A Season of You Page 3

  So he was familiar with Mina’s cottage, which stood nestled at the foot of the island’s lighthouse. Even glimpsed her a time or two. But he’d never been inside and he was kind of curious to see what it looked like.

  It was a cool place to live. Right on the edge of the land, nothing blocking the view to the horizon. As far as he was concerned, dry land was definitely the best place to view the ocean from.

  When they reached the outer gate to the Harper property he rolled the car to a stop. “Mina, I need the gate code.”

  Her eyelids fluttered open. “Huh?”

  “Code for the gate,” Will repeated. “We’re almost there but I don’t think your security guys would like me ramming through the gate.”

  She blinked sleepily. He sympathized. Callie’s waiting room coffee was wearing off. Hopefully Mina had coffee at her place, because if he was going to stay awake all night and keep tabs on her, more caffeine would definitely be needed.

  “Zero nine one six five four,” Mina said.

  “Guess your brain can’t be too rattled if you remembered that,” Will said, reaching through the open window to type in the code. “Luckily it’s not fingerprint or something. You’d have to go out in the cold again.” The rain had stopped but the night air was still doing a good impression of having been imported from Antarctica. Mild California climate, his ass.

  “Ivy wanted to do something like that,” Mina said. “Faith said it was too complicated with so many people coming and going.”

  Ivy Morito was one of Faith’s friends, and a genius with computers. She did security for most of the people on the island who had security systems and ran a web design business on the side. She’d done both the website and the security for the bar. She’d wanted to give them all sorts of fancy features as well, but Will and Stefan had kept it simple. Nice to know they weren’t the only ones.

  Poor Ivy. She could probably make three times what she earned if she went back to L.A. or somewhere with lots more rich people than Lansing had to buy her services. But she wasn’t going anywhere any time soon, being hooked up with Matt Hanlon, one of the island’s deputies. A guy who was, like Mina, Lansing born and bred.

  The gates finished opening and he wound the window up gratefully, heading up the long drive.

  “Take the left fork,” Mina said. It didn’t take long to reach the cottage.

  “Stay here and I’ll open the front door. I still have your keys.”

  Mina ignored him and undid her seat belt. “Sadly, we couldn’t convince Ivy to stick with keys for our front doors. You need my hand for that.”

  Huh. Well, that was a good reminder that Mina Harper wasn’t just another Lansing girl. She had money. Serious money. And courtesy of being the daughter of Grey Harper, had to worry about things like a fingerprint recognition panel on her front door even though Grey had been dead for over six years now. The Blacklight legend wasn’t going anywhere it seemed. Nor were the faithful fans.

  “Then wait there and I’ll come and help you. Doc said you might get dizzy, and the last thing you need is another fall.”

  She pulled a face at him but didn’t try to get out of the car. Will came around to her side, opened the door, and offered her a hand. She stood up carefully, managing to stay steady on her feet, and they headed for the cottage.

  In the dark, it looked tinier than ever, the white walls pale gray in the storm light. The light was on, revolving slowly.

  “Is it hard to sleep with the light?” he asked.

  Mina put her hand on a glass panel next to her door. “You get used to it. And I have very good blackout blinds. Besides, I work nights a lot so I miss it a lot of the time. I like it actually. Kind of comforting. It’s why I wanted to live here.”

  He couldn’t remember if she’d lived here with her husband, Adam, or if she’d moved to the lighthouse cottage after he’d died. He wasn’t going to ask.

  The door panel flashed green and Mina opened the door. She waved at him to go in. “I’ll get Stewie,” she said.

  “Oh no.” He didn’t move. “You go inside and I’ll get the dog. You need to rest, remember.”

  He figured it was another sign that she was in pain that she didn’t argue. Stewie didn’t need any encouragement to jump out of the back seat when Will opened the door. He bolted for the house and Will stood there a moment, contemplating shredded leather before shrugging and following the dog.

