It's a Wonderful Wife (18 page)

“And the offer's still open. You can stay here and continue keeping yourself safe just like you've been doing for the last two weeks. I only ask that you let me stay here with you.”

“Don't you have a job to go to?”

Jesse rubbed a hand along her arm when he felt her take another shuddering breath, and softly chuckled. “You honestly expect me to get any work done knowing you're back here sleeping in a tent? Hell, I'd probably create more messes than I would clean up.” He stopped rubbing and gave her a gentle squeeze. “Will you agree to stay, Cadi?”

She sat up and looked at him. “Will you agree to stay away from the southern half of the island and let me come and go as I please?”

Damn. “I can respect your privacy, but I've got a problem with the coming and going part.” He fought a grin when those big baby blues went from
troubled
to
he was in trouble
, and Jesse held up his hand to stop her from responding. “It's not that I mind you going to the mainland alone; it's what you're going
in
that bothers me.”

She lost the scowl, looking sincerely baffled. “I really don't understand what the big deal is. I know my skiff might be a bit past its prime, but it hasn't failed me yet. And I always check the weather before I leave, and if ten-knot winds are forecast, I stay put. And after the first couple of trips, I figured out that instead of constantly fighting the tide, I could actually use it to my advantage. I come to the island only during a rising tide and go to the mainland when the tide is falling.”

Jesse grinned. “So I saw earlier. You timed it perfectly and rode that incoming wave far enough up onto the beach that all you had to do was step out and tie the skiff to a tree. It's not your skill as a seaman I'm questioning, Cadi, it's that boat.”

She turned back to stare out at the ocean, and he heard her sigh. “I underestimated how much it costs to live day-to-day without being able to use my checkbook or credit cards.” She gave him a quick glance—Jesse assumed to see if he knew about the accounts she'd been opening in his name—then sighed again. “That old skiff was all I could afford, and then I paid twice what I should have for it.”

More like ten times, Jesse figured. “My offer to keep you safe—to
help
keep you safe—encompasses more than just stopping Stapleton from finding you.” Okay, time for an argument she couldn't counter. “After watching you cross the reach this afternoon, and hearing Oren Hatch's reaction to seeing you coming and going these last two weeks, I believe I've come up with a solution we can both live with.”

He grinned again when her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “The locals might understand you not being comfortable driving my cruiser, but have you considered,” he asked, shaking his head, “what they'll be thinking, especially now that I'm here, every time they see my wife chugging out of the harbor in that skiff when I can obviously afford to buy her something safer?”

Jesse almost laughed out loud when Cadi suddenly scowled—not at him, but at herself—even as she started shaking her own head. “I can't let you buy me a boat. That's taking your wanting to help me too far. And besides, I only expect to be here another week.”

He gestured at her phone. “That was your timeline
before
today. What if a week ends up being a month?” he asked quietly.

“A boat's too much,” she repeated, shaking her head again.

Jesse leaned back against the boulder and folded his arms over his chest. Oh yeah, he was definitely winning this one. “It's been my intention to buy a sporty little runabout anyway, so I won't have to bother taking my cruiser off the mooring just to zip over to town. I plan to build a deep-water dock, but I'm also going to have a set of floating docks anchored directly off the beach in order to have quick access to a smaller boat. So I'd really be purchasing the runabout for myself, but it'll be yours to use for as long as you're here.”

She went back to scowling as she dropped her gaze to her lap and slowly rolled her cell phone in her hands. And when she finally looked up again, Jesse had all he could do not to high-five himself when he saw the sparkle in her eyes—even though she tried to appear nonchalant by shrugging. “Works for me.” She suddenly stood up, then looked down at him with a lopsided grin. “You might have a bit of explaining to do, though, when someone in town tells your future wife that she's coming and going in a hand-me-down boat.”

Jesse stood up with a chuckle. “Unless I save myself the trouble and go ahead and marry you for real. Do you want me to walk you back to your campsite?”

“Thank you, but no,” she said, either not hearing what he'd said or pretending not to. She shoved her phone in her jacket pocket and pulled out a small headlamp, which she held up for him to see, a bit more sparkle escaping. “I came prepared. And I won't be alone, anyway.”

