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Her aunt’s dog had tackled a man with one leg.
Was there any possible way she could transform herself into a sand crab and disappear into the beach?
As Rachel stared at his leg, a blue Frisbee held by long, lean, sun-browned fingers appeared in her field of vision.
She jerked her head up, heat rising on her cheeks.
Smart move, Rachel. Add insult to injury by gawking.
“I think this is yours.” He passed her the Frisbee.
She couldn’t read his eyes behind his dark glasses, but she had no trouble deciphering his tone.
He was ticked.
Big-time.
Clenching the fingers of one hand around the edge of the disk, she leaned down, took the flipper from Bandit and handed it over. “Look...I’m really sorry about this. Are you hurt?”
“I’ve had more painful falls.”
Her first instinct was to glance back at his leg.
She quashed it.
“That flipper does look kind of like a Frisbee.” She aimed a distracted wave toward the appendage in his hand.
“A swim fin doesn’t look anything like a Frisbee.”
At his correction, her chin lifted a notch. Flipper, fin, who cared? “Maybe it does to a dog. And for the record, Bandit is very friendly. But when he’s focused on retrieving, he tends to be oblivious to everything else.”
The man regarded the dog. “Bandit. An apt name. I can see why you picked it.”
Rachel appraised him. Was that a touch of amusement in his voice?
Maybe.
She softened her tone. “Actually, he belongs to my great-aunt. So on behalf of both her and Bandit, I apologize again. You’re sure you’re not hurt?” Hard as she tried, she couldn’t keep her gaze from flicking down to his leg.
The sudden stiffening of his posture was subtle but unmistakable. “I’m fine. But you might want to keep that guy on a leash around kids. A forty-pound child wouldn’t have fared as well.” He leaned down and patted Bandit, but his cool tone suggested he was far less willing to forgive her faux pas. “And for the record,” he parroted her own words back at her, “I’m no more prone to injury than a man who has two good legs.”
With that, he turned away and headed toward his towel.
Rachel watched his retreating back, fanning her burning cheeks with the Frisbee.
That had gone really well.
Bandit nudged her leg, and she looked down at her canine friend. At least her aunt’s dog liked her.
“Sorry, big guy. I think we’d better cool it for a while.”
Tail drooping, he skulked back to the beach chair and flopped down, chin on paws, angled away from her—the same cold treatment she’d gotten from the other occupant of the beach, who was packing up his gear to make a fast exit.
With a sigh, Rachel trudged back to her chair and sat. As she did, one of the slats emitted an ominous crack.
Three seconds later, she found herself sprawled on the sand, staring up at the dark clouds invading the blue sky.
And hoping her rocky start to this year’s vacation wasn’t an omen of things to come.
* * *
Why in the world had he gotten so bent out of shape because some stranger had been taken aback by his prosthesis?
Jack Fletcher strode toward his SUV, stabbed the remote on his key clip and tossed his beach gear into the backseat.
After two and a half years, he should be past all that. He was past all that. It had been months since an awkward or uncomfortable or shocked reaction had rankled him.
So what had happened back on the beach just now?
He slid into the driver’s seat, started the engine and cranked up the air. Instead of putting the car in gear, however, he rested his arms on the wheel and considered that question.
Most of the women he’d socialized with since reentering the dating game a year ago had never suspected he had a prosthesis. Why would they? After months of painful practice, he’d mastered a natural gait. And the couple of women he’d told—the ones who’d seemed as if they might have potential for more than a few laughs on a Friday or Saturday night—hadn’t appeared to be too bothered by the news.
Then again, they’d already known him when he’d dropped the bombshell. He’d made certain of that.
Too bad he hadn’t had an opportunity to lay the same groundwork with the woman on the beach.
Expelling an annoyed breath, he shifted the SUV into drive. What did it matter, anyway? His mission here was straightforward and twofold: help Gram until she regained use of her broken wrist and try to keep his clients happy, despite the remote location. That was more than enough to occupy him for the next six or eight weeks. Impressing a shapely blonde with a friendly dog wasn’t part of the plan.
Besides, the woman had been wearing a wedding ring. In all likelihood, she was here for a short family vacation. Maybe she’d dropped her kids at the Sea Turtle Center for one of the youth programs and decided to grab a few rays while her husband played golf. Assuming she was like most Jekyll Island visitors, she’d be gone in a week.
If he was smart, he’d forget about her.
Fletch pulled onto the main drag—such as it was—and pointed his SUV back toward Gram’s. Not a single car passed him as he cruised down the island’s two-lane circular road...a nice change from the Norfolk traffic. And in less than five minutes, he was swinging into the driveway of the tidy cottage Gram now called home. The short distances between destinations were also nice.
He set the brake, snagged his duffel bag and exited into the heat. All was quiet in this octogenarian neighborhood. That, too, was welcome. He’d heard enough loud noises to last a lifetime.
Still...this island’s gentle, laid-back nature could drive someone who was used to action stir-crazy—unless there was an interesting diversion or two.
Like an attractive blonde.
Not going to happen, Fletcher. Suck it up and just do your duty.
Duty.
A twinge of regret echoed in his soul as he closed the car door and started for the house. Duty...obligation...responsibility—yeah, he knew all about those. They were part of Navy SEAL DNA, on and off the job. Forever.
He stepped up onto Gram’s porch on his artificial leg.
He was here for the duration. That’s how SEALs operated. They didn’t let people down. No matter the cost.
* * *
“Did you have a pleasant time, dear?”
Rachel pushed through the outside door to the screen porch and dropped her tote bag onto a wicker chair before responding to her great-aunt’s greeting. “It doesn’t get much better than an afternoon on a Jekyll Island beach.”
“True enough. Why do you think I moved here twelve years ago?”
She surveyed the woman across from her. Eleanor Kavanagh’s driver’s license might list her age as seventy-four, but one glance at her trim figure, wedge-cut blond hair and fashionable capris busted any stereotypical notions of the term elderly. “Don’t you ever miss Cincinnati?”
Her aunt let loose with an unladylike snort. “Not a lick. I didn’t have any complaints about my life there, mind you. I had a fine job that provided a steady income and a comfortable retirement—but being an accountant can’t hold a candle to running an art gallery.” She patted the retriever as he settled at her feet. “I see you kept Bandit dry.”
“It was a struggle.”
“I imagine.” Her features softened as she stroked the dog. “Good thing I didn’t go. Once he turns those dark brown eyes on me, I’m a goner. They’re impossible to resist.”
For some reason an image of the man from the beach materialized in Rachel’s mind. Though his eyes had been hidden behind sunglasses, she had a feeling they were hard to resist, too.
“Rachel?”
She blinked and refocused on her aunt. “Sorry. I drifted for a minute.”
“I noticed. I asked if there were many people on the beach.”
“No. I had it almost to myself.” She claimed one of the wicker rocking chairs on the porch.
“I thought you might. I’ve been sitting here for a while and I only saw one other person cross the access bridge over the dunes. He was leaving.”
Rachel set the chair in motion. “Yes. I noticed him.” No need to recount the whole incident with the Frisbee—or to mention her brief, charged interchange with the man.
“I couldn’t get a clear look at him from this distance, but he seemed fairly young...from my perspective, at any rate.” Her aunt swirled the ice in her glass of lemonade. “I don’t see many solitary young men around here. I wonder if he’s married.”
“No.” At her immediate response, Rachel frowned. For some strange reason, the image of his bare left hand was clear in her mind. “I mean, he wasn’t wearing a ring. But a lot of guys don’t. His wife might have gone shopping.”
“That’s not a big draw here.”
“True. There isn’t a mall in sight.”
“But we do have a century-old hotel that serves high tea and hosts croquet tournaments on the lawn, plus a wonderful restored historic district. I’ll take charm over shopping any day.”
“I’m with you.” At least her aunt was off the subject of the muscular swimmer.
“Speaking of charm...from the glimpse I had, that young man appeared to be quite handsome. You must have gotten a close-up look, if you could check for a ring.”
So much for any hope of changing the subject.
As warmth rose on her cheeks, Rachel leaned down to brush a few grains of sand off one of her flip-flops. “I didn’t check for a ring. I just happened to notice his bare hand when we exchanged a few words.” Maybe Aunt El wouldn’t spot the telltale flush.
No such luck.
“I do believe you might have gotten a bit too much sun.” Eleanor appraised her. “Your face is pink. Remember to take it easy for the first few days, until you get acclimated. And don’t forget the sunscreen.”
“Duly noted. With my fair complexion, I make liberal use of it at home in Richmond, too.”
Her aunt dismissed that comment with a wave. “Sun in the city and sun on the beach are two very different things. That young man certainly had a nice tan.”
Oh, brother.
Rising, Rachel reached for her tote bag. “I think I’ll go ahead and change. I have to be at the hotel in an hour.”
“When’s your first program?”
“Next week.”
“You’ve only been here two days—I wish you’d take some time to unwind before you dive into work again. That’s why I didn’t schedule you at the gallery right away.”
Rachel slung her tote bag over her shoulder and bent down to pet Bandit as she passed. “I’ll have a week off. Any more downtime, and I’d go crazy. Besides, I love being around children, so it’s hardly work. And I’m used to being busy.”
“Too busy, if you ask me.”
“Busy is good.”
“Not when it’s an excuse.” Her aunt gave her a shrewd look over the rim of her lemonade glass as she took a sip.
Straightening up, Rachel planted one hand on her hip. “For what?”
“Getting on with your life.”
She exhaled slowly. This was not a discussion she wanted to have during this vacation—but her aunt’s serious expression told her that while she might be able to escape it today, the topic was going to come up again.
“I have gotten on with my life. I have a great job helping kids discover their inner artist. I’m active at church. I have a lovely circle of friends. I prefer to think of my life as full rather than busy.”
Her aunt watched her for a moment. “When’s the last time you went on a date?”
Ah. So that’s what this was about. She should have guessed. Aunt El had dropped a few subtle hints last summer about the importance of romance, which she’d ignored. But there was a disconcerting determination in her manner this year.
Perhaps it wasn’t going to be such a relaxing summer after all.
“It’s only been three years, Aunt El.” She tightened her grip on the strap of the tote bag, her voice subdued. “Someday I might go down that road again. But I’ve only just begun to entertain that idea. I’m nowhere near ready to act on it.”
Eleanor took another sip of her lemonade. “Well, you know best, of course. I just don’t want to see you end up alone. The way you love children, you should have a houseful of your own.”
A twinge of pain echoed in her heart. That had been the plan, once upon a time. But she and Mark had barely gotten past the launch stage.
She didn’t want to talk about that, either.
“Maybe it’s not in the cards.”
