Island Summer Love Page 5

  “Hello, Allison.” Brent smiled down at her with the same gentle expression he had left her with that morning. “You look beautiful tonight.”

  “Good evening, Brent.” She forced herself to smile up at him. “Martha will be down in a minute.”

  He stepped through the doorway, his body only inches from hers.

  She took a step backward. “Won’t you come in and sit down?” She led him into the living room and sat on the edge of one of the couches. She expected him to sit in the easy chair opposite her, but when he sat next to her, she tensed and inched away.

  “Is something wrong?” She heard the smile in his voice.

  “No,” she said carefully. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

  “Maybe it was the look on your face when you answered the door. Like you didn’t want to see me. Like you were afraid I’d take up our conversation where we left off this morning.” The amusement in his voice was unmistakable.

  Suddenly, it was more than she could bear. She whirled to face him. “What you said this morning—about my feelings for Cabot. You’re dead wrong. I love him and we’re going to have a wonderful marriage. Besides”—her face reddened with the heat of her growing indignation—“you have no right to tell me what I feel about Cabot or anybody else! I don’t even know you, and you certainly don’t know anything about me!”

  “I really hit a nerve, didn’t I?” The teasing tone was gone from his voice; there was something wounded in the deep, resonant timbre. “I’m sorry; I honestly didn’t mean to upset you. I just wanted you to realize what was happening before it was too late.”

  “You act like you have some kind of right . . .” Her words drained away under his intense blue gaze.

  “No, not right, Allison. Experience.”

  She had a sudden suspicion. “You’re talking about Tracy Lawton, aren’t you?” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, and she saw immediately that they had hit home.

  A shadowed look crossed Brent’s face and he leaned back into the couch. “What do you know about Tracy?”

  “Nothing. I just heard the name mentioned, that’s all.”

  His eyes darkened. “Whatever you’ve heard about her, you’d be wise to forget.”

  “Oh,” she fumed, “it’s all right for you to evaluate my relationship with my fiancé, but I’m not supposed to mention the woman you love.”

  He gave her a long, slow look. “I don’t love her, Allison. I’m not sure I ever did. That’s what I’m trying to tell you; people can fool themselves about their true feelings. It’s better to be honest from the beginning.”

  “Well, I am being honest, for your information!” She stood up. “And you have no right to say these things to me!” She heard Martha’s feet on the stairs and pressed her hands against her blazing cheeks. “No right at all!”

  But there was not a trace of apology in Brent’s eyes. Unable to face Martha, she turned and ran for the kitchen. Brent would have to invent some excuse for her strange behavior.

  From the safety of the kitchen she could hear Brent’s and Martha’s voices, a soft interweaving of sound, almost musical in tone. She scurried around the room, checking on the food and table settings, wishing there was some way she could make herself fade into the woodwork for the evening. When the timer rang, signaling that the potatoes were done, she felt more in control, and was able to face Brent and Martha when they appeared in the doorway a few minutes later. Brent sent her a questioning look over Martha’s head, but Allison ignored it. Determined to say nothing that wasn’t totally polite and aloof, she simply smiled.

  “You two go ahead and sit down. I’ll be your waitress tonight.”

  She was a bit surprised when Martha didn’t protest, but understood the reason a moment later, when her friend slid into place next to Brent, leaving Allison to take the chair on the opposite side of the table.

  The dinner conversation went smoothly, thanks to Martha’s constant chatter. She managed to engage Brent’s attention on almost every subject under the sun. Allison felt a reluctant admiration for her friend’s verbal skills. If she didn’t always put people immediately at ease, at least Martha was able to entertain them.

  When he had finished eating, Brent leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “That was some meal. I’ll have to return the favor, and have you down to my place for supper.” He took in both young women in his admiring glance.

  “Oh, no,” Martha said, laughing. “No more meat and potatoes for me! I’m going to have to diet now for the rest of the summer!”

