Marin waited until Adam was out of earshot

This situation was unacceptable. There was no way she would spend her days—days she needed to figure out what she would do now that her life had imploded—with children.

She spun around to confront her parent who had put her in this predicament. “Are you out of your mind, Mother?”

“No.” Angelica grinned. “What I am is damned happy to have purpose to my days. It’s not the editor job, but it’s something to keep me busy while we’re here, and those children need someone. So does their father. The kids, I can help with. The man?” She stared at Marin. “I’ll bet he’d take your mind off Colin.”

“He has kids, Mother.”

“No one said you had to marry him, Marin.”

Dear Reader,

It seems like yesterday that Mirabelle Island started taking shape in my mind. A glimpse of a storefront here, a horse-drawn carriage there. A stately Victorian or lonesome lighthouse. A colorful marina or rocky beach on the shores of Lake Superior. There were times I had to remind myself that Mirabelle wasn’t real.

Unfortunately, every miniseries must come to an end. And so, it is with this seventh An Island to Remember book I say goodbye to the place and the people that have filled my thoughts and dreams for almost four years. Mirabelle and its islanders will always be in my heart, and who knows? Another story or two might pop up down the road. For now, though, it’s onward and upward as a new town and new characters fill my thoughts. Right now I’m thinking about three brothers, their best friend and the town they call home. After all, romance is always about the heroes for me! Stay tuned for more details.

I love hearing from readers, and you can contact me at helenbrenna@comcast.net.

My best,

Helen Brenna

Redemption at Mirabelle
Helen Brenna

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Helen Brenna grew up in central Minnesota, the seventh of eight children. Although she never dreamed of writing books, she’s always been a voracious reader. So after taking a break from her accounting career to be an at-home mom, she tried her hand at writing the romances she loves to read. Since she was first published in 2007, her books have won many awards, including a Romance Writer’s of America’s prestigious RITA® Award, an RT Book Reviews Reviewer’s Choice, a HOLT Medallion, a Book Buyers Best and a National Readers’ Choice Award.

Helen lives happily ever after with her family in Minnesota. She’d love hearing from you. Email her at helenbrenna@comcast.net, visit her website at www.helenbrenna.com or chat with Helen and other authors at Riding With The Top Down.

For Paul Twomey

Thanks, little bro, for walking in the rain!

Acknowledgments:

Thanks to fellow writer and editor, Sarah Tieck, for her friendship, always supportive critique advice, and insight into the children’s book publishing business. You make every day brighter!

And thanks to my editor, Johanna Raisanen, for her editorial insight with all my books and this story in particular.

You help me make every book better!

You guys are the best, Helen

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

THE ONLY DIFFERENCE BETWEEN Mirabelle and Adam Harding’s life was that this island would be good as gold by Christmas. Maybe that’s why there was nothing he liked better than a good, old-fashioned natural disaster—tornadoes, floods, hurricanes. As long as no lives had been lost in the happening.

He could fix roofs and replace windows, repair roads and replant trees, putting everything right again. It’s what he did best. He fixed things. That’s why the folks here on Mirabelle had hired him, to get their town, their businesses and their lives back on track.

As a gentle, late summer breeze laden with dust blew from the interior of the island out toward Lake Superior, Adam glanced up and down Main Street, taking note of his team’s progress in cleaning up after the tornado that had ripped across this island. When he’d first arrived, shattered glass, crumbling bricks, torn shingles, shredded awnings and twisted lampposts, as well as the remnants of uprooted trees and broken branches, had been scattered this way and that across town. Unfortunately, there was still much to be done before any rebuilding could start.

“This cleanup isn’t happening fast enough,” Adam said, addressing his crew. He could mollycoddle with the best of them, but every once in a while a man needed a swift kick in the rear to make something happen. “Initial supplies are getting dropped off in the a.m. That means no one leaves tonight until this place is ready for the shipment. Understand?”

“It would’ve been a hell of a lot easier getting rid of all this debris if we’d brought a couple of our semiloaders over on a barge, and drove them right up that pier and onto the island,” said Ray Worley, one of several operations foremen. “We’d have had this whole place cleaned up in a couple days.”

“And in the process we’d have destroyed all of Mirabelle’s cobblestone,” Adam said, staring pointedly at his foreman as he referred to the street below his feet. He made eye contact with as many of his crew as he could. “Every job we’ve ever done has had its own special problems and opportunities,” he said softly. “One of the objectives on this island is to do no more damage while we’re here. Tread lightly. Be respectful of Mirabelle’s history. Understand?”

The men nodded, most of them having been with him for years. They understood he took pride in making good on his promises, and that’s why his company had one of the finest reputations in the country for restoring towns devastated by natural disasters.

“I’ve promised these people that we’ll have their island up and running before Christmas, and they’ve put their lives in our hands. Let’s get this done.”

His cleanup crew dispersed, a small team, relatively speaking. In a couple days, the real work would start and his main construction crew would be crawling in full force all over this island.

“Ray,” Adam called.

“Yeah.”

“In the past, you’ve disagreed on occasion with my messages to the men, and I’ve asked you to voice your objections in private,” Adam said quietly. He didn’t get angry, and he never raised his voice. He simply stated his expectations, and if those expectations weren’t met then there would be consequences. “Contradict what I say one more time in front of anyone, and you’re fired.”

“Yes, sir.”

Adam turned away, felt the heat of the man’s irate stare on his back and impassively headed to his trailer set up on the street bordering the city park. He’d positioned his mobile office in about as centrally located a position as he could get while still being able to survey most of main street Mirabelle on which he and his crew would be focusing their efforts. There’d been some minor damage out at the Rock Pointe Lodge resort, up on the golf course and at Mirabelle Stable and Livery, but the rest of the mayhem wrought by the tornado had been concentrated in the village center.

As he crossed the street, his personal assistant, Phyllis Pennick, came out of the trailer holding a stack of messages. Phyllis was in her mid-fifties and of medium height with short, salt-and-pepper hair. She was rail thin, no doubt from smoking—outside, he’d always insisted—a pack of cigarettes a day. Some managers might begrudge the time she took away from her desk to appease her habit, but as far as Adam was concerned she more than made up for that one flaw with her organizational skills. Her husband had died almost a decade ago, so she had no problems traveling on the job, and, as with most good executive assistants, he didn’t know what he’d do without her.

“Darwin called,” she said. “His bus broke down somewhere in Iowa last night and they’re waiting for a part. He figures they’re going to be at least a day late.”

That meant the initial supplies would be here tomorrow, but a big part of his crew wouldn’t. It wasn’t the first—and it certainly wouldn’t be the last—time that’s ever happened. Although he tried to hire as much local labor as possible, knowing an area devastated by a tornado could usually use the inflow of employment dollars, he brought the majority of his construction workers, including several foremen and supervisors, along with him to every job.

“I’m going to get myself a sandwich while I can,” she said. “You want one?”

“Sure.” He reached the steps to his trailer office and noticed his kids’ nanny, along with his daughter and son, coming down the hill from the house he was renting up in the residential section of the island. Carla had standing, strict orders to not bring Julia and Wyatt anywhere near his construction sites and had never once violated the rule in the three years she’d been working for him. This had to be something big.

As they neared Adam, Wyatt caught sight of him. “Daddy!” he called.

Adam waved. Carla quickly bent down to Wyatt’s level and pointed at the play equipment. Then she let go of the four-year-old’s hand, and he ran over to the play equipment without a second glance toward Adam. His seven-year-old daughter, Julia, on the other hand, never took her eyes off Adam’s face.

“Hi, Daddy,” Julia said, looking more than a little worried as she and her nanny approached him. “I know we’re not supposed to come down to your work, but Carla said it was important.”

“It’s all right. I’m sure Carla had a good reason.” The nanny’s eyes were red and puffy as if she’d been crying. “Julia,” he said. “Go play with your brother for a few minutes while I talk with Carla.”

“But, Daddy—”

“Julia,” he said calmly. His soft-spoken strategies in dealing with his employees worked just as well with his kids. “What did I ask you to do?”

Crossing her spindly little arms, she frowned at him, but then headed over to Wyatt.

As soon as his daughter was out of earshot, he turned to Carla. “What’s going on?”

“It’s my mother,” she said, her voice breaking. “I don’t know if you remember, but she’s been sick.”

He remembered.

“They found lung cancer.”

“I’m sorry.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, gathering herself.

“Do you know what you want to do yet?” he asked softly, bracing for the worst. The only thing he’d ever been able to count on in the construction business is that he couldn’t count on anything. He’d deal with this problem the way he dealt with everything else.

“I have to go home to take care of her.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“Could be two months. Could be a year. I don’t know. I’ll be staying as long as she needs me. I think it’s best for the children if you find another nanny.”

Something bad happened without fail on every single one of his jobs. This was the construction business, and what he did, moving from town to town, rebuilding after disasters, had more than its fair share of plans going awry. Last time they’d been to Arkansas, his roofing crew had been late by more than a week. In east Texas, one of his foremen, a good friend of Ray Worley’s, had shown up on the job site in the morning still drunk from the previous night of partying and Adam had had to fire him. In Oklahoma, they’d had another tornado come through not a month into the job, forcing them to start almost from scratch. He’d gotten used to problems, had accepted them as par for the course. But this? This was different. This impacted his kids.

Carla had been his children’s nanny ever since Beth—ever since his wife had died three years ago. Carla had been the only constant in their ever-changing landscape. Wyatt, too young to understand much of anything, went about playing on the park equipment as if nothing was amiss. But Julia? She was watching him. Always, she watched him. No child should have to grow up so fast.

“The children.” Tears streamed down Carla’s face. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Harding.”

“It’s all right, Carla. We’ll survive.”

One way or another, they always did, but he was getting a very bad feeling about this Mirabelle project.

“MEN.” MARIN CAMDEN GLANCED at the group of construction workers eyeing—no, more like ogling—her as she and her mother took a ferry across the choppy surface of Lake Superior to Mirabelle Island. “They’re all pigs.”

“I imagine Artie and Max might just take issue with that very generalized opinion.” Marin’s mother, Angelica Camden, chuckled softly. “Your brothers—my sons, mind you—are definitely not cut from the same cloth as those crude strangers. Or, for that matter, Colin.”

At the mention of her ex-fiancé, Marin turned around and gripped the ferry’s railing. “That’s what you want to think, but how do you really know? Men hide their affairs very well these days, and Artie and Max would hardly spill to either one of us.”

“Well, I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but affairs are just one of the many ways men break their vows,” Marin’s mother said, frowning as she adjusted her dark sunglasses. “Sometimes the most subtle infractions can be the most painful.”

