id="ubb2e6852-8a2c-52ec-97dd-6db228ec0b64">
TWO
Fetid breath fanned Janice’s cheeks. Someone needed a date with a toothbrush. She opened her eyes and a bewhiskered face with enormous brown eyes filled her vision. A long red tongue flicked out and swiped the tip of her nose.
With a gasp, Janice sat up and scuttled backward. Pain swooped through her skull and jabbed her injured wrist. The dog with the uncannily human face yelped and scurried over to his master who stood examining one of the roof tiles that must have crashed down on her head.
How many “accidents” did Moran Cottage have in store for her? Were they accidents? Surely they must be. But the intruder— She shook her head and winced at the responding throb. Her brain was too fuzzy to sort this out right now.
“Take it easy, ma’am,” said the man. “Atlas won’t hurt you.”
What had this guy said his name was? Shane—that was it. If she wasn’t experiencing so much as a millisecond of memory loss from the head blow, maybe she wasn’t in as bad shape as she felt.
“I’m not scared of the dog, Shane. I like animals. He just startled me. I’m Janice Swenson, by the way.”
“Pleased to meet you, Janice Swenson. I wish the circumstances were better.” Shane knelt on one knee in front of her. Sea-blue eyes dissected her. “Where are you injured—other than your head?”
“My arm.” She clutched the throbbing limb to her chest. “I fell down the cellar stairs.”
“Ouch!” His wince breathed sympathy. “May I see?”
Something about his air of competence drew obedience from Janice, and she trapped a moan behind clenched teeth as she extended her arm.
Gently, he tugged back the sleeves of her windbreaker and sweatshirt then let out a soft hum. “I don’t see any bones poking up under the skin. From the swelling and the start of some beautiful bruising, my money’s on a sprain or a strain or maybe both.”
Janice’s lips drooped. “Kind of what I thought.”
“I could be wrong, but either way, we need to get you to the hospital. You might need a stitch or two in that head wound also.”
“Could you drive?” Every molecule of her independent streak protested the request, but what choice did she have?
“Happy to do it. Can you stand up?”
Janice nodded. Shane took her right elbow and helped support her weight as she struggled to her feet. A lifeline for a drowning person could scarcely have felt more welcome than his solid presence.
“Dizzy?” he asked.
“A little. My car is parked around the corner of the cottage. Here are the keys.” Grimacing, she fished in her jeans’ pocket and handed the ring to her rescuer.
“Let’s go,” he said. “But no faster than you’re able.”
Mild shivers coursed through Janice as Shane settled her into the passenger seat of the compact Ford. She reached for her seat belt, but he took the clip from her and leaned inside to snap the buckle into place. As his clean-cut profile paused near her face, a faint scent of lime and bay rum wafted to her nostrils.
Good taste in aftershave made another tick in the positive column for this new acquaintance. Janice closed her eyes as he withdrew and shut the car door. Too bad “acquaintance” was the most she could allow. She meant to keep her distance from anything and everything about this place. Completing her project here would sever the last link to her soiled family heritage.
The rear driver’s-side door opened and soft snuffles announced Atlas jumping onto the seat. Then, of all things, the slide and click of the seat belt informed Janice that Shane had buckled in the dog. She glanced over her shoulder and solemn canine eyes met her gaze. The animal perched on his haunches, shoulder belt across his broad chest. The whiskery muzzle pulled back in a silent grin as if to say, “What’s the matter, lady? Haven’t you seen a dog in a seat belt before?”
A chuckle spurted between her lips, but a throb in her head cut the sound short. She pressed the heel of her right hand against her forehead then gingerly investigated the lump forming on the crown of her skull. Her fingertips encountered a sticky substance that was likely drying blood.
“Don’t feel the area,” Shane said as he slid into the driver’s seat. “Germs.”
“Right.” Janice dropped her hand to her lap, eyeing the reddish residue on her fingers.
She must be a sight to behold. Beyond bedraggled, but why should she care? Even if this guy was cute and kind and smelled nice, she’d be gone in a few months, never to return.
Shane backed the car away from the cottage and another wave of dizziness swirled through her. As he headed the vehicle onto the dirt track that led toward the highway, Janice fought the urge to close her eyes again. If she didn’t strive to stay oriented, the dizziness could easily lead to an embarrassing upheaval from her churning stomach.
“The nearest hospital is twenty miles away,” Shane said.
“In Oak Bluffs. I checked such things out on the internet before I came to the island. With my refurbishing plans for the property, I wanted to be prepared for the off chance of an accident requiring medical attention. But I didn’t figure on needing the services of a doctor quite so soon. I’d hoped not at all.”
Shane gave her a sidelong look as they joined the sparse traffic on the paved highway. He opened his mouth as if to say something then closed it and returned his attention to the road.
“Good thing it’s early in the season,” he said at last. “When the tourists start mobbing the place, getting anywhere can be miserable. And forget about getting there fast. That’s why a lot of folks rent bicycles.”
“I may do that myself later on... Well, at least I was going to.” She scowled at her injured arm. “Now a lot of things will have to wait until I’m fit again.”
“You’re going to continue with your plans for the cottage, ma’am?”
“It’s Janice, not ma’am.” She was in too much pain to conceal her annoyance at his terminology. You’d think she was in her dotage rather than no older than he was. Probably younger, in fact.
He let out a mellow laugh. The pleasant sound smoothed her hackles marginally.
“Sorry, Janice. In my EMT training, ‘ma’am’ is standard address for an adult female.”
“You’re an Emergency Medical Technician? I should have guessed from the way you handled things back at the cottage.”
“Paramedic, actually, but I’m not practicing as such on-island.”
“You’re not from here? Of course not. You speak too crisply for a New Englander.”
His shoulders rose and fell in a slow shrug. “And your lovely drawl drips Southern honey, not sea salt.”
Janice clamped her lips closed. They’d established that neither of them was an island native,
