Summer Reads Box Set: Volume 1 Page 3

  Kate McKenna hadn't wanted to talk to him. As she said, it was an old story, so why the resistance? She was hiding something. A drunken father—not the biggest secret in the world. There had to be something more. Tyler had a hunch he knew what that something was.

  He folded the magazine cover, slipped it into his pocket and took out his cell phone. He punched in a familiar number, then waited.

  "Jamison residence." Shelly Thompson, Mark's private nurse, answered the phone in her no-nonsense voice.

  "Shelly. It's Tyler. How's Mark doing today?"

  "Not good. He tried to stand, but his legs couldn't support his weight. He's very depressed."

  Tyler let out a sigh filled with frustration, helplessness and anger, emotions that swamped him every time he thought about his younger brother who had once been such an accomplished athlete. "Can I talk to him?"

  "He's asleep. Do you want me to wake him?"

  "No. But when he gets up, tell him I found the McKenna sisters." Tyler ended the call, slipping the phone back into his pocket. The McKenna sisters might be good at keeping secrets, but he was even better at uncovering them.

  Chapter Two

  Ashley McKenna tapped her foot nervously on the dock that bobbed beneath her feet. The swells grew larger with each passing minute as storm clouds came in from the west. "We need to do this soon," she told the man on the deck of the boat she was about to photograph. "We're losing the light."

  "We've got one more guy to get in the picture. He should be here any second. Hang on."

  Hang on. Sure she could do that. As a photographer, she was used to waiting patiently for the right shot. But not when she was standing so close to the water, not when she could see the waves beginning to churn. She sent a longing look behind her. She'd much rather be on solid ground than standing out here in her impractical high heels with her skirt blowing up around her legs like a Marilyn Monroe photo. For the hundredth time she wished she'd had time to change, but she'd rushed from shooting the ribbon cutting of the new maritime museum to this assignment, photographing the crews and boats entered in the Castleton Invitational.

  Water splashed over the side of the dock, and she took a hasty step backward. She felt small and vulnerable on this bobbing piece of wood with a storm blowing in. The sea had often made her feel that way. Her father had always told her to look the ocean right in the eye, never back down, never give up, never give in. There was a time when those brave, fighting words had given her courage. Then she'd learned through hard experience that the ocean didn't back down or give in, either. That if it was man or woman against nature, nature would win.

  Ashley shivered as she glanced at the boat, watching the men scurry back and forth, checking the sails and completing the chores necessary to settle in for the night. A strong gust of wind blew strands of her long blond hair across her face. Setting her camera bag on the dock, she knelt down and dug into her purse for an elastic band.

  She should have cut her hair years ago. In fact, she considered chopping it off every six weeks, but she never quite got up the nerve. As a result, her hair dipped down to her waist. It made her look too young, and it was often tangled, but in a small way it made her feel closer to her mother. Ashley had inherited her mother's red streaks, making her more of a strawberry blonde than her sisters. But it wasn't just the color that reminded her of Nora McKenna, it was the memories of her mother brushing her hair every night, one hundred strokes exactly. Those nights had been a long time ago, but she still missed them. Sentimental tears blurred her vision.

  She told herself to stop being so emotional. She was an adult now, twenty-six years old, an independent woman with a career. It was time to grow up, to stop being sensitive. Her sisters certainly didn't cry at every Hallmark commercial. They didn't wax sentimental about family moments from a lifetime ago. And she shouldn't, either.

  As Ashley pulled the elastic band out of her purse, the dock rolled, and she had to put one hand down on the wood to steady herself. She made the mistake of looking at the gap between the dock and the boat, at the greenish-blue water rising up and down, up and down. The sight was mesmerizing. She wanted to look away, but she couldn't.

  How many times had she stared at the water? How many times had it been her friend as she played with the dolphins and swam in the waves? Those were the times to remember, she told herself desperately. Not the other times, when the waves grew as high as skyscrapers, when the water threatened to swallow everything within its reach. Her body began to sway. She was afraid to move, afraid to get sucked into that terrible vortex where nothing ever came back.