There was a great deal of truth to that statement. Discovering Colin had been screwing around behind Marin’s back almost since the day they’d started dating more than six years ago hadn’t been quite as shocking or cutting as discovering the identity of his lover when she’d returned home early from a work conference and found them in bed together. This, on the same day she’d discovered the top management at the Wall Street firm she worked for were under investigation for ethics violations and had decided to quit her job.

She still wasn’t entirely sure what to think. Was Colin’s betrayal her fault? Had she been just too assertive and demanding? Not sexy or sensual enough?

“Still,” Angelica continued, “I refuse to believe that there are no men worthy of love and commitment.”

Marin shot a glance in her mother’s direction. She’d known her mother and father had been having a few spats of late, but when her mom had asked if she could tag along in Marin’s escape from the media frenzy surrounding her breakup with Colin, she’d assumed it had been nothing out of the ordinary. Now she wasn’t so sure.

“Forget about me and Colin,” Marin said. “What’s going on with you and Dad? Did he do something? Something serious or subtle?”

Her mother looked away. “I’m sorry, Marin. He’s your father. I don’t want to say anything that might color your opinion of him.”

“Oh, come on.” Marin shook her head. “How many times have I told you to divorce the arrogant, self-absorbed asshole? Have you finally decided to do it this time?”

Only silence from her mother.

“Mom?” Marin felt her eyes widen. “Did you actually file for a divorce?”

“I saw an attorney last week.”

Holy hell. This from her patient, calm, always loving and forgiving mother. What had happened to the sermon about how a person doesn’t throw away thirty-five years of marriage on a whim? Anyone can get a divorce. Making a marriage work? That’s the hard part.

“Well, this probably doesn’t help much.” Marin wrapped her arm around her mother. “But I would’ve left him decades ago.” Of course, Marin never would’ve married the opinionated, sexist, controlling United States senator in the first place. She loved Arthur Camden as a father, but she’d never liked him as a man. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not just now,” Angelica said, smiling slightly. “Suffice it to say, I needed a little time away. Thanks for letting me tag along with you.”

But then the quaint and quiet Mirabelle Island with its Victorian bed-and-breakfasts, cobblestone streets and horse-drawn carriages wouldn’t have been Marin’s first destination pick. She would’ve much preferred a month at an adults-only resort on St. Barts in the Caribbean. Sand, surf and ice-cold drinks—Sex on the Beach—would’ve done wonders for her frame of mind.

Then again, hanging with her sister, Melissa, after she’d estranged herself from the family all these years held a certain appeal. It’d be nice getting to know her again and her new world. Although Marin would venture to guess that her husband, Jonas, was as much an ass as the rest of his sex.

“You know I’ve never been off on my own like this away from your father,” her mother whispered. “For more than a weekend here or there.”

“Then you were long past due.”

“A month on Mirabelle. What in the world are we going to do all day long?”

“Unwind and relax.”

Easier said than done. Marin might have a multimillion dollar trust fund inherited from her famous Camden grandfather sitting at a bank, making quitting her job financially feasible, but she’d also inherited her grandfather’s work ethic. Other than to pay Harvard tuition and buy her Manhattan apartment, she’d never relied on that trust money for support. Until now. It didn’t sit particularly well, but Marin was going to attempt to give lazy a good go for the first time in her life.

A brisk but warm wind hit the ferry as it crossed Lake Superior, and Marin secured her baseball cap lower over her brow. It was late August, near the end of Mirabelle’s typical tourist season and while the ferry wasn’t crowded, the last thing she and her mother needed right now was to be recognized.

Then again, Melissa had promised they wouldn’t have to worry about crowds or the media on her little island. The tornado that had passed through Mirabelle only a short time ago had put an abrupt end to tourist season. From what Melissa had said, the island had emptied like water spiraling down a drain. They’d have plenty of peace and quiet.

The ferry docked at the pier. Marin grabbed both their bags and stepped off the ferry, following her mother. The large group of construction workers had exited ahead of them.

“Melissa said she would meet us,” her mother murmured. “Do you see her?”

“Not yet, but I’m sure she’ll be here.”

“Marin! Mom!”

Marin spotted her sister waving near the edge of the pier. “Melissa!”

After a round of hugs, Melissa smiled. Marin wasn’t sure she’d ever seen a woman look quite so happy. “Call me Missy, okay? If you keep calling me Melissa, no one here on the island will have a clue who you’re talking to, including me.”

In trying to slough off the expectations—and more—of the Camden name, Melissa had divested herself of most things Camden, including her name, years ago. “Missy Charms.” Marin shook her head. “Where in the world did you come up with that name, anyway?”

“It’s Missy Charms Abel now.” She shrugged. “And Jonas called me Missy from the beginning. It just seemed to fit.”

As did motherhood, or so her sister claimed. Missy and Jonas had no sooner agreed to adopt than found out they were pregnant. How any woman could be so happy with two children under the age of two was anyone’s guess.

Marin had accepted the inevitability of someday getting married, but children were out of the question. All she’d had to do was look at her mother’s life—or lack thereof—to firm up that decision. Angelica Camden had given up a promising editorial career at a large New York publishing house to stay home and raise a family, and look at her now. In her late fifties, soon to be divorced and no life of her own.

Marin was far too absorbed in her career and enjoyed her single life far too much to ever get tied down by a child. Besides, she despised sticky fingers, chicken nuggets and cartoons, not to mention she had absolutely no patience. She was a bit too much like her father in that regard.

Missy grabbed their mother’s suitcase, tossed it in the rear of a golf cart and hopped behind the wheel.

Marin raised her eyebrows. “I take it there are no cars on Mirabelle?”

“Nope. Only horse drawn carriages and golf carts. Although with all the construction that’s going on with the rebuilding, there’s bound to be some construction equipment here and there.”

With the big water behind them, the marina still dotted with several shapes and sizes of boat, quaint gingerbread houses sprinkling the hillside, and a majestic lighthouse visible down the shoreline, Mirabelle reminded Marin of a smaller and slightly less sophisticated Nantucket. But as Missy drove the golf cart away from the ferry pier, the reality of the devastation caused by the tornado put the island in an entirely different light.

The roof on what appeared to have been a restaurant nearest the pier was partially destroyed, its blue shutters hung limply as if they might fall to the ground at any moment, and its windows were smashed in and had been boarded up with plywood. Several windows of the little white church on the hillside were boarded up as well, the stained glass having been broken and blown who knows where. In the other directions, historic brick buildings lay in various stages of destruction. The lucky buildings were only missing roofs. The unlucky ones were missing entire exterior walls. The most amazing thing was that no one had been killed.

“Stop,” Marin said.

“Main Street,” Missy whispered, tears gathering in her eyes. “What’s left of it, anyway.”

The town looked like Marin felt. As sure as she was standing here a tornado had ripped through her life. Her fiancé was a lying cheat, her parents were getting a divorce, and she’d lost faith in the people for whom she’d been working for the past eight years. The foundations on which she’d based her entire life had been ripped out from under her and she didn’t know where to stand, let alone how to walk.

“Missy?” Marin asked. “Your gift shop?”

“Whimsy fared better than some shops, not as well as others,” Missy said, taking a deep breath. “We had some roof damage and lost all our windows, so most of my inventory was ruined. But the restaurant of one of my best friends, Duffy’s Pub, was hit the hardest. They don’t even know if the structure is sound enough to rebuild or if they’ll have to bulldoze everything over and start from scratch.”

“There must be some way we can help them,” their mother murmured.

For as long as Marin could remember her father had drummed into her head that philanthropy was an integral part of the responsibility of being a Camden. Although she disagreed with his delivery, she couldn’t argue his logic. As a result, a large percentage of her trust fund dollars every year went toward charitable projects.

Marin rested her hand on her mother’s arm. “We’ll find a way to help, Mom.”

“Let’s go,” Missy finally said. “I can only look at it for so long.” She drove the golf cart up a hill and into a residential area that didn’t seem at all impacted by the storm.

“The tornado didn’t come through here?”

“No. It came through the golf course and slipped down into town over by the central park, missing most residential sections.”

“Thank God for small favors,” their mother mused.

Missy pulled the golf cart in front of a neatly kept yellow-and-white Cape Cod. “This is where you guys will be staying. The couple who’d been renting this place had just moved here last year to start up a new restaurant. But the storm destroyed their building, so they’ve decided to start over in Door County.”

“Where’s your house?”

“Right next door.” Missy pointed. “How’s that for convenient?”

As if on cue, Missy’s husband, Jonas, came out the front door of their house, a much larger Cape Cod, carrying two small boys. “Hello, ladies,” he called. “Welcome to Mirabelle.” The moment he cleared the steps, he set the toddlers down in the grass and they ran somewhat clumsily toward Missy.

“Look at you two go,” Missy said, smiling.

Angelica Camden had come to Mirabelle no less than three times to visit Missy these past couple of years, so the boys likely remembered her. Marin, on the other hand, had never met either one of the kids. “Who’s who?” she asked.

“Nate is the towheaded one,” Angelica said. “And Michael has dark hair.”

She bent down and held out her arms. “Come say hello to Grandma!” The boys ran toward her and she hugged them both at the same time. “Thank God one of my kids finally gave me grandchildren.”

“Well, don’t count on me ever adding to the lineup.”

“Never say never,” Angelica murmured. “Now go give your auntie Marin a big sloppy kiss.”

They both turned to Marin with their big, round eyes and messy mouths.

“No, that’s okay.” She smiled and waved. “Hi, boys.”

Jonas laughed and grabbed the suitcases from Marin. They followed him up the sidewalk, the boys holding Grandma’s hands. Everyone piled inside the house Marin and her mother would be renting for the duration. Immediately, the boys went racing from room to room and Marin flashed on what the next several weeks could look like if she didn’t set some ground rules with her mother right off the bat. The boys screamed and raced by Marin. The vision wasn’t pretty.

“If Grandma wants to see her grandbabies,” Marin suggested, “I think she’ll be going over to Missy’s house from now on.”

“I don’t think you’ll need to worry about your peace and quiet, Marin,” Missy said, smiling. “The boys have a pretty good sense of self-preservation.”

“I’m going outside with my grandsons,” their mother called from the kitchen a moment before the back door opened.

“I’ll keep an eye on them.” Jonas headed outside.

“Hey,” Marin whispered, pulling Missy aside. “Heads-up. Mom just saw a divorce attorney last week. That’s why she came along.”

“If I say it’s about time will you be mad at me?”

“No.” Marin sighed. “But I have this feeling she and I are both a bit raw.”

“I’d say I’m sorry about what happened with Colin, Marin,” Missy said. “But the truth is you dodged a bullet.”

“I know. It’s still hard to switch gears. I thought I’d be spending the rest of my life with him.”