  Mina had turned on the lights and left the front door ajar. He closed it behind him and sighed happily as the warm air registered. Mina’s heating was either speedy or she’d left it on.

  “Mina?” he called, not sure where she’d gone.

  “Kitchen,” came the answer. “Straight ahead.”

  The hall wasn’t very long. The whole place was kind of tiny. There were two doors on each side of the hall and one at the far end. Plus a staircase to the left of that door, leading up to the next floor.

  The whole place probably wasn’t that much bigger than his apartment, depending on how much space there was upstairs. It definitely would have fit in just the massive living room of the Harper house that Faith still lived in. Apparently Mina liked things cozy.

  He found her bending down to fill a steel dog bowl with food. He lifted the scoop of kibble out of her hand. “You’re meant to be taking it easy, right? And bending down when you have a concussion can make you puke. Learned that one from Stefan. He barfed all over my shoes the night I looked after him. You’re a lot prettier than he is, but barf is barf.”

  She blinked at him and then, to his surprise, her cheeks went pink. Embarrassed at the thought of barfing on him or pleased at the compliment? His heart did a hopeful bounce at the thought it might be the latter, and he squelched it thoroughly. He took the scoop full of kibble from her hand and dumped it in the bowl. “Is this all he gets?”

  Mina instructed him how much kibble, and then he filled the water bowl.

  “How about you?” Will asked. “Hungry? Thirsty? Or do you just want to go to bed?”

  chapter three

  Do you just want to go to bed?

  Mina blinked, confused for a moment. Her head hurt and she was tired, but for an instant she’d thought he’d meant … no. Why would he? Don’t be ridiculous. “I am tired,” she said, trying to cover her hesitation.

  She knew Will hadn’t meant anything other than was she tired. Will Fraser was a good guy. Tonight had proved that. But still … how long had it been since a man had said those words to her? Years.

  Since Adam died.

  And even though she knew Will didn’t intend them that way, his words still hit home with a little jolt that was like a wasp sting. A faint zing of something along nerves that hadn’t zinged in a long time.

  She’d had sex exactly twice since Adam had died. Both one-night stands, when she’d been looking for a way to dull the pain. She’d taken herself to L.A., found a hotel, and swiped right. The sex had been okay, but two times was enough to learn that it didn’t help with the grief. There’d been no oblivion or fresh start or whatever the hell it was she’d gone looking for. She hadn’t tried since. And she’d never told anyone what she’d done. It wasn’t what grieving widows were supposed to want after all. And neither time had involved anything approaching the sensation she’d just felt with Will.

  Blame the concussion for that. No other explanation.

  Concussion, fatigue, adrenaline. Those were the only reasons to react this way.

  Will Fraser was a good-looking guy, there was no denying that. Tall and tanned, with brown hair that was usually too long and streaked by the sun and the salt air. Hazel eyes that smiled easily.

  She knew that much from the few times she’d talked to him at one of Faith’s parties or when they ran across each other in Cloud Bay. But she’d never really noticed that there was a very nice voice that went with the face.

  And obviously a kind heart.

  Despite what he did for a living.

  But he wasn’t Adam. No one was. />
  Her head throbbed again under the dressing. Tylenol hadn’t really done much more than dull the pain a little, but Callie had refused to give her anything stronger. So sleep seemed like the best option. But first, Will. He was staying the night.

  There was a man in her house staying the night.

  “On the couch,” she said firmly.

  Will’s eyes widened. “Pardon?”

  “I mean, the couch, it pulls out,” she said, flustered. “The living room is the first door on the right. The sofa in there pulls out. And there’re blankets and stuff. I’ll get you some.”

  “How about you tell me where they are and I’ll get them?”

  “They’re in my room.” What state had she left her bedroom in? Probably messy enough that she didn’t want Will rummaging through her closets and possibly tripping over her underwear trying to find the blankets.

  “O-kay,” Will said, one side of his mouth curling up. “Maybe you should get them.”

