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  “Hey, Chels, how you doing?” He got to his feet and embraced her happily.

  “Not too bad. How about helping me with the picnic things? They’re in the trunk.”

  “Sure thing.” He looped a friendly arm around her shoulder. “You look good. Not like somebody who practically drowned a couple of days ago.”

  “Hey, you always said I was stubborn.”

  He laughed and dug his fingers into her ribs, making her squeal. “You’re not just stubborn, Chelsea Adams. You’re downright ornery.”

  “And you love it. Isn’t that why we have such a good, no-pressure relationship?”

  His expression sobered. “Yeah, well, that’s something we need to talk about. No pressure’s one thing. No commitment’s another.”

  She shaded her eyes against the glint of sunlight off the water so she could read his expression. “You sound like you’ve been talking to Lori. What exactly are you saying?”

  “Don’t get excited. It’s just some stuff I’ve been thinking about. We can talk later.”

  They carried the picnic things down to the dinghy and rowed out to Chelsea’s Choice without speaking. Chelsea was so used to doing her own chores aboard the boat that she didn’t have to ask Stuart what he wanted done. She just went straight to work, stowing the food in the little cabin, pulling on the pair of waterproof overalls Stuart kept on board for her use, helping him stack his wire traps in the Chelsea’s spacious stern. It was almost like dancing, moving this way to the rhythm of the tide.

  Stuart ducked into the cockpit to start the engine, and its thunderous roar drowned out any hope of conversation. Chelsea settled down with her novel on a box pushed up against the washboards.

  Stuart turned the boat and headed out, running fast through the cove’s deep central channel. The wind whipped Chelsea’s hair around her face, so that she had to keep pushing it out of her eyes. Stuart was heading out to his favorite fishing spot; it was off one of the little islands that dotted Casco Bay like green jewels this time of year. It would take a while to get there.

  She was thoroughly absorbed in her book when Stuart cut the engine and started baiting traps. She helped him fasten the fat, foul-smelling bait bags inside and then stood watching as he slid the weighted traps overboard one by one. The warp line ran out fast as the traps dropped into the water. He handed her the brightly painted purple and white buoy, and she tossed it into the water. Then he turned the boat and went after an identical buoy bobbing on the choppy water a few hundred yards away. Reaching it, he cut the engine, hooked the buoy aboard with a long metal gaff pole, tugged the line into the hydraulic winch, and started it up. The line of traps rose slowly, dripping seaweed and water in the bright sun. Chelsea always felt a little thrill at the sight of a new trap coming aboard. It was like being a child again, presented with a birthday present; you never knew what it might contain. She helped Stuart slide the traps onto the washboard and unfasten the little wire doors. Three of the traps held good-sized lobsters, which Stuart dropped into the tub of seawater at his feet. He was grinning as they rebaited the traps and slid them away.

  “Looks like another good day,” he told her as he started the engine again. “My lucky streak seems to be holding.”

  When they finished hauling, Stuart headed Chelsea’s Choice out to Eagle Island. It was a spot that Chelsea had always loved, and she was a little sad that tourists had discovered it recently. The large summer home of the Arctic explorer Robert Peary rode the northern tip of the little island like the prow of a great ship. They moored off the small beach, stowed the picnic things aboard the skiff, and rowed in.

  Gulls wheeled overhead in the bright blue sky. Chelsea was relieved to note that there were only two other boats riding the swells. It meant they had the island pretty much to themselves.

  They ate on a sun-warmed boulder overlooking the beach. Chelsea had the strange feeling that Stuart was watching her closely throughout the meal, but every time she glanced at him, he was surveying the water. It wasn’t until they were finished and Chelsea was stretching out to soak up the delicious warmth of the sun that he stunned her with his declaration.

  “Chelsea,” he said in a tone so ardent that she almost didn’t recognize it as his, “I think it’s time we got married.”

  Chapter Seven

  Chelsea sat up abruptly. “What did you say?”

