Chapter 29
TARA
“Daddy Cameron, look! I brought my treasure pouch!"
Posey waves a small canvas bag as Tara buckles her into the back seat of Tom’s Range Rover.
"Do you think we'll find hundreds of arrowheads?"
"We'll see what the island wants to share with us," I say, sliding into the passenger seat beside Tom.
Tara assured me that this weathered-looking man had been scouting for arrowheads and other artifacts for over thirty years. Edison jumps into the cargo area, tail wagging as he settles behind our seats.
Tara catches my eye in the rearview mirror, and the memory of last night's kiss hits me like lightning.
The way she felt in my arms, the soft moan that escaped her lips when I touched her breast. Christ, I can barely concentrate on anything else.
"The Wampanoag people lived on this island for thousands of years," Tom explains as we pull away from the mansion. "They knew every freshwater source, every sheltered camping spot."
So far, Tom is proving an excellent guide.
He answers all of Posey's endless questions throughout the forty-minute trip.
He also points out subtle features I never would have noticed—slight depressions in the fields that might indicate old campsites, areas near ponds where fresh water would have been accessible.
Tara leans forward between our seats, her hair brushing my shoulder and sending heat racing through me.
"How do you tell the difference between an arrowhead and just a regular stone?" she asks.
"Flaking patterns," Tom says. "Human hands leave specific marks."
I turn to Posey. "You think you can spot the difference, little archaeologist?"
"I can spot anything!" Posey declares with absolute confidence.
We park near a field that borders a small pond.
"Remember, safety first," Tom instructs as we climb out.
Posey nods solemnly, then immediately races toward the water's edge with Edison bounding beside her.
I join Tara, and together we follow Posey's enthusiastic exploration. The tension from last night still crackles between us—every accidental brush of our hands, every shared glance loaded with memory of how her body felt pressed against mine.
"She's having the time of her life," Tara says softly, watching Posey crouch by the water's edge, carefully examining every stone.
"Yeah," I agree, but I'm watching Tara instead. Admiring her graceful figure, her mesmerizing green eyes.
Twenty minutes into our arrowhead hunt, Tom's phone rings.
"What? Where?" He presses the phone closer to his ear. "How many injured?"
He turns away from us, but I catch fragments: "Multi-car pileup... Route 3A... need every available responder..."
When he faces us again, he's already fishing the keys from his pocket. "There's been a serious accident on the other side of the island. I'm a volunteer EMT—I'm the closest responder available right now."
His serious eyes meet mine.
"You and your family will have to wait here. I've already ordered a car to pick you up as soon as one becomes available."
"How long will it be?" I ask.
"Hard to say. Emergency personnel are responding to the accident."
"We understand," Tara says. "We'll be fine."
He's gone in seconds.
I watch Tom's car disappear until it's completely out of sight. Then I turn to watch Tara and Posey digging for arrowheads in the mud.
I feel slightly freaked out, being abandoned in the middle of nowhere. But like Tara said, we'll be fine.