  "Ashley? Ashley? Is that you?"

  She heard her name called from a great distance, but when she looked up she found a man standing right next to her. Faded blue jeans covered a pair of long, lean legs and a navy muscle T-shirt hung loosely around his waist. As her gaze traveled up his body, she told herself to look away before she got to the dimple in the chin, the slightly crooked nose broken by a football when he was twelve years old, and the sandy-colored hair streaked with blond highlights that he'd never had to pay a dime for. Unfortunately, she couldn't stop herself from meeting his gold-flecked brown eyes.

  "Sean," she murmured.

  "Ashley," he said, watching as she slowly got to her feet.

  Even in her heels, Sean Amberson towered over her, six foot four inches of solid male. He was broader across the chest now, and his upper arms rippled with muscles honed by years of building and sailing boats. She cleared her throat, trying to calm the sudden racing of her pulse. It was bad enough the wind was blowing; now she had Sean to deal with as well. She'd known he'd come back again. His parents still lived on the island, still ran the boat-building business that would one day go to Sean. But knowing he would come home and seeing him in the flesh were two very different things.

  "When did you get back?" she forced herself to ask.

  "Yesterday. Did you miss me?"

  "I—" Ashley shrugged helplessly. "It's been a long time."

  "Almost two years since my last visit, and I think you managed to dodge me the entire week I was here."

  "I don't remember."

  "Sure you do. You developed a sudden and very contagious case of the flu, as I recall. Wouldn't even open your door. I had to yell at you from the hallway of your apartment building. The time before that, you claimed you had poison ivy, and the time before that—"

  "Stop it. I can't help it if I'm sick when you happen to come to town." She refused to admit she'd been hiding out in her apartment on any of those occasions. The wind blew her hair in front of her face, and she remembered the elastic band in her hand. She quickly pulled her hair into a ponytail, acutely aware of his very long and intent stare.

  "I'm glad you didn't cut your hair," he said. "It's still... incredible."

  Ashley swallowed hard, the husky note in his voice stirring up unwanted emotions. She'd loved this man once, loved him more than anyone or anything. But it was over. It had been over for more years than he'd been gone. She just wished he'd go away again, because it was easier when he wasn't around. She could almost forget. She could almost move on.

  "So is this just a family weekend visit?" she asked, hoping it wouldn't be longer than that.

  "Not exactly. I'm racing in the Castleton."

  "You can't be serious. You said you'd never race.”

  "Never is a long time. I just finished refurbishing Stan Baker's boat, the Freedom Rider. He asked me to race it with him in the Castleton and on to Hawaii. I thought it was about time I raced in one of the boats I helped build."

  She was more than a little surprised. "You're not a racer."

  "Who says I can't be?" he challenged.

  "You can't race, Sean. Your parents would die."

  "My parents won't die, but I suppose it's possible I might." His gaze bored into hers, searching for an answer she couldn't give him.

  "Why risk it?" she asked instead.

  "Because I'm..." He shook his head. "I'm re
stless. I can't settle in anywhere. College didn't work out. The jobs I've had never seem to last."

  "You always have your family business. I've heard your father say he wants you to come home and run the business." Not that she wanted that to happen. If Sean ever came home for good, she'd have to leave. This island wasn't big enough for the both of them. Sean took up too much space. He'd always made her feel small—it wasn't just his height but his personality. He was a man in constant motion, impatient, energized, restless. He made her tense; he made her a little bit crazy. Make that a lot crazy.

  "I'm sure you'd prefer that I stay far away," he said.

  "I don't care what you do."

  "Dammit, Ashley." He slapped his hand against his jeans in a gesture of frustration. "Don't say that. Don't pretend. Don't act like we never meant anything to each other."

  "What we had was over a long time ago.”

  "Yeah, so you said."

  "You can't possibly still care," she murmured.