  Brent cocked his head. “Who said anything about meat and potatoes?” He glanced across the table. “You don’t mind my cooking, do you, Allison?” Allison flushed deeply and glanced at Martha, who sent her a dark, questioning look.

  “Allison had breakfast with me this morning,” Brent explained casually. “She didn’t seem to object to my hospitality then. Unless she was just being polite.” He sent her a piercing smile. “You’re not given to meaningless etiquette, are you, Allison?”

  “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a splitting headache.” Allison rose quickly and hurried from the room before either Brent or Martha could object. She knew that Martha was probably furious, but hopefully some time alone with Brent would take the edge off her anger. She ran up the stairs and down the long hall to her bedroom. Maybe she should leave Maine and go to California after all. It wasn’t too late to change her plans. She had made such a mess of things here, Martha would surely welcome her departure.

  Allison was surprised to hear the sound of Brent’s truck on the gravel driveway only a few minutes later. She wondered briefly if he and Martha had gone somewhere together, but a moment later Martha knocked at her door.

  “Come in,” Allison called, bracing herself for Martha’s wrath. She knew from experience it could be devastating.

  “He loved it!” Martha crowed, dancing across the room and embracing Allison. “And he invited us to his place! That’s a first! Do you have any idea how reluctant he is to invite people into his house? It’s almost as sacred as his boat! I can hardly believe it!”

  Allison looked at her in surprise. “Aren’t you angry?”

  “Angry? Why should I be angry?” Martha’s eyes were glazed with bliss. “Would you believe he actually kissed me good-night? Well, just on the cheek, but that must mean he still cares for me. Brent never does anything just for form, you know.”

  “You mean you’re not upset that I had breakfast with him?”

  Martha smiled. “Well, if you weren’t engaged to Cabot, I might be worried. But I know how devoted you two are. You could never have eyes for another man. And I know Brent would never touch another man’s woman. He’s very old-fashioned that way. He probably asked you as a favor to me.”

  Allison managed a wry smile. She felt relieved, and strangely deflated, by Martha’s attitude. Apparently she’d been making too much out of the morning’s events. Of course, Martha was right. She had no interest in other men, and Brent hadn’t expressed any interest in her. The confusion and agitation she had felt had been of her own making. The chemistry was all in her head.

  Martha giggled. “I’m pretty sure he still likes me. I wouldn’t be surprised if he asks me out on his boat before the week is out.”

  “Is that supposed to be a privilege?”

  “Of course it’s a privilege! Lobstermen are practically married to their boats, and Brent is no exception! Two summers ago I practically begged him to take me out hauling with him, but he said I was too flighty.” Martha pulled herself into an erect finishing-school stance. “But I’m so much more mature now, don’t you think?”

  Allison smiled, but all she could think about was Brent’s confident declaration that he would take her out in his boat sooner or later. Did that have more significance than she’d believed?

  “Well, what would you like to do tomorrow?” Martha asked. “Sail, swim, hike?” She threw out her arms expansively. “Or just laze aroun
d on the beach?”

  Allison took a deep breath. “I think maybe I’d better go home tomorrow, Martha. I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to be away from Cabot, after all.”

  “But you can’t leave now!” Martha wailed, looking at Allison in horror. “Everything depends on your being here!”

  “Everything?” Allison frowned in confusion. It was clear that Martha’s budding romance with Brent could only be enhanced by her return to Boston.

  “Of course! Don’t you understand? If you leave, Mama will be up here like a shot to investigate the situation. If she even sees Brent look at me, she’ll yank me out of here so fast I won’t know what hit me!”

  Allison sighed. It wasn’t the first time she’d felt irritated by her friend’s extreme dependence on her parents. In some ways, Martha behaved more like a sixteen-year-old than a grown woman. Allison knew that it was because of her friend’s coming inheritance and social position, yet it seemed strange to her that Martha could put up with her mother controlling her life to such an extent.

  “I really don’t see how my presence keeps your mother from being suspicious.”