“Well then, you came to the right place. This island has a reputation for creating matches made in heaven.” Missy winked at Marin. “Who knows? Maybe you and Mom will both get lucky.”

“Oh, no.” Marin smiled grimly. “I need another man like I need a hole in the head.”

CHAPTER TWO

“NO!” WYATT STOMPED HIS FEET. “Carla can’t go!”

“She has to, Wyatt,” Adam said calmly. “Her mother is sick and needs her.”

“But we need her, too, Daddy,” Julia said. “What are we going to do without her?”

“I’ve already made some calls to people who help match nannies with families.” Adam pulled lunch meat, cheese and a couple apples out of the refrigerator. It’d be cold sandwiches and fruit tonight. With Carla leaving, he wasn’t losing only his nanny, he was also losing cook and housekeeper. “We’ll find someone new. Someone you’ll like just as much as Carla. In the meantime, Phyllis will take care of you.”

They both groaned.

“She’s boring,” Wyatt said.

“She never plays with us,” Julia complained.

“Why can’t you take care of us?”

“I have to work, Wyatt. You know that.” Adam slapped together some sandwiches. “I’ve made a commitment to this community to help its residents get their businesses up and running before Christmas. I can’t let them down.”

Pulling her suitcases, Carla came out of her rooms, mother-in-law quarters located in an addition built just off the kitchen. This rental house had been the perfect setup for a live-in nanny. So much for that.

Wyatt cried. Julia’s lower lip trembled.

“Oh, niños.” Her eyes were even redder and puffier than earlier in the day. Carla got down on her knees. The kids flew into her open arms the way Julia used to jump off the end of the dock at his parents’ house on Lake St. Louis. “I will never forget you.”

Foregoing dinner preparations for the moment, Adam looked away.

“Both of you…be good for your father. He’s a very busy man with important work to do.”

Sniffles and sobs and sucked in breaths. If he had to listen to another minute of it, he just might… No. Adam refused to let this get to him. This situation was no one’s fault. It was entirely uncontrollable. What point would there be in getting angry, anyway? That emotion was particularly unproductive. Not to mention distracting and draining.

“I called Arlo for a carriage to take you down to the ferry,” he said gently. “Looks like Austin is waiting for you on the porch to take your luggage.”

Carla stood, sucked in a big breath and, trying for stoic and dismally failing, headed toward the front door. “Thank you, Mr. Harding.” She shook his hand.

“Thank you, Carla. Take care of your mother.”

“Find someone good,” she whispered as she slipped out the door.

The kids watched her through the front picture window. They both stayed there long after she’d disappeared. Adam had no more a clue what to say now than when he’d had to find the words to tell them their mother was gone. Forever.

“Come on, kids, let’s get something to eat.”

They slowly followed him into the kitchen.

“I miss Mommy,” Julia whispered.

“Me, too,” Wyatt agreed.

Redirect them. That’s all he could think to do. He cut an apple in quarters and cored a section. “How ’bout we take our sandwiches out into the backyard for a picnic?”

“No!” Julia yelled. “I don’t want to go outside! I don’t want to play! And I don’t want to be a good girl!” She glared at him. “This is all your fault. You did something to make Carla go away just like you did something to make Mommy go away. I hate you.” She pounded up the steps, went into her bedroom and slammed the door.

Sobbing, Wyatt followed her up the stairs, slamming himself in his own room.

Feeling a little as if his heart had been ripped from his chest and thrown in a blender, Adam finished coring the apple. The sharp knife slipped, grazing his thumb. He stared at the blood pouring from the small cut and immediately memories flashed through his mind. Don’t go there. Don’t. Nothing good could possibly come from remembering.

He slapped a Band-Aid over his cut, threw the lunch meat and cheese into the fridge, tossed away the apple and then slowly made his way toward the patio doors at the back of the house. Stay calm. It’ll be all right. Everything will be all right. He slid open the door and stepped outside into the warm early evening air.

“Adam!”

His stomach flipped. The last thing he needed at the moment was a visit from his sugary sweet, always jovial neighbor Missy Abel from two doors down. As he took a deep breath, turned and saw three women coming toward him, one trailing several feet behind the other two, it was clear that was exactly what he was going to get. Client, he reminded himself.

“I want you to meet my mother and sister,” Missy said. “They’ll be renting the house next to yours.”

Great. Two more chipper females like Missy living next door. Could this night get any better?

“Mom, this is Adam Harding. Mirabelle’s savior.”

“Oh, no,” Adam insisted, shaking his head. Since he’d arrived on Mirabelle, every resident had either rolled out the welcome mat for him in a big way or treated him with kid gloves, sometimes both. “Savior I am not, but it’s a pleasure meeting you.”

“Angelica Camden,” the older woman said, smiling as she extended her hand.

“This is my sister, Marin.”

The sister looked about as happy to be meeting him as he was to be having this conversation. “Never met a savior before,” she muttered, shaking his hand. Although both sisters were attractive little things, Marin’s demeanor was as assessing as Missy’s was inviting.

“They say there’s a first time for everything.” Clearly, all the charm in the family had gone to Missy and her mother.

Normally, he wouldn’t have paid the slightest bit of attention to what a woman was wearing, but the sisters not only acted like polar opposites, they looked it, too, making a comparison of the two unavoidable. Missy had curly sandy-blond hair, Bohemian in style, and wore a tie-dyed skirt and loose-fitting blouse. A hippie. Marin’s brunette hair was stick-straight and all business, cut shoulder-length with stylishly long bangs swooping down over her forehead. She wore a pair of pencil-thin pants and a pale blue silky-looking T-shirt topped by a casual black blazer. Strangely enough, their mother appeared to be a clear-cut mix of the two.

“Adam owns the construction company that will be putting Mirabelle back to rights,” Missy explained.

“That sounds like a big job,” Angelica said.

“It gets a little easier with every town.”

“He’s not giving himself enough credit,” Missy said. “His is the most highly recommended company in the country for this type of work.”

Not really feeling like carrying on this conversation, he glanced away, trying to think of a way of extricating himself.

“Is everything all right?” Missy asked. “You seem troubled.”

It was possible she might know of someone who might be able to help on a temporary basis. “The kids’ nanny just quit today.” He explained the situation with Carla’s mother.

“Oh, that’s terrible.”

“Do you know anyone on the island who might be willing to babysit until I can find another nanny?”

“I’ll ask around, but it’s not likely.” Missy cringed. “After the tornado hit most of the teenagers looked to the mainland for jobs. I’m having trouble finding babysitters myself.”

“Let me know if you have any luck.”

“Will do.” Missy turned to her mother and sister and explained, “Adam’s a widower.”

He hated being described that way. People generally had two reasons for the clarification. Either they wanted to set him up with some eligible female—which, based on a quick glance at Marin’s left hand, she was—or they pitied him and wanted everyone else to pity him, as well. Normally, he could decipher right off the bat a person’s motivations. Missy, though, was hard to read.

“I hope your nanny leaving won’t negatively impact your work here on Mirabelle,” Marin said.

“Marin!” Her mother admonished, raising her eyebrows.

Surreptitiously, he studied Missy’s sister. She had to be either a lawyer or an accountant, possibly both, and he guessed she came by her analytical attitude naturally. He prided himself on straightforward business dealings and respected the same from others. So why, all of a sudden, should the comment of a virtual stranger strike a chord?

“What? It’s just a question.” Marin shrugged. “There seem to be a lot of people depending on him here. They deserve to know if he’ll be delayed.”

“That’s no excuse for being rude,” her mother said.

Adam almost smiled. “Actually, she’s right, Mrs. Camden. I’m sure that will be the first thought that crosses many minds here on Mirabelle.” He’d worked hard over the years to not let anything influence his work. Nearly having to declare bankruptcy after Beth’s death had taught him the hard way that emotions had no place in business. He turned to Marin. “And to answer your question,” he said. “No. No one needs to worry about this impacting this project. I always honor my commitments.”

BY THE TIME MARIN AND HER mother had gotten settled in their rental, it’d been dinnertime. They’d immediately headed to Missy’s for a special welcome meal and were now visiting in the spacious family room off the kitchen. Trucks, cars and toy airplanes were strewn on the floor, along with books, wooden blocks and sippy cups.

Close to reaching her child tolerance level for the day, Marin sat on the couch with Missy’s short-haired black cat, Slim, on her lap. She scratched the cat’s muscular neck, and while he appeared to appreciate the attention, he never took his eyes off the two toddlers playing on the floor. Who could blame him? The two little monsters had more than likely grabbed, kicked or fallen on the poor cat more than once.

Monsters. That’s what they were all right. Missy had bought at least two of every toy, but the boys still managed to find something to fight over.

Nate suddenly picked up a block and hit Michael with it. “No hitting, Nate,” Missy said to her little blond. “Just because you’re mad doesn’t make it okay to hit.”

“Yeah, right,” Jonas muttered under his breath to Marin. “Two boys only a couple months apart? We’ll be lucky if they don’t kill each other by kindergarten.”

“I know you’re mad because Michael took that toy away,” Missy went on. “But use your words. Tell him he has to share.”

Marin was fascinated watching her sister interact with her kids. Her sister was gentle, loving and patient. Compared to her, Marin felt like an old spinster hag. The mother gene had obviously been either buried so deeply under the thick skin Marin had developed after years on Wall Street or she’d been missing it entirely in the first place.

When the boys started in on the tug-of-war over the toy, Angelica tapped Missy on the shoulder and snuck down the hall.

“Oh, oh!” Missy said, feigning surprise. “Where did Grandma go?”

“I don’t see her,” Jonas added.

Wide-eyed and innocent, the two boys forgot all about fighting over the toy as they glanced around the large, open family room. Just then, Angelica jumped out from her hiding place in the hallway and announced, “Boo!”

The boys screamed and ran toward their dad, scrambling into his lap. “I don’t know,” he said, teasing them. “She looks pretty mean.”

Oh, puhleese. Marin rolled her eyes. Missy was letting the boys stay up late tonight, as it was their first night on the island, and Marin felt obligated to hang with the family. In truth, though, she’d had all the Kodak moments she could take for one day.

“I’m going to call it a night,” she said during a break in playtime. “See everyone in the morning.”

After a round of pleasantries, she went out Missy’s rear patio door, letting Slim out with her, and walked through the backyard toward her house. Slim took off toward the front yard, but the moment Marin exited the periphery of glowing lights from Missy and Jonas’s house, she stopped.