  He stared at her for a long minute, then shook his head. "Of course I don't still care."

  It was the answer she wanted, but it still hurt. Not that she'd let him see that. "I didn't think so," she said. "You probably have a girlfriend, don't you?"

  "More than one. What about you? Dating anyone these days?"

  "Sure," she lied, knowing that the last date she'd gone on had been at least six months ago.

  "You'll have to introduce us. Is he a local guy?"

  "Uh." She shifted her camera bag on her shoulder, relieved when a man ran by her and jumped onto the boat she was supposed to photograph, and she didn't have to answer. "Are you the last one?" she called to the man.

  "Yes. We just need one minute," he replied.

  "You're photographing the crews for the Castleton?" Sean asked.

  She nodded. "I wish they'd hurry up."

  "My mom said a bunch of your photographs are displayed in the Main Street Gallery."

  "Janine is a friend. They're not that good."

  "I bet they are. I remember when your mom gave you your first camera. You were hooked. You wouldn't go anywhere without that thing, and you were always snapping shots of me doing something stupid."

  "Which was fairly often," she said, thinking back to those carefree days before everything had gotten so complicated. "But you rarely stood still long enough for me to get a good picture.”

  He grinned, and for a brief moment he was her best friend in the world again, the boy who'd started kindergarten with her, who'd joined her in food fights, backyard picnics, and neighborhood ball games. He'd been her first dance, her first kiss, her first promise of love. And now—now he was nothing. They couldn't be together, and she couldn't tell him why.

  His grin faded, and their eyes met in a long, poignant moment of desire and regret.

  "God, Ash," he murmured. "I told myself I wouldn't do this, wouldn't try to talk to you about what happened. I told myself I was only beating a dead horse. But, dammit, it's still here, whatever this thing is between us. I can feel it right now."

  "It's just the—the wind," she said desperately. "It makes me edgy."

  As she finished speaking, the dock took a big roll, sending her stumbling. She grabbed Sean's arm like a lifeline, terrified of ending up in the water.

  "Easy," he said.

  "I have to get out of here." But she couldn't let go of Sean's arm. What if she fell? The water would be cold. It would make her heart stop. It would rush over her head. She'd have to fight to get back to the surface. Her clothes would drag her down.

  "Ashley," Sean said sharply. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

  She sent him a blank look. "What?"

  "You're white as a sheet."

  His words slowly sank in. She realized she was letting him see a side of herself she didn't want anyone to see. "I'm okay." She took a deep breath and forced herself to let go of his arm. "I just felt dizzy for a minute. I guess I didn't eat enough today."

  "You don't look like you eat much any day. You're thin as a rail."

  Ashley didn't comment, her attention drawn to the crew member on the boat waving her over. "Are you ready?" she asked.

  "Yes, but we've changed our minds on the angle. We'd like to have you shoot from onboard, not from the dock. Get the pier in the background and the banner for the race."

  Ashley stiffened. She had already shot three boats and their crews from the safety of the docks. It was a good shot. She didn't need to get on the boat. "I think it's better from here."

  "No, we want you onboard. Come on." He extended his hand.

  Ashley looked from his hand to the water that separated the boat from the dock. It was only a foot or two, barely anything. She wouldn't slip or fall. She couldn't. It was perfectly safe. But the swells were lifting the boat and pushing it farther away. What if the line got loose? What if she couldn't get back?

  Feelings of panic swamped her. Her breath came faster. Her hands tingled. But she couldn't let on. No one could know. No one could ever know.

  "It's getting dark. The clouds are rolling in," Sean said as he watched her measure the distance between the boat and the dock. "Maybe you should wait until tomorrow."

  "It's too dark," she told the man on the boat. "We'll have to reschedule. I'm sorry, but I know you wouldn't be happy with the photos in this kind of light. I'll come by tomorrow. We'll do it then."

  "Hey, wait a second," the man called after her, but Ashley had already begun walking down the dock, and she didn't stop until she reached solid ground.

