Once, long ago, she'd loved the idle pleasure of window-shopping, the careless satisfaction of buying for fun. She'd enjoyed empty, endless summer days once, with nothing more to do than watch clouds or listen to the wind.
But that was before innocence had been lost, and responsibilities found.
She saw the sign for Shipshape Tours by the docks. There were a couple of small boats in dry dock, but the
Mariner
and its sister ship, the
Island Queen,
were
nowhere to be seen.
Her brows knit in annoyance. She'd hoped to catch Holt before he took one of the tours out. Still, there was no reason she couldn't poke inside the little tin-roofed building that housed the offices. After all, Shipshape was now one of her clients.
Megan pulled the sedan behind a long, long T-Bird convertible. She had to admire the lines of the car, and the glossy black paint job that highlighted the white interior.
She paused a moment, shielding her eyes as she watched a two-masted schooner glide over the water, its rust-colored sails full, its decks dotted with people.
There was no denying the beauty of the spot, though the smell and look of the water was so foreign, compared to what she'd known most of her life. The midday breeze was fresh and carried the scent of the sea and the aromas of lunch from the restaurants nearby.
She could be happy here, she told herself. No, she would
be happy here. Resolutely
she turned toward the building and rapped on the door.
Yeah. It's open.
There was Nathaniel, his feet propped on a messy and ancient metal desk, a phone at his ear. His jeans were torn at the knee and smeared with something like motor oil.
His mane of dark mahogany hair was tousled by the wind, or his hands. He crooked his finger in a come-ahead gesture, his eyes measuring her as he spoke on the phone.
Teak's your best bet. I've got enough in stock, and can have the deck finished in two days. No, the engine just needed overhaul. It's got a lot of life left in it. No problem.
He picked up a smoldering cigar.
I'll give you a call when we're finished.
He hung up the phone, clamped the cigar between his teeth. Funny, he thought, Megan O'Riley had floated into his brain that morning, looking very much as she did at this moment. All spit and polish, that pretty rose-gold hair all tucked up, her face calm and cool.
Just in the neighborhood?
he asked.
I was looking for Holt.
He's out with the
Queen.
Idly
Nathaniel checked the diver's watch on his wrist.
Won't be back for about an hour and a half.
His cocky mouth quirked up.
Looks
like you're stuck with me.
She fought back the urge to shift her briefcase from hand to hand, to back away.
I'd like to see the books.
Nathaniel took a lazy puff on his cigar.
Thought you were on vacation.
She fell back on her best defense. Disdain.
Is there a problem with the books?
she
said frostily.
Couldn't prove it by me.
In a fluid move, he reached down and opened a drawer in the desk. He took out a black-bound ledger.
You're the expert.
He held it out to
her.
Pull up a chair, Meg.
Thank you.
She took a folding chair on the other side of the desk, then slipped dark-framed reading glasses from her briefcase. Once they were on, she opened the ledger. Her accountant's heart contracted in horror at the mess of figures, cramped margin notes and scribbled-on Post-its.