The glow of stars in the dark sky was magnificent, a spectacle that was almost too vibrant to be real. Missy’s backyard was at the top of the hill overlooking Mirabelle’s village center. The view of Lake Superior, black as ink this time of night, was amazing. It was a warm, balmy evening and in no real hurry to go to bed, she moved even farther away from the lights and let go a long sigh as the sky turned even more brilliant.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

She spun and found their neighbor Adam sitting behind her and leaning up against the trunk of a large oak tree. Apparently, she’d wandered closer to his yard than she’d realized. “It’s gorgeous,” she said. “Never see anything like it living in Manhattan, that’s for sure.”

It wasn’t apparent now, given that he was sitting, but he was a tall man, over six feet. It was one of the first things she’d noticed when they’d met earlier that day. That and his disheveled hair. Even now, he looked as though he’d just dragged his fingers straight over the top of his head.

Was his hair always a mess? Probably. It was a bit too long, for one thing, as if he were a few weeks late making an appointment with his barber. The slight wave in texture was more than likely the cause of his bangs hanging down over his forehead and the rest of his hair appearing tousled. Add a five o’clock shadow to the picture and he should’ve come across as rumpled. Except that even after what had likely been a long and drawn-out day for him, his shirt was still crisp, his khakis creased. What he looked was tired.

That’s when she noticed his fingers curled around a bottle of beer, and the six-pack, one bottle already empty, sitting in the grass next to him. He still wore a wedding ring, and she couldn’t help but wonder how long ago his wife had died.

“Would you like a beer?” he asked with a touch of a Southern accent.

“Sounds good.” She was on vacation, right? She could talk, just talk, to a guy. It wasn’t as if anything was going to happen between them. Cross-legged, she sat in the grass next to him, cracked open a bottle and took a long swig. “That hits the spot.”

“That’s what I thought.”

He had the most amazing lower lip, full and almost too lush for a man. The most striking thing about their neighbor, though, was his eyes. Dark brown and soulful, slanting downward ever-so-slightly, they could only be described as puppy-dog eyes. Eyes that very likely made women incapable of deciding when looking at him if they should sigh, “Oh, poor baby,” or “Oh, baby, baby.” Marin sure couldn’t make up her mind.

I honor my commitments.

Adam’s comment when she’d cornered him about the impact his nanny leaving would have on his job came back to her as if he were whispering in her ear. She had no doubt he believed what he was saying, but after the stunt Colin had pulled Marin was going to have to see that kind of follow-through to believe it from any man.

“Your kids asleep?” she asked.

“Finally. They’re having a hard time without Carla.”

“How long do you think it’ll take to find a replacement?”

“A couple weeks, at least. The agency sent me the first round of prospects today. Only five of them. It’s difficult finding a person on a long-term basis who’s willing to travel the way we do from town to town.”

“How long was Carla with you?”

“Three years.”

Probably since his wife had died. That was a long time to still be wearing a ring. “And you traveled that entire time?”

He nodded. “We go to where the jobs are. Tornado Alley, for the most part. Oklahoma, Arkansas, Kansas, Nebraska, Tennessee.”

“You’re a bit too far north, aren’t you?”

“They made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. Besides, most of the work will be done before Christmas. We’ll be gone before the worst of the weather hits, and then a small crew will return in the spring to wrap up any loose ends.”

“Ever work on areas hit by hurricanes?”

“Once or twice. It depends. Dealing with water damage from hurricanes and floods is different. Tornadoes are my specialty.”

“How did you get into this line of business, anyway? It seems like a strange specialty.”

“I suppose it does.” He studied her. “I guess I fell into doing this so naturally, I never thought of my business as unusual. One day I was a successful commercial contractor and the next day I couldn’t win a bid to save my soul. A small town near my home where a friend of mine was mayor was hit by a tornado. He asked me to fix them up. To treat the entire town as one client to generate overall cost savings and that was that. One thing there’s never a shortage of is tragedy.”

“So where are you from originally?” Someplace a little south of here, she’d wager, based on his accent.

“Missouri,” he said, sounding sad. “Outside of St. Louis.”

“You still have family there?”

He nodded. “We see everyone a couple times a year. Between jobs. And I take several weeks off over the holidays and head home.” Then, as if the turn in conversation toward family had made him uncomfortable, he asked, “So what do you do in Manhattan?”

“I work…used to work…for a Wall Street investment firm.”

“Used to?”

“I quit. Last week.”

“Sounds like a spur-of-the-moment decision.”

“You got that right.” She took a swig of beer.

“So now what?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“What brings you to Mirabelle?”

“Needed some time away. A lot of time away.”

“Hmm.” He considered her. “Something else happen?”

“I suppose you could say that. Nothing short of my world collapsing around me.” She took another drink of beer. “The firm I work for had been cheating customers without my knowledge. My parents are getting a divorce. And the last straw was finding out my fiancé of the last four years has been cheating on me almost since day one.”

“Huh. That all?”

The words themselves could have been taken in a compassionate context, but the tone of his voice sounded rather unsympathetic. She studied his face, trying to discern exactly what he’d meant by those two words. “Excuse me?”

“I thought something really bad had happened.”

“I tell you my life is falling apart and that’s what you come up with?” She shook her head. “Wow.”

“So you found out there are unethical people in this world and some of them work at your firm. Your mom and dad made some mistakes in their lives, but they’re no different than, what, fifty percent of this country? And you found out in the nick of time that your guy is a lying, stinking excuse for a man. But is your world collapsing around you? I don’t think so.” He cracked another beer. “Now if you couldn’t make your mortgage payment, then I’d agree you had a slight problem.”

It didn’t happen very often—no, make that it never happened—but Marin found herself completely speechless. She wanted to be angry with him, but couldn’t seem to drum up the slightest bit of censure, given there wasn’t an ounce of sarcasm or bitterness in his tone. He was merely stating the cold, hard truth.

“Sorry.” He looked down at his beer. “Working around disasters for a living, I guess I have a tendency to minimize things.”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

“Think about it for a minute. The world is full of people with stories a lot more heart wrenching than yours. Save your self-pity for those times in life that are truly deserving of the indulgence.”

That comment stung. “Times that you’re such an expert at, obviously.”

“My story’s bad, yeah, but it’s not as bad as some of the folks living right here on Mirabelle. Look at what the tornado did to their town, their businesses. And if that’s not bad enough, take the guy who lives on the other end of the island in the summer. His first wife and kids were killed in a car accident. He was driving. Then there’s one of Missy’s best friends who adopted her nephew because her sister, the boy’s mom, was murdered by an abusive husband. The son of the island’s retired chief of police, a game warden, was shot and killed by poachers.” He took a swig from his beer. “Those are tragedies. The things that have happened to you sound a bit like stumbling blocks.”

What the hell could she say to that without sounding bitter and petty? Maybe her problems were nothing in the grand scheme of things. His problems, on the other hand, involved the lives of children and the death of their mother, his wife, and he seemed to take it all in stride.

Or did he?

“Maybe you’re right,” she said. “But it’s one thing to put life with all its ups and downs in perspective. It’s quite another to deny that bad things even happened in the first place. Which one have you done with your life, Adam?”

Silently, he held her gaze.

She stood and headed for her house. “Thanks for the beer.”

CHAPTER THREE

MARIN WOKE AT THE CRACK of dawn her first morning on Mirabelle and glanced at the clock. By this time back in Manhattan she’d have already read the Wall Street Journal while working out on her elliptical, showered and dressed, eaten breakfast, had three cups of coffee and caught up on email, phone messages and the up-to-the-minute financial news on CNBC.

How many times over the years had she intently watched those news reports waiting for changes in the Federal Reserve’s monetary policy? Then there were statistics on new home sales and jobless claims, along with the CPI, PPI and GDP. Any minute now the unemployment figures from last month were due to be released and every person on Wall Street was anticipating their next move in the financial markets.

Not your concern any longer, Mar.

She snuggled under the covers, closed her eyes and tried to go back to sleep. Instantly, the memory of how Adam Harding had looked in the moonlight last night flashed through her mind and her body came fully awake. Had she really been so frank with him as to suggest he was in denial? Yes, but then hadn’t he suggested she was nothing more than a drama queen? The man had balls, she’d give him that. After shifting from one side to the other, flopping onto her back and then onto her stomach, she realized more sleep was simply not on her horizon.

She hopped out of bed and grabbed her cell phone to find Colin had already called twice this morning. Too bad. After shutting off her phone, she went downstairs to find her mother already up and sipping a cup of coffee in the kitchen, the patio door open to the sounds of chirping birds. “Morning, Mom.”

“Good morning.” She glanced at Marin. “Sleep well?”

“Actually, very.” Marin poured herself a cup of coffee and noticed the sun rising over Lake Superior. A thin strip of hazy clouds obstructed an otherwise clear sky and in the distance she could just make out the shape of some kind of huge cargo ship heading, no doubt, to the port of Duluth.

“Isn’t the view stunning?” her mother murmured.

“Yeah.” Marin took a sip of coffee. Curious about those unemployment figures, she reached to turn on the small TV on the kitchen counter.

“Don’t you dare turn that on.”

“Why not?”

“The last thing I want to hear over the sweet chirping of chickadees and cardinals is the drone of CNBC.” Marin laughed.

“Sit down and relax.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Marin—”

“I’m going to work out.” Figuring there wasn’t a gym on Mirabelle, she put on her running gear. A glass of water and a yogurt later and she was outside stretching in preparation for a run. It was a gorgeous morning. Crisp, cool and she simply could not get over how clean the air smelled. She was bent down touching the sidewalk with her fingertips when the front door of the Harding house opened and Adam came outside.

Dressed in khakis and striped polo shirt, he looked cool and composed. Except for the fact that his still damp hair hung haphazardly over his forehead. “Morning,” he said, a travel mug in one hand and a roll of what looked like some kind of building designs under his arm.

“Hi.”

“You run every day?”

“No, I have an elliptical at home and a gym membership. Running’s my stopgap.”

He smiled and headed toward the street. “Do a few sit-ups for me, okay?”

From what she could tell, the man got enough of a work-out on the job. Sit-ups didn’t appear to be the least bit necessary. “Will do,” she said, in any case, as she headed toward the street. “Who’s taking care of your kids?”

“My assistant, Phyllis. For now, anyway.” He hit the boardwalk at about the same time as did she. “Hey, and about last night,” he said. “Sorry about what I said. I had no right to make light of what you’re going through.”

“No worries. Besides, I’m the one who should apologize. I was pretty blunt back at you.”

“You live your life. I’ll live mine.” His cell phone rang. “I have to answer this. Have a good run.” Without taking his eyes off her, he answered the call.

As she took off down the canopied residential street, a breeze came toward her bringing along with it the scent of a man’s spicy aftershave. Damn, but that man smelled good. Was it wrong for her to want to turn around and bury her face in his neck? She almost stopped and turned, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that he just might still be watching her.