  Good mouth. She blinked. Damn it. Her brain must really be rattled. “Good idea.”

  “Maybe I can make coffee while you do. You have coffee, right?”

  “Yes. Though I mostly drink tea.”

  “Then I guess we just can’t be friends,” Will said with a grin that gave her another little wasp-sting jolt. “Go. Fetch blankets. I’ll pull out the sofa.”

  * * *

  Mina retreated to her bedroom, moving carefully. Located the blankets and sheets and a spare pillow. Then took a moment to catch her breath. So not how she’d expected this night to go. Not at all. She should be at the station, with Netflix on her laptop and Stewie snoring at her feet, listening for the radio call that would mean someone needed help. Instead she was here, feeling pretty helpless herself.

  Helpless and off-balance. That was all it was. She kicked the clothes that lay on the floor under the bed, winced again as the move jolted her head, and then stared at the closet. She couldn’t offer Will a change of clothes. No way those shoulders would fit into anything she owned. She’d finally managed to give away most of Adam’s things last Thanksgiving apart from a couple of well-worn shirts and sweatshirts that were hidden up on a top shelf where she rarely ever looked. But she knew they were there.

  Not the kind of thing she could loan out. Not even to knights in battered flannel-and-denim armor who rescued her in a storm.

  * * *

  The night was long and slightly confusing. Will woke her up twice to ask her what her name was and where she was. Once he gave her more pills. Her cranky responses made him laugh, and the sound of it was oddly comforting. The third time she came gasping out of a dream of cars and storms and tumbling over in darkness and then his voice was there again, soothing her with soft-spoken nonsense until her heart stopped pounding and she slipped back toward sleep. As she let the dark take her, she thought for a moment she felt his hand brush her hair gently, but didn’t have time to figure out if it was real or not.

  The fourth time she woke, the sun was shining for the first time in several days, the light dazzling through her window, making her squint and wish she’d remembered to close the blinds before she slept. Her head still ached but not as badly as it had last night. Time for more Tylenol. Stewie lifted his head from his spot in his basket in the corner of the room—Will had said she needed to sleep without a seventy-pound dog draped over her sore shoulder—and whined when she rolled over before heaving himself up to come over and sniff her face gently. She stroked his head for a minute and then pushed up slowly, putting on a robe and the silly Minion slippers Faith had bought her so she could let him out.

  The house seemed quiet at first. Had Will left? She didn’t know if she felt relieved or disappointed if he had. But then she heard a clatter from the kitchen. Good, she could say thank you before shooing him away.

  But when she’d let Stewie out the front door and wandered back down to the kitchen, she found not Will, but Lou, putting away dishes from the dishwasher.

  “Will called me,” Lou said in answer to Mina’s enquiring look. “Sounds like you had an interesting night.”

  * * *

  Three days later, Mina left the clinic with clearance to go back to work, though Callie had told her to take things slowly for another week or so. Callie had stressed the “slowly” part and had given Mina another lecture on things she wasn’t allowed to do yet. No screen time, as far as possible. Nothing that took too much focus. No late nights. No air travel, though that was easy enough as she wasn’t planning any trips.

  The headache from hell had mostly gone, and while her shoulder was still all sorts of impressive shades of purple and green, it didn’t hurt nearly as much as it had for the first two days.

  Though she still had to rest it. Callie had been clear on that part too when Mina had admitted it was still sore. That and the “nothing that takes too much focus” added up to “no painting.” The thought gnawed at her. She hadn’t told anyone yet but she had an invitation to show at a small gallery in L.A. just after New Year’s. Not that there were many people to tell. Only Lou and Faith knew Mina had converted the upper floor of the lighthouse from the office it had been when Adam was alive—to an art studio. Or that she’d taken up painting again.

  She’d been good at art at school, had always thought she’d go to college and study more but then Grey had gotten ill and she hadn’t wanted to leave him. She and Adam had gotten married, and he’d taken over his family’s boat-building business when his dad had passed away not long after Grey. There’d been no time for painting and no way she’d have left the island to go to school without Adam coming with her.

