McCarthys of Gansett Island Boxed Set Books 1-3 (77 page)

“That’s m’name. Don’t wear it out.”
Stupid!
What a stupid thing to say!

She seemed genuinely flabbergasted to see him. “What’re you doing here?”

“I, um, I came to see if ya might like to, um, if ya’d consider, that is—”

“Spit it out already!”

“Have dinner with me. Tonight.”

Her mouth fell open in surprise. “You want to go out. With me?”

“That’s what I said, ain’t it?”

“Why?”

Ned stared at her, dumbfounded. Why did he want to go out with her? Because from the minute he met her, he’d never wanted to go out with anyone else. That’s why. But he couldn’t exactly tell her that, could he? “Because.”

“Because why?”

“Look, do ya wanna go or not? Won’t hurt my feelings if ya say no.”

“It won’t?”

He let out a growl of frustration that seemed to amuse her. “Were ya always this difficult and I just don’t remember?”

“Perhaps.” She studied him for a long,
long
time during which he had no earthly idea what she was thinking. He’d begun to sweat when she finally took a deep breath. “Do you know about my troubles?”

“I know about yer troubles.” Who on the island didn’t know that writing bad checks had put her in jail for three months last year? How he wished she’d come to him when she’d fallen on hard times. He’d have taken care of her
and
her kids. They wouldn’t have wanted for anything. But she hadn’t come to him. Someday maybe she’d tell him why. For now, he was just hoping for dinner.

“And you still want to go out with me?”

“Ya’ve just about talked me out of it,” he said in a teasing tone.

That drew an honest, genuine smile that nearly stopped his fragile heart.
There
was the Francine he’d once known, before life and circumstances had stolen her joy. Maybe together they could somehow get it back.
 

“I’d be honored to go to dinner with the nicest boy I’ve ever known.”

Shocked to his very soul by the compliment, he wondered if that was regret he saw in her expression. Clearing his throat, he said, “Uh, ya wanna go now?”

“But it’s only five o’clock.”

“I ain’t doin’ nothing. Are you?”

“No,” Francine said, still smiling. “I’m not doing anything at all.”

Chapter 15

Sydney arrived at Luke’s and was relieved to see his truck parked outside the house. She’d wondered if he had gone to work. Donning the backpack, she stuck her head inside the house and called for him. When she received no reply, she walked across the lawn to see if he was down at the beach but didn’t see him there either. Had he taken the rowboat out on the pond?

She turned to look back at the house, and her eyes settled on the barn-shaped garage that had been added to the place since she first knew him. At the garage, she went around to the front. The double doors were open, and Luke was applying a coat of varnish to a staggeringly beautiful vintage powerboat.
 

“Wow,” she said. “That’s gorgeous.”

He looked up, and she saw surprise and pleasure in his eyes as they skirted over her in a visual inspection that made her tingly in some interesting places.

“Is it yours?” she asked of the boat as she came closer to get a better look.

Shaking his head, he said, “Belongs to a guy in Falmouth.”

“How’d it end up here?” She wanted to run a hand over the smooth, glossy surface but was afraid to touch it.

“Something I do on the side. Kind of a hobby.”

“What do you do exactly?”

“Restore them.” He gestured to the workbench behind him. “Before pictures are over there.”

Above the bench a carved sign read “Harris Boat Works.” Sydney wandered over to view photos of what could only be called a wreck. Next to them was another photo of the boat in its prime. She whirled around. “
That’s the same boat?
As the one in the pictures?”

“Uh-huh,” he said with a chuckle.

“Oh my God, Luke! It’s amazing! How long did it take?”

“Coupla months. I fit it in when I have time. Tough during the summer when I’m working so much at McCarthy’s.”

“This is really incredible. I’m so impressed.”

His lips formed a small smile. “Thanks.”

“How did you get into this? When?”

“Let’s see, Miss Twenty Questions, must’ve been about fifteen years ago. Big Mac found an old junker in a boatyard on the mainland and brought it back to the island. Mrs. McCarthy was giving him grief about keeping it in the driveway at the White House, so I told him he could bring it over here. I started tinkering with it—”

“Meaning you completely restored it when he wasn’t looking.”

“Something like that,” he said with a laugh. “He was blown away, and in typical Big Mac fashion, he told
everyone
. He keeps it at the marina where he can show it off. Next thing I knew, people were calling me about restoring their old boats. One thing led to another.” He shrugged. “Word of mouth.”

“How many do you do a year?”

“Three or four.”

“They must pay you a boatload—no pun intended.”

He snickered at the joke. “I do all right.”

“How do they get them here?”

“Some, like this beauty, come over on the ferry. Others come under their own steam, and we haul them out over here.”

“I bet you’ve got people waiting in line for you.”

“The list is tacked up over the bench.”

Sydney glanced up and found at least thirty names and phone numbers on the piece of notebook paper. “You’re gifted, Luke. Truly gifted.”

Shrugging, he said, “Don’t know about that. Just something I do for fun.”

Sydney studied him as he applied the varnish in smooth, even strokes. “Why didn’t you tell me about this? When we were talking about your life the other night. You never mentioned this.”

“Didn’t think of it, to be honest.” He stepped back from the boat to study his work. Seeming satisfied, he put the can of varnish on the bench and hammered the cover on. “You going camping or something?”

