The Red Door Inn (2 page)

She turned away from him, putting her shrugging shoulder between them before whispering, “In the books I read as a child, it sounded like a magical place.” Her head turned farther away from Jack, as though she were looking back at the gray horizon, but she'd closed her eyes, taking deep breaths through her nose and releasing them slowly through tight lips.

“Where are you staying?”

His gut flipped when she didn't answer him, and he knew. She didn't have sixteen dollars to buy a ferry ticket. She didn't have two pennies to rub together. She didn't have a soul to ask for help or anyplace to go.

As if sitting on his other side, Rose whispered in his ear,
“It's a fine how-do-you-do when you can't help someone in need, Jack. Give the poor girl a place to stay.”

Of course, Rose didn't bother with any particulars. She never had. Always a big-picture thinker, she wasn't concerned with the details. But Marie wasn't going to accept anything else for free. She'd fought him on the ferry ticket. What would she say about a room at his inn?

“They sure don't make these benches for seventy-two-year-old backsides.” He shifted, relieving pressure from a sore spot and, in the meantime, leaning closer to her.

Marie nodded, but her shoulder dipped enough that he could see her whole face.

Apparently, if he wanted more of a response from her, he was going to have to ask direct questions. “How'd you get to know so much about colors and paint and stuff?”

Several seconds ticked by, the only sounds the hum of the ferry's motor and the squawking of a lone gull. “I took—” Her voice broke, and she had to clear her throat before she could continue. “I took a few art classes in college after a friend showed me a few things.”

“You must have been pretty talented. Ever consider a career in it?”

“That wasn't really an option.”

“Why not?” That barrier jumped into place again, and he tossed a less invasive question her way. “Do you know anything about decorating?”

“A bit.”

He scrubbed his chin, rasping his fingernails over his whiskers, and let his eyes grow bigger as though just thinking of something. “Say, you wouldn't be available to help me with a project, would you?”

The girl could teach a college course in shrugging. One for every occasion, but this one most likely meant she wasn't going to commit to anything without more information. She might be broke, but she wasn't desperate.

Jack nodded slowly, rubbing his hands together, for the first time realizing that the kid didn't have more than a light jacket to ward off the damp chill of the late winter air. Maybe that's why she hugged that bag so tight.

“Don't know how long you're planning to stay in the area, but I need some help. I'm renovatin' a home in North Rustico, turning it into an inn along the harbor.”

“Sounds beautiful.”

“Oh, it is. The core renovations are almost done, but it's missing something.”

Marie shot him a look and leaned in just enough to ask her question without having to speak.

“It's missing a woman's touch.” He waved toward the sky. “That certain something from someone who knows what color the clouds are. It's missing the details that will make it a home.”

Her forehead wrinkled. “I don't understand.”

Over her shoulder, the green pine trees on the shoreline quickly approached. Soon they'd be on the island. Soon he'd miss his chance to help her. And to get her help.

“My inn opens in a couple months, and I need help getting it ready for guests. I have beds but no sheets. I have a little furniture but no decorations. I have rooms with no soul. And I could use a woman with an eye for color and details.”

Marie's eyebrows lifted as she bit her lower lip. “Really?”

His hands jumped into the air, warding off too much hope.
“I can't pay much, but you can stay in the basement apartment until we open the first of May.”

A flicker of hope disappeared almost before he noticed it was there. “What's the catch?”

“No catch. I need help turning this house into a home.” And as he said the words, he knew they were true. He did need help.

Rose would have called this meeting positively providential, and she'd have been right. The big guy upstairs clearly knew that Jack needed a hand before Jack even knew it.

Marie's eyelids drooped, and she turned away from him again. He had to do something to get her on board before the ferry landed and he was left with the ugliest bed-and-breakfast on the island.

“I could pay you four hundred dollars a month, and I'll cover all your living expenses.”

The terse shake of her head made his stomach churn.

“Fine! Six hundred for the month, the best room in the house, and a bonus when the inn is done.”