“WHY HAVEN’T YOU STARTED doing anything yet?”

“Where are all these crews you promised us?”

“Start construction already, would ya?”

Adam sat at a table at the front of a large room in the community center, letting the islanders spill their guts for several long and drawn-out minutes. Several members of Mirabelle’s city council were sitting alongside him, trying to keep the audience calm. On Adam’s right were Carl Andersen, mayor and owner of the Rock Pointe Lodge, the largest resort on the island, and Garrett Taylor, the island police chief. Sarah Taylor, Garrett’s sister-in-law and island wedding planner, and Marty Rousseau, manager of the Mirabelle Island Inn, were off to the left.

Carl, Marty and, to a lesser degree, Sarah, had been on board with Adam and his company from the initial phone call Carl had put in to Adam’s company asking for a bid. Garrett, on the other hand, was still skeptical about working with one general contractor.

While Adam would’ve preferred not holding these meetings at all, he’d learned the hard way over the years that he could either face everyone at once at a time of his own choosing, or he could deal with them one at a time over the phone. Day in and day out.

Questions came at Adam like rifle fire, but he was used to this kind of reaction, at least initially. It had been the same in each and every community he’d rebuilt, especially at the beginning of every job. Everyone in this filled-to-capacity room was worried. Everyone was impatient. Everyone wanted his or her house repaired, street fixed or business up and running first. They wanted their lives back as quickly as possible and it was hard to fault any of them for being human.

“All right. All right.” Adam finally stood and held up both hands. He connected eye-to-eye with as many individuals in the room as possible. His gaze caught with Missy Abel’s and he found himself unaccountably searching for her sister, Marin. As he recalled her fresh, energetic appearance in running gear at the start of this very long and drawn out day, he forgot what he’d been saying, and everyone in the room stared at him expectantly.

Oh, right. Questions.

“One person at a time, so I can hear you,” he continued. “I will answer questions until every person in this room is completely satisfied. I promise.”

Hands flew into the air.

Adam made it a point to memorize as many names as he could prior to starting every job. If there was one thing that helped people in these situations feel better, it was being treated like a person as opposed to a number. He pointed first at an older man in the front row who owned buildings on Main Street that had gotten hit head-on in the storm. “Ron Setterberg, correct?”

The man nodded. “How long before you’ll know if my buildings are structurally sound?”

Adam felt Garrett glance sideways at him. The worse the structural damage, the longer repairs would take, and Ron’s buildings had suffered some of the heaviest damage from the storm. Garrett’s wife, Erica, owned Duffy’s Pub, the most popular bar and restaurant on the island which also happened to have been located in the hardest hit of Ron’s buildings.

“I have a crew of experts making assessments as we speak,” Adam said. “They have assured me they will have their findings on every single building impacted by the tornado ready for me by the end of the week—”

“But what’s your gut feel?” Garrett blurted out.

Adam turned to the man sitting next to him. “I’m sorry, Chief Taylor, but I don’t guess when it comes to ensuring people’s safety. I deal strictly with facts. By the time we’re finished here, I will personally guarantee you that every building will be one hundred percent safe to be open for business.”

Adam held Garrett’s gaze. He’d never been stared down by a police chief, and Garrett Taylor was one intimidating man.

“How will you communicate these findings?” Ron asked.

He caught Missy’s gaze again. Marin apparently wasn’t here. He took a deep breath and continued. “My admin team has already set up a Mirabelle website which is noted in the pamphlet of information you were given when you walked into the room. This site will be updated at the end of every day with any notices or changes in project status. The experts’ findings will be posted on this website as soon as we have them.”

He’d learned the hard way on his first job that a website was the only way to minimize the chances of getting woken up at ungodly hours with anxious phone calls. So he’d hired a communications specialist to update the website and field calls who was based at the home office outside of St. Louis, along with his accounting staff.

“You can call me directly, if you prefer,” Adam went on. “But you’ll likely get my voice mail given the amount of time I spend on the jobsite. I do return every single call, but it might take a few days. You’re more likely to get the information you need in the timeliest manner from the website. The website knows what I know.”

Ron nodded, as did several others in the audience.

Adam pointed to a middle-aged woman in the third row looking as if she was going to bite his head off. Another thing he’d learned? It didn’t do any good to try and stall the disgruntled. “Delores, you have a question?”

“I own the—”

“Bayside Café with the reputation for the best cheeseburgers in Wisconsin,” he said giving her a slight smile. “Yes, Mrs. Kowalski, I know.”

With that acknowledgment, a little of the heat had gone out of her gaze. “Well, I’m losing more than just tourist business right now. I’m missing local business and I could be servicing your construction crews, as well. Why can’t the Bayside get repaired right away? We didn’t have that much damage.”

“That’s a good point. Your café is scheduled to be one of the first businesses completely up and running. I guarantee that.” But it still wouldn’t happen fast enough for her. Nothing ever happened fast enough for people whose livelihood had been destroyed. “The priorities as stated in our bid will be…first businesses crucial to the day to day lives of the island residents. The businesses that are geared toward tourism will be lower priorities given this is the off-season—”

“But what about our fall Apple Festival?” someone called out from the audience. “That’s a big weekend.”

“And the snowmobilers?”

“Not to mention the skiers and snowshoers?”

Heads bobbed up and down in agreement, and Adam could’ve sworn he heard Garrett growl beside him.

“I understand everyone’s concerns.” He looked around the room. “Believe it or not, I’ve studied your hotel occupancy reports. I know which weekends are the busiest. My crews and I will do our best to have as many businesses up and running by the Apple Festival, but our agreement for full functionality was Christmas.”

That met with murmurs of disgruntled acceptance.

“Remember, folks, our biggest enemy in this process is going to be the weather,” he said, glancing out over the entire group. “Our goal is to repair all exterior structural damage, such as roofs, windows and doors, and outside walls well before the first snowfall. Then we can concentrate on interior repair.”

He pointed to an older woman in the front row. Mrs. Miller. Before she opened her mouth, based on her pursed lips and superior air, he would’ve put money on her being a bad apple in the group.

“You’ve been here more than a week, and it looks to me as though nothing is getting done. I could probably fix my ice cream shop faster myself.”

He was tempted to tell her to go ahead and try and he’d have one less thing to worry about, but that wouldn’t solve anything. “Well, Mrs. Miller, it looks as though things are moving slowly because, quite frankly, they are. For now. We’re still organizing things, making assessments, and getting supplies ordered and delivered. When my core construction workers are operating at full steam, things will come together pretty fast. If you still have a complaint two to three weeks from now, you let me know.”

And she would. He had no doubt about that.

He answered dozens of questions before the group seemed to start running out of steam. Several people had already left or were standing up to leave.

“One more thing,” said Missy Abel. “What can we do to help?”

Adam smiled at Marin’s sister. Already, he liked some of these islanders much more than others, but unfortunately, Missy’s store, Whimsy, wasn’t going to be one of the first businesses back up and running. “The most important thing you can all do is to be patient. The less time I have to spend making you all happy, the more time I have for making your community whole again. If you happen to have construction experience, that’s a different story.

“I’ll hire anyone who knows what he’s doing. Understand that you will be working for me. Taking orders from my foremen. If you can work toward a common goal rather than setting your own agenda please see me after this meeting.”

More people left. “I want you all to know that I will have Mirabelle one hundred percent open for business by Christmas. We’ll have to put a few finishing touches on in the spring, but she’ll be better than ever by Memorial Day and the start of your tourist season. Thanks for coming.”

“That went pretty good,” Carl said.

“Yeah, not bad.” Adam gathered up his files.

“If there’s anything at all you need…”

“I’ll call.”

Carl nodded and headed toward the door while Sarah and Garrett hung back. “You got a second?” Garrett asked.

“Sure.” Adam turned and reminded himself that the intimidation radiating off this man was all because he cared deeply about this island and its residents. “What can I do for you two?”

“My brother, Jesse, is the best carpenter on the island,” Garrett said.

“Jesse’s my husband,” Sarah added. “He couldn’t be here tonight, but I know he’d want to work for you.”

“Tell him to stop by my trailer as soon as he can and we’ll figure out what crew to put him on.”

“No references, or resume?” Sarah asked.

“Nope. I don’t say this about everyone I meet, but your word’s good enough for me.” He paused and turned to Garrett. “By the way, Duffy’s was in a pretty old building. The layout of the place was a bit antiquated by today’s standards. It wouldn’t cost any more for you and Erica to sit down with an architect and tweak the designs a bit. It might even save some money.”

Garrett nodded. “That’s a damned good idea. I never did like the fact that I couldn’t see the lake from the bar.”

“There’s your silver lining.” Adam patted him on the back. With the way this project was going, he had a feeling he was going to need every friend he could get.

CHAPTER FOUR

“FREE TRADE GOODS. MADE BY women in the U.S.A.” Marin analyzed the Whimsy business files on Missy’s home computer. “I hate to tell you this, sis, but you’re spending way too much for the inventory at your gift shop.”

“And I hate to tell you this,” Missy said as she continued folding laundry at her kitchen table. “But that’s exactly the point.”

Frustrated, Marin flipped through month after month of profit and loss statements. Some months, her sister was barely making any money and others she was losing her shirt. “Who does your accounting?”

“I do my monthly stuff and an accountant in Ashland does my taxes. A payroll company pays Gaia and any other summer help I need.”

“Speaking of which, you’re paying your employees too much.”

“College is expensive these days. I’m doing what I can to help my staff.”

Marin pulled up several more files on Missy’s computer and continued poring through one spreadsheet after another. Her sister was the worst businesswoman Marin had ever run across. “Your profit margins suck. In some cases, you’re actually losing money on the stuff you sell.”

Missy smiled. “I know.”

“You need to raise your prices and start buying cheaper goods from China.”

“Next thing I’ll be outsourcing everything.” Her sister laughed. “Marin, my gift shop isn’t about making money. I’m lucky enough to have a balance in my trust fund that lets me do whatever I want. And part of what I want is to give back. My gift shop helps me do that by buying goods from people all over the world who are struggling so that they can put food in their mouths. And help to support single, working moms here in the U.S. so they can feel good about getting a fresh start.”

Marin sighed. “Okay, I get it.”

“Do you?”

“Kind of.” Marin shrugged. “But I guess it’s hard to slough off the whole bottom line thing.”

“Tell me something,” Missy said, snapping out a T-shirt. “Do you really like all that business stuff? I mean really, really love it.”

“Well, I—”

“Just think about it for a minute.”

“There are parts of it I enjoy. Like the fact that it feels vital and in the moment. But I have to admit that there are days I’m not crazy about what I’m doing.”

“So do something else.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you take this time on Mirabelle to get all that finance mumbo jumbo out of your head so you can recharge. Get some perspective on life.”