  “Oh, Mama trusts your good judgment implicitly! If you leave, she’ll know something’s wrong. Besides, I’m not going to do anything stupid with Brent. Just a little fun and romance.”

  “Entertainment for the summer?” Allison wondered how Brent would react if he knew what Martha had planned.

  Martha smiled sheepishly. “There’s nothing wrong with that, is there? You’ve got to admit, there’s nothing better than a sexy man to keep you from being bored.”

  Allison went to the window. The lights of the village glowed through the darkness. “Well, I don’t want to ruin your plans, Martha, but I really think I’ve made a mistake in coming.” She swallowed. “I miss Cabot.”

  “Oh, Allison, of course you do! I understand completely!” Martha flung herself onto the bed and stretched out at full length. “You won’t believe how terrible I felt last summer after I came home from France! I thought I would absolutely die without Raoul’s arms around me! And I can imagine it’s even worse when you’re engaged to someone—especially someone like Cabot.” There was a pause, and Allison tried to say something, to echo Martha’s thought, but no words came to her.

  Martha rolled onto her side and then sat up quickly. “I’ve got the perfect solution! I’ll invite Cabot here! He can use the guest house, so everything will be perfectly proper, and we can all have a wonderful summer, together!” She bounced on the bed. “Why didn’t I think of that before?”

  Allison frowned. “I don’t think he can get away. There’s a big merger coming up, and he has to be in touch with his lawyers. It’s much better for me to just go home—”

  “Nonsense!” Martha spoke in the stubborn tone that meant she was certain she was doing something for the absolute good of all concerned. “He can bring a cellular phone and work here, if his lawyers can’t handle it themselves. They really ought to be able to; he pays them enough.” She bounced again. “It’s the only solution, and I just don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner. Cabot will love it up here. We can all go sailing and swimming every day if we want to!”

  Allison sighed. There was not much point in arguing with Martha once she’d made up her mind. “Maybe you’re right. If you can drag him away from Boston.”

  “Of course I can.” Martha stood up, grinning. “I’m going down to the general store right now and call him. And I won’t take no for an answer.” She disappeared before Allison could murmur a word of thanks.

  Allison turned back to the window and looked down at the little village below. So much for a summer on her own. The invitation was as good as sent. And it was a good thing. Her current emotional turmoil only proved how badly she needed Cabot by her side.

  Chapter Five

  From her balcony Allison watched Martha drive the Porsche down the long driveway toward the road. A strangely heavy feeling settled over her as silence enveloped the house. If only she’d been able to laugh off Brent’s remarks! The man had an uncanny ability to unnerve her.

  She stood on the balcony until the sky was black and a cold wind rose from the water. Martha’s errand was taking a surprisingly long time. But then, it was like Martha to talk for hours on the phone. She probably had a number of arrangements to work out with Cabot if he accepted the invitation, and Allison was increasingly sure that he would. Martha was an expert at talking people into things; her own presence on Harper’s Island testified to that.

  Shivering, Allison returned to her room and lay down on the bed, drawing the thick, down comforter around her for warmth. The headache she had professed to escape Brent’s presence was now a reality. She closed her eyes and pressed her fingers against her throbbing temples. She drifted slowly toward sleep, great waves of relaxation sweeping through her like the sea caressing the shore.

  The sound of the doorbell roused her. A quick glance at the clock on the nightstand next to the bed told Allison that it was nine-thirty. More than an hour had passed since Martha left for the store.

  The doorbell rang again. Allison put her hand to her pounding forehead. Martha must have forgotten her keys. Irritated, and still in pain, Allison stumbled down the stairs and pulled open the door.

  “Brent!” she gasped.

  “There’s been an accident.” Brent’s pale face and pained expression were in tune with her own aching head.

  Her hand rose to her throat. “It’s Martha, isn’t it? Something terrible’s happened!” She sagged back against the wall.