“I can't take your money.”

“But you'll be earning it.”

“Ladies and gentleman, please prepare for arrival at Wood Islands, Prince Edward Island.” The disembodied voice sent both Jack and Marie turning toward the overhead speakers. The humming motor suddenly went silent as they floated to the dock, but Jack's heart revved. It was now or never.

“I've owned three auto shops, and I've always paid a fair wage. I won't start shorting employees now.”

“Employee?” Chin still tucked, she looked up, her eyes glistening. It could be the wind making them water, but he had a feeling it was something else.

“Until the inn is ready.”

“What's its name?”

“The inn?” She nodded, and he scratched at his hairline. “Well now, I haven't quite decided on that yet, but I'm thinking about the North Rustico Red Door.”

T
he door in question was white. Not ecru or cream or even ivory. Quite the opposite of the red door Marie had pictured. And it stood wide open.

“Is someone here?”

Jack looked a bit surprised. “Of course. I told you about Seth.”

Her eyebrows jumped just as her stomach fell to her foot, raised to cross the threshold of the two-story house. The front porch, with its brand-new boards mingled sporadically with weathered and colorfully painted beams from the house's previous life, blocked some of the wind, but the cold still seeped to her bones.

“I don't think so.” She twisted her fingers into her hair, trying to tame it in the residual breeze, as she replayed their conversation in his truck on the drive from Wood Islands. It had been mostly one-sided, Jack telling her about North Rustico and the bed-and-breakfast and how much he loved this island. For her part, Marie had done little more than take in the beauty he mentioned. Tall pine trees and swerving
two-lane roads. Small towns made up of three farms, and rolling meadows to the horizon, peppered with the remnants of the last snow. And a cloudless blue sky over it all.

“I didn't?” He scratched his chin and tapped his lip, his eyes focused on a point beyond her shoulder somewhere in the house.

The purposeful and powerful footsteps behind Marie betrayed that Seth wasn't a boy or a shuffling old man. His shoes thumped on creaking hardwood floors, each step bringing him closer. As she turned around, her eyes leveled with a blue, cotton T-shirt stretched across a broad chest, paralleled by tan arms.

And her heart joined her stomach.

This could not be happening. How could Jack conveniently forget to tell her the only thing that would have changed her mind about helping him at the inn?

Taking a stuttering step back, she lifted her gaze past the dark brown stubble on his neck, over the tight-mouthed grimace splayed across his lips, beyond his slightly crooked nose, and into a whirlpool of something akin to horror.

He held her stare for a silent second before looking over her head. With raised eyebrows he nodded in her direction. “Are you kidding me?” His voice, so loaded with venom, seemed almost too heavy to make it the two feet to Jack.

Clearly she and Seth had at least one thing in common. They didn't want the other one here. But she had no claim to the inn, absolutely no reason to be there beyond Jack's invitation. Spinning to face the older man, she shivered as Seth's breath fanned the top of her hair. “Thank you very much for the ferry ticket and the ride, but I should go.”

“Nonsense!” Jack waved off her words, his eyes locked
on Seth. “Marie, this is my little brother's boy. He's handy with tools and has been helping me with the restoration.” Crow's-feet from years of laughter deepened at the corners of his eyes as he shifted to look into Marie's. He reached out to rest his hand on her shoulder, and she stiffened, steeling herself for even that contact.

“Seth.” Jack didn't bother to break eye contact with her as he addressed the younger man. He squeezed her shoulder twice, like she imagined a kind uncle might. “Marie has a woman's eye.”

With equal parts gravel and sarcasm in his voice, Seth said, “Oh really. You don't say.”

The corners of Jack's mouth turned down with the first true frown Marie had seen him wear, and he pushed his chin into the air. “We can use her help getting this old place in shape for the opening.”

“Really,” Marie cut in. “I'll go.” She moved to step around Jack, her breath already catching in her throat, hands beginning to shake. If she didn't move quickly she'd completely embarrass herself. She blinked against the strength of his grip, her shoulders shaking.

