Island Haven Read online

  “Maybe.” Gemma got quiet again. Thoughtful. “If you want to avoid him now and don’t want to hang out with me as much, I get it.”

  “Ha. Don’t think you’ll get rid of me that easily. If he tries to kiss me again—not that I think he will—but if he does, I’m prepared. I can resist him. He just took me by surprise today.”

  Gemma raised a brow as if she wasn’t convinced, but Mercedes believed what she was saying. One kiss really meant nothing.

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHARLIE WAS TAKING the sisterly-bonding thing to new heights.

  After dinner, one of Gram’s favorite caretakers, Yoli, had shown up at the door. Way after hours. Charlie had secretly arranged for Yoli to come back after her shift ended to stay with their grandma so she and Mercedes could go out together.

  Mercedes wasn’t totally sold on the idea. In fact, it made her downright uneasy for several reasons, but Charlie had blown off her worries and ushered her out the door.

  “I had no idea this place would be so busy on a Tuesday night,” Charlie said once she and Mercedes were perched on stools at the beachside, thatched-roof Shell Shack. “I love it.”

  “Two-dollar Sandblasters? Are you kidding? Good thing we walked.”

  Charlie held up her drink expectantly. “Cheers.”

  Mercedes tapped their cups together, trying to show even half as much enthusiasm as her sister.

  “How much did you have to pay Yoli to stay with Gram tonight?”

  Charlie laughed and took a healthy swallow. “For sitting around playing Scrabble and watching prime-time TV, she’s got quite the racket going on.”

  “You make it sound easy, but anything could come up. Even a bathroom break is an ordeal for anyone who isn’t used to Gram.”

  “Yoli is used to Gram. You know that. She loves her almost as much as we do.”

  It was true, but Mercedes still felt guilty for ditching her grandma for no good reason.

  “Relax, Sadie. It’s a beautiful night.”

  “You’re right.”

  It was a typical summer night on San Amaro Island. Hot and humid, with just enough breeze coming off the water to make it comfortable now that the sun had dropped low in the sky. The din of the thirsty crowd drowned out the sound of the waves, but Mercedes had a perfect view of them as they rolled onto shore.

  She took a drink and glanced around. She spotted Macey, a firefighter’s wife and co-owner of the Shell Shack, behind the bar. A couple of other firefighters’ wives and girlfriends sat at the bar, as well.

  The inside of the shack, if it could be called that since it was open-air, was packed. The patio looked just as crowded. She wondered if Faith or Nadia were here somewhere. They managed to go out more often than she did. Charlie had rushed her out so quickly she hadn’t had time to call them. Besides, it was supposed to be quality sister drinking time, anyway.

  “I don’t know how you do it,” Charlie said, playing with the saltshaker.

  “Do what?”

  “Take care of Gram. It’s one thing for Yoli to come in for a few hours one night, but you’re there all the time. I didn’t realize how much work she is for you.”

  Mercedes shrugged. “I don’t think of taking care of her as work.”

  “You’ve got your own job and your own life plus Gram. How do you do it all yourself?”

  “I don’t. We still have caretakers come in every day. Twice on weekdays, once a day on weekends. I plan all my outings for when I know they’ll be there. And I can get away for short errands in between when I absolutely have to. Gram has a phone by her bed and she knows she can call me whenever she needs me.”

  Charlie stared at her for some time, and it made Mercedes fidget.

  “It works for us,” Mercedes said. “We have our system.”

  “I want to help while I’m staying there. More than fetching her a glass of water. Will you let me do that?”

  Mercedes studied her for a sign of insincerity but found none. She nodded. “We have our routines that I can show you.”

  “I’d like that. Thanks.”

  Mercedes took another drink and Charlie seemed to be satisfied with her agreement. At least for now.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Charlie said, scooting her stool closer so they could talk more easily. “The idea of a gallery to show my work in really appeals.”

  “What kind of work? Jewelry?”

  “I haven’t touched anything that could be even remotely construed as an accessory since I’ve been here and it’s been fantastic. I’ve mostly been drawing and painting.”