  “I said, I think it’s time we got married.” Stuart took her hand, very tenderly, in his. “We’ve known each other for almost ten years now, Chels. We have a great relationship. Neither of us is interested in seeing anyone else. We belong together.”

  She blinked at him. The pressure of his fingers on her skin moved her. He leaned closer, his blue eyes bright with ardor, and she realized, suddenly, that he was going to kiss her.

  “Stuart—wait a minute. I thought we both agreed—”

  He cut her off. “I want a family. A wife and kids to come home to. I’m going to be thirty next year. I’m tired of bachelor life.” He reached for her again, pulled her into his arms. “Come on, Chels, you know we’re perfect together. It’s not as if we’ve never talked about this.”

  “But I didn’t think we were ever that serious. I mean, our relationship isn’t exactly passionate or anything.”

  His blue eyes darkened. “That can change,” he said softly. He cupped her cheek gently, let his fingers slide down the length of her neck to the soft indentation above the collarbone. “Chels, I love you. I want to marry you. You know we’re meant for each other.”

  He kissed her, his lips molding hers tenderly. She felt a peaceful warmth flow through her as she closed her eyes and kissed him back. When he finally released her, all she could do was gape at him in surprise.

  “How long have you been feeling this way?” she asked. “When did things change?”

  He smiled. “I’m not sure anything’s changed. I’ve always known there was something very special between us. My feelings for you run very deep. In the past few weeks I’ve just realized that it’s more than a friendship. Much more. I can’t imagine life without you.”

  “But why should you have to?”

  “Because, Chels, if you don’t marry me, some tall handsome prince is going to ride into Maynard Landing one day and carry you off. And I don’t want that to happen. Ever.”

  Chelsea tried to absorb the import of what had just happened. For years she had regarded Stuart with admiration, warmth, and a unique fondness. Now, within a few seconds, all that had changed.

  “I don’t know what to say,” she murmured.

  “How about yes?”

  She blew out a long breath and stared down at her hands. They looked long and pale against the dark blue denim of her jeans. “I’m just so stunned. I thought everything was fine between us.”

  He chuckled. “It is, Chels. It’s perfect. That’s why I’m asking you.”

  “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”

  He nodded solemnly.

  “Well.” She gave him a quick smile and got to her feet, brushing her hands on the back of her jeans. “You’re going to have to give me a few minutes to let it sink in. Let’s take a walk around the island, okay?”

  “Sure.” He got up and carried the picnic things back to the dinghy. She watched his muscular stride up the beach toward her, his blond hair tossing in the wind, his confident smile as he gazed at her. He’d do anything for her, she knew. He was devoted to her, had been from the minute they’d first met. He’d been a high school senior then and she an insecure, morose sophomore, still trying to make sense of her father’s death. Stuart had been the answer to all her prayers. She’d never looked at any other boys, never even wanted to, except for that brief period in college. She loved him the way she would have loved a brother, if she’d had one. She couldn’t imagine not loving him.

  She slid off the rock and together they started along the narrow path that circled the island. The foliage was a profusion of green. Tiny wildflowers lined the edges of the w
ooded trail. Chelsea spotted several patches of still-green wild strawberries hidden in the underbrush. They stopped to sit on a granite outcropping and gaze out to sea. She wasn’t surprised that Stuart didn’t press her on the issue of marriage; it wasn’t his style. His composure gave her time to seriously consider his proposal. The thought of being Stuart’s wife, of living with him for the rest of her life, was appealing. There was no one in the world she liked better. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that marrying Stuart had been her destiny from the beginning.

  So it was with a sense of inevitability and a great tenderness that she turned to him as they came out of the woods behind the house.

  “Of course I’ll marry you, Stuart,” she said, putting her arms around him and kissing him happily. “How could I say no to the most wonderful man on earth?”

  There was a call waiting on her answering machine when Chelsea got back to her apartment. She assumed it was Lori, letting her know that the paté had come out perfectly, so she was startled to hear the sound of Jeff Blaine’s voice resonating through her living room.

