baby is doing well,” the woman said with a gentle smile that softened her pale, pinched expression. “Little Will’s got a lot of growing to do, and his lungs aren’t fully developed, but the doctors think he’s out of the woods.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
She nodded. “Me, too. He’s deeply loved and was very much wanted.” She glanced away. “Unlike a lot of children.”
He noted the change of tone and wondered at it. But she didn’t give him a chance to wonder long.
“Still, how did you know I was the new teacher?”
“It’s pretty rare for newcomers to move out to the island, except for the summer tourist folks, and it’s too early for them. Plus, everybody’s talking about the cottage behind the old Wymer place being rented out for the next couple of months.”
He didn’t have the heart to tell her that the cottage was ancient, rickety, drafty and probably full of spiders. Hopefully Mrs. Wymer had hired somebody to clean it up, since the fragile-looking elderly woman certainly couldn’t do it herself.
The stranger’s pale face became a shade closer to chalky. “Good grief, is the whole island a gossip mill?”
“Yeah, and that thing’s been grinding like crazy with all the new arrivals—that’d be you and me.”
She glanced down, one of her slim hands fisting as she pressed it into her stomach, as if she felt nauseous. Well, he supposed that was understandable.
“You’re a newcomer, too?” she finally asked, after she’d straightened her back and lifted her chin.
“Yes, ma’am.” He extended a hand. “I’m Mike.”
“Lindsey.” She took his hand and shook. Hers was a little clammy and very cold, since she’d been gripping the damp metal railing.
He reached into the pockets of his bulky windbreaker and pulled out his utility gloves, shoving them toward her. “Here. Your fingers are icicles.”
She stared down at his offering. “Don’t you need them?”
“I want my hands bare so I can clutch that railing,” he said with a wry grin.
“If I wear your gloves, how am I going to hold on?”
“How about I hold on for us both?”
“Pretty confident, are you?”
“I think I can manage to keep us from being swept overboard.”
She cast a quick eye over his shoulders, chest and arms. Color finally rose into those pale cheeks, as if she’d at last looked at him and seen the man, not the savior-from-death-by-drowning-or-seasickness. Her throat quivered as she swallowed, her gaze dropping lower, assessing him all the way down to his feet.
“I suppose you can,” she admitted, her voice thick and low.
He almost made a flirtatious comment in response, but suddenly the ferry lurched again, making him glad for his strong grip on the railing. But the woman—Lindsey—wobbled on her feet and, for a second, he thought she’d fall. Not even thinking about it, he stepped into her path and grabbed her before she could stumble.
Their legs tangled, hips bumped and chests collided. He had a chance to suck in a shocked—and pleased—breath, when her fine red hair whipped across his face, bringing with it a flowery fragrance that cut through the briny air and went right to his head. Just like this woman was doing.
“Whoa,” she murmured, either because of the stumbling or the fact that so much of her was now touching so much of him.
“I’ve got you,” he said, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. He turned his back to the wind, staying close, but giving her some distance and disengaging the more vulnerable parts of their bodies. As nice as she had felt pressed against him, he didn’t want her to know that his lower half was ignoring his brain’s order to be a polite protector and was instead going straight for horny man. Their new position removed the danger of sensual overload, but also kept her blocked from the worst of the wind. “I won’t let you fall overboard. Now glove up.”
Not taking no for an answer, he lifted one of her small, cold hands and shoved a glove on it. He forced himself to focus only on the fact that her lips now had a bluish tint, not that they were pretty damned kissable. And that her expression was pure misery, not that her face was shaped like a perfect heart, with high cheekbones and a pointy, stubborn little chin.
Once her hands were adequately protected, she stepped the tiniest bit closer, as if welcoming the shelter of his body. Mike heaved in a deep breath of cold lake air, but found it tasted of spicy-fragranced woman.
Nice. Very nice.
“So, how long have you lived on Wild Boar?” she asked.
“A few months.”
“And how’s island life?”
He considered it, mentally comparing the insanely quiet nights he’d spent on Wild Boar to the lifetime of noise, energy, grime and vibrancy in Chicago.
“It’s...different.”
“Obviously you’re getting to know people if they’re already gossiping to you about the new substitute teacher.”
“Maybe. It could also be because we’re two new unmarried people and they’re trying to set us up.”
Her mouth fell open. “They’re what?”
“Apparently your friend—the one you’re substituting for—has let it be known that you are single and available.”
“Remind me to smack her, would you?”
“You bet.”
She licked her lips. “So you’re single, too?”
He noticed she didn’t add and available, maybe because she didn’t want to sound interested, though he could tell she was. Oh, she might not be looking at him, instead taking every chance she had to study her gloved hands, but he recognized desire when he saw it. During those few moments when she’d landed hard against him, heat had flared between them, instinctive and powerful.
“I’m very single,” he admitted, not sure why he’d emphasized it. After all, he should be backing away from flirtation or even the tiniest hint of romantic interest. He had no business indulging in either right now.
“And everybody is aware you’re single?”
“Yep. Just like they know your relationship status. Or lack thereof.”
“I can’t believe Callie told everyone that.”
“Well, to be fair, I suspect she told one person and the other eighteen-hundred residents found out by osmosis.”
Because that’s how news traveled in a small town. When he’d come to Wild Boar for his job interview, he certainly hadn’t gone around
