Barefoot Season Part 23

"We're booked through the weekend," she said. "Every room is full."

"I know." Damaris expertly flipped pancakes before adding a scoop of cheese and avocado to an omelet. "Carly was by yesterday to tell me. As if I couldn't figure out we'd be busy on a holiday weekend by myself."

She slid food onto plates, then yelled, "Order up," before glancing back at Mich.e.l.le.

"She wanted to make sure I had enough supplies, that I'd remembered to order extra. What? Because the past twenty-five years of cooking don't count? Because I forget?"

"That's my fault," Mich.e.l.le said, compelled to defend Carly. "I asked her to double-check everything in the inn."

"You're good to take her side," Damaris said. "But she doesn't deserve it. Do you know she talked to me about doing a brunch on Sundays. A brunch! She said it would be special and we'd take reservations. Can you imagine?"

"It's not a bad idea."

Damaris rolled her eyes. "You're the boss, not her. Why do you let her do these things?"

"She's doing her job. Damaris, you have to be okay with that."

Damaris grumbled something under her breath, then said, "Fine, but I don't have to like it."

Mich.e.l.le popped bread into the toaster and remembered Ellen's visit. Ellen hated Carly, Damaris obviously wasn't a fan, but the staff loved her. So who was right?

"It won't kill you," Carly said, physically pushing Mich.e.l.le toward the open door, wishing she had the strength to cause actual movement.

"It might."

"You're such a baby. It's a meeting of the Blackberry Island Women of Business. You're a woman with a business."

"Who lives on Blackberry Island," Mich.e.l.le grumbled. "I get the connection. But I don't want to go."

"I'm not taking no for an answer."

"You're so bossy. It's not attractive. In case you wondered."

Carly sighed. "Gabby is more mature than you and she's nine."

"Almost ten. She's very excited about the lip gloss, by the way. She told me."

Carly stopped pushing and drew in a breath. "Did I thank you for helping her get over her fear of the cranes?"

Mich.e.l.le faced her. "It's no big deal."

"It is to her and to me."

Mich.e.l.le sighed. "Yeah, yeah, whatever."

"You still have trouble accepting a compliment, so don't blame this moment on the PTSD."

"What happened to respecting the condition?"

"I do. It's you I have trouble respecting."

Mich.e.l.le responded with a groan. "d.a.m.ned employment agreement. I should so fire your a.s.s."

"You'd be lost without me."

"Maybe." She turned toward the women gathered in the inn's conference room. "Tell me again why we're here."

Carly laughed, then shoved her inside.

Every month the Blackberry Island Women of Business got together to talk about everything from potential opportunities to grow to problems any of them were having. Carly had joined about five years ago and had found the group both helpful and supportive. She provided the meeting place each month, and Yvette, who owned the Seaswept Bakery, brought goodies.

"Hi, everyone," Carly said as she and Mich.e.l.le walked into the small conference room. "As you can see, our brave warrior has returned. You all know Mich.e.l.le Sanderson owns the inn."

Mich.e.l.le shot her a warning look that promised retribution for the "brave warrior" comment. Not the least bit worried, Carly gave a wink back.

"You remember Chelsea from high school. She owns Scoop and Stretch. It's the local Pilates and yoga studio. Yvette has the bakery. Ariel runs the Mansion on the Hill. Kim owns the flower shop there and Becky has Island Chic in town. Normally Boston Flemming, the textile artist, joins us, but she just had a baby."

Carly stayed close to Mich.e.l.le as she made introductions. For all her teasing, she was aware that her boss was still dealing with a lot of issues. Her hip was the least of it. Too many things sent her back into combat, including loud noises. Meeting several new people was stressful for anyone. For Mich.e.l.le, it seemed more difficult than ever.

So Carly stayed close. She handled the introductions, made the small talk and guided her friend to an empty chair before settling in the one next to it.

Yvette, their unofficial leader, started the meeting with a question about the summer tourism season.

"I'm ordering more inventory," Becky said. "Business is up."

She was a pretty redhead who dressed like a model in the pages of Vogue. Beside her Carly always felt a little frumpy and out of step. Becky could do more with a scarf than most women could with an entire wardrobe.

"There are more weddings planned on the island this summer," Kim announced. "There were twenty last summer and this summer there are thirty-six. I've hired two college students to help."

Conversation shifted to the new traffic signal by the bridge to the organic restaurant's fight with the zoning commission. They wanted the right to keep a pig to eat their consumable garbage.

Mich.e.l.le listened, sipped coffee and nibbled on one of the brownies Yvette had brought. After twenty minutes, she leaned toward Carly.

"Thanks," she murmured.

Carly wasn't sure if she was being thanked for bringing her or for sticking close, but it didn't matter. Either would do.

Twenty.

Mich.e.l.le parked in front of Jared's house and made her way to the back door. Her hip was feeling better. Less sore, less stiff. Her therapy sessions were starting to make a difference. If only there were the same kind of workout for her head. One where she could sweat her way out of nightmares and flashbacks. Lift weights and stop jumping at every loud noise. She wasn't a fan of pain but feeling emotionally on the edge was worse. Now that she didn't have the constant ache to distract her, she was more aware of her mental hiccups.