  “Chelsea, this is Jeff. We’ve run into some problems on the party. I need to see you ASAP.” There was a little click as he hung up.

  She ran the message again, wondering what problem could be so urgent that it demanded an unscheduled meeting. She hadn’t even thought about the Independence Day party today, nor would she be likely to put much thought into it for the next week or so; it was over a month away, and she had half a dozen affairs to cater first.

  In any case, she had to think about her wedding. Stuart was already pressing her to set a date. He wanted her to rent out her apartment and move into his cabin before fall. He’d told her so as he was rowing into shore from the Chelsea’s mooring in Bryant’s Cove.

  “I’m still getting used to the idea of being engaged,” she’d said, laughing. But he wasn’t about to be distracted.

  “Mid-July at the absolute latest,” he said. “I’ll get you an engagement ring tomorrow. It won’t be anything fancy, but it won’t be so tiny it’ll embarrass you.” He was backing with his oars, slowing the dinghy so it would bump gently against the dock.

  “There’s no need to get a ring. We both know we’re engaged. That’s all that’s important, isn’t it?” She’d leaned her head against his muscular forearm. “Besides, you need to save your money for a new engine. Chelsea’s Choice isn’t going to hold out much longer.”

  He jumped lightly onto the dock, pulled hard on the line so that the skiff swung sideways, and tied it to the ring, then gave Chelsea a hand up. “That’s true.” He put his arms around her. “Are you sure? I want to do right by you, Chels. I don’t want you to feel cheated.”

  “How could I feel cheated? I’m ‘the luckiest woman in the world!” She’d kissed him and started up the path to the cabin. “Come on, let’s go get a cup of hot coffee. I’m chilled right through to the bone.”

  They’d embraced in his immaculate little kitchen, his hands wandering sensuously over her body. She’d expected the shiver of arousal that was supposed to come with such intimacies, and had been surprised when she’d felt nothing but a familiar fondness. The problem, she realized, as she headed back to her apartment, was that she was too used to thinking of Stuart as a friend. It would take her a little while to see him as a lover.

  She carried the remains of the picnic lunch into the kitchen and rinsed off the plastic dishes and silverware. She wondered if Jeff wanted her to call him right away. ASAP could mean anything from immediately to a couple of days. Her curiosity grew as she wiped down the counters and fixed the coffee machine for her morning wake-up cup. It was only nine o’clock; not too late to call. She flicked off the light in the kitchen, went into the living room and turned on the TV.

  She flipped through the channels, but nothing interested her. For some odd reason, all she could think about was Jeff’s phone call.

  She forced her mind back to the events of the day. What she should do was call Lori and her mother and tell them she was engaged. Her mother would be delighted and eager to hear all the details. Lori was another matter; her first reaction would probably be to laugh. She’d been convinced for years that Stuart wasn’t right for her, that her relationship with him was holding her back from meeting other men. They’d had long arguments about it, but no amount of certainty on Chelsea’s part could change Lori’s mind.

  Chelsea remembered the most recent discussion on the subject, which had taken place just last Saturday, while they were making Salade Nicoise for a twenty-fifth anniversary luncheon. Lori had insisted that she should stop seeing Stuart. “You need somebody who can’t be pushed around, Chels. Stuart’s too good-natured for you.”

  “Oh, thanks a lot,” Chelsea had snapped. “I suppose you want me to find some hairy macho type who rules his woman with an iron hand.”

  “No, but I do think you need to find someone who’s at least as bullheaded as you are.”

  “Stuart has a mind of his own.”

  Lori had given her a sad smile. “Not where you’re concerned, Chels. He’s been wrapped around your little finger since the day you first met him.”

  The phone rang, startling Chelsea out of her recollection. She flicked off the TV, stretched the length of the couch to grab the receiver out of its cradle.

  “Strawberry Lace.”

  “Chelsea?” It was Jeff. “I’m glad I caught you. Did you get my message?”

  “Yes, I did. I was going to call in the morning.”

  “It can’t wait. I need to see you tonight.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Yes. Do you mind if I come by?”

