name?” She’d have to report him. To someone. Somewhere.
“Mark.”
“Mark what?”
“Tanner.” He grinned. “And you are?”
“Laura Kelly.” She raised her chin in defiance. She didn’t care if he knew who she was. She’d be filing a complaint...with someone, somewhere.
“Well, Ms. Kelly, are you going to call the police? You should know the local chief is a buddy of mine.”
This wasn’t going well. Not well at all.
“What about the neighbors?”
Mark sighed and shook his head, studying her. “Three of the six condos are empty right now. Hurricane season coming and all. There’s you, me and Fred, who’s eighty-three and gets up at six to take his daily walk on the beach, so I cleared it with him to work here.”
“You didn’t clear it with me.”
He took her in, glancing at her flip-flops, to her jean shorts and her T-shirt all the way to the top of her head. “No, I didn’t, sweetheart. But, seeing as you’re just passing through, I don’t see a reason.”
Sweetheart? She wasn’t his sweetheart. Now, that really irked.
“I cleared it with the owners of your condo.” Mark shook a bit of sawdust from his hair, clearly unconcerned. “So if you’ve got a problem with the noise, I suggest you take it up with them. They should’ve warned you in the rental agreement there’d be...what did you call it? Noise trash?”
“Noise pollution.”
He chuckled once more, showing even white teeth. “Right. That.” He shook his head.
“I’ll be talking to the condo board then.”
Mark just grinned. “Considering I own the entire first floor, I’m actually the president of the board.”
That revelation hit her like a ton of bricks. “You own...” She glanced down the way at the entire first floor. Well, that’s how he managed to clear putting a big workshop on the beach in front of the first floor then. He owned it. She couldn’t imagine how much that cost, but knew it was a lot.
“I...” Laura had nothing more to say to that. He had the police in his pocket and he had a controlling share of the condo building, so complaining to the board would do no good. Hell, he was the board, sounded like.
Then he turned his back on her, fired up his saw again and began work once more.
Conversation done, apparently. At least, he thought so. She turned on her heel, fuming. He might think this was done, but, Laura vowed, this little disagreement was far, far from over. She’d been through hell and back, and she wasn’t about to let this man derail her. She was here on this island for a reason—to forget Dean, to find some way to heal—and she wasn’t going to let a rude neighbor get in the way of that. This wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.
MARK TANNER TURNED and watched the feisty woman with the disheveled bob bounce out of his view. The woman needed some sunlight. Her bright white legs looked like neon billboards for the mainland as they furiously walked away from him.
But, he had to admit, her curves weren’t bad, and if you went for bossy types, she’d probably be a feisty go-getter in bed. She was just his type: small, tight and a handful. He shook his head, figuring that wherever she’d come from, she was used to getting her way.
But, Mark didn’t spook. She could rail against him all he wanted, but he had to finish this boat. It was the middle of the day, after all, and he had no patience for tourists who wanted to get their beauty rest at nearly noon.
He glanced back at the rusted-out old hunk of a boat that once belonged to his father. He was behind schedule in fixing her up. That wouldn’t do. This project was too important. He glanced at the small set of bronzed baby shoes that Timothy once wore that hung on a string above his worktable. Beneath them, he’d tacked up a photo of his boy as a baby, grinning a gummy grin from ear to ear.
He glanced out to the beach beyond. He could almost see his little boy running there, waddling into the water with his chubby, toddler hands outstretched for some shell. When he picked it up, he’d beam with triumph and call for his father’s approval.
With a sickening dread, Mark realized he couldn’t remember what his boy sounded like. His voice had been sweet and high, but now, in his memory, the voice had faded. The picture of his son stood mute in his brain, like some old-fashioned silent picture reel.
No. Couldn’t be. Mark squeezed his eyes shut. He would not let the memory of his boy fade. He worked harder to remember his sweet, high-pitched voice but couldn’t bring to mind the exact sound.
He stopped and pulled out his phone. He had a video of his boy there. He pulled it up and set the video to full-screen and saw his boy running through the sand in the wobbly video he’d taken on his phone.
“Daddy! Look!” Timothy cried as he pointed to a starfish that had washed up on the shore. It was a treasured find. “A star, Daddy! It’s a star!”
The sweet voice washed over Mark’s ears and he felt a brief peace before the sadness sank in. He’d never hear that voice in life again. He’d never get to hear what Timothy would’ve sounded like as he grew up, as his voice changed and matured. He put the cell phone back into his pocket, feeling the heavy weight of sadness cling to him once more. But he couldn’t let grief stop him. He needed to focus on that emotion and turn it into something that mattered.
He returned his attention to the wooden planks before him. That’s why he needed to restore this boat. That’s why he couldn’t stop working. Not until it was finished and not until it sailed in the warm, blue-green sea.
He cut the power on the saw to double-check the board he’d just cut. He focused again on the hull of the boat he would christen Timothy after the little boy who’d once been the light of his life. Before his life had been taken, a bright little candle blown out far too soon.
“Working hard, I see.”
Mark froze, recognizing the voice behind him that he’d know anywhere—his older brother, Edward. He felt anger, hot and thick, well up in his belly. Edward, the brother who betrayed him. Edward, his enemy.
Mark slowly put down the buzz saw. Then he flicked up his safety goggles and turned to face his brother. Just two years older, he carried the same dark eyes as Mark, the same lopsided smile, but that’s where the similarities ended. Mark was a man of his word. Edward, he knew, was a liar.
“What are you doing here, Edward?”
His brother shrugged one shoulder. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”
“Don’t bullshit me.” If you cared about how I was doing, you would’ve never slept with my wife. Ex-wife now, technically. Wife then, though.
“Language, kid. What would Mom say?” Edward wore expensive loafers and designer sunglasses that
