Chapter Five #2
The name swam through his mind, and his gut clenched in defense. She stood in the rain, still as a doe, her smoky red hair damp and tangled, those big blue eyes quiet and sad. His knees threatened to give way, and he braced a hand on the fender.
Then she moved, pushed back her wet hair. And started toward him. He saw then that it was no ghost, but a woman. It was not Annabelle, but, he was sure, it was Annabelle’s daughter.
He let out the breath he’d been holding until his heart settled again.
“Car trouble?” Jo tried to keep her voice light. The way he was staring at her made her wish she’d stayed in the trees and let him fend for himself. “I take it you’re not standing here in the rain taking in the sights.”
“No.” It pleased him that his voice was normal. If there was an edge to it, the situation was cause enough to explain it. “It won’t start.”
“Well, that’s a problem.” He looked vaguely familiar, she thought. A good face, strong and bony and male. Interesting eyes as well, she mused, pure gray and very direct. If she were inclined to portrait photography, he’d have been a fine subject. “Did you find the trouble?”
Her voice was honey over cream, gorgeously southern. It helped him relax. “I found the engine,” he said and smiled. “Just where I suspected it would be.”
“Uh-huh. And now?”
“I’m deciding how long I should look at it and pretend I know what I’m looking at before I get back in out of the rain.”
“You don’t know how to fix your car?” she asked, with such obvious surprise that he bristled.
“No, I don’t. I also own shoes and don’t have a clue how to tan leather.” He started to yank down the hood, but she raised a hand to hold it open.
“I’ll take a look.”
“What are you, a mechanic?”
“No, but I know the basics.” Elbowing him aside, she checked the battery connections first. “These look all right, but you’re going to want to keep an eye on them for corrosion if you’re spending any time on Desire.”
“Six months or so.” He leaned in with her. “What am I keeping my eye on?”
“These. Moisture can play hell with engines around here. You’re crowding me.”
“Sorry.” He shifted his position. Obviously she didn’t remember him, and he decided to pretend he didn’t remember her. “You live on the island?”
“Not anymore.” To keep from bumping it on the Jeep, Jo moved the camera slung around her neck to her back.
Nate stared at it, felt the low jolt. It was a high-end Nikon. Compact, quieter and more rugged than other designs, it was often a professional’s choice. His father had had one. He had one himself.
“Been out taking pictures in the rain?”
“Wasn’t raining when I left,” she said absently. “Your fan belt’s going to need replacing before long, but that’s not your problem now.” She straightened, and though the skies had opened wide, seemed oblivious to the downpour. “Get in and try it so I can hear what she sounds like.”
“You’re the boss.”
Her lips twitched as he turned and climbed back into the Jeep. No doubt his male ego was dented, she decided. She cocked her head as the engine groaned. Lips pursed, she leaned back under the hood. “Again!” she called out to him, muttering to herself. “Carburetor.”
“What?”
“Carburetor,” she repeated and opened the little metal door with her thumb. “Turn her over again.”
This time the engine roared to life. With a satisfied nod, she shut the hood and walked around to the driver’s side window. “It’s sticking closed, that’s all. You’re going to want to have it looked at. From the sound of it, you need a tune-up anyway. When’s the last time you had it in?”
“I just bought it a couple of weeks ago. From a former friend.”
“Ah. Always a mistake. Well, it should get you where you’re going now.”
When she started to step back, he reached through the window for her hand. It was narrow, he noted, long, both elegant and competent. “Listen, let me give you a lift. It’s pouring, and it’s the least I can do.”
“It’s not necessary. I can—”
“I could break down again.” He shot her a smile, charming, easy, persuasive. “Who’ll fix my carburetor?”
It was foolish to refuse, she knew. More foolish to feel trapped just because he had her hand. She shrugged. “All right, then.” She gave her hand a little tug, was relieved when he immediately released it. She jogged around the Jeep and climbed dripping into the passenger seat.
“Well, the interior’s in good shape.”
“My former friend knows me too well.” Nathan turned on the wipers and looked at Jo. “Where to?”
“Up this road, then bear right at the first fork. Sanctuary isn’t far—but then nothing is on Desire.”
“That’s handy. I’m heading to Sanctuary myself.”
“Oh?” The air in the cab was thick and heavy.
The driving rain seemed to cut them off from everything, misting out the trees, muffling all the sound.