  She didn't realize Sean had followed her until she stopped abruptly and he barreled into the back of her.

  "Sorry," he said.

  "It's fine. I'm fine."

  "No, you're not. It's still with you, isn't it?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about." She looked away from his probing gaze.

  "I'm talking about the fear on your face when you considered getting on that boat. I saw it before, when you first got back from the race. I wish you'd tell me what happened to make you so afraid."

  "Nothing happened. I just got tired of living on a boat. So tired I can't stand the thought of getting on another one."

  "Even after all this time?" he asked, a skeptical note in his voice. "It's been eight years."

  "I know how long it's been," she snapped as she looked back at him. "I have to go. I have to talk to Caroline. I'm worried about her."

  "What's going on with your baby sister?”

  Ashley hesitated, not one to share family business, but talking about Caroline was preferable to talking about herself or her irrational fears. "It seems that Caroline is dating Mike Stanaway."

  Sean raised an eyebrow. "He's at least ten years older than her. Maybe fifteen. Not to mention... Well, let's just say he has some problems."

  "That's why I need to talk to her. Not that she'll listen, but I have to try."

  "I could go with you," Sean offered.

  "No," she said abruptly. "You know how defensive Caroline can be when she feels she's being ambushed. I'll see you around."

  Ashley walked away, wondering if he'd call her back, but he didn't. As she headed toward Caroline's salon, her thoughts weren't on her sister but on the man she'd left behind. She wondered why it never got any easier to walk away from him. Lord knew she'd had enough practice. For a brief second, she was tempted to look back, to see if he was still standing there, still watching her, still wanting her—the way she still wanted him.

  * * *

  "Phone for you, Caroline," the receptionist at Noel's Hair Salon said. "Line one."

  "Just a second." Caroline squeezed the last bit of color out of the plastic bottle and looked at her client in the mirror. "We'll let this sit for a while. Can I get you a magazine?"

  "I brought a book," Peggy Marsh replied. "And take your time. This is the first bit of peace and quiet I've had all week. The kids have been driving me crazy. Take my advice, Caroline; do not rush into the marriage and children thing. Enjoy this time
of your life."

  "I'll keep that in mind." Caroline certainly wasn't pushing for marriage or kids. She was twenty-four years old and had plenty of time to do both. Someday when she was ready. Right now she had her job as stylist at Noel's Salon and a small apartment in a building just a few blocks away. She was happy. Most of the time. Sort of.

  It was probably the wind that was making her restless. She was like her father in that regard. A good stiff breeze always got her itchy to go somewhere. But she couldn't go anywhere. She had another haircut in ten minutes.

  She walked over to the reception desk and picked up the phone. "Hello."

  "It's me, Kate."

  "What's up?" Caroline couldn't help tensing at the sound of her older sister's voice. She had things she needed to talk to Kate about, but now wasn't the time or the place. Not that she knew when that time or place would be.

  "It's Dad," Kate said with a weary note in her voice.

  "Where is he?"

  "Sleeping on my couch. I was lucky to get him this far. He really tied one on today. Will called me to come and pick him up."

  "It's hard for him with all the boats coming to town. It makes him want to be out there with the other racers. He misses the life he used to have."

  "And that's an excuse for drinking himself into oblivion? How can you defend him?"

  "Someone has to," Caroline snapped. Kate had always been hard on their father. She didn't understand him. She never had.

  There was a pause on the other end of the phone.

  "Look, Caroline, that's not really why I'm calling. Although it's a lot easier to defend Dad when you aren't the one constantly called to come and pick him up from some bar. I'm sorry if I'm a little out of patience, but I'm just sick of it."

  "Hey, they can call me anytime. But everyone knows you're in charge."

  "I never said that."

  "Oh, please, Kate. You've always been in charge.”

  "Fine. Whatever. We have another problem.”

  "What? I have a haircut to do." Caroline looked up as the front door to the salon opened and a man walked in. He must be her seven o'clock appointment.