“Not while you're under my roof.” Jack's voice brooked no argument, despite the fact that she had yet to make it beyond the porch. The pressure of his hand on her shoulder increased.

But it didn't stop her from trying, even as a wheeze caught in her throat. “I'll be fine.” She gasped for another breath, her heart pounding at a pace it couldn't possibly sustain. “Don't worry about it.” She sighed as her knees buckled, forcing her to lean against the edge of the doorway.

Jack shook his head again, his shoulders suddenly more
stone wall than Silly Putty, his hand slipping to cup her elbow, providing support she wished she could decline. “I need your help. I need someone to find the right towels to match the bathroom faucets. I need someone to add candles or flowers or those little soaps in the shape of seashells. Do you think an old man like me knows the difference between a duvet and Dalvay-by-the-Sea?”

“Dal vay?”

A harrumph from behind her reminded her why she needed to leave. Now.

Jack might think he needed her, but she had needs too. He could easily find someone else to help decorate the gorgeous old house. Saving her sanity around the likes of a man like Seth Sloane wouldn't be nearly as simple.

“Has she even been to the island before?”

Jack's glare returned in full force. “You're talking like you're island through and through, like you aren't here on a temporary visa.”

Seth grumbled something else about a dal vay before saying, “It's your inn. You can borrow as much trouble as you like,” and marching away.

“I don't want to get between you,” Marie said. The stiff back of the retreating man disappeared through the door at the end of the hallway. “Really, I don't mind going.”

The sparkle returned to Jack's eyes, and he laughed as though she'd told an amusing joke. “No more talk like that. I want you to stay. And if I'm not mistaken, you don't have anywhere else to be.” Waving for her to enter through the open screen door, he laughed again. “Besides, it'll be nice to have a polite conversation over dinner. Seth has been about as fun as a month-old jug of milk.” Jack's eyes shifted back
and forth, making sure they weren't being spied on, as he leaned in with a wink. “Between you and me, he wouldn't be here if he had anywhere else to go.”

“He doesn't? Have anywhere to go, I mean.”

Maybe they had more in common than she'd thought. But that didn't mean he had to be so rude.

Jack ushered her toward the same door through which Seth had exited, his voice hushed but still echoing between the cherrywood floors and ten-foot ceiling of the empty hall. “He's not an orphan, mind you. Just going through a rough patch, and this seemed like the safest place for him to be.”

“What? Are the police after him for unlawful use of sarcasm?”

The words popped out before Marie even realized they were on her tongue, and she clamped her hands over her mouth. She couldn't remember the last time she'd made a snide remark or an ironic comment.

It felt good.

Actually, she felt . . . free.

Not all the way free, but freer. Safe, at least, to say such a thing.

Jack patted her back, his laughter rolling over her like a blanket, and she barely shied away from his touch. “Something like that.” He pushed open a door off the foyer, motioning for her to step through. “Let me show you around.”

Seth had disappeared, leaving the room empty except for streams of light flooding every corner of the poorly painted dining room. One wall boasted what she hoped was supposed to be a hunter green. Of course, it wasn't actually anywhere close to that pretty of a color, and she squinted away from it, hoping that it would change colors on its own. It didn't,
leaving her to wonder if the paint color was named Simply Seasick.

Windows covered nearly every inch of the adjacent wall, so bright in the afternoon sun that she couldn't even tell if the color on that wall matched the hideous green.

A large oval table dominated the room, the only indication that this was meant to be a dining room. Several wooden chairs surrounded the empty tabletop, two pushed in and the other three sitting haphazardly along the walls.

The far wall boasted the ugliest piece of furniture she'd seen in years, a tall credenza, its wooden frame nipped and scarred by years of use. One of its legs had been replaced by a wooden dowel. The pathetic piece drew Marie to it, and she ran her fingertips along the dark grain, past the chipped details across the backboard, and over the broken knobs on the drawers.