She went up the ramp to the door and let herself inside. Jared stood in the kitchen, filling a cooler with ice and beer.

She hadn't seen him since the night he'd come to her room to check on her. Typical guy, she thought, eyeing him. Get her all riled up and then disappear. Although technically she'd been the one avoiding him, but pa.s.sing on blame was easier than accepting it.

"Hey," he said, glancing at her. "You're walking better."

"Yeah. I'm healing."

He wore a faded T-shirt over worn jeans. The man needed to go shopping, she thought, even as she appreciated how the fabric of his shirt clung to his shoulders and chest. d.a.m.n, he looked good. All strong and capable. Even better, he wasn't much of a talker. In her mind, conversation was highly overrated.

She was aware of him, aware of what she'd been thinking just a few nights before. Too bad she couldn't simply walk over and kiss him. Well, she could, but she doubted she would get the response she wanted. He'd made it clear he was running some kind of halfway house and she was merely the most current resident. He wasn't looking to get laid. Talk about sad.

"I'm going out on my boat," he said. "It's calm and the sunset will be nice. Want to come?"

She looked out the window. The clouds had faded, leaving behind blue skies. This time of year the days were long. Even if Jared didn't want to have his way with her, he was still good company. Being with him was safe-she didn't have to think before she spoke. She wasn't sure why she felt that way-or maybe she was. The fact that she was nothing more than a mercy case meant she was free to be herself. An argument could be made for s.e.xual disinterest. She didn't have to like it, but she could take advantage of it.

"Sure," she said impulsively.

"I'm going to get some sandwiches for dinner. While I do that, you can change."

She glanced down at her black trousers and the knit shirt she'd pulled on that morning. Not exactly clothes for boating.

"I need ten minutes," she told him.

"Meet you back here."

She hurried to her bedroom. Most of her clothes and personal things were still in boxes in storage at the inn. She hadn't bothered to pull out much. She didn't have room for her books or pictures, and the clothes were at least a size too big.

She weighed about twenty pounds less than she had when she'd first left Blackberry Island. She'd lost about seven pounds during boot camp. A regular exercise program had a way of doing that to a girl. The next eight had come off after she'd been shot. Since coming home she would guess she'd taken off another five. Most of the time she simply wasn't that interested in food. She would rather drink than eat.

A problem she was going to have to deal with at some point, she told herself. Just not today.

She stripped off her work clothes and applied sunscreen to her pale skin, then pulled open drawers to figure out what to wear.

There weren't a lot of choices. She settled on a pair of jeans, athletic shoes and a tank top. On her way out the door, she grabbed a chambray shirt because it would be cooler on the water.

Jared was back and waiting for her in the kitchen.

"You eat a lot of sandwiches," she said, taking the bag as he picked up the cooler of beer.

"They're easy, and if I change my mind, they'll keep a couple of days."

"You need a wife."

"Had one."

"Okay, you need another one."

"Not likely."

She followed him out to his truck, then stared at the cab and wondered how she was going to get inside. Her truck was small and she could just slide right in. Jared's was higher, with a rear seat. She couldn't step up high enough, and if she used the running board, she would be angled wrong.

He walked around the pa.s.senger side and took the sandwiches from her. After tossing the bag into the back, he grabbed her around the waist, lifted her and set her down in the seat.

"All right?" he asked.

She nodded. No way was she going to admit that she was all tingly from where he'd touched her. Talk about having it bad. Apparently her hip wasn't the only thing that was healing. It was time to get a shower ma.s.sage installed and take care of business herself.

They drove to the Sunset Marina. She wasn't sure what to expect-if they would go out on one of his big charter boats. Instead, he led her to a thirty-foot cabin Bayliner. She groaned when she saw the name.

"Tell me you bought her used," she said.

"I did." He followed her gaze. "What?"

"Daisy? Your boat's name is Daisy? Let me guess. You believe it's bad luck to change a boat's name."

"No. I just haven't bothered. It's only a name."

"Daisy? I hate daisies."

"Who hates a flower?"

"Me."

"You don't complain like most women, but you're a whole lot more crabby."

"Part of my charm," she told him.

"Keep telling yourself that."

He took the sandwich bag from her and set it on top of the cooler, then reached for her hand.

She braced herself for the impact of warm fingers on hers, then told herself to snap out of it. She wasn't some prep.u.b.escent girl on a first date. She was a mature woman. So what if Jared turned her on? She could handle it.

What she couldn't handle was the dock.

The wooden structure moved with the lapping of the water, as did the boat. There were two steps up from the dock, then she had to swing her leg over and step down at the same time. She eyed the unexpected obstacle course and shook her head.

"I don't think I can do that."

Jared followed her gaze. "I don't think you can, either. Hang on, kid."

He reached for her. One second she was standing, feeling the pull in her hip as she braced herself against the motion. The next he'd swept her up in his arms.

He released her gently, letting her slide to her feet. When she was standing, she reached out an arm to punch him in the stomach. Hard. Only he grabbed her fist before she could make contact.

Humor brightened his eyes. "You're welcome."