  “I wondered where you’ve been disappearing to.”

  “The beach. The bay. This place has inspiration everywhere you look. I haven’t been this productive for ages.”

  “There’s another artist who lives on the island. I can’t remember her name, but maybe I can find out and you two can get together.”

  “Does she have a gallery?”

  “Last I knew, she had a baby. She’s married to a firefighter. I’ll ask Faith her name the next time I see her.”

  “Thanks, Sadie. I’d love to meet her. I need some cocktail shrimp. Want anything?”

  “I’ve got plenty here,” Mercedes said, lifting her half-empty drink.

  Charlie took a long swig of her own beverage and stood, smoothing down the front of her casual, drapey sundress, a style of clothing Mercedes would never be able to carry off. The least her sister could do, if they were going to be friends, was wear clothes that Mercedes could borrow. She smiled to herself, the drink starting to relax her, and acknowledged that she and Charlie would never agree on the same styles anyway. How one set of parents could produce two people who were so completely different was a mystery to her.

  The breeze blew her hair slightly as she watched her sister navigate the crowd for a few seconds, then she turned back around. As she looked out toward the gulf, she noticed a man standing in the shadows on the sand. He was about twenty feet from the seawall, and his body language was what caught her eye—his shoulders sagged and his gaze was glued to the ground instead of the scenery in front of him. He seemed to not even realize he was on a beautiful beach. The guy looked upset. Lonely, maybe.

  She looked away from him. Skimmed the crowd for familiar faces again. Checked on her sister’s progress and saw her speaking to Macey at the bar. But she was drawn back to the beach, to the lone figure there.

  He’d moved. Was heading toward the stairs just to Mercedes’s right. When he walked into the light from the bar, she inhaled quickly in recognition, then hunkered down so he couldn’t see her over the wall of the stairs.

  Though she attempted to play it cool and focus on the water again, she was fully aware the exact second Scott reached the top of the stairs and entered her peripheral vision. She fought the need to look at him—for all of three seconds. At the moment she turned her head toward him, he looked her way and their eyes met.

  He raised his brows in acknowledgment of her as he came closer. For an excruciating second, she thought he was going to walk on by. Instead, he stopped next to her, seeming almost relieved.

  “Hey, Mercedes.”

  “Scott.” Her heart started up and she stumbled over what else to say to him. Her traitorous eyes automatically went to his lips, and she remembered exactly how they felt on hers.

  “I thought that had to be your hair,” he said, leaning close so she could hear him over the crowd.

  Hear him and smell him. She found herself breathing in deeply to get more of his faintly spicy scent. Catching herself, she straightened, increasing the distance between them.

  “I’m not sure how to take that,” she said, pushing her hair back self-consciously.

  He met her gaze and she got caught up in the cornflower shade of his eyes. “It’s a compliment. Your hair is…eye-catching. Unique.”

  “Then…thank you. I think.” Her hair wasn’t her favorite feature, by far. “What are you doing here?”

  It didn’t seem like his type o
f hangout, for one, and two, she’d never seen him here before. Not that she had much of a social life, but when she went out with Faith and Nadia, they usually hit the Shell Shack.

  “They’re breaking in my replacement at work,” he said, indicating a loud group out on the patio close to the shack. Mercedes spotted a few familiar faces and several she didn’t know. “They seem to consider it my duty to make sure he’s hurting in the morning.”

  She nodded, and then without realizing it, she checked out the cup he was holding.

  “Sprite,” he said. “Want to taste it to verify?”

  “It’s none of my business what you drink. Especially if you’re not throwing up at my feet.”

  Scott grimaced. “Ouch.”

  She instantly regretted saying it. “Sorry. That wasn’t nice of me.”

  “Nothing I don’t deserve,” he said, swishing his drink around. “I, uh, gave up drinking. After that night.”

  She studied him at close range for several seconds, gauging his intent. Was he telling her what he thought she wanted to hear? Trying to impress her?

