Wild Weekend (19 page)

Epilogue

One year later

T
RAVIS
SET
A
travel coffee mug on the bedside table. “Christine?” he said as he kissed her cheek. “It’s time to get up.”

Christine slowly cracked one eye open and frowned. “Travis, it’s still dark outside.”

“I know,” he said as he helped her into a sitting position. “We need to hurry if we want to make it on time.”

She pushed her long hair out of her eyes. “On time for what?”

“You’ll see.” He checked his watch and nervously twirled the welcome-to-Vegas keychain around his finger. The car was packed with everything they needed to have breakfast at Christine’s favorite spot while they watched the sunrise. He was glad he listened to Laurie’s suggestion to buy a picnic basket from the general store.

Christine tilted her head and her eyes widened as she noticed he was dressed in a raincoat, jeans and hiking boots. “Give me a hint.”

“It’s on my bucket list.”

Her mouth tilted in a knowing smile. “I’m pretty sure we’ve done everything on your bucket list. Twice.”

“I keep adding things,” he admitted. Although this goal had been on his list for a while. Right around the same time he imagined Christine pregnant with his child. That would be years down the road, but it would be worth the wait.

This dream had also taken some planning and all of Cedar Valley had helped in one way or another. It turned out the townspeople could keep a secret if they really wanted to. “I want to make this dream happen today.”

“Why today?” she asked, her voice husky from sleep.

“I can’t wait anymore.”

“It’s Saturday, isn’t it?” Christine asked as she rose from the bed. “This is your busiest day of the week.”

“I got it covered.” He had truly made Cedar Valley
the
Pacific Northwest weekend destination. It had been a lot of hard work, and there had been times when Christine was the only one who believed in him. Now other small towns wanted to hire him as a consultant.

“You seem pretty excited,” Christine said.

“I am.” He slid his hand into his jeans pocket and his fingers curled around the diamond engagement ring. He fought the urge to blurt out the proposal right now. He’d wanted to ask months ago but he’d waited until he knew Christine was ready to take the plunge. “This will be our most memorable weekend yet.”

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt from DOUBLE TAKE by Leslie Kelly.

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1

Three Weeks Later

T
HE
REDHEAD
in the green raincoat would be very
pretty if she weren’t about to lose her lunch over the side of the ferry. Hell,
not just pretty, beautiful, with those wide-set eyes, the high cheekbones, the
curvaceous figure and that stunning head of long, flowing red hair.

Right now, though, her face was about the same shade as her
coat. Her mouth was a tight little knot of agony. And her hands clenched the
railing as if she couldn’t decide whether to throw up or just jump overboard and
put herself out of her misery.

Eyeing her from a few feet down the railing, to which he was
also clinging with only slightly less desperation, Mike Santori offered her a
look of commiseration and sympathy.

“First time heading to the island?” he asked, raising his voice
to be heard over the rumble of the engine, the whipping of the wind and the
spray of the water flying off the surface of Lake Michigan.

She managed a tiny nod, groaning aloud as if even that slight
movement was too much for her spinning head.

“Maybe you should go inside.”

“No, I need the fresh air!”

He understood that. He, too, had to remain outside every time
he made the crossing between the island and the mainland. He kept hearing that
the trek to and from his new home on Wild Boar Island would get easier, that
he’d even grow to like it. But so far the only improvement he’d managed was that
he no longer had to curl up in the fetal position on one of the outside benches
and pray. The day he actually grew to enjoy the journey was the day he started
to enjoy getting his prostate checked by anybody other than an adventurous
girlfriend.

“It’s going to start raining in a minute,” he warned her,
wondering if she, like him, would be glad for the rain. At least when you were
shaking from being cold and drenched, you could forget your head was spinning as
if somebody had attached a string to it and was using it as a yo-yo.

“Maybe I’ll get lucky and the storm will wash me overboard so I
can drown.”

“Please don’t, then I’d have to jump in and save you, and I’ll
ruin my new boots.”

She managed a weak smile. But it quickly faded when the ferry
dipped, rolling on a swell that made the rickety old boat sound as though it was
going to split apart at the seams and plunge to Davy Jones’s locker. The redhead
gripped even tighter, and a low groan escaped her lips. “Make it stop.”

“We’re almost there,” he said, edging closer, feeling
protective of her, this pretty stranger, the way he might have of a kid left
outside in the cold.

“What is wrong with good old-fashioned bridges?”

“It’s twelve miles to the island.”

“Haven’t they heard of the Donghai?”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a bridge that’s twenty miles long.”

“Across Lake Michigan?”

She rolled her eyes. He bit back a smile, glad he was
distracting her.

Another dip. Another groan. “There’s an even longer one going
over Lake Pontchartrain,” she said, forcing the words out from between clenched
teeth.

