For how long, Nick?”

“What?”

“How long do you want me to interfere with your life? Another week? A month or two? How long?”

This time the shock in his eyes was real. “I…I don’t know. I want you to stay here for as long as you want to. Who’s marking time on a calendar, anyway?”

“I am. And I’m already days behind schedule.”

“Oh, that’s right. You’re the bean counter, and I’m hearing accountant-speak again.”

“No. Reality-speak.” She wrenched herself free of his hold and glared at him. “You want me to stay?” The words came out as a dare.

“Yes, I want you to stay.”

“Well, guess what, Nick? I’m broke. And if I don’t get my tail back to Fort Lauderdale, I’ll be jobless, too.”

He flung a hand in the general direction of the inn. “At least you won’t be homeless.”

Frustrated rage boiled through Sara’s bloodstream. Was he totally oblivious to her anger and hurt? Didn’t he understand the futility of their situation? Maybe he did because he backed up a step. Knowing that more words would only lead to more argument and ultimately no solution, Sara executed a quick little jig and maneuvered around him. “Good night, Nick.”

He caught her arm and spun her back around. The blistering fire in the look she leveled on him should have made him let go. It didn’t.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” he said. “We’re going to talk this thing out. You’re not going to run.”

Unfortunately for him, his command only fanned her smoldering anger and sent it sizzling to every cell in her body. “Run?” she snapped back. “You want to talk about running? Fine. You want to be with me so badly, Nick, why don’t you come to Fort Lauderdale? You want me to admit I care about you? Okay, I will. I care. Now if
you
care, get on that plane tomorrow and come with me.”

The vein at his temple throbbed. Obviously he was working up a good anger of his own. Undaunted, Sara poked him in the chest. “I’m not the one running, Nick. You are! Isn’t it about time you realized that no one’s chasing you? You’ve been running from the world more than six years now. Don’t you think it’s time you came back into it?”

His jaw muscles clenched. His breathing was raspy.
He was truly, completely furious. “I don’t have to prove anything to you,” he ground out.

“No, that’s right, you don’t have to prove anything to me. You don’t have to sell your manuscripts. You can hide behind the mask of Ivan Banning forever, since he’s the man you don’t have the courage to be. You don’t have to leave this island ever, unless it’s in a pine box. But I can’t stay here warming your bed and soothing your ego. I’ve got to go, Nick.”

Her words had a physical effect. If ever a man looked beaten, Nick did, and she hadn’t so much as swung a punch. The vanquished look on his face was nearly Sara’s undoing. Her eyes stung with tears. She did so love this man.

She clamped her lips together, forcing back a sob. And she waited.
Say something, Nick. By God, if you care at all, say something.
He merely stared at her with wounded eyes. She turned away from him and said, “And God knows, if I’m leaving, it’s got to be tomorrow.”

T
UESDAY MORNING
while Sara had her coffee in the sparkling kitchen of the Cozy Cove Inn, Ryan came in the back door. “The grapes are looking fine this morning,” he said.

“That’s great, Ryan. I know you’ll take care of them.” She slid her cell phone across the table toward him. “I’m leaving this so you can call me whenever you want. Let me know when you think the grapes are ready to harvest.”

He picked up the phone and dropped it into his shirt pocket. “I will.” Then he grinned. “Is it okay if I use it to call Candy sometimes?”

“Sure. I expected you would.”

He sat across from her at the table covered in its cheerful, blue floral cloth. “Will you come back for the harvest, Sara?”

She wouldn’t. “I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe. If not, you can keep me informed every step of the way.”

“Sure thing.”

The sound of someone clearing his throat drew their attention to the back door. Brody peered through the screen like a kid waiting for an invitation. “Can I come in?”

Sara waved him inside. “Did you come to make sure my bags were all packed?” Even though she said it with a smile, she suspected it was true.

He grunted. It almost sounded like a chuckle. “I can see where you might think that. But no. I came to say goodbye. And to tell you that there might have been a time or two when I let my manners slip where you’re concerned.”

Sara rolled her eyes at the ceiling. “Oh, gee, let me think if I can remember you doing that.”

“It’s not that I didn’t like you. It’s just that this has always been our place—”

Sara pushed back her chair and stood up. “Do you want some coffee, Brody?”

“I could drink a cup.”

After she handed him a steaming mug, she said, “Look, Brody, I’m leaving today. We don’t need to rehash all the reasons our relationship wasn’t made in heaven. We both know them all, anyway.”

He took a sip. “S’pose so. My son pointed out that I can be difficult. I just wanted to tell you that I’ll try to be a little friendlier when you start renting out the rooms here, or at least make myself scarce. Besides,
I plan on leaving here once in a while to check up on Carl and see if that woman he married is really as wonderful as he says.”

Sara felt a stab of pity for the extraordinary Mrs. Carl Brody Junior. “I’m sure you’ll like her,” she said. “Just as much as she’ll like you.”

He set the cup down on the counter, half-empty. “Well, I’ve said what I’ve come to say. Good luck to you, Miss Crawford. And by the way, you did a good job with this place.”

“Thanks.”

W
INKIE ARRIVED
at noon in the pontoon boat to take Sara and the beetle to the mainland ferry. At the sound of his engine, Sara grabbed her bags and left her room. She glanced at the door at the other end of the hall. It was closed. She didn’t hear any sound coming from the other side. She descended the stairs, left the inn and loaded her suitcases into the Volkswagen.

As she drove away from the Cozy Cove, Sara looked in the rearview mirror to get a last glimpse of the inn. It was even more charming than she’d believed possible when she’d begun her renovations. She’d put more of herself into this project than anything she’d ever done in her life, and she was proud of the results.

She envisioned the Cozy Cove as it would look in the different seasons. In a couple of weeks the trees would have their full dressing of leaves and would drape the house in cooling shade. The wildflowers in back would be a riot of color, and the tulips Ryan had planted by the front porch would sway in the summer breeze.

In the fall the house would be framed in gold and russet. The pathway to the harbor would be carpeted in crisp, fallen leaves by October. Sara could almost hear their cheerful crackle underfoot.

But it was winter she could picture most clearly. Living in Florida, she missed the clean, white flakes of snow that covered everything. With smoke curling from her chimneys and warm lights coming from the parlor, the Cozy Cove would surely be the perfect image of its name.

Maybe Sara would come back in winter. Maybe by then she’d be able to.

Besides Winkie, one man waited at the dock for her. It wasn’t Nick.

Dexter attached the ramps to the pontoon boat and helped guide Sara as she drove the bee onto the deck. When they finished, he climbed on board and gave her an awkward hug. “You promise you’ll watch the games, Sara? If you have to buy a special pass for your satellite dish so you can get the Browns games, I’ll pay for it.”