  “Her car hit a tree.” He spoke slowly, his words measured, his voice painstakingly calm. “She’s alive and conscious, but she’s broken several bones. They don’t know the extent of her internal injuries yet.”

  “Oh my God!”

  “My grandparents are taking her over to the mainland right now. I thought you’d want to know. She may be in the hospital for a while. It all depends on what they find.”

  She stared up at him with wide, frightened eyes. “But I have to be with her! She’s my friend!”

  He nodded. “I figured you’d want a ride over tonight. That’s one of the reasons I came. Do you have a jacket or something? It gets pretty cold on the water at night.”

  “Yes . . .” She continued to stare at him. “I can’t believe this happened! She was just going down to the store to make a phone call.”

  “Do you have a jacket?” he repeated.

  She nodded.

  “Tell me where it is. I’ll get it for you.”

  Allison shook her head, trying to clear it. “I’ll get it.” She turned blindly and started to stumble up the stairs. When Brent followed her, offering her his arm, she let herself lean against him, wondering if she would ever stop trembling.

  He stood in the doorway of her bedroom while she rummaged through the closet and finally found her blue windbreaker. She pulled it off the hanger, fumbling awkwardly with it for a moment before Brent helped her into it. With his steadying hand once again on her arm, Allison felt calmer.

  He glanced down at her stylish sandals and frowned. “Don’t you have any sneakers? Those will just get in your way.”

  She returned to the closet, where she fished out a pair of worn Nike jogging shoes. She had brought them along on a whim; they were old and comfortable; she hadn’t worn them much since she met Cabot. She sat on the edge of the bed and slipped off her sandals, then started to pull on the Nikes with trembling hands. The shoe slipped off her foot and dropped to the floor. Instantly Brent knelt to pick it up and slide it smoothly onto her foot. The touch of his fingers on her skin was like a caress. He slid on the other shoe, tied them both and stood up quickly.

  “Let’s get going.”

  He led her out of the house to his pickup and helped her into the cab. She curled up on the seat, her arms wrapped tightly around her. When he climbed in behind the wheel, she started shaking uncontrollably. The thought of Martha lying crushed and broken by the side of the
road made her feel sick and dizzy.

  Brent’s hand touched her cheek. “Take it easy,” he said softly. “She’s going to be all right.”

  Surprisingly, Allison felt herself relax. She gave him a weak smile. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m just nervous.”

  “Of course you are.” He removed his hand, started the engine and backed the truck around to head down the hill.

  “How did it happen?” Her voice was hollow in the darkness.

  She felt more than saw him shrug as he bent over the steering wheel and guided the truck expertly down the hill. “I don’t know. She must have been taking that corner too fast, not paying attention. I’ve warned her before to slow down.”

  Allison remembered the disapproval she’d seen on his face when she first met him, when Martha had barely missed running him down. Martha had made light of it at the time, as if he were simply teasing her. Apparently he’d been serious. She was beginning to realize that Brent, unlike most people she knew, rarely said anything he didn’t mean.

  They didn’t speak again until Brent pulled to a stop in the little parking lot next to the village wharf. Allison sensed that all thought and feeling had been drained out of her. She was grateful for Brent’s steadying hand as he helped her from the truck.

  He reached past her and groped under the passenger seat. When he straightened and closed the truck door, he was holding a flashlight. “My boat’s moored out in the harbor. We’ll have to take the painter out to it.”

  “Painter?”

  “It’s a small boat—like a skiff.” He led her down the sloping parking lot to the wharf. Her shoes made soft padding sounds on the wooden boards. At the end of the wharf a narrow ramp led down to a long float where the skiffs were tied. Brent pointed his flashlight beam down the ramp. “It’s a bit steep and slippery, so hold onto the rail,” he cautioned as he started to descend the ramp.

  Allison followed warily, holding the rails on both sides with her sweating hands, anxious to stay as close as possible to Brent and the flashlight. At the bottom of the ramp Brent took her hand as she stepped onto the float. She felt it rock beneath her and clutched his hand more tightly.