The Mighty Quinns: Rourke. Kate Hoffmann
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she said. “Thank you. For rescuing me.”
He turned to look at her and she took in the details of his face. There was something so kind about his eyes, even set in an expression that seemed less than happy. “You should go. You don’t want to be caught out here when the storm rolls in.”
“I have some tools in my truck,” he said. “The wind is supposed to be bad. I’m going to get your shutters squared away and then I’ll leave.”
“You don’t have to—”
“No, I’m not sure I could leave you here without making this place a little safer.”
“It’s held up to almost a hundred years of storms. I’m sure it will hold up to one more,” Annie said.
“I’m not so sure,” Rourke replied. “This is supposed to be a bad one.”
Annie shrugged. “I can’t stop it from coming, so worrying about the wind never did much good. Whatever will happen, will happen.”
He gave her an odd look. “How is your head? Are you confused?”
Annie pulled the towel away. “I think it’s stopped bleeding.”
“Just stay put,” he said. “Lie down and rest. Do you want me to light the stove? I could make you a cup of tea.”
“No, I’ll be fine.” She paused. “Why are you doing this, Rourke Quinn?”
“Because no one else seems to be worried about you,” he said. He went to the door and stepped outside.
How long had it been since she’d thought about him? When had she let go of that fantasy? Annie hadn’t realized how much she’d missed him—and her fantasies—until now. But something had changed. Her fantasies were now much more—erotic.
She sank back into the down pillows and stared up at the ceiling, smiling to herself. Now that she had him here, what would she do with him?
She hadn’t been completely isolated over the years. There had been men who wandered in and out of her life, usually in the summer months when the population of the island swelled from the tourists. There had been a fellow artist a few years back who had come to paint her lighthouse and ended up staying until the first frost. And then the guy from the coast guard who came to check the light every three months. They’d occasionally indulged in a night of pleasure after a few glasses of wine.
What would it take to get Rourke to stay for the night? Would he be so easy to seduce? Annie groaned softly. She’d come to the realization that most single men were quite willing to indulge, especially when there were no strings attached. But not all of them understood her rather unconventional thoughts about sex.
So yes, she’d lived a very simple life since she was a child. Left without a means of support, she’d managed to eke out an existence in a house that had no phone, no electricity and very crude plumbing. She didn’t own a television or a computer.
Annie understood exactly what was necessary to sustain life. She ate a simple and natural diet, supplemented occasionally with fish or crab or oysters she gathered herself, and eggs from a local farmer. Her clothes weren’t purchased for beauty but for functionality and durability. And her men, well, they were chosen to satisfy a very natural and powerful need. Like everything else in her life, sex, and the intimacy it brought, was essential to her existence. Like water...or oxygen...or warmth.
Reaching for the book on her bedside table, Annie tried to distract herself by reading. But it was impossible to think about anything but Rourke. She listened as he moved from window to window, closing the shutters and then fastening them with screws. As the last of the natural light disappeared, she crawled from the bed and began to light the kerosene lamps scattered around the room.
He left the two windows on the porch uncovered, probably choosing to wait until the wind got worse. Then she heard his truck start. Frowning, Annie crawled out of bed and hurried to the door, wondering if he’d chosen to leave after all. But just as she reached the door, it swung open again, nearly hitting her in the face. Kit, her dog, slipped in ahead of him.
“What are you doing out of bed?” he asked, raking his hands through his windblown hair.
“I—I thought you were leaving. I wanted to say goodbye. And to thank you.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “I just moved my truck closer to the cottage. What else do you need?”
“I’m fine,” she said.
He stared at her for a long moment. When he finally looked away, Annie felt the butterflies in her stomach intensify. It was clear he was attracted to her. He wasn’t even trying to hide it.
“Tea,” he said. “I’ll make some tea.” He shrugged out of his jacket and then moved to the sink. She watched as he glanced around, looking for the water faucet.
“You have to pump it,” she said. “There is no indoor plumbing.”
“No indoor—” He turned to face her. “You don’t have a shower? Or a toilet?”
“Sure. But they run on a rainwater catch system. I put it in about five years ago. There’s a shower in the lighthouse with a water heater. But here in the house, there’s just a bath, with water from the hand pump heated on the stove.”
“There’s no electricity either?”
Annie shook her head. “I don’t really need it. There’s nothing I need to run.”
“No television? No computer?”
“I have a phone. I recharge that in the lighthouse. There’s a little refrigerator out there, too, but I rarely use it. It’s really not that unusual. A lot of people live this way.”
“For this day and age it is,” he said. “Where do you get the firewood?”
“Sam Decker brings it around,” she said. “Except for food and taxes, it’s my only expense.”
Sam Decker had been one of the bullies who had taunted her as a child, making fun of her stammer by doing a dead-on imitation of her. But he’d come to regret his actions and one day, after her grandmother had passed away, he’d shown up on her front porch with a cord of split wood and an apology.
Since then, he’d brought wood every month and helped her with little jobs around the house. Though they were both adults now, and they were able to be cordial, even friendly, the wounds ran deep. She’d outgrown her stammer, but she still couldn’t fully trust Sam. And so she kept him at arm’s length.
Annie knew Sam had romantic feelings for her and hoped for something more than just friendship. But there was absolutely no attraction on her end. When there was attraction, she couldn’t deny it...like now...with Rourke.
She watched as he built a fire in the stove, studying his backside, clad in faded denim. He added small pieces of kindling from the basket beneath the sink and when the flames were high enough, he dropped a log on top of the fire. Rourke closed the cast-iron door, then worked to fill the battered kettle with water from the pump.
Annie walked over to the cabinets above the sink. She pulled back the gingham fabric and revealed two jars of loose tea. “I have black or green. Which do you prefer?”
“Black,” he said.
She retrieved an old china teapot from the breakfront and set it on the stove, then scooped a measure of the tea into it. After that, she found a pair of mugs and set them beside the pot. “I don’t have real cream. Or milk. Just powdered milk,” she said.
“Just a little sugar would be good,” he said.
* * *
ROURKE WASN’T QUITE sure what to think about all of this. Of course, he’d known there were people in the world who lived without the trappings of technology. He’d never actually met one, though. And a single woman living alone seemed like an unlikely candidate for