“And how do I manage that?”

“I don’t know. Paint your nails. Daydream. Read a book.”

Snorting, Marin returned to analyzing the spreadsheets.

Missy stalked over to her then and flipped a switch on the computer, shutting it down.

“What did you do that for?”

“When’s the last time you read something other than the Wall Street Journal? Something purely for entertainment?”

“High school.”

“Then you’re long past due.” She grabbed a book down from the stack on her desk hutch and held it out toward Marin. “Here.”

The book cover depicted a bare-chested man and a woman in a flowing gown in what looked like a desperate embrace. Marin laughed out loud. “A romance? Seriously?”

“Try it. You might like it.”

“HIGHER, GAMMA!”

“Higher!”

“Okay, here we go!” Angelica announced as she pushed the two boys in their swings, one part of an elaborate backyard play system that Jonas had built.

A picture-perfect late summer day, like all the others had been since they’d arrived on Mirabelle, the sun was shining, a light breeze was blowing and the scent of petunias was in the air. Marin was bent over weeding Missy’s vegetable garden when Missy came outside with a pitcher of iced tea and several glasses. “Time for a break, Marin.”

Marin slipped off the gardening gloves she’d borrowed from Missy, sat beside her on the patio and took a long drink of cold sweet tea.

Missy sat on one of the other chairs and watched their mother with her two boys. “What do you suppose is the crux of the issue between her and Dad?”

“He’s a self-absorbed ass and she’s fed up.”

“It’s never that simple.” Missy sighed. “She’s such a good grandma.”

“Not surprising, considering how devoted she’s always been as a mother.”

Suddenly, Michael started fussing for no apparent reason. A moment later, Nate followed suit.

“Time to go read, boys.” Missy stood. “Aka, naptime,” she whispered to Marin.

Their mother lifted the boys out of their swings and walked them across the yard. “I’ll see you boys later.”

“Bye, Gamma,” they both called together. “Bye, Mairn.”

“It’s so cute the way they say your name.”

“Yeah. Cute.”

The minute the door closed, Angelica sat in the chair next to Marin and sipped her iced tea. “I love the city,” she said. “But I might be able to get used to this.”

“We’ve only been here a few days,” Marin said. “Wait a few weeks. I have a feeling you’ll be bored out of your mind.”

“Oh, I’m already a bit bored, but I’m sure I could find plenty to do here.”

“Do you mean you’re thinking of, like, living here?” Marin asked, astounded. For as long as she could remember, her parents had split their time between D.C. and Manhattan. The Camden idea of wilderness had been Cape Cod.

“Goodness, no.” Angelica shook her head. “I love being here and getting to be grandma, but I’d miss the hustle and bustle of the city too much. Some extended time over the summer, though, would be nice.”

Angelica glanced out across the yard and seemed to focus on something in the distance. “We need to meet those children,” she murmured almost to herself.

Marin followed her mother’s gaze to find Adam’s kids taking turns going down the rickety slide of a rusty old swing set while his assistant, a tall, thin woman with short salt-and-pepper hair who appeared to be in her late fifties, stood nearby talking on a cell phone. The picture had been some variation of the same theme for each of the past several days. The children entertained themselves while the woman talked on the phone or worked on her laptop.

Just then the woman started pacing. A moment later, she stopped at the picnic table where her laptop was running and lit a cigarette.

“I wonder how their mother died,” Marin’s mom said as she set down her tea.

“I should’ve asked Adam.”

Her mother raised her eyebrows. “When did you talk with him?”

“The other night when I went home early. He was sitting outside having a beer.”

“And you joined him. Hmm. He’s a handsome man.”

“Don’t even think about it, Mom. Me getting involved with any man right now is entirely out of the question. And a man with children? Never, ever gonna happen.”

The kids, bored with the slide, wandered over to a large, but sickly looking pine tree. The girl boosted her brother up to the lowest branch and slowly but surely they both climbed up the tree. Get off the phone, lady, and take care of those kids. Hell, even Marin, as inexperienced as she was around children, could tell that was an accident waiting to happen.

“Good Lord,” her mother murmured. “If they’re not careful, they’re going to break their little necks.”

They climbed higher and higher.

“That’s it,” her mother said, pushing off from her chair. “I can’t stand it.”

Oh, oh. Knowing exactly where this was going to lead, Marin followed her mother across the lawn. Angelica Camden was the sweetest person in the world until she was crossed or found a cause to support, and then the barracuda in her came out with a vengeance.

“Hello, I’m Angelica Camden,” Marin’s mother said as she approached the other woman.

Clearly surprised, the woman spun around. “I’ll have to call you right back.” She flipped her phone closed and set her cigarette in an ashtray on the picnic table. “Phyllis Pennick. Adam Harding’s personal assistant.”

“Did Mr. Harding ask you to watch his children?”

“Yes.” She didn’t look happy to be caring for two youngsters, but was entirely resigned to her fate. “Just until he can find a replacement nanny.”

“Well, in that case, I suggest you pay more attention to your charges, or there won’t be a need for a new nanny.” Angelica stalked over to the tree. “Children, why don’t you come down? You can play in the playhouse in my daughter’s yard.”

“We can?” the little girl said, her big brown eyes widening with excitement.

“Absolutely.”

“Awesome!”

“Only for a little while,” the assistant added.

The two kids scrambled down the tree, ran to Missy’s backyard, and immediately climbed the ladder into the tree house. The assistant, on the other hand, stayed in Adam’s yard, but now kept vigilant eyes on the children.

The little girl poked her head out from the window. “This is high,” she said, smiling at Marin and exposing permanent teeth that looked too big for her little face. For a kid, Marin had to admit, she was adorable. With brown hair, cut in a long bob, much like Marin’s, and brown eyes, she looked like her father.

“What’s your name?” she found herself asking.

“Julia.”

“And your brother’s name?”

“Wyatt.” He poked his head out from one of the other windows and smiled. His brown hair was cut very short, showing off cute little ears that bent a bit outward at the top like an elf. “And I like this.”

“Well, you both can come over here anytime you want,” Angelica said to them. “As long as it’s all right with your dad.”

Soon they were alternating between the slide, the fireman’s pole and the monkey bars, and Angelica was having the time of her life. “How old are you, Julia?”

“Seven and a half. I’ll be in second grade this year. But I don’t know anyone in my class.”

“Well, there must be other kids your age on the island.”

“Hello, there.” A man’s voice sounded behind them.

Marin turned. Adam. His gaze caught with Marin’s first and she couldn’t for the life of her stop the little flutter in her stomach at the sight of him. “Hi,” she barely managed to get the word out of her mouth. Dressed in jeans and a black polo shirt, he was the best thing Marin had seen all day.

He glanced from her to her mother. “Mrs. Camden.”

“Please call me Angelica.”

“I thought I’d stop up here and give Phyllis a break.” He glanced at his assistant. “You ready for some lunch?”

She nodded vigorously. “And I have several urgent emails that need to be addressed.”

“Go ahead. I got my kids.”

The woman nabbed her laptop and disappeared into Adam’s house.

Adam waved to his kids and turned back to Marin and Angelica. “So how are things going?”

Angelica raised her eyebrows. “Other than your assistant being too busy talking on the phone to pay proper attention to your children?”

Oh, God. Marin rolled her eyes.

Adam’s expression was completely unreadable. He could have been upset with his assistant, worried about his kids, wishing Angelica Camden would butt out of everyone else’s business, or any combination of the three. Then again, it was possible he found the entire episode entertaining. Marin had no clue.

“They were just climbing the tree, Mom,” she said, interrupting. “They were fine.”

“That’s what everyone says until a neck gets broken.”

“Mother—”

“How long until you find a replacement nanny?”

At that, he displayed his first show of emotion. Clearly, more than anything, he was worried for his children. “The agency said to expect it to take at least a month. I don’t want to rush things and get just anyone in here because I’d like to make sure whoever I hire is in for the long haul.” He paused. “Once school starts, things will be a lot easier.”

“Will they both be in school full-time?” Angelica asked.

“Yes, ma’am. Both of them.” Adam nodded. “The school on the island offers a full-day kindergarten option, so even Wyatt will be gone all day.”

“In that case,” Angelica said, “I can take care of your children, Adam, until you find a new nanny.”

What? Marin swung her head so quickly toward her mother she wouldn’t have been surprised had she snapped a vertebra in the process.

Adam smiled indulgently. “No offense, Mrs. Camden, but—”

“Oh, I suppose I’m not as limber as most nannies and I don’t have an education degree, but I do love children,” Angelica said. “Raised four of them virtually on my own. U.S. senators, you know, don’t have much time for parenting. And you won’t find me talking on a cell phone while they’re in my charge.”

“I didn’t mean to suggest you weren’t qualified,” Adam said. “Only that I need someone until I can find a permanent nanny.”

“Well, I’m here for at least a month with nothing much to do other than play with my grandsons. And they have a mother to take care of them. I don’t want to put you on the spot, though, so you think about it and let me know what you decide.”

For a long moment, he studied Marin’s mother. Then he shook his head. “I don’t have to think about it. If Missy’s disposition is any indication of your child-rearing abilities, then I have nothing to worry about.”

Marin felt her mouth gape at his implication that her disposition, as opposed to her sister’s, was less than ideal. But that was beside the point. She still couldn’t believe her mother was serious about babysitting these kids. “Mother, are you sure—”

“When do you need me to start?” Angelica asked.

“Monday morning at eight?”

“Perfect.” Angelica smiled. “And don’t you even think about paying me. I do not want your money.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“I’m the wife of Arthur Camden, Mr. Harding. I would prefer that you send any money you’d be paying me along to Carla. Under the circumstances, her family will likely need it.”

“In that case, I’ll add the funds to the severance I was already going to give her.” He nodded. “Would you like to work the details out now?”

“You’re still busy with work.” She smiled. “Monday morning is fine.”

“Okay, then.” He turned to walk away, but then stopped and turned. “You’re sure about this?”

“Positive. It’ll be my pleasure. One more thing, though?”

He held her gaze.

“If I were in the construction business, I’d be ashamed of that swing set in my backyard.”

Adam glanced at the old metal set and chuckled. “Point taken.” Then he turned and walked on.

Marin waited until he was out of earshot before spinning around. “Are you out of your mind, Mother?”

“No.” She grinned. “What I am is damned happy to have a purpose to my days and those children need someone. So does their father. The kids, I can help with. The man?” She chuckled. “I’ll bet he’d take your mind off Colin Everett Masterson III.”

“He has kids, Mom.”

“No one said you had to marry him, Marin.”