  She hesitated.

  “It’s very important.”

  “Okay. I guess it would be all right.” She wondered why she felt that funny little stomach flutter every time she heard his voice. “Can you tell me what this is about?”

  “I’m on my way,” was all he said. And then the line clicked and went dead.

  “Damn!” She jammed the receiver back into its cradle and rubbed her forehead with her fingers. Why had she given in so easily? After a whole day on the water, she was tired; she needed sleep. Or at least a relaxing evening alone. She certainly didn’t need a mysterious meeting with a wealthy, egotistical playboy.

  Well, there wasn’t anything she could do about it now. Jeff was already on his way. If she hurried, she had just enough time for a quick shower to wash the salt out of her hair.

  She was toweling off in the bathroom when she heard the doorbell. Damn, she thought. How could he have come all the way from the Winter estate in such a short time? He must have driven like a pilot from Hell.

  “Just a minute,” she called. She hung the towel, slipped into her bathrobe, and went to answer the door.

  Jeff was wearing khaki slacks and a teal-blue sweatshirt. His expression was solemn as he stepped into the room.

  “I’m afraid you caught me in the shower,” she said. “If you’ll give me a minute, I’ll be right with you. Just make yourself at home.” She started toward the bedroom.

  “No, don’t bother.” He caught her arm and pulled her around to face him. “You look fine. Anyway, this won’t take long. But it’s very important.”

  She felt distinctly uneasy, standing there wearing only her bathrobe. But Jeff’s face seemed so full of raw urgency that she relented. “What is it?” She sat down gingerly in the easy chair, tucking the front of her robe tightly around her legs.

  He sat opposite her on the couch, a portrait of tension, his back inclined forward, his hands massaging each other between his knees. His dark eyes were shadowed. “My mother’s changed her mind about the party. She wants to call it off.”

  Her stomach clenched. “Because of me?”

  “No. Personal reasons. She doesn’t think she can handle it.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry. I was looking forward to catering it.’”

  “The thing is, I want her to go ahead with it. I think it’s important for
her morale. She’s”—he hesitated, spread his hands,—“she’s going through a difficult time right now. But I believe she needs to keep up her social contacts. And her Independence Day party is the event of the season.”

  Chelsea nodded slowly. “So what are you suggesting?”

  “I’m not exactly sure. I was hoping you might have some ideas. Have you ever dealt with a similar problem?”

  She shook her head. “Have you talked to her about it? Told her your feelings?”

  “Yes. She claims her mind is made up.” He gave her a slight smile. “I should warn you, she’s somewhat inflexible at times.”

  That was putting it mildly. From everything she’d heard, Muriel Winter was as unyielding as a brick wall. Chelsea shrugged. “Well, maybe you could throw a little surprise party for her—just a small cocktail party or something—then she’d realize she could handle the bigger affair on the Fourth.”

  His face brightened. “What a great idea! Why didn’t I think of that?” He jumped up, and before she could stop him, he’d reached down and plucked her hands off her knee, where they’d been keeping her bathrobe closed. As he squeezed them warmly between his, the lower flap of her bathrobe slid open, revealing the entire length of her legs. She yanked her hands out of his and quickly covered herself. But she was certain, from the glint in his dark eyes, that he’d caught a glimpse of her inner thigh.

  She was blushing furiously as she fought to regain her composure. “Then I take it you’d like Strawberry Lace to arrange a small party,” she said in a choked voice.

  “Yes. Definitely.” He took a step backward and swept a lock of hair off his forehead. “I apologize for . . .” She saw that his own face had reddened slightly. “. . . for disturbing you,” he finished. “But I appreciate your help. Really.”

  “That’s okay.” His embarrassment was touching; it exposed a vulnerable side of him she hadn’t seen, one she hadn’t even imagined. “I’ll draw up some plans and get back to you.” She stood and crossed to her desk, where she opened her appointment book. “I have a couple of free dates in the middle of June. Would the fourteenth be all right?”