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Samantha broke into a run, not bothering to look behind her. She had to move quickly. Had to think fast. Had to be smart.
“Samantha, it’s me.”
The voice sounded familiar. She slowed her steps but only for a minute. After all, Billy’s voice had been familiar. Familiar didn’t mean safe.
“It’s John, Nate’s friend. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
She slowed again. Hesitated. Finally, she turned. Her entire body was tense, ready to flee if necessary.
John raised his hands and stepped toward her. Maybe he hadn’t been in the shadows, as she’d first thought. His truck door was open, as if he’d just climbed out. Maybe he’d spotted her leaving before he’d pulled out of the parking lot.
“I saw you leaving,” John confirmed. “I wasn’t trying to hide or frighten you.”
“What do you want?” She didn’t care if he was Nate’s friend. She didn’t know who she could trust right now.
He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on. I didn’t even plan on doing this. But I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t say something. I have a feeling there’s really not a family emergency.”
“It depends on how you define family emergency.” Her family—she and Connor—were definitely in the middle of an emergency situation. The thugs hired by Billy had found her. And if they caught her, they’d kill her. They wouldn’t bat an eyelash before taking her life. She wouldn’t be so lucky to get away again the second time around.
He pulled out a piece of paper. “If you’re looking for a place to get away—and a job—here’s an idea for you. It’s not much, but you’d have a place to stay. A safe place.”
She glanced down at the card, tempted by the offer. She didn’t have any other plans. No ideas even. “Smuggler’s Cove? I’ve heard of the island before. One of my friends in high school lived there for a while.”
“It’s one of the safest places I’ve ever been. Everyone knows everybody. The biggest crime is littering. I’m fixing up some cabins there. I could use a hand painting, restoring some furniture, making the structures livable.”
She stared at him. His words sounded sincere. But she couldn’t shake her general distrust of people. “Why do you want to help me?” After all, didn’t everybody want something? Nothing was free or sacred. Not even marriage, apparently. She’d learned that the hard way.
John shifted. A new heaviness seemed to press down on his shoulders. “I’ve been in some tough spots before. I get what that’s like, and I hate to see people struggle.”
She held her head up higher, struck by the sincerity of his words. But she couldn’t let herself soften. Being weak would get her killed. “Thanks for your kindness, but I’ve got to go.”
He looked away and shoved a hand in his pocket. “Right. Family emergency.”
She nodded, unsure why she felt the urge to pour everything out to him. What would it be like to let someone else help carry her burden? It was an idea she couldn’t let herself consider because the crushing reality was that she was all alone. Now and forever. “That’s right. Thanks again.”
Before he could say anything else, she climbed into her car and took off to pick up Connor.
* * *
The next morning, John stared at the beachfront cabins in front of him. His thoughts should be on the task before him—the major, he’d-bitten-off-more-than-he-could-chew task. The task that could easily turn into a money pit.
Instead, he was still thinking about Samantha Rogers. He couldn’t help but wonder if she was okay. Or try to figure out where she’d gone and why she was so scared.
He wanted to help. But they didn’t have that kind of relationship. They didn’t have any kind of relationship, for that matter. To even say they were acquaintances would be stretching it.
The woman was an adult, he reminded himself. She could ask for help if she needed it. He couldn’t make Samantha trust him. She had no reason to.
Which was why he simply needed to dig into his work and concentrate on his own issues. The good Lord knew John had enough problems of his own that he shouldn’t try to take on anyone else’s, as well.
But something about the look in her eyes reminded him so much of Alyssa. Helping Samantha would in no way atone for the failings of his past, he reminded himself. But something still drew him toward the situation. Something brought out a protectiveness in him and made him want to intercede.
He put those thoughts aside and continued making a list of everything that needed to be done. Before John had arrived, he’d had a plumber and electrician come out. With those tasks done, he could work on the rest of the restoration process.
There were eight smaller cabins surrounding one larger one in the center. They’d been fishing cabins twenty years ago until the owner had died. The owner’s son had no interest in staying on the island, so the structures had been abandoned until two months ago when the son had finally put them on the market.
Smuggler’s Cove was one of John’s favorite haunts when he was out boating and fishing. The island had great seafood and a quiet pace of life that fascinated him. He’d known he needed a life change. When he saw the cabins, he knew what that change should be.
His plan was to fix them up and rent them out to fishermen, vacationers and people who just needed some time away. He certainly knew what it was like to yearn for a place where time had slowed. He knew the healing powers of being on the water. John realized that sometimes only time and reflection could heal broken, grief-stricken hearts.
He circled one of the cabins, compiling a list of all the supplies he needed. The bulleted list had already filled one page. Now he was starting on his second. At this rate his savings wouldn’t last long.
At least he’d still have the comfort of the summer breeze. The scent of the bay seemed to soothe him, along with the squawking of seagulls, the sound of crashing waves, the heavy, salty air.
As he rounded the corner of one of the cabins he spotted a woman and child approaching in a golf cart. Alvin—the town’s “chauffeur,” as he called himself—was at the wheel. John stopped and watched as Alvin unloaded two suitcases, waved hello, and then sped off to his next job. No doubt there were other tourists waiting to sightsee on the island. This was prime tourist season; the time when businesses counted on making enough money to sustain them all year.
The woman and boy grabbed their luggage and started across the sandy path toward him.
His heart quickened as he recognized the woman. “Samantha.”
She’d tried to cover up the cuts and bruises with makeup but it hadn’t worked. Still, the woman was striking.
She raised her chin. “I hope that job offer is still available. I’ve reconsidered and I’d like to work for you.”