CHAPTER FIVE

THE CAPE COD MARIN AND HER mother had rented had only two bedrooms, and Marin’s mother had chosen the one on the first floor, leaving the entire upstairs, basically, a remodeled attic, to Marin. Pale moonlight streaming through her bedroom window, Marin flicked through her cell phone messages as she walked into the bathroom getting ready for bed.

Her father had called Marin at least four times since she and her mother had arrived at Mirabelle and had left two voice mails. As she brushed her teeth, she quickly texted to let him know they were fine. What else was she supposed to do?

Colin, on the other hand, had left no fewer than twenty messages, text and voice mail combined. They ranged from soulful apologies to frantic appeals to angry outbursts, and she’d deleted every single one of them.

How could he have done this to her? She rinsed out her mouth and washed her face, scrubbing roughly. They’d been as good as soul mates practically since the day they’d met in grad school. They’d been cut from the same cloth, both of their families coming from old, East Coast money. They liked the same books, movies, TV shows, food, colors, decor and even hand soap. They’d fit together, their lifestyles, their dreams and aspirations. And he’d been entirely content with her decision to not have children.

All in all, they’d wanted the same things in life. Or so she’d thought. Shutting off the water, she dried her face. Then he’d broken her heart. She slathered on a moisturizer.

Or had he?

Shouldn’t she be more inconsolable if her heart truly had been broken? Shouldn’t she want to throw her phone across the room, smashing it into a thousand pieces? Shouldn’t she be unable to sleep or eat? Shouldn’t she have cried at least once?

Instead, it was almost as if she’d expected this outcome to their relationship. Maybe that’s why she’d kept delaying the wedding date, almost as if her subconscious had known that when she’d come home early from that conference that she was going to find Colin in bed with someone. What she hadn’t expected was for that someone to be Colin’s best friend. Marcus.

It explained so much. She padded to her bedroom. It probably even explained why she’d found herself so undeniably attracted to their neighbor Adam, a man as virile and down-to-earth as Colin was cerebral and refined. And gay.

Pretty simple, really. Available woman in need of an available, attractive—very clearly heterosexual—man. No reason not to act on it, right? Except that she wasn’t entirely sure Adam was attracted to her. Maybe there was something wrong with her. Maybe she just wasn’t feminine enough to attract a masculine man.

With a heavy sigh, she climbed onto her bed and dialed Colin’s number. He picked up on the first ring. “Marin, thank God, you called. Where are you? Your doorman said you’d left the city.”

“I’m on Mirabelle,” she said quietly, not wanting to wake her mother who’d gone to bed almost an hour ago.

“You went to Melissa’s? Why?”

“You expected me to stay in Manhattan? With everything that’s going on?”

“The paparazzi have been hounding me to death.”

“Better you than me. This is, after all, your doing.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He sighed. “Oh, Mar, I’m so damned sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”

What else could he say? She knew his family well. His father and mother wouldn’t just be surprised. They’d likely disown him if they found out. Colin wasn’t a bad man. In fact, he’d been her friend before they’d gotten engaged. He was still her friend.

“I have to know,” she said. “Did I do something? Not do something to…cause this?”

“Oh, Marin, how can you say that? Think that. It’s not you. It’s me.”

“How long have you known?” she asked, trying to understand.

“Do we have to go there?”

“I do. Did you know before we started dating?”

He was silent for a moment. “Yes.”

“You son of a bitch.” The words came out of her mouth without heat. As much as she tried, she couldn’t seem to summon an appropriate amount of anger, let alone indignation.

“I guess I thought you knew,” he said. “Inside. I mean, come on, Mar. We weren’t exactly a match made in heaven, but I assumed it was a match that suited you. Your needs. The way the facade of our engagement suited mine.”

“I was convenient, is that it?”

“No. You were…content with…mediocrity.”

That made her angry. “Content with—I thought I loved you! I thought you loved me. I thought we were good together! I thought—”

“Marin, you’ve worked ten- to twelve-hour days from the day I first met you. Between your career, your volunteer gigs and your workouts we barely saw each other. Maybe, if we were lucky, we ran into each other in bed in the middle of the night once a week and made love. The truth is that I spent more time with Marcus than I did with you. And you can almost include the time we spent sleeping together in that equation. Can you honestly tell me that’s a vibrant, healthy relationship?”

He was right. She swallowed. But he was wrong, too. Maybe she’d worked so many hours and kept so busy because she’d been, underneath it all, so dissatisfied in her relationship with Colin. She remembered the nights he’d turned her down when she’d wanted to be intimate. When she’d wanted more from him. She hadn’t understood her own frustration. Now, she wondered.

“I think there was a part of me that felt like…like there was something wrong with me, Colin. Sexually. For wanting more. For not turning you on.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “That’s my fault entirely.”

“Does anyone in your family know? Your sisters? Your brother?”

“Good God, no! And I’d very much like to keep it that way.”

“You should tell them.”

“Can’t we just let this…die? I’ll do whatever you want. Tell everyone I was cheating. With a woman, please. Tell them I beat you. That I have gambling debts. However you want to handle the breakup, I’ll go along. Just don’t tell my family. The press. My coworkers. Please, Marin.”

“Tell me this. Would you have gone through with the wedding?”

A long pause followed, and then he admitted, “Probably.”

“Wow.” She shook her head. “Fine. Tell everyone you had an affair with some woman, if that makes it better for you. I really don’t care anymore.”

Marin hung up the phone, flicked off her light and stared outside. A full moon shone down on the trees, casting creepy shadows on the grass. She cracked open the window, letting the still-warm late summer breeze flow through the room. It was quiet here, so quiet she could hear the wind rustling the leaves of the towering old maple just outside her window. Maybe Saint Barts wouldn’t have been a good idea. She needed this time away more than she’d realized.

All her life, she’d swallowed hook, line and sinker her father’s rhetoric about how Camdens being Camdens needed to lead by example. She’d meticulously dotted her i’s and crossed her t’s. She’d been a high achiever, some said overachiever, in both academics and athletics throughout her childhood. She’d graduated summa cum laude from Harvard. She donated heavily from her trust fund to worthy causes. She spent every Wednesday night at the women’s shelter, every Sunday at the food bank. Worst of all, through it all, she’d even imagined herself happy and in love. It had all been a lie.

Well, now she had to find out what she wanted from life.

Her gaze was suddenly, inexplicably drawn to Adam Harding’s backyard. Would she find him, once again, leaning against his tree? But no. He was inside, his house completely dark but for one dim light at the first floor. Pale sheers fluttered with the breeze blowing through his open window. His bedroom? Probably not. The bright glow of a computer screen indicated it was likely an office. He was working late.

She would’ve sworn she could hear him talking, possibly on the phone. Holding her breath, she strained to listen. Whether real or imagined, there was no doubt he had a nice voice, deep and calming. And that faint touch of a Southern accent? Mmm. What would it feel like to kiss that lush lower lip? To nip at him softly? To feel that big, warm body around her, over her?

Oh, hell.

Needing a distraction, she picked up the romance Missy had given her the other day. If nothing else, it would put her to sleep. By page ten she realized her mistake. She was going to be up for a long, long while.

“WE’RE LATE,” MARIN WHISPERED as she followed Missy into the large room at the community center amidst an uproarious discussion.

The town meeting, apparently one of many that would be had over the coming months to discuss the progress on Mirabelle’s rebuilding, had started several minutes earlier. As quietly as possible, she slid after Missy into the first available seats in the last row.

“Didn’t you just recently have one of these meetings?”

Missy nodded. “The engineers finished with their building assessments and Adam wanted to go through the results in person.”

“So what was the point in dragging me here?”

Missy grinned. “Because I want you to come to the yoga class I’m teaching right after this.”

“Yoga?” Marin rolled her eyes. She should’ve guessed something was up when her sister had also suggested Marin wear something loose fitting and comfortable. Why did it not surprise her that her vegetarian, tree-hugging little sis was also a yogi?

“And I wanted to introduce you to some of my friends.” Missy pointed toward the front of the room. “Sarah is one of the council members. She’s sitting up at the table next to Garrett.”

An old woman in front of them shifted and glared pointedly at Marin. “Shh!”

After the hag turned back around, Missy grinned and whispered in Marin’s ear. “Mrs. Gilbert. Runs a mean bed-and-breakfast inn.”

Marin snapped her mouth closed and looked toward the front. Several townspeople were sitting behind a long table, but it was Adam who captured and held her interest. For close to an hour, she listened to him field one question after another in a detached and unemotional, but somehow compassionate, mode.

People were angry and frustrated. There were any number of times islanders said things clearly inflammatory in nature and Adam not only didn’t react, he also managed to defuse every one of those situations, turning them to his advantage. You couldn’t teach a man that kind of control over his emotions.

What would it feel like to snap his concentration? To release his power, his energy behind closed doors, to feel his passion running wild? Nothing like Colin’s lukewarm attention, that’s for sure. She’d always dated professional, white-collar men. Intellectuals. Thinkers, not doers, but Adam seemed to bridge that gap. Maybe her mother—her own mother—had been right. Maybe what Marin needed right now more than anything was no-strings-attached sex. Hot, passionate, burn the bedsheets sex. Maybe Adam Harding was man enough to wipe away every bad memory of Colin. But was Marin woman enough?

The thought had barely entered her mind when the town meeting abruptly wrapped up. Suddenly, Missy was introducing Marin to several people. Then she asked, “Coming to my yoga class?”

Marin shrugged. “No offense, but I’m not really into yoga.”

“You should try it,” Sarah said. “Missy’s a very good teacher.”

“I’m sure she is.” Marin chuckled. “But I’m more of a…kickboxing kind of woman. I think I’ll just go home.”

Missy looked disappointed, but she’d live.

Marin turned to head for the exit and almost ran into Adam’s back. She put her hands out to steady herself. “Sorry. Wasn’t watching where I was going.”

He turned. “Hey, there. I’m surprised to see you here. Find it interesting? Or entertaining?”

“I thought you were nothing short of amazing,” she said honestly.

“I’m not too sure about that.” He laughed, although he looked tired and wrung out, and who could blame him after the way the locals had raked him over the coals.

“How do you do what you do?”

“What do you mean?” he said as they pushed through the exit doors and stepped out into the cool evening air.

“There was so much emotion in that room. At one point, it was so tense you would’ve needed a stainless steel blade to cut the air.”

“I guess I’ve gotten used to it.”

By unspoken agreement they both turned in the direction of their tree-canopied street. “I don’t think so,” she said, shaking her head. “Either you have an incredible gift, or you have ice running through your veins. Which is it?”

“Those are the only two options?” He grinned. “Then I’ll go with ice.”

No way.