She realized he meant the backpack that still sat on her shoulders. “Oh, well, I seem to be homeless at the moment. I was wondering if you might be willing to take in a stray.”

“Lucky for you, we only accept the finest of pedigrees at this shelter.”

Sydney smiled at the compliment.

“Big fight with the folks?”

“Not so big.”

“Then how’d you end up homeless?”

Cornered, Sydney winced. “At least I stood up to them this time. That’s progress.”

“What’d they have to say?”

“Something about wanting me to go forward, not backward.”

Leaning against the bench with his arms folded across his chest, he looked powerful and sexy and so perfectly perfect. A man in his prime, from the top of his silky dark head to the bottom of his size thirteen feet. “Do you feel like you’ve taken a step backward being with me again?”

“No! If anything, I feel like I’m moving forward again. Finally.”

“I don’t want to come between you and your parents, Syd.”

“We’ll work it out. Eventually. Don’t worry about it.”

He tilted his head, beckoning. “Come here.”

She dropped the backpack to the floor and walked around the boat to stand in front of him.

Even though he kept his arms crossed, she could tell by the hungry look in his eyes that he was making an effort to keep his hands to himself. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“Strangely enough, I’m quite well, thank you.”

His lips quirked with amusement. “And Buddy? How is he?”

“They want to keep him one more night and then maybe let him come home tomorrow. The substitute vet said Janey did an amazing job. He was really impressed.”

“I’m glad he’s doing so well.”

“He was happy to see me but still kind of loopy. They said I could visit him again later, but they wanted him to rest, and having me there got him all excited.”

“I know how he feels.”

“Luke,” she said, her face heating under his intense scrutiny. “Does this mean you’re going to take me in?”

Sighing dramatically, he said, “I suppose if I have to.” He turned to reach for a can of turpentine and dumped some in a bucket to soak his brushes.
 

Sydney stepped back from the overwhelming odor of the turpentine but stayed close enough to watch him clean up his bench. “Could I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

She hesitated, but curiosity won out over her better judgment. “How come you didn’t go to college after your mother died?”

His body went rigid as he stacked paint cans on the bench. He was quiet long enough that she wondered if he was going to answer her. “Who’s asking? You or your parents?”

Resting her hand on his back, she discovered tense muscles. “I am.”

“My mother was sick for a long time. She didn’t have health insurance, so her illness wiped us out. We had to take a second mortgage on this place.”

As she let her hand drop to her side, Sydney was already sorry she’d asked. “Oh. I see.”

He turned to her. “No, you don’t.”
 

She was startled by the bitterness she heard in his tone and saw on his face.
 

“All you see is a house full of old furniture where nothing has changed since the last time you were here when in fact, a lot has changed.”

“That’s not all I see, Luke.” With her hand on his face, she compelled him to look at her. “That’s not all I see.”

“I didn’t go to college because by the time she died, my scholarship was long gone, and I had a choice of holding on to this place or paying for school. Since I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else, I chose to keep the house.” He finally looked her right in the eye. “I’ve never regretted that.”

“This is a great place. I totally get why you’d want to keep it.”

“I know your parents think I’ve been standing still all this time, working the same job I did as a kid, but that’s not the case. I paid off that second mortgage—and the first one—years ago. I own this place free and clear.”

“That doesn’t matter to me.”

“It matters to them.”

“They just want what’s best for me. I told them they have to trust me to figure that out for myself.”

He released a frustrated growl and rolled his hands into fists that he propped on his hips. “I really want to touch you right now, but I’m filthy.”

“I don’t care.”

Smelling of varnish and paint thinner, his hands framed her face and tilted it up to meet his intense gaze. He kissed her forehead, her nose and then her lips. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to ensure your happiness, to make you smile, to hear the laugh that seems to come all the way from your toes.”

“Luke. . .”

“I don’t know if I’m what’s best for you. Only you know that. But I guarantee you no one else will ever want you the way I do.”

Her eyes fluttered closed as his lips found hers in a hungry, desperate kiss that had her clinging to him. All at once, he slowed it down, softening his lips and teasing with his tongue.

Sydney dipped her fingers under his T-shirt, finding the warm skin on his back. A tremble rippled through him, and she loved knowing she’d had that effect on him.

He tore his lips free and turned his attention to her neck, sucking gently on her skin and running his tongue back and forth. “I want you, Syd.” His raspy whisper sent goose bumps down her spine, and she strained against him, needing to get closer. All at once, he withdrew from her, grabbed her hand and made for the garage door, stopping on the way by to scoop up her backpack.
 

 
Sydney half ran, half walked to keep up with him as he closed the distance between the garage and house. She’d never seen him quite like this before, and her heart beat fast with excitement and anticipation.

“Luke, I—”

The moment they were in the house, his mouth came down hard on hers, stealing the words right off her lips. He moved fast to get rid of clothing until they were both naked and trembling. While his hands moved over her reverently, he kissed her as if he’d never get enough.
 

Sydney gave herself over to him, willing to go anywhere he wanted to take her.

With his hands on her bottom, he lifted her and drew her nipple into his hot mouth as he walked them into the bedroom. He lowered her to the bed and came down on top of her, feasting on one breast and then the other.

Sydney raised her hips, seeking him.

Suddenly, he stopped, rested his head on her chest and took several deep breaths.

She ran her fingers through his hair. “What is it?”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. “I’m being too rough with you.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I put a mark on you,” he said, tracing a finger over a red spot on her breast.