That one he had heard of. “I hear they get a few more tourists
to New Orleans than they do to Wild Boar Island. I don’t think tolls would pay
for a bridge here.”

That was an understatement.

Wild Boar Island, Michigan, his new home as of a few months
ago, might claim it was one of the most popular tourist destinations in the
state during the summer months. Hell, it might even be true. But somehow, having
a population that swelled from about eighteen-hundred nine months out of the
year up to ten-thousand in June, July and August, didn’t quite equal the Big
Easy during Mardi Gras.

A strong gust of wind blew down from the thunderous storm
clouds blanketing the sky—clouds which hadn’t yet released a torrent of rain,
but had done a fine job whipping the massive lake into a trembling ocean. The
old ferry rocked and rolled like a theme-park ride, and his stomach rocked and
rolled along with it.

“Oh, God, why did I ever agree to move to a place you can only
get to by ferry?” she groaned, leaning over the railing.

She leaned a bit too far, gasping and heaving, and he had a
sudden vision of her tipping head-first into the choppy green wake. He didn’t
know her from Adam, but he sure wasn’t about to watch her take a nose-dive into
the deep. So he stepped close behind her, shielding her body with his own and
wrapping an arm around her waist to hold her steady, braced on the deck. He
dropped a free hand onto one of hers and squeezed, hoping she got the message
that he was just trying to help and wasn’t some pervert going for an easy
grope.

Not that the woman wasn’t eminently touchable.

He could feel shudders wracking her tall, slim form, even
through her heavy raincoat. But she made no effort to pull away, and instead
gripped his hand.

“We’re going to capsize,” she groaned.

“No, we aren’t.”

“Yes, we are. We’re going to flip over and sink.”

“Well, at least then we won’t feel sick anymore.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder, long strands of
wind-blown red hair whipping across her face. “You, too?”

“Why do you think I’m out here?”

“I figured it was so you could rescue me.”

“Yeah, let’s go with that,” he said as the ferry bounced again
and he let out a small groan of his own.

She laughed suddenly, a light, musical peal of merriment that
was at odds with the wild, wind-whipped day. Her whole face lit up when she
laughed, and he noted the sparkle in her eyes, which were a dazzling shade of
emerald.

“Are you laughing at me?” he asked, torn between indignation
and relief that she no longer looked like she was about to jump overboard.

“Nope.” She lifted a slender hand and pointed. “I’m laughing
with sheer relief because I see land ahead!”

“Hate to break it to you, but that’s Little Boar, not Wild
Boar.”

“Close enough. I’m getting off.”

“The ferry doesn’t stop there—it’s uninhabited.”

“I’ll take my chances with the little boars, just tell the
captain to pull over.”

“There’s nowhere to dock.”

“So I’ll jump overboard and swim for it.”

“Have you forgotten my new boots?”

“You’d really leap in after me?”

“It’s in my job description.”

“Are you a lifeguard?”

Lately he’d been a jack-of-all-trades—from cat-rescuer, to
crossing guard, to 911 operator—as well as Chief of Police, his official title.
And he didn’t imagine lifeguarding would be out of the question this summer when
Wild Boar filled up with tourists anxious to test the sometimes rough waters of
this very great lake.

“Let’s just say I’m your self-appointed lifeguard right now. If
you jump, I jump.”

She took a few deep breaths, letting his words calm her, as
he’d wanted them to. Finally, she nodded and began to straighten. The chop had
died down, at least momentarily, and the planking seemed steadier beneath his
feet. At least, it did as long as he didn’t think about how easily his arm
encircled her slim waist and how her long legs felt when practically entwined
with his. And if he dwelled on the way her curvy ass was brushing against his
groin, he was a total goner. The dizziness would have nothing to do with the
waves and everything to do with a hot rush of lust that threatened to drown him.
As a matter of fact, the tide was lifting things up already.

Mike immediately let her go and stepped away, willing himself
back into she’s-a-stranger mode and out of the damn-she’s-hot one.

“Do you think the water’s calming down now?” she asked, pushing
her tangled hair away from her face with a shaking hand.

“Seems like it.”

“God, I hate being sick like that.”

“Ditto.”

She eyed him. “It’s not just the nausea, it’s the complete lack
of control over it. I know when I step off this boat, it’ll go away—mostly. And
it infuriates me that I can’t make it go away right now.”

He grinned. “If you can come up with a method to think away
nausea, you’ll be rich.”

She nibbled her lip and looked down, crossing her arms and
shivering lightly. Still not looking at him, she murmured, “Maybe we’ll have
smooth sailing the rest of the way?”

“Absolutely.”