“I’ve been in the construction business a very long time,” he explained. “Something always manages to go wrong, no matter how well you plan. There are just too many variables out of a contractor’s control. You either learn how to deal, or you get ulcers. Maybe I like spicy food too much.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “What about you? Wall Street can’t be a cakewalk.”

“It’s a bit on the intense side, yes.”

“Coming to Mirabelle must be like going from sixty to zero in the blink of an eye. You missing it yet?”

“The first couple of days were tough, but now?” She thought for a moment. “I don’t miss it much. Surprisingly.”

“What about your fiancé. Missing him?”

“There’s another surprise. No.” She laughed. “Finding the man you’re about to marry in bed with his best friend has a way of altering things…in the blink of an eye.”

“His best friend?” He narrowed his eyes at her.

“You know, I don’t really want to talk about him.” She managed a smile. “There was a lot of truth to what you said that first night. I dodged a bullet.”

He frowned, clearly still disconcerted about making light of her situation. By this time they’d reached their houses. Rather than head up his sidewalk, he stopped and held her gaze. “He lied to you. That’s not your fault.”

“No, but it doesn’t stop me from wondering if I’d somehow caused it.” If maybe it was her fault that she didn’t turn him on. Maybe she wasn’t feminine enough. Not sexy enough. There was one way to find out. “So I was thinking…maybe we could…I don’t know. Go out to dinner some night.”

“Dinner?” His entire body went still. “You mean just the two of us? That’s not a good idea.”

The intensity of his eyes belied his words. “I’m not talking about anything serious, Adam. Just dinner.” Dessert, hopefully, would come later.

“Sorry. Widower, remember? The kids. The way I move around.” He shook his head. “I don’t date.”

“So that’s it?”

His gaze traveled all over her face and settled on her lips. His eyes darkened, almost as if he might reconsider. Then he turned and started up the walk. “That’s it.”

Apparently, she wasn’t woman enough for Adam Harding, either. That is, if she bought his excuse lock, stock and barrel. Which she didn’t. Colin and his betrayal might’ve thrown Marin for a loop, but she was pretty sure Adam was attracted to her and fighting it.

This wasn’t over. Not yet, anyway.

A DATE. ADAM HADN’T BEEN on a real date since high school, since Beth. Even if he could fathom returning to that scene, he wouldn’t have had a clue what to do, how to act, what was appropriate. Not that Marin hadn’t tempted him with her offer.

As he opened the front door to his house and stepped inside, he glanced back at Marin. Head down and lost in thought, she was stalking back to her house like a woman on a mission. Very likely, she wasn’t used to taking no for an answer. Cool, calm and all-business women had never really been his type, but she sure filled out running gear nicely.

Not gonna happen. Not now. Not ever.

On a sigh, he walked into the house and Phyllis, looking stressed out, met him at the door.

“It’s about time.” She handed him a stack of phone messages. “These are critical. The rest I’ve left for tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Phyllis.” He glanced through the calls he’d missed. “How did it go with the kids?”

“Fine. They’re playing outside.” She grabbed her laptop and several files. “I’m out of here, thank God. I can get back to my real job on Monday morning, right?”

“Yep. Angelica’s set to go.”

“Great.” She was already halfway out the door. “See you Monday.”

Adam set his own laptop and messages on his home office desk and then walked toward the rear of the house.

Julia spotted him in an instant and came running inside. “Hi, Daddy!”

“Hey, sweetie.” His gaze caught a basket full of clean clothes that still needed to be folded and another load lying on the floor still needing to be washed.

Wyatt ran at him from outside and hugged his leg. “Daddy! I’m hungry.”

“Me, too!” Julia said, bouncing up and down. “Can we go out to dinner tonight and go shopping?”

“Shopping? For what?”

“School starts soon. We need to get stuff.”

He stopped and closed his eyes. He’d all but forgotten about school starting, and it’d take a trip to Ashland to get what they needed. All the work he had to do between now and then piled up like a checklist inside his mind. “Honey, Mirabelle doesn’t have the kind of stores we need, and I’m not sure—”

“Daddy, it’s a…ritual. Everybody goes school shopping.”

“I want a backpack,” Wyatt added. “I need one, right, Julia?”

“You need supplies, too,” Julia said, nodding. “And a jacket. And some new jeans.”

She was right. The island was going to start getting chilly and most of Julia and Wyatt’s clothes were suited to warmer climates. Still, he couldn’t afford a day away from the construction site.

“I can’t manage the time away right now,” he said. “I’m sorry. We’ll get on the computer together tonight and order online what you need for the first couple weeks of school. I’ll make sure it’s shipped here on time. That’s going to have to do.”

“Okay,” Julia said, sounding miserable. “Will you take us another time?”

“Sure.”

“Promise?”

He wasn’t going to promise. He’d done that and hadn’t followed through too many times. “I’ll do my best. Now let’s go figure out what we’re having for dinner.” He was going to have to make time to go grocery shopping this weekend, too.

A date. As if Adam had the time.

CHAPTER SIX

“YOUR HOUSE LOOKS JUST like ours.” The young girl’s voice came from the kitchen along with the sounds of the patio door sliding open and an umbrella being shaken out.

What were they doing here? Marin frowned. Her mother had promised she’d babysit the Harding kids where they belonged. At the Harding house.

From Marin’s position, stretched out on the couch in the living room reading—devouring, might be a better word—another one of Missy’s romance novels, she couldn’t see the three, but she could hear them. All morning, as a warm, late summer rain had been drizzling down, she hadn’t moved off the couch except to eat, drink and use the bathroom. Now, she wondered if she shouldn’t head upstairs in an effort to maintain this uncharacteristic sense of tranquility.

“I hadn’t noticed until now, but our house does look a little like yours, doesn’t it?” Angelica said. “Except you have a fireplace.”

“That rain makes me thirsty,” Wyatt said.

At that, Marin smiled. Rain always made her thirsty, too.

Marin’s mother and Missy both appeared in the entryway to the living room. Missy was holding a clear plastic storage box filled with what looked like art supplies.

“I thought we agreed you’d be watching those kids at their house,” Marin whispered.

“We did, and I will,” her mother replied. “Most of the time. But I wanted to do a messy project with them.”

“So you’d rather destroy our kitchen,” Marin said. “Why don’t you go over to Missy’s?”

“Jonas is getting the boys down for a nap and we didn’t want to keep them awake,” Missy explained. “What have you been doing all day? I thought you might stop by to visit.”

“Reading.”

“All day? You? Lying on the couch?”

“Miracles do happen.” CNBC was surprisingly quickly losing its draw on her.

“Well, just keep reading,” her mother said. “We won’t disturb you. I promise.”

Famous last words. Marin returned to her book. Within seconds, she felt eyes on her. Both Julia and Wyatt stood in the archway to the kitchen watching her.

“Are you reading?” Julia asked.

Desperately trying to get back to it. “Yes.”

“My mommy liked to read, too.”

Oh, God. “Did she read to you?”

“Every night.” Julia frowned. “My daddy doesn’t like to read, though.”

“Nope.” Wyatt shook his head.

Marin didn’t want to care about the problems these kids were going through, but as if a weight was pressing down on her chest, her heart ached all the same. She refocused on her book, hoping they’d take the hint.

“We’re going to make something for Carla,” Julia said.

“So she won’t forget us,” Wyatt added.

“Okay, we’re ready,” her mother called from the kitchen. “Come to the table, kids.”

For the next half hour, Marin lay there, half reading, half listening to what was happening in the kitchen. A large part of her wished they’d leave, a small part of her somehow enjoyed the commotion, and, surprisingly, there was even a tiny part of her that wanted to join them.

Eventually, that tiny part won out. Closing her book, she went into the kitchen. “Oh, my God,” she murmured, her eyes widening in horror. Colored rice, feathers and all different shapes and sizes of pasta noodles had spilled onto the floor. Paint and glue had dribbled onto the table. And glitter was stuck to everything, everywhere. “Look at the mess you’re all making.”

“I know.” Missy grinned. “Isn’t it great?”

“No, it’s actually not.” Marin picked up a colored pompom that she’d almost stepped on. “It’s a mess.”

Julia held up a frame made from wooden Popsicle sticks. Loose ribbons and glitter fell to the floor. “I’m going to put a picture of me in here and mail it to Carla.”

“Me, too!” Wyatt’s eyes sparkled as he held up his frame.

She had to admit it was a thoughtful thing to do for both the kids and Carla. “Who’s going to clean this mess up?”

“I think you should,” her mother said, chuckling.

Marin raised an eyebrow at her mother.

“You know what your biggest problem is, Marin?” Missy cocked her head. “You’ve never been a kid yourself.”

“Well, that’s not entirely true.” Their mother looked from Missy to Marin. “You had quite a whimsical nature when you were very young. Do you remember the plays you two used to put on for me?”

“What I remember is Marin always getting the good parts,” Missy said. “She was the fireman while I had to be the damsel in distress. She got to be the princess and made me, not a horse mind you, but a donkey.”

Marin laughed. “But you were so good at braying, Mel.”

Missy glared good-naturedly at Marin.

“I loved listening to you both write the lines and make the sets. You were quite artistic, too, Marin. Do you remember those watercolors you used to do?”

“I remember,” Marin murmured. She’d absolutely adored painting, and yet she hadn’t picked up a brush in years. “Why? Why did I change?”

“I have no clue,” Missy said. “But you turned sixteen and turned into a by-the-numbers stick-in-the-mud.”

“Oh, it didn’t really happen overnight,” her mother said. “You started working for your father here and there. Slowly, but surely, as you matured, I guess your priorities changed.”

That made sense. She’d enrolled in an after-school painting program in junior high and taken several art classes in high school. Once she’d gotten into college, though, it seemed she never had time for those liberal arts classes.

As if she was curiously listening to their conversation, Julia quietly set aside her finished frame, went to the rain-spattered patio door and looked outside. The next thing Marin knew, the young girl had opened the door and was putting her arm outside. She grinned as raindrops accumulated on her skin.

“All I remember is when you babysat on Friday nights,” Missy went on. “You wouldn’t let me sneak in any TV shows or movies Dad had on his taboo list, you made me and Max go to bed exactly at our bedtime, you wouldn’t let me have a candy bar if I didn’t finish all my supper, and you stood next to me in the bathroom with a timer set for five minutes when I brushed my teeth.”

“I did do all that, didn’t I?”

“You were more strict than Dad.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you to be sorry, Marin.” Missy wrapped her arm around Marin’s shoulder. “I want you to get in touch with that long-lost inner child.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” Marin chuckled. “But Wall Street has a way of smothering inner children.”

“So revive her,” her mother said softly. “Take your father’s tapes out of your head and listen to your own.”

Suddenly, Julia turned toward Angelica. “Can I go outside?”

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