  No. The only things she read in his face were a touch of embarrassment and a heavy dose of determination.

  Mercedes nodded slowly. “Good for you, Scott. Is it…hard to be here?”

  He swallowed as he glanced around the bar. “You could say that. I’m hoping to duck out as soon as everyone’s too lit to notice.”

  He took a swig as Charlie returned and set a serving of shrimp at her own place. She slid a second conspicuous Sandblaster next to Mercedes’s first one, the potent-smelling alcohol sloshing over the side.

  “Looks like we’ve traded roles,” Scott said with a hint of a grin, giving her a glimpse of those dimples. He crowded closer to Mercedes so that Charlie could get to her stool. She felt his arm graze her shoulders and shivered. Half a second later, she closed her eyes and silently scolded herself.

  “Are you going to introduce me?” Charlie asked.

  “This is my sister, Charlie. She just moved here from New York. This is Scott Pataki.”

  “Charlie?” Scott leaned toward her and offered his hand.

  Mercedes spoke directly into his ear. “Short for Charlotte, but don’t let her know I told you.”

  “I heard that,” Charlie said over the crowd noise. “Very nice to meet you, Scott.” She inspected him in detail, the way a mother would check out her daughter’s proposed mate.

  Mercedes caught her eye and shot her a warning look.

  “Scott’s a paramedic. He works with my friend Faith.” Saying he was a friend’s coworker seemed simpler and more businesslike than saying he was Gemma’s half brother, or even worse, the guy she’d been up against the barn wall with. The distinction seemed important at the moment.

  “Mercedes and I go way back,” he said dryly, surprising her that he’d said anything at all.

  “Way back,” she said, aware that her sister had missed his sarcasm. “What is it, two weeks?”

  “You guys have been dating for two weeks and you haven’t mentioned it?” Charlie asked, sounding scandalized.

  “We’re not dating.” Her sister was being dense on purpose. “Hey, isn’t there a wife of a firefighter who’s an artist?” she asked Scott, eager to change the subject.

  Scott thought for a moment and then nodded. “Evan Drake’s wife. She painted the mural outside the station.”

  “Selena.” Mercedes remembered now. Her grandma had pointed out an article in the local weekly newspaper when the mural had been unveiled. “There you go. Selena Drake.” She nodded to her sister and thanked Scott.

  “I better get back. Duty awaits. Nice to meet you, Charlotte.” The gleam in his eye as he looked at her one more time told Mercedes the mistake was intentional.

  “He did not just call me that,” Charlie said as he walked away.

  “Scott’s…trouble.” She kept her tone light, as if it was all a joke, but that was truer than her sister knew.

  “He’s nice-looking trouble.”

  “Good thing you don’t do trouble.” Mercedes took a healthy swallow of her Sandblaster. “It’ll probably be a while before you’re ready to date, anyway.”

  Charlie dipped a shrimp into her cocktail sauce. “You never know. But I’m more interested in talking about him.” She nodded in the direction Scott had gone. “What’s going on between you two?”

  “There’s nothing going on.” Mercedes hardened her jaw stubbornly and turned away—in the opposite direction from Scott—to signal the conversation was over. As she glanced around the bar, she sipped her drink through her straw. Charlie said something else to her, and maybe it was immature, but Mercedes pretended not to hear.

  When she noticed the women at the main bar again, something clicked in her mind. “I think that’s Selena Drake over there at the bar. Long dark hair, perfect profile. I’ll introduce you before we go.”

  “If I had any doubt before, your extreme avoidance tactics have convinced me. If there’s not something between you and troublemaker Scott, you wish there was.”

  Instead of denying it again, Mercedes simply frowned at Charlie and turned away as if she’d prefer different company. Which she might. Charlie moved closer once more. “Sadie, come on.” Her amusement was evident, and that just annoyed Mercedes more. “What’s the big deal?”

  Mercedes checked her watch. Gram should be getting ready for bed now, pajamas, pills. She wondered if Yoli was handling the nighttime routine okay.

