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The man was taller than he looked from above, and she only barely registered the knot of muscles in his shoulders and biceps as he worked to steady the saw. All she could think about was the horrible noise bouncing through her ears and ricocheting through her skull. What kind of man went on vacation in the Caribbean just to literally saw wood? She glanced at him, and then beyond him, to the rusted-out bow of the boat on risers near the beach.
“Excuse me,” she shouted, now that she was just feet from the man. “Excuse me!”
The noise was far too loud for him to hear, even though she was less than two feet from him. Laura, losing her patience, reached up and tapped the man hard on his bare shoulder.
The man instantly shut off the saw and glared at her over his shoulder, his eyes barely visible through the work goggles he wore. Seeing her, he put down the saw and raised the goggles, revealing brown eyes that almost looked amber in the morning sunlight. He pushed the goggles up to his short brown hair and studied her.
He had a rugged face, etched a little by the weather, but with that almost ageless quality only middle-aged men have. He could be thirty-five or forty-five. He stayed in shape, clear from the cut of his bare chest. He wasn’t sporting six-pack abs, but his stomach was flat and lean.
Laura realized with a shock that the last time she’d seen a man wearing this little clothing, it had been Dean. In a hotel room.
She shook the thought from her mind and tried to focus on the man’s face, trying not to look at the miles of very tanned and very bare skin before her. He was annoyed, that much was clear by the thin slash of his mouth, and the way his brow furrowed.
“Excuse me,” Laura began, trying to be polite. “Hi. My name is Laura and I’m staying up there in 2-C, and it’s so early, so could you keep it down?”
A smile quirked the corner of his mouth. “Early?”
“Yes, and I’ve been traveling and could you keep it down...until nine?”
“Well.” He looked at his watch. “Considering it’s eleven thirty, that might be hard.” He flashed a winning smile.
Eleven thirty? It was that late? Laura felt a blush creep up her neck.
“Oh, well... I...” But she was so sure it was so early. Her body screamed that it was six in the morning but the sun in the sky told her it was later. She tried to calculate the time zone changes but her brain felt too muddled for the task.
“You’re the tourist.” The man cocked his head to one side, as if she might be a new exhibit at a museum.
“Well, yes, and—”
“Look, I’m sorry this is loud, but it’s the middle of the day. Next time, maybe you should check the time before you...” He glanced down at her ruffled hair and slept-in clothes. His face showed his disapproval. “Get out of bed.”
Now, Laura felt her temper flare and she’d all but forgotten her mistake about the time.
“Could you just please try to keep it down? There are such things as city noise ordinances.”
The man grinned then, a bit of sweat dropping down his squared-off, tanned face. “City ordinance? Just where are you from?”
“San Francisco.”
He studied her with amused, dark eyes. “Well, that explains it.”
“What do you mean by that?” Now, Laura felt the anger bubble up in her, hot and fluid. Was he calling her a liberal hippie? An alfalfa-sprout-granola-eating leftist? She’d heard all the insults, mostly from her right-leaning family who lived in downstate Illinois. She was proudly moderate independent, thank you very much.
He just shook his head, and the sun glinted off tiny slivers of silver running through his hair, just the right amount of middle-aged gray. Laura wanted to tell him he was clearly old enough to know better. Or old enough to show a little more politeness to strangers.
He chuckled to himself then, as if he’d read her mind. Nothing about this was funny, so why was he laughing? She felt off balance with this man. Like somehow this entire conversation was one of his inside jokes.
“St. Anthony’s doesn’t have ordinances like that,” he informed her, crossing his thick arms across his chest. “So, you’re out of luck.”
“What about the other neighbors? This noise pollution is—”
“Noise pollution?” The man put his head back and laughed.
“What’s your name?” She’d have to report him. To someone. Somewhere.
“Mark.”
“Mark what?”
“Tanner.” He grinned. “And you are?”
“Laura Kelly.” She raised her chin in defiance. She didn’t care if he knew who she was. She’d be filing a complaint...with someone, somewhere.
“Well, Ms. Kelly, are you going to call the police? You should know the local chief is a buddy of mine.”
This wasn’t going well. Not well at all.
“What about the neighbors?”
Mark sighed and shook his head, studying her. “Three of the six condos are empty right now. Hurricane season coming and all. There’s you, me and Fred, who’s eighty-three and gets up at six to take his daily walk on the beach, so I cleared it with him to work here.”
“You didn’t clear it with me.”
He took her in, glancing at her flip-flops, to her jean shorts and her T-shirt all the way to the top of her head. “No, I didn’t, sweetheart. But, seeing as you’re just passing through, I don’t see a reason.”
Sweetheart? She wasn’t his sweetheart. Now, that really irked.