Seeing hints of the Miss Glace he'd gallantly rescued from her burning crappy car, Jesse merely arched a brow as he bent at the waist as if trying to look in her pocket. “You got another slow-witted bear hidden in there I don't know about?”

That got him the laugh he was looking for, the disillusioned, frightened woman from a moment ago almost completely gone. She gestured toward the bottom of the ledge. “Wiggles followed me here.”

Jesse scanned the perimeter of the trees fifty yards below. “Where is she?” He looked at Cadi and arched a brow again. “I've heard an awful lot about this cat, but I've yet to see her.”

“And you probably never will. She doesn't like strangers. She was sprawled on the boulder behind my head earlier but suddenly took off. I thought she'd spotted something interesting, but now realize she must have heard you coming.”

“I assume Wiggles was a good part of your reason for choosing to find an isolated place to roost instead of staying in public campgrounds,” Jesse said. “So that she wouldn't have to spend most of her time in a crate. But if the cat doesn't like strangers, how is she going to like traveling all over America, even in a motorhome?”

“I'm hoping traveling will help Wigs break out of her safe little world, too,” Cadi said as she shoved the headlamp back in her pocket. She started down the ledge, but hadn't taken two steps before she stopped and turned, the impish smile she shot him hitting Jesse square in his chest—making him fold his arms again. “Speaking of which,” she added, “since I don't know if you've been back to your office and saw the card I sent you, I'll just thank you in person.” That smile widened, lighting up her entire face. “Thank you for the lovely bouquet of flowers. And for the good advice, which you'll be happy to know I took. Well, the part about buying an SUV instead of a sporty coupe. The one thing I didn't say in the card, though, was thank you for kicking me off my comfortable couch.”

“Excuse me?”

She nodded, even as she scrunched up her nose. “I'm not sure I can explain it properly, but when I left you that morning in Castle Cove, I could barely wait to get home and give my entire life a makeover. For three days I went through every inch of my house and donated half of everything I owned to the Salvation Army. And if Stanley hadn't come to me saying I had to disappear, I was going out the next day to find a motorhome and head off across America the moment I got it packed.” The sparkle in her eyes intensified, even as she shrugged. “I'd really planned to thank you by inviting you to the wedding. And your wife, of course.”

What in hell was she talking about? “Forgive me if I appear confused; whose wedding are you inviting me—and my wife—to?”

“Mine.”

“Sorry,” Jesse said with a slight shake of his head. “Still confused here. Can I ask when this wedding is taking place? No, wait; I'm more interested in
who
you're marrying. And also,” he rushed on when she opened her mouth to respond, “who
I'm
married to.”

Jesse bit back a laugh when Cadi looked more confused than he was. “You'll be married to the woman you're going to have a passel of kids with,” she said. “Your Mrs. Right.”

“Have I met her yet?”

“How would I know that? Are you dating anyone?”

“Not at the moment. Although not from lack of
trying
,” he said dryly. “Would you happen to have someone in particular in mind?”

Confusion turned to impatience—with maybe a touch of anger. “Why don't you just Google yourself,” she said, slashing a hand toward the sky, “and choose one from the hundreds of women in all those pictures of you at political dinners and fund-raising parties.”

Jesse gave a heavy sigh. “Let's get back to who you're marrying. Is he anyone I know?”

“
I
don't know him yet. He's still out there somewhere,” she said, this time gesturing toward the mainland, “waiting for me to pull my motorhome into a campsite across from him in Yosemite or Yellowstone or Glacier National Park.”

“Ah, I see,” Jesse murmured. He cocked his head. “You know, I just realized you and I have a lot in common.”

She snorted, apparently not over her impatience
or
anger. “We have nothing in common. You're a majority stockholder of an international shipping mega-company, there probably isn't a country you haven't been to, you're on every important guest list for events all over the world, and you seem to have money growing on several trees in your twelve-hundred-acre backyard.”

Not sure how they'd gone from teasing to arguing, and despite knowing it wouldn't further his cause, Jesse couldn't help get a little angry himself. “You're not exactly a pauper.”

“Not by most measures,” she agreed with a curt nod. “In fact, I could probably purchase my own island if I didn't mind eating what's on sale and living in a tent for the rest of my life.”

She was so indignant, Jesse burst out laughing. “Welcome back, Miss Glace.”