Nope
. This was more like the eye of
the hurricane. Experience told him they were merely enjoying a moment of respite
before they hit the big swells that encircled Wild Boar. The island currents
made travel in the winter and early spring—which was now—dangerous and
nausea-inducing. But he didn’t tell her that.

“I can’t believe we’re the only ones out here on deck. How
could anybody not be seasick after that?”

He gestured toward the car-park section of the ferry, empty but
for a shiny yellow Prius, which he assumed was hers.
Good
luck finding a charging station on Wild Boar
. He’d left his own SUV
at the docks, as his errand to the mainland to deliver some paperwork to the
nearest county sheriff’s station had been a quick one. It had been easier to
just have one of the county guys pick him up and drop him back off than deal
with the hassle of taking his vehicle with him.

“We’re the only customers on board. The rest are crew and
they’re used to it. This time of year I doubt they get more than one or two
people a trip.”

“What? I thought we were heading to the most happening island
this side of Maui.”

“Who told you that?” he asked with a grin. “Somebody who
desperately needs you to take over their job for a while?”

She lifted a brow, studying him, as if hearing the certainty in
his voice. That could be because he
was
now certain
of who this beautiful, red-haired stranger was, and why she was heading to a
remote, sparsely-populated island on this wickedly unpleasant day. “Is Monday
your first day at the school?”

Her eyes popped; she appeared shocked he’d hit the nail on its
proverbial head.

“You
are
the new teacher, aren’t
you?” he asked, even though he knew he was right. The island had been agog all
week about some mainlander coming to teach the science classes at the island’s
one and only school, which catered to all five-hundred or so students, from
kindergarten through twelfth grade.

“Sub,” she clarified. “I’m only substituting for the rest of
the semester for my old friend who’s the regular teacher.”

Right. He hadn’t met her yet, but of course he’d heard all
about Mrs. Parker, the science teacher. The woman’s baby had been born ten weeks
premature and was still in an ICU unit on the mainland. That’s why there’d been
a sudden need for a substitute, and those weren’t easy to come by on Wild Boar.
Especially not teachers qualified to teach every science class in the school,
from first grade why-do-caterpillars-turn-into-butterflies clear through
advanced chemistry. Why this one wasn’t already tied up in a classroom
three-quarters of the way through the current school year, he couldn’t say, but
he had to admit he was interested in learning more about her.

“How did you know who I was?”

“There’s been lots of concern for your friend and her new baby.
Concern equals talk on Wild Boar.”

“Callie’s baby is doing well,” the woman said with a gentle
smile that softened her pale, pinched expression. “Little Will’s got a lot of
growing to do, and his lungs aren’t fully developed, but the doctors think he’s
out of the woods.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

She nodded. “Me, too. He’s deeply loved and was very much
wanted.” She glanced away. “Unlike a lot of children.”

He noted the change of tone and wondered at it. But she didn’t
give him a chance to wonder long.

“Still, how did you know
I
was the
new teacher?”

“It’s pretty rare for newcomers to move out to the island,
except for the summer tourist folks, and it’s too early for them. Plus,
everybody’s talking about the cottage behind the old Wymer place being rented
out for the next couple of months.”

He didn’t have the heart to tell her that the cottage was
ancient, rickety, drafty and probably full of spiders. Hopefully Mrs. Wymer had
hired somebody to clean it up, since the fragile-looking elderly woman certainly
couldn’t do it herself.

The stranger’s pale face became a shade closer to chalky. “Good
grief, is the whole island a gossip mill?”

“Yeah, and that thing’s been grinding like crazy with all the
new arrivals—that’d be you and me.”

She glanced down, one of her slim hands fisting as she pressed
it into her stomach, as if she felt nauseous. Well, he supposed that was
understandable.

“You’re a newcomer, too?” she finally asked, after she’d
straightened her back and lifted her chin.

“Yes, ma’am.” He extended a hand. “I’m Mike.”

“Lindsey.” She took his hand and shook. Hers was a little
clammy and very cold, since she’d been gripping the damp metal railing.

He reached into the pockets of his bulky windbreaker and pulled
out his utility gloves, shoving them toward her. “Here. Your fingers are
icicles.”

She stared down at his offering. “Don’t you need them?”

“I want my hands bare so I can clutch that railing,” he said
with a wry grin.

“If I wear your gloves, how am
I
going to hold on?”

“How about I hold on for us both?”

“Pretty confident, are you?”

“I think I can manage to keep us from being swept
overboard.”

She cast a quick eye over his shoulders, chest and arms. Color
finally rose into those pale cheeks, as if she’d at last looked at him and seen
the man, not the savior-from-death-by-drowning-or-seasickness. Her throat
quivered as she swallowed, her gaze dropping lower, assessing him all the way
down to his feet.

“I suppose you can,” she admitted, her voice thick and low.