Reason enough to be uncomfortable, she told herself, but she was sufficiently annoyed with her reaction to angle her head and meet his eyes directly. “Are you staying at the big house?”
“No, just picking up keys for the cottage I’m renting.”
“For six months, you said?” It relieved her when he began to drive, turned those intense gray eyes away from her face and focused on the road. “That’s a long vacation.”
“I brought work with me. I wanted a change of scene for a while.”
“Desire’s a long way from home,” she said, then smiled a little when he glanced at her.
“Anyone from Georgia can spot a Yankee. Even if you keep your mouth shut, you move differently.” She pushed her wet hair back.
If she’d walked, Jo thought, she’d have been spared making conversation.
But talk was better than the heavy, raindrenched silence.
“You’ve got Little Desire Cottage, by the river. ”
“How do you know?”
“Oh, everybody knows everything around here. But my family rents the cottages, runs them and the inn, the restaurant. As it happens I was assigned Little Desire, stocked the linens and so forth just yesterday for the Yankee who’s coming to stay for six months.”
“So you’re my mechanic, landlord, and housekeeper. I’m a lucky man. Who exactly do I call if my sink backs up?”
“You open the closet and take out the plunger. If you need instructions for use, I’ll write them down for you. Here’s the fork.”
Nathan bore right and climbed. “Let’s try that again. If I wanted to grill a couple of steaks, chill a bottle of wine, and invite you to dinner, who would I call?”
Jo turned her head and gave him a cool look. “You’d have better luck with my sister. Her name is Alexa.”
“Does she fix carburetors?”
With a half laugh, Jo shook her head. “No, but she’s very decorative and enjoys invitations from men.”
“And you don’t?”
“Let’s just say I’m more selective than Lexy.”
“Ouch.” Whistling, Nathan rubbed a hand over his heart. “Direct hit.”
“Just saving us both some time. There’s Sanctuary,” she murmured.
He watched it appear through the curtain of rain, swim out of the thin mists that curled at its base.
It was old and grand, as elegant as a Southern Belle dressed for company.
Definitely feminine, Nate thought, with those fluid lines all in virginal white.
Tall windows were softened by arched trim, and pretty ironwork adorned balconies where flowers bloomed out of clay pots of soft red.
Her gardens glowed, the blooms heavy-headed with rain, like bowing fairies at her feet.
“Stunning,” Nathan said, half to himself.
“The more recent additions blend perfectly with the original structure. Accent rather than modernize. It’s a masterful harmony of styles, classically southern without being typical.
It couldn’t be more perfect if the island had been designed for it rather than it being designed for the island. ”
Nathan stopped at the end of the drive before he noticed that Jo was staring at him. For the first time there was curiosity in her eyes.
“I’m an architect,” he explained. “Buildings like this grab me right by the throat.”
“Well, then, you’ll probably want a tour of the inside.”
“I’d love one, and I’d owe you at least one steak dinner for that.”
“You’ll want my cousin Kate to show you around. She’s a Pendleton,” Jo added as she opened her door. “Sanctuary came down through the Pendletons. She knows it best. Come inside. You can dry off some and pick up the keys.”
She hurried up the steps, paused on the veranda to shake her head and scatter rain from her hair. She waited until he stepped up beside her.
“Jesus, look at this door.” Reverently, Nathan ran his fingertips over the rich, carved wood. Odd that he’d forgotten it, he thought. But then, he had usually raced in through the screened porch and through the kitchen.
“Honduran mahogany,” Jo told him. “Imported in the early eighteen-hundreds, long before anyone worried about depleting the rain forests. But it is beautiful.” She turned the heavy brass handle and stepped with him into Sanctuary.
“The floors are heart of pine,” she began and blocked out an unbidden image of her mother patiently paste-waxing them.
“As are the main stairs, and the banister is oak carved and constructed here on Desire when it was a plantation, dealing mostly in Sea Island cotton. The chandelier is more recent, an addition purchased in France by the wife of Stewart Pendleton, the shipping tycoon who rebuilt the main house and added the wings. A great deal of the furniture was lost during the War Between the States, but Stewart and his wife traveled extensively and selected antiques that suited them and Sanctuary.”
“He had a good eye,” Nathan commented, scanning the wide, high-ceilinged foyer with its fluid sweep of glossy stairs, its glittering fountain of crystal light.
“And a deep pocket,” Jo put in. Telling herself to be patient, she stood where she was and let him wander.