That appeared to take the wind out of her sails. “Huh?”

He closed the distance between them and hugged her before she could realize his intent. But he made it a quick hug, then stepped back. “If I'm going to be sharing an island with you, I'd much rather it be with the Miss Glace I met three weeks ago—even when she's in a snit—than with a frightened or sad fake wife. And you're welcome,” he added when she continued staring at him in confusion, hoping to confuse her more.

Because hell, he was pretty sure making her mad wasn't winning him any points.

“Ah . . . welcome for what?”

“I believe you turned back to thank me for the flowers and kicking you off a couch. So, you're welcome. It was my pleasure. You ever feel like you need another kick, you know where to find me,” he drawled, turning and walking down the path leading to his camper. “Sweet dreams, Mrs. Sinclair,” he added, giving a negligent wave over his shoulder.

FIFTEEN

Jesse exited his camper, then immediately turned around and went back inside. He grabbed his jacket off the kitchen chair where he'd tossed it last night, then checked the outside temperature on the panel by the door before exiting the camper again. He slipped on his jacket as he headed in the direction of Cadi's camp, mentally reminding himself to start looking out the window before going outside. If he'd noticed the fog, he would have been expecting it to be twenty degrees colder than it should be for the end of June on a Maine island.

He didn't have any trouble following the crude trail he assumed led to the lower bluff halfway down the eastern side of the island, figuring Paul must have made at least a dozen trips with the garden cart full of firewood from the looks of it. Hell, considering the rough terrain, he should probably give the kid an extra fifty the next time he saw him. And while he was at it, he should talk to Corey about having some gravel paths built that were wide enough for a golf cart, since he was going to have to lug groceries and suitcases and who knew what else to the house. That's why he'd placed the landing and camper pad on the northwestern end, because at the time he'd
thought
his house was going up on the high ridge.

And he still wasn't convinced it shouldn't.

Fifteen minutes and one unsettling tumble later with no sign of the bluff, Jesse decided he needed to have a talk with Paul about the difference between working hard and working
smart
—right before handing him
two
extra fifty-dollar bills. Sweet God, the kid had dragged that heavy cart up and down small knolls and around countless boulders and fallen trees, across a couple of shallow brooks and one small ravine, over a spongy peat bog, and down the steep, moss-covered ledge responsible for the wet stain on his bruised ass.

Jesse took off his jacket when he realized he was starting to sweat, and remembered lying in bed this morning thinking about
not
putting up the cell phone antenna, because one, he still didn't want his phone ringing every ten minutes, and two, he liked the idea of bumping into Cadi when they both had to climb the ridge to call or send emails. But now he was rethinking his thinking, because he really couldn't see making this treacherous hike every time he wanted to ask her something. And what if she twisted an ankle or took sick or had a tree fall on her or something and couldn't call for help because she didn't have cell phone reception?

It was decided, then: he'd pick up the antenna at the post office this morning and put it up this afternoon. He also better go to the hardware store and buy a really long extension cord on the chance he couldn't set the antenna close to his camper, as well as see if Ray could order him a solar system to power it so he wouldn't have to constantly run the generator.

All of which meant he'd have to find some other way to bump into Cadi.

Jesse's relief at finally spotting the bluff soon turned to bewilderment, however, when he stopped at the bottom of the western end of the small cliff. Not quite sure what he was seeing, all he could do was frown at the maze of various colored tape crisscrossing the clearing that had been cut below the entire length of the shallow bluff, in the middle of which Cadi was standing, scowling down at an open sketchbook and muttering to herself. He then caught sight of movement just off to her left at the same time she did, which caused her to look up and scan the sky directly overhead.

“I promise, Wigs,” she said with a laugh, looking back at the base of a boulder the size of a small car. “Ospreys eat
fish
, not cats. But they'll keep harassing you if you don't quit prowling those pines where they're nesting, because they don't know you don't eat baby ospreys.”

Jesse heard a low, rather chilling feline growl just as he saw a large gray cat with black spots eyeing him as it edged around the boulder in slow motion and then turned and disappeared into the bushes one second before he heard a loud human gasp.