  “You wonder why we’re not close, Mercedes?” Charlie said, her amusement gone. “Because you shut down anyone who wants to get to know you. Really know you, beyond the face you show the world. You do it to me, always have, and I’d bet a hundred bucks you’re doing the same to Scott. Because I suspect he does want to know you.”

  This wasn’t fun anymore, if it ever had been. “It’s getting late,” Mercedes said with a stiff jaw, even though it wasn’t quite ten o’clock. “I have to work tomorrow. I’m going home.” She finished off the last of her first drink. “You coming?”

  Charlie stared at her for several seconds and Mercedes saw disappointment in her eyes. For a moment, she felt guilty. Until she reminded herself that she hadn’t been the one to move three thousand miles away in the first place thereby removing any chance of being close. Some things you couldn’t force.

  “I’m not ready to leave yet. If you’ll point me toward Selena Drake, I’ll introduce myself to her,” Charlie said more calmly. Sadly. And that had more of an effect on Mercedes than the anger and accusations, by far.

  But instead of staying and trying harder to get along with her sister, she again pointed out the slender woman with the glossy dark hair at the bar, said good-night and walked home alone. Because if the sister rules included confiding the nonplatonic thoughts in her head regarding Scott, then she was out. As long as she didn’t give a voice to anything, she could still control any attraction to him. That was the only way to fight the temptation he offered and avoid letting her grandmother down.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  FOR THE FIRST time in ages, Scott climbed out of bed before noon on one of his days off. Pretty damn amazing the difference going to bed sober could make.

  His body’s sleep cycles were beyond screwed up from working twenty-fours every third day, but today he didn’t use that excuse.

  After showering, he ambled out to the kitchen for some breakfast. Gemma sat at the counter with a glass of water and a magazine opened in front of her. Though his head was clear for once, that didn’t mean he did friendliness first thing in the morning. Hell, he wasn’t known for friendliness at any hour. He went for his usual vegetable juice and cracked open the can, his back to her.

  “Morning,” she said.

  He managed to grunt a reply as he rustled through the freezer in search of a package of breakfast sausage links he’d spotted the other day. The best part of this whole arrangement was the grocery deal they’d struck: he supplied the cash and Gemma did the shopping. He hadn�
��t had so much food in his kitchen since he’d left home at eighteen.

  “I didn’t expect you to be up for another couple of hours.”

  “I’m just full of surprises,” he said. “Don’t want to get too predictable.”

  She went back to reading her celebrity-gossip magazine as if he wasn’t there, which was what he preferred.

  He located the sausages and took the egg carton and grated cheese out of the refrigerator, as well. As he cracked the eggs into a bowl at the counter, just a few feet away from Gemma and her magazine, he noticed she rubbed the fingers and thumb of her left hand together repeatedly, as if nervous.

  Once he’d poured the eggs into a skillet and stuck the sausages in the microwave, he leaned against the counter and idly crossed his arms, waiting for the pan to heat. Gemma checked her watch, then went back to the finger-rubbing habit.

  “You’re fidgeting.” He nodded toward her hand where it rested on the counter. It was still now, but tightly clenched. She followed his gesture with her eyes and stretched out her fingers.

  “I have a doctor’s appointment in a while,” she said.

  “Tell me it’s not your first prenatal visit.”

  “It’s not my first prenatal visit. I went regularly back in Fort Worth. That’s how my mom figured out I was pregnant. She finally paid attention to the insurance statement.”

  “What doctor are you seeing?”

  “I’m going to the county health clinic. I don’t know if I’m still on my mom’s insurance. Going for the budget option.”

  “Won’t she find out where you’re living if you are?” The eggs started to sizzle, so he tended to them with his spatula.

  Gemma shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. She won’t come after me.”

  She returned to her magazine and her nervous finger rubbing. It occurred to Scott that Gemma had to be one of the least talkative females he’d met. Normally he’d consider that a virtue. Something was obviously eating away at her, though, and he wanted to know what.