  Faith had suggested she think about college again a year or so after Adam had died, but Mina hadn’t been ready to leave the place where she and Adam had been happy.

  But she had taken up her paints again, finding a place to lose herself where she didn’t have to think. At first it was just for her but then, slowly, she’d gotten her confidence back. And when she started sharing a little of her art online—using a different name—she’d gotten a good response. Including the invitation a month or so ago.

  Which she was keeping strictly secret. If she was going to be a success at this, then it would be in her own right. No mention of the Harper name, which would inevitably bring attention she didn’t want until she’d earned it in her own right. She’d been using Emmy’s surname—Logan—for her dealings with the gallery. She knew she wouldn’t be able to keep the fact that she was Grey Harper’s daughter secret forever, but for now she wanted to try. The gallery thought she lived in L.A. She’d rented a P.O. box there and kept any hints of Lansing Island off the social media accounts she used for her art.

  She painted the ocean. A lot. The ocean and the beach. But she never named the place that inspired her. And after all, water was water. So far no one had made any connection between her pictures and Lansing.

  So for now she was safely anonymous.

  She just couldn’t freaking paint. She’d lost a week already. She had to have everything ready to ship to her framer—who had agreed to work during the holiday season—on Christmas Eve for all the pieces to be ready for the opening.

  Just thinking about it had her stomach in knots. Her head wasn’t aching quite so much anymore but it was full of a steady refrain of “running out of time, running out of time, running out of time.”

  But it would be stupid to lose still more time if she pushed it instead of letting herself heal.

  Knowing that didn’t make it any less freaking frustrating.

  To distract herself from the frustration, she needed to do something to fill the hours when she couldn’t be painting.

  A quick phone call let Bill know she was back on deck. He sounded happy to hear from her but said he’d call her to let her know which shifts she had later that day. Probably going to call Callie himself and find out what she could or couldn’t do. She suspected she’d wind up with day shifts for a while. There were usually other people around the station during the day, and
she doubted he’d leave her to do a shift alone until he was sure she was completely recovered.

  The only argument she could use on him would be that she needed the daylight to paint. But that would require telling him about her painting in the first place. Lansing was a small island. Cloud Bay was an even smaller town. Bill didn’t gossip, but it would only take one slip of the tongue and before she knew it everyone would know her secret.

  So she was just going to suck it up and figure out how to catch up on her art. It didn’t sound exactly like something that Callie would think of as “resting,” but it was going to have to do.

  If Bill let her go in tomorrow, she could ease herself into it. Saturdays were always busy at the S&R headquarters. The volunteers did team training and equipment maintenance plus there were always more people on the island on weekends. More people equaled more chances of someone getting into trouble.

  In some ways, that was how the team had grown over the years.

  Lansing Search and Rescue was, like the clinic, an organization that had been a beneficiary of the Blacklight guys realizing that if they or one of their friends got into trouble on their boats or jet skis then they’d have to wait for the Coast Guard to save them.

  So what had existed as a small volunteer lifesaving association for the wilder beaches at the time Grey and the guys had bought houses on the island received a cash injection big enough to let them expand to search and rescue as well. They mostly did marine stuff, but got called out by the sheriff’s department to help on the odd occasion someone went missing on the island, or managed to fall off a cliff, or somehow created another problem that needed more hands on deck than the police and fire departments could provide. They’d even, much to the delight of the local residents, once rescued a very cranky giant ginger tomcat who seemed determined not to ever climb down the tree he’d been chased up. That one had even made the local paper.

  So yes, weekends were their busiest times. Which was why she often took the night shift. Night shift was still pretty solitary. Just manning the radio. The volunteers all slept at their own houses. If a situation came up, whoever was manning the station sent out the alert and everyone scrambled. Other than that, it was usually just one person—or in her case, one person and one goofy Lab—keeping watch.