“No!” Cadi shouted as she raced through the maze of tape toward him with her arms outstretched. “You agreed to not come here. Go away. Go away!” she cried, now waving the hand holding the sketchbook while still futilely trying to block his view with her other hand.

Feeling about as bright as a chipmunk, Cadi was almost to him when it finally dawned on Jesse exactly what he was seeing. “Son of a bitch,” he shouted, striding toward her and plucking her off her feet when she slammed into him with a whoosh of expelled air, then swinging her in a circle. “It's my house! You're not rebuilding my model—you're laying it out at full scale!”

“Put me down,” she growled while repeatedly swatting his back. “And
go away
.”

He stopped turning. “Sweet God, you're a genius,” he said thickly as he started walking toward the center of the maze.

She quit fighting and dropped her head to his shoulder with a heavy sigh, and he wasn't sure, but he thought he heard her mutter something about ferrets always ruining everything.

He stepped around clusters of bush stumps and grade stakes before finally having to stop when he came to a dead end. He lowered Cadi to her feet but quickly tucked her against his side and gave her a squeeze. “It's my house,” he whispered reverently as he looked around. “Which room are we standing in? Is this the living room? It's . . . small.”

“It's one of the guest bedrooms. That's the living room,” she said,
not
reverently, as she pointed to their left. She wiggled free and headed back to where he'd picked her up. “And if it's not big enough, complain to Stanley.”

“Hey, I'm sorry, okay,” he said to her back. “I know you asked me to give you privacy, but this morning I realized we didn't have any way to communicate. So I thought it would be okay if I came over
this one time
to tell you I'm putting up an antenna to give the entire island cell phone reception. And also to ask if you want to go to town with me this morning when I go pick it up.” He spread his arms and gestured at the tape stretching out in every direction as she straightened from picking up her sketchbook. “I never dreamed you didn't want me down here because you were building a full-scale model of my house. I'm sorry,” he repeated when she said nothing. “And thank you. I don't think anyone's ever given me a nicer surprise.”

He was pretty sure he caught the hint of a blush as she silently picked up his jacket and walked to a large pine tree, where she hung it on the remains of a tiny branch that had broken off.

“So this is what Paul Acton's been working on with you?” he asked, scanning what appeared to be an attempt to clear and level the ground in front of the cliff using only a shovel and a handsaw. “Wouldn't it have been easier to get Corey or Jeff to come in with a chainsaw and cut down these trees,” he said, gesturing at the pine and two smaller oaks in the middle of his living room, “and bring in their bulldozer to push the boulders out of the way and level the site?”

“I didn't want to disturb the ground any more than we have,” she said as she walked back to him, “because I didn't know if you agreed the house would even be going here, since you never got to study the model.”

Jesse made his way to the living room and quietly stood staring toward the ocean, soon realizing that with a bit of selective cutting and pruning down the gentle slope and along the craggy shore, the view looking out would be pretty damn spectacular while still keeping the house nearly invisible to anyone looking in. “Why here?” he asked quietly, continuing to stare at the ocean as he felt her walk up beside him. “Stanley told me you're the one who wants the house to be set here instead of up on the ridge.”

“Because no matter how unpretentious a home Stanley designed you,” she said just as softly, “if it's up on that ridge it would constantly shout
Businessman Jesse
every time you approached Hundred Acre, where down here the forest will whisper to you,
Welcome home. Now go in and change your clothes; it's time to play
the whole time you drive one of those silent electric golf carts here from your dock.”

Still looking at the ocean, Jesse couldn't decide if he wanted to kiss her or back away making the sign of the cross. How in hell did she
know
?

He did decide, however, not to tell her Stanley had admitted she had designed the house.

“Okay, then,” he said, rubbing his hands together as he turned to her. “Give me a quick tour, then I'll help you— What are those poles for?” he asked when he noticed at least a dozen twenty-foot-long saplings that had been stripped bare of their branches leaning against the cliff.

She walked over and pulled one of the poles away from the cliff and thumped the end of it into the ground as she frowned in the direction of her tent—which appeared to be pitched in the middle of another room. “I'm trying to figure out how to show the second floor layout and also give a sense of the overall height of the house.”

“There's a second floor?” Jesse said in surprise. “I realize I only saw the small version, but I assumed the raised roof on the east end was a cathedral ceiling.” He lifted his gaze to the area above her tent. “What's going to be up there? My office?”