“A friend of mine had one of these.” She wasn't really speaking to Jack, instead remembering the sweetness of Georgiana's blueberry tarts. “She put treats on it every afternoon and told me to eat as many as I wanted.”

“You didn't do a very good job of it.”

Jack's words pulled her back from the ripe tang of those berries. “Excuse me?”

“If you'd really indulged, you wouldn't be quite so skinny now.”

Marie's gaze dropped toward her toes. Sure, she'd lost a few pounds over the last couple months. Who wouldn't after all she'd been through? But she wasn't absurdly thin. She certainly didn't have a problem with eating enough. Her appetite had just . . . dropped off.

She bestowed Jack with a half grin and resumed her tour of
the room. “I suppose I could have eaten a few more.” With a toss of her head meant to dismiss Jack's comment, she spotted a brushed silver chandelier covered by years of dust. “Where did you get this?” Her voice remained low, as though in reverence of the six curling arms, each holding a candle-like lightbulb.

“Came with the house.” Jack crossed his arms, nodding over his shoulder. “You want to see the kitchen?”

Marie, still staring toward the ceiling, shook her head absently. “You could design a whole room around this piece. Matching silver candlesticks. White napkins with swirling silver embroidery that complement silver table runners.” Her smile was genuine, if not quite full, as she glanced to the wall of windows. “Red curtains over there that match the door. And pictures of Prince Edward Island framed on the walls. And”—she waved at the credenza—“if you replace that, you could set out glass plates of treats for your guests.”

“Replace it?”

“I'm sure it was once a really beautiful piece of furniture, but it's seen better days. A dining room should be beautiful and homey. Not filled with pieces that make you want to eat faster so you can leave.”

Jack's eyes crinkled at the corners, his arms still crossed. “You've done this before.”

“Not really.” She scooped up her backpack and hugged it, taking her first deep breath since entering the house. “But I like to put colors and pieces together.”

“You don't say.”

Seth wasn't interested in hearing about the scrap of a girl Jack had decided to bring back from his trip to Nova Scotia,
but that didn't stop him from leaning into the crack at the door and listening to their conversation. Like a stray kitten, she'd shivered even inside the house, looking equal parts lost and terrified.

He didn't have time to deal with this.

Jack probably thought he was doing the girl a favor insisting she stay. In all honesty, he did a disservice to everyone involved. The girl needed a permanent home. Well, she was probably older than a girl. At first glance, he'd thought she wasn't much out of high school. With a closer look he knew she'd seen some life. But she needed somewhere to live where Jack wouldn't have to watch out for her. Having her around just distracted them from getting the inn ready to open.

And kept Seth's mind on things he'd much rather forget.

After all, he'd come to the island with a plan. Forget about his business and the bank that had been so quick to repossess the tools of his trade. And try not to think about the pretty face responsible for the whole thing.

But count on Jack to throw a wrench into his blueprint.

Suddenly the kitchen door swung in, slamming into his forehead and sending him stumbling into the rolling island that did little to slow his staggered steps.

Rubbing his head, Seth squinted at the pair walking into the room. Maybe he imagined it, but he would have sworn under oath that she shot him a you-deserved-that look. Almost immediately her face returned to its original expression, void of any distinguishable emotion. With the exception of her eyes, which reminded him of a mouse he'd once trapped as a kid.

“You're still here.” Jack's grin came far too easily. “I thought you'd be halfway to Charlottetown by now.”

Seth grunted, looking around for a hammer. Or a screwdriver. Any tool would do. The old inn still needed plenty of work, and he was more than happy to think about installing the new sink in the second-floor bathroom. Anything beat thinking about . . . well, what he'd been thinking about for eight months.

Righting the island, he frowned at Jack and tried to make his escape.

“I have to run to Charlottetown tomorrow to meet with the loan officer at the bank.” Jack's words stopped Seth in his tracks. “I'll get an early start of it, and I'll run a few other errands while I'm about.”

“You're going to leave her here by herself all day tomorrow?”