“I cleared it with the owners of your condo.” Mark shook a bit of sawdust from his hair, clearly unconcerned. “So if you’ve got a problem with the noise, I suggest you take it up with them. They should’ve warned you in the rental agreement there’d be...what did you call it? Noise trash?”
“Noise pollution.”
He chuckled once more, showing even white teeth. “Right. That.” He shook his head.
“I’ll be talking to the condo board then.”
Mark just grinned. “Considering I own the entire first floor, I’m actually the president of the board.”
That revelation hit her like a ton of bricks. “You own...” She glanced down the way at the entire first floor. Well, that’s how he managed to clear putting a big workshop on the beach in front of the first floor then. He owned it. She couldn’t imagine how much that cost, but knew it was a lot.
“I...” Laura had nothing more to say to that. He had the police in his pocket and he had a controlling share of the condo building, so complaining to the board would do no good. Hell, he was the board, sounded like.
Then he turned his back on her, fired up his saw again and began work once more.
Conversation done, apparently. At least, he thought so. She turned on her heel, fuming. He might think this was done, but, Laura vowed, this little disagreement was far, far from over. She’d been through hell and back, and she wasn’t about to let this man derail her. She was here on this island for a reason—to forget Dean, to find some way to heal—and she wasn’t going to let a rude neighbor get in the way of that. This wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.
Chapter Two (#u006139d2-6341-5940-af12-a354966c99ba)
MARK TANNER TURNED and watched the feisty woman with the disheveled bob bounce out of his view. The woman needed some sunlight. Her bright white legs looked like neon billboards for the mainland as they furiously walked away from him.
But, he had to admit, her curves weren’t bad, and if you went for bossy types, she’d probably be a feisty go-getter in bed. She was just his type: small, tight and a handful. He shook his head, figuring that wherever she’d come from, she was used to getting her way.
But, Mark didn’t spook. She could rail against him all he wanted, but he had to finish this boat. It was the middle of the day, after all, and he had no patience for tourists who wanted to get their beauty rest at nearly noon.
He glanced back at the rusted-out old hunk of a boat that once belonged to his father. He was behind schedule in fixing her up. That wouldn’t do. This project was too important. He glanced at the small set of bronzed baby shoes that Timothy once wore that hung on a string above his worktable. Beneath them, he’d tacked up a photo of his boy as a baby, grinning a gummy grin from ear to ear.
He glanced out to the beach beyond. He could almost see his little boy running there, waddling into the water with his chubby, toddler hands outstretched for some shell. When he picked it up, he’d beam with triumph and call for his father’s approval.
With a sickening dread, Mark realized he couldn’t remember what his boy sounded like. His voice had been sweet and high, but now, in his memory, the voice had faded. The picture of his son stood mute in his brain, like some old-fashioned silent picture reel.
No. Couldn’t be. Mark squeezed his eyes shut. He would not let the memory of his boy fade. He worked harder to remember his sweet, high-pitched voice but couldn’t bring to mind the exact sound.
He stopped and pulled out his phone. He had a video of his boy there. He pulled it up and set the video to full-screen and saw his boy running through the sand in the wobbly video he’d taken on his phone.
“Daddy! Look!” Timothy cried as he pointed to a starfish that had washed up on the shore. It was a treasured find. “A star, Daddy! It’s a star!”
The sweet voice washed over Mark’s ears and he felt a brief peace before the sadness sank in. He’d never hear that voice in life again. He’d never get to hear what Timothy would’ve sounded like as he grew up, as his voice changed and matured. He put the cell phone back into his pocket, feeling the heavy weight of sadness cling to him once more. But he couldn’t let grief stop him. He needed to focus on that emotion and turn it into something that mattered.
He returned his attention to the wooden planks before him. That’s why he needed to restore this boat. That’s why he couldn’t stop working. Not until it was finished and not until it sailed in the warm, blue-green sea.
He cut the power on the saw to double-check the board he’d just cut. He focused again on the hull of the boat he would christen Timothy after the little boy who’d once been the light of his life. Before his life had been taken, a bright little candle blown out far too soon.
“Working hard, I see.”
Mark froze, recognizing the voice behind him that he’d know anywhere—his older brother, Edward. He felt anger, hot and thick, well up in his belly. Edward, the brother who betrayed him. Edward, his enemy.
Mark slowly put down the buzz saw. Then he flicked up his safety goggles and turned to face his brother. Just two years older, he carried the same dark eyes as Mark, the same lopsided smile, but that’s where the similarities ended. Mark was a man of his word. Edward, he knew, was a liar.
“What are you doing here, Edward?”
His brother shrugged one shoulder. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”
“Don’t bullshit me.” If you cared about how I was doing, you would’ve never slept with my wife. Ex-wife now, technically. Wife then, though.
“Language, kid. What would Mom say?” Edward wore expensive loafers and designer sunglasses that caught the Caribbean sun, blinding Mark for a second.
“If she were still alive, she’d be too busy kicking your ass to care.”
Edward just shook his head. “For what?”
For screwing my wife. For stealing her away from me. For...being the worst brother on earth at the very time I needed you most.
“For stealing the family company, for starters.” Edward and Mark had grown the family boat-building business into an empire, until Edward had the board vote Mark out in a hostile takeover last year, six months after Timothy died.
“I told you to take some time off after...” He swallowed. “Timothy. You needed it, and you didn’t listen to me, and so, yes, for the company’s sake and yours, I forced you out.”
Mark nearly choked on a dark laugh. He loved how his brother always managed to twist everything around, make his underhanded dealings sound like the right thing to do. “Don’t pretend this is about the company or me. It’s about your greed. You’ve always been greedy. Ever since we were kids and you ate my Halloween candy while I slept. Some things never change.”
“You’re still on me about Halloween? I was eight. You were six. We were kids.”
Mark shrugged. “The story just seems relevant, considering you always wanted what I had.”
Edward exhaled. “Look, I know you’re pissed at me, but—”
“Pissed at you?” He took off his work gloves in jagged, angry movements and tossed them on his workbench. “I’m not pissed at you. I can’t stand to look at you. You screwed me out of my business and you screwed my wife.”
“She’s your ex-wife now.” Edward sounded stoic, even steely. Not even an inkling of regret. None. “And you know why she made that choice. After what you did to her.”
Mark felt a pang of guilt. He knew what he did, and he knew why he did it. I never meant her any harm, but something had to be done.
“You know why I did that. And deflecting this back to me is still not an apology. For God’s sake. She’s pregnant with your baby.”
Edward visibly flinched.
“Didn’t think I knew?” Mark challenged him. “Did you forget how small this island is? How people talk?”
“I...” Now Edward was on his heels. “I was going to tell you.”
“Uh-huh. Sure you were.” Mark ground his teeth together. His heart pounded in his chest and he felt hot and cold all over. Mark hated the anger that bubbled up inside him, that threatened to take over, that bleached the already bright sand at his feet a starker white. He wanted to punch his older brother in the face, craved to see the shock and pain flood his features. He wanted to yell until his voice gave out, but he also knew there’d be no point. Edward never listened.
Edward let out a long, weary-sounding sigh. Since when did he get to sound exasperated? He wasn’t the one betrayed by the only family he had left.
“I came with a peace offering,” Edward said, holding up a manila folder. “It’s a contract. You should come back to work with Tanner Boating.” He nodded at Mark’s husk of a boat in the sand. “This isn’t good for you. For your head or your bank account. Restoring that old hunk of junk is a waste of time.”
Just when Mark thought Edward couldn’t tick him off any more, somehow his brother found a way to do it. He felt the fury grow hot inside him.
This was the boat that belonged to their father, and it wasn’t much, but it was his. That’s why it made it all the more important to restore it. For Timothy. And how dare Edward ask him back, as if he’d ever in a million years work under his brother?
“Not interested.” Mark turned his back on his brother, signaling the conversation was over. It had to be over, before Mark really lost it and did punch his brother in the face. He might be friends with the St. Anthony’s police chief, but he doubted that even he could worm his way out of an assault charge.
“Mark, look, bud, come on. Come back to work for me. You can help Tanner Boating build the fastest boat on the island. We’re going to win the St. Anthony’s Race again this year. We’re going to break the island record.”
Mark clenched his fist. “No, you’re not. I’m going to win that race. And the prize money.” A hundred thousand dollars.
“You don’t have enough time to finish this, and you’re just one person. Come on, come join our team.”
“I’m never going to work for you,” Mark ground out between clenched teeth. Why did Edward never realize when he stood on thin ice? “I’m going to build this ship. I’m going to win that prize money and I’m going to sail around the world. For Timothy. That’s what I’m going to do.”
He left out the part that he might not come back. Why go there? Edward wouldn’t care anyway.
Edward just shook his head. “You can’t do it by yourself.”
“I’m not. I have friends.” Mark thought about Dave and Garrett. They’d help him. They promised.
“Are you sure you can count on them?” Edward asked him, making Mark doubt himself for a second. Was that a threat? Had Edward somehow gotten to his friends? No. Dave would stay true. They’d known each other twenty years. When Mark and Elle had been married, Dave and his wife would do everything together with them. That kind of friendship didn’t just disappear overnight, did it?
Edward dropped the manila folder down on the worktable. “I’m going to leave this in case you change your mind.”
“I won’t.”