“No, your passel of kids.”

Jesse frowned at her. “Where's the master bedroom?”

A sparkle lit up her eyes as she gestured at her tent. “I'm camping in it.”

He made sure not to show how pleased he was by that notion—or how turned on. “Well, why not,
Mrs
. Sinclair,” he drawled, grinning when she suddenly turned away and leaned the pole back against the ledge. He shook his head when she turned back to him. “But I'm pretty sure I told Stanley I didn't want a two-story house. What if there's a fire, especially if I'm not sleeping upstairs with the kids?”

“There's a nook in the master suite for a crib, and the second floor will be level with the top of the cliff,” she explained, moving her arm in an arc from her tent to the bluff. “It will have four bedrooms surrounding a large center playroom. In my—in the model I built from Stanley's design, the children will be able to exit the playroom by way of a short catwalk straight onto the top of the cliff.”

Jesse couldn't help but notice she'd nearly slipped up, and shot her a grin. “And when they're teenagers? Instead of a fire exit, they're going to use that catwalk to sneak out of the house so they can steal my boat and motor to the mainland to meet their friends.”

She shrugged, her eyes sparkling again. “Then I guess you better put a secret alarm on the door that sends a signal to your cell phone.”

Jesse chuckled and slowly turned in a circle, then stopped when he was facing the water again, unable to believe he was actually standing in his living room. “Yes, here,” he said thickly. “I want it built here.” Hearing a sigh of relief behind him, he turned and rubbed his hands together again. “So what say we spend a few hours figuring out how to set those poles, and then head to town and see what the marina has for runabouts? I'll even buy you lunch.”

Honest to God, she looked like he'd just offered to buy her a bottle of rat poison. “Or,” she said with far less enthusiasm, “
you
could go to town
now
and see what the marina's got for runabouts, and I'll figure out the poles by myself.”

“But I want to help.”

“But I don't need help.”

“You obviously do, or you wouldn't have hired Paul.”

“Yesterday in the salon you said something about Paul working with me; how did you know, anyway? Did Oren Hatch tell you?”

“No, Paul did. He came down to the docks looking to see if your skiff was there so he could give you last week's bill. Which I paid,” he added, walking around a wall of tape when she suddenly strode toward the tent. “So why is it okay for Paul to help you but not me?”

She grabbed her backpack off the folding camp table. “Because Paul isn't going to be living in the house, so he doesn't question every wall or window we're laying out.”

“And you think I will?”

She pulled a wallet out of the backpack, then turned and simply arched a brow.

He held his hands up, palms forward, fighting a grin. “I promise not to ask a hundred— Wait,” he said, looking around the maze of tape, then back at her. “If the second floor is dedicated to the children, then where's my office?”

“It's wherever you want it to be—so long as it's not in the house.” She used the wallet to point north. “You've got a hundred acres to choose from, so pick a spot and make a few drawings for Stanley of what you want your office to look like.”

“I can't draw.”

“Then get a computer program that can.”

“Why can't
we
pick a spot and
you
make some drawings for Stanley?”

“Because I'm rather busy making a full-scale model of your house right now. And just as soon as Stapleton is no longer a problem, I'm climbing in a motorhome
with my cat
,” she said rather smugly, “and leaving to go look for Mr. Right.”

Jesse wasn't rising to the bait, mostly because he wasn't exactly sure why she was baiting him. “It's a moot point, anyway. Because I'm sure if Stanley checks his notes from our meeting in February, he'll see that I mentioned one of the rooms
in the house
had to be soundproofed for me to use as an office.”

She tossed the wallet on the table and faced him fully, planting her hands on her hips. “I was at that meeting, and what I remember is hearing you mention that this home is supposed to be your
sanctuary
. And when I checked the dictionary to make sure I wasn't confused, I couldn't find
office
anywhere in the definition.” Jesse knew he was sunk when her eyes suddenly lit up again and she pointed toward the footpath while moving her fingers to mimic walking. “Just think about smelling ocean air and pine pitch and rich humid dirt, and hearing waves crashing and birds singing and gravel crunching under your feet as you commute to work.” Her smile suddenly outshone her